Swiftly — as Orientals understand speed — with long explanations, with abuse and windy talk, carelessly, amid a hundred checks for little things forgotten, the untidy camp broke up and led the half-dozen stiff and fretful horses along the Kalka road in the fresh of the rain-swept dawn.  Kim, regarded as Mahbub Ali’s favourite by all who wished to stand well with the Pathan, was not called upon to work.  They strolled on by the easiest of stages, halting every few hours at a wayside shelter.  Very many Sahibs travel along the Kalka road; and, as Mahbub Ali says, every young Sahib must needs esteem himself a judge of a horse, and, though he be over head in debt to the money-lender, must make as if to buy.  That was the reason that Sahib after Sahib, rolling along in a stage-carriage, would stop and open talk.  Some would even descend from their vehicles and feel the horses’ legs; asking inane questions, or, through sheer ignorance of the vernacular, grossly insulting the imperturbable trader.

’When first I dealt with Sahibs, and that was when Colonel Soady Sahib was Governor of Fort Abazai and flooded the Commissioner’s camping-ground for spite,’ Mahbub confided to Kim as the boy filled his pipe under a tree, ’I did not know how greatly they were fools, and this made me wroth.  As thus -,’ and he told Kim a tale of an expression, misused in all innocence, that doubled Kim up with mirth.  ‘Now I see, however,’ — he exhaled smoke slowly — ’that it is with them as with all men — in certain matters they are wise, and in others most foolish.  Very foolish it is to use the wrong word to a stranger; for though the heart may be clean of offence, how is the stranger to know that?  He is more like to search truth with a dagger.’

‘True.  True talk,’ said Kim solemnly.  ’Fools speak of a cat when a woman is brought to bed, for instance.  I have heard them.’

’Therefore, in one situate as thou art, it particularly behoves thee to remember this with both kinds of faces.  Among Sahibs, never forgetting thou art a Sahib; among the folk of Hind, always remembering thou art -’ He paused, with a puzzled smile.

’What am I?  Mussalman, Hindu, Jain, or Buddhist?  That is a hard knot.’

’Thou art beyond question an unbeliever, and therefore thou wilt be damned.  So says my Law — or I think it does.  But thou art also my Little Friend of all the World, and I love thee.  So says my heart.  This matter of creeds is like horseflesh.  The wise man knows horses are good — that there is a profit to be made from all; and for myself — but that I am a good Sunni and hate the men of Tirah — I could believe the same of all the Faiths.  Now manifestly a Kathiawar mare taken from the sands of her birthplace and removed to the west of Bengal founders — nor is even a Balkh stallion (and there are no better horses than those of Balkh, were they not so heavy in the shoulder) of any account in the great Northern deserts beside the snow-camels I have seen.  Therefore I say in my heart the Faiths are like the horses.  Each has merit in its own country.’