But an agreeable surprise made us feel at home before ever the fire leaped up to warm the creases out of saddle-weary limbs.  We had given up thinking of Kagig, not that we despaired of him, but the gipsies, and especially Maga, had replaced his romantic interest for the moment with their own.  Now all the man’s own exciting claim on the imagination returned in full flood, as he arose leisurely from a pile of skins and blankets near the hearth to greet Monty, and shouted with the manner of a chieftain for fuel to be piled on instantly—­“For a great man comes!” he announced to the rafters.  And the kahveh servants, seven sons of the owner of the place, were swift and abject in the matter of obeisance.  They were Turks.  All Turks are demonstrative in adoration of whoever is reputed great.  Monty ignored them, and Kagig came down the length of the room to offer him a hand on terms of blunt equality.

“Lord Montdidier,” he said, mispronouncing the word astonishingly, “this is the furthest limit of my kingdom yet.  Kindly be welcome!”

“Your kingdom?” said Monty, shaking hands, but not quite accepting the position of blood-equal.  He was bigger and better looking than Kagig, and there was no mistaking which was the abler man, even at that first comparison, with Kagig intentionally making the most of a dramatic situation.

Kagig laughed, not the least nervously.

“Mirza,” he said in Persian, “duzd ne giriftah padshah ast!” (Prince, the uncaught thief is king.)

He was wearing a kalpak—­the head-gear of the cossack, which would make a high priest look outlawed, and a shaggy goat-skin coat that had seen more than one campaign.  Unmistakably the garment had been slit by bullets, and repaired by fingers more enthusiastic than adept.  There was a pride of poverty about him that did not gibe well with his boast of being a robber.

“That’s the first gink we’ve met in this land who didn’t claim to be something better than he looked!” Will whispered.

“Hopeless, I suppose!” Fred answered.  “Never mind.  I like the man.”

It was evident that Monty liked him, too, for all his schooled reserve.  Kagig ordered one of the owner’s sons to sweep a place near the fire, and there he superintended the spreading of Monty’s blankets, close enough to his own assorted heap for conversation without mutual offense.  Will cleaned for himself a section of the opposite end of the platform, and Fred and I spread our blankets next to his.  That left Rustum Khan in a quandary.  He stood irresolute for a minute, eying first the gipsies, who had stalled most of their animals and were beginning to occupy the platform on the other side; then considering the wide gap between me and Monty.  The dark-skinned man of breeding is far more bitterly conscious of the color-line than any white knows how to be.

We watched, disinclined to do the choosing for him, racial instinct uppermost.  Rustum Khan strolled back to where his mare was being cleaned by the lean Armenian servant, gave the boy a few curt orders, and there among the shadows made his mind up.  He returned and stood before Monty, Kagig eying him with something less than amiability.  He pointed toward the ample room remaining between Monty and me.