“Will the sahib permit?  My izzat (honor) is in question.”

“Izzat be damned!” Monty answered.

Rustum Khan colored darkly.

“I shared a tent with you once on campaign, sahib, in the days before —­the good days before—­those old days when—­”

“When you and I served one Raj, eh?  I remember,” Monty answered.  “I remember it was your tent, Rustum Khan.  Unless memory plays tricks with me, the Orakzai Pathans had burned mine, and I had my choice between sharing yours or sleeping in the rain.”

“Truly, huzoor.”

“I don’t recollect that I mouthed very much about honor on that occasion.  If anybody’s honor was in question then, I fancy it was yours.  I might have inconvenienced myself, and dishonored you, I suppose, by sleeping in the wet.  You can dishonor the lot of us now, if you care to, by—­oh, tommyrot!  Tell your man to put your blankets in the only empty place, and behave like a man of sense!”

“But, huzoor—­”

Monty dismissed the subject with a motion of his hand, and turned to talk with Kagig, who shouted for yoghourt to be brought at once; and that set the sons of the owner of the place to hurrying in great style.  The owner himself was a true Turk.  He had subsided into a state of kaif already over on the far side of the fire, day-dreaming about only Allah knew what rhapsodies.  But the Turks intermarry with the subject races much more thoroughly than they do anything else, and his sons did not resemble him.  They were active young men, rather noisy in their robust desire to be of use.

The gipsies, with Gregor Jhaere nearest to the owner of the kahveh and the fireplace, occupied the whole long platform on the other side, each with his women around him—­except that I noticed that Maga avoided all the men, and made herself a blanket nest in deep shadow almost within reach of a mule’s heels at the far end.  I believed at the moment that she chose that position so as to be near to Will, but changed my mind later.  Several times Gregor shouted for her, and she made no answer.

The place had no other occupants.  Either we were the only travelers on that road that night or, as seemed more likely, Kagig had exercised authority and purged the kahveh of other guests.  Certainly our coming had been expected, for there was very good yoghourt in ample quantity, and other food besides—­meat, bread, cheese, vegetables.

When we had all eaten, and lay back against the stone wall looking at the fire, with great fanged shadows dancing up and down that made the scene one of almost perfect savagery, Gregor called again for Maga.  Again she did not answer him.  So be rose from his place and reached for a rawhide whip.

“I said she shall be thrashed!” be snarled in Turkish, and he made the whip crack three times like sudden pistol-shots.  Will did not catch the words, and might not have understood them in any case, but Rustum Khan, beside me, both heard and understood.