‘That’s better,’ said Orde faintly.  ’Sorry to be a nuisance, but is—­is there anything to drink?’

They gave him milk and whisky, and Tallantire felt a little warmth against his own breast.  Orde began to mutter.

‘It isn’t that I mind dying,’ he said.  ’It’s leaving Polly and the district.  Thank God! we have no children.  Dick, you know, I’m dipped—­ awfully dipped—­debts in my first five years’ service.  It isn’t much of a pension, but enough for her.  She has her mother at home.  Getting there is the difficulty.  And—­and—­you see, not being a soldier’s wife—­’

‘We’ll arrange the passage home, of course,’ said Tallantire quietly.

’It’s not nice to think of sending round the hat; but, good Lord! how many men I lie here and remember that had to do it!  Morten’s dead—­he was of my year.  Shaughnessy is dead, and he had children; I remember he used to read us their school-letters; what a bore we thought him!  Evans is dead—­Kot-Kumharsen killed him!  Ricketts of Myndonie is dead—­and I’m going too.  “Man that is born of a woman is small potatoes and few in the hill.”  That reminds me, Dick; the four Khusru Kheyl villages in our border want a one-third remittance this spring.  That’s fair; their crops are bad.  See that they get it, and speak to Ferris about the canal.  I should like to have lived till that was finished; it means so much for the North-Indus villages—­but Ferris is an idle beggar—­wake him up.  You’ll have charge of the district till my successor comes.  I wish they would appoint you permanently; you know the folk.  I suppose it will be Bullows, though.  ’Good man, but too weak for frontier work; and he doesn’t understand the priests.  The blind priest at Jagai will bear watching.  You’ll find it in my papers,—­in the uniform-case, I think.  Call the Khusru Kheyl men up; I’ll hold my last public audience.  Khoda Dad Khan!’

The leader of the men sprang to the side of the litter, his companions following.

‘Men, I’m dying,’ said Orde quickly, in the vernacular; ’and soon there will be no more Orde Sahib to twist your tails and prevent you from raiding cattle.’

‘God forbid this thing!’ broke out the deep bass chorus.  ’The Sahib is not going to die.’

’Yes, he is; and then he will know whether Mahomed speaks truth, or Moses.  But you must be good men, when I am not here.  Such of you as live in our borders must pay your taxes quietly as before.  I have spoken of the villages to be gently treated this year.  Such of you as live in the hills must refrain from cattle-lifting, and burn no more thatch, and turn a deaf ear to the voice of the priests, who, not knowing the strength of the Government, would lead you into foolish wars, wherein you will surely die and your crops be eaten by strangers.  And you must not sack any caravans, and must leave your arms at the police-post when you come in; as has been your custom, and my order.  And Tallantire Sahib will be with you, but I do not know who takes my place.  I speak now true talk, for I am as it were already dead, my children,—­for though ye be strong men, ye are children.’