Om: The Secret of Ahbor Valley. Talbot Mundy
because they didn't know about the dog, and they would never suspect a dog of having enough intelligence. Their man will be still out there watching the shop-door. Wait here!"
He ran into the outer shop, hid behind one of the curtains at the door, and stood facing the mirror that gave him a view of the "constabeel's" back and of fifty yards of crowded street, including the sidewalk opposite. The "constabeel" appeared to be intently watching somebody, and in less than a minute Ommony picked out the individual—a tall, good-looking, boy-faced Hillman in a costume that suggested Bhutan or Sikkim—shapeless trousers and a long robe over them, with a sort of jacket on top of that. He was trying to look innocent, which is the surest way of attracting attention; and he was so intent on watching the shop-door that passers-by continually bunted into him—whereat he seemed to find it hard to keep his temper. Ommony watched him for a minute or two, and then spoke to the policeman through the curtain.
The policeman nearly gave the game away by turning his head to listen, but spat and scratched himself to cover the mistake. Ommony repeated his instructions carefully and the policeman strolled down-street. Ommony emerged and walked slowly in the opposite direction; over the way, the Hillman began at once to follow him, suiting his pace to Ommony's. Ommony crossed the street; so did the policeman. Ommony turned and walked toward the Hillman; the policeman followed suit, approaching from the rear. Ommony came to a halt exactly in front of the Hillman, feeling dwarfed by the man's big-boned stature and aware of the handle of a long knife just emerging through a slit in a robe that reeked strongly of ghee. The policeman, nervously fingering his club, halted to the Hillman's rear, six feet away. Passers -by began to detect food for curiosity; there were searching glances and a palpable hesitation; there would have been a crowd in sixty seconds.
"Come with me," said Ommony, in Prakrit.
"Why?" asked the Hillman, staring at him, wide-eyed with surprise at being spoken to in his own tongue.
"Because if you do, no harm will come to you; and if you don't you'll go to jail."
The Hillman's hand crept instinctively toward his knife, and the policeman made ready to swing for the back of his head with a hard-wood club.
"Are you a fool, that you don't know a friend when you meet one?" asked Ommony.
"I have met enemies, and women, and one or two whom I called master, and many whom I have mastered—but never a friend yet!" the Hillman answered. "Who art thou?"
"Come with me and learn," said Ommony.
The Hillman hesitated, but the crowd was distinctly beginning to gather now—a little way off, not sure yet but alert for the first hint of happenings. It grew clear to the Hillman that escape might not be easy.
"I fear no man!" he said, turning his head and recognizing the policeman, who was hardly two-thirds his size. He spat eloquently for the policeman's benefit, missing him neatly by about the thickness of a knife-blade. "Whither!" he asked then, looking straight into Ommony's eyes.
Ommony led the way across the street into Chutter Chand's shop, where he halted to let the Hillman go in first.
"Nay, lead on!" said the Hillman, stepping aside.
"No. For you have a weapon and I have none. Moreover, I have said I am a friend, and I prefer to be a living friend rather than a dead one! Go in first," laughed Ommony.
The Hillman laughed back. There was none of the solemnity about him that enshrouds the men from the Northwest frontier. Eastward along the Himalayas, where the smell of sweat leaves off and the smell of rancid butter begins, laughter becomes part of life and not an insult or indignity. He swaggered into the shop with no more argument and at a nod from Ommony walked straight through to the office at the rear.
"Krishna!" exclaimed Chutter Chand. He jumped for a corner, seized a two-handed Samurai sword, drew it from the scabbard, and laid it on the desk. "I will let my snakes loose!" he almost screamed, in Hindustanee.
But the Hillman sat down on the floor, on the exact spot where the Lama had been, and Ommony sat down in the chair facing him, motioning to Chutter Chand to resume the other chair and be sensible.
"But this is the ruffian who came and threatened me!" said Chutter Chand. "That knife of his is saw-edged! Take it from him, Ommonee!"
The Hillman appeared to know no English, but seemed to have made up his mind about Ommony. Friendship he might not believe in, but he could recognize good faith. He watched Ommony's face as a child follows a motion picture.
"What is your name?" asked Ommony.
"Dawa Tsering."
"Where are you from?"
"Spiti."
"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Chutter Chand. "Does he say he is from Spiti? They are all devils who come from that country! It is there they practise polyandry, and their dead are eaten by dogs! He is unclean!"
"Who is that Lama who was in here just now?" Ommony went on.
"Tsiang Samdup."
Chutter Chand did not catch that name; or, if he did, the name meant nothing to him. Ommony, on the other hand, had to use all his power of will to suppress excitement, and even so he could not quite control himself. The Hillman noticed the change of expression.
"Aye," he said, "Tsiang Samdup is a great one."
"Who is the other who was with him—the young one?"
"His chela." *
"What name?"
"Samding. Some call him San-fun-ho."
"And what have you to do with them?"
Instead of answering, the Hillman retorted with a question.
"What is thy name? Say it again. Ommonee? That sounds like a name with magic in it. Om mani padme hum! Who gave thee that name? Eh? Thy father had it? Who was he? How is it a man should take his father's name? Is the spirit of the father not offended? Thou art a strange one, Ommonee."
"Why did you come in here some days ago and threaten Chutter Chard?" asked Ommony.
"Why not!" said the Hillman. "Did I not ride under a te-rain, like a leech on the belly of a horse, more hours and miles than an eagle knows of? Did I not eat dust—and nothing else? Did I not follow that rat Tin Lal to this place? Did I not —pretending to admire the cobra in the window—see him with my own eyes sell the green stone to this little lover-of-snakes? I said too much. I did too little. I should have slain them both! But I feared, because I am a stranger in the city and there were many people. Moreover, I had already slain a man—a Hindu, who drove an iron car and broke the wheel of the cart I rode in. I slew him with a spoke from the broken wheel. And it seemed to me that if I should slay another man too soon thereafter, it might fare ill with me, since the gods grow weary of protecting a man too often. So I returned four days later, thinking the gods might have forgotten the previous affair. They owe me many favors. I have treated the gods handsomely. And when this little rat of a jeweler swore he no longer had the stone, I threatened him. I would have slain him if I thought he really had it, but it seemed to me he told the truth. And he promised to get the stone back from some one to whom he had entrusted it. And I, vowing I would sever him in halves unless he should keep faith, went and told Tsiang Samdup, who came here accordingly, I following to protect the old man. I suppose Tsiang Samdup now has the stone. Is that so?"
"He shall have it," said Ommony.
"I think thou art not a liar," said the Hillman, looking straight into Ommony's eyes. "Now, I am a liar. If I should have said that to thee, it would only be a fool who would believe me, and a fool is nothing to be patient with. But I am not a fool, and I believe thee—or I would plunge this knife into thy liver! Who taught thee to speak my language?"
Ommony saw fit not to answer that. "Is it not enough for thee that I can speak it? Where can I find the holy Lama Tsiang Samdup?"
"Oh, as to