“Surely that is Kīlin Sahib’s horse? He is heavier than mine, but save for that, they might be brothers.”
“Would you like to try him?” suggested Sir Dugald, to whom a note had been handed from his wife. He spoke in obedience to her imperious suggestion, but with misgivings. “I don’t know what the Major will think of my inviting a native to mount his beloved Miani,” he said to himself. “And I shall have the fellow’s blood upon my head in another minute!” springing forward to assist the Sheikh as Miani backed and plunged, resisting all attempts to calm him. “Let him alone, Sheikh,” he advised. “He is never ridden by any one but his master.”
“Nay,” was the indignant answer, “shall the Sheikh-ul-Jabal be beaten by a horse?” and forcing Miani into a corner, the Sheikh whispered into his ear. The horse stood stock-still at once, eyeing the stranger uneasily, and the Sheikh followed up his victory by stooping down and breathing into his nostrils. There was a sensation among the natives round. “Kīlin Sahib’s horse has received the blessing of the holy breath!” went from one to the other. “Now he will be doubly the devil he was before!” lamented the groom who had brought him to the fort. But at present Miani seemed completely subdued. There was a look of terror in his eye and his ears were laid back; but though he swerved away, as if with invincible repugnance, when the Sheikh led him out of the corner, he allowed himself to be mounted, and cantered obediently round the courtyard. The Sheikh laughed as he dismounted.
“He would come home with me if I bade him, and Kīlin Sahib would bear a grudge against me,” he said. “I will reverse the spell,” and he slapped the horse smartly on the muzzle, then whispered into his ear again, and retreated precipitately from the storm of kicks with which Miani sought to avenge his temporary subjugation. Sir Dugald and the groom caught the bridle in time to prevent a catastrophe, and Miani was led away in custody, his behaviour fully justifying the groom’s unfavourable prediction.
In the meantime Major Keeling, seated on an uncomfortably low divan in the Sheikh’s hall of reception at Sheikhgarh, was enduring the unwinking stare of the boy who had been left in charge of him, and who had curled himself up happily among the cushions. He seemed to find the stranger full of interest, and Major Keeling felt that he was anxious to pour forth a flood of questions, but conversation languished, for whenever the hostage made a remark the boy entreated silence, with an alarmed glance in the direction of the curtain. At last, under cover of a loud rasping metallic noise, which seemed to come from behind the curtain, he edged nearer to Major Keeling, and said in a low voice--