proper Englishman! 'E's a priest, not no bleedin' rajah!"
"Well, you bought yourself a faithful hound, Father," said Learoyd. "His name is Gunga Din and he speaks English, after a fashion. Nice enough chap, though a bit childlike, like most of his sort. He followed the regiment here all the way from Simla. He's been a sort of unofficial regimental bhisti, but I guess he's yours now."
"Is that all he has to wear?" said Lucas.
"It's all 'e's got, period," said Mulvaney. "Not 'ardly equipped for a march to Chitral, 'e ain't."
"Well, we shall have to do something about that," said Lucas. "We'll have to send him to the quartermaster to get properly equipped and to get some decent clothing."
Din's face lit up. "Uniform, Father Sahib? Din be good soldier with uniform!"
"Soldier?" said Mulvaney, while Din shrank back from him.
"Why not?" said Lucas.
"Why not, indeed?" said Ortheris. "Just send 'im over to the quartermaster and tell 'im to ask for a full kit and a suit of khakis. The quartermaster, kind soul that 'e is, will comply without a moment's 'esitation."
The men laughed.
Din's face took on a crestfallen expression as he saw his hopes of obtaining a khaki uniform fade as quickly as they had arisen.
"Well, now, surely if the quartermaster knew it was for me," said Lucas, "he'd do it. After all, we can't very well have Miss Cross being attended by a half-naked man."
"Right," Delaney said. "Ortheris, since you pointed out the problem, perhaps you'd be so good as to accompany Din to see the quartermaster?"
"Per'aps I will," said Ortheris, "after I've done with this whiskey."
"Now, Ortheris," said Delaney.
Ortheris scowled. "I knew it was too good to last,"
he said. "Sooner or later an officer's bound to start actin' like an officer. Come on then, Din. We'll go an' get you your soldier suit."
He left with the joyful Gunga Din in tow. Learoyd smiled. "I'd say you made yourself a friend for life there, Father."
"From what I hear about where we're going, I'd say I could use all the friends I can get," said Lucas. "Tell me, Private Mulvaney—"
"Just plain ol' Mulvaney, Father. Everyone calls me that."
"All right, Mulvaney. What can you tell me about what's happening at Chakdarra?"
"Bloody fair mess is what's 'appenins, if you ask me. Some damn fool sod in Simla, satin' on his bleedin'—"
"Mulvaney!" said Learoyd. "Perhaps it would be better ill were to explain. Mind you now, Father, I'm not privy to what's told to the command staff, but scuttlebutt is generally pretty reliable in this outfit.
Chitral is some hundred fifty miles north of here and about four miles or so straight up. Now, because it looks so nice and well situated on a map, someone went and decided that the Sirkar ought to take an interest in it, as it were, and so a political agent was ensconced there. 'Round about five years ago or so, the local high muckamuck there, a sort of king called the Mehtar of Chitral, Aman-ul-Mulk, by name, up and died. The problem was, Aman left about a score of sons and not much in the way of a proper line of succession. Several of them killed each other off while tryin' to take the throne, and it looked as though things would eventually even out all by themselves, until Umra Khan stepped into the picture."
"Who's Umra Khan?" said Andre.
"A bloody Pathan warlord," said Mulvaney.
"The Khan of Jandul," Learoyd said. "Also known amongst us all by several somewhat less exalted appellations. Actually, the whole thing was more or less our fault, in a way. If we'd kept ourselves well out of it, our boys wouldn't now be in such a stew up there. Unfortunately the Forward Policy has its own curious sort of momentum. Aman was always friendly to the Sirkar, and Simla had no trouble with him. In return for arms and ammunition, as well as six thousand rupees a year, he became our ally. We posted an agent to Gilgit and that was that. Then Aman decided that he wanted more, so the annual payment was doubled. There was no further