Abdul Mujid was considerably taken aback, for it had never occurred to him that in these wild parts he might chance across anyone who had travelled far enough to know the difference between a soldier’s and any other shoe.  However, his ready wit came to his service, and with scarce a pause he replied quietly:  “Yes, I bought them in one of the border villages from a sepoy on leave,” and then turned the conversation on to less dangerous ground.  But he saw he was suspected, and any moment might find him seized and searched.  It was too late to move on to another village; indeed to attempt to do so would only serve to confirm suspicion, and the moment he had passed the sacred portals of hospitality he would have been instantly followed and cut down.

Shoes in themselves are not enough to hang a man, but a prismatic compass assuredly is.  In a Pathan country murder, rapine, and cattle-lifting are comparatively venial offences, little more indeed than instances of lightheartedness; but to draw a map of the country is worse than the seven deadly sins rolled into one, and short will be the shrift of him who is caught in the act.  It therefore seemed to Abdul Mujid only a wise precaution to get rid of his prismatic compass as speedily as possible.

With this end in view he walked over to the well, as if to get a drink of water, and, as skilfully as he could, dropped the compass down the well.  But fate was against him that day; sharp ears heard the hollow splash, and sharp voices immediately demanded what he had thrown down the well.

“Only a stone off the coping,” replied Abdul Mujid.

“You lie!” yelled the headman.  “You are a spy of the accursed British Government, and out of your own mouth will I condemn you.  Here, Yusuf, get a stout rope and let the boy down the well; there isn’t more than half a yard of water in it, and we will soon see whether the stranger lies or not.”

Here was a nice predicament!  But Abdul Mujid faced the peril like a man, and held to the faint hope that no one would recognise the instrument even if they found it.  It was a false hope.  In a few minutes up came the boy, gleefully flourishing the damning evidence, and there was not one who doubted what it was.  Probably in the circumstances, whatever the article it would have had the same effect, for the case was already prejudiced.

“Now then, thou son of a burnt father, what sayest thou?” screamed the headman.  “Thou art a spy as I said, and shalt surely die. Hein! what sayest thou?”

“You speak truth, father,” replied the sepoy.  “I am making a map for the British Government; but this is only a little portion of it, and if you object I will leave out this part altogether, and then there can be no cause of offence.”

“Go to,” sneered the headman, “I shall take a much more effective way of closing the matter by killing you at once.  Here, Yusuf, bring my gun, and you, young men, see that this misbegotten Kafir does not escape.”