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A boy who can dodge
over the roofs of Lahore city on a moonlight night, using every
little patch and corner of darkness to discomfit his pursuer, is
not likely to be checked by a line of well-trained soldiers. He
paid them the compliment of crawling between a couple, and, running
and halting, crouching and dropping flat, worked his way toward the
lighted Mess-tent where, close pressed behind the mango-tree, he
waited till some chance word should give him a returnable lead.

The one thing now in his mind was further information as to the Red
Bull. For aught he knew, and Kim's limitations were as curious and
sudden as his expansions, the men, the nine hundred thorough devils
of his father's prophecy, might pray to the beast after dark, as
Hindus pray to the Holy Cow. That at least would be entirely right
and logical, and the padre with the gold cross would be therefore
the man to consult in the matter. On the other hand, remembering
sober-faced padres whom he had avoided in Lahore city, the priest
might be an inquisitive nuisance who would bid him learn. But had
it not been proven at Umballa that his sign in the high heavens
portended War and armed men? Was he not the Friend of the Stars as
well as of all the World, crammed to the teeth with dreadful
secrets? Lastly - and firstly as the undercurrent of all his quick
thoughts -this adventure, though he did not know the English word,
was a stupendous lark - a delightful continuation of his old
flights across the housetops, as well as the fulfilment of sublime
prophecy. He lay belly-flat and wriggled towards the Mess-tent
door, a hand on the amulet round his neck.

It was as he suspected. The Sahibs prayed to their God; for in the
centre of the Mess-table - its sole ornament when they were on the
line of march - stood a golden bull fashioned from old-time loot of
the Summer Palace at Pekin - a red-gold bull with lowered head,
ramping upon a field of Irish green. To him the Sahibs held out
their glasses and cried aloud confusedly.

Now the Reverend Arthur Bennett always left Mess after that toast,
and being rather tired by his march his movements were more abrupt
than usual. Kim, with slightly raised head, was still staring at
his totem on the table, when the Chaplain stepped on his right
shoulder-blade. Kim flinched under the leather, and, rolling
sideways, brought down the Chaplain, who, ever a man of action,
caught him by the throat and nearly choked the life out of him. Kim
then kicked him desperately in the stomach. Mr Bennett gasped and
doubled up, but without relaxing his grip, rolled over again, and
silently hauled Kim to his own tent. The Mavericks were incurable
practical jokers; and it occurred to the Englishman that silence
was best till he had made complete inquiry.

'Why, it's a boy!' he said, as he drew his prize under the light of
the tent-pole lantern, then shaking him severely cried: 'What were
you doing? You're a thief.

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