Minghal obeyed the summons grudgingly. In the hills he was free, and owned no master save God; it irked him that any one, least of all the sahib-log, infidels, eaters of pigs, should question his rights in the plains; for though he knew that the lands in dispute were not his by inheritance, yet might was right, and if the plain-men were not strong enough to hold them--why, so much the worse for them. And when he came down from the hills to argue the case before the British commissioner, he begged his nearest neighbour, Rahmut Khan of Shagpur, to accompany him and give him at least moral support. Rahmut did not refuse this request; but he was above all things a warrior; he had no skill in reasoning, like his more wily neighbour Minghal; and while the latter was using all his eloquence, every trick and artifice of which he was capable, to persuade Mr. Barclay that forcible possession was of more account than title-deeds, Rahmut amused himself by talking to and playing with the deputy-commissioner's little son. The boy's mother had died in Lahore some little while before, and his father kept him constantly in his company, even when his duties called him into remote parts of his district.
Rahmut, like all his race, was passionately fond of children; the fearlessness of the bright-eyed boy appealed to him, and day after day, while Minghal was waiting his turn, and when he was trying Mr. Barclay's patience inside the tent, Rahmut spent hours with the boy, giving him rides on his horse, laughing as he strutted by with a wooden sword, allowing him to fire a shot or two from his pistol. And so, by the time Minghal's case was decided Rahmut and Jim Barclay--the big, bearded Pathan warrior of near sixty years, and the English boy of eight--were fast friends.
Minghal lost his case. The deputy-commissioner decided against him, and gave judgment that he must quit the lands he had usurped. Minghal left the tent in a rage, muttering curses on the infidel dog who had rejected, quietly but firmly, all his pleas, and declaring to Rahmut that he would one day have his revenge. Rahmut was not a whit more friendly disposed to the new rulers than was Minghal himself; but he was a man of few words, and never threatened what he could not at once perform. Moreover, he had never thought much of his neighbour's case, and was not surprised at its failure. Minghal found him less sympathetic than he considered to be his due, and returned to his home in the hills in a very ill humour.