"We obey Kagig at times," he said, as if that admission settled the matter.
Then there was interruption. Rustum Khan came spurring down the road with his pistol holsters unbuttoned and his saber clattering like a sutler's pots and pans, to see whether we needed help. He had no sooner reined in beside us than I caught sight of Will, drawn between curiosity and fear lest the muleteers might bolt, standing in his stirrups to peer at us from the top of the track between the hillocks. Somebody else caught sight of him too.
There came a shrill shout from over where the women were packing up, and everybody turned to look, Gregor Jhaere included. As hard as the gray stallion could take her in a bee line toward Will the daughter of the dawn with flashing teeth and blazing eyes was riding ventre a terre.
"Maga!" Gregor shouted at her, and then some unintelligible gibberish. But she took no more notice of him than if he had been a crow on a branch. In a minute she was beside Will, talking to him, and from over the top of the rise we could hear Fred shouting sarcastic remonstrance.
"She is bad!" Gregor announced in English. It seemed to be all the English he knew.
"Are you her father?" Monty asked, and Gregor answered in very slipshod German:
"She is the daughter of the devil. She shall be soundly thrashed! The chalana![1] And he a Gorgio!"[2]
Suddenly Fred began to shout for help then, and we rode back, the gipsies following and Rustum Khan re-
