AN INDIAN ROAD-TALE.
Inland they tell the tale of the coast-road, and on the coast they tell it of Pipavao, how the Kir kept the road by force for many years, feared by all, and how he was killed easily.
Morning had not yet come, and the rumble of the mills and low sighing song of the women as they ground the corn fresh for the early meal, was the only sound heard.
Two men left a village and approached by way of the road the tank, on whose banks dwelt the Kir, at a point whence the road could be seen stretching on either hand far along the low coast. All the trade and travellers of the coast paid toll to him, and these men, too, at dusk the day before, on their way to a distant town and a marriage, with many carts and women, had paid their toll, and now came, before journeying on to hear the talk and gain the good-will of one they feared.
They stood before the low house and unfastened the girdle that held their swords. Each sword was pulled till the peace-twine that held the sword to the scabbard was taut and a finger's breadth of metal showed; then they laid scabbard and sword and girdle on the beaten red earth before the door, where unarmed stood the Kir.
