Marching Sands
good company. Will you show me your passport? You don't have to, you know."
No, he did not have to. But in his present plight he felt that a refusal would be a mistake. He moved to reach the papers in his breast pocket, and was checked by the handcuffs. He glanced at Ram Singh angrily. The native looked at him complacently. It was an awkward moment.
"Ram Singh!" The girl spoke sharply. "Have you bound the white man's hands?"
The Sikh grunted non-committally. She pointed at Gray.
"Undo his hands. Is a white man to be tied like a horse-stealing Kirghiz?"
Reluctantly, Ram Singh obeyed, and stood near vigilantly. Gray felt in his pocket with stiffened fingers and produced his passport. This the girl scanned curiously.
"I want to apologize," ventured Gray, "for Mirai Khan's attempt on your horses. He was acting contrary to orders. But I take the blame for what he did."
He spoke formally, even stiffly. The woman in the chair glanced at him swiftly, studying him from under level brows. He felt a great wish that he should be absolved from the stigma of guilt before her. And, man-like, he pinned his trust in formal explanation.
She seemed not to heed his words. She returned
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