` He is here , ' said Kim , hitting a bad-tempered camel on the nose . ` Ohe . Mahbub Ali ! ' He halted at a dark arch and slipped behind the bewildered lama . The horse-trader , his deep , embroidered Bokhariot belt unloosed , was lying on a pair of silk carpet saddle-bags , pulling lazily at an immense silver hookah . He turned his head very slightly at the cry ; and seeing only the tall silent figure , chuckled in his deep chest . ` Allah ! A lama ! A Red Lama ! It is far from Lahore to the Passes . What dost thou do here ? ' The lama held out the begging-bowl mechanically . ` God 's curse on all unbelievers ! ' said Mahbub . ' I do not give to a lousy Tibetan ; but ask my Baltis over yonder behind the camels . They may value your blessings . Oh , horseboys , here is a countryman of yours . See if he be hungry . ' A shaven , crouching Balti , who had come down with the horses , and who was nominally some sort of degraded Buddhist , fawned upon the priest , and in thick gutturals besought the Holy One to sit at the horseboys ' fire . ` Go ! '
said Kim , pushing him lightly , and the lama strode away , leaving XXXXX at the edge of the cloister .
Ali Balti Buddhist Kim Lahore begging-bowl fire gutturals horseboys saddle-bags