We are not doing any wrong to any Sahibs whom we know.

They are priest-beaters.

They frightened us.
We fled! Who knows where we dropped the baggage?
Do ye think Yankling Sahib will permit down-country police to wander all over the hills, disturbing his game?
It is a far cry from Simla to Chini, and farther from Shamlegh to Shamlegh-midden.' 'So be it, but I carry the big kilta.

The basket with the red top that the Sahibs pack themselves every morning.' 'Thus it is proved,' said the Shamlegh man adroitly, 'that they are Sahibs of no account.

Who ever heard of Fostum Sahib, or Yankling Sahib, or even the little Peel Sahib that sits up of nights to shoot serow--I say, who, ever heard of these Sahibs coming into the hills without a down-country cook, and a bearer, and--and all manner of well-paid, high-handed and oppressive folk in their tail?
How can they make trouble?
What of the kilta ?' 'Nothing, but that it is full of the Written Word--books and papers in which they wrote, and strange instruments, as of worship.' 'Shamlegh-midden will take them all.' 'True! But how if we insult the Sahibs' Gods thereby! I do not like to handle the Written Word in that fashion.