"Pay us, for we have seen not so much as betel money since the last big rains." "Money," mused Umballa, marking down this gallant captain for death when the time came.
"Ai, money; bright rupees, or, better still, yellow British gold.

Pay us!" "Let us be frank with each other," said Umballa, smiling to cover the fire in his eyes.
"That is what we desire," replied the captain with a knowing look at his silent troopers.
"I must buy you." The captain salaamed.
"But after I have bought you ?" ironically.
"Heaven born; our blood is yours to spill where and when you will." From under the teak table Umballa drew forth two heavy bags of silver coin.

These he emptied upon the table dramatically; white shining metal, sparkling as the candle flames wavered.

Umballa arranged the coin in stacks, one of them triple in size.
"Yours, Captain," said Umballa, indicating the large stack.
The captain pocketed it, and one by one his troopers passed and helped themselves and fell back along the wall in military alignment, bright-eyed and watchful.
"Thanks, heaven born!" The captain and his troopers filed out.

Umballa fingered the empty bags, his brow wrinkled.