In a little while we go! It is the mountain-sickness.

I too am a little sick at stomach,'-- and he knelt and comforted with such poor words as came first to his lips.

Then the woman returned, more erect than ever.
'Thy Gods useless, heh?
Try mine.

I am the Woman of Shamlegh.' She hailed hoarsely, and there came out of a cow-pen her two husbands and three others with a dooli, the rude native litter of the Hills, that they use for carrying the sick and for visits of state.

'These cattle'-- she did not condescend to look at them--'are thine for so long as thou shalt need.' 'But we will not go Simla-way.