Then you'll give me a character, won't you? and say I'm a first-class zaildÂr.

Not a man of them's done half so much as old Shurfu to please the SirkÂr.

Why, I've brought you full forty "suspected ones"; that isn't bad as a haul.

Look you! forty "suspected ones" present, and gone bail myself for them all.

And a word, sahib--for your ear alone--if you'd like me to bring a few more,

Just to make a round fifty on paper, and show that the work's to the fore--

Bismillah! they never shall say, while old Shurfu is one of the crew,

That his district sahib's schedules were shaky for want of a budmÂsh^[14] or two.

And what do I think of the system? Why, just what the Presence may choose;

But a good cattle-thief nowadays must look after his p's and his q's.

There are many more folk to be squared, and the hire of the bail to be paid;

But it makes the lads three times as careful, and raises the style of a raid.

Still the game, as a game, is no more; for your reign has been death to all sport.

E'en a cattle-thief thinks like a banker, and scarcely gives honour a thought.

'Tis mere money grub--pennies and farthings. What I in my youth you have heard

Was a noted--O fie on the Presence! It shouldn't believe such a word.

There are twenty-three schools in my circle; I pay all the Government fees!

I've made a canal and a garden! I've planted some thousands of trees!

I've headed the lists and subscriptions! I've tried queer new crops on my land!

Not a village of mine owns a dung-heap! My mares are all Government brand!

Not a hobby his district sahib's ridden, but Shurfu has ridden it too;

Though the number of sahibs has been awful, and every one's hobby was new.

Well, I don't mind a glass, since there's nobody nigh; you won't tell, I'll engage.

True! the Prophet forbids; but he didn't know brandy, and wasn't my age.

When a man turns of eighty, there ain't many sins he has strength to commit,

So his day-book can stand a few trifles. Aye, wine wakes the mem'ry a bit.

As for Fuzla, we've all heard of Fuzla--the best cattle-thief in PunjÂb--

Pooh! you don't mean to say he ne'er met with a match on this side of ChenÂb?

I could tell you a story--well, half a glass more--but I'd best hold my tongue.

So Mian Fuzla had never his match! come, that's good! Why, when we were both young--

What the deuce am I saying? Jehannam be mine, but I cannot keep still!

I'll tell how I swam the ChenÂb in full flood! Yes, by Allah! I will.

Mian Fuzla had squared th' police on his side of the stream, as one can

With good luck; but my cowards were cautious, and hadn't the pluck of a man;

So Mian Fuzla got up in the bottle and sent me a message to say

He had fifty-three head of my cattle, and when would I take them away?

Now the waters were out, so the boast was scarce fair; but I took up the glove,

And with MÔkhun and Dittu to help, that same night crossed the river above

While they thought all secure; but it wasn't! So dawn found us stealing along

With a herd of a hundred she buffaloes, all of them lusty and strong.

Well, we made for the river, through tamarisk jungle and tussocks of grass,

And narrow-pathed tangle of jhau that would scarce let a buffalo pass,

With our thoughts on the footsteps behind, till the first level streak of the light

Brought us down to the stream; and, by God! it had risen ten feet in the night!

'Twas a broad, yellow plain, shining far in the rays of the sun as it rose,

And a cold wind swept over the flood that came hurrying down from the snows

With a swift, silent current in eddying swirls--not a sound, not a dash

Save a sudden, dull thud, as the bank, undermined, tumbled in with a splash.

Then we looked at each other in silence; the looks of the others said "No."

But I thought of that challenge of Fuzla's, and made up my mind I would go,

Though I knew that the odds were against me; so, bidding the cowards turn back,

With a few of the beasts on their traces and try hard to deaden the track--

For 'twas time, it was time that I wanted--I drove the rest down to the brink,

But the brutes wouldn't take to the water; they loved life too well not to shrink.

So I took a young calf from its mother--'twas cruel, but what did I reck?

And butchered the brute with my hanger, and fastened my pug round its neck,

Then I dragged it right into the water, and buoyed it up well round the throat

With a bundle of grasses and reeds that would keep the dead body afloat.

I thought of that challenge of Fuzla's; then turned and struck out like a man,

While the mother leaped after her young one, and all the rest followed the van.

The flood swept me down like a leaf, and the calf swept me farther down still,

But I knew 'twas a life or death struggle, and breasted the stream with a will;

While the hope I could lead the beasts on, till 'twas safer before than behind,

And the fear lest Mian Fuzla should win, were the only two thoughts in my mind.

It was half a yard forward to half a mile downward, yet still I made way,

While behind, in a long single file, the black heads of the buffaloes lay,

Till I knew we had reached the big stream, and that now there was no going back;

Then I gave one faint shout, and I cast off the dead calf, and let myself slack.

So we drifted, and drifted, and drifted. I strove to recover my breath,

But a numbness came over my heart, and I knew I was drifting to death,

As the big, heavy beasts were swept past by the terrible force of the stream,

And the whole world seemed slipping away, as I swam on alone in a dream.

Then I wondered how Fuzla would take it, and how many miles I had come;

Or guessed what the people would say when days passed and I never came home--

Till it came to me, as in a dream, that the current was setting in shore;

And after that, sahib, it is strange I could never recall any more.

Only this I can tell you: we measured it after, from starting to end,

And the distance was over ten miles by the straight, without counting the bend.

So Mian Fuzla was beat; and sent me a pugri with knots which his women had tied,

And the song of the "Crossing of Shurfu" is known through the whole countryside.

WÂh! illÂh! How my tongue has been wagging, and I the zaildÂr! But in sooth

'Tis dull work for old Shurfu compared to the merry, mad days of his youth.

Ji salaam! And whatever you want, send for Shurfu the zaildÂr; and, sahib,

You'll remember that Fuzla once met with his match on this side of ChenÂb!