# Rhamon/Chapter 5

Late the next afternoon Rhamon was sitting on the narrow walk that ran around the outside of the houseboat. He was feeling happy, for his mother had just given him a freshly cooked chuppati wrapped about a bit of meat. As he munched it he dabbled his toes in the water and listened to the distant chiming of a temple bell. A mist hung over the river and the sun had almost set.
​Suddenly he saw two men coming up the river, poling their boat very slowly and looking from side to side. Rhamon knew all the men of his own little village, but these were strangers. He wondered what they were doing, why they were going so slowly and looking around so carefully. He decided to watch them.
In a moment he saw them slide up beside a big piece of floating garden. Rhamon knew that it belonged to his neighbors who were away on a picnic across the lake. One of the men pulled out the long pole that held it in place. The other tied a big rope to one end of the garden. Suddenly Rhamon realized that these men were thieves from another village, come to carry away the garden.
Stuffing the last bit of chupatti into his mouth, Rhamon jumped quickly from his seat and slipped into the shikara that lay alongside the walk. In a moment he had untied the rope that held it to the houseboat. Soon he was shooting down the river toward the city of Srinagar.
​When he looked back he saw the men slowly poling their boat away. And the garden was going with them, back to their own village. He paddled with all his strength. At the landing by the big bridge, Rhamon pulled the boat up on the shore. He must find his uncle, the Chief of Police. He hurried down one little street, turned a corner and ran up another. His foot was beginning to hurt, but he did not stop. When he finally reached the office he was almost out of breath. "Quick, Uncle, quick!" he panted. "Some men are stealing a garden!"
The big Chief of Police twirled his fierce black moustache, and rubbed his nose. Then he called loudly for two of his men. Rhamon shivered at the sound of his voice. It seemed to come rumbling up from the soles of his big red slippers. Settling his huge turban farther on his head, the Chief took Rhamon's hand and started off with long strides. Rhamon could hardly keep step with him, but he felt very proud. Was he not walking down the streets ​of the city with the Chief of Police? Everyone made way for them and salaamed, touching his hands to his forehead and bowing low.
"Jump into my boat," said his uncle. "We shall catch these thieves! My two men will follow in your shikara."
Away they sped, paddling swiftly past all the other boats. Suddenly Rhamon dropped his paddle and pointing up the river, cried, "There they are!" By now the thieves had seen the police also. Quickly they untied the garden they were towing behind them. In another minute they had disappeared into one of the many little canals.
"Now we have lost them!" exclaimed the Chief of Police, rubbing his big nose. "But by the grace of Allah, we shall catch them yet!"
"By the help of Allah perhaps, but by my help, too," thought Rhamon, for he was sure he would know those two men again if ever he saw them.
"And you can be glad you have saved the ​man's garden, Rhamon," said his uncle, seeing the boy's disappointment. "You are clever. Some day you may be a policeman yourself."
"Yes," thought Rhamon. "Some day I shall be a Chief of Police, and have a big moustache like my uncle."