The Old Man of the Mountain

"Why, you owl, that it's sometimes better to rely on your instincts than on the advice of kind busybodies. When I came through Calcutta, everybody advised me to wait till I got up country before engaging a man, told me the casuals of the Calcutta hotels were sharks ready to prey on any griffin, and so on. But I came across Hamid, liked the look of him----"

"You've a rummy taste in looks," interposed Jackson, with a laugh. "What with his crooked nose and his one eye, he can't pass for a beauty."

"And that's a fact," said Mackenzie, solemnly.

"Well, anyway, I took him on, and that's three years ago, and I've had no reason to regret it."

"He's a champion cook, at any rate," said Jackson.

"He is that," added Mackenzie, with emphasis.

At this moment the man in question entered with the next course, and further discussion of his qualities was impossible.

The three young fellows were taking their evening meal in a tent pitched near the bank of a stream some twenty miles north of Dibrugarh on the Brahmaputra. They were almost the same age, Mackenzie, the eldest, having recently completed his twenty-first year. Three years before, they had met as strangers on the deck of the liner conveying them to Calcutta, and had struck up one of those shipboard friendships which seldom last. In their case it was otherwise. All three were learning tea-planting in Assam, and, as the "gardens" on which they were severally engaged were many miles apart, their opportunities of foregathering were not very frequent. But they met as often as they could for sport in the form of snipe-shooting, boar-hunting, and other avocations that diversify the monotony of a planter's life, and they had become good comrades, knit one to another closely by the bonds of mutual trust and knowledge.

Three months' leave was now due to each of them. Forrester intended to go home: the others had arranged to make an extended tour in Northern India, and see Delhi, Lahore, and other cities of old renown. But it happened that, a few days before they were to start, they heard that a tiger had been doing mischief in a village some thirty miles from their stations. Fired by the news, they got permission from their managers to make a dash for the scene. Elephants were out of the question. They made the journey on foot, with four coolies to carry the baggage, Forrester's bearer, Hamid Gul--the man whom he had picked up in Calcutta, and who added to his many accomplishments a considerable skill in cooking--and a veteran shikari named Sher Jang, whose services they had often employed in their sporting expeditions. Sher Jang, with the aid of local talent, tracked the animal to its haunt in the jungle; after a few crowded moments it fell to the white men's guns; and its skin, already stripped from the carcase by the deft shikari, now lay stretched on the sward near the tent.

"Excuse, sahib!" said Hamid Gul, as he passed behind his master's chair after handing round the cutlets. He had been so long accustomed to use English of a sort with globe-trotters that he seldom spoke Hindustani with his master, like the average native servant.

"What is it?" asked Forrester.

The man's reply was to dangle a four-inch centipede before his eyes.

"It had cheek to crawl up honourable back, sahib," he explained.

The man dangled a four-inch centipede before his eyes. "It had cheek to crawl up honourable back!" he said.

"Kill the beast!" said Forrester.

Hamid dropped the centipede, settled it with his heel, and moved silently out of the tent.

"I can stand mosquitoes, but centipedes make me squirm," said Forrester. "If you know any sound more horrid than the plop of a centipede falling from the roof to the floor, tell me."

"To me the drone of a mosquito is ten times worse," said Jackson. "Apparently they don't like you, but they can never have enough of me, the brutes!"

"Soft and sweet!" murmured Mackenzie.

"What's the tiger-skin worth, Dick?" asked Jackson, ignoring the Scotsman's jibe.

"I don't know; but a goodish sum, probably. A man-eater's skin is usually mangy, but old Sher says that this is in good condition. Look out, Bob!"

Jackson ducked his head, already warned by a booming noise like the hum of an aeroplane engine that a beetle had flown in at the door. They watched the insect whirling about, until it came blindly in contact with the tent pole, and fell to the ground. There it lay on its back, spinning round and round with ever-increasing uproar, until Mackenzie picked it up, and flung it out--into the face of Hamid, approaching with the dessert.

The three men soon finished their meal, and, taking their camp chairs, went out into the open. When they were seated, Hamid came up with a brass salver filled with glowing charcoal, and presented to each a pair of small silver tongs with which to lift a ruddy chip for lighting his pipe. He prided himself on keeping up old customs. Then, with a good-night salaam, he passed into the tent to clear away.

It was a glorious night. The candlelight from the open tent paled in the rays of the moon, soaring aloft in a cloudless sky. A faint breeze stirred the feathery tops of the jungle grass, and ruffled the glassy surface of the rivulet. From the distance came the piercing lugubrious notes of bull frogs; the air sang with the hum of innumerable insects; ever and anon a bat flitted past like a shadow. At one side of the tent, on an upturned tub, sat Sher Jang, the shikari, smoking a long pipe, and gazing solemnly into space. A few yards away the coolies squatted round their camp fire, replete from their unaccustomed meal of tiger's meat, which they had devoured in the joyous belief that it would endue them with a ferocious courage.

The white men puffed away in silence, thinking over the day's sport, dreaming, maybe, of the anticipated delights of the approaching holiday. Hamid noiselessly finished his work, and then crouched with his pipe on a mat by the tent, studiously ignoring Sher Jang, as a cat ignores the dog on the hearthrug.

Thus half an hour passed. Then Mackenzie's cutty dropped from his mouth, and he snored.

"Hullo, Mac, it's time you turned in!" said Forrester, shaking him by the arm.

"Ay," said Mackenzie, sleepily. "Where's my pipe?"

"At your feet."

The Scotsman picked it up, stood erect, yawned, stretched himself, then suddenly dropped his hands to his sides.

"What's yon?" he said.

His companions sprang up. They, too, had heard a rustling in the jungle close at hand--a sound louder than the swish and scrape of the grass in the breeze. Sher Jang came up to them silently, and handed them their rifles. They heard the sound again, and stood in line, peering into the thicket up-stream, their fingers on the triggers.

The rustle ceased.

"Is it a tiger?" Forrester whispered in Hindustani to the shikari.

"No, sahib; tigers make no noise. It may be a bear."

"Or a native?" suggested Jackson.

"No, sahib; badmashes might prowl at dawn, but not in the night. I think it is a bear."

The rustle recommenced, and drew nearer and nearer. The white men waited with bated breath, ready to fire the instant the beast showed itself. Hamid had not moved; he was no sportsman, and trusted the sahibs to preserve him from harm. The coolies had run behind the tent.

Moment by moment the sound grew louder. Sher Jang gazed impassively into the jungle; he was too old a hand to show any feeling; but the young planters were tingling with excitement, drew quick breaths, and itched for action. All at once the long grass parted, and in the flicker of the firelight they saw a form emerge.

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Forrester.

They lowered their rifles, and stood for a moment in hesitation. Then all three hastened forward, wondering, alarmed. The form was that of a man, clothed in European style. But he was not walking erect, as men walk. He was creeping slowly, painfully, on all fours. Seeing them advancing towards him, he uttered a faint cry and tried to rise, only to fall forward with a moan. They came to him, and lifted him to his feet.

As they approached, the man tried to rise, uttered a faint cry, then fell forward with a moan.

"Pull--yourself--together--man!" he murmured, brokenly. "Pull--yourself--together!"

"What is it, sir?" asked Forrester, feeling the man shiver in his sodden clothes.

"Hoots, man!" exclaimed Mackenzie, "get him to the fire. He's fair wandered."

Acting on this practical suggestion, they led the stranger to the fire. The shikari meanwhile remained fixedly on guard, his eyes never quitting the jungle, his ears alert for further sounds.

"A blanket, Hamid!" Forrester shouted.

The man brought a blanket from the tent, and in this they rolled the stranger, setting him as close to the fire as they dared. Mackenzie unscrewed a brandy flask, and poured a little of the liquor between his lips. He gasped and lay quite still, his eyes staring without seeing. Every now and then his body twitched convulsively.

"The fever, sahib," said Hamid.

"A bad attack, too," said Forrester. "Quick! A rubber sheet, a pillow, and my bottle of quinine."

In a few minutes the stranger had been dosed with quinine and made comfortable. As yet he was unable to talk. Enveloped in the blanket, only his face was now visible--the face of a man about thirty-five, refined of feature, with thick brown beard and moustache, matted with damp and dirt. The sun-tanned cheeks were sunken, the eyes within their hollow sockets blazed with the fire of fever. They watched him anxiously, their concern for his pitiable condition mingled with curiosity. How came this man to be wandering alone and unarmed in the jungle?

"Poor body!" muttered Mackenzie. "Did you notice his hands?"

"They shook like a leaf," replied Jackson.

"Ay, but the blood!"

"Was there blood on them?"

"Ay, on the palms."

"Torn by thorns as he crawled along," said Forrester. "He saw the glow of our fire, no doubt, and staggered towards it; you remember he said, 'Pull yourself together!' He has been pulling himself together for days, by the look of him--and it came to crawling at the last! No sign of pursuit, Sher?" he asked, as the shikari came up.

"No, sahib, there is no sound."

"Give him another dose," said Mackenzie.

After the brandy and quinine had been poured between the sick man's lips, his eyes closed and he seemed to sleep.

"We must take turns to watch him during the night," said Forrester, "and get him to my bungalow as quickly as we can to-morrow."

"If he's not away!" said Mackenzie, gloomily. "I'm no liking the looks of him."

"We'll hope for the best. Malcolm has pulled through many bad cases. We'll dose him every hour or so. I'll take first watch; you fellows turn in. I'll call one of you in three hours."

Soon the camp slept; only Forrester remained awake. He sat beside the invalid, bending forward to catch any sign of change upon the fever-flushed countenance. He rose once to replenish the fire, and once to brush away a small beetle that was crawling on the blanket. The eerie wail of a jackal broke in presently upon the lesser sounds of the night; but that was so commonly heard in Assam that Forrester scarcely noticed it.

In an hour he repeated the dose of medicine, and started involuntarily when the sick man, opening his eyes, uttered a name.

"Beresford!"

Feeble as his voice was, there was in it a note of eagerness and relief. For a moment Forrester thought of encouraging the delusion, but it flashed upon him that the man might not have been alone after all. Was his companion lost in the jungle? Leaning forward, he said, quietly:--

"My name is not Beresford, it is Forrester."

At first the man appeared not to have understood, but after a few moments a look of dread gathered in his eyes, and he struggled to get up. Gently pressing him down Forrester said, in slow, clear tones:--

"You are with friends. You came towards our light, you remember. Won't you lie still and collect yourself, and tell me about it? 'Pull yourself together,' you know?"

"Pull yourself together!" the man repeated, like a child.

He lay back and closed his eyes, reopening them presently and turning them upon the fire.

"A light!" he muttered, eagerly. "My last chance! Pull yourself--ah! they've got him!" He shuddered, then with a sudden lapse into partial consciousness, he went on: "There's no time to lose. They've got him! Don't you hear? They've got him! The shutter! I came on for help. One company will do it; but hurry them, for heaven's sake! Take your hand off me, you hound!"

Then followed a bewildering jumble of Hindustani and a language of which Forrester was ignorant. Taking a cup, Forrester hastened to the stream, filled it with water, and, returning, bathed the stranger's burning brow. The raving ceased. After a brief silence the weak voice again spoke coherently, though the speaker, as the words showed, did not realise his position.

"Don't wait for me. In the hills--four days; nights are better; you won't meet men by night. But march day and night; there's no time to lose, I tell you."

"How shall we find the way?" asked Forrester, in the quiet tone he had employed before.

"I'll show you," said the man, eagerly, trying again to rise. "No, I'm dead beat," he added, falling back. "I'll follow you up. I made a jotting; you can't miss them. What are you waiting for?"

"The paper. Where is it?"

The man wriggled within the blanket, and a look of agony distorted his face as he felt his helplessness.

Forrester quickly loosed the wrappings.

"Which pocket?" he asked.

But a stream of incoherent babbling poured from the exhausted man's lips. He lay passive as Forrester felt in his breast pocket and drew forth a small leather case. Opening it, Forrester discovered a folded paper lying loose. He spread it out, and saw what at first seemed to be nothing but a smudge. But when he held the paper nearer to the firelight, he distinguished a design. It was disappointing, puzzling. A pencil line slanted from the left-hand top corner to the middle of the sheet, then branched horizontally to the right. The pencil marks had rubbed and smudged in the man's pocket, but looking at them closely, Forrester made out a few words in addition to the line. At the angle he read "Camel's Hump," at the end on the right, "Monkey Face." There was nothing more.

CHAPTER II

A COUNCIL OF WAR

Forrester sat musing on what he had learnt from the sick man's broken phrases and the scrap of paper. It was little enough. The stranger's companion, Beresford, had been captured, presumably by natives, at a spot four days' march distant in the hills. His friend had come alone over at least a hundred miles of wild country to seek help. The pencil line traced his course; the names no doubt roughly described conspicuous natural features that would serve as landmarks on his return. But who were the captors? Where was the place of durance? What did he mean by "the shutter"? In what direction lay the point on the route called "Monkey Face"? Without answers to these questions it seemed to Forrester that nothing could be attempted on behalf of the prisoner.

A glance at the invalid showed that he was either asleep or fallen into a stupor. Forrester rose, and paced to and fro, half inclined to wake his friends before the time. The dismal hoot of an owl close at hand, several times repeated, jarred his nerves; by the natives the bird was suspected of possessing the power to scent out those about to die. Though scouting such superstitions, Forrester felt oppressed and uneasy, so that it was with real relief he heard, as he passed the tent, Mackenzie's voice rasp out from the interior:--

"De'il take the fowl!"

"You're awake, Mac?" he said, putting his head in.

"Who could sleep through yon soul-terrifying clamour?"

"Neither soft nor sweet," murmured Jackson. "How is he, Dick?"

"Asleep now, but he's been talking. As you're awake, get up, and I'll tell you."

Throwing rugs about them, they joined him, and all three returned to the fire. Forrester repeated the man's words, and showed them the paper.

"He's not daft, think ye, with his camels and monkeys?" said Mackenzie.

"He was sane enough when he drew this diagram," Forrester replied.

They examined it in turn.

"I say, here's a word you've missed," said Jackson, suddenly. "It's very faint, and badly smudged. I can hardly make it out, but it's 'Falls,' isn't it?"

They scrutinised the paper eagerly in the firelight.

"You're right," said Forrester. "That's his starting-point, by the look of it: some waterfall or other."

The stranger's pocket-book was lying on the ground where Forrester had placed it after removing the paper. Mackenzie picked it up.

"Don't you think we might?" he asked.

"It's the only way," said Jackson. "Find out who he is, and make inquiries about him as soon as we get back."

Mackenzie opened the case. From one of its pockets he drew forth a roll of rouble notes, from another a couple of letters addressed to Captain Redfern at Peshawar, and finally a small note-book.

"There's his name," said Forrester. "The note-book may help us."

He found, however, on opening this, that the leaves contained nothing but jottings of words and phrases in unfamiliar tongues, with their English equivalents. There was no clue to his destination or the object of his journey, no mention of his companion.

"We're not much forarder," said Forrester. "The only thing to do is to get home as quickly as possible to-morrow, and wire through to Sadiya or Calcutta. Somebody will know something about him."

They talked for a few minutes longer; then Forrester and Jackson returned to the tent, leaving Mackenzie to take his spell of watching.

The camp was astir early. While the coolies were packing up, and Hamid was preparing breakfast, Forrester sent Sher Jang to the village half a mile away to enlist carriers for the sick man. In an hour the shikari returned with four lithe, well-developed young Mishmis, whose only clothing was a loin-cloth of bark and strips of bamboo coiled about their arms and legs. The villagers' gratitude for the destruction of the man-eater disposed them to undertake any service for their deliverers, especially when that service was to be rewarded with pay.

After breakfast, a litter was quickly constructed of a blanket and two bamboo stalks cut from the border of the stream. On this they placed Captain Redfern; he was still unconscious, and neither spoke nor stirred; and by eight o'clock the caravan was in movement.

Their way led them through the village. Here they waited to receive the thanks of the head-man, who presented them with a number of fowls in token of his gratitude. A crowd of men gathered around the litter, chattering excitedly in sing-song tones. Sher Jang presently drew Forrester aside.

"They talk of prisoners, sahib," he said in a whisper. "There are two strangers; may one of them be the captain sahib's friend?"

"Ask the head-man," said Forrester, eagerly.

The shikari's question seemed to cause the head-man some embarrassment. At first he denied that there was any truth in his young men's gossip, but on Sher Jang's insisting, with threats which Forrester would hardly have countenanced, he confessed that two strangers had indeed been brought into the village the night before. A party of the villagers had been away on an excursion some fifteen miles across the Brahmaputra. (He did not disclose the object of the expedition, but the shikari guessed that it was not unconnected with head hunting.) They were marching through the jungle when suddenly they heard a rustle and hid themselves. Two men came in sight, not naked Abors, as they had expected to see, but strangers, clothed. They had captured them without difficulty, for the men bore no weapons and one of them had lost his right arm, and brought them back to the village.

"Where are they?" asked Forrester, when Sher Jang repeated this story to him.

"In the moshup," the head-man replied, pointing to a spacious building in the heart of the village. It was built on piles, the walls and the sloping roof made of plantain leaves laid one upon another like the tiles of a European house. There the affairs of the community were discussed by day, and the unmarried men slept at night.

"Let me see them," said Forrester, hoping that by some strange coincidence Captain Redfern's friend, having escaped from captivity, had wandered in much the same direction.

The head-man besought the sahib not to be angry with him. The presence of the strangers was a trouble to him, for he did not know what to do with them. He could not speak their speech, and he was afraid. His young men ought not to have laid hands on men who were clothed. Forrester cut short his apologies, promising that he should suffer no harm; whereupon the head-man sent a messenger to the building aforesaid, to bring forth the prisoners.

The Englishmen awaited their coming with mingled hope and anxiety. By and by two figures emerged from the building.

"Chinamen, by Jinks!" Jackson ejaculated.

Disappointed at the dashing of their hopes, the three were no longer much interested in the Mishmis' prisoners, through whom their journey was being delayed. But they could not help remarking a certain strangeness in the Chinamen's manner of approach. They did not hasten across the open space with the eager gait of men to whom had come sudden deliverance from a terrible fate (for there was not much doubt that the villagers would ultimately have solved their dilemma by adding the Chinamen's heads to their collection). After leaving the moshup, and perceiving the unmistakable forms of Englishmen in the distance, the two men halted and appeared to consult together. Then they advanced slowly, one before the other, in the manner of a shepherd driving a solitary sheep.

The first comer was a young man, well grown, but curiously slack in his gait and bearing. His head hung forward a little; his arms drooped limply at his sides; and in his eyes, as he drew nearer, the Englishmen discerned a languorous and sleepy expression. The second man presented a striking contrast. His age was between fifty and sixty, but he was upright as a dart; and his features, his eyes, his whole mien bespoke energy and determination. The right sleeve of his coat was empty, and lay pinned across his breast.

Escorted by a noisy crowd of the villagers, the Chinamen came up to the Englishmen, and bowed in salutation. Then, before Forrester could utter a word, the younger man began to speak in a breathless, jumpy fashion, strangely unlike the stolidity which is usually associated with the Chinese.

"We ask your assistance, gentlemen," he said in good English; only his reedy tone, the usual difficulty with the letter "r," and a certain formality of phrase proclaimed him a Chinaman. "Being accused of sedition we were on our way from Yunan to Tibet with a small caravan; but a week ago we were pursued by Government troops, and with difficulty escaped, leaving our men and stores behind us."

This was uttered rapidly, as if he were repeating a lesson. At the end of the sentence he glanced timidly at the elder man, who had stood the while gazing unswervingly upon his companion. In his eyes there was a hard, metallic glitter, under which the younger man appeared to droop. Turning again to the Englishmen he went on:--

"Driven from our course by the presence of regular troops near the frontier, we diverged to the south-west towards the borders of Assam. But when we were making our way north-west again towards Tibet, we fell into the hands of these people, and we thank you very much for rescuing us from our terrible plight."

"That's all right," said Forrester, with the Englishman's usual anxiety to avoid any display of feeling. "Does your friend speak English?"

"No," returned the man with a momentary energy. "I myself----"

He broke off suddenly, with a look of apprehension at his companion, who had not spoken, but whose eyes had never left the young man's face. Hurriedly he went on:--

"These people searched us, but did not find the little gold we carry, and the bundle of notes they found have no value for them, though they have not returned them to us. There is plenty of money to pay our way if we are assured of safety, and we ask to be allowed to accompany you until we can resume our journey."

"By all means," said Forrester. "I will get your notes back. I suggest that you make a small present to the head-man, and he will no doubt let you come with us without any bother."

A brief conversation ensued between Forrester and the head-man, through Sher Jang. The notes were surrendered; a few coins were given to the Mishmi; the Chinamen attached themselves to the Englishmen's party, and the march was resumed.

"He talks fine," said Mackenzie to Forrester, "but there's something fishy about yon Chinkies."

"The elder man has told the other not to give too much away, I think," said Forrester. "But they needn't be afraid of us. Political refugees are safe with Englishmen."

"Man, maybe they're murderers," said Mackenzie.

"You had better look out then," replied Forrester, with a laugh.

"Anyway, there's a hang-dog look about the youngster," said Jackson. "He's like a puppy afraid of a whipping."

More than once during the journey they tried to converse with the young Chinaman, but failed to draw more than a word or two from him. The elder man kept close to his side, and the Englishmen, finding that their well-meant remarks tended only to increase the young man's painful nervousness, gave up the attempt and left the Chinamen to themselves.

It was drawing towards sunset when they reached the plantation on which Forrester was employed. The long march through the hot and humid air had tired them all, and the condition of the sick man had become alarming. With the planter's traditional hospitality, the manager, Mr. Paterson, at once arranged to receive the captain in the bungalow he shared with Forrester, and offered to accommodate the Chinamen for the night in one of his godowns. At the instance of the elder man the younger politely, but with evident reluctance, declined this offer, preferring to push on to Dibrugarh, only a few miles away. The Englishmen did not press them; they were anxious to have as soon as possible the opinion of Dr. Malcolm, the medical officer of the gardens, on the invalid's chances of recovery.

"Eh, man, it's a verra bad case," said the bluff Scots surgeon after making his examination. "Malaria is bad enough, as ye know, but I would not say but this is jungle fever. However, never say die; I'll do what I can."

Early next morning Forrester rode over to Dibrugarh, and telegraphed to a military friend of Mr. Paterson's in Calcutta, asking if anything was known of Captain Redfern. The manager had advised this course in preference to communicating with officials, as likely to avoid red tape and save time. In a few hours the answer came:--

Redfern Captain Bengal Fusiliers on furlough exploring buried cities Chinese Turkestan with Beresford archaeologist.

Forrester was not very strong in geography, but he knew that Chinese Turkestan must be at least a thousand miles from Dibrugarh. What had brought the explorers so far from the scene of their labours? The pressing question, however, was the whereabouts of Beresford. Without loss of time Forrester took the first train for Sadiya, the frontier village where resided the Political Officer whose duty was to keep an eye on the hill tribes.

"Your man is where he had no business to be," said that gentleman when he had heard Forrester's scanty story. "He has been collared, I should think, by the hillmen somewhere south of Tibet--quite beyond my jurisdiction."

"Do you know anything of a waterfall a hundred miles or so north?" asked Forrester.

"There are falls in plenty, no doubt," was the reply; "but the country on the right bank of the Brahmaputra up there is practically unexplored. Part of the course of the Brahmaputra itself is unknown."

"Before he became delirious Redfern talked of sending up a column to rescue his friend."

"My dear fellow, he was talking through his hat. It's entirely out of the question. The Government won't run the risk of provoking a general rising of the hillmen whenever a roving explorer has come to grief in a district where he has no earthly right to be. It would mean one of those little frontier wars that cost no end of money and set the Labour Members barking."

"But surely something ought to be done--can be done for an Englishman," Forrester persisted.

"I'll communicate with headquarters and let you know the result; but I promise you it's no good. The country is a sort of no man's land. Representations at Lhasa and at Pekin would be equally useless; China and Tibet would both wash their hands of the matter. Besides, Government wheels move slowly, the man would be done for before any move could be made; he may be done for already. I'm sorry for him, but he has only himself to blame."

Forrester went away very indignant at what he regarded as official callousness, yet recognising the soundness of the Political Officer's contention. He remembered the Abor expedition, in which a large military force had been engaged for six months in making its way through the jungle to exact retribution for the murder of two Englishmen. Remembering, too, the uncertainty of Beresford's whereabouts, he was forced to admit that the Government might reasonably hesitate to commit themselves to an enterprise of which the end could not be foreseen.

When he returned to the plantation, and told his friends the results of his journey, Jackson, who was excitable and quick-tempered, stamped up and down the room, abusing Governments and Political Officers and mankind generally. Mackenzie, on the other hand, sat placidly smoking his pipe, silent and thoughtful. In the course of a few minutes, when Jackson had blown off steam, the Scotsman said quietly:--

"Now ye've done blethering, Bob, listen to me. We'll do it ourselves."

"What?"

"Ay!"

"What do you mean, Mac?" asked Forrester.

"I'm telling you. A score or two of the Assam Light Horse----"

"Oh, rats!" cried Jackson, impatiently. "If the Government won't undertake it, d'you suppose they'll let a lot of amateurs go careering about? They'd expect to have to send a Field Force to bring us off. It's absurd."

"Don't blow my head off. I've another proposition. I'm not particular about my leave. Let the three of us see what we can do."

"D'you mean it, Mac?" cried Forrester.

"Ay!"

CHAPTER III

THE REFUGEES

The credit of the arrangements made during the next two days must be divided between Mackenzie and Sher Jang. The former showed a capacity for organisation which his friends had not suspected.

"Just ye listen to me," he said, when they were discussing the proposal he had sprung upon them. "If I tell ye nothing, ye'll no have to tell fibs, d'ye ken? The least wee bit suspicion, and our leave will be stopped. All ye need to know is that before we start for our holiday in earnest we're going on a private hunting expedition, which will be perfectly true. Sher Jang and I between us will make things ready."

"That's the longest speech I've ever heard from your lips, Mac," said Forrester with a laugh.

"Maybe," Mackenzie replied.

He was not the man to let grass grow under his feet. Within an hour Sher Jang set off to interview certain Nagas of his acquaintance--active forest-bred natives who had served from time to time as beaters in hunting expeditions, and were to be depended on for nerve and steadiness. The shikari's mission was to engage half a dozen as carriers for such stores as it would be necessary to take. They would be armed in case of difficulties with the natives they might encounter on the way, though Mackenzie hoped that no hostility would be aroused by the passage of what was ostensibly a hunting party.

Meanwhile, Mackenzie himself sought out in Dibrugarh a local native contractor, whom he engaged to deliver a carefully calculated quantity of food within two days at a village about twelve miles north of the Brahmaputra. He went about among his acquaintances, trying discreetly to pick up any information they might possess about the country northward; but none of them had travelled more than a score of miles in that direction, so that his cautious inquiries had little result. As Captain Redfern was still in the delirium of fever, it became clear that the leaders of the expedition would have to rely on themselves to discover the place of Beresford's captivity. They anticipated little difficulty in locating the spots Redfern had marked as "Camel's Hump" and "Monkey Face," because in the country through which they were going the mountains rose to a height of many thousands of feet, and eminences so distinctive as to invite special names would no doubt be conspicuous at a very great distance.

On the appointed day the three young fellows set off with Sher Jang and Hamid Gul. Their departure awakened no suspicion, but only a mild envy among those whose holidays were still to come. Arriving at the rendezvous, they found the half-dozen Nagas awaiting them, and the Assamese contractor with the supplies. On entering the village, Jackson turned round with a start.

"What's up, Bob?" Forrester asked, noticing a strange look of bewilderment in his friend's eyes.

"Nothing. I don't know," Jackson replied, slowly. "I had the rummiest feeling--just as if some one were calling me."

Forrester laughed.

"Nerves, old chap," he said.

They went on together, thinking no more of the matter. The Nagas soon shouldered their loads, which consisted of a light camp equipment and a quantity of food. Forrester was about to give the order to start when there came from a hut on the far side of the village the two Chinamen with whom they were already acquainted, followed by two Nagas carrying packages. The men approached in the same order as on the occasion of their first meeting, and the younger man looked more miserable than ever. Coming up to the Englishmen, he addressed them haltingly, in the manner of one performing a distasteful duty against his will.

"I make humble excuses, gentlemen," he said, "but I beg a favour. Learning that you were travelling in this direction, we ask that you will permit us to accompany you and enjoy the benefit of your protection until our ways part."

"I wish to goodness the fellow wouldn't look as if he were going to snivel," Jackson whispered to Mackenzie.

"All right; don't apologise," said Forrester. "We're in rather a hurry; I hope we shan't walk you off your legs."

The Chinaman thanked him, and fell back with his one-armed friend, whose eyes had been bent steadily upon his face. Mackenzie went up to the Assamese contractor.

"Ye blethering idiot!" he said. "Didn't I tell you to hold your tongue?"

The Assamese cringed and rubbed his hands together deprecatingly. He explained that the Chinese gentlemen had lodged in his house, and he had only mentioned casually that he was providing stores for a hunting party. It was an honour he much appreciated.

"Eh! Get out!" Mackenzie exclaimed in disgust. "A man that cannot hold his tongue is a very pitiful body. We must get away at once," he added, addressing his friends. "If this wretched creature has been talking, the authorities have maybe got wind of it, and they'll be sending after us."

To avoid the risk of being stopped, they wasted not a minute. The company formed up in marching order and set off. Forrester and Mackenzie led the way with Sher Jang; the Nagas followed: then Hamid Gul and the Chinamen with their retainers, Jackson bringing up the rear. The Nagas, sturdy little fellows about five feet high, brown of skin, with bright eyes tinged with smoke, stepped out cheerfully under their loads. These were carried in conical-shaped baskets slung from their shoulders, and kept in position by a band of plaited cane round the forehead.

The way led through open grass land amid trailing creepers and patches of bog. Insects buzzed around, darting in to sting, and leeches clung to the clothes of the white men and the bare bodies of the natives, and could only be dislodged by the lighted tip of a cigarette. Streams had to be forded, through beds of rushes and bamboo rising to a height of eight or nine feet. The air was hot and moist, and the white men, lightly clad though they were, were soon dripping with perspiration; but they held gamely on until near mid-day, when they took a light meal, resting afterwards for a couple of hours.

During the afternoon, Mackenzie noticed that the Chinamen had pushed forward beyond their allotted position, and, outstripping the Nagas, had closed up within a few yards of the leaders.

"Get back to your place," he said.

The men at once fell back, and for the rest of the day the order was unbroken.

"You spoke rather sharply, Mac," said Forrester.

"Ay. The beggars wanted to hear our talk."

"D'you think so? They carry no loads, and, of course, walk faster than the Nagas."

"That's true, but I don't trust 'em."

"They only want company, I fancy. The poor wretches won't feel safe until they reach Tibet. I've read of Chinese torture, and if they're political refugees they'll be in mortal terror of falling into the hands of their enemies."

"Maybe," Mackenzie replied. "They've a long road to go."

"Look here, you're suspicious," said Forrester. "What's in your mind?"

"Nothing in particular. But I don't like 'em too near."

Towards nightfall they encamped in a fairly open space, and Mackenzie assigned to the Chinamen a position well out of hearing.

On the following day they found marching more difficult. The country rose gradually, presenting many sharp ascents and declivities, jungle alternating with stretches of bare stony ground. As they pursued their toilsome way they realised the stupendous exertions that Captain Redfern must have made in travelling alone, unarmed, and without provisions except such edible plants as he could find in this trackless country. They met no men; Sher Jang turned aside whenever he saw human tracks. But they sighted elephants, wild boars, and other game which appealed to their sporting instincts. They would not delay, however, to try their skill: on the way back, perhaps, when their errand was completed, they might secure trophies of the chase.

Late in the afternoon of the second day they made their camp on a rocky hillside within a few hundred yards of a small mountain stream, which swirled its impetuous way between grassy banks. One of the Nagas descended the slope to fetch water for cooking; the white men, weary with the day's march, were reclining near their tent, smoking in silence.

They were suddenly disturbed by a shout from below, an agonised cry for help. It was followed by a shrill sound which the white men had never heard before, but which caused the shikari to spring to his feet in excitement.

"Elephant, sahib!" he cried.

Almost at the same moment the Naga, his eyes distended with terror, broke out of the long grass at the edge of the stream, and ran up the slope towards the camp. A few yards behind him came a huge elephant, its trunk uplifted, filling the air with its squeals of rage.

The white men seized their guns. But between them and the elephant were the Nagas, who, on the first alarm, rushed helter-skelter towards the tent. It was impossible to fire without hitting them. Heedless of the white men's shouts, they did not turn aside and so allow a clear space for shooting.

"We must cut and run," cried Forrester.

The three turned among the terrified natives, and the whole party scattered in all directions up the hill. The elephant charged on, crashed into the tent and levelled it with the ground, and rushed with infuriated bellowings in pursuit of the fugitives.

In the haste and excitement of the moment, Forrester had taken no heed of the rest of the party. The appearance of the monstrous beast was so sudden and unexpected, the fury of its thunderous onset so alarming, that dismay and confusion might have been forgiven to the most experienced of hunters. But he became aware that in the dispersion of the party, the young Chinaman, whether by accident or design, was within a few feet of him, making, like himself, for the shelter of a belt of trees a little above them. They entered it almost side by side, and Forrester, gathering his wits, began to dodge in and out among the trees, knowing that the elephant would be at a great disadvantage in following him by reason of its unwieldy bulk.

For a few moments he was too much preoccupied to think of the Chinaman. But the thuds of the great hoofs growing fainter, he stood still and looked to see what had become of the young man. To his horror he saw that the youth had run straight through the copse to a clear rocky space beyond, where the elephant, with a speed which its lumbering frame little promised, was rapidly overtaking him. Divided between alarm for the Chinaman's safety and annoyance at his stupidity, Forrester sprinted through the copse, hoping at least to divert the beast and give the fugitive a chance.

The Chinaman's luck was against him. Ignorant of the fact that elephants have difficulty in running obliquely up a slope, he was racing straight up hill, the animal, screaming shrilly, only a dozen yards behind. Forrester perceived that in a very few moments the hapless youth must inevitably be run down and trampled to death unless the elephant were checked at once. He stopped short, threw up his rifle and fired. The bullet had as little effect on the tough hide as a pea might have had. Neither the report nor the impact caused the elephant to swerve.

The terrified Chinaman raced up the hill, the elephant, screaming shrilly, close behind him. Forrester threw up his rifle and fired, but on that tough hide the bullet had no effect.

"Behind the ear!" Forrester said to himself, as he lifted the rifle for a second shot, and steadied himself to take a careful aim. He fired, and could scarcely believe his eyes when the huge creature stumbled forward, recovered itself, then rolled over sideways and lay stretched upon the ground.

Breathless, quivering from his exertions, Forrester stood gazing upon the inert lump. He was barely conscious of the shouts of his party beyond the copse and higher up the hill. But in a moment he was roused from his brief abstraction. The young Chinaman, seeing that there was nothing more to fear, had hastened back. He came eagerly up to his rescuer, and began to speak in a low, agitated voice.

"Sir--sir," he gulped, trying to regain his breath; and Forrester was amazed at the change that had come over him. Gone was the languid droop, the timid mien, the furtive cringing expression of the eye. The lad stood erect; his eyes shone; words flowed from his lips, not in the sing-song of one repeating a lesson, but with the modulations of spontaneous energy and a full heart.

"Sir, sir," he said, "twice you have saved my life. Will you not help me again? Save me from I know not what. I am not what I seem, the servant of that horrible man. We are not refugees. My father is a mandarin, the governor of Szechuan; I am his eldest son. Six months ago that man, Wen Shih, entered my father's service; he was a diligent servant, and was trusted by all. He gained my confidence; we were much together. One day he bade me come with him a journey, and I came, and I cannot get away. Where we go I know not, but I fear, I fear! He holds me, he commands me, he--he is calling me!"

At these last words his tone fell to a murmur, his jaw dropped, and a look of terror came into his eyes.

"Go on; tell me more," said Forrester, taking the Chinaman by the arm.

"He is calling me," the youth murmured again, though his elder companion was not within sight, nor could his voice be heard. He turned slowly about, and with head hung forward and arms outstretched before him, in the attitude of a man groping in the dark, he staggered rather than walked back towards the camp.

CHAPTER IV