When in a few minutes Badshah appeared, followed by the panting men, Colonel Dermot sent the _mahout_ on his elephant to the stable to fetch other men to cut up and bring in the bison. Then he and Wargrave on Badshah made for the road to Ranga Duar.

It was dark long before they reached the little station. The Colonel brought his companion in for a drink after the three thousand feet climb, most of which they had done on foot. Mrs. Dermot met them in the hall; and, after she had heard the result of the day's sport, warmly congratulated Wargrave on his good luck. Loud whispers and a scuffle over their heads attracted the attention of all three elders, and on the broad wooden staircase they saw two small figures, one in pyjamas, the other in a pretty, trailing nightdress daintily tied with blue bows, looking imploringly down at their mother. She smiled and nodded. There was a whirlwind rush down the stairs, and the mites were caught up in their father's arms. Then Frank came in for his share of caresses from them before they were sternly ordered back to bed again. And as he pa.s.sed out into the darkness he carried away with him an enchanting picture of the charming babes climbing the stairs hand in hand and turning to blow kisses to the tall man who stood below with a strong arm around his pretty wife, gazing fondly up at his children.

And the picture stayed with him when, after dinner at which he was congratulated by his brother officers, he went to his room and found a letter overlooked in his rush to dress for Mess. It was from Violet, the first that had come from her since his arrival in Ranga Duar. It breathed pa.s.sion and longing, discontent and despair, in every line. As he laid his face on his arm to shut out the light where he sat at the table he felt that he was nearer to loving the absent woman than he had ever been. For the vision of the Dermots' married happiness, of the deep affection linking husband and wife, of the children climbing the stair and smiling back at their parents, came vividly to him. And it haunted him in his sleep when in dreams tiny arms were clasped around his neck and baby lips touched his lovingly.

CHAPTER VIII

A GIRL OF THE FOREST

From the frontier of Bhutan, six thousand feet up on the face of the mountains, a line of men wound down the serpentining track that led to Ranga Duar. At their head walked a stockily-built man with cheery Mongolian features, wearing a white cloth garment, _kimono_-shaped and kilted up to give freedom to the st.u.r.dy bare thighs and knees--the legs and feet cased in long, felt-soled boots. It was the _Deb Zimpun_, the Envoy of the independent Border State of Bhutan. Behind him came a tall man in khaki tunic, breeches, puttees and cap, his breast covered with bright-coloured ribbons. His uniform was similar to the British; but his face was unmistakeably Chinese, as were those of the twenty tall, khaki-clad soldiers armed with magazine rifles at his heels. They were followed by three or four score Bhutanese swordsmen, thick-set and not unlike Gurkhas in feature, with bare heads, legs and feet, and clad only in a single garment similar to their leader's and kilted up by a cord around the waist, from which hung a _dah_, a short sword or long knife.

In rear of them trudged a number of coolies, some laden with bundles, others with baskets of fruit.

Where the track came out on the bare shoulder of a spur free from the small trees and undergrowth clothing the mountains the _Deb Zimpun_ pointed to the roofs of the buildings in the little station a thousand feet below them and hitherto invisible to them.

"That is Ranga Duar," he said briefly. The Chinaman behind him looked down at it.

"It seems a very small and weak place to have stopped our invading troops in the war," he said in Bhutanese. "So here lives the Man."

"The Man? Yes, perhaps he is a man. But many, very many, there be that think him a G.o.d or devil. They say he can call up a horde of demons in the form of elephants. With such he trampled your army into the earth.

"Devils? Leave such tales to lamas and the ignorant fools that believe their teaching. But if even a part of what I have heard about this man be true he is more dangerous than many devils. He stands in China's way, and he who does shall be swept aside."

"He is my friend," said the _Deb Zimpun_ shortly, and tramped on in silence.

Before they reached the station they were met by two of the Political Officer's men, Bhuttias resident in British territory, detailed to receive and guide them to the Government Dak Bungalow in which the _Deb Zimpun_ and as many of his followers as could crowd into it were to reside during their stay. Arrived at it the long line filed into the compound.

Half a mile away down the hill Colonel Dermot and Wargrave watched them through their field-gla.s.ses.

"Who is that fellow in khaki uniform, sir?" asked the subaltern.

The Political Officer lowered his binoculars and laughed.

"A gentlemen I've been very anxious to meet. He's the Chinese _Amban_--we call him an Envoy of the Republic of China to Bhutan. But the Chinese themselves prefer to regard him as a representative of the suzerainty they pretend to exercise over the country. I'm curious to see him. He is a product of the times, an example of the modern Celestial, educated at Heidelberg University and Oxford, speaking German, French and English. He has been specially chosen by his Government to come to a Buddhist land, as he is a son of the abbot of the Yellow Lama Temple in Pekin and so might have influence with the Bhutanese by reason of his connection with their religion."

"But what have the Chinese to do with Bhutan?"

"Nothing now. But they've been intriguing for years to re-establish the suzerainty they once had over it. This _Amban_, Yuan Shi Hung by name, is a clever, unscrupulous and particularly dangerous individual."

"You seem to know a lot about him, Colonel."

"It's my business to do so. There is no apparent reason for his coming here with the _Deb Zimpun_, nor has he a right to. But I won't object, for I want to study and size him up. By the way, the Envoy will make his official call on me this morning. Would you like to be present?"

"Very much indeed. I'm always interested in seeing the various races of India and learning all I can about them. I'd love a job like yours, sir, going into out-of-the-way places and dealing with strange peoples."

"Would you?" The Political Officer looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you good at picking up native languages?"

"Fairly so. I got through my Lower and Higher Standard Hindustani first go and have pa.s.sed in Marathi and taken the Higher Standard, Persian."

Colonel Dermot regarded him critically and then said abruptly:

"Come to my office a few minutes before eleven. That's the hour I've fixed for the _Deb Zimpun's_ visit."

Punctually at the time named Wargrave reached the Dermots' bungalow, on the road outside which, a Guard of Honour of fifty sepoys under an Indian officer was drawn up. Pa.s.sing along the verandah he entered the office and saluted the Colonel who, seated at his desk, looked up and nodded for him to be seated and then returned to the despatch that he was writing.

In a few minutes a confused murmur drew nearer down the road and was stilled by the sharp words of command to the Guard of Honour and by the ring of rifles brought to the present in salute. Over the low wall of the garden appeared the heads and shoulders of the Envoy and his Chinese companion, followed by a train of attendants and swordsmen. They pa.s.sed in through the gate. The Political Officer rose as the _Deb Zimpun_, removing his cap, entered the office and rushed towards him. The bullet-headed, cheery old gentleman beamed with pleasure as they shook hands and greeted each other in Bhutanese. Wargrave marvelled at the ease and fluency with which Colonel Dermot spoke the language. The _Amban_ now entered the room and was formally presented by the _Deb Zimpun_.

Speaking in excellent English but with an accent that showed that he had first acquired it in Germany, he said:

"I am very pleased to meet you, Colonel. I have heard much of you in Bhutan."

"It gives me equal pleasure to make Your Excellency's acquaintance and to welcome you to India," replied Dermot with a bow.

Then in his turn Wargrave was presented to the two Asiatics, and the Envoy, calling an attendant in, took from him two white scarves of Chinese silk and placed one round each officer's neck in the custom known as "_khattag_". All sat down and the Envoy plunged into an animated conversation with Colonel Dermot, first producing a metal box and taking betel-nut from it to chew, while the attendant placed a spittoon conveniently near him.

Yuan Shi Hung chatted in English with Wargrave, who was astonished to find him a well-educated man of the world and thoroughly conversant with European politics, art and letters. But for the inscrutable yellow face the subaltern could have believed himself to be talking to an able Continental diplomat. The contrast between the semi-savage Bhutanese official and his companion, in whom the most modern civilised gentleman's manners were successfully grafted on the old-time courtesy of the Chinese aristocrat, was very striking. The old Envoy was a frank barbarian. He laughed loudly and clapped his hands in glee when Colonel Dermot presented him with a gramophone--which, it appeared, he had longed for ever since seeing one on a previous visit to India--and taught him how to work it. He showed his betel-stained teeth in an ecstatic grin when a record was turned on and from the trumpet came the Political Officer's familiar voice addressing him by name and in his own language with many flourishes of Oriental compliment.

Towards the termination of their call the _Deb Zimpun_ called in two attendants with large baskets of fine blood oranges and walnuts from Bhutan and presented them in return. A number of coolies were needed to carry off the royal gift of the flesh of the bison, the sight of which made the Envoy's eyes glisten. He shook Wargrave's hand warmly when he learned to whose rifle he owed it. Then he and his Chinese companion took their leave, and with their followers pa.s.sed up the hilly road.

Wargrave, gazing after them, came to the conclusion that of the pair he preferred the savage to the ultra-cultivated Celestial.

Having thanked the Colonel for permitting him to be present at the interview, which had interested him greatly, the subaltern was about to leave when Mrs. Dermot appeared at the office door.

"May I come in, Kevin?" she began. "Oh, good morning, Mr. Wargrave. I was just sending a _chit_ (letter) to you and Captain Burke asking you to tea this afternoon. A coolie has arrived from the _peelkhana_ to say that Mr. and Miss Benson and Mr. Carter are on their way up and will be here soon. So you'll meet them at tea. You will like Miss Benson. She's a dear girl."

"Thanks very much, Mrs. Dermot. I'll be delighted to come, if you'll forgive me should I be a little late. I've got to take the signallers'

parade this afternoon. I'll tell Burke when I get to the Mess. I'm going straight there now."

"Thank you. That will save me writing. _Au revoir_."

Half-way up the road to the Mess Wargrave looked back and saw an elephant heave into sight around a bend below the Dermots' house and plod heavily up to their gate. On the _charjama_--the pa.s.senger-carrying contrivance of wooden seats on the pad with footboards hanging by short ropes--sat a lady and two European men holding white umbrellas up to keep off the vertical rays of the noonday sun. When the animal sank to its knees in front of the bungalow Wargrave saw the girl--it could only be Miss Benson--spring lightly to the ground before either of her companions could dismount and offer to help her. Her big sunhat hid her face, and at that distance Wargrave could only see that she was small and slight, as she walked up the garden path.

When the signallers' afternoon practice was over the subaltern pa.s.sed across the parade ground to the Political Officer's house. When he entered the pretty drawing-room, bright with the gay colours of chintz curtains and cushions, he found the strangers present, one man talking to Mrs. Dermot at her tea-table, the other chatting with the Colonel, while Burke was installed beside a girl seated in a low cane chair and dressed in a smart, hand-embroidered Tussore silk dress, _suede_ shoes and silk stockings. Little Brian stood beside her with one arm affectionately round her neck, while Eileen was perched in her lap. But when Frank appeared the mite wriggled down to the floor and rushed to him.

The subaltern was presented to Miss Benson, her father and Carter, the Sub-Divisional Officer or Civil Service official of the district. When he sat down Eileen clambered on to his knee and seriously interfered with his peaceful enjoyment of his tea; but while he talked to her he was watching Miss Benson over the small golden head. She was astonishingly pretty, with silky black hair curving in natural waves, dark-bordered Irish grey eyes fringed with long, thick lashes, a rose-tinted complexion, a pouting, red-lipped mouth and a small nose with the most fascinating, provoking suspicion of a tip-tilt. She was as small and daintily-fashioned as her hostess; and Wargrave thought it marvellous that their forgotten outpost on the face of the mountains should hold two such pretty women at the same time. His comrade Burke was evidently acutely conscious of Muriel Benson's attractions, and, his pleasantly ugly face aglow with a happy smile, he was flirting as openly and outrageously with her as she with him.

"Sure, it's a cure for sore eyes ye are, Miss Flower Face," he said.

"That's the name I christened her with the first moment I saw her, Wargrave. Doesn't it fit her?" Then turning to the girl again, he continued, "Aren't you ashamed av yourself for laving me to pine for a sight av ye all these weary months?"

Miss Benson could claim to be Irish on her mother's side and so was a ready-witted match for the doctor's Celtic exuberance; though to Wargrave watching it seemed that Burke's easy banter cloaked a deeper feeling.

Drawn into their conversation Frank found the girl to be natural and unaffected, without a trace of conceit, gifted with a keen sense of humour and evidently as full of the joy of living as a school-boy. He thought her laugh delightfully musical, and it was frequently and readily evoked by Burke's droll remarks or the quaint oracular sayings from the self-possessed elf on Wargrave's knee. Her admiration of and genuine affection for Mrs. Dermot was very evident when Noreen joined their group.

The subaltern, covertly and critically observing her, could hardly believe the tales which their hostess had previously told him of the courage and ability that this small and dainty girl had frequently shown. But only a few minutes' conversation with her father convinced Frank that he was an amiably weak and incompetent individual, more fitted to be a recluse and a bookworm than a roamer in wild jungles where his work brought him in contact with strange peoples and constant danger. It was evident that the reputation which his large section of the Terai Forest bore as being well managed and efficiently run was not due to him and that somebody more capable had the handling of the work.

Hardly had Wargrave come to this conclusion and begun to believe that the stories that he had heard of the daughter's business ability and powers of organisation were true when he was given a very convincing proof of her courage and coolness in danger.