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Updated: June 10, 2025
The voice, smooth and deferential, the step, steady and silent, made it hard to believe that only a few hours before Bukta was yelling and capering with naked fellow-devils of the scrub. "My people were very pleased to see the Sahib. They will never forget. When next the Sahib goes out recruiting, he will go to my people, and they will give him as many men as we need."
"It is no dream. Do dreams leave the tracks of broad pugs on earth? Why make two faces before thy people? They know of the night-ridings, and they and they " "Are afraid, and would have them cease." Bukta nodded. "If thou hast no further need of him. He is thy horse." "The thing leaves a trail, then?" said Chinn. "We have seen it. It is like a village road under the tomb."
When Bukta could not accompany his boy on shooting-trips, he took care to put him in good hands, and Chinn learned more of the mind and desire of the wild Bhil in his marches and campings, by talks at twilight or at wayside pools, than an uninstructed man could have come at in a lifetime.
"Nay, but come as a white man come as a young man whom we know and love; for, as thou alone knowest, we are a weak people. If we again saw thy thy horse " They were picking up their courage. "I have no horse. I came on foot with Bukta, yonder. What is this?""Thou knowest the thing that thou hast chosen for a night-horse." The little men squirmed in fear and awe. "Night-horses?
"Nay, but come as a white man come as a young man whom we know and love; for, as thou alone knowest, we are a weak people. If we again saw thy thy horse " They were picking up their courage. "I have no horse. I came on foot with Bukta, yonder. What is this?" "Thou knowest the thing that thou hast chosen for a night-horse." The little men squirmed in fear and awe. "Night-horses?
The throaty bugles blew the Mess-call that has a long legend behind it. First a few piercing notes like the shrieks of beaters in a far-away cover, and next, large, full, and smooth, the refrain of the wild song: "And oh, and oh, the green pulse of Mundore Mundore!" "All little children were in bed when the Sahib heard that call last," said Bukta, passing Chinn a clean handkerchief.
Am I ever angry with my Bhils? I say angry words, and threaten many things. Thou knowest, Bukta. I have seen thee smile behind the hand. I know, and thou knowest. The Bhils are my children. I have said it many times." "Ay. We be thy children," said Bukta. "And no otherwise is it with Jan Chinn, my father's father. He would see the land he loved and the people once again. It is a good ghost, Bukta.
"Bukta tells me everything, too, as a rule. Now, why didn't he tell me that?" Chinn put the question directly to the old man that night, and the answer surprised him. "Why should I tell what is well known? Yes, the Clouded Tiger is out in the Satpura country." "What do the wild Bhils think that it means?" They do not know. They wait. Sahib, what is coming?
Chinn kept his own counsel, except as to the shooting of the tiger, and Bukta embroidered that tale with a shameless tongue. The skin was certainly one of the finest ever hung up in the mess, and the first of many.
Bukta, what is this last tale of children?" Bukta had been a silent leader in Chinn's presence since the night of his desertion, and was grateful for a chance-flung question. "They know, Sahib," he whispered. "It is the Clouded Tiger. That that comes from the place where thou didst once sleep. It is thy horse as it has been these three generations." "My horse! That was a dream of the Bhils."
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