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"No need to show that we care," said he. "Now, after this, we can kill what we choose. Put out your hand, Sahib." Chinn obeyed. It was entirely steady, and Bukta nodded. "That also was your custom. My men skin quickly. They will carry the skin to cantonments. Will the Sahib come to my poor village for the night and, perhaps, forget that I am his officer?" "But those men the beaters.
"Tell them, Bukta, how great an honour it is that I myself mark them. Nay, I cannot mark every one the Hindoo must also do his work but I will touch all marks that he makes, so there will be an equal virtue in them. Thus do the Rajputs stick pigs. Ho, brother with one eye! Catch that girl and bring her to me. She need not run away yet, for she is not married, and I do not seek her in marriage.
"How the little devil stares! What is it, Bukta?" "The Mark!" was the whispered answer. "It is nothing. You know how it is with my people!" Chinn was annoyed. The dull-red birth-mark on his shoulder, something like a conventionalised Tartar cloud, had slipped his memory or he would not have bathed.
The Colonel laughed. "I might, but I'd have to antedate it a little, because we're warned for service, as you might say. However, we'll assume that you applied for leave three days ago, and are now well on your way south." "I'd like to take Bukta with me." "Of course, yes. I think that will be the best plan.
The call brought back memories of his cot under the mosquito-netting, his mother's kiss, and the sound of footsteps growing fainter as he dropped asleep among his men. So he hooked the dark collar of his new mess-jacket, and went to dinner like a prince who has newly inherited his father's crown. Old Bukta swaggered forth curling his whiskers.
I sent runners asking for Jan Chinn lest worse should come to us. It was this fear that he foretold by the sign of the Clouded Tiger." "He says it is otherwise," said Bukta; and he repeated, with amplifications, all that young Chinn had told him at the conference of the wicker chair. "Think you," said the questioner, at last, "that the Government will lay hands on us?" "Not I," Bukta rejoined.
All the Bhils knew that Jan Chinn reincarnated had honoured Bukta's village with his presence after slaying his first in this life tiger; that he had eaten and drunk with the people, as he was used; and Bukta must have drugged Chinn's liquor very deeply upon his back and right shoulder all men had seen the same angry red Flying Cloud that the high Gods had set on the flesh of Jan Chinn the First when first he came to the Bhil.
You're a Chinn and all that, and you've a sort of vested right here; but if you don't believe what we're telling you, what will you do when old Bukta begins his stories? He knows about ghost-tigers, and tigers that go to a hell of their own; and tigers that walk on their hind feet; and your grandpapa's riding-tiger, as well. 'Odd he hasn't spoken of that yet."
For some little time he leaned on the tomb thinking of this dead man of his own blood, and of the house in Devonshire; then, nodding to the plains: "Yes; it's a big work all of it even my little share. He must have been worth knowing. . . . Bukta, where are my people?" "Not here, Sahib. No man comes here except in full sun. They wait above. Let us climb and see."
Remember, Sahib, we are thy people and thy servants, and in this life I bore thee in my arms not knowing." "Bukta has evidently looked on the cup this evening," Chinn thought; "but if I can do anything to soothe the old chap I must. It's like the Mutiny rumours on a small scale."
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