"You must remember, Parker, that if an invasion comes off it will be on a
scale that two hundred men won't stop. The Bhutanese are badly armed; but
they are fanatically brave. They showed that in their war with us in '64
and '65. They had only swords, bows, and arrows; but they licked one of our
columns hollow and drove our men in headlong flight. But cheer up, Parker,
if there is a show it won't be my fault if you and I don't have a good look
in."
"Thank you, Major," said the subaltern gratefully.
He smoked in silence for a while and then said:
"D'you know, sir, I had an idea there was something up when Major Smith was
suddenly ordered away and you, who didn't belong to us, were sent here from
Simla. I'd heard of you before, not only as a great _shikari_--the natives
everywhere in these jungles talk a lot about you--but also as a keen
soldier. A fellow doesn't usually come straight from a staff job at Army
Headquarters to a small outpost like this for nothing."
Dermot laughed.
"Unless he has got into trouble and is sent off as a punishment," he said.
"But that didn't happen to be my case. However, I was delighted to leave
Simla. Better the jungle a thousand times."
"Yes; Simla's rather a rotten place, I believe," remarked the subaltern
meditatively. "Too many brass hats and women. They're the curse of India,
each of them.
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