Despite this
prohibition--so Dermot discovered--many Bengalis had lately passed
backwards and forwards across the frontier, a thing hitherto unheard of.
That members of this timorous race should venture to enter such a
lawless and savage country as Bhutan and that, having entered it, they
lived to come back proved that there must be a strong understanding
between many Bhutanese officials and a certain disloyal element in
India.
Dermot was returning through the forest from one of his excursions in the
hills, when an opportunity was afforded him of repaying the debt that he
owed to Badshah for the saving of his life. They had halted at midday, and
the man, seated on the ground with his back to a tree, was eating his
lunch, while the elephant had strayed out of sight among the trees in
search of food.
Beside Dermot lay his rifle and a double-barrelled shot gun, both loaded.
Having eaten he lit a cheroot and was jotting down in his notebook the
information that he had gathered that morning, when a shrill trumpet from
the invisible Badshah made him grasp his rifle. Skilled in the knowledge of
the various sounds that elephants make he knew by the brassy note of this
that the animal was in deadly fear. He sprang up to go to his assistance,
when Badshah burst through the trees and came towards him at his fastest
pace, his drooping ears and tail and outstretched trunk showing that he was
terrified.
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