A band of Kachin
dacoits had raided near the village some six months before, and three
of the dacoits had been cut off and killed by the villagers. Now, in
revenge, a strong troop of the savage mountain banditti had fallen
upon the village, burning, slaying, plundering without mercy. The old
man had fled for refuge to the monastery, his own monastery, for he
had built it to house a party of Burmese monks.

"I am Kyaung-Taga Pah, 'Builder of a Monastery Pah,'" he declared
proudly, and Me Dain bowed before him in much respect.

It is the great ambition of a wealthy Burman to show his piety by
building a pagoda or a monastery, and when he has done so, he is
always saluted by his fellows as "Builder of a Monastery," or "Builder
of a Pagoda," titles held in very high regard. This was the meaning of
Me Dain's phrase about some rich man winning merit, for it is
considered that such good works meet with the deep approval of the
gods.

When "The Builder of a Monastery," Pah, had finished his story, Buck
inquired where the monks were, for, as a rule, such holy men are safe
even in blood-feuds. The old Burman replied that they were absent at
present. There was a great festival at a large village three days'
journey away, and the monks had gone to attend it.

Jim had stayed at the door, keeping watch and ward.

"We're in for a little blood-feud, too," he remarked. "They're dottin'
about pretty lively at the edge of the jungle."

Jack ran across to him and saw a large number of little figures in
blue flitting through the trees; now and again he caught a flash of
steel as some naked _dah_ glittered in the rays of the sinking sun.
Buck had come too, and was looking over his comrade's shoulders.

"Say, we shall have to flip our guns a bit before we drive those
blood-thirsty little ferrets away," he remarked.

"Yes, they'll do their level best to cut our throats," agreed Jim.
"They're like a nest of hornets. Touch one and you've touched the
lot."

"Hullo, they're bringing something forward," cried Jack. "It looks
like a clumsy gun on a stand."

"That's a _jingal_," said Jim. "They're laying it for the door. We'll
get out of the way. It's a clumsy weapon and a clumsy ball, but if it
hits you, you get all you want an' a little bit over. I remember in
'85"--for Jim had once been a British redcoat and had fought in the
Burmese war--"we were carrying a stockade with a rush, and a chum o'
mine got a _jingal_-ball and went down. H