ill not be one mouth in the valley.
Indeed, I must go and warn them below. Back there, Brother! Let me get
to the fire."

The barasingh backed unwillingly as Purun Bhagat drove a pine torch deep
into the flame, twirling it till it was well lit. "Ah! ye came to warn
me," he said, rising. "Better than that we shall do; better than that.
Out, now, and lend me thy neck, Brother, for I have but two feet."

He clutched the bristling withers of the barasingh with his right hand,
held the torch away with his left, and stepped out of the shrine into
the desperate night. There was no breath of wind, but the rain nearly
drowned the flare as the great deer hurried down the slope, sliding
on his haunches. As soon as they were clear of the forest more of the
Bhagat's brothers joined them. He heard, though he could not see, the
langurs pressing about him, and behind them the uhh! uhh! of Sona. The
rain matted his long white hair into ropes; the water splashed beneath
his bare feet, and his yellow robe clung to his frail old body, but he
stepped down steadily, leaning against the barasingh. He was no longer
a holy man, but Sir Purun Dass, K.C.I.E., Prime Minister of no small
State, a man accustomed to command, going out to save life. Down
the steep, plashy path they poured all together, the Bhagat and his
brothers, down and down till the deer's feet clicked and stumbled on the
wall of a threshing-floor, and he snorted because he smelt Man. Now they
were at the head of the one crooked village street, and the Bhagat beat
with his crutch on the barred windows of the blacksmith's house, as his
torch blazed up in the shelter of the eaves. "Up and out!" cried Purun
Bhagat; and he did not know his own voice, for it was years since he had
spoken aloud to a man. "The hill falls! The hill is falling! Up and out,
oh, you within!"

"It is our Bhagat," said the blacksmith's wife. "He stands among his
beasts. Gather the little ones and give the call."

It ran from house to house, while the beasts, cramped in the narrow way,
surged and huddled round the Bhagat, and Sona puffed impatiently.

The people hurried into the street--they were no more than seventy souls
all told--and in the glare of the torches they saw their Bhagat holding
back the terrified barasingh, while the monkeys plucked piteously at his
skirts, and Sona sat on his haunches and roared.

"Across the valley and up the next hill!" shouted Purun Bhagat. "Leave
none behind! We follo