road would allow we trotted and
cantered. After five or six miles of this we turned a spur of the hills,
and came out into a little grass-glade on the banks of the stream, and
at the far end of this was the village where we expected to find those
whom we sought. They saw us first, having a look-out on a high tree by
the edge of the forest; and as our advanced guard came trotting into the
open, he fired. The shot echoed far up the hills like an angry shout,
and we could see a sudden stir in the village--men running out of the
houses with guns and swords, and women and children running, too, poor
things! sick with fear. They fired at us from the village fence, but had
no time to close the gate ere our sowars were in. Then they escaped in
various ways to the forest and scrub, running like madmen across the
little bit of open, and firing at us directly they reached shelter where
the cavalry could not come. Of course, in the open they had no chance,
but in the dense forest they were safe enough. The village was soon
cleared, and then we had to return. It was no good to wait. The valley
was very narrow, and was commanded from both its sides, which were very
steep and dense with forest. Beyond the village there was only forest
again. We had done what we could: we had inflicted a very severe
punishment on them; it was no good waiting, so we returned. They fired
on us nearly all the way, hiding in the thick forest, and perched on
high rocks. At one place our men had to be dismounted to clear a
breastwork, run up to fire at us from. All the forest was full of
voices--voices of men and women and even children--cursing our guide.
They cried his name, that the spirits of the hills might remember that
it was he who had brought desolation to their village. Figures started
up on pinnacles of cliff, and cursed him as he rode by. Us they did not
curse; it was our guide.

And so after some trouble we got back. That band never attacked us
again.

As we were dismounting, my friend put his hand in his pocket, and found
the little paper. He took it out, looked at it, and when his servant
came up to him he gave the paper back with a curious little smile full
of many thoughts. 'You see,' he said, 'I am safe. No bullet has hit me.'
And the servant's eyes were dim. He had been very long with his master,
and loved him, as did all who knew him. 'It was the goodness of God,' he
said--'the great goodness of God. Will not the sahib keep the paper?'