ed like soldiers. Cartridge-belts were over their left shoulders,
and Martini-Henry rifles, carried muzzle foremost, on their right. I
took particular note of them because they were stepping in admirable
order, and, though small of stature, I thought they were the first armed
men I had met in all my journey across China who could without shame be
presented as soldiers in any civilised country.

They passed me, but seemed struck by my appearance; and I had not gone a
dozen yards before they all stopped by a common impulse, and when I
looked back they were still there in a group talking, with the officers'
horses turned towards me; and it was very evident I was the subject of
their conversation. I was alone at the time, far from all my men,
without weapon of any kind. I was dressed in full Chinese dress and
mounted on an unmistakably Chinese pony. I rode unconcernedly on, but I
must confess that I did not feel comfortable till I was assured that
they did not intend to obtrude an interview upon me. At length, to my
relief, the party continued on its way, while I hurried on to my
coolies, and made them wait till my party was complete. I was probably
alarmed without any reason. But it was not till I arrived in Burma that
I learnt that this was the armed escort of the outlawed Wuntho Sawbwa,
the dacoit chief who has a price set on his head. The soldiers' rifles
and cartridge-belts had been stripped from the dead bodies of British
sepoys, killed on the frontier in the Kachin Hills.

My men, when we were all together again, indicated to me by signs that
I would shortly meet an elephant, and I thought that at last I was about
to witness the realisation of that story, everywhere current in Western
China, of the British tribute from Burma. Sure enough we had not gone
far when, at the foot of a headland which projected into the plain, we
came full upon a large elephant picking its way along the margin of the
rocks--a remarkable sight to my Chinese. Its scarlet howdah was empty;
its trappings were scarlet; the mahout was a Shan. It was the elephant
of the Wuntho Prince--a little earlier and I might have had the
privilege of meeting the dacoit himself. The elephant passed
unconcernedly on, and we continued down the plain of sand to the village
of Ganai, where we were to stay the night.

It was market-day in the town. A double row of stalls extended down the
main street, each stall under the shelter of a huge umbrella. Japanese
matc