he _maliks_, or tribal elders, could not
restrain their young men. Raids into British Indian territory were
frequent.

There was worse menace behind. The Afghan troops, organised, trained, and
equipped as they had never been before in their history, were massing near
the Khyber Pass. Some of the Penlops, the great feudal chieftains of
little-known Bhutan, were rumoured to have broken out into rebellion
against the Maharajah because, loyal to his treaties with the Government of
India, he had refused a Chinese army free passage through the country. All
the masterless Bhuttia rogues on both sides of the border were sharpening
their _dahs_ and looking down greedily on the fertile plains below.

All India itself seemed trembling on the verge of revolt. The Punjaub was
honeycombed with sedition. Men said that the warlike castes and races that
had helped Britain to hold the land in the Black Year of the Mutiny would
be the first to tear it from her now. In the Bengals outrages and open
disloyalty were the order of the day. The curs that had fattened under
England's protection were the first to snap at her heels. The Day of Doom
seemed very near. Only the great feudatories of the King-Emperor, the noble
Princes of India, faithful to their oaths, were loyal.

Through the borderland of Bhutan Dermot and Badshah still ranged, watching
the many gates through the walls of mountains better than battalions of
spies. The man rarely slept in a bed. His nights were passed beside his
faithful friend high up in the Himalayan passes, where the snow was already
falling, or down in the jungles still reeking of fever and sweltering in
tropic heat. By his instructions Parker and his two hundred sepoys toiled
to improve the defences of Ranga Duar; and the subaltern was happy in the
possession of several machine guns wrung from the Ordnance Department with
difficulty.

Often, as Dermot sat high perched on the mountain side, searching the
narrow valleys and deep ravines of Bhutan with powerful glasses, his
thoughts flew to Noreen safe beyond the giant hills at his back. It cheered
him to know that he was watching over her safety as well as guarding the
peace of hundreds of millions in the same land. He had seldom seen her
since their return from Lalpuri, and on the rare occasions of their meeting
she seemed to avoid him more than ever. Chunerbutty was always by her side.
Could there be truth, then, in this fresh story that Ida Smith had told him