l
which we cheerfully contributed to Dearsley Sahib three-sevenths of
our monthly wage. Why does the white man look upon us with the eye of
disfavour? Before God, there was a palanquin, and now there is no
palanquin; and if they send the police here to make inquisition, we
can only say that there never has been any palanquin. Why should a
palanquin be near these works? We are poor men, and we know nothing.'

Such is the simplest version of the simplest story connected with the
descent upon Dearsley. From the lips of the coolies I received it.
Dearsley himself was in no condition to say anything, and Mulvaney
preserved a massive silence, broken only by the occasional licking of
the lips. He had seen a fight so gorgeous that even his power of
speech was taken from him. I respected that reserve until, three days
after the affair, I discovered in a disused stable in my quarters a
palanquin of unchastened splendour--evidently in past days the litter
of a queen. The pole whereby it swung between the shoulders of the
bearers was rich with the painted _papier-mache_ of Cashmere. The
shoulder-pads were of yellow silk. The panels of the litter itself
were ablaze with the loves of all the gods and goddesses of the Hindu
Pantheon--lacquer on cedar. The cedar sliding doors were fitted with
hasps of translucent Jaipur enamel and ran in grooves shod with
silver. The cushions were of brocaded Delhi silk, and the curtains
which once hid any glimpse of the beauty of the king's palace were
stiff with gold. Closer investigation showed that the entire fabric
was everywhere rubbed and discoloured by time and wear; but even
thus it was sufficiently gorgeous to deserve housing on the threshold
of a royal zenana. I found no fault with it, except that it was in my
stable. Then, trying to lift it by the silver-shod shoulder-pole, I
laughed. The road from Dearsley's pay-shed to the cantonment was a
narrow and uneven one, and, traversed by three very inexperienced
palanquin-bearers, one of whom was sorely battered about the head,
must have been a path of torment. Still I did not quite recognise the
right of the three musketeers to turn me into a 'fence' for stolen
property.

[Illustration: 'Nine roun's they were even matched, an' at the
tenth----.'--P. 157.]

'I'm askin' you to warehouse ut,' said Mulvaney, when he was brought
to consider the question. 'There's no steal in ut. Dearsley tould us
we cud have ut if we fought. Jock fought--