it were, a child's sport; for the vaccinated chased the unvaccinated
to treatment, vowing that all the tribe must suffer equally. The women
shrieked, and the children ran howling; but Chinn laughed, and waved the
pink-tipped lancet.

"It is an honour," he cried. "Tell them, Bukta, how great an honour it
is that I myself mark them. Nay, I cannot mark every one--the Hindoo
must also do his work--but I will touch all marks that he makes, so
there will be an equal virtue in them. Thus do the Rajputs stick pigs.
Ho, brother with one eye! Catch that girl and bring her to me. She
need not run away yet, for she is not married, and I do not seek her
in marriage. She will not come? Then she shall be shamed by her little
brother, a fat boy, a bold boy. He puts out his arm like a soldier.
Look! He does not flinch at the blood. Some day he shall be in my
regiment. And now, mother of many, we will lightly touch thee, for
Smallpox has been before us here. It is a true thing, indeed, that this
charm breaks the power of Mata. There will be no more pitted faces among
the Satpuras, and so ye can ask many cows for each maid to be wed."

And so on and so on--quick-poured showman's patter, sauced in the Bhil
hunting-proverbs and tales of their own brand of coarse humour till the
lancets were blunted and both operators worn out.

But, nature being the same the world over, the unvaccinated grew jealous
of their marked comrades, and came near to blows about it. Then Chinn
declared himself a court of justice, no longer a medical board, and made
formal inquiry into the late robberies.

"We are the thieves of Mahadeo," said the Bhils, simply. "It is our
fate, and we were frightened. When we are frightened we always steal."

Simply and directly as children, they gave in the tale of the plunder,
all but two bullocks and some spirits that had gone amissing (these
Chinn promised to make good out of his own pocket), and ten ringleaders
were despatched to the lowlands with a wonderful document, written
on the leaf of a note-book, and addressed to an Assistant District
Superintendent of Police. There was warm calamity in that note, as Jan
Chinn warned them, but anything was better than loss of liberty.

Armed with this protection, the repentant raiders went down-hill. They
had no desire whatever to meet Mr. Dundas Fawne of the Police, aged
twenty-two, and of a cheerful countenance, nor did they wish to revisit
the scene of their robberies. Steerin