Presently the orderly appeared.

“Shaikh Ismail,” said the Major, “go to the Mess, give my salaams to Parker Sahib, and ask him to come here.”

The sepoy, a smart young Punjabi Mussulman, clad in the white undress of the Indian Army, saluted and strode off up the hill to the pretty mess-bungalow of the British officers of the detachment.  In it the subaltern occupied one room.

When he received Dermot’s message, this officer, a tall, good-looking man of about twenty-eight years of age, accompanied the orderly to his senior’s quarters.

“Come in and have a smoke, Parker,” said the Major cheerily.

The subaltern entered and helped himself to a cigarette from an open box on the table before looking for a chair in the scantily-furnished room.

As he struck a match he said,

“Ismail Khan tells me you’ve just had trouble with that surly beast, Chand Khan”.

Dermot told him what had occurred.

“What a soor! (swine!)” exclaimed Parker indignantly.  “I always knew he was a cruel devil; but I didn’t think he was quite such a brute.  And to poor old Badshah too.  It’s a damned shame”.

“He’s a good elephant, isn’t he?” asked the senior.

“A ripper.  Splendid to shoot from and absolutely staunch to tiger,” said the subaltern enthusiastically.  “Major Smith—­our Commandant before you, sir—­was charged by a tiger he had wounded in a beat near Alipur Duar.  He missed the beast with his second barrel.  The tiger sprang at the howdah, but Badshah caught him cleverly on his one tusk and knocked him silly.  The Major reloaded and killed the beast before it could recover.”

“Good for Badshah.  He seemed to me to be a fine animal,” said Dermot.

“One of the best.  We all like him; though he’ll never let any white man handle him.  By the way, Ismail Khan says he permitted you to do it.”

“I doctored up his cuts.  Besides, I’m used to elephants.”

“All the same you’re the first sahib I’ve heard Of that Badshah has allowed to touch him.  Do you know, the Hindus worship him.  He’s a Gunesh—­I supposed you noticed that.  I’ve seen some of them simply go down on their faces in the dust before him and pray to him.  There’s a curious thing about Badshah, too.  Have you heard?”

“No.  What is it?” asked the Major.

“Well, it’s a rummy thing.  He’s usually awfully quiet and obedient.  But sometimes he gets very restless, breaks loose, and goes off on his own into the jungle.  After a week or two he comes back by himself, as quiet as a lamb.  But when the fit’s on him nothing will hold him.  He bursts the stoutest ropes, breaks iron chains; and I believe he’d pull down the peelkhana if he couldn’t get away.”

“Oh, that often happens with domesticated male elephants,” said Dermot.  “They have periodic fits of sexual excitement—­get must, you know—­and go mad while these last.”