“He always brings a big train of Bhuttias with him, eighty swordsmen as an escort to the small army of coolies necessary to carry a hundred thousand silver rupees in boxes over the Himalayan passes.  I like to give them the flesh of a few sambhur stags as a treat,” said the Colonel.

“Hiven hilp ye av ye bring any sambhur flesh to the Mess, Wargrave,” said Burke.  “We want something we can get our teeth into.  No, we expect a khakur from you.”

“What’s a khakur?” asked Frank.

“It’s the muntjac or barking deer,” replied Dermot.  “You wouldn’t know it if you haven’t shot in forests.  It gets its English name from its call, which is not unlike a dog’s bark.”

“Whin ye hear one saying ‘Wonk!  Wonk!’ in the jungle, Wargrave, get up the nearest tree; for the khakur is warning all whom it may concern that there’s a tiger in the immajit vicinity.”

Frank had already learned to distrust most of Burke’s statements on sport, for the doctor was an inveterate joker.  So he looked to the Political Officer for confirmation.

“Yes, it’s supposed to be the case,” agreed the Colonel.  “And I’ve more than once heard a tiger loudly express his annoyance when a khakur barked as he was trying to sneak by unnoticed.  There’s a barking-deer.”  He pointed to the well-mounted head of a small deer on the wall of the dining-room.

“Whom do you expect up for the Durbar, Mrs. Dermot?” asked Major Hunt.

“Only Mr. Carter, the Sub-divisional Officer, and probably Mr. Benson.”

“Eh—­is—­isn’t Miss Benson coming too?” asked the doctor in a hesitating manner so unlike his usual cheery and assured self that Frank looked at him.  It seemed to him that Burke was blushing.

“Oh, yes, I hope so,” replied Mrs. Dermot.

“Er—­haven’t you heard from her?” persisted the doctor anxiously.

“I had a letter this afternoon brought by a coolie.  Muriel wrote to say that they were in the Buxa Reserve but hoped to get here in time.  I’m looking forward to her coming immensely.  It’s four months since I saw her.”

Frank could not help noticing that Burke seemed to hang on Mrs. Dermot’s words; and he began to wonder if the unknown lady held the doctor’s heart.

“It’s rather hard on a girl like Miss Benson to have to lead such a lonely life and rough it constantly in the jungle as she does,” remarked Major Hunt.  “At her age she must want gaiety and amusement.”

“Muriel doesn’t mind it,” replied the hostess.  “She loves jungle life.  And she thinks that her father couldn’t get on without her.”

“Sure, she’s right there, Mrs. Dermot,” cried Burke.  “The dear ould boy’ud lose his head av he hadn’t her to hould it on for him.  She does most av his work.  It’s a sight to see that slip av a girl bossing all the forest guards and habus and giving them their ordhers.”