“While we were salaaming and genuflecting and using grandiloquent phrases the bally leopard got loose, somehow.  Maybe some one let him loose; I don’t know.  Anyhow, he made for the king, who was too thunderstruck to dodge.  The rest of ’em took to their heels, you may lay odds on that.  Now, I had an honest liking for the king.  Seeing the brute make for him, I dashed forward.  You see, at ceremonials you’re not permitted to carry arms.  It had to be with my hands.  The leopard knocked the old boy flat and began to maul him.  I kicked the brute in the face, swept the king’s turban off his head and flung it about the head of the leopard.  Somehow or other I got him down.  Some of the frightened natives came up, and with the help of Ahmed we got the brute tied up securely.  When the king came around he silently shook hands with me and smiled peculiarly at Umballa, who now came running up.”

“And that’s how you got those poor hands!” exclaimed Kathlyn, kissing the scars which stood out white against the tan.

“That’s how,” raising the hands and putting them on Kathlyn’s head in a kind of benediction.

“Is that all?” asked Winnie breathlessly.

“Isn’t that enough?” he retorted.  “Well, what is it, Martha?  Dinner?  Well, if I haven’t cheated you girls out of your tea!”

“Tea!” sniffed Winnie disdainfully.  “Do you know, dad, you’re awfully mean to Kit and me.  If you’d take the trouble you could be more interesting than any book I ever read.”

“He doesn’t believe his stories would interest vain young ladies,” said Kathlyn gravely.

Her father eyed her sharply.  Of what was she thinking?  In those calm unwavering eyes of hers he saw a question, and he feared in his soul she might voice it.  He could evade the questions of the volatile Winnie, but there was no getting by Kathlyn with evasions.  Frowning, he replaced the order in the box, which he put away in a drawer.  It was all arrant nonsense, anyhow; nothing could possibly happen; if there did, he would feel certain that he no longer dwelt in a real workaday world.  The idle whim of a sardonic old man; nothing more than that.

“Father, is the king dead?”

“Dead!  What makes you ask that, Kit?”

“The past tense; you said he was, not is.”

“Yes, he’s dead, and the news came this morning.  Hence, the yarn.”

“Will there be any danger in returning?”

“My girl, whenever I pack my luggage there is danger.  A cartridge may stick; a man may stumble; a man you rely on may fail you.  As for that, there’s always danger.  It’s the penalty of being alive.”

On the way to the dining-room Kathlyn thought deeply.  Why had her father asked them if they loved him?  Why did he speak of the Big Trek?  There was something more than this glittering medal, something more than this simple tale of bravery.  What?  Well, if he declined to take her into his confidence he must have good reason.