he moonlight lay in soft brilliance over the land of Burmah. Its rays pierced the small slit windows in the cell of the fanatic An-we-lota, and lighted up the fierce faces of the dacoits and desperate men, who from time to time stealthily entered, until a close-packed band had collected. Near and far a message had reached these malcontents that an attack would be made on some of the British outposts scattered here and there over the newly conquered territory, and held by English officers and a brave force of Sikhs and Pathans.

'We are as nothing,' said An-we-lota; 'these Ingalay' (Englishmen) 'have taken our country, and are now setting up their camps everywhere among us, for these men to spy on us. They say the glorious King Theebaw is dead. Know we not well that he will come again and reign over us? I am myself possessed of magic power. I have swallowed the all-powerful mercury, which makes me proof against bullet and steel, which turn to water as they touch me. Have I not also the coins of invulnerability bound in the flesh and blood of my arm?' and the fanatic stripped up the sleeve of his yellow robe and showed his bare, skinny upper arm, where the edges of buried coins were visible in deep cuts. 'I am king as well as priest; I am the Prince Setkia Muntna, who was drowned in the Irrawaddy seventy years ago. I have come to life again—behold, I am he.'

Dusky hands were raised in salutation, and one evil-looking warrior stepped forward: 'I am also proof against bullets. Was I not Theebaw's chief "Boh"?' (head warrior). 'I am ready to lead any expedition against these robbing English. See, we are all armed.'

The moonlight flashed on the murderous-looking 'dah' knives raised for an instant from the folds of the garments of the assembled men.

'Our first attack,' said An-we-lota, 'shall be on the Sardu Station. Our scout, Al Met, has brought word that much of their force has been called away to quell the Wahs. Our attack shall be swift and sure, and with our band here we shall outnumber them, and exterminate the whole while they are sleeping. When shall we start?'

'No time like the present,' was the cry, and the dahs flew out again and were uplifted.

In a few minutes the cell was emptied, and the stealthy march began, by rock and jungle and secret paths, to the doomed outpost station.

The hours passed, and the early morning light showed pale on the blazing huts of Sardu Fort, and on dead and dying scattered about. Where the dead were thickest lay a young English officer gasping, 'Inez, my darling, we shall meet again soon, and our little son——'

Close at hand lay the fanatic, An-we-lota, dead, his magic coins and mercury-fed body no proof against British steel.

From the distance there came the tread of a returning force—too late!—and in the deepest shades of the jungle a native woman, with horror-stricken face, pressed forward through tangle and thorn, with a living, wailing bundle clasped close to her breast.

How many days she spent in weary wandering over well-nigh a hundred miles of jungle and plain, helped by log-boat up strange waters, ever heading for the homes of her people, the Karens—a bourne she was never to reach—who can say?

It was early morning. The first faint streaks of dawn were chasing the night shadows from hill and valley. Early risers in a little jungle village far distant from Fort Sardu shivered as they rose from their sleeping-places, and pushing aside the curiously woven mats, hung from the eaves of the sloping roofs, descended to the waking world outside. The native dogs howled hideously as they were unceremoniously driven from the still smouldering embers of last night's fires.

Maung Yet, one of the first astir, twisted the folds of his waist-cloth closer round him, and looked forth upon the morning. The rising sun was turning into gold and bronze the ripening paddy fields close at hand, glorifying the reed roofs of the native huts under the feathery palms, and gilding the distant belt of jungle, stretching away to the horizon.

The huts of the Tounghi tribe were raised breast-high on stout posts, as protection against wild beasts and snakes. Many dark-skinned natives moving around in busy preparation showed that the labours of the day would be beginning early.

It was the time of the Burmese harvest, and the first of the ripe paddy fields would be gathered in that day. Already might be heard the hoarse voice of crows, and the screams of hundreds of bright-hued parrakeets, descending for their feast on the precious grain. At the sound, many of the village youths ran up quickly, and with cries and rude bird-clappers scared the birds away, only to set to work again at some more distant spot.

Many and various were the sounds echoing around Maung Yet, and ever and anon he seemed to distinguish from among them a sound like a human cry. Once more it came, and Maung stood keenly listening. Yes, a cry for help, certainly, and a dog's strange, shrill bark, too—and both from the far-off jungle. Maung Yet trembled. Was it the cry, perchance, of some robber luring him to destruction, or was it really a fellow-creature's cry for help?

The Burman, like all his race, was very superstitious, and avoided the jungle as being haunted; but his heart was kind. Arming himself with his primitive sickle, he beckoned to Lan Wee, his young brother, who was squatting on the ground eating a huge mass of rice, and set off at full speed towards the spot whence the cries proceeded, attracted onward against his will by the voice of misery. The youth followed him closely, his eyes wide open with fear, as they neared the dreaded jungle. In its dark shadows who could say what dangers lurked? They pressed on, however, through trails of prickly foliage, clinging undergrowth, and fallen timber, which lay like so many traps for unwary feet. The cry had sunk to a moan, but the dog's whine was shriller and more urgent as they neared the end of their quest.

Both Burmen were tattooed over breast and shoulders with a glorious blazonry of red—a decoration performed with religious rites as a protection against 'evil spirits.' Few Burmen would face the jungle unless thus fortified. Maung felt a few qualms even in spite of his tattoo, but invoking the 'aing-sohn' (the good spirits), he and his young companion, breathless and panting, struggled on, and came to what they sought at last.

Half resting against a fallen tree-trunk lay an apparently dead native woman, reduced to almost a skeleton. Her bare feet told of long, rough journeying, and from wrist to elbow of the left arm was a half-healed wound, such as Maung Yet knew well the keen 'dah' could leave. From her neck was slung a baby, and standing fiercely on guard, a lean, whitish dog.

With the curious canine instinct, divining rightly friend or foe, the dog allowed the approach of the two Burmen. Maung knelt and raised the prostrate woman; the weak head fell heavily on his shoulder, then stirred uneasily, the eyes opened, and the dying lips tried again and again to find utterance. Broken words at last whispered faintly over and over again, 'BÉbÉ Ingalay—Mah Kloo! Thakin Missee BÉbÉ!' Then the wasted hands tried to remove the baby. Maung understood, and signed to the youth to lift it from her neck. The movement woke the child, and it uttered a thin cry. The sound roused the flickering life of the dying woman for an instant; with a last movement she lightly touched the wee dark head, smiled faintly, and died.

A shallow grave was hastily dug. A pouch in the tattered garments contained a few coins of money and a curious small gold cross. Maung Yet touched his tattoo anxiously as he took the latter: it must be, he thought, some strange charm. Then he placed the coins in the mouth of the dead woman, in the belief that this provided ferry-hire over the death river, and he and Lan Wee lifted the woman into the grave. Then, with all speed, the two Burmen left the hated jungle, carrying the tiny infant, the lean dog following closely.

(Continued on page 78.)