"Oh, there's nothing much to tell," he said. "The raiders--they were
Bhuttias--had left a trail easy enough to see, though I confess that I
would have lost it once but for my elephant. When I came up to them, as
Miss Daleham has just told you, they all ran away except two."

"What did these two do?" asked Granger, his host of the previous night.

"Not much. They tried to stand their ground, but didn't really give much
trouble. So I took Miss Daleham up on my elephant and we started back. But
like a fool I stopped on the way to have grub, and somebody began shooting
at us from the jungle, until wild elephants turned up and cleared them off.
Then we came on here. That's all."

These was a moment's silence. Then Granger, in disgusted tones, exclaimed:

"Well, Major, of all the poor story-tellers I've ever heard, you're the
very worst. One would think you'd only been for a stroll in a quiet English
lane. 'Then we came on here. That's all.'"

"Oh, yes, you can't ask us to believe it was as tame as that, Major," said
another planter. "We expected to hear something a little more exciting."

"You go out after thirty or forty raiders--"

"No, only twenty-two all told," corrected Dermot.

"All right, only twenty-two, come back with three hits on you and your
elephant up to his eyes in blood and--and--well, hang it all, Major, let's
have some more details."