'The King has an army,' I suggested. 'Has not the King burned the
man's house and left him naked to the night dews?'

'Nay, a hut is a hut, and it holds the life of a man. But once, I
sent my army against him when his excuses became wearisome: of their
heads he brake three across the top with a stick. The other two men
ran away. Also the guns would not shoot.'

I had seen the equipment of the infantry. One-third of it was an old
muzzle-loading fowling-piece, with a ragged rust-hole where the
nipples should have been, one-third a wire-bound match-lock with a
worm-eaten stock, and one-third a four-bore flint duck-gun without a
flint.

'But it is to be remembered,' said the King, reaching out for the
bottle, 'that he is a very expert log-snatcher and a man of a merry
face. What shall I do to him, Sahib?'

This was interesting. The timid hill-folk would as soon have refused
taxes to their King as revenues to their Gods.

'If it be the King's permission,' I said, 'I will not strike my tents
till the third day and I will see this man. The mercy of the King is
God-like, and rebellion is like unto the sin of witchcraft. Moreover,
both the bottles and another be empty.'

'You have my leave to go,' said the King.

Next morning a crier went through the State proclaiming that there
was a log-jam on the river and that it behoved all loyal subjects to