'I don't think that matters,' Boulte replied; 'and it doesn't concern
you.'

'But it does! I tell you it does' began Kurrell shamelessly.

The sentence was cut by a roar of laughter from Boulte's lips.
Kurrell was silent for an instant, and then he, too, laughed laughed
long and loudly, rocking in his saddle. It was an unpleasant sound
the mirthless mirth of these men on the long white line of the
Narkarra Road. There were no strangers in Kashima, or they might
have thought that captivity within the Dosehri hills had driven half
the European population mad. The laughter ended abruptly, and
Kurrell was the first to speak.

'Well, what are you going to do?'

Boulte looked up the road, and at the hills. 'Nothing,' said he
quietly; 'what's the use? It's too ghastly for anything. We must let
the old life go on. I can only call you a hound and a liar, and I can't
go on calling you names for ever. Besides which, I don't feel that
I'm much better. We can't get out of this place. What is there to
do?'

Kurrell looked round the rat-pit of Kashima and made no reply.
The injured husband took up the wondrous tale.

'Ride on, and speak to Emma if you want to. God knows I don't
care what you do.'

He walked forward, and left Kurrell gazing blankly after him.