"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 offerings to their gods. The rebel must be a man of character.
"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 godlike, 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 the crier went through the stare proclaiming that there was a log-
jam on the river and that it behooved all loyal subjects to clear it. The
people poured down from their villages to the moist, warm valley of poppy
fields, and the king and I went with them.
Hundreds of dressed deodar logs had caught on a snag of rock, and the river was
bringing down more logs every minute to complete the blockade. The water
snarled and wrenched and worried at the timber, while the population of the
state prodded at the nearest logs with poles, in the hope of easing the
pressure. Then there went up a shout of "Namgay Doola! Namgay Doola!" and a
large, red-haired villager hurried up, stripping off his clothes as he ran.
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