"That he is. That is the rebel!" said the king. "Now will the dam be cleared."
"But why has he red hair?" I asked, since red hair among hill-folk is as
uncommon as blue or green.
"He is an outlander," said the king. "Well done! Oh, well done!"
Namgay Doola had scrambled on the jam and was clawing out the butt of a log
with a rude sort of a boat-hook. It slid forward slowly, as an alligator moves,
and three or four others followed it. The green water spouted through the gaps.
Then the villagers howled and shouted and leaped among the logs, pulling and
pushing the obstinate timber, and the red head of Namgay Doola was chief among
them all. The logs swayed and chafed and groaned as fresh consignments from up-
stream battered the now weakening dam. It gave way at last in a smother of
foam, racing butts, bobbing black heads, and a confusion indescribable, as the
river tossed everything before it. I saw the red head go down with the last
remnants of the jam and disappear between the great grinding tree trunks. It
rose close to the hank, and blowing like a grampus, Namgay Doola wiped the
water out of his eyes and made obeisance to the king.
I had time to observe the man closely. The virulent redness of his shock head
and beard was most startling, and in the thicket of hair twinkled above high
cheek-bones two very merry blue eyes.
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