It was sacrilege
unspeakable against the holy cow. The state desired his blood, but he had
retreated into his hut, barricaded the doors and windows with big stones, and
defied the world.
The king and I and the populace approached the hut cautiously. There was no
hope of capturing our man without loss of life, for from a hole in the wall
projected the muzzle of an extremely well-cared-for gun--the only gun in the
state that could shoot. Namgay Doola had narrowly missed a villager just before
we came up.
The standing army stood.
It could do no more, for when it advanced pieces of sharp shale flew from the
windows. To these were added from time to time showers of scalding water. We
saw red beads bobbing up and down within. The family of Namgay Doola were
aiding their sire. Blood-curdling yells of defiance were the only answer to our
prayers.
"Never," said the king, puffing, "has such a thing befallen my state. Next year
I will certainly buy a little cannon." He looked at me imploringly.
"Is there any priest in the kingdom to whom he will listen?" said I, for a
light was beginning to break upon me.
"He worships his own god," said the prime minister. "We can but starve him
out."
"Let the white man approach," said Namgay Doola from within.
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