Darjeeling, but me they call
an outlander because my hair is as thou seest.'

The Thibetan woman, his wife, touched him on the arm gently. The long
parley outside the fort had lasted far into the day. It was now close
upon twilight--the hour of the Angelus. Very solemnly, the red-headed
brats rose from the floor and formed a semicircle. Namgay Doola laid
his gun against the wall, lighted a little oil lamp, and set it
before a recess in the wall. Pulling aside a curtain of dirty cloth
he revealed a worn brass crucifix leaning against the helmet-badge of
a long forgotten East India regiment. 'Thus did my father,' he said,
crossing himself clumsily. The wife and children followed suit. Then
all together they struck up the wailing chant that I heard on the
hillside--

Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir
To weeree ala gee.

I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they crooned as if their
hearts would break, their version of the chorus of the _Wearing of
the Green_--

They're hanging men and women too,
For the wearing of the green.

A diabolical inspiration came to me. One of the brats, a boy about
eight years old, was watching me as he sang. I pulled out a rupee,
held the coin between finger and thumb, and looked--only looked--at
the gun against the wall. A grin of brilliant and perfect
comprehension overspread the face of the child. Never for an instant
stopping the song he held out his hand for the money, and then slid
the gun to my hand. I might have shot Namgay Doola as he chanted.
But I was satisfied. The blood-instinct of the race held true.
Namgay Doola drew the curtain across the recess. Angelus was over.

'Thus my father sang. There was much more, but I have forgotten, and
I do not know the purport of these words, but it may be that the God
will understand. I am not of this people, and I will not pay
revenue.'

'And why?'

Again that soul-compelling grin. 'What occupation would be to me
between crop and crop? It is better than scaring bears. But these
people do not understand.' He picked the masks from the floor, and
looked in my face as simply as a child.

'By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make these devilries?' I
said, pointing.

'I cannot tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjeeling, and yet the
stuff----'

'Which thou hast stolen.'

'Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff--the
stuff--what else should I have done with the stuff?' He twisted the
velvet b