satellites, who get about
four months' gaol and never blow the gaff. If they did I wouldn't give
much for their lives."

"Do you mean to tell me that their employers wouldn't stick at murder?"
cried Shafto aghast.

"They stick at nothing; a murder done second-hand is quite cheap and
easy--just a stab with a _dah_, or long knife, and the body flung into
the Irrawaddy; you know the pace of that racing current and how it
tells no tales! Well, here we are! You see, for once I can discourse
of other things than horses; and, talking of horses, these fellows had
better have a bran-mash apiece; but once you get me on cocaine
smuggling, I warn you I can jaw till my mouth's as dry as a lime-kiln."

CHAPTER XX

THE PONGYE

Late one warm afternoon in January, when Shafto was unusually busy on
the Pagoda wharf--consignments of paddy were coming in thick and
fast--suddenly, above the din of steam winches and donkey engines,
there arose a great shouting, and he beheld an immense cloud of white
dust rolling rapidly in his direction.

"Look out, it's a runaway!" roared a neighbouring worker. "By George,
they'll all be in the river!"

Sure enough, there came a rattle-trap hack _gharry_ at the heels of a
pair of galloping ponies. The reins were broken, a yelling soldier sat
helpless on the driver's seat and several of his comrades were inside
the rocking vehicle. The animals, maddened with fear, were making
straight for the Irrawaddy and, as Shafto rushed forward with
outstretched arms to head them off, they swerved violently, came into
resounding contact with a huge crane, and upset the _gharry_ with a
shattering crash. Several men ran to the struggling ponies; Shafto and
another to the overturned _gharry_ and hauled out two privates; number
one, helplessly intoxicated; number two, not quite so helpless; the
third person to emerge was, to Shafto's speechless amazement, no less a
personage than a shaven priest--a full-grown _pongye_ in his yellow
robe! He looked considerably dazed and a good deal cut about with
broken glass. Waving away assistance, he tottered over and sat down
behind a huge pile of rice stacks. Shafto immediately followed to
inquire how he could help him, but before he had uttered a word, the
_pongye_, who was much out of breath, gasped:

"Bedad! that was a near shave!"

Could Shafto believe his ears?

"Whist! now, and don't let on!" he continued, staunching a cut with a
corner of his yello