tudy. It is also true that Nampoung is only thirty miles or so, as the
crow flies, from Bhamo, and when one has been in the wilds, and out of
touch of civilization for months at a time, Bhamo is by no means a place
to be despised. So thought Gregory, of the 123rd Burmah Regiment, as he
threw his line into the pool below him.

"It's worse than a dog's life," he said to himself, as he looked at the
Ford a hundred yards or so to his right, where, at the moment, his
subaltern was engaged levying toll upon some Yunnan merchants who were
carrying cotton on pack-mules into China. After that he glanced behind
him at the little cluster of buildings on the hill, and groaned once
more. "I wonder what they are doing in England," he continued.
"Trout-fishing has just begun, and I can imagine the dear old Governor
at the Long Pool, rod in hand. The girls will stroll down in the
afternoon to find out what sport he has had, and they'll walk home
across the Park with him, while the Mater will probably meet them half
way. And here am I in this God-forsaken hole with nothing to do but to
keep an eye on that Ford there. Bhamo is better than this; Mandalay is
better than Bhamo, and Rangoon is better than either. Chivvying _dakus_
is paradise compared with this sort of thing. Anyhow, I'm tired
of fishing."

He began to take his rod to pieces preparatory to returning to his
quarters on the hill. He had just unshipped the last joint, when he
became aware that one of his men was approaching him. He inquired his
business, and was informed in return that Dempsey, his sub, would be
glad to see him at the Ford. Handing his rod to the man he set off in
the direction of the crossing in question, to become aware, as he
approached it, of a disreputable figure propped up against a tree on the
nearer bank.

"What's the matter, Dempsey?" he inquired. "What on earth have you got
there, man?"

"Well, that's more than I can say," the other replied. "He's evidently
a white man, and I fancy an Englishman. At home we should call him a
scarecrow. He turned up from across the Ford just now, and tumbled down
in the middle of the stream like a shot rabbit. Never saw such a thing
before. He's not a pretty sight, is he?"

"Poor devil," said Gregory. "He seems to be on his last legs. I wonder
who the deuce he is, and what brought him into this condition."

[Illustration: "'POOR DEVIL,' SAID GREGORY. 'HE SEEMS TO BE ON HIS LAST
LEGS.'"]

"I've searched, and th