"My dear fellow, he was talking through his hat. It's entirely out of the question. The Government won't run the risk of provoking a general rising of the hillmen whenever a roving explorer has come to grief in a district where he has no earthly right to be. It would mean one of those little frontier wars that cost no end of money and set the Labour Members barking."
"But surely something ought to be done--can be done for an Englishman," Forrester persisted.
"I'll communicate with headquarters and let you know the result; but I promise you it's no good. The country is a sort of no man's land. Representations at Lhasa and at Pekin would be equally useless; China and Tibet would both wash their hands of the matter. Besides, Government wheels move slowly, the man would be done for before any move could be made; he may be done for already. I'm sorry for him, but he has only himself to blame."
Forrester went away very indignant at what he regarded as official callousness, yet recognising the soundness of the Political Officer's contention. He remembered the Abor expedition, in which a large military force had been engaged for six months in making its way through the jungle to exact retribution for the murder of two Englishmen. Remembering, too, the uncertainty of Beresford's whereabouts, he was forced to admit that the Government might reasonably hesitate to commit themselves to an enterprise of which the end could not be foreseen.
When he returned to the plantation, and told his friends the results of his journey, Jackson, who was excitable and quick-tempered, stamped up and down the room, abusing Governments and Political Officers and mankind generally. Mackenzie, on the other hand, sat placidly smoking his pipe, silent and thoughtful. In the course of a few minutes, when Jackson had blown off steam, the Scotsman said quietly:--
"Now ye've done blethering, Bob, listen to me. We'll do it ourselves."
"What?"
"Ay!"
"What do you mean, Mac?" asked Forrester.
"I'm telling you. A score or two of the Assam Light Horse----"