“Is he, then, angry?”
“Bah! Am I ever angry with my Bhils? I say angry words, and threaten many things. Thou knowest, Bukta. I have seen thee smile behind the hand. I know, and thou knowest. The Bhils are my children. I have said it many times.”
“Ay. We be thy children,” said Bukta.
“And no otherwise is it with Jan Chinn, my father’s father. He would see the land he loved and the people once again. It is a good ghost, Bukta. I say it. Go and tell them. And I do hope devoutly,” he added, “that it will calm ’em down.” Flinging back the tiger-skin, he rose with a long, unguarded yawn that showed his well-kept teeth.
Bukta fled, to be received in the lines by a knot of panting inquirers.
“It is true,” said Bukta. “He wrapped himself in the skin, and spoke from it. He would see his own country again. The sign is not for us; and, indeed, he is a young man. How should he lie idle of nights? He says his bed is too hot and the air is bad. He goes to and fro for the love of night-running. He has said it.”
The grey-whiskered assembly shuddered.
“He says the Bhils are his children. Ye know he does not lie. He has said it to me.”
“But what of the Satpura Bhils? What means the sign for them?”
“Nothing. It is only night-running, as I have said. He rides to see if they obey the Government, as he taught them to do in his first life.”