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 among the Bhils. Chinn heard nothing of it till a brother-officer said across the mess-table: "Your revered ancestor 's on the rampage in the Satpura country. You 'd better look him up."

"I don't want to be disrespectful, but I ’m a little sick of my revered ancestor. Bukta talks of nothing else. What 's the old boy supposed to be doing now?"

"Riding cross-country by moonlight on his processional tiger. That 's the story. He 's been seen by about two thousand Bhils, skipping along the tops of the Satpuras, and scaring people to death. They believe it devoutly, and all the Satpura chaps are worshipping away at his shrine—tomb, I mean—like good 'uns. You really ought to go down there. Must be a queer thing to see your grandfather treated as a god."

"What makes you think there 's any truth in the tale?" said Chinn.

"Because all our men deny it. They say they ’ve never heard of Chinn's tiger. Now that 's a manifest lie, because every Bhil has."

"There 's only one thing you 've verlooked," said the Colonel, thoughtfully. "When a local god reappears on earth, it 's always an excuse for trouble of some kind; and those Satpura Bhils are about as wild as your grandfather left them, young 'un. It means something."

"Meanin' they may go on the war-path?" said Chinn.

"Can't say—as yet. Should n't be surprised a little bit."

"I have n't been told a syllable."

"Proves it all the more. They are keeping something back."