We traveled slowly, afoot, on cattle-back, on elephant-back—as the hill-folk could take us, or as we cared to go. Nagy N’Yang at first was moody, but as we left her own village far behind and got among the greater hills, she was gayer and gayer. I think when we came to Shoaygoon Plains she was happy. I was. It was in Shoaygoon _zana_ that I let her tattoo my forehead with the mark of Siva, to please her and quiet her superstitious fears. It was wrong, yes, for all-whites; but for me, with a brown mother? Mayhap not.... And so we came to Kalgai in Kalgai Gorge, and the rains were not yet come. We were early. The traders’ huts were not filled. Only a few were taken. A Eurasian here, a Russian there, a Tibetan there, and yonder a Chinese. So I had my choice of the best places and picked the best house in the gorge—on the rock spit that juts into the gorge’s biggest bend over the whirlpool. The house we took was of teak beams and bamboo. For a few gold coins I had its use, entire, with its mats, pots, kettles. There was a little shilly-shallying of trade, which I did not get into. Traders came up and down and across. I didn’t care for traffic just then. Nagy N’Yang was happy, she told me. I believed it. She went about her little household tasks neatly. “After the big rains,” I told her, “we two take boat for Maulmain and beyond.” I was due for a trip up past Rangoon for temple brasses and carved ivory. The air was heavy with the promise of the first of the rains. “Where you go, I go,” she laughed, stuffing my mouth with rice and fish. She cuddled closer to me on the eating mat we had spread out. A shadow fell across the open doorway. She screamed. It was Pra Oom Bwaht, who smiled down on us with his twisty smile. “Welcome,” I said. He came in boldly and sat down. “You went quickly from Karen,” he said simply. I could feel my Laos girl wince as she leaned against me. I clutched the dagger inside my robe. Pra Oom Bwaht smiled his twisty smile. “How come you here?” I demanded. “Why should I not?” he asked. “Especially to see my sister—” He pointed to Nagy N’Yang. She sighed and laughed a little nervous laugh. “I did not know,” I said, “that she was your sister. You are welcome to our poor house.” Pra Oom Bwaht smiled again, got up and stalked out. As he went, the first patter of the rains came, beating up the dust in the space before the door for a few seconds, then laying it all in a puddle of mud again as a great dash of fury came into the storm. But it was only the first baby rain, not enough to make Kalgai whirlpool talk out loud. I turned to Nagy. She was staring out into the storm. “I didn’t know he was your brother,” I said to her. “All Laos are brother and sister,” she replied. Well, I’ve found it best to keep out of native feuds and family jangles. “Some old village quarrel back of it,” I thought. ――――