Twice in the year his people had raided peaceful villages under British protection, and now he had killed a missionary.

It was quite time to 'arrange' the Maharajah of Chita, and Colonel Starr, with two guns and three hundred troops, had been sent to do it.
His Highness, however, seemed indisposed to further his social prospects in Calcutta and the good of his State.

For the twenty-four hours they had been in camp under his walls the Maharajah had taken no more notice of Colonel Starr and his three hundred Midlanders than if they represented so many jungle bushes.

To all Colonel Starr's messages, diplomatic, argumentative, threatening, there had come the same unsatisfactory response--the Maharajah of Chita had no word to say to the British Raj.

And still the gates were shut, and still only the pipal-trees looked over the wall, and only the cannon looked through.
By the time evening came Colonel Starr was at the end of his patience.