It was the elephant of the Wuntho Prince--a little earlier and I might have had the privilege of meeting the dacoit himself.

The elephant passed unconcernedly on, and we continued down the plain of sand to the village of Ganai, where we were to stay the night.
It was market-day in the town.

A double row of stalls extended down the main street, each stall under the shelter of a huge umbrella.

Japanese matches from Osaka were for sale here, and foreign nick-nacks, needles and braid and cotton, and Manchester dress stuffs mixed with the multitudinous articles of native produce.

This is a Shan town, but large numbers of native women--Kachins--were here also with their ugly black faces, and coarse black fringes hiding their low foreheads.