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The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSon of Power

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States andmost other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or onlineatwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,you will have to check the laws of the country where you are locatedbefore using this eBook.

Title: Son of Power

Author: Will Levington Comfort

Zamin Ki Dost

Release date: November 29, 2006 [eBook #19970]

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SON OF POWER ***

E-text prepared by Al Haines

SON OF POWER

by

WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT and ZAMIN KI DOST

Garden City New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1920
Copyright, 1920, by
Doubleday, Page & Company
All Rights Reserved, Including That of Translation
into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian
Copyright, 1919, by the Curtis Publishing Company

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Zamin Ki Dost is a title given to one who lived in India manyyears—from the time when she was little more than a child. The taleof tales would be her own story. Her name is

WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

    I THE GOOD GREY NERVE
   II SON OF POWER
  III SON OF POWER (Continued)
   IV THE MONKEY GLEN
    V THE MONKEY GLEN (Continued)
   VI JUNGLE LAUGHTER
  VII THE HUNTING CHEETAH
 VIII THE MONSTER KABULI
   IX THE MONSTER KABULI (Continued)
    X HAND-OF-A-GOD
   XI ELEPHANT CONCERNS
  XII BLUE BEAST
 XIII NEELA DEO, KING OF ALL ELEPHANTS
  XIV NEELA DEO, KING OF ALL ELEPHANTS (Continued)
   XV THE LAIR
  XVI FEVER BIRDS

SON OF POWER

CHAPTER I

The Good Grey Nerve

His name was Sanford Hantee, but you will hear that only occasionally,for the boys of the back streets called him Skag, which "got" himsomewhere at once. That was in Chicago. He was eleven years old, whenhe wandered quite alone to Lincoln Park Zoo, and the madness took him.

A silent madness. It flooded over him like a river. If any one hadnoticed, it would have appeared that Skag's eyes changed. Always hequite contained himself, but his lips stirred to speech even less afterthat. He didn't pretend to go to school the next day; in fact, thespell wasn't broken until nearly a week afterward, when the keeper ofthe Monkey House pointed Skag out to a policeman, saying the boy hadbeen on the grounds the full seven open hours for four straight daysthat he knew of.

Skag wasn't a liar. He had never "skipped" school before, but the Zoohad him utterly. He was powerless against himself. Some bigger force,represented by a truant officer, was necessary to keep him away fromthose cages. His father got down to business and gave him abeating—much against that good man's heart. (Skag's father was aNorthern European who kept a fruit-store down on Waspen street—amildly-flavoured man and rotund. His mother was a Mediterranean woman,who loved and clung.)

But Skag went back to the Zoo. For three days more he went, remainedfrom opening to closing time. He seemed to fall into deepabsorptions—before tigers and monkeys especially. He didn't hear whatwent on around him. He did not appear to miss his lunch. You had totouch his shoulder to get his attention. The truant officer did this.It all led dismally to the Reform School from which Skag ran away.

He was gone three weeks and wouldn't have come back then, except hisheart hurt about his mother. He felt the truth—that she was slowlydying without him. After that for awhile he kept away from theanimals, because his mother loved and clung and cried, when he grewsilently cold with revolt against a life not at all for him, or hotwith hatred against the Reform School. Those were ragged months inwhich a less rubbery spirit might have been maimed, but the mother diedbefore that actually happened. Skag was free—free the same night.

The father's real relation to him had ended with the beating. It wastoo bad, for there might have been a decent memory to build on. Thefruit-dealer, however, had been badly frightened by the truant-officer(in the uniform of a patrolman), and he was just civilised enough to bea little ashamed that his boy could so far forget the world and allrefined and mild-flavoured things, as to stare through bars at animalsfor seven hours a day. In the process of that beating, hell had openedfor Skag. It was associated with the raw smell of blood and a thin redsteam, a little hotter than blood-heat. It always came when heremembered his father. . . . But his mother meant lilacs. The topdrawer of her dresser had been faintly magic of her. The smell camewhen he remembered her. It was like the first rains in the LakeCountry.

But that was all put back. Skag was out in the world now, making itexactly to suit himself. He was in charge of himself in many ways. Aglass of water and a sandwich would do for a long time, ifnecessary. . . . The West pulled him. Awhile in the mountains, helived with a prospector; there was a period in the desert when he cameto know lizards; then there were years of the circus, when he was outwith the Cloud Brothers, animal men of the commercial type. Ten queer,hard years for the boy—as hard almost as for the animals.

Back in Chicago the caged creatures had been kept better—as well asbeasts belonging to the outdoors could be imprisoned, but the CloudBrothers didn't have fine senses like their charges. They tried tomake wild animals live in a place ventilated for men. There was a baddeath-percentage and none of the big cats were in show form, until theClouds began to take Skag's word for the main thing wrong. It wasn'tthe hard life, nor the coops, nor the travel, but the steady day in andday out lack of fresh air. Skag knew what the animals suffered,because it all but murdered him on hot nights. Of course, there aretainted-flesh things like hyenas that live best on foul air, fouleverything, but "white" animals of jungle and forest are high andcleanly beasts. When well and in their prime, even their coats areincapable of most kinds of dirt, because of a natural oily gloss.

At nineteen, Skag was in charge of the packing, moving and feeding ofall the big cats, including pumas, panthers, leopards. He was in andout of the cages possibly more than was necessary. He learned thatthere are two ways to manage a wild animal—the "rough-neck" way with aclub, and the fancy way with your own equilibrium; all of which comesin more to the point later.

He was interested at the time, but not really acquainted with thecamels and elephants. He often chatted with Prussak, the Arab, wholoathed camels to the shallow depths of his soul, but got as much outof them as most men could. Skag dreamed of a better way still, evenwith camels. Often on train-trips, at first, he talked with old AlecBinz, whose characteristic task was to chain and unchain the hind legof the old "gunmetal" elephant, Phedra, who bossed her sire and thelittle Cloud herd, as much with the flap of an ear as anythingelse. . . .

No, old Alec must not be forgotten, nor his sandalwood chest with itslittle rose-jar in the corner, making everything smell so strangelysweet that it hurt. A girl of India had given Alec the jar twentyyears before. The spirit of a real rose-jar never dies; and somethingof the girl's spirit was around it, too, as Alec talked softly. Allthis was unreservedly good to Skag—thrilling as certain few books andthe top drawer that had been his mother's. . . . But something wayback of that, utterly his own deep heart-business, was connected withthe rose-jar. It was breathless like opening a telegram—its firstscent after days or weeks. If you find any meaning to the way Skagexpressed it, you are welcome:

"It makes you think of things you don't know—"

"But you will," Alec had once answered.

The more you knew, the more you favoured that old man of the circuscompany,—little gold ring in his ear and such tales of India!

It was Alec who led Skag into the fancy way of dealing with animals,but of course the boy was peculiar, inasmuch as he believed it all atonce. Skag never ceased to think of it until it was his; he actuallyput it into practice. Alec might have told a dozen American trainersand have gotten no more than a yawp for his pains. This is one of thethings Alec said:

"If you can get on top of the menagerie in your own insides,Skagee—the tigers and apes, the serpents and monkeys, in your owninsides—you'll never get in bad with the Cloud Brothers wild animalshow."

There wasn't a day or night for years that Skag didn't think of thatsaying. It was his secret theme. So far as he could see, it workedout. Of course, he found out many things for himself—one of which wasthat there is a smell about a man who is afraid, that the animals getit and become afraid, too. Alec agreed to this, but added that thereis a smell about most men, when they are not afraid.

For hours they talked together about India—tiger hunts and the bigGrass Jungle country in the Bund el Khand, until Skag couldn't wait anylonger. He had to go to India. He told Alec, who wanted to go along,but couldn't leave old Phedra.

"I've been with her too long," he said. "She's delicate, Skagee. I'myoung, but she couldn't stand it for me to go. Times are hard for heron the road, and the little herd needs her as she needs me. . . ."

Skag understood that. In fact, he loved it well. It belonged to hisworld—to be straight with the animals. Gradually as the distanceincreased between them, the memory of old Alec began to smell as sweetas the sandal-wood chest in Skag's nostrils—the chest and the rose-jarthat never could die and the old friend became one identity. . . .

India didn't excite Skag, who was twenty-five by this time. In fact,some aspects of India were more natural to him than his own country.Many people did a lot of walking and they lived while they walked,instead of pushing forward in a tension to get somewhere. Skagapproved emphatically of the Now. The present moving point was thebest he had at any given time. He thought a man should forget himselfin the Now like the animals.

Besides they didn't regulate dress in India; in fact, they dressed inso many different ways that a man could wear what he pleased withoutbeing stared at. Skag hated to be stared at above all things. You arebeginning to get a picture of him now—unobtrusive, silent, strong inunderstanding, swift, actually in pain as the point of many eyes,altogether interested in his own unheard-of things.

Alec told him how to reach the jungle of all jungles, ever old, evernew, ever innocent on the outside, ever deadly within—the Grass Junglecountry around Hattah and Bigawar—the Bund el Khand. The CloudBrothers had paid him well for his years; there was still script in hisclothes for travel, but Skag had a queer relation to money, only usingit when the law required. Not a tight-wad, far from that, though hepreferred to work for a meal than pay for it; much preferred to walk orride than to purchase other people's energy, having much of his own.

He came at last to a village called Butthighur, near Makrai, north ofthe Mahadeo Mountains in the Central Provinces. On the first day, onthe main road near the rest-house, there passed him on the street, aslim, slightly-stooped and spectacled young white man. The face underthe huge cork helmet, Skag looked at twice, not knowing why altogether;then he followed leisurely to a bungalow, walked up the path to thesteps and knocked. The stranger himself answered, before the servantcould come. He looked Skag over, through spectacles that made his eyesappear insane, at times, and sometimes merely absurd. Finally hequestioned with soft cheer:

"And what sort of a highbinder are you?"

Skag answered that he was an American, acquainted with wild animals incaptivity, and that he had come to this place to know wild animals inthe open.

"But why to me?" the white man asked.

"It seemed well. I have looked into many faces without asking anyone.There is no chance of working for the native people here. They are toomany, and too poor."

"You do not talk like an American—"

"I do not like to talk."

The white man was puzzled by Skag's careful and exact statements andremarked presently:

"An American asking for work would say that he knew about everything,instead of just animals in captivity."

"I have not asked for work before. I can do without it. I like ithere near the forests."

"You mean the jungles—"

"I thought jungles were wet."

"In the wet season."

"Thank you—"

The slim one suddenly laughed aloud though not off-key:

"But I haven't any wild animals in captivity for you—"

Skag did not mind the mirth. He appreciated the smell of the house.
It was like a hot earthen tea-pot that had been well-used.

"I will come again?" he asked tentatively.

"Just do that—at the rest-house. I drop in there after dinner—aboutnine."

That afternoon Skag went into the edge of the jungle. It was a breathof promised land to him. He was almost frightened with the joy ofit—the deep leaf-etched shadows, the separate, almost reverentbird-notes; all spaciousness and age and dignity; leaves strange, drypaths, scents new to his nostrils, but having to do with joys and fearsand restlessness his brain didn't know. Skag was glad deep. He tookoff his boots and then strode in deeper and deeper past the maze ofpaths. He stayed there until the yellow light was out of the sky. Atthe clearing again, he laughed—looked down at the turf and laughed.He had come out to the paths again at the exact point of his entry.This was his first deep breath of the jungle—something his soul hadbeen waiting for.

At dinner in the village, Skag inquired about the white man. Thenative was serving him a curry with drift-white rice on plantainleaves. After that there was a sweetmeat made of curds of cream andhoney, with the flavour and perfume of some altogether delectableflower. In good time the native replied that the white man's name wasCadman: that he was an American traveller and writer and artist, saidto be almost illustrious; that he had been out recently with a party ofEnglish sportsmen, but found tiger-hunting dull after his many wars andadventures. Also, it was said, that Cadman Sahib had thecoldest-blooded courage a man ever took into the jungle, almost like abhakti yogin who had altogether conquered fear. Skag bowed insatisfaction. Had he not looked twice at the face under thehelmet—and followed without words?

"How far do they go into the jungle for tigers?" he asked.

"An hour's journey, or a day, as it happens. Tigers are everywhere inseason."

"Within an hour's walk?" Skag asked quietly. The other repeated hiswords in a voice that made Skag think of a grey old man, instead of thefat brown one before him.

"Within an hour's walk? Ha, Ji! They come to the edge of the villageand slay the goats for food—and the sound cattle—and the children!"

Skag laughed inwardly, thinking how good it had been in the deepplaces. However, it was now plain that these native folk were afraidof tigers—afraid as of a sickness. He walked out into the street.Though dark, it was still hot, and the breeze brought the dry green ofthe jungle to him and life was altogether quite right.

That night he met Cadman Sahib. They talked until dawn. Skag washelpless before the other who made him tell all he knew, and much thathad been nicely forgotten. Sometimes in the midst of one story, thegreat traveller would snap over a question about one Skag had alreadytold. Then before he was answered fully, he would say briefly:

"That's all right—go on!"

". . . Behold a phenomenon!" he said at last. "Here is one not a liar,and smells have meanings for him, and he has come, beyond peradventure,to travel with me to the Monkey Forest and the Coldwater Ruins!"

It had been an altogether wonderful night for Skag. Talking made himvery tired, as if part of him had gone forth; as if, having spoken, hewould be called upon to make good in deeds. But he had not done allthe talking and Cadman Sahib was no less before his eyes in the morninglight—which is much to say for any man.

These two white men set out alone, facing one of the most dangerous ofall known jungles. The few natives who understood, bade them good-byefor this earth.

Many stories about Cadman had come to Skag in the three or four days ofpreparation—altogether astonishing adventures of his quest for death,but there was no record of Cadman's choosing a friend, as he had donefor this expedition. Skag never ceased to marvel at the suddensoftenings, so singularly attractive, in Cadman's look when he reallybegan to talk. Sometimes it was like a sudden drop into summer afterprotracted frost, and the lines of the thin weathered face revealed thewhole secret of yearning, something altogether chaste. And that wasonly the beginning. It was all unexpected; that was the charm of thewhole relation. Skag found that Cadman had a real love for India; thathe saw things from a nature full of delicate inner surfaces; that hiswhole difficulty was an inability to express himself unless he foundjust the receiving-end to suit. Indian affairs, town and field, aninfinite variety, Cadman discussed penetratingly, but as one who lookedon from the outside.

"She is like my old Zoo book to me," he said, speaking of India theirfirst night out. "A bit of a lad, I used to sit in my room with thegreat book opened out on a marble table that was cold the year round.There were many pictures. Many, many pictures of all beasts—wood-cutsand copies of paintings and ink-sketchings—ante-camera days, you know.All those pictures are still here—"

Cadman blew a thin diffusion of smoke from his lungs, and touched thethird button down from the throat of his grey-green shirt.

"One above all," he added. "It was the frontispiece. All the story ofcreation on one page. Man, beautiful Man in the centre, all thetree-animals on branches around him, the deeps drained off at his feet,many monsters visible or intimated, the air alive with wings—finchesup to condors. That picture sank deep, Skag, so deep that inabsent-minded moments I half expected to find India like that—"

There were no better hours of life, than these when Cadman Sahib lethimself speak.

"I haven't found the animals and birds and monsters all packed on onepage," he added, "but highlights here and there in India, so that Ialways come back. I have often caught myself asking what the pull isabout, you know, as I catch myself taking ship for Bombay again. Oh, Isay, my son, and you never got over to the lotus lakes?"

"Not yet," Skag said softly.

"There's a night wind there and a tree—I could find it again. I'velain on peacock feathers on a margin there—unwilling to sleep lest Imiss the perfume from over the pools. . . . And the roses of Kashmir,where men of one family must serve forty generations before they getthe secrets; where they press out a ton of petals for a pound ofessential oil! And that's where the big mountains stand by—HighHimalaya herself—incredible colours and vistas—get it for yourself,son."

It was always the elusive thing that Cadman didn't say, that leftSkag's mind free to build his own pictures. Meanwhile Cadman as acompanion was showing up flawlessly day by day.

At the end of a long march, after many days out, they smelled the nightcooking-fires from a village. A moment later they passed tiger tracks,and the print of native feet.

The twilight was thick between them as they hastened on. Cadman Sahibstepped back suddenly, lifting his hand to grasp the other, but notquite soon enough. That instant Skag was flicked out of sight, takeninto the folds of mother-earth and covered—the bleat of a kidpresently identifying the whole mystery.

Skag fell about twelve feet into the black earth coolness. He wasunhurt, and knew roughly what had happened before he landed. His rushof thoughts: shame for his own carelessness, gladness that Cadman Sahibwas safe above, the meaning of the kid's cry and the tracks they hadseen; this rush was broken by another deluge of earth that all butdrowned the laugh of Cadman. Skag had jerked back against the wall ofearth to avoid being struck by the body of his companion who coughedand laughed again faintly, for his wind was very low.

"You couldn't ask more of a friend than that, son. I couldn't get youup to me, so I came down with you—"

Of course, it was an accident. Cadman presently explained that he hadset down his dunnage and crept close on his knees to look into the pitwhen the dry earth caved. Doubtless it was intended to do so, sincethis was a native tiger-trap baited with live meat. But Cadman had notconsidered fully in time. . . . Dust of the dry brown earth settledupon them now; the grey twilight darkened swiftly. The chamber wasabout nine by fifteen feet, hollowed wider at the bottom than the top,and covered with a thin frame of bamboo poles, upon which was spread alayer of leaves and sod. The kid had been tethered to escape thestroke if possible.

"It's all night for us," Cadman remarked. "They won't look at the trapuntil morning. My packs are above—rifle and blanket—"

"I have the camera," Skag chuckled.

Cadman's thin hand came out gropingly.

"The cigarettes are in the tea-pot," he said in a voice dulled withpain.

"I have the pistol," Skag added dreamily. Something of the situationhad touched him with joy. If he spoke at such times, it was very dryly.

"Doubtless you have our bathing-suits," Cadman suggested.

"And my cigarette-case has—" Skag felt in the dark, "hasone—two—three—"

"Go on," the other said tensely.

"Three," said Skag.

"Let's smoke 'em now. They're calling me already."

Skag passed him the case, saying; "I'm not ready. I do not care justnow."

The other puffed dismally.

"I don't always quite get you, son," he said. "But it's all right when
I do—"

Skag mused over this. He was hungry and he put the thought away. Hewas athirst and he put that thought away also. The wants came back,but he dealt with them more firmly. The two men talked of appetites ingeneral, and Skag explained that he handled his, just as he had handledthe wild animals in the circus, being straight with them and gainingtheir friendliness.

"Don't fight them," he said. "Get them on your side and they will pullfor you in a pinch."

"You talk like a Hindu holy man—"

"Do they talk like that?" Skag asked quickly. . . . "It was my oldfriend with the circus—who taught me these things. He taught me tomake friends with my own wild animals. It is true that he was manyyears in India. . . ."

"He was the one that had the ring in his left ear?"

"Right ear."

The other laughed. "It's such a novelty to find you are not aliar—with all you know and have been through. I'll stop that nastybusiness of testing you. Hear me, from now on, I'm done!"

Hours passed; it was after midnight. The waning moon was rising. Theycould tell the light through the trees. Cadman had smoked again, butSkag still expressed an unwillingness.

"It doesn't want to, now," he said.

"Oh, it doesn't—"

"I have persuaded it to think of other things. It is working for me."

Cadman swore softly, genially. "I never forget anything, son," hewhispered. "Never anything like that."

"Old Alec said I should never let a day pass without doing something Ididn't want to—or without something I wanted. He said it was betterthan developing muscle."

"Some brand of calisthenics—that. And he was the old one with therose-jar?"

Skag's hand lifted toward the other and Cadman's met his.

There was a wet, meaty growl, indescribably low-pitched—but no chanceeven to shout—only to huddle back together to the farthest corner.The beast had stalked faultlessly and pounced, landing upon the thincross pieces of bamboo, but short of the bait. Down the twelve feet hecame with a tearing hiss of fright and rage. Something like a muffledcrash of pottery, it was, mixed with dull choking explosions. The airof the pit seemed charged with furious power that whipped the leaves toshreds.

"The pistol, Skag—"

They were free, so far, from the rending claws. The younger man'sbrain was full of light. Cadman Sahib's voice had never been more calm.

Skag drew a match, not the gun. He scratched the match and held ithigh in front. They saw the great cowering creature like a fallen ponyin size—but untellably more vivid in line—the chest not more thanseven feet from them, the head held far back, the near front paw liftedagainst them as if to parry a blow.

Skag changed the match from his right hand to his left. When the flameburned low, he tossed it on the ground, half way between them and thetiger. There was a forward movement of the beast's spine—a littlelower and forward. The lifted paw curved in, but did not touch theground. The last light of the match, as it turned red, seemed brightin the beast's bared mouth. In it all there was the dramatic realityof a dream that questions not.

"He's badly frightened," Skag said.

No sound from Cadman Sahib.

"It's too big for him," Skag went on calmly. "He thinks we put overthe whole thing on him. It's too big for him to tackle. Wonder ifhe's got a mate?"

One big green eye burned now in the pit—steady as a beacon and turnedto them, enfolding them. Cadman Sahib cleared his throat.

"All right to talk?" he asked huskily.

"Sure. It will help—"

He cleared his throat again and inquired in an enticing tone: "Youactually don't mean to use the pistol?"

"I'm not a crack-shot," Skag said queerly.

"You might pass it to me. I'm supposed to be—"

"It is bad light."

"And then again, you might not," Cadman laughed softly. "I've got you,son—"

"I will do as you say," Skag said steadily.

Cadman hiccoughed. "The eye moved," he explained. "There—it did itagain. I got a feeling as if an elevator dropped a flight. What wereyou saying?"

"That I am here to take orders."

"I'm taking orders to-night, son. I wouldn't risk your good opinion byshooting your guest—"

"He is perfect—not more than four or five years—got his full range,but not his weight."

Skag stopped abruptly, until the other nudged him.

"Go on—it's like a bench-show—"

"We called them Bengalis—but that is just the trade-name—"

"You intimated he might have a lady-friend—do they hunt in couples?"

The boy didn't answer that. "You've never been in a tiger's cage?" heasked suddenly.

"I'm telling you not, so you'll excuse my apprehensions about ourlodging—in case Herself appears. The fact is, there isn't room—"

"She won't come near, if we keep up the voices—"

"It becomes instantly a bore to talk," Cadman answered.

Sometime passed before they spoke again. The tiger didn't seem tosettle any; from time to time, they heard the tense concussion, thehissing escape of his snarl. The kid had either escaped or strangledto death.

"Will he stand for it until morning?" Cadman asked abruptly.

"He may move a little to rest his legs."

"And won't he try for the top?"

"I think not. He has already measured that. He sees in the dark. Heknows there's no good in making a jump."

"Nothing to jump at—with us here?"

"We have put it over on him. You have helped greatly."

"How's all that?"

"You don't smell afraid—"

"Ah, thanks."

Long afterward Cadman's hand came over to Skag's brow and touched itlightly.

"I was just wondering, son, if you sweat hot or cold."

There was a pause, before he added:

"You see, I want to get you, young man. You really like this sort ofnight?"

"It is India," said Skag.

Every little while through the dragging hours, Cadman would laughsoftly; and if there had been silence for long, the warning snarl wouldcome back. The breath of it shook the air and the thresh of the tailkept the dust astir in the pit.

"There is only one more thing I can think of," Cadman said at last.

The waning moon was now in meridian and blent with daylight. The beastwas still crouched against the wall.

"Yes?" said Skag.

"That you should walk over and stroke his head."

"Oh, no, he is cornered. He would fight."

"There's really a kind of law about all this—?"

"Very much a law."

After an interval Cadman breathed: "I like it. Oh, yes," he addedwearily, "I like it all."

It was soon after that they heard the voices of natives and a face,looking grey in the dawn, peered down. Cadman spoke in a language thenative understood:

"Look in the tea-pot and toss down my cigarettes—"

At this instant the tiger protested a second time. The native vanishedwith the squeak of a fat puppy that falls off a chair on its back. Formoments afterward, they heard him calling and telling others the taleof all his born days. Three quarters of an hour elapsed before thelong pole, thick as a man's arm, was carefully lowered. Skag guidedthe butt to the base of the pit, and fixed it there as far as possiblefrom the tiger. This was delicate. His every movement was maddeninglydeliberate, the danger, of course, being to put the tiger into afighting panic.

"Now you climb," Skag said.

"No—"

"It is better so. I am old at these things. He will not leap at youwhile I am here—"

"You mean he might leap, as you start to shin up the pole—alone?"

"No, that will be the second time. It will not infuriate him—thesecond one to climb."

"I'll gamble with you—who goes first."

"You said that you were taking orders," Skag said coldly.

"That's a fact. But this isn't to my relish, son—"

"We do not need more words."

Cadman Sahib had reached safety. The natives were around him, feelinghis arms and limbs, stuttering questions. He bade them be silent,caught up his rifle and covered the tiger, while Skag made the tiltedpole, beckoning the rifle back.

"It's been a hard night for him," he said.

The two men stood together in the morning light. Cadman's face wasdeeply shaded by the big helmet again, but his eyes bored into theyoung one's as he offered his cigarette-case. Skag took one, lit itcarelessly. Cadman was watching his hands.

"You've got it, son," he said.

"Got what?"

"The good grey nerve. . . . Not a flicker in your hand. I wanted toknow. . . . Say, cheer up—"

Skag was looking toward the tiger trap.

"Ah, I see," said Cadman Sahib.

"The circus is a hard life," Skag said.

That was a kind of a feast day. . . . At noon the natives had thetiger up in sunlight, caged in bamboo. Skag presently came into astartling kind of joy to hear his friend make an offer to buy thebeast. Negotiations moved slowly, but the thing was done. Thatafternoon the journey toward Coldwater Ruins was continued with eightcarriers, the tiger swung between them. Skag was mystified. Whatcould Cadman mean? What could he do with a tiger at the Ruins or inthe Monkey Forest? The natives apparently had not been told thedestination, but they must know soon. It was all strange. Skag likedit better alone with his friend. Halt was called that afternoon, thesun still in the sky. The two white men walked apart.

"You get the drift, my son?"

Skag shook his head.

"Of course, the natives won't like it; they won't understand. Butwe're sure he isn't a man-eater—"

Skag's chest heaved.

"I never knew a more decent tiger—" Cadman went on. "Besides, he's afriend of yours, and not too expensive—"

"You bought him to—"

"I bought him for you, son—a tribute to the nerviest white man I everstepped with—"

That evening a great whine went up from the bearers. It appears thatwhile some were cutting wood, others preparing supper and othersgathering dry grass for beds, the younger white man, who had made magicwith the tiger in the pit, suddenly failed in his powers. The nativeswere sure it was not their fault that the cover had not been securelyfastened. The bearers repeated they were all at work and could find nofault with themselves. They were used to dealing with white men whodid not permit bungling. Their wailing was very loud. . . . To losesuch a tiger was worth more than many natives, some white men wouldsay. . . . But Cadman Sahib was rich. He fumed but little; being ofall white men most miraculously compassionate. . . . Also it was truethe beast, though full grown, was not a man-eater. . . .

"And to-morrow we shall go on alone—it is much pleasanter," said Skag,after all was still and they lay down together.

CHAPTER II

Son of Power

His Indian name was given to Skag in the great Grass Jungle; but he didnot know the meaning of the words when they first fell upon his ear.There India herself first opened for him the magic gates that seal hermystery. But he did not know it was her glamour that made him utterlyforget outside things, in the unbelievable loveliness of Grass Jungledays; did not know it was just as much her spell that made him forget hisown birthright, in the paralysis of perfect fear.

A part of her mystery is this forgetting—while she reveals canvas aftercanvas of life—uncovers layer beneath layer of her deeper marvels. Skagwas involved with his animals—and interests peculiarly personal—till itall came to seem like a dream. Yet underneath his surface consciousnessit was working in him, as the glamour of India always does, to colour hisentire future—as the magic of India always will.

After their night in the tiger pit-trap, Cadman and Skag had wanderedsoutheast-ward—still searching for the Monkey Forest and the ColdwaterRuins—and had become lost to the world and the ways of civilisation inthe mazes of the Mahadeo mountains. They had found a dozen jungles fullof monkeys, but none of them looked to Cadman like his dream. Themonkeys were all so melted-in to everything else; and there was so muchtoo much of everything else.

As for Ruins, the thing they found was too old. It was like an exposureof the sins of first men—alive with bats and smaller vermin. Themonkeys there had preserved from age to age the germs of all depravity.Without words the two Americans turned away from that spot, to forget it.

Skag was learning that his training in the circus had been but a merebeginning in the study of wild animals. It seemed impossible that therecould be a jungle anywhere with more beasts or greater variety, than theyheard at night.

It was as hard to come in good view of any wild creature—exceptingmonkeys—as it had been hard at first to sleep, on account of the voicesof all creation after sundown. To approach undiscovered, and to lie outand watch undiscovered, taxed and developed all their faculties; thefascination and excitement of it stretched their powers; and theirsuccesses enriched them both for a life-time.

After the first eagerness to get twenty different positions of a tigressplaying with her kittens, Cadman had become a miser of material and anadept in noiseless movement. Finding that he was in danger of goingshort on sketching paper, he used it more and more as if it were finegold, till his outlines were not larger than miniatures. Also, helearned to glance for the flash of approval in Skag's eye.

The two men had grown into a rare comradeship. This time of year,sleeping in the open was luxury. They had not suffered for food,excepting in the memory of such things as had once been most common.Well above fever-line, no ailment had touched them. So, eating simply,sleeping deeply and working hard, they toughened in body and keened inmind—the days all full of quickening interests, every next minute due todevelop surprise.

It was by a little headlong mountain stream, that the revelation came.Skag was looking to see which was the business-end of his tooth-brushthat morning when Cadman broke his sheath knife. The accident was acalamity, because Skag's was already worn out cutting step-way to climbout of khuds, and this was all they had left to serve such a purpose.

"That settles it, we must go," said Cadman, looking ruefully at the stumpof his old blade. "Our nearest kin wouldn't know us, but we are stillrecognisable to each other, and I'm not exactly ready to quit—are you?"

"No," Skag answered absently—unwilling to realise the necessity.

Cadman studied the crestfallen face—they had loved this life togetherand equally.

"But do you realise, my son," he asked, "that others will have to see us,before we can ever again be clothed and groomed properly?"

Now Skag looked at his friend with seeing eyes and blushed.

"It's not the clothes, so much as—" Skag stopped.

Cadman focused on Skag's face through his queer spectacles, then helaughed as only Cadman could laugh.

So they climbed down and took train for Bombay. Like fugitives theydodged the sight of correctly dressed Englishmen all the way; stoppingover more than seven hours at Kullian—so as to reach the great city atnight.

Next morning two clean-faced and very much alive Americans arrived at thePolo Club for late breakfast. Indeed they were good to look at, being inthe finest kind of health and full of initiative. That breakfast wasroyal in every flavour; they felt like young spendthrifts squanderingtheir patrimony. Just as they were finishing, a distinguished lookingEnglishman came across the room and greeted Cadman:

"Now this is my own proverbial good luck! Come away up to the house andgive account of yourself. Where are the pictures? We'll take 'em along."

Cadman presented Skag to Doctor Murdock of the University, explained thatit was imperative for them to do some general outfitting, but promised tobring his friend in the afternoon.

"Doctor Murdock is an extraordinary man, Skag," said Cadman, as theEnglishman hurried away. "Beside his chair in the University, he is saidto be top surgeon of Bombay. Barring none, he has more of differentkinds of knowledge than any man I know; becomes master of whatever hetakes up—authority, past question."

"I wondered why you promised to take me along," Skag put in.

"You'll be glad to have met him. He'll be interested in you," Cadmananswered. "He's quite likely to take us to see some of the Indiannautch-girls. They're one of his fads—for their beauty. He hasspecialties in art as well as in science; but he's clean stuff—nothingrotten in him."

They forgot time in the Bombay bazaars; first looking for bags, to beeasily carried on their own persons; and then giving themselves toquality and workmanship in things designed for their special uses. Therewas no hurry. All life stretched before them, in widening vistas.

Doctor Murdock's house was high on Malabar Hill. Their hired carriagecame in behind his trim little brougham, as it turned on the drivewayinto his compound.

"My fortune again!" the Doctor called. "I've been detained by a case andproperly sweating for fear you'd reach my den first."

Tea was served on a verandah entirely foreign and tropical and strangelooking to Skag. A field of palm-tops stretched away from their feet tothe sea. They told him the city of Bombay was hidden under those fronds.

"And now you understand, Cadman," the Doctor was saying, "there's yourown room and one next for your friend Hantee. Your traps will be upbefore you sleep, which may not be early, for I've a tamasha on for youthis night—you remember, I enjoy dinner in the morning?"

That tamasha was a maze of strange colour, strange motion and strangerperfume to Skag; not penetrating his conscious nature at all—feelingunreal to him.

"I've been watching you without shame this night, young man," the Doctorsaid to him, as they finished the after-midnight meal. "My entertainmentfell dead with you. Sir. You've been 'way off somewhere else. I'msimply consumed to know what you have found in life, to make your eyesblind and your ears deaf to the lure of human beauty. You're not to bedistressed by my impudence—it's innocent."

"If I may answer for my friend, I belive [Transcriber's note: believe?] Ican tell you, Doctor." Cadman saw consent in Skag's eye and went on: "Hehas found the lure of creatures. He has entered into the spell of ayoung tigress playing with her kittens, in her own place. He has watchedanother tigress fight her mate to a finish, defending her little onesfrom their sire. He has listened to the symphonies of night and seen thedrama of the wild. He lives in the clean glamour of the primeval jungle."

The Doctor's eyes widened for seconds; then they gloomed as he spoke:

"Between you, you challenge modern manhood. We have not conceived that'clean glamour' since men were young—forgotten ages past. No, there wasno human beauty to-night to make a man forget those tigresses. . . . Shewas not there. I am one of many who miss her, but I would give—" TheDoctor broke off, searching their faces before he spoke again: "There isno hope you will know the depth of the calamity; the bitterness of theloss. Speaking of clean things—"

"Who was she?" Cadman asked.

"She was the most beautiful thing on earth. She was indeed the mostmarvellous thing on earth, being a Bombay singing nautch-girl—undefamed.There has been no one else, these ages."

The Doctor sat smoking, apparently oblivious of his guests.

"The Spartan Helen?" Cadman suggested.

"Hah! The Spartan Helen was not invincible!"

"The Noor Mahal?"

"The Noor Mahal was always in seclusion."

"Her name?" Skag questioned.

"She had no name," the Doctor answered, "but she was called 'Dhoop KiDhil'—Heart-of-the-Sun; possibly on account of her voice. There hasbeen none like it. The master-mahouts of High Himalaya, their voicespass those of all other men for splendour; but I tell you there was noneother in the world, beside hers. Rich men in Bombay would give fortunesto anyone who would find her."

"Then she is not dead?" Skag spoke startled.

"We do not know that she is dead," the Doctor answered. "We wouldsuppose so, but for a curious happening four days before she disappeared.Down in the silk-market a dealer was buying silk from an up-countrynative—a man from the Grass Jungle. The native was exceptionally goodto look upon. Dhoop Ki Dhil came into the place to make some purchase.Her eye fell on the jungle man and she stood back. She was a valuablecustomer, so the silk-merchant made haste to signal her forward. But sheshook her head and moved further back."

The Doctor stopped to smoke.

"After a while Dhoop Ki Dhil came forward, moving like one in a trance,and said to the jungle man, 'Are you a god?' and the jungle man answeredher with shame, 'No, I am a common man.'

"Now that silk-merchant will tell no more. One doesn't blame him. Thenatives are not patient with such a tale of her. To hear that any manhad taken her eye, maddened them. She had passed the snares ofdesire—immune. She had turned away from fabulous wealth. She haddenied princes and kings. She smiled on all men alike—with that smilemothers have for little children."

"She was a mother-thing," murmured Cadman.

The Doctor turned, questioning:

"A mother-thing? Yes, probably. But she led the singing women like asuper-being incarnate. She led the dancing women like a living flame.They sing and dance yet, but the fire of life is gone out!"

"Where is the Grass Jungle?" Cadman asked.

"Nobody seems to know. As for me, I never heard of it—till this. Thesilk-merchants say that once in several years some strange man—one oranother—in strange garments, comes down with a peculiar kind of silk, toexchange for cotton cloth. He won't take money for it and he's easilycheated. He won't talk—only that he's from the great Grass Jungle. Heusually calls it 'great.'"

"It must be possible to find," said Cadman, glancing at Skag. "What doyou say?"

"I'm with you," Skag answered.

"Now am I gone quite mad, or do I understand you?" the Doctor enquired.

"I think you understand us," Cadman answered.

The Doctor sprang up, exclaiming:

"I've often told you, Cadman, you Americans develop most extraordinarysurprises. Most remarkable men on earth for—for developing at the—atthe very moment, you understand!"

"Do you know anyone who might give us something on the locality?" Skagasked Cadman.

"That's the point. I think I do," Cadman nodded. "But we'll have to goand find out."

"My resources are at your disposal," the Doctor put in.

"Your resources have accomplished the first half," smiled Cadman. "It'sfair that the rest of it should be ours."

"Then what's to do?" the Doctor questioned.

"A few things to purchase first, easily done to-day," Cadman answered,glancing out at the faint dawn. "Then, I know Dickson of the grain-foodsdepartment, at Hurda—Central Provinces. He ought to be familiar withthe topography of all the inside country. We'll risk nothing by going tohim."

"Then away with you to bed and get one good sleep. The boy will bringyou a substantial choti-hazri when you're out of your bath at six. Ihave a couple of small elephant-skin bags—you'll not find the like inshops—they're made for the interior medical service."

So Cadman and Skag went up from Bombay that night on the Calcutta-boundtrain, facing the far interior of India. The boy in Skag found joy inevery detail of his outfit; especially the elephant-skin bag, stockedwith necessary personal requirements and nothing more. But somewhere,far out before him, lost in this mystery-land—was a woman. That womanmust be found.

"What's the secret about the Doctor?" he asked Cadman, after they hadbeen rolling through the night some hours.

"Nobody knows, unless it's a woman he didn't get," Cadman answered.

"What's the grip this wonder-woman has on him?"

"Beauty and music and life, in the superlative degree; when it allhappens together, in one woman—she grips."

After that they both dreamed vague man-dreams of Dhoop Ki Dhil.

"There stands Dickson Sahib himself!" Cadman exclaimed, at Hurda station;and Skag saw the two meet, perceiving at once that it was a friendshipbetween men of very different type.

Then Dickson Sahib promptly gathered them both into that Anglo-Indianhospitality which is never forgotten by those who have found it. Skagwas made to feel as much at home as the evidently much-loved Cadman; notby word or gesture, but by a kindly atmosphere about everything. He meta slender lad of twelve years, presented to him by Dickson Sahib as "Myson Horace," whose clear grey eyes attracted him much.

After dinner Cadman told the story of Dhoop Ki Dhil. There was perfectsilence for minutes when he finished. Skag was groping on and on—hisquest already begun. Dickson was smoking hard, till he startled themboth:

"Of course, it's altogether right; I'd like to be with you."

"Then will you direct us?" Cadman asked.

"As an officer in a land-department, you understand—" Dickson answeredslowly, "I'm not supposed to send men into a place like that, to theirdeath. But I want you to know that my responsibility has nothingwhatever to do with my concern. Because I value your lives as men—Iwant to be careful. You must let me think it out loud. It's a maze. Imay place you, as I get on."

"We appreciate your care," Cadman said earnestly.

"The 'great' Grass Jungle is the proper name for vast territory—not allin one piece," Dickson Sahib began. "It comes in rifts between parallelrivers among the mountains. Seepage back and forth between the streams,gives the moisture necessary for such growth—year round.

"When white men come to the edge of one of those rifts, they turn back.
It's pestilential with wild beasts. Natives call it the Place-of-Fear.
White men don't challenge it—they go round. Government has named one
part of it—over toward the eastern end of the Vindhas—the Bund el
Khand, the closed country; that name tells its own story."

Dickson Sahib stopped, frowning.

"The native with silks to exchange goes down to Bombay?" he went on."That means, not Calcutta-way. It also means, not anywhere in theDeccan—which clears us away from large tracts. Yet he usually calls it'great'—that should mean, the Bund el Khand. No one knows how far in;but you'll best approach it from this side. I'm not dissuading you; I'dlike to be along. I'm offering you choice of my assortment offiring-pieces. I'll work you out some running lines—they'll be ready bylate-breakfast time. But I'm certain your best place to leave the trackswill be Sehora."

Dickson Sahib was worrying with a match, his face troubled, as hemuttered:

"Now if Hand-of-a-God—"

"What is that?" Skag asked quietly, of Cadman.

"That," smiled Dickson Sahib, "is a Scotchman. This civil station ofHurda is famous because he lives here. He is an absolutely perfect shot.Years ago he took all the medals and cups at the great shootingtournaments. He took 'em all, till for shame's sake he withdrew fromcontesting. He goes to the tournaments just the same—the crackshotmenwouldn't be without him—but he doesn't enter for the trophies any more."

"He is called the avenger of the people, Skag," Cadman put in, "becausehe goes out and gets the man-eaters; never sights for anything but theeye or the heart, and never misses."

"As I was saying," Dickson Sahib went on, "if Hand-of-a-God were here,he'd go without asking. Or even if the Rose-pearl's brother Ian werehere, he's quick enough. But he plays with situations, rather."

"Don't let this situation trouble you, Dickson," said Cadman.

There fell a moment of curious silence. Cadman was a bit pale, but
Skag's face looked serene, as he questioned innocently:

"Rose-pearl?"

"Yes," Dickson Sahib began absently, "she's here when she's not visitingone of her numerous brothers; just now it's Billium in Bombay. Herdegree is from London University and the medical service recognises herwork among the people. She's a holy thing to them; indeed, she neverrests when there's much sickness among them. But one wouldn't ask afavour of one of her brothers."

"Hold on, Dickson, I protest!" Cadman interrupted laughingly. "I'm notsuch a bad shot myself, you know!"

"The Grass Jungle is crowded—I say crowded—with the worst kinds ofblood-eaters. You may want an extra good shot; at the very top notch ofpractice, what's more."

As Dickson Sahib came out with it, he noticed Skag's surprise, andchallenged him:

"Bless your soul, man, I believe it's your grip that grips us!"

Skag's serene face got warm, but Cadman assented.

"Skag dwells in the fundamentals," he explained; "most of us never touch'em. He's practically incapable of fear; and the idea of failure neveroccurs to him."

Early next morning Cadman got a telegram calling him to Calcutta; andafterward to England.

"We'll take time to do this big thing first, though," he said, puttingthe wire into Skag's hand. "They want me sooner—as you see; but they'llget me later. Come away and I'll send word to that effect."

Skag was realising what it would have meant to him, if Cadman had failed;so he asked—vaguely—something about the Rose-pearl.

"Don't let yourself get interested in her, son. That family is like asecret sanctuary; and she is the holy thing behind the altar. She'sunattainable."

CHAPTER III

Son of Power (Continued)

They left the train at Sehora and struck out through rough country,following Dickson Sahib's directions. They camped in full jungle—wildbeast voices ringing through the night.

Next day they came into a valley like Eden, nourished by a small river.On its banks—near a mud-walled, grass-thatched village—Cadmandiscovered a devout man of great learning, who rested on the path of along pilgrimage. The devout man was approachable and spoke perfectEnglish; so they asked him about the land ahead.

"The Grass Jungle, sons? It is the place of secret ways. Only the veryinnocent of men-things dwell there; those not soiled by the wisdom ofevil. To the wise of the world, it is the place of plague and pestilenceand fear; and swift death by heat—and the shedding of blood. Past allelse—to such—it is the place of the shedding of blood."

He stopped a moment, musing; then in softer tones went on:

"The days are all still there. The creature-multitude sleeps in hiddenlairs—black and gold and brown and grey—all veiled in golden gloom.The little men-things go their ways, on their own man-paths, which theyonly know; remember this—they only know.

"When you go in, they will send boys with you from one village to thenext; but only in the early hours, or in the late hours of day. See thatyou do not persuade them otherwise. The full-day heat is called 'blight'because it robs men of their wits."

Skag scarcely breathed, till the Learned spoke again.

"At night—I speak who know—at night the earth rises up to the heavenson the voices of the wild and the ears of the gods are offended.Creatures go out on their own paths—as the men-things go on theirs byday. They rend and contend, they kill and are killed; but they do notcease till dawn."

The devout man's head sank low upon his breast and he was very still.

"It's romance, Skag," whispered Cadman, "but that's not saying it's ourromance. The man's off again in his abstractions; but I'm going to tryonce more."

Skag nodded.

Touching the wise man's foot with reverence and speaking in the form ofutmost respect, Cadman asked:

"Is it well that we go in? We search for one who sings as thesuper-human sing; we search for the sake of sick hearts—her heart andothers. Is it well?"

The eyes that lifted were not abstract; they were very deep and keen.
Both the Americans felt winnowed before he spoke again.

"Ignorance is not good, but innocence is the supreme defence. If it isthe will of the beneficent gods that you find the unmothered woman ofgreat beauty in time, then it shall be so. But be patient. Move slowlythrough the little peoples, forgetting your search—I say forgetting yoursearch, as you go. Be kind; haste will not delay the sacrifice—kindnessmay. The way lies before you. Peace."

Cadman rose at once. They had been dismissed with a benediction; nothingfurther could be obtained. Otherwise Skag would have been aquestion-mark before that poor old man till morning.

"But he knows!"

The words seemed wrung out of Skag, as they sat apart.

"He does; there's no gamble about that. But if we challenge him, thechances are—he'll revoke that benediction!" Cadman speculatedwhimsically. "Then we'll have all the people against us—which is tosay, every prospect of success would go glimmering. No, there's nothingfor it but to go ahead, as fast as we can—slowly."

"But what do you suppose he meant by 'forgetting'?" Skag asked. "That wemustn't let the natives know we're looking for her?"

"I believe you've got it!" Cadman assented.

"Then I've forgotten!" Skag said with decision.

"I will have forgotten, by morning," Cadman answered.

They were on their way as soon as it was light enough to see theircompass. They slept at two villages; and early the third day came out ofsketchy mountains into full view of the great Grass Jungle itself. Inlong low waves, it billowed away from them to the dim rugged line ofVindha against the sky. It looked like massed plumes of feathers—allgolden-green.

That day they walked down toward it with few words. To Skag it wasperfectly natural enchantment—veiling the mystery of Dhoop Ki Dhil. Henever thought of it as a death-trap for himself.

Under the late afternoon sun, the rolling waves of golden-green took onan aspect of measureless distance; clean reaches, absolutely unbroken byanything save their own majestic undulations. The most innocentlandscape on earth, more enticing than the sand-desert—its softermystery breathed forth the faint searching perfume of growing things.Its undertone was well-being. Its overtone was peace.

"Do you suppose they're doing any harm to her, in there?" Cadman asked.

"No," Skag answered, but his face was grim as he spoke.

When they came into it, they found not grass but bamboo, twelve tosixteen feet high, standing root to root. They camped at a village inits edge; and before they slept, twenty lads were ready to lead them inthe man-paths, next morning.

The villages had not been visible from the mountain-side, being solidlydouble-thatched with bamboo. Garden and fruit-stuffs were underneath;and animals for milk and butter.

The people were semi-primitive. Physical degeneration was not found.Indeed their bodily perfection was extraordinary. In mind, they werelike children; happy and friendly, joyful to teach all they knew—joyfulto show all they had. The days rang with clean, childish laughter; butthere was no philosophy. There was no deep concern, no lasting grief, nohate.

"Skag, my son," said Cadman solemnly, "if a man really wants to departfrom sin—this is the place to come!"

By this time they had passed through several villages, campingunder double-thatch and inside heavy stockade guards. Being unableto release himself from the thrall of his life-quest, even whileevery element of his manhood was deep in the thrall of a "singingnautch-girl—undefamed—" Skag's trained ears had been extending hiseducation in what was the cult of cults to him. He had listened longerthan Cadman at night, to those voices of the wild by which the ears ofthe gods are offended.

Surely his secret consciousness—during those night-watches—had grappledwith the unknown ahead, reaching impatient fingers to find and save DhoopKi Dhil in time. But he let no flicker of that thought colour his answer.

"I don't know," he said dubiously, "if I'm not mistaken, I've heard somesinful language at night."

As they got further in, two names attracted their attention—spokentogether like one word—Dhoop Kichari-lal and Koob Soonder. Of courseKoob Soonder—Utterly Beautiful—they first thought could mean none otherthan the Bombay nautch-girl whom they sought—yet later they were tolearn the truth. But the last part of the first name—Kichari-lal—theydid not know. Yet no one would interpret it to them; the innocent peoplelooked frightened when they asked.

Still, the name recurred; and like following golden threads throughmeshes of green—all this life was gold and green—they became fascinatedby the tracing of it.

Then they heard of a man who "knew everything and was able to tell it."They found him strangely clothed in soft brown, surrounded by youngsters;and asked for all he knew about Dhoop Kichari-lal and Koob Soonder.(Their request would have been made in different form, if they hadrecognised his order at first glance.) He eyed them keenly, beforespeaking:

"Dhoop Kichari-lal? That is the name of a colour which the woman fromfar wears; she whom Jiwan Kawi loved and would have wed. And KoobSoonder—small sister of Jiwan Kawi—our strong young man who went away;she whose mother was taken by Fear when she was a babe, she who wasstricken by the blight when she began to run—she who was named for herperfect beauty, before the Grass Jungle had seen beauty more perfect—"

"Do you know all the story?" Cadman interrupted, with dry lips.

"All," said the man. "Am I not here to teach the little people with thetelling of tales? Jiwan Kawi was sent on the great adventure, to changeour silks for cotton cloths—which the people consider more desirable."(There was the hint of a tender smile on his lips, as he said the lastwords.) "Jiwan Kawi was the most strong, the most beautiful of all ouryoung men when these same leaves were small, in the spring." He paused,seeming to forget them—his eyes on the leaves.

Then his manner changed, taking on a quality of austere impressiveness,as he continued:

"Jiwan Kawi returned from the great adventure; but a woman came afterhim—sunrise to sunset behind. She had followed him from the place ofthe multitudes, where all the people dwell together. He had seen herthere; he had loved her there; he had fled in fear from her beauty; hehad fled in distraction away back to his own place. Now—his joy showed,past telling. But she had come without a mother to give her in marriage;and marriage cannot be, otherwise.

"If it had not been for her so great beauty! Surely our women arebeautiful—as the gods know how to make common women. But when they sawher—they went back into their houses and covered their faces from thelight of her eyes.

"That was the calamity; for a woman must be given in marriage by theheart of a woman—sincere and unafraid. And there was not one withoutfear. Jiwan Kawi went out into the jungle that night; and he never cameback. Fear may have taken him."

The man looked away toward the horizon.

"Then she put on her body the one garment of hindu-widowhood, unadorned;but without marriage. She said, 'I will mourn for the children that havenot been—that are not—that cannot be.' The women heard the voice ofher mourning; and they forgot her too-great beauty, to serve hertoo-great pain—when it was late.

"They gave her the little Koob Soonder, to mother. Now it is that thechild, who has no wit and little reason, goes out into the place ofsacrifice to find Fear; and the woman in a widow's garment goes after, tofetch her back. Then the woman who mourns for unborn children, goes outinto the night-paths—as Jiwan Kawi went—and the little Koob Soonderfollows, to fetch her back.

"So they are going, always going out into the place of sacrifice—where
Fear lives. Some day or some night—Fear will take them."

"What kind of fear?" Cadman asked, with a dry throat.

"Fear is name enough. There is none other."

The man's reply was spoken in conclusive tones. He sat as if oblivious,for several minutes. Then searching them both earnestly with haggardeyes, he spoke direct:

"Have you looked on Dhoop Ki Dhil, for whom you come so far? Have youheard her voice?"

Both the Americans shook their heads.

"Will you look on her in the paths of my understanding? Will you renderyourselves to know her in the currents of my blood?"

"We will," Cadman answered tensely.

The man lifted his face toward the night-sky, becoming perfectly stillbefore he spoke:

"She is the breath of the early spring-time, when the pulse of the earthawakes. She is the midnight moon of all summers, in all lands. The roseof daybreak is in her smile; the flames of sunset in her face.Lightnings of the monsoon break from her eyes; and she mothers themothers of men with their tenderness. Her body moves like flowing water;and she is the joy of all joy and the sorrow of all sorrow, in motion."

The man lifted his hand, as if to interrupt himself.

"The majesties of High Himalaya are in her voice; and distances ofstar-lit night."

He stopped, seeming to listen to something they could not hear.

"The tides of the seasons flow through the blood of common men," he wenton; "they carry the gold of delight away; and the rock-stuff of strength.Then men are old. It is not so with her. Bitter waters of grief havedrenched her, they have covered her as the deep covers the lands below;but her ascending flames of life consume them all. She rises like acreature made of jewels, to enlighten men against the snares of that samedeep from which she has come up—wearing splendours of loveliness forgarmenture.

"The people weep their tears for her pain; but she heals their hurts witha look. She restores their dead memories of youth to old men—theirmemories of dead loves. She restores the eyes of girlhood to the elderwomen, who have long been weary with yearning after dead littleones—after dead men. She has taught the little people who cannotthink—the child-hearted people—that Love-the-transcendent can never die!

"Dhoop Ki Dhil? She is youth, eternal! She is motherhood—the divinelotus of the world!"

Turning to face Cadman and Skag, the man said gently:

"The way lies before you. Go swiftly now. Peace."

And rising softly in the dead hush, he moved away.

Cadman sat long meditating, before he spoke at all; then it was likethinking aloud:

"A mystic brother of the Vindhas—one with the old man outside; notleaving these little semi-primitives alone—identifies himself withthem—that's good business!"

"Let's get on!" breathed Skag.

They made the utmost speed possible, till they came to the village thatstartled them. The childlike care-freedom was gone. Light-heartednesswas quenched. Apprehension took its place; low tones, no laughter—alook of helpless suffering like the large-eyed wonder in the face of agrieved child.

They asked about the next village.

"Fear lives there," they were told.

"What fear?" Cadman asked.

"Do you know the king of all serpents—he who comes over any wall, he whogoes through any thatch? He dwells there. He feeds upon the children ofmen and upon their creatures. He comes only to the edge, but he eats!"

The boy who told them this was so different from other boys they hadseen, that Cadman asked him direct:

"Who are you?"

"I am here under a master, doing a certain work in my novitiate," the boysaid simply.

"Will you take us there in the morning?" Cadman asked.

The boy looked at them intently, before he answered:

"It is just inside the nesting-place of all the serpents in the world;but Fear is their king. We who are here to serve, have no weapons; andwe cannot overcome malignant things with kindness. If you will deliverthe people from that serpent-king, by destroying his evil life, all thesnakes will go further back into the jungle. For many generations—ifthe gods will, for always—the innocent people will be safe. I will takeyou there, if you will kill him."

"We will try," Cadman said, not even turning to look at Skag.

They found the village in total paralysis of all natural activities. Itwas like a deadly pall. This was no new terror; it was olddevastation—bred into the bone of consciousness.

A little girl came near to watch Cadman, who was getting out his gun.She had never seen one before. He whispered to her—it seemed not rightto speak aloud in this place—and asked her where was Dhoop Ki Dhil. Thechild shook her head, but answered him:

"Wherever you will see the sun-melted red."

"What is that?" he wondered.

"That? That is the long-long, wide-wide cloth that covers all her body.It is made of so-thick silk" (she showed him six fingers), "that manytimes as thick as we know how to make."

"What is the name of the boy who led us here?" he asked next.

"We call himDhanah and many other names; but he is not a small boy, heis a man—very wise and sad."

At that moment they heard a voice like golden 'cellos and golden clarionsand golden viols—calling "Koob Soon-n-der, Koob Soon-n-der!" and the boycame past, running hard.

"Soon!" he shouted.

But Skag was at his heels and Cadman followed close, the shortfiring-piece in his hands.

The paths were narrow, the bamboo dense; the boy leaped into a curve andwas lost. They raced after him, till the path broadened at the top of anelevation. Pausing an instant to listen, they saw—directly in front ofthem a little way distant—a tall post; a dark post, seven or eight feetabove the bamboo tops, stiff and straight.

It held their eyes by its strange sheen. It began to lean stiffly towardone side—as if falling. It straightened and leaned the other way. Thenundulation crept into it, till the top-end followed the outline of adouble loop—like a figure-of-eight.

The snake had chained them this long. Skag recovered with an inwardrevulsion that rent him. He plunged down the path, his facultiessurging—thought, feeling, realisation, volition—tearing him.

He met Dhanah carrying an utterly limp girl in his arms—the boy's facegone grey.

As Skag fled on past Dhanah, the whole story of Dhoop Ki Dhil was eatingin his brain like fire. She was somewhere in there ahead ofhim—somewhere near that monster snake.

The weaving of the serpent's head, looping in long reaches above thebamboo tops—looking over them, looking down into them, looking for itsprey—had frozen him to the marrow of his bones.

Dhoop Ki Dhil had come out into this blind maze to find and save theheat-blighted child from—that death. He knew what that death waslike—he had seen a big snake kill a goat once, in the circus, for food.. . . The frost in his bones bit deeper, because this was Dhoop KiDhil—the wonder-woman—who was in there, somewhere close to that snake.He heard the Bombay Doctor's tones again, as he ran; and the words of thebrown-robed mystic went like flame and acid through his blood.

. . . Why couldn't he hear Cadman? Cadman had the gun. But if hehimself could only reach her before the snake—if he could only— And asoft blur of sun-melted red loomed ahead of him.

Dhoop Ki Dhil did not walk, she did not run; but her glide was almost asswift as Dhanah's flight.

When Skag met her face to face, he shivered with a shock ofrealisation—her ineffable beauty glowed like coals in a trance of someunearthly devotion. Her human mind was not there—an incomparable calmreigned in its stead.

"Come!" he urged strangely.

She moved with him, tilting her beautiful head to indicate somethingbehind.

He looked—the snake was coming through the long narrow path, coming on;huge undulations, touching the ground but coming through the air, withoutany look of haste. The path was plenty wide for it, there was plentytime for it—it was overtaking them as if they stood still.

Then, for one eternal moment, Skag knew fear. It wascold—long—metallic. It was invincible—without pity. He heard humanvoices and the sound of running water—in a dream. Near by, he heard alow sweet laugh. The eyes of fathomless splendour beside him were notlooking into his, but they were full of that love which transcends fear.And the birthright of Sanford Hantee rose up in him.

"That's right, come on!" he cried to her.

She looked up; and he followed her glance—one great undulation swayedabove them—surging in oozy motion—curving down; just higher than theirfaces—a broad flat head—thin lateral lips—stark lidless eyes.

Skag ran with his arm about Dhoop Ki Dhil's shoulders. He ran as fast ashe could—and still look up. He dared not loosen his eyes from thoseeyes of evil—he must hold them with what strength he had.

They were utterly patient—those eyes of unveiled malice; as if there hadnever been strength in the universe but that of sin—as if sin lookeddown for the first time on something different.

Skag was perfectly definite in his intention; he meant to hold the snakeif he could. Some of his training had been in the use of his eyes tocontrol animals under stress.

So he ran with his arm about Dhoop Ki Dhil's shoulders, the flame of hisvolitional power burning straight up into those pitiless, lidlesseyes—till he came into a sentiency that had no cognisance of time.

. . . The raw curse of wickedness and the bitter length of hate, beatdown upon him—out of the great snake's naked eyes. The deadly stench ofold corruption, poured down upon him—in the great snake's breath.

It challenged the manhood and womanhood of his humankind, with all thecrimes of violence they had ever done. Skag met it wistfully at first,with knowledges of loving-kindness; then a rising force that almostchoked him, of confidence in ultimate good.

. . . Cadman had found the right path at last. What he saw blottedeverything else out. Calling his reserves of control, he sighted withthe utmost care. His big-game bullet shattered the serpent's head. Itlaunched backward and Skag heard a heavy stroke on the ground, almostbefore he realised that the lidless eyes of ancient evil had disappearedfrom so near his face.

A mighty shout went up from the people, as the monster coils began tothresh living bamboo into pulp. No one saw the hands of the twoAmericans grip.

Then the majesties of High Himalaya and the distances of star-lit night,poured forth from Dhoop Ki Dhil's lifted lips.

Cadman and Skag followed her among the people going back to the village.Once she whirled with an inimitable movement, flinging her fingers towardSkag, in a gesture that seemed to focus the eyes of the whole world uponhim. (And in that instant, the American men could not have spoken aword—for the richness of her in their hearts.)

The light of intelligence flooded her face; her mind had returned to her,unmarred—a radiant scintillance.

"She is naming you 'Rana Jai' for the generations to come," Cadmaninterpreted. "She says no mortal man ever held the king of all serpentsfrom his stroke—ever delayed him from his chosen prey—this thing theyhave seen you do. It is your tradition for the future.

"She says I am your guardian, sent by the gods, to destroy theserpent—for your sake—so saving the people." Cadman finished huskily.

"But I didn't reach him, Cadman," Skag protested. "I didn't touchhim—inside!"

As they all came into the village enclosure, Dhoop Ki Dhil slipped into ahouse near by, saying that Dhanah thought the child slept too deeply—shewould care for her.

The people were beside themselves with joy. But presently Dhoop Ki Dhilcame out, looking straight up. Her hands were palm to palm, reachingslowly upward from her breast to their full stretch; there she gentlyopened them apart. A perfect hush fell on all.

"The child is gone," Cadman said, in an undertone.

Then the people began a low chant. It was not mourning. It was as if agreat multitude sang a great lullaby together.

"Boy, boy! This is a hard knock at our civilisation!"

Cadman was not aware that he had spoken. Skag shook his head.

"God! how I love it!" burst from him; and he had no shame of that love.

Little Koob Soonder's body—in heavy silks of gleaming blue—was laid ona bamboo pyre. Dhoop Ki Dhil tenderly sprinkled flower-petals andincense-oils over all, and lighted the four corners for the motherlessone, herself. Cadman and Skag watched the clean flames, till only silverashes were on the ground. And all the while the people sang their greatsoft lullaby, without tears or any sign of mourning.

Hours later, the voice of Dhoop Ki Dhil rose on the night—far away. Itseemed to compass the planet with its golden power and to descend fromthe empyrean of sound; further and further—transcending the voices ofthe wild—the very heart of love, the very soul of light. But they sawno more of her; and the people next morning made no reply to Cadman'snatural enquiry; no one would tell what had happened to Dhoop Ki Dhil.

All the way to the edge of the great Grass Jungle, where they had comein, a multitude went before and after—establishing the tradition oftheir deliverance. Finally Cadman asked the people why they spoke noword of Dhoop Ki Dhil, excepting as to things finished. The people bowedtheir heads and one answered for them all:

"It is finished. When we of the Grass Jungle mourn, we do not use words."

As they walked slowly into the open, listening to the voices of thechild-people, the name "Rana Jai" recurred often.

"I haven't heard what that word means yet," Skag said.

"Rana Jai?" Cadman repeated. "The exact translation is Prince ofVictory; but Dhoop Ki Dhil made her meaning clear—Son of Power; a greatdeal more."

After that, they had little to say. Certainly Cadman would never forgetthe length of time he had seen the looming head—less than two feet fromSkag's face—the incredible power that flamed up out of the young man'seyes. Certainly Skag was full of content as to the safety of the people.But all realisations were lost in a gnawing depression about Dhoop KiDhil.

When they came to Sehora, the station-man held out a letter in quaintlywritten English; it read:

From the wayside Dhoop Ki Dhil sends greetings to Son of Power, mostexalted; and to his guardian, most devoted.

She pays votive offerings from this day, at sunrise and at sunset, forthose men—incense and oils and seed—to safety from all evil, andfulfillment of their so-great destiny.

The gods, all-beneficent, have preserved him—Jiwan Kawi, the man ofmen! He met her in the night-paths; and he goes now with her—to her ownpeople. Jiwan Kawi, the man of men!

The Grass Jungles are in her heart, like dead rose-leaves; their perfumein her blood, is forever before the gods—remembering Son of Power andhis guardian.

Dhoop Ki Dhil touches their holy feet.

The two Americans looked into each other's eyes, without words—the
Calcutta-bound train was alongside.

"Remember, I'm responsible for you from now on, son!" Cadman said, as heloosed Skag's hand.

CHAPTER IV

The Monkey Glen

Skag and Cadman were back in Hurda where Dickson Sahib lived, and theyounger man was disconsolate at the thought of Cadman's leaving forEngland. During those few last days they were much together in theopen jungle around the ancient unwalled city; and once as they walked,two strange silent native men passed them going in toward thewilderness.

"The priests of Hanuman," Cadman whispered.

Skag enquired. He had a new and enlarged place in his mind foreverything about these men. Cadman explained that these priests servethe monkey people: to this purpose they are a separate priesthood.Abandoning possessions and loves and hates of their kind, they livelives of austerity, mingling with the monkey people in their ownjungles; eating, drinking with them; sleeping near; playing andmourning with them—in every possible way giving expression togood-will. All this they do very seriously, very earnestly, withreverence mingled with pity.

"The masses here think these men worship the monkeys," Cadman added."It's not true. Most Europeans dismiss them as fanatics—equallyabsurd. I've been out with them."

Skag had actually seen the faces of the two men just passed. Theimpression had not left his mind. They were dark clean faces, groovedby much patient endurance, strong with self-mastery and those fainterlines that have light in them and only come from years of service forothers.

Cadman certainly had no scorn for these men. He had passed days andnights with their kind in one of the down-country districts. His tonewas slow and gentle when he spoke of that period. It wasn't thatCadman actually spoke words of pathos and endearment. Indeed, he mighthave said more, except that two white men are cruelly repressed fromeach other in fear of being sentimental. They are almost as willing toshow fear as an emotion of delicacy or tenderness.

"The more you know, the more you appreciate these forest men," Cadmancapitulated and laughed softly at the sudden interest in Skag's face ashe added: "I understand, my son. You want to go into the jungle withthese masters of the monkey craft. You want to read their lives—farin, deep in yonder. Maybe they'll let you. They were singularly goodto me. . . . It may be they will see that thing in your face whichknocks upon their souls."

"What is that?"

Cadman laughed again.

"In the West they know little of these things; but the fact is, it'squite as you've been taught: the more a man overcomes himself, the morepowers he puts on for outside work. And when a man is in charge ofhimself all through, he has a look in his eye that commands—yes, evenfinds fellowship with the priests of Hanuman."

"Would these priests see such a look?"

"Of course!"

"But why?"

"Because they have it themselves. It's evident as sun-tan, to theseers, who are what they are because they rule themselves. Your oldAlec Binz had it right. You handle wild animals in cages or afieldjust in proportion as you handle yourself. Those who commandthemselves see self-command when it lives in the eye of another. . . .They called me—those priests did—years ago. I almost wanted to livewith them for a while; but it was too hard."

"How was that?"

"They said I must forsake all other things in life to serve the monkeypeople—that I must stay years with them, winning their faith, before Iwould be of value—that all life in the world must be forgotten."

Cadman laughed wistfully. "I wasn't big enough," he added, "or madenough, as you like. Perhaps they'll know you at once, or it mighttake labour and patience to convince them you have not an unkindthought toward any of their monkey friends and no scorn of them becausethey serve in such service."

The out and out staring fact of the whole matter, Skag realised, wasthat these priests believed the monkeys to be a race of men who havebeen far gone in degeneration. They gave their lives to help thereturn progress. The order of Hanuman had already endured for manygenerations. The value of their work was hardly appreciable from anystandpoint outside; they counted little the years of a man's life; theywere trained in patience to a degree hardly conceivable to a Westernmind.

". . . Of course they work in the dark," Cadman said. "The natives tryto obey in these matters, but do not understand; and one young Europeanwith a rifle can undo a whole lot of their devoted labour among thetree-people. You see, the priests work with care and kindness,following, ministering, accustoming the monkeys to them, neverbetraying them in the slightest—"

Skag nodded, keenly attentive. He knew well from his experience as ashow trainer what it means to get the confidence of the big cats; andhow months of careful work could be ruined in a moment by an ignoranthand. Deep, steady, inextinguishablekindness was the thing.

"Yes, to be kind and square," Cadman resumed. "And one of thestrangest and most remarkable things that ever came to me in the shapeof a sentence was from one of these priests. He was an old man, greypallor stealing in under the weathered brown of his face. He had thatlook in his eye that has nothing to do with years, but means that a manis so sufficient unto himself that he can forget himself utterly. . . .He spoke of the condition of the tree-folk, of the incommunicablesorrow of them—as if it were his own destiny. The one sentence ofhis, hard to forget—in English would be like this:

"'After a man has lived with these monkey people for a long time, andalways been kind, one of them may come and stand before him and lettears roll down his hairy face. And this is all the confession ofsorrow he can make!'"

Skag caught the deep thing that had stirred Cadman. The latter addedwith a touch of scorn:

"Once I told this thing, as I have told you, to a group of Europeans ina steamer's smoking room. And two of them laughed—thought I wastelling a funny story. . . . These priests are apt to be very bittertoward one who wrongs one of their free-friends. They believe that itis a just and good thing to make a man pay with his life, for takingthe life of a monkey; because it impedes his coming up and embittersthe others. One way to look at it?"

Skag was in and out of the jungle most of the days after Cadman leftfor Bombay to sail. Closer and closer he drew to the deep, sweetearthiness and the mysteries carried on outside the ken of most men.One dawn, from a distance he watched a sambhur buck pause on the browof a hill. The creature shook his mane and lifted up his nose andsniffed the dawn of day.

Skag knew that it was good to him, knew how the sensitive grey nostrilsquivered wide, drinking deep draughts of cool moist air. The grasseswere rested; the trees seemed enamoured of the deep shadows of night.The river gurgled musically from the jagged rocks of her mid-current tothe overleaning vines and branches of her borders.

This was a side stream of the Nerbudda. Already Skag shared with thenatives the attitude of devotion to the great Nerbudda. She was sacredto the people, and to every creature good, for her gift was like thegift of mothers. When all the world was parched and full of deepcracks, yawning beneath a heaven white and cloudless, and rain forsookthe land, and every leaf hung heavy and dust-laden; when heat andthirst and famine all increased, till creatures crept forth from theirhot lairs at evening and moved in company—who had been enemies, butfor sore suffering—then would she yield up her pure tides to satisfytheir utmost craving. . . .

Skag lived deep through that morning. The rose and amber radiance ofdawn fell into all the hearts of all the birds; and wordless songs camepulsing up from roots of growing things. The sambhur lifted high hishead again and spread the fan of one ear toward the wind, while onebreathed twice. Then there fell a sudden rustling on the branches; andswift along the river's brim, the sharp, plaintive cry of monkeys,beating down through all the startled stillness with their wailingvoices. These turned, hurrying away in one direction, with fearlessleaps and clinging hands and ceaseless chattering. Their cries atintervals, bringing answers, until the air was a-din with monkeys,leaping along the highways of the trees.

Women of the villages, children tending goats, labourers among thedriftings of the hills and on the open slopes, holy men and those whotoiled at any craft—heard the shrill calls along the margins of thejungle and knew that some evil had fallen on a leader of his kind amongthe monkey people.

Then Skag saw two priests of Hanuman rising up from the denser shadowswhere the river was lost in the jungle. Quickly girding themselves,they followed the multitudes. Skag did not miss their stern faces, northe instant pause as they dipped their brown feet with prayers into theriver. He dared to follow. The priests turned upon him, silent,frowning; but he was not sent back.

Skag recalled Cadman's words, but also that he was known among thenatives as one white man not an animal-killer. His name Son of Powerhad followed him to Hurda; word about him had travelled with mysteriousrapidity. To his amazement Skag found that the people of Hurda knewsomething of the story of the tiger-pit and his part in delivering theGrass Jungle people from the toils and tributes of the greatsnake. . . . He was not sent back.

For a long time, until the forenoon was half spent, the three marchedsilently. One halted at length to pick up from the leaves a white silkkerchief, bearing in one corner two English letters wrought inneedle-work. This was lifted by the elder of the priests and folded inthe thick windings of his loin-cloth. Deeper and deeper into thejungle they travelled, never far from the river.

Suddenly the branches parted, the path ceased; a smooth, perfect carpetof tender, green grass spread out before them and reached and clung tothe lip of a deep, clear pool—beaten out through the ages, by theweight of the stream falling on a lower ledge of rock from the brow ofa massive boulder. The mighty trees of the forest stretched their hugearms over this spot, as if to keep it secret, so that even the fiercesunshine was mellowed before it touched the earth.

In the midst of rich grasses, in the shadow of an overleaning rock, awounded monkey lay stretched upon fresh leaves. The two priests wentnear him, softly, while the tree-branches filled in and swayed—underweight of monkeys finding places. Here and there a local chatteringbroke the stillness for a moment, where some dry branch snapped,refusing to bear its burden.

For minutes the two hesitated, considering the wounded one; then theelder priest drew out the kerchief. Skag did not understand all thewords spoken, but he made out that this kerchief was a token thatshould find the hand that caused the wound "and seal it untotorment." The second priest's lips moved, repeating the samecovenant. The elder then turned back toward the city, signifying thatSkag might follow.

After they had walked some time, the old priest halted and drew forththe kerchief again. He examined the monogram woven with a fine needleinto the corner. To him the shape of the first English letter was likea ploughshare, and the second was like the form in which certain largebirds fly in company over the heights of the hill country. The priestlooked long, then hid the kerchief once more, and they hurried on.

Near the unwalled city, the priest sat down before the pandit, RatnaRam, whose seat was under the kadamba tree by the temple of Maha Dev.Ratna Ram was learned in the signs of different languages and couldwrite them with a reed, so that those who had knowledge could decipherhis writing, even after many days and at a great distance: Ratna Ram,to whom the gods had given that greatest of all kinds of wisdom,whereby he could hold secretly any knowledge and not speak of it tillthe thing should be accomplished. (The pandit was well known to Skagwho studied Hindi before him for an hour or more, on certain days.)

Taking the reed from Ratna Ram, the old priest carefully reproduced theletters he had memorised—A. V.—explained that he had found akerchief, doubtless fallen from some foreigner as he walked in thejungle. . . . Did the pandit know the man whose name was writtenso? . . . Now the priest spoke rapidly in his own tongue, repeatingthe covenant Skag had heard him pronounce in the monkey glen.

For a while Ratna Ram sat silent. The priest waited patiently, knowingthat the pandit's wisdom was working in him and that he was consideringthe matter.

Then Ratna Ram spoke to the priest:

"Oh, Covenanted, you are learned in many things and I am ignorant. Butknowledge of some things has pierced to my understanding like a sharpsword. Consider, oh, Covenanted, Indian Government, who is lord overall this land, over the Mussulman and over us also, over our lands andover all our possessions, in whose hand is the protection of our livesand the safety of our cattle. The foreigner has no honour to the lifeof any creature of the jungle, neither in his heart, nor in hisunderstanding, nor in his laws. But know this and understand it; toGovernment the life of one human is heavier to hold in the hand thanall the lives of all the tribes of the people of Hanuman. This is agood and wise thing to remember at this time, for there is no safeplace to hide from Government in all this land; no, not even in therocks, if he be searching for those who have taken one of his lives;and there is no force to bring before him to meet his force; and thereis no holding the life from him, that he will take in punishment; andif many lives have taken his one life, he will have them all. Considerthese sayings."

When Ratna Ram had ceased speaking, the priest sat without answeringfor a short space; then he inquired:

"Has Government force enough to put between, that we should notaccomplish to take the slayer alive?"

"No. His armies are not here; but it would not be many days beforethey would reach this place."

"Not before our purpose could be fulfilled?"

"It may be, notbefore. But soon after."

"That is well. We fear not death. Shall we not surely die? Whatmatters it? Our covenant stands."

Ratna Ram begged the priest to rest a little under the kadamba tree.Rising up, he gathered his utensils of writing and put them in acotton-bag; and with a glance at Skag to follow, left the place walkingtoward the city. Skag knew by this time, that his teacher, the pandit,considered the matter of serious import. They reached the verandahsteps of an English bungalow and Skag would have retired, but Ratna Ramwould not hear, wishing him to keep a record of this affair.

"The priest of Hanuman trustsyou," he said, "and my righteousness tohim, as well as to Government, must have witness."

He knocked. A girl came to the door. All life was changed forSkag. . . . The girl, seeing the shadowed face of the pandit, inquiredif he sorrowed with any sorrow.

"Only the sorrow that over-shadows thy house, Gul Moti-ji."

Ratna Ram explained that he had come in warning, but also in equalservice for the priests of Hanuman who wanted the life of hercousin—A. V.—the young stranger from England. The fact that theyoung man was away from Hurda this day was well for him, because he hadshot and wounded a great monkey, the king of his people.

In the next few minutes Skag missed nothing, though his surfacefaculties were merely winding spools, compared to the activity of agreat machine within. He grasped that A. V. stood for Alfred Vernon,the girl's cousin, a young man recently from England. . . . Yes, A. V.had occasionally gone into the jungle with a light rifle. Sometimes hehad brought in a wild duck, or a greymarhatta hare; once ablack-horned gazelle, but usually a parrot, a peacock or a jay. . . .Yes, sometimes he had been gone for hours. . . . Yes, she had told himabout the evil and also the danger of shooting monkeys.

Skag now recalled the young man with the rifle—a well-fed,well-groomed, well-educated young Englishman, thoroughly qualifiedsometime, to make a successful civil engineer and a career and fortunefor himself in India.

The girl apparently had not seen Skag so far. The pandit had calledher Gul Moti-ji. So this was the Rose Pearl—the unattainable! . . .And now the pandit informed her that though the cousin might bescornful, it would only be because he was foolish with the foolishnessof the ignorant.

"But I am not scornful. I understand—" the girl said. "I am onlyconsidering swiftly what can be done."

"They are waiting the death of the great monkey—"

The girl's eyes were filled with shadows and great energies also.

"If his life could be saved?"

"Then his life could be saved, Gul Moti-ji," the pandit repliedbriefly, but Skag knew he meant the life of the cousin.

"Is it far?"

"Yes, two hours' walk."

Someone within the door of the bungalow now spoke, saying: "Carlin,dear, I may be a bit late—you must not be troubled about me."

The girl answered the voice within. . . . So her name was also Carlin.She had many names surely, but Skag liked this last one best. Sheturned to the pandit now, speaking slowly:

"Did one of the priests of Hanuman come to you with this story—justnow?"

"Yes, Gul Moti-ji."

"Is he waiting?"

"Yes."

"Will he take me—to the place of the wounded one?"

The pandit considered. Skag felt very sure that the priest would dothis.

"I will ask him. I can do no more. If the monkey still lives—yourcousin's only hope will be in your healing power, Hakima."

"Wait—I will go with you, now."

Skag released his breath deeply when she had re-entered. Apparentlyshe had not seen him so far.

The old priest arose as the three approached the kadamba tree.

"Peace, Brother," the girl said to him.

"Unto thee also, peace," he replied.

Skag marvelled at the inflections of her voice—low trailing words thatawoke at intervals into short staccato utterances. It was all awakeand alive with feeling. She did not ignore a fact the English oftenmiss, that there are certain unwritten laws of these elder people whichare as potent and unswerving as any mind-polished tablets that havecome down to England from Greece and Rome.

It was an hour of marvelling to Skag. He saw something that he had notseen so far in India. To her face the darker Indian blood was but aredolence. Doubtless it was because of this—some ancient wonder anddepth of lineage—that Skag had looked twice. He had never looked upona woman this way before. No array of terms can convey the innocence ofhis concept. . . . She was tall for a girl—almost eye to eye with him.

He didn't quite follow her words of Hindi, but his mind was runningdeep and true to hers, in meanings. She told the priest that she hadcome to save her cousin, who never could be made to understand what hehad done, even though he lost his life in forfeit. She said the monkeypeople would be devastated, if he paid his life; that the priests ofHanuman would be driven deeper and deeper into the jungles; that herheart was with them in soundness of understanding, for she was of Indiawho hears and understands. She held up a little basket saying she hadbrought bandages, stimulants, nourishments, and had come askingpermission to go with the priests now, to the wounded one, to care forhim with her own strength. . . .

Skag saw that her scorn for the ignorance that had caused the wound wasa true thing; that she felt something of the mystery of pity for themonkey people; that she could be very terrible in her rage if she letit loose, but that she loved this stupid cousin also. All Skag'sfaculties were playing at once, for he perceived at the same time thisgirl would see many things of life in terms of humour and it would begood to travel the roads with her because of this. . . . Apparentlyshe had not seen him, Sanford Hantee, to this moment.

The priest weighed her words and spoke coldly, saying that his orderdid not consider consequences to men, when they took life. A monkeyking had been shot. The wound was eating him to death. It wasunwritten law which may never be broken, for the life of one who killsa monkey to be taken by the priests of Hanuman. Up through the agesthis law had not served to destroy the monkey people, but to protectthem.

The girl said gently: "Let me go to him. Do you not see that I amindeed of this land, with its blood in my veins?"

Ratna Ram had taken his seat once more under the kadamba tree. It wasearly afternoon and the three were travelling through the jungle. Thegirl Carlin was always looking ahead—one thing only upon hermind—time and distance and words, as clearly obstructions to her, asthe occasional branches across the path. Once when Skag fixed a bigstone for her to pass dry across a shallow ford, she turned to thankhim, but her eyes did not actually fill with any image of himself. Hemissed nothing—neither the standpoint of the priest, nor of theEnglish, nor the vantage of this girl who stood between.

It was a queer breathless day for him, altogether to his liking, butmore intense than he understood. The girl's lithe power, thetirelessness of her stride, the quick grace, low voice andsteady-shaded eyes full of, full of—

Skag hadn't the word at hand. Cadman Sahib would know. . . . Thatlook of the eyes seldom went with young faces, Skag reflected; in fact,he had only found it before in old mothers and old nurses and oldphysicians. Certainly it had to do with forgetting oneself inservice. . . .

The priest began to talk or chant as he strode along. It was neitherspeech nor song. It did not bring the younger two closer together,though they saw that monkeys were following, up in their tree-lanes.At times when Skag dropped behind, he wondered why the girl did not seethe things that delighted him—a sparkling pool, the gleam of damprocks, the velvet moss with restless etchings of sunbeam. Yet he knewthat it was only to-day she looked past these things; that these reallywere her things; that she belonged to the jungle, not to thehouse. . . . She must greatly love this stupid cousin. . . . Skagnever tired watching the firm light tread of her—like the step of onewho starts out to win a race. . . . There was jubilant music of awaterfall—the priest reverently stopped his chanting.

Then they came to the great rock and the second priest arose, his eyeglancing past Skag and Carlin to the eye of his fellow of the order ofHanuman.

For an instant the silence was of an intensity that hurt.

"Is he—?" Carlin began.

The priest who had brought them answered, though there had been nowords:

"No, the king yet lives."

Under the shadow of the overleaning rock, stretched on fresh wetleaves, the monkey king was lying. His eyes were bright, but the hazeof fever was over them; thin grey lips parted and parched; a strainedlook about the mouth. He breathed in quick, panting breaths—too fargone to be afraid, as Carlin leaned over; but there was a forwardmovement in the over-hanging branches, a swift breathless shifting ofthe monkeys.

She opened the little basket. Skag watched her face as she first laidher hand on the monkey's head. He saw the thrill of horror andunderstood it well, for this was alien flesh her hand touched—not likethe flesh of horse or dog or cow which is all animal. She struggledwith a second revulsion, but put it away. She found the wound in theshoulder and asked for hot water, which a priest quickly prepared andbrought in an earthen jar. She bathed the wound, and put some liquidon his dry lips. The tree man was too full of alien suffering to becognisant, as yet; but the great test was now, when under her handsappeared a little instrument of jointed steel. . . . She was talkingto him softly as to a sick child. He drew a quick breath—his eyeswide as a low cry came from him, and the whole forest seemed to quiverwith a suffocating interest, monkeys ever pressing nearer. Skag sawone little brown hand stretch (twisting as if to bury its thumb) andlay hold of Carlin's dress. . . . Then he sighed, like a whip of airwhen a spring is released and Skag saw the bullet in the instrument.

It was held before him. She dropped it into Skag's hand thinking itwas the priest's. . . . Then she dressed the wound, giving medicineand nourishment until the tree king slept.

The afternoon was spent.

CHAPTER V

The Monkey Glen (Continued)

In the lull Carlin appeared to have no thought of going back to Hurda.The younger priest made her comfortable with dry leaves. Skag broughta log for her to lean against. For the first time she appeared tonotice that he was not one of the priests of Hanuman. . . . She didnot speak. Dusk was falling. At intervals she would look into hisface. The priests brought fruit and chapattis. Delicate sounds of awide stillness began to steal through the shadows. Creatures of theforest crept out from their lairs and called, one to another. Downtowards the river a tiger coughed; and there was a shiver along thebranches where the monkeys sat. The priests had merely glanced at eachother. Carlin had not seemed to hear.

Three torches were kept blazing through the night, and by their lightthe girl gave medicine and nourishment to the wounded one from time totime. She did not speak to Skag, who often sat before her for aninterval, but she would occasionally look into his face, her eyesdwelling with a curious calm upon him.

In the morning the wounded one was conscious. That day the sufferingwore upon him, and they brought wet leaves as the sun rose higher andkept them changed beneath him, for coolness. . . . The fever left himafter the heat of noon. Not until then, did Carlin look upon Skag andspeak at the same time.

"Have I seen you before? . . . Who are you?"

When Skag heard himself answer, he realised his voice had something init he had never known before.

. . . That afternoon Carlin went back to Hurda, but came again for anhour late in the afternoon. The next morning early, she came once moreand Skag was there. That afternoon, the elder priest said:

"He will live."

"Yes," Carlin repeated softly.

"But you don't seem glad," Skag said.

She was looking back toward the city.

"I was wondering if I could make them see what it means to spend theafternoon in the jungle with a rifle."

"Couldn't they understand that this work of yours has delivered yourcousin from death?"

"Oh, no, they would laugh at that. They would remind me that I havealways been strange. Even if my cousin lost his life, they would notlearn. The priests would be called fanatics and would be made tosuffer and all the monkey-peoples—"

Skag could see that.

"Why do you not leave them?"

"Oh, I do not hate my people. I have many brothers, real men; and thenyou must know English Government does wonderful things."

They were starting back toward the city leaving the two priests. Moststrangely, as no one Skag had ever met, Carlin could see the native andthe English side of things. He felt that Cadman would say this of her,too. He wanted sanction on such things, because he felt that alreadyhis judgment was not cold—on matters that concerned her. Everythingabout her was more than one expected. She seemed to have an openconsciousness, which saw two or all sides of a question before speech.

A great weakness had come upon Skag. It was in his limbs and in hisvoice and in his mind. It had not been so when the priests were near,nor when there was work to do. Now they were alone; the jungle wasvast with a new vastness. The girl was taller and more powerful—hersayings veritable, equitable. There were golden flashes among the richshadows of her mind, like the cathedral dimness of the jungle on theirright hand as they walked, slanting shafts of sunlight raining through.

They walked slowly. Skag reflected that since his first sight of thesambhur, he had watched and done nothing. All his life had been likethat. Yet this girl watched and worked, too. She loved the Englishand the natives, too. She had skilled hands, a trained body, acultured mind—certainly a wonderful mind, as full of wonder as thisjungle, with a sacred river flowing through.

Moreover, she could ask questions like Cadman—the spirit of things.He told her of his mother, of his running away from school when hefirst saw the animals at Lincoln Park Zoo, how they enveloped him, sothat he thought nothing but of them, lived only for animals later as acircus trainer, and had come to India to see the life of the wildcreatures outside of cages. . . . His tongue fumbled in the telling.

"But I do not see yet, why the priests of Hanuman let you go withthem—"

"Nor I," said Skag.

"But they know you are not an animal-killer—"

They walked rather slowly. . . . Night was upon them when they reachedthe edge of the jungle and heard voices. The back of Skag's handnearest Carlin was swiftly touched and she whispered breathlessly:

"My people. They are coming for me—good-bye—-"

The last few words had been just for him; the tone might have come upfrom the centre of himself.

Skag was alone, but he did not hurry into the city. There was more inthe solitude than ever before, more mystery in the jungle, more in thedusty scent of the open road. Greater than all, in spite of alldoubting and realisation of insignificance, there was unquestionablymore in himself.

Early the next morning, Skag was abroad in the city and saw the twopriests of Hanuman approach Ratna Ram. They raised their hands insilent greeting as he came near and immediately arose and turned towardCarlin's bungalow. Skag was glad to follow, when they signified hemight, for the thing at hand was his own deep concern. There was acatch in his throat as Carlin appeared on the verandah. Her eyes metSkag's before she spoke to the priests.

"Is he worse?"

The elder spoke for both, as is the custom:

"Peace be on thee, thou of gentle voice and skillful hands. We greetthee in the name of Hanuman; and are come, to render up to thee theforfeit life, even according to our covenant; for thou hast saved thewounded king, and he will not die. Behold the cloth with the shape ofthe foreigner's sign in it; this we held for a token that theforeigner's life was ours: this we render now to thee. His life isthine and not ours."

The old man laid the silk kerchief at Carlin's feet.

Skag had thought the danger over yesterday, but he saw that the youngEnglishman's life held in ransom, had only just now been returned tothe girl. . . . That forenoon was the time to Skag of the greattension. Carlin had stood for a moment longer than necessary on theverandah, after the priests had turned away. It was as if she wouldspeak—but that might signify anything or nothing. It was just a pointthat made the hours more breathless now, like the sentence of quick lowtones last night, when the voices of her people were heard at the edgeof the jungle. Were these everything or nothing—glamour or life-lock?Often he remembered that her eyes had sought his to-day, even beforelooking to the priests for news.

He stood at the edge of the jungle at high noon. The city was filmedin heat. Faint sounds seemed to come out of the sky. Skag waswatching one certain road. The trance of stillness was not broken. Heturned back into the green shade. . . . He would not delay in Hurda.He would not linger. His friend Cadman had been gone for some days.Yet about going there was a new and intolerable pain.

Skag forced himself back from the clearing. He felt less than himselfwith his eyes fixed upon that certain road; a man always does when hewants something terribly. Still he did not enter the deep jungle. Atlast he heard a step. He turned very slowly, not at all like a man towhom the greatest thing of all has happened. . . . Carlin had come andwas saying:

". . . I heard voices in the house this morning when you came. Someonewas listening, so I could not speak. . . . Something keepsgrowing—something about our work in the jungle. I want to go to themonkey glen again—now."

It was like unimaginable riches. There were moments in which he hadcounterpart thoughts for hers in his own mind; as if she spoke fromanother lobe of his own brain. Her words expressed himself.

"I thought you would be here," she told him presently. "I wanted tosee you again."

She was flushed from crossing the broad area tranced in noon heat; andnow the green cool of the jungle was sweet to her, and they were closetogether, but walking not so slowly as last night. . . . Lonelinesscame to them when they reached the empty place where the wounded onehad lain in the shelter of the rock. They felt strangely excluded fromsomething that had belonged to them. All the wide branches above wereempty. Still that was only one breath of chill. Tides of life brimmedhigh between them; they had vast mercies to spare for outer sorrows.

"He may not have done so well after being moved," she whispered.

Skag was thinking of the cough he had heard. The monkeys hadunderstood that. . . . Just now the younger of the two priests ofHanuman appeared magically. There was quiet friendliness deep in hiscalm, desireless eyes.

"All is well," he told them. "They have carried their king to a yetmore secret place, where we may not—"

He did not finish that sentence but added: "Only we who serve them maygo there. All is well. They would not have moved him, had they notbeen sure that life was established in him."

The priest did not linger. Then Carlin wanted to know everything—howIndia had called Skag at the very first. . . . Was it all jungle andanimal interest; or was he called a little to the holy men? Did he notyearn to help in the great famine and fever districts; long to enterthe deep depravities of the lower cities with healing?

Skag had listened in a kind of passion. Wonderful unfoldment in regardto these things had come to him from Cadman Sahib, but as Carlintouched upon them, they loomed up in his mind like the slow approach tocities from a desert. Carlin's eyes, turned often to his, were likeall the shadows of the jungle gathered to two points of essential dark,and pinned by a star veiled in its own light.

"I thought it was only the wild animals that called to me, but now Iknow better," he said. "And my friend Cadman, who has gone, opened somuch to me. He often spoke of the holy men, until one had to beinterested—"

Carlin halted and drew back looking at him with a kind of stillstrength all her own.

"You do not know that the natives thinkyou are something of thekind?"

"I—a holy man?"

"I heard them speak of you last night. You see they have heard of yourdeliverance of the Grass Jungle people."

Skag was learning how wonderfully news travels in India.

"Of course, it was all easy to believe, after what I saw—"

"What did you see?" he asked.

"That the two priests of Hanuman permitted you to follow them here—"

Then Carlin verified what Cadman had said, that the priests make nomistakes in these things. . . . Presently Skag was listening toaccounts of Carlin's life. He was insatiable to hear all. In somemoments of the telling, it was like a phantom part of himself that hewas questing for, through her words. Her story ran from the Vindhas tothe Western Ghat mountains, touching plain and height and shore (butnot yet High Himalaya), touching tree jungle, civil station, railwaystation and cantonments; stories including a succession of marvellousnames of cities and men; intimations that many great servants of Indiaand England were of her name; that she had seven living brothers, allolder; all at work over India. Finally Skag heard that Carlin hadspent eight years in England studying medicine and surgery, and againthat the natives called her theGul Moti, which means the Rose Pearl;orHakima, which means physician. But her own name was Carlin!

When they came back to the edge of the jungle again, it was the hour ofafterglow. Its colours entered into him and were always afterwardidentified with her. Carlin left him, laughingly, abruptly; and Skagwas so full of the wonder of all the world, that he had not thought toask if he should ever see her again.

As night came on, Skag thought more and more of the parting; and thatthere had been no words about Carlin's coming again. He felt himselfliving breathlessly towards the thought of seeing her; and it was notlong before this fervour itself awoke within him a counter resistance.Manifestly this pain and yearning and tension—was not the way to thefull secret. As carefully stated before, Skag approved emphatically ofthe Now. The present moving point was the best he had at any giventime. He thought a man should forget himself in the Now—like theanimals.

Yet the hours tortured. That night had little sleep for him, and themarvels of Carlin—face and voice, laugh, heart, hand—grew upon himcontrary to all precedent. This was a battle against all the wildanimals rolled into one; most terribly, a battle because there seemedsuch a beauty about the yearning which the girl awoke in him.

He was abroad early next day. The thought had come, that she mightfind him in the jungle at noon or soon afterward as yesterday. As thedragging forenoon wore on, Skag was in tightening tension. He hatedhimself for this, but the fact stubbornly remained that all he caredfor in the world was the meeting again. It seemed greater thanhe—this agony of separation. It brought all fears andself-diminishing. It told him that Carlin would run from him, if sheknew he wanted her presence so. He knew her kind of woman lovesself-conquest—the man who can powerfully wait and not be victimised byhis own emotions. . . .

So it was that Skag fled from himself, when there was still a half hourbefore noon. He could not meet her, longing like this.

There was sweat on Skag's forehead as his limbs quickened away from theplace of meeting yesterday. The more he left it behind, the more surehe became that Carlin would come. It seemed he was casting away theone dear and holy thing he had ever known—yet it resolved to this:that he dared not stand before her with his heart beating as if he hadrun for miles and his chest suffocating with emotions—the veryfeatures of his face uncertain, his voice unreliable. . . . If a manentered the cage of a strange tiger, as little master of himself asthis—it would be taking his life in his own silly hands. Skagcouldn't get past this point, and he had a romantic adjustment in hismind about Carlin and the tiger—one all his own.

Deeper and deeper into the jungle he went, along the little river, butall paths appeared to lead him to the monkey glen; and there he satdown at last and remembered all that Alec Binz had told him abouthandling himself in relation to handling animals, and all that CadmanSahib had told him from the lips of wise men of India . . . but allthat Skag could find was pain—rising, thickening clouds of pain.

He kept seeing her continually as she entered the jungle (walking sosilently and swift, her face flushed from crossing the open space thisside of the city in the terrible heat of noon)—and then not findinghim there. Something about this hurt like degrading a sacred thing,but he didn't mean to. He repeated that he didn't mean to hurther. . . . Then suddenly it occurred to him that it was all his ownthinking about her coming at noon. There had been no word about it.She might not have thought of coming again. This was like a coldbreath through the jungle. It was as intolerable as the other thoughtof her disappointment.

. . . There was an almost indistinguishableslithering of soft padsin the branches. Skag looked up suddenly and the air seemed jerkedwith a concussion of his start. The monkeys were back. They had beenwatching, the branches filling. When he looked up, the whole companystirred nervously.

Skag laughed. It was good. There was but one formulated thought—thatCarlin would be glad to hear this; she would appreciate this. Thereturn of the monkeys had a deep significance to Skag, because he hadreally first seen the wonder of Carlin just here—working over thewounded one. The immediate tree-lanes were filled with watchers insuffocating tension then. It was curiosity now—nothing covered, butplayful. Skag wished he could chant like the priests, for themonkey-folk. He wished he had many baskets of chapattis to spread outupon the grasses for them. . . . As he sat, face-lifted, he heard thattiger-cough again.

The monkeys huddled a second—it was panic—then they melted fromsight. It was like the swift blowing away one by one, of the toppapers of a deep pile on a desk.

Skag was now essentially absorbed. It couldn't be a mistake. Themonkeys knew. He himself knew from days and nights with the big cats.There was no cough just like that. It was in a different directionfrom before, back toward the city this time, but as before, muffled andclose down to the riverbed. . . . Nothing of the cub left in thatcough; neither was there hurry or hunger or any particular rage orfear. A big beast finishing a sleep, down in some sandy niche by theriver; a solitary beast full of years, a bit drowsy just this moment,and in no particular hurry to take up the hunt. Such was the picturethat came to Skag with a keen kind of enjoyment. The thrill had liftedhis misery for a minute. This was something to cope with. It tookaway the heart-breaking sense of inadequacy.

It wasn't the thrill of a hunt that animated Skag. The fact is, hehadn't even a six-shooter along. This was the closeness of the realthing again—the deep joy, perhaps, of testing outside of cages oncemore, the power that had never failed. And just now along the riverand beyond the place where the cough came from—Carlin was coming!

The last of the monkeys had flicked away. Skag arose and held his handhigh, palm toward her. She beckoned, but still came forward. Skagmoved without haste, but rapidly. All the beauty and wonder of Carlinwas the same; it lived in his heart, integrate and unparalleled asever, but some power had come to him from the cough of the tiger.Around all the fear, even for her life, was the one splendidthing—that she had followed him into the monkey glen.

She was nearing the place where the cough had come from, yet Skag didnot run. A second time he held up his hand, palm outward, but shestill came forward laughing.

"You ran from me?"

"I did not think of you coming so far—to-day."

Skag had stepped between her and the river, turning her toward thecity, but Carlin drew back.

"I have come so far. I want to go to our—to the monkey glen!"

She was watching him strangely. Skag understood something that moment:that he might know of Carlin's delight through her eyes, of all joy andgood that he might bring, but that he should never know from her eyesif he brought hurt. Skag put this back into the deep place of his mind.

"All right. We'll go back," he said. "They were here—the wholetroupe. Just a minute ago, they swung away—"

He saw for an instant her wonderment that he had come alone. She wouldhave been very glad to see the monkey people again; she could not quitesee why she should have missed this; she did not understand hiswords—that he had not expected her to follow into the glen.

She was sitting down on her own log, but he stood. Skag was driven tospeak. The need had now to do with one of his favourite words. It wasa matter ofequity that he speak. The words came in a slow orderedtone:

"I was waiting for you there—back at the edge of the jungle—but itcame to me that I was not ready."

Carlin had been looking away into the three-lanes. Her eyes came up tohis.

"Not ready?" she said.

"All night I could only remember one thing—"

"What thing?"

"That you had not told me you would come again."

Carlin's shoulders lifted a little. She cleared her throat, saying:

"I thought of it."

"This morning the idea occurred that you might come to the jungle atnoon—like yesterday, but the hours wouldn't pass after that. I metsomething different that would not be quiet—"

"Where?"

"I mean in myself."

Carlin's eyes widened a little, but she only said:

"Oh!"

"It would not rest. I could not wait in calm. I was afraid youwouldn't come—yet I was afraid of your coming. My face worked of itsown accord, and my words would not say what I knew—"

"When was that?"

"It was worse when I reached the jungle a little before noon and beganto watch for you."

"And—you ran away?"

"I was not good to look upon."

"But you are not like that now—quite controlled—like blue ice—"

Skag turned his eyes slowly back the path by the river where the coughhad come from.

"I am better now," he said.

"I wonder if anyone ever thought of running away like that?"

"It is not a good feeling to be at the mercy of oneself," Skag said.

Carlin caught a quick breath. There was a steadiness in his eyes. Itwas steadier than anything she knew. The light of it was so high andkeen that it seemedstill.

"Nothing like this has happened before," he said quietly.

Carlin arose. Their eyes met level.

"Everything is changed," he went on. "It was like a grief that youwere not here—when the monkeys came in. . . . I'm not right. I didnot know before that a girl was part of me. It was all animals before.I'm not ready—but I will be! You are good to listen, but really youhad to—"

Carlin let her lids fall a second.

"I mean I couldn't stop when it started."

There was silence before he finished: "I know everything better. Iknow all the creatures better—all the cries they make. And yet I'mless—I'm only half—"

It was then her hand came out to him.

"Does it mean anything to you?" he asked.

"Yes—"

"Does it mean everything to you—too?"

Her voice trailed. It was closer. It was everywhere. It was like avoice coming up from his own heart:

"Yes, everything—especially because you could run away. . . . But
I—came!"

They were walking toward Hurda among the shadows, Skag closer to theriver. . . . The night was coming with a richness they had neverseen—tinted shadows of purple, orange and rose—almost a living gleamto the colours; the evening air cool and sweet.

Carlin told him that her family must understand and be considered andgive approval. . . . There was an eldest brother in Poona who must beseen. . . . All arrangements must be made with him. Skag said hewould go to Poona at once. . . .

They were lingering now at the edge of the jungle; its spices upon themin the dry air.

". . . And I will wait here in Hurda," Carlin was saying. "You may begone many days. You may not find him at once, and you will have towait at Poona, but I shall know when you come. The train comingupis before noon. Listen! You will not find me at the bungalow. No,that would not be the way for us. . . . This will be perfect. I willbe waiting for you—our place—back in the monkey glen."

"It is the perfect thought, but you must not go back there alone," hesaid. "I had not meant to tell you now, but it was that—made mesteady—a tiger back there. He gave me nerve for your coming—a goodturn it was, the most needful turn! . . . Yes, a tiger lying down onthe river margin, as we talked—do not go in deeper, when I amaway. . . . And on the day I come, meetme here at the edge of thejungle and we will go in there to our place—together."

CHAPTER VI

Jungle Laughter

It was while Skag was waiting near Poona, for Carlin's eldest brotherRoderick Deal, that he became toiled in the snare of his own interestin jungle laughter. It is a strange tale; lying over against the mudwall of the English caste system in India. It is to be understood thata civil officer of high rank in that country is a man whose word islaw. His least suggestion is imperative. The usages of his householdmay not be questioned by a thought, if one is wise.

Police Commissioner Hichens was such a man. He was stationed in Bombayand there is nothing better in appointment in all India. Hisresponsibilities were heavy like those of an empire. Personally he wasaustere—entirely unapproachable. Of his home life no one knewanything whatever, outside the very few of equal rank. It wasunderstood that the mother of his two small children had died more thana year ago. Some indiscreet person had mooted that she was not sentHome in time. Still, European women do not live long in that climateanyway; and it is common knowledge that to maintain a family requiresseveral successive mothers.

The present Mrs. Hichens was but recently a bride; a mere girl andlovely; but within a few weeks of her landing, Bombay fever had begunto destroy the more tangible qualities of her beauty—which could notbe permitted.

It does not take long for the most exalted official to discover thatBombay fever resembles the Supreme Being in that it is no respecter ofpersons. Yet it was not even so nearly convenient to send this Mrs.Hichens Home, as it had been to send that Mrs. Hichens Home; and thathad been quite out of the question. But the Western Ghat mountainsfurnish a very good barricade against Bombay fever. (Devoutly inclinedpersons have even intimated that they were specially placed there forthe convenience of men who are much attached to their homes.)

Extending a thousand miles parallel with the coast, from five to fortymiles inland, built mostly of pinnacles and peaks rising a few hundredor a few thousand feet from near sea level, more rugged than anymountains of their size in the world, the Western Ghats are like asection of Himalaya in miniature. The railway line up has areversing-station proclaimed far and wide to be the most splendid pieceof railway engineering on earth. (That there are several more splendidin the Rocky Mountains is unimportant.)

Just over the top, about seventy miles from Bombay, is Khandalla andLanowli and further on, Poona. Poona is a military station, sometimestoo far. Lanowli is a railway station—which means that no one livesthere who is fit to associate with a police commissioner's wife. ButKhandalla is no station at all, being only a small mountain villagewith three or four abandoned bungalows far apart from each other.Heaven knows who built them in the beginning, but whoever it was, theymust have done it too late, because there is a neglected grave or twonear each one.

The native agents got in every good argument for the bungalows, butPolice Commissioner Hichens was not persuaded. He seemed to have aconstitutional antipathy to those bungalows.

No, the bungalows might be safer and dryer and warmer at night; theymight be cleaner and healthier and more comfortable all the time; buthe wanted a tent and he meant to put it where he wanted it. So, atgreat expense of time and labour on the part of natives, but verylittle expenditure of money on his part, he succeeded in hoisting atent from Bombay to the top of the Western Ghat mountains, of a sizeand of an age and of a strength which suggested a military mess-camp.

The tent was set up in the Jungle at the edge of Khandalla. Theservants would find quarters in Khandalla village; a cook, a cook'sservant-boy and a butler for the entire household; a boy for the smallson, an ayah for the wee girl and a very expensive ayah for the ladyherself.

If an ayah is expensive enough, she is usually a very intelligentperson, thoroughly informed on most general subjects pertaining to herown country and entirely competent to impart that information. It isunderstood she will always interpret the native standpoint relative toany matter under discussion. Her value as a servant may be great, buther value as an instructor will be greater. It was necessary that eachof the ayahs should be wife to one of the men servants, but it isalways possible to make a temporary arrangement of that sort toaccommodate the customs of a high official.

So the present Mrs. Hichens was to be established in the tent, verycomfortably matted as to the floor and furnished with all necessaryappointments of a satisfying quality and wealthy appearance. Men ofhigh rank must do all things with a certain pomp and circumstance,otherwise the ignorant might sometimes forget their rank. And rankmust never be allowed to be forgotten.

Police Commissioner Hichens would spend all week-ends with her; that isto say, he would leave Bombay by the first train going up after Courtclosed on Saturday and would be obliged to take the Sunday eveningtrain down. The two children so recently come into the care of asecond mother, would be occupied and entertained by their servants; andthe little girl, not quite three years old, would be under theadditional guardianship of a Great Dane dog who had once belonged toher own mother.

It will be observed that the Great Dane dog is spoken of as apersonality. He was so. He seemed to have quite fixed conclusionsabout the family. He ignored the servants (excepting Bhanah the cook,who was a servant as far out of the ordinary as the lady's own ayah).He tolerated the small boy. He approved of the new lady. He neverceased to mourn for his dead mistress; especially in the presence ofthe man.

He would extend his great length on the floor in a low couchantposition, not too close to where the man sat—and search the stronghuman face with eyes more strong. Without the twitch of a muscleanywhere in his whole body, he would endure the man's gaze as long asthe man chose, with a level look of cold, untiring rebuke. There wasno anger in it, no flash of light, no flame of passion—but it had away of eating in.

The servants bear common witness that it is the only thing they haveever known to drive the Sahib away from the delightful relaxations ofhis own home, which he claimed as sanctuary from the stress and grindof his official days. But the Great Dane Nels had done it more thanonce. Afterward the Sahib would sometimes take Nels on ahunting-furlough.

It was the first Mrs. Hichens who took the puppy with her, when shewent to India with Police Commissioner Hichens; and before she died hewas made to promise her on his honour, that he would care for andprotect Nels as if Nels were his own son, so long as Nels should live.There was no help for it.

Especially as it was quite well known among the servants, that on thevery day of her death she had made the Sahib with his own hands lay thesleeping child over on the bed underneath Nels' out-stretched paws;because this was done in the presence of Baby's ayah and of her ownayah also, and therefore two witnesses had heard her say:

"Nels, I am giving my baby to you. The Sahib her father is not able tobe with her, much. But you are to care for my baby for me. Do youunderstand, my dear?" She often called Nels "my dear" with a peculiarinflection on thedear and an upward lilt of tone.

And Nels had agreed, because he pressed the little body hard and liftedup his big grey head and cried a long, low cry. And the lady hadlaughed a little and wiped glistening tears from her death-misted face,for her baby would be—notquite alone.

So all the servants knew that Nels had owned the child from that day.Now it is not a wise thing to antagonise a body of East Indian servantsin matters which they consider sacred; and Police Commissioner Hichenswas a lawyer and a judge and a wise man. He might fear Nels as hefeared death itself, the two being equivalent in his mind, but he mightnot destroy Nels with his own hand, nor let it be known that he hadcaused the great dog's death. Still, if he took Nels with him onhunting-furloughs, as often as possible setting him to charge mostdeadly game, there was always the possibility of an accident.

To many it seemed strange that the present Mrs. Hichens, a regal youngEnglish thing, was made to live in a lonely tent, well back among densejungle growths, quite out of sight or call away from any humanhabitation, with her husband's little son and littler daughter and theGreat Dane dog. Certainly the servants were about during the daytime;as much out of sight as possible, according to their good teaching.But at night there were no servants about; they were all far away atthe other end of the village, because the natives who lived at thisside were low caste.

And it was at night the thing developed. A slow-driving inquisition,night after night. It drove her through and beyond the deadly feverlassitude. She was not building up out of it; she was beaten downbelow it. She was beaten through all the successive stages of breakingnerves. She used all the known arguments, all the intellectual methodsto sustain pure courage, to hold herself immune. She used them all up.

At first, when her husband came up for his weekends, he was quiteevidently pleased with his arrangement. And it would take aself-confidence which had long since gone a-glimmering out of her, tobreak in on his enthusiasm with any criticism of his provisions for hercomfort; certainly no criticism on any basis of noise. It has beensaid that Police Commissioner Hichens was an unapproachable man; andsome things are impossible. One can die, you know, any death. Butsome things are entirely impossible.

The day came when she dragged her weary weight up from the couch anddrove her unsteady frame along the new pathway through jungle thicketstoward the village. The idea had been gnawing in her consciousness fordays; to find the nearest house or hut or any kind of place where humanbeings lived, so as to have it in her mind where to run when the timecame. It had come to that. It went in circles through her brain; whenthe time came to run, she positively must know where to run.

Her progress was slow and painful. When her limbs shook so she couldnot stand alone, she leaned against a tree. She must not lie down onthe ground on account of the centipedes and scorpions.

"Hello—"

Startled a little, she turned toward the voice. A man's voice, verylow. It came from somewhere behind her. She broke away from hersupport and the fever-surge caught her and whipped her from head tofoot. Her balance was going—

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She was kept from falling by the arm of the stranger.

"No. It's the fever. I assure you it's the fever."

Now he just steadied her with one hand. The fever was filling herbrain with a dull haze. . . . He was slender and not tall. He wasmuch bronzed. She could see only his eyes and his mouth. He spokeagain:

"Why are you alone in this jungle—with such a fever?"

The words dropped into her consciousness; even, smooth, like pebblesgently released into water.

Then the blackness of outer darkness came up between.

. . . That was how the present Mrs. Hichens began to know Skag.

He carried her back along the path, fresh-marked by her own footsteps,to the tent.

Next afternoon he called to learn how she was. He had a sheaf of wildmountain lilac-blooms in his hand.

"Oh, lovely! I haven't seen lilacs since England."

"They make me think of my mother," he said, giving the flowers into herhands.

"I would so much like to hear about your mother."

Skag had not the habit of much speaking, but he found it easy to tellthis English girl about the mother who had died when he was a child.She leaned against banked pillows and watched the changes flow acrosshis face. They were almost startling and yet so clean, so wholesome,that she felt inwardly refreshed, as by a breath from mountain heights.

Naturally he went on to tell her about Carlin; but when at last hespoke her name, the English girl interrupted him:

"Is it possible you are meaning Doctor Carlin Deal?"

"Yes; do you know her?" Skag asked.

"I have met her several times—quite frightened at first, because I hadheard about her—you know she is very learned, even for one much older."

"I know she is a physician."

"Yes; London Medical. But it's not just her profession; it's herself.She's really wonderful; her sweetness is so strong and—all herstrengths are so lovely."

"She is wonderful to me," Skag said.

"I'm congratulating you, you understand?" The present Mrs. Hichenssmiled as she added: "I've heard that she has a fine discernment ofmen."

He went before sunset. After he had gone she asked her ayah to findout about who he was and whatever concerning him.

When Police Commissioner Hichens came up that week-end, he was soseriously dissatisfied with the tediousness of her recovery, that shehad no inclination to tell him about having gone out from the tent onher own unsteady feet, at all. Certainly it would be calamitous forhim to hear of her having been carried in by a perfect stranger. Forwhich reason she called her ayah, while the Sahib was in his bathbefore dinner and said to her hurriedly:

"Ayah, will you do a thing for my sake?"

"To the shedding of my blood, Thou Shining."

"Then guard from the master that he shall not learn of my going out, orof the stranger who appeared."

"He shall never learn. Never while he lives shall he learn, unlessfrom your own lips."

"Will all the other servants help you, Ayah dear?"

"It is already considered and determined among us. He shall neverlearn from us."

"Why are you all good to me?"

"Because by the hand of our master, who is our father and our mother,our bodies live; but by the grace of thy soul our hearts are glad.Itis better to have joy in the heart one day than to endure upon thefatness which grows out of a full stomach for ten years."

"Oh, Ayah, don't tell me things like that, because they are never to beforgotten."

"That is a great saying, oh Flower-of-Life. A saying come down frommany generations. My people have found in it much food. The most pooramong us go empty many days by the strength in it. And it is knownthat holy men have lived long years of holy life, without anysatisfaction to the body at all, dwelling in that courage by which theunutterable of suffering may be endured, entirely by thememory of oneday."

The ayah's voice finished in the tones of ceremony; and she movedsmoothly from the room, unconscious that she had not been dismissed.

The following evening, after the police commissioner had gone down, theayah brought report concerning the stranger. His name was SanfordHantee Sahib. He was an American Sahib. He did not consort with anyof his own people, nor with Europeans. Of all human beings he had onlyone friend and associate, Cadman Sahib, who was a great man amongmen—as was well known by even the ignorant. Cadman Sahib had beenheard to call him "Skag," but Cadman Sahib would permit no one to callhim by that title excepting himself; therefore it was a sealed title,to pronounce which few are worthy. Five days ago Sanford Hantee Sahibhad come by train from far in the interior, beyond the Grass Junglecountry, to meet an Indian Sahib of high rank in the railway service,at Poona. It was an appointment personal to himself; no one knew thepurpose. Also, why Cadman Sahib had not come together with him was notknown, unless—

"Oh, Ayah! I don't care a bit about Cadman Sahib—will you be goodenough. What about the man? Now go on."

"Most illustrious lady, the thing is an exaltation. I am poor andignorant. My head is at your feet. One like I am should not approachpower like his save turning fresh from a bath."

"Ayah dear! I am prepared."

"He has the power to control all wild animals. So great is his powerthat not long ago, when he and his so-fortunate friend Cadman Sahib hadboth fallen into a tiger pit-trap and a mighty young tiger in his fullstrength had come after them, falling bodily down upon them and beingfull of fright and fury, had turned upon them to destroy them,beholding his master's face, the beast had become subject to him in theinstant and had sat quietly before him the whole night, without movingto hurt them. What man will require more than this?"

"For Heaven's sake! What a tale. But Ayah, what sort of man is he?"

"Who will be able to know what sort of man? Is it not enough?"

"We require much more than that."

"Lady, I—who am not as you are—I have not bathed since dawn. Surelycalamity will fall on me, if I set my tongue to the nature of such anone."

"If he is holy, then he will be willing to help."

"The knowledge of him among men is that heis that."

"Then, Ayah, I will take the danger of calamity away from you, for Ihave need. Speak."

"It is known that he resembles the most high masters themselves, inthat he isalways kind. And yet there was a strange saying, that hepermitted his friend Cadman Sahib to destroy the head of a mightyserpent who had feasted upon the creatures and children of a GrassJungle village. Now these things could not both be true at the sametime, unless he had taken a vow to protect the children of men. Inthat case his presence in the land was a benediction beyond thebenediction of twenty years of full rains. He might even be one of thehigh gods, incarnated to serve Vishnu the Great Preserver, if what theysaid was true, that he had been recognised by Neela Deo, the Bluegod—king of all the elephants—inhis own place."

"Then, Ayah, fasten it all into one word."

"That he is a very great mystic. Not one of the yogis who are uncleanand scrap-fed, but a true mystic; a master and an adept in one of thegreatest of all powers."

"Have no fear. I alone shall carry the burden of speaking."

Since there are few more potent benedictions than "Have no fear," theayah withdrew in deep content.

While Skag sat in the tent next day, the police commissioner's wifesaid to him:

"I have learned that you are a wonder man."

"That is a mistake."

"Is it true that you and a friend spent the night in a pit-trap with aliving, unchained tiger and that he did not hurt you?"

"A part of the night, yes."

"Will you explain it on any ordinary grounds?"

"Maybe not quite ordinary. I travelled several years with a circus inAmerica; and I learned to handle animals, especially big cats ofdifferent sorts."

"How do you do it?"

"A man does it by first mastering the wild animals in himself. Then hemust have learned never to be afraid."

"Is that all?"

"He must always be fair to them. I mean he must never take advantageof them; never do anything to them that would make him fight back, ifhe were in their place."

"I am thinking what a difference there is between your standpoint andthat of the hunters of wild animals I know. But tell me—have you everbeen afraid?"

"Yes, once."

"Really afraid?"

"Yes."

"I want to hear about it some day, if you will be so good; but first Iwant to tell you a story of fear; two kinds of fear. There has been noone I could speak to—and I am in need of help."

"I would like to help you. Tell on."

"Do you know much about hyenas?"

"I know they are the most unclean of all beasts. I have never heardthat they are dangerous to men."

"Sometimes they are. Only a little way from where we sit in thisjungle, a woman was killed and eaten last year, by a hyena. But I amnot afraid for myself. I have said my fear is of two kinds. First, Iam seriously concerned for the children; especially the baby. She isfrail at her best and if it were not for her long afternoon naps, I amunwilling to think what would come to her just from the sort of thingwhich has been happening. She is highly organised; and one has heardthat any kind of nerve-shock is most dangerous to such children. Then,there is a different kind of fear,quite different; it is for herGreat Dane dog."

"Won't he charge them?"

"That is the most awful part of it. Of all creatures I have everknown, I may as well say of all people I have ever known, he has themost splendid courage. One night in every week he is taken to Bhanah'sown quarters, so that his master shall not be disturbed. The changeseemed to relieve him, at first. But—one who had not seen could neverconceive how gradually, through the long, long nights—I have watchedhis almost super-human courage—breaking."

Skag opened his lips to speak, but she put up her hand.

"This is hard to tell because I have never known that I could beafraid. I have always supposed that I had perfect courage. But whileNels' courage has been in the wrecking, my own has been wrecked—quite!"

Her voice was very low and very bitter.

"I don't believe it's as bad as that."

She glanced up and smiled the slow smile of extreme age upon extremeyouth.

"My husband, the police commissioner, has hunted in India more thantwenty years; some of his friends longer than that. I suppose they areas familiar with the natures and doings of most animals in this countryas foreign hunters can become. But of course the natives know junglecreatures even better. We have two servants, born in these hills, myayah and Bhanah the old cook; I have much from both of them. But myexperience here in this tent, has—as the natives wouldsay—established it all in me. You will have heard that hyenas arealmost always the scouts for tigers."

"Yes, Mr. Cadman told me that."

"Jackals run with them. The hunters say that between the hyena, whosestench is beyond description awful, and the jackal, whose stench isstrong dog, they obliterate the tiger smell and so prevent thedesperate panic coming in time to the hunted creatures, who fear thetiger more than anything."

"Hyenas in captivity do not smell so exceptionally bad."

"One has heard that all flesh-eating animals in captivity are fed cleanmeat, reasonably fresh—"

"They are; and for the moment I forgot their reputation—that wouldmake a difference."

"It is claimed here, that they eat only two kinds of flesh, atonce—human and dog. They say that the hyena entices and betrays tothe killing, the tiger kills and eats his fill, then the jackals comein and leave only bones and tendon-stuff for the hyena. This is whathe devours as soon as it is old enough to suit his taste."

"Are all these animals here in this jungle?"

"Plenty of jackals; but the tigers have been killed out of all thispart of these Ghats by the European sportsmen of Bombay and Poona. Thehunters disregard hyenas; so there are many left, with no killer tokill for them."

"That might make them dangerous."

"And they will tell you that when a hyena is forced to kill forhimself, he invariably hunts for a dog. It has become very importantto me that dog flesh is their first choice. And dogs never fighthyenas; never even to defend their own lives. They may bark or howlwhile the hyena is some distance away, but as soon as it comes nearthey are silent; and when it approaches them, they simply cower andsubmit. Not only that, but it is beyond question that hyenas have thepower to call dogs to them. . . . For five weeks I have been alone inthis tent six nights in every week all night, with two children and thespartan soul of Nels the Great Dane dog; and I have seen and I haveheard theprocess of the hyena's lure."

"That is what I want to hear about."

"You shall hear; but will you be good enough to remember, please, Nelsis no average dog. There is nothing better in lineage than his. Also,he is a thoroughly trained hunting dog. My husband, the policecommissioner, has used him in hunting tigers and cheetahs, blackpanthers and leopards of the long sort, the big black bears of Himalayaand jungle pigs, which we call wild boars at Home. To different famoushunting districts of the country he has taken Nels, on manyhunting-furloughs; and Nels' courage stands to him and to his friends,the very last word in courage. I have often heard him say he does notknow a man with courage to equal that which has never once failed inNels."

"I should like to know that dog."

"You shall certainly meet him; and it may be you are the one to knowhim. I am confident no one does, now."

"About the hyenas?"

"The hyena has three kinds of call. The most common is the bark of apuppy. (If you ever hear it you will not wonder why mother dogs go outto it, to their death.) Presently the bark breaks into a puppy's cry.It whimpers, then it climbs up into heart-breaking desolation; thewailing cry of a lost puppy. It snaps out in distraction futile littleyappings; then it whimpers again, like sobbing. So on for hours.

"The next most common is a laugh; a harsh, senseless laugh. The effectis to terrorise, to paralyse its prey. It is wicked. It climbs upinto piercing, high, falsetto tones; all maniacal. . . . So insanethat though one knows perfectly well what it is, it chills one's blood.This keeps on a long time, with variations. Every change seems worsethan the last. But sooner or later it brings one up standing with alaugh impossible to describe, unless it is devilish—so clear, so keen,so intelligent, so beyond expression malicious. Toward morning thissometimes brings sweat. Oh, maybe not if one were alone; but withNels, watching Nels—indeed yes!

"The last and least often heard—I mean they do not do it every night,sometimes not for several nights, sometimes they do all three in onenight—is the cry of a little native baby; the cry of a lost baby; thecry of a deserted baby; the cry of a baby alone out in the jungleshadows and frightened to death."

She stopped and lay quite still; seeming to forget he was there.

"And what then?"

"Nothing, only it keeps on sometimes the rest of that night. Theynever mix the three kinds together. Even when they do them all in onenight, they are usually in this order as I am telling you. Sometimesthe baby is still for a few minutes; then it begins again and goes on."

Again she stopped a long time. Suddenly she flung up her hand andspoke faster:

"No, there's nothing more about that little deserted native baby's cry,excepting that I've started up in broad daylight afterward, with a coldpanic in my heart that it had really been a baby, a true baby and I hadfailed to go and save it. And—the nights, the long nights I havefastened my weight on Nels' neck to keep him inside of this door!"

She pointed to the opening by her couch.

"Why don't you chain him?"

"He goes on a leash perfectly, but he has never been taught to bechained up. My husband has never permitted the servants to do it. Itried it here myself, but he suffers and cries; and that keeps both thechildren awake. It would jeopardise Baby's life to force him. Onaccount of the ceremony which occurred a few hours before her motherdied, the servants believe she belongs to Nels. They claim that heacknowledges the ownership. I will admit that he behaves like it. Shehas often kept him back. He goes from this tent door to her cotyonder, to look at her. But always he comes back to the door. Somenight my weight will not be sufficient. That is my fear."

"The situation is clear and I think I can manage it, if you will leaveit to me for a night or two. These beasts must be kin to a big snake Imet in the Grass Jungle country. My friend Mr. Cadman shot him. Thatwas when I found fear—"

At that moment Skag heard the clear, treble tones of a child's voice:

"Nels-s, Nels-s, Nels-s!"

And the veriest fairy thing his eyes had ever looked upon came flyingin the tent door before him. Her head was a halo of gold made of thefinest kind of baby curls. She was unbelievable. She was like aflame, beside the couch.

"This is Betty, our baby."

The child lifted intensely blue eyes and while Skag smiled into them,he was without words before the vivid whiteness of her face. She wassent with her ayah to the back of the tent for her nap. Then Nels camein.

Skag had never seen such a dog. For size, for proportions, for power,for dignity, he was quite beyond comparison.

"This is Nels, one of the four greatest hunters in India."

Nels came to him at once. With a searching regard he looked intoSkag's face one long moment, then a glow came up in his eyes and heswung about and stretched himself alongside Skag's chair, reached hisarms out before him and laid his chin on them, almost touching theman's foot. Skag leaned over and stroked the big head. It felt likesealskin, but it was soft clean grey colour.

"Nels has adopted you, Wonder Man!"

The lady on the couch spoke like a small child, marvelling.

"I am glad to have his friendship. But I wish, if you will excuse me,I wish that you wouldn't call me by that name. Skag is not my realname, but the few friends I have call me Skag. I'd be pleased if youwould call me that."

"That's very nice of you, but do you much mind? I like Wonder Manbetter."

"I don't believe I quite understand why."

"Partly from things I've heard about you. But rather more on accountof what I've seen just now. I fancy the natives are not far wrong andyou are a wonder man to them. . . . If you do this sort of thing,delivering people who are in danger of their lives, and getting thedevotion of creatures as hard to win as Nels, I can see that you aregoing to have a great reputation in this India. And you are not to bein the least disturbed if I call you Wonder Man; I am believing thetitle is prophetic at least."

"What I'm doing for you is only what any man would do. If you hear meoutside to-night, don't be startled. I'll get the beast as soon as Ican. If there's more than one, I'll stay around till they're cleanedout."

Soon after dusk Skag circled out into the jungle. He carried one ofthe best hunting-pieces made and plenty of ammunition. Taking aposition in sight of the tent on the jungle side, he waited. Withinhalf an hour a little puppy began to bark. No man alive could everknow it was anything but a puppy. It yapped and whimpered a while andthen it began to get frightened. He moved toward it, but it stopped.For several minutes there was silence. Then another one began back ofhim. He slipped through the shadows with the utmost caution, butbefore he got near it, it also stopped. This occurred several times.At last, away in another direction, a wild, grating laugh broke out.He turned at once and moved carefully but swiftly to come in rangebetween it and the tent.

This laugh-thing was torture. It couldn't stop. It was insane. Hethought it would never be done. In a few minutes it was important tohave it done. She had said it was to paralyse its prey. It was enoughto paralyse anything. Then he jumped. Nowthat was devilish! Buthe was coming closer to the sound and getting interested, when itstopped. So he followed it from place to place. Always, when he gotnear possible range, it stopped. Always it began in a few minutes insome other spot. There might be a dozen. . . .

And a woman, alone with two children and a dog, had endured this sixnights out of seven, night after night all night, for five weeks. . . .

Near morning, toward the front, a sick baby began to cry. While hemade his way around, his steps quickened to the very urge of its need.He was quite near the tent when—a clear, high, agonised shriek. Itwas the girl! And he ran.

There was an instant when he did not realise anything. He just saw.Fifty feet from the tent, the Great Dane dog, his head low, almosttouching the ground, moving slowly, step by step—with a long, slender,white figure dragged bodily on his neck. Then he heard:

"Rodger! Keep back! Take care of Baby. Nels,Nels! Nels, you mustlisten to me. . . .Nels!"

He caught hold of her and the dog at the same moment.

"Don't let him go.Don't let go of Nels!"

"All right, I won't. Now will you go back to the tent, please? I'vegot Nels. I'm going with him."

"No,the thing has happened! I tell you, he doesn't even know me!
Why do you want him to go at all?"

"Because they keep out of my range, alone. He'll lead me to this one.
I'll take care of him. Now go; will you please go back?"

"I don't—"

A frantic scream from a boy's throat and in the same instant thelifting cry of a younger child. Clear in the door-space of the tent,behind them, two little figures clung together in the opening—and justat one side, close to the children, a dark, ungainly shape! Skagsprang three jumps toward the opposite side, dropped on one knee andfired. The shape bounced up, crumpled over and lay still.

They both ran to the children. Skag had just made sure the beast wasdead, when he heard:

"Nels, Nels!—He is gone!"

"If you'll shut the door safely, I'll take care of Nels."

"It won't fasten, but I'll stay."

The Great Dane was not in sight but Skag knew the direction. He ranalmost upon them. Nels stood, but crouched toward the ground. A shaperose against him—above his shoulders on the other side. Skag slippedaround to reach it without hitting the dog. In the same instant Nelstook a blow from the jungle beast's head. The two swerved over towardone side. Skag set his gun-muzzle against the hyena's neck—he couldsee that much—and blew it away from him. (There wouldn't be muchdanger but it was dead.) Then he knelt, his hand instantly wet atNels' throat. But the blood was not gushing, it was streaming. He puthis arms underneath to lift him, but couldn't do it alone. There wasnothing to do but go for the girl.

"I'm sorry. I need your help. Dare we leave the children a minute?"

"Yes, Baby is falling asleep; and Rodger is brave, he will watchher. . . . Tell me, is Nels killed?"

"No, I think we can save him. But we must be quick."

She was by his side running, as he added:

"I know how to do it, when we get him to the light."

They worked together and it was all they could do, but they got Nelsinto the tent. She brought the materials he asked for, and while hestopped the flow of blood and dressed the wound, she went to the baby.When he rose she was leaning over the child.

"I'm afraid something has happened to her! Her face is strange Herbreath is not right. I wish Ayah would come; I don't know a thingabout babies!"

"Is there a doctor near?"

"Not this side Poona."

"I can go after him."

"You're awfully good, but there will be no train before the one myhusband comes up on. It's a holiday. He would have been up lastevening, only he had important business. I am not at liberty todetermine about a physician, because he will be here so soon."

"Shall I go after the ayah?"

"That might help—thank you so much!"

Skag learned in the next two hours that there is nothing in life moredifficult for a man to find, than servants' quarters in a nativevillage. By full daylight he gave up and tramped back a considerabledistance. As he approached the tent, an Englishman came out walkingrapidly toward him. Police Commissioner Hichens had a very red face.He spoke before Skag could see his eyes:

"Sir, I take pleasure in ordering you to leave my premises. You willbe good enough not to be seen again in this vicinity."

"Yes? You—are—finding—fault—with—me?"

"What occurs to mine does not in the least concern you! You areoccupying yourself with my affairs. I will not permit it. Am Iexplicit enough?"

"You are explicit enough."

Skag wheeled on the path and walked away from the police commissionerunder a sharp revelation that if he didn't get away at once, he woulddo a thing he had never been inclined to do before. He was amazed byhis own fury. Unconsciously he spoke aloud:

"I never wanted to——"

"Remember, it is not necessary to touch the unclean."

Low tones of strange vibration. Skag looked up. A brown-robed manstood before him. (The long straight lines of the garment were made ofa material hand-woven of camel's hair, known in the High Himalayas asputtoo.) The quiet face was in chiselled lines. The level dark eyeswere looking deep into the place where Skag's soul lived. Skag wasintensely conscious that he stood in a Presence. He endured the eyes.They made him feel better. The robed man spoke again:

"I speak to give you assurance that those you have served will be caredfor. Also, a responsibility may fall upon you. If you accept, a greatgood will come to you in this life."

"I will do what I can."

"Peace be with thee."

"Shall I see you again?"

"Never."

Skag stood aside and the robed man walked toward the tent.

Skag went back to Poona. Carlin's eldest brother Roderick Deal had notcome yet. Still waiting, a week later, he walked one morning on thestone causeway, which is a most attractive unit in the architecture ofPoona's great waterworks, and filled his eyes with the Ghat vistastoward the north and west. Joyous dog tones made him glance back. Itwas Nels, straining forward on a heavy chain-leash in the old cook'shand.

"Let him go."

Now Skag noticed that the dog moved with some effort, possibly withsome pain; but when he arrived, Nels reared his mighty body and set hispaws on Skag's two shoulders. Skag hugged him and eased him down. Theold cook handed Skag a note. It read:

To the Wonder Man, by the hand of Bhanah the cook, who is a gift to theMan from the gods. Together with Nels the beautiful, a gift to the Manfrom Eleanor Beatrice (Hichens)—who is free!

Bhanah the cook will tell his master the rest. Save this, that Eleanor
Beatrice is grateful with her full heart to the Man.

He is to remember that he has been adopted by Nels. He is to walksoftly because he is on the way to be adopted—of course it is pastbelief, but also it is past question—by the mightiest of all mysticorders, whose messengers have accomplished this thing.

N.B. The Sahib is to enquire of his servant Bhanah what is the nativemeaning of "walk softly." He will find Bhanah entirely trustworthy inall matters of information.

Skag looked up and the old cook spoke:

"I, who am speaking to Sanford Hantee Sahib, am Bhanah—entered intocovenant before the gods that I am his servant to serve him with mystrength, so long as I endure to live.

"I bring from the shining lady who was my mistress, whom may the godsprotect! certain messages for him alone.

"The child is dead. Her body lies deep in a metal case beside hermother's, near one of the old bungalows."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Death does not snare the soul. If she were still here, Nels would notbe free to come to my master. And my master has become his heart'sdesire."

"I am glad to have him and you."

The old cook laid his hand on his forehead and bent low before Skag.

"The lady-beautiful will sail from Bombay in a few days, returning toher own mother's house. She is forever free from Police CommissionerHichens Sahib, who was my master only for her sake and for the sake ofNels. The lady's own ayah will go with her to her own country, toserve her as I serve thee.

"These things are accomplished by a Power which works through those whoare seldom seen and never known of men.

"I have spoken and it is finished. Have I permission to take Nels tomy quarters where he can rest? He is well; but not yet fully strong.If my master will tell us his place, we will come to him in themorning."

Skag told them. The recognition of Nels as a personality amused him;but he did not quarrel with it.

CHAPTER VII

The Hunting Cheetah

Since Bhanah and Nels had come to him, Skag had fallen into the way oftaking Nels out quite early for a full day's tramp through the brokenshelving Ghats. (This helped to bear the weight of the days tillCarlin's eldest brother should reach Poona.) The contours weredifferent from anything he had seen along the top or toward the sea; asif in the beginning the whole range had been dropped on the planet andits own weight had shattered the eastern side, to settle from thecracks or roll over upon the plains. Nels would travel close besidehim for hours; but if he ever did break away, Skag had only to callquietly, "Nels, steady!" and Nels would return joyfully. He neversulked.

Every morning now, Bhanah carefully stowed in Skag's coat, neat packetsof good and sufficient food for himself and the dog at noontime. Skaghad never been cared for in his life; he had neither training norinclination to direct a servant. But there was no need. Bhanah knewperfectly well what was right to be done; and he was committed with hiswhole heart to do it.

The order of Skag's life was being softly changed; but he only knew hisservant did many kind things for him which were very comfortable. Hewas a little bothered when Bhanah called him "My Master"—having notyet learned that servants in India never use that title, excepting inaffection which has nothing to do with servitude.

The morning came, when Roderick Deal arrived. Carlin had said that allarrangements must be made with her eldest brother; and some tone withinher tone had impressed Skag with concern which amounted toapprehension. But when he walked into Roderick Deal's office and metthe hand of Carlin's eldest brother—there was a light in his eye whichthat Indian Sahib found good to see.

Roderick Deal overtopped the American by two inches. He was slenderand lithe. His countenance was extraordinary to Skag's eye for itspeculiar pallor; as if the dense black hair cast a shadow on intenselywhite flesh—especially below the temples and across the forehead.There was attraction; there was power. Skag saw this much while hefound the eyes; then he saw little else. He decided that SanfordHantee had never seen really black eyes before; the size startled him,but the blackness shocked. (It was in the fortune of his life that heshould never solve the mystery of those eyes.) Skag felt the impact ofdynamic force, before he spoke:

"You will not expect enthusiasm from me, my son, when as the head ofone of the proudest families in all India, I render official consent,upon conditions, to your marriage with my sister Carlin. . . . You aretoo different from other men."

Skag had something to say, but he found no words.

"You are to be informed that the only sister of seven brothers is amost important person. She is called the Seal of Fortune in India;which is to say that good fortune for all her brothers is vested inher. If calamity befalls her, there is no possible escape for them.This is the established tradition of our Indian ancestors.

"We smile among ourselves at this tradition, as much as you do; butthere are reasons why we choose to preserve it, among many things fromthose same Indian ancestors. We have no cause to hate them. Hate isnot in our family as in others of our class; but we never forget thatit isour class."

The brooding pain in the man was a revelation. Carlin had said, ". . .there are things you must understand."

"You are already aware that we are English and Indian. But you do notconceive what that means. It is my duty to speak. All life appears tome first from the English standpoint; but you see theshadow of Indiaunder my skin. All life appears to my sister first in the Indianconcept; but you will not easily find the shadow of India under herskin. We have one brother—darker than the average native. . . . Areyou prepared to find such colour in one of your own?"

The question was gently spoken, but the eyes were like destiny.

"Any child of hers will be good to me," Skag answered softly.

A glow loomed in the blacknesses and Roderick Deal flashed Skag a smilewhich reminded him, at last, of Carlin.

"European men, in the early days, were responsible for the branding,now carried by thousands in India—carried with shame and the bitterestsort of curses. But our line is unique in this regard. We areconditioned by a pride, as great as the shame I have spoken of. Onaccount of it, no one of us may enter marriage without public ceremonyof as much circumstance as is expedient."

The storm-lights had gone down and a half-deprecatory, half-embarrassedexpression, made the face look so quite like any other man's, that Skagsmiled.

". . . Because we are descended from two extraordinary romances, bothof which were celebrated by the marriage of an imperial Indianwoman—one Brahmin, one Rajput—with a British man of noble family—oneScotch, one Irish. Carlin will tell you the stories; she loves them."

Again the smile like Carlin's.

"So she must come down to Poona, where she was born; and the ceremonymust be performed in the cathedral here, by the Bishop himself—who isa real man by the way, as well as distinguished."

. . . That was all right.

"You are to be published at the time of your marriage, in all theEnglish and vernacular printed sheets throughout India, specifically asa scientist whose research will take you much into jungle life."

Roderick Deal paused for reply. Skag considered a moment and saidtentatively:

"If my work will come under that head?"

"Oh, quite! there is no question. And now I am come to the explanationof my delay. There have been preparations to make; dealings withIndian government. As you will understand, Government would beentirely unapproachable by any man himself desiring such anappointment. But influence is able to set in operation the examinationof his records; and if they are good enough, the rest can beaccomplished.

"Carlin convinced me that you would make no serious protest; and I amassuring you that these conditions are really good fortune to you. Butthey are imperative; it must be this way or not at all."

Skag was given opportunity to speak, but he had nothing to say, yet.

"You must enter the service of Indian government in the department ofNatural Research. The appointment will give you distinction not to bescorned and a salary better than my own—which is very good."

After a moment's thought, Skag said:

"Will it tie me up?"

"Not in the least. On the contrary, it will make you free."

"What about my obligations?"

"Your obligations will be entirely vested in reports, which you willturn in at your discretion. I understand that you already havematerials which would be considered highly valuable. Also, I hear thatyou have fallen heir to Nels, the great hunting dog. Of the four thatare well known, he is easily the best. And he is young; he will bringyou experiences out of the jungle such as no man could find alone.What the Indian Research department wants, isknowledge of animals."

"That's exactly what I want."

"Your Department will facilitate you, immensely. I speak positively,because the initial work is finished; there remains nothing, but thatyou shall come with me to the department offices and become enrolled.However, not before you are properly outfitted. My tailoring-housewill take care of you."

"A uniform?"

"Not a uniform exactly, but strictly correct; rather military, but morehunting; perfectly suitable and very comfortable. You'll be quite athome in it. It's the sort for you."

The eyes measured Skag's outlines appraisingly, but betrayed nothing.

"We have not finished. The matter of clothing is adjacent to anothernot less important. A foreigner in this country is nothing better thana wild man, without a servant."

"I have one—" Skag spoke with inward satisfaction: "—Bhanah the oldcook, who did serve Police—"

"Not Police Commissioner Hichens'Bhanah?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He came to me."

"Did you negotiate with him?"

"No."

"Then will you kindly tell me, why?"

"I do not know."

There was a marked pause. The eyes had become wide.

"Well—really . . .Are you the sort-of-thing I've been hearingabout?"

Roderick Deal's expression was kindly-quaint; and Skag answered thelook rather than the words:

"How should I know what that is?"

"Youhave astonished me. And I am pleased. From Bombay to Calcuttaand from Himalaya to Madras—you will find no more valuable man, thanthat same Bhanah. He is called old, but he is not old. If you havenoticed, the term is always spoken as if it were one with hisname—because of his learning. He is the man of men for you.Howdid he come to you?"

"He brought Nels with the note, that the dog was a gift. When hespoke, he said he was committed before the gods to serve me as long ashe lived."

"How did his voice sound?"

"A queer, level tone."

"There is no doubt.It is enough for one day."

The words were spoken with almost affectionate inflections. Skag waspuzzled. Roderick Deal stepped to the door and spoke to a servant;returning to his seat, he smiled openly into Skag's eyes beforespeaking:

"Now you will come with me. We must lose no time."

"Yes, I want to get back to Hurda as soon as I can."

"Not before the monsoon breaks. It is due any day now, any hour. Tillten days after it has broken, no sane man will take train."

"I want to get back. I think I will risk it."

"You will pardon me, you are not allowed."

The tone was perfect authority. The eyes smouldered, but the lipssmiled.

"You are not used to be in any way conditioned, I understand that; butI am not willing to be responsible to my only sister for the smashedbody of her one man. Oh, I assure younot! And you may one daygrant that the guardianship of an elder brother is not a bad thing tohave. Why—I beg your pardon, but of course you are not here longenough to know the situation."

He stopped abruptly and looked away, considering.

"I will put it in one word and tell you thatone momentany train,onany track, may be perfectly safe; and the next moment, it may begoing down the khud with half a mountain. Again, we exercise theutmost care in all bridge-building—with no reservation of resources;but almost every year a bridge or more goes with the crash."

"The crash?"

"The reason why we say the great monsoon 'breaks' is not because itselfbreaks, but because—whatever happens to be underneath, you understand."

The floor of protest had dropped away. Skag's face said as much.

"The tailors will need till the rails are safe to get you fitted; andbefore the monsoon comes, I suggest that you take your hunter up intothe cheetah hills. Cheetahs are not supposed, by those at Home, toattack men. Many of them will not; but they are unreliable. Theforfeits they have taken from unbelief have made them a bad reputation,among the English."

"The cheetahs I have seen in cages have been mild, compared withtigers."

"Cheetah kittens are snared and broken at once by hard handling;meaning that it is not the cheetah himself, but what is left of him,one sees either in the kennels of the princes or in the foreign cages.You will remember my warning about his character?"

"Thank you, yes."

"Good. I have known men to prefer not . . . Then you will carryyourself alert in any kind of jungle. If you sight a cheetah, beprepared; he maynot attack. He may. Few men have eyes good enoughto follow him after his first spring. One should be a perfect shot;are you that?"

"I am a good shot, but I don't like to kill animals."

"Then I am the last man to commend you to the cheetah hills . . . if itwere not for Nels. He is entirely competent to take care of you,unless in one possible emergency. They sometimes, but rarely, work inpairs. If ever the dog should be occupied with one and another shouldbe insight—be sure your unwillingness to kill does not delay you tothe instant of charge."

"You imply that it is necessary to carry a gun in any kind ofjungle—always?"

"Always wise, ofcourse; but I consider it less imperative just now,because the animals are not what we call fighting. They are waitingfor the great monsoon. So—you might take your dog up into the cheetahhills—"

"I don't see how a dog—"

"He'll break the cheetah's back and cut his throat, before the realstart is made at you. But Bhanah will tell you whatever; and he isentirely reliable. You may depend upon him, without reservation."

"That's a big thing to know."

"India has many good servants, but Bhanah is a rare man."

The unquenchable fires in Roderick Deal's eyes began to feed upon someenigma in Skag's own; he endured it a moment and then interruptionbecame expedient:

"Does the monsoon come on schedule?"

"It does."

"What is it like?"

"It is as much an experience as a spectacle. I'm not attempting todescribe the thing itself; it should be seen. But across thesouthwestern part of India, it includes the procession of the animals.All animals from all covers, running together."

"There is something like that in the far north of America," Skag said."It is called the passage of the Barren Ground Caribou. They movesouth before the first winter storms in thousands. I've heard thatsometimes their lines extend out of sight. They have no food, but theydo not stop to forage. Our northern hunters say that nothing will stopthem."

"That's interesting; immensely. I've not heard of it."

"But I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"Our creatures move in a trance of panic, straight away from the comingrains. I say a trance, because they appear to be oblivious of eachother; hunter and hunted go side by side, without noticing."

The drive of Skag's life-quest was working in him, as if nothing hadever given it pause.

"Do they go fast?"

"The timid and lumbering come out first, hurrying; they increase innumbers, all sorts, and run faster till those near the end go at topspeed—it's a thing to see. Bhanah will tell you when and where towatch it; but be careful and get under good roofing in time. And then,after the tracks are set right, if you must reach Hurda in order tocome back with Carlin . . . Man, God help you if you do not give mysister the best of your gifts!"

"Why, I belong to her—"

Their hands met; and Skag's soul rose up without words, to answer awhite flame in the inscrutable eyes.

Early the following morning, Sanford Hantee Sahib said to his servant:

"Bhanah, what do you know about cheetahs?"

"Such little things as a man may know, Sahib."

"Are you willing to give some of it to me?"

"All that I am and all that I can, belongs to my master."

"Is that—the regular—"

"Nay,nay! It is right for my master to consider, that I serve himnot for a price. This is true service—as men in my land bring tothings holy. Those who serve for the weight of silver, render theweight of their hands."

"I don't want you to begin thinking that I'm holy though—youunderstand that."

"There are meanings which will appear to the Sahib in time; it is notsuitable that they come from me. But this much may be spoken: if mymaster serves in a great service—then I, who am a poor man andignorant, may give something if I serve him."

"If that's what you mean, it's all right. Then we won't go out thismorning, Nels and I. It'll be the time to get some of that littleknowledge of yours about cheetahs."

It seemed to Skag that the uncertainty about just why Bhanah had cometo him, was cleared away; and there was a dignity about the man whichhe liked. It was all right.

"Sanford Hantee Sahib should not go to find cheetahs before he knowshis dog," Bhanah began.

"Just what are you getting at?"

"My master is a preserver of life and Nels is a great hunter."

"I've thought of that. Is there any danger that he will kill when Idon't want him to?"

"Sahib, I, Bhanah, have known Nels since he was a puppy, I have seenhim take his training to kill; therefore I believe he will quickly betaught to work together with my master, who is his heart's desire.This is the chief thing, that my master is his heart's desire. Butalso I know—he will kill when there is need for him to kill."

"Does he ever fail?"

"If he had ever failed, he would not be here. The Police CommissionerHichens Sahib—to whom may the gods render his due!—has many times sethim in the teeth of death; when occasion could be prepared, always."

"He did not fight the hyena."

"Now the Sahib speaks of an evil thing. Forthat reason he was madeto live in a tent in the Jungle."

"But what—"

"The hyena isevil-itself; and a dog has no hope in him to fight withit. We may not 'speaka name in the same breath of common-judgment';but I say that the living fear in a man's body made secret covenantwith the knowledge of this fact—because the man had long desired thatNels should die. The lady-beautiful and his small children—alltogether—I say they were made to live in danger—that some hyena mightdestroy Nels!"

Only Bhanah's voice showed feeling as he finished.

"So that's what I interfered with; and that's why he let the dog begiven to me."

"It is straightly spoken. But the Sahib will not hold Nels less, forcourage or for power? There is not one to equal him."

"Bhanah, we'll put that hope into Nels, against when he hears a hyena."

"That will be with the good hunting-piece in my master's hands, atfirst—to teach him confidence. Then he will fear—not anything onearth. Then it will beall like the cheetah hills to him. Sahib,it is more satisfying than food."

"Where are the cheetah hills from here?"

"South and West; not the way the Sahib has gone before."

"You haven't told me about them before."

"Because Nels was not come to full strength, since his hurt."

"I'd hate to have him meet an accident."

"To-morrow he will go safe. He rose up last night and listened to ahunting cheetah's cry."

"Are they close as that?"

"Not to a European Sahib's ear; but to Nels, yes."

"Deal Sahib said you would tell me about the cheetahs."

"What I have of value is by the common wayside; butfortune causeswealth to flow down mountain streams for those who climb. There areseveral things to consider, Sahib."

Skag was amused; he had not yet heard that only the ignorant teachwithout apology. As seriously as possible, he said:

"I am listening."

Bhanah spoke gravely; his words falling like weights:

"That he is—seldom seen—till it is too late—to prepare. He istreacherous."

"Where does he hide?"

"In the large-leaved trees which stretch their branches like that."And Bhanah held his arms out horizontally, one above the other,parallel.

"All right."

"That he is quicker than a man's eye."

Skag waited.

"And that he is more deadly than the tiger."

"How is that?"

"Because he is more quick. Because he is equal in power, even when heis not equal in weight. Because he fights not only for food, not onlyfor life, but for the love of killing. Of all living things, he is thecreature of blood-lust. He is the name-of-fear, incarnate. It wouldnot be a good thing for my master to hear, nor for his servant totell—the cheetah's ways with a body from which life is gone out."

"You've made a strong argument for the cheetah as a fighter, Bhanah,but you don't seem to stand much for his character."

"Who faces the hunting cheetah, Sahib, faces death. If the cheetahfalls upon him from above, or comes upon him from behind, he will knowdeath; but he will never know the cheetah. A hunter's first shot mustdo its work; he will not often have time to fire again."

"I've got that. But I don't quite see what chance a dog has with him."

"Only four dogs in this my land, have any chance with him, Sahib."

"And the others?"

"They live because they have not met a cheetah."

"How does Nels do it?"

"My master must look upon that, to understand. I have seen, but Icannot show it. It—" and a rare smile lighted the dark shadows ofBhanah's face, "issoon."

"I've heard the Indian princes use them for hunting."

"Yes, Sahib, many Indian princes keep hunting cheetahs as EnglishSahibs keep hunting horses. They go out after small things; andinnocent—mostly deer, of all kinds; even theneel gai, the greatblue cow."

"Will Nels attack such things?"

"Nels will not attack the defenseless; he has not been used for it.His ways are established in that; there is no fear. If he should beranging at any time, he will return at the first call; but if he doesnot, my Master, let him go. Be certain,Nels knows."

"That's good. I'm in this country to get acquainted with animals—"

"But to the preserving of men?"

"When I find it's necessary, I've no objection then—"

Bhanah stooped quickly and touched Skag's feet.

"Vishnu, the Great Preserver, has sent another Hand to this my India."

Skag looked into the man's face and found high light in it.

Next dawn was hot, but there was a stimulation in it; not like themountains, not like the sea. The air was full of a mellow enticement,like strange incense; or romance. Skag enquired of his servant if theday would be right for the cheetah hills.

Bhanah turned to the southeast and scanned the horizon line. Then heheld up his hand, palm toward the same direction, for a minute. Atlast he walked to a shrub and looked at its leaves, closely.

"It may be that one day is left for my master to go into the cheetahhills; but the earth makes ready for the breaking of the great monsoon."

Skag was getting interested in the Indian standpoint; he was findingsomething in it. Quite innocently, he used the subtlest method knownto learn.

"What is the great monsoon?"

"Beneficence."

"What is the earth doing?"

"Now, she is holding very still. When it breaks, she will shake.Having endured three days, she will rise up and cast off her oldgarments, putting on new covering—entirely clean."

"Will I be able to see that?"

"Nay, Sahib! The wall of the waters will be between your eye and everyleaf."

. . . The wall of the waters; like the tones of a bell far off, thewords sank into some deep place in Skag. This day they would recur tohim; and in the years to come, they would recur again and yet again.

Swinging along out of Poona toward the cheetah hills, Skag was buoyantwith healthy energy. His heart was like the heart of a boy.Consistent with his old philosophical dogma, this present was certainlythe best he had ever known. Carlin was in it, as surely as if she werepresent. Roderick Deal had proved to be a man to respect; and to love,secretly . . . "the guardianship of an elder brother."

Looking back, he saw that Poona City was beautiful, lying close againstthe eastern side of the Ghats, just as they begin to fold away towardthe plains. No breath of plague or pestilence from Bombay could reachacross the ramparts of that mountain range.

The air was getting hotter every minute; but it was good. The vistasstretched far—all satisfying. Bhanah said the monsoon was close."Beneficence"; the Indian idea of a deluge. He liked it all.

They came up into the hills through some stretches of stiff climbing;and on the margin of a broad shelf Skag stopped for breath. Thepanorama behind had widened and extended immensely. The face of aplanet seemed to reach from his feet across to the eastern horizon,descending. He sat down on a flat rock and Nels comfortably extendedhimself near by.

It was all good. The great golden jewel back in his heart, full ofafterglows—Carlin. The finding of a real man. The ways, thereservations, the revelations, of Bhanah. The beauty and character ofthe dog at his foot . . .

Nels had lifted his head. His eyes were fixed intently on the emptywhite distances of the sky. His pointed ears were set at a queerangle. There was nothing unusual to be seen, nothing Skag himselfcould hear. He paid closer attention; and presently, began to get aperfume. It was the great, good earth-smell; richer and fuller everyminute.

Then Nels stood up and faced the southeast. Skag looked where the dogseemed to be looking. Along the horizon line he saw an edge of darkgrey. No, the horizon line was cut; this thing lay against the earthas straight as the blade of a knife.

Now Skag began to feel something in the air. He couldn't recognise it,nor define it, but it was imperative—some kind of urge. There was thesense of emergency, perfectly clear; so much that he turned and lookedabout, listening for a call. He thought of Carlin; could she be in anyneed? He was glad she wasn't here; this was a good place to get awayfrom . . . Ah, that was it!The urge to run.

"How is it, Nels, old man, does the great monsoon make us feel likemoving?"

Nels stood like a thing carved out of solid pewter. He did not hear.He faced the southeast. But Skag understood why the animals were dueto make a procession; the chief thing was to get away. Then Skagsettled into a perfect calm.

Four spotted deer came trotting up the shoulder of a near incline,almost directly toward them. The dog watched them with a casual eye.They went by, sixty feet away. Nels was looking further on to where abig brown bear ambled along, making good time for one of herbuild—behind her, a yearling. Still Nels showed no inclination toleave his place.

As if it were a vision of the night, the whole landscape before Skagbecame dotted with specks; all moving. All moving in the samedirection, almost toward him. As the numbers increased, he saw thatthey ran straight; there was no swerving. In spite of what RoderickDeal had told him, his mind demanded the reassurance of his own voice.

"Nels, is it real? Are we asleep?"

The dog was a stoic; he moved one ear, but he did not lift an eye.

Skag noticed that the hush in the air seemed to have laid a bond ofsilence on all these creatures. He had heard no calls, no cries. Andthese were the calling, crying animals of the world.

Here and there at some distance, he saw the ungainly, shambling gait ofhyenas, in twos and fours and threes together, or alone. Once whenfour passed quite near, he felt Nels' shoulder against his thigh.

"Nels, old man, buck up. I tell you, get a grip. They may be thedevil, but he isn't hard to kill. I'll show you. Do you get me, son?"

Nels looked up into the man's face, a long look. Then he pressed hishead close, under Skag's hand.

Spotted deer ran in small groups; they came into sight and passed outquickly. More swift and more beautiful, were slender deer with singlehorns, twisted spirally; sometimes very long. Skag thrilled to theirpride of action; but Nels seemed in no wise interested.

There was another kind of deer seen at some distance; the bucks werefull-antlered and from where Skag stood, they looked light grey colour.Rabbits scuttled in and out of sight constantly, all over the landscape.

Between the parallel lines of seven spotted deer on one side and asmall herd of grey deer on the other, he saw a great, low-leapingbeast; plainly yellow with black stripes—one tiger the sportsmen hadnot bagged.

Evidently some mighty thing had transcended enmity and annihilatedfear—for one day.

Little things held his eye one while. Creatures like monsterrats—they were really mongooses—racing for their lives. Lizards fromtwo to eighteen inches long; and he saw one with rainbow colours in hisskin, mostly red. He learned afterward it was a great-chameleon; andangry. He saw one small scaled thing, rather like a crocodile inshape, but with a sharp-pointed nose; it waddled by, near enough toshow two little black beads in its face.

When Skag lifted his eyes the earth seemed to have given up a score ofpacks of jackals. Their action was not like the wolf nor like the dog;it was a short, high leap—giving to a running pack the effect ofbobbing. They were more perfect wolves than the American coyote, butsmaller; and they looked to have much fuller coats. Searching thelocation of these groups of bobbing runners, his eye lifted toward thesoutheast.

. . . The grey knife-blade had cut away half the world. It laystraight across the earth, midway between his feet and where thehorizon line should curve. Without any look of motion, without anyshine or sheen, smooth as a wall of dull-polished granite, it rose tobeyond sight in the sky—the utterly true line of its base upon theground.

. . . So this wasthe wall of the waters.

No man dare interpret it to any other man; but Skag found perfect awe.
Then he grew very quiet—his faculties alert as never before.

When he noticed the landscape again, the bobbing packs were gone.Slender spotted things in pairs and alone, were leopards—leaping longand low. A great dark creature, going like the wind, was a blackpanther.

Then he saw, right before him, the unthinkable. Majesty in miniature.A perfect East Indian musk buck—the most beautiful of living things.The wee fellow came on, leaping to the utmost of his strength; hisnostrils wide, his lips apart, his eyes immense. He swayed a little,wavered and fell.

Skag ran and leaned over him—the little heart was driving out thelittle life. It seemed a pity out of all proportion. . . . He heldthe tiny breathless thing tenderly, as if it were a dead child. . . .So he laid it down reluctantly, at last; and straightened—to see ahunting cheetah coming toward him, not far away.

He glanced down, Nels was not there. He looked all about, Nels was notin sight. Then the reserves in Skag's nature came up. All histraining flashed across his brain. Every nerve, every muscle in hisbody, was instantly adjusted to emergency. There was no failure inco-ordination.

He stood quietly watching the cheetah. It appeared not to have seenhim. If it kept on, it would pass about seventy feet away. But Skagknew it would not keep on. With his mind he might think it would, butsomething in him knew it would not.

He remembered Carlin; no, he must not think of her now. He rememberedthat Nels was gone; no, he must not think of that either. All theweapons he had were in his heart, in his head. He set himself inorder, ready. Recalling, while he waited, with what joy he had beenready to face the tiger that coughed near the monkey glen, to standbetween Carlin and it—he was aware that now he faced a hunting cheetahas much for her.

The cheetah stopped, and turning toward him direct, laid itself alongthe ground so tight he could see only a line of colour among thegrasses. There it seemed to stay.

When a man deals with a cat, to allay fear or to establish any commonground of sympathy, he ought to see its eyes. While realising thisfact, Skag heard a piercing cat-scream, some distance back of him. Hehad not heard sounds from any of the animals before. . . . He foundhimself calculating whether the monsoon or night or the cheetah, wouldreach him first.

Changing sun-rays had laid a sheen resembling silver upon the wall; notdazzling, but softly bright. After a while the cheetah showed, nearerthan when it settled into the grass. The wall was moving forwardsurely—as surely as time—but the cheetah would reach him first.

At last he saw two yellow discs. Then he worked with his power—hissupreme confidence. He had never been more quiet, never more fearlessin his life.

The hunting cheetah moved toward him without pause, till he could seethe whole body along the ground; the broad, short head; the wide,sun-lit eyes. And while he sent his steady force of human-kindlythought into those eyes, theynarrowed into slits. In that instantSkag knew that the beast had no fear to allay; no quality of nature hecould touch. It was a murderer, pure and simple.

Then he thought of Carlin. . . . Of her brother. . . . Of Nels. Heopened his lips to speak, but the name did not pass his throat.

Carlin, Carlin! It was only a question of time; and Skag folded hisarms.

And high against the wall of the waters rolled the clarionchallenge-call of Nels, the Great Dane dog. The cheetah leaped andsettled back. Skag turned to look the way it faced. A grey lineflashed along the ground. Skag did not know it, but he was racingtoward their meeting.

The cheetah lifted and met Nels, body against body, in mid-air—Skagheard the impact. Nels had risen full stretch, his head low betweenhis shoulders; the cheetah's wide-spread arms went round him, but hisentire length closed upon the cheetah's entire length—like ajack-knife—folding it backward. Skag heard a dull sound, the sameinstant with a keen cat-scream—cut short as the two bodies struck theearth. When he reached them, Nels was still doubled tight over thecheetah's backward-bent body; his grey iron-jaws locked deep in thetawny throat.

"Sahib! SanfordHan—tee Sahib!"

"Hi, Bhanah; this way!"

Bhanah came with a rain-coat in his hand. Stooping to examine Nels amoment and rising to glance at the wall, he spoke rapidly:

"The Sahib has seen his Great Dane Nels kill a second cheetah in oneday. There are two cuts on each leg. Also because Nels must not losehis strength on a fast journey to his master's place—I, Bhanah, willuncover mine honour in the presence of a man."

And quickly casting his turban from his head, he proceeded to tear itdown the middle. While he worked, he talked—as if to himself—in halfchanting tones:

"Men in my country donot—this thing; but I do it. Of a certaintyNels has accomplished that I could not, though I would. This night twocheetahs remain not—the gods witness—to destroy little tenderchildren of men. And when the so-insignificant cuts of Nels shall bepresently wrapped with the covering of mine own honour, I shall beexalted not less!The gods witness. Then we return swiftly into asafe place."

This was no ordinary exultation. Skag's ears were wide open; and heheard grief—and hate.

"How did you know where I was?" he asked quietly.

"I heard the first cheetah's death cry; and I knew he was not far fromyou, Sahib."

"I thought he was pretty far, one little while."

Skag had spoken, thinking of Nels. Bhanah searched his face while thelook of a frightened child grew in his own. Again he stooped quicklyand touched the man's feet. He had done it once before—to Skag'sacute discomfort.

"What's the meaning of that?"

"That a man's life is in thy breath, my Master."

"Bhanah, I'll find out—how to answer you."

Then Bhanah laughed a low exultant chuckle, while he finished binding
Nels' legs with a part of his own turban.

"It is well, Sahib; thefortune which never fails is thine. And now,if we are wise, we will run."

Nels led, all the way; and they were barely under cover, when the earthindeed shook. The stone walls of the building rocked; the dull thunderof a solid, continuous impact of dense water upon its roof, filledtheir ears. The light of the sun was cut off.

"Bhanah, you and Nels will camp with me to-night. This has been thehunting cheetah-day of my life; and—Nels is responsible that he didn'tget me."

"My master is the heart of kindness."

While Bhanah was busy, later, Skag laughed:

"I'm remembering that you said Nels did itsoon. How did he do it?"

"By the drive of his weight against the cheetah's body; and thestrength of his limbs, in the action my master saw."

They had eaten and Nels was properly cared for, when Bhanah spokesoftly:

"Shall we have tales, Sahib?"

Skag roused from a moment's abstraction to answer:

"Bhanah, I don't remember anything I could talk about to-night, but thehunting cheetah—Nels got."

"The hunting cheetah is one, Sahib;there are many. Telling is inknowledge and in speech; finding is in the man. I will tell, if theSahib pleases; but he shall find."

So they had tales that night.

CHAPTER VIII

The Monster Kabuli

Skag had learned, in finding Carlin, that it wasn't like a man in Americafinding the one particular and inimitable girl, not even if she were thelaurus nobilis and he the eagle of the same coin. In India, wherepeople have pride of race, and time to keep it shining, there areformalities. . . . The two had arranged to meet in the jungle—not deepin the glen where the tiger had coughed, but at the edge toward Hurda,when Skag returned from Poona. He was to go straight into the junglefrom the railway station. Carlin would be watching and followthere. . . .

Sanford Hantee of the Natural Research Department, after much opportunityto wrestle with the subtle and gritty and hard-testing demon of delay,came at last to Hurda again, and stepped out of the coach with a throb inhis chest and a knot in his throat which only the best and bravestsoldiers have brought in from the field. As the moments of waiting atthe edge of the jungle passed, it dawned upon him that something hadhappened, or Carlin already would be with him, at least crossing the bigsun-shot area from the walled city. . . . What had happened is thisstory of the monster Kabuli, which is an animal story even without theentrance of the racing elephant, Gunpat Rao.

Many months before, five merchants came in from far Kabul and sat down inthe market-place at Hurda, day by day unfolding more of their packs.They brought nuts from High Himalaya, foot-hill raisins and the longwhite Kabuli grapes themselves, packed in cotton, a dozen to fifteen inthe box. Then there were dried figs and dates, pomegranates picked upfar this side of the Hills, Kabuli weaves of cloth, and silks inwovenwith gold thread. They were small packs, but worth a great price; whichis important to relate in any company.

Now these five Kabulies were usually together (not too far from thekadamba tree where Ratna Ram sat); and their turbans were of differentcolours, but their hearts were mainly of one kind of hell. Sometimesthey stood and sometimes they moved one by one among the bazaars; butHurda thought of them as one alien presence, and signified that thehugest of them, the monster himself, was also the most hateful anddangerous, which he was.

If I should tell how tall he was exactly, and this in the midst of Sikhsand other of the tallest people of the world, you would think it one ofthe high lights of a writer-man, and if I should tell you of the face ofthis monster; the soft folds of fury resting there in the main; the bulkof loose greyish lids over the whites of eyes flecked with brownpigments; of the sunken upper lip and the nose drooping against it, youwould say long before I had finished, "Let up on the poor beast—"

And this was a rich man, this Kabuli; richer than any of these brothers,and deeper-minded; so that he could think with keener power to make histhought come true. Also, life was more full to him than to the others,so that he could look over the world of his packs; and when he slept inthe midst of his packs, all his treasure was not there. You reallyshould have seen him smile as the head-missionary, Mr. Maurice,approached, and you should have seen the smile change to a sneer, withouta flick of difference in the expression of the eyes. And perhaps it isjust as well that you missed the look that came into the eyes of themonster Kabuli when the beautiful English missionary, Margaret Annesley,passed.

Miss Annesley was Carlin's closest friend in Hurda. They worked togetheramong the women and children, among the sick and hungry, and found muchto do, without entering the deeper concerns of soul-wellbeing which Mr.Maurice attended. These last were rather reticent concerns of Carlin,especially. Mr. Maurice protested against their moving through certainparts of the city, against entering Mohammedan households, or thequarters of the bazaar women—all of which talk was well-listened to.Miss Annesley had no fear, because she was essentially clean. She waseffective and tireless, a thrilling sort of saint; but she could see noevil, not even in the monster Kabuli. Carlin had no fear because she wasCarlin; but she had a clear eye for jungle shadows—for beasts, saints,and men. As for the Kabuli, she quietly remarked:

"Why, Margaret, can't you see he's a mad dog?"

In other words, Carlin used the optic nerve as well as the vision said tobe of the soul.

"But, my dear, he seemed really stirred," Miss Annesley protested.

"I do not doubt he was stirred," Carlin replied. Her mind was the mindof India, with Western contrasts; also it was familiar from both angleswith the various attractive attributes of her friend. . . . But MargaretAnnesley continued to greet the monster Kabuli from time to time. Havinggreat means and worldly goods and riotous health, he had nothing todiscuss but his soul—which few beside Margaret would have foundostensible.

"I tell you he hasrabies," Carlin once repeated.

This did no good; so she went to Deenah who was Miss Annesley's servant,a Hindu of the Hindus and priceless. Deenah declared that he was alreadyaware of the danger; that he missed nothing; also that he was watchful asone who feared the worst.

Deenah was a small man, swift and noiseless. He had an invincibleequilibrium and authority in his own world, which was a considerableestablishment back of the dining-room, including a most delectable littlecreature even smaller than Deenah, but quite as important, and sharingall light and shadow by his side. Deenah had a look of forked lightningand a mellow voice. The more angry he became, the more caressing histones.

One day while he was down in the bazaars buying provisions, the monsterKabuli beckoned Deenah to come closer. They stood together—terrier andblood-hound—and Deenah listened while the form and colour of betterconditions was outlined for his sake. . . . The Kabuli had heard thatDeenah was a great servant; he had heard it from many sources, even thatDeenah was favourably compared with the chief commissioner's favouriteservant—who was a picked man of ten thousand.

Deenah inclined his head, hearkening for the tone within the tone, butgravely acknowledged that he had heard much in this life harder to listento.

The Kabuli continued that Deenah was no doubt appreciated on a smallscale in the house of Annesley Sahiba; but the establishment itself, aswell as the people, was inadequate to offer scope for the talents of sucha man as Deenah; also that Deenah was remiss in making no betterprovision for the future of his own household; also, the gifts should beconsidered—and now the Kabuli was opening his packs.

Deenah granted that life was not all sumptuous as he might wish, but hehad been given to understand no man's life was so in this world; he wouldbe glad now, to hear the plan by which all that he lacked could appearand all that he hoped for, come to pass.

The Kabuli opened wider his treasures. Deenah's narrow-lidded eyesfeasted upon the wealths and crafts of many men. . . . And the plan hadto do, not with this night nor with the next, but with the night afterthese two nights were passed, and Deenah's Sahiba and the Hakima(literally, the physician, which meant Carlin) were to be brought for theevening to the house of the Kabuli's friend, one Mirza Khan, aMohammedan, whose soul also was in great need.

Deenah's voice was gentle as he enquired how he was to be used—whyriches accrued to him, since it was the life of the life of his mistressto serve those ill or in need, body or soul. The Kabuli replied that hewas not sure that the Sahiba would go to a Mohammedan house, even withher friend the Hakima, unless Deenah could assure his mistress that theMohammedan was well known to him and honourable, his house an abode offellowship and peace.

Deenah considered well, in soft tones saying presently that he could notaccomplish this thing alone, but must advise with his fellow-servants whowere trustworthy. In fact, if the Kabuli could come this afternoon—whenthe Sahiba and the Hakima would be away—and tell his story once more, inthe presence of the utterly reliable among the servants—all might bebrought to pass.

The Kabuli did not care for the plan, but Deenah repeated that he couldnot do this thing alone; his voice admirably gentle, as he reiterated hisown helplessness. . . . Still he granted with hesitation that the Sahibadeigned to trust him to a degree. . . . At this moment the Kabuli sawDeenah's eyes forking at the treasure-pack. There was longing in themthat was pain. The face of Deenah was the face of one struck andcrippled with his own needs, which point helped the Kabuli to decision.

The terms of the agreement were made straight and fixed. Deenah wentback to his house where he made the monster's plan known to the servants.In the afternoon, when the house was empty, the monster Kabuli called andopened a small pack in the quiet shade of the compound, before the eyesof six men and one woman, as much Deenah as himself. . . . When the timein the story came that Deenah was to use his influence upon the mind ofhis mistress, there seemed a slowness of understanding among the otherservants; so that the Kabuli had to speak again and very clearly.

Just now the head of Deenah bent low over the open pack, the movement ofhis hand instantly drawing and filling the eye of the trader from Kabul;and then it was that the Sahiba'ssyce, who was a huge man,materialised alakri from under his long cotton tunic—thelakribeing a stick of olive-wood from High Himalaya and very hard. This hebrought down with great force upon the hugest and ugliest head in allCentral Provinces at that time.

Merely a beginning. Six otherlakris were drawn from five othertunics—the extra one for Deenah.

The great body was dragged farther back toward the servants' quarters.Here Deenah officiated. With each blow he enunciated in caressing tones,some term of the agreement . . . until he heard the protest of the motherof his little son:

"Shall you, Deenah, who are only her man-servant, have all the privilegeof defending the Sahiba—to whom I, Shanti, am as her own child?"

And Deenah, not missing a count, cried:

"Come and defend!"

So Deenah's wife and the other women came, bringing the smooth handstones with which they ground the spices into curry powder. . . . Andwhen the beating was over, they carefully tied up the pack of the Kabuliand sealed it without a single article missing. Then they carried thebody out of the compound, across the main highway, beyond the parallelbridle-road, and let it slide softly down into the littlekhud beyond,deeper and deeper each year from erosion.

A little afterward, that same afternoon, Margaret Annesley and CarlinDeal were walking along the bridle-path. Hearing a moan they looked overinto the khud, where the monster Kabuli was coming to. He managed toraise one hand, but the movement of the fingers somehow struck the pityfrom Carlin's heart. It was not a clean gesture of a chastened man.Even though his body was terribly bruised and broken, the face was thatof Ravage in person. Carlin pulled her companion on. They hastened tothe bungalow where the tied pack was in evidence and strange soundsreached them from the servants' compound.

It was the picture of a tranced group that they saw—Deenah sitting uponthe ground, uttering frightful low curses securely coupled together—inthe language of all languages for this ancient art. The others werearound him, even two or three of the women.

"Deenah!" Miss Annesley called.

The concentration was not to be broken.

"Deenah—is a madness come to this place?"

The head of her priceless servant was bowing close to the ground, but hismind was still away; and in high concord to his tones, were the tones ofthe small delectable one, whose eyes, dark and vivid, were the eyes ofJael singing her song after slaying Sisera. Margaret turned to hersyce. There were tears and sweat in his eyes, but no answering humangleam.

"Carlin—" she said. "Help me carry thedaik-ji—"

It was a huge vessel containing several gallons of cool water; and thiswas lifted by four hands and poured upon Deenah, whose eyes met them atonce with the light of reason.

"Bear witness, I am cursing softly," he said.

"Are you my head servant?"

"I am thy servant."

"And you permit this bazaar-tamasha in your compound?"

Deenah observed that this was not an affair upon which he could speak tothe Sahiba, his mistress. Meanwhile Carlin watched Deenah's eyes fillwith the keen reds of bloody memory.

"Go away, Margaret," Carlin said. "He will talk to me. Please go now.
In six breaths he will be back in his trance again—"

So it happened. Deenah watched his mistress depart, then he raised hiseyes to Carlin, saying:

"The Hakima will understand. These things are not for the Sahiba—"

"Speak—"

Deenah arose, saying: "It is not good for you to set foot in my house,but come to the threshold; then neither my voice nor the voices of theseshall enter her understanding—"

Deenah pointed to the rest of the servants who gathered around.

The tale of the monster Kabuli was unfolded to Carlin without a singleinterruption for several moments; in fact, until Margaret Annesley camerunning forth, crying:

"Are you never going to cease talk and carry help to the Kabuli—who ishurt?"

Carlin beckoned her back. "Not hurt, dear. He is ill. He hashydrophobia."

"Our protection depends upon you," Deenah concluded, to Carlin. "Wecommit ourselves to you; we render our lives and honour into your care.You alone, Hakima-ji, can present the story of these doings to the chiefcommissioner, whose name we hold in honour above other men. Will you seethat it be known—not one thread has been taken or changed from the packof the Kabuli; also, the chief commissioner—out of his equity which hasnever failed—shall judge us,knowing that we did the beating for theSahiba's sake."

The chief commissioner at Hurda was a good and a just man. He listenedseriously and spoke to Carlin of the value of good Indian servants in thehouses of the English; of the dangers of the tiger in the grass and theserpent upon the rock and the Kabuli in the khud—to whom he would attendat once.

It was many weeks after that when the case was called, and Deenah's eyesgrew red-rimmed like a pit-terrier's as he told the story again, but hisvoice fondled the ears of those present in the court-room. . . . One byone, the other four Kabulies left the market-place in Hurda; and when themonster himself had been made to pay and his healing had beenuninterrupted for many weeks, there came, a day when the unwalled city ofHurda knew him no more.

He was not forgotten, even though months sped by; for in Miss Annesley'sheart was a pang over the big man who had been horribly hurt. . . .Meanwhile for Carlin all life was changed—as the magic of swiftafterglow changes every twig and leaf and stem. Then came her hard days,watching for Skag's return—the weeks passing while he waited in Poona.Every morning from a distance, she observed the train come in from theSouth. When Skag did not appear, sometimes she would go alone for awhile to the edge of the jungle, but never deep, because he had asked hernot to. Sometimes it was an hour or two before she was ready to look outat the world or the light again. . . .

One early morning as she crossed the market-place, Carlin saw a strangeelephant there with his mahout; and a messenger approached deferentially,asking if she were the Hakima, and if she could lead the way to AnnesleySahiba. . . . Four hours' journey away—this was the messenger'sstory—a native prince whose dignity included the keeping of oneelephant, an honourable dispensation from Indian Government, had calledin great need for the ministration of the Hakima, and that of her friend,Annesley Sahiba—for lo, unto him a child was to be born.

Carlin asked if she were needed at once—thinking of the many days andthe train at noontime. The messenger said that within four hours he wastold to deliver the Hakima and Annesley Sahiba at the palace door. Hefollowed along, and the elephant came behind him, as she walked towardMargaret's bungalow. . . . If Skag were to come this day, shethought! . . . Deenah was away, but Carlin left word with his wife thatshe would be back that night, or early the next day. Margaret was ready.Carlin was in the howdah beside her, before there was really a chance tothink.

CHAPTER IX

The Monster Kabuli (Continued)

Skag did arrive from Poona that day. When Carlin did not come to thejungle-edge, and the vivid open area between him and the city showed nomovement, he did not linger many minutes. Power had come to him fromthe waiting days, and this hour was the acid test. All his life he hadrefused to look back or look ahead, making theNow—the presentmoving point, his world—wasting no energy otherwise.

In the long waiting days, he had learned what many a man afield hadbeen forced to learn in loneliness, that when he was very still, andfeelinghigh, not too tired—in fact, when he could forgethimself—something of Carlin came to him, over the miles.

But in spite of all he knew, much force of his life had strainedforward to this moment of meeting. The shock of disappointment dazedhim. His first thought was that there was some good reason; but afterthat, the misery of faint-heartedness stole in, and he wondered the oldsad wonder—if love had changed.

Skag hurried back to the station where he had left the Great Dane,Nels, with Bhanah, who would have to find quarters for himself. Nelsstood between the two, waiting for his orders; and wheeled with a dipof the head almost puppy-like when the man decided. So Skag walked ontoward the road where Carlin lived; and at his heels, with dignity,strode one of the four great hunting dogs in India. Presently he sawMiss Annesley's head-servant, Deenah, running toward him—face greywith calamity.

And now Skag heard of the coming of the messenger with the strangeelephant; and the black edging began to run about Deenah's tale, as herevealed the ugly possibilities in his own mind that the Monster Kabulihad his part in this sending:

". . . Now Hantee Sahib must learn," Deenah finished, "that not withinfour hours' journey from Hurda; nay, not within six hours' journey fromHurda, is there any native prince with the dignity of one elephant."

. . . They were walking rapidly toward the house of the chiefcommissioner whom Deenah said was away in the villages. Their hope oflife and death fell upon the Deputy Commissioner-Sahib. Always as hespoke, Deenah's face steadily grew more grey, the rims of his eyes morered. His memories of the monster were flooding in like the rains overold river-beds, and there was no mercy for Skag in anything he said.

The Deputy Commissioner, a perfectly groomed man, leisurely appeared.He did not wear spectacle or glass; still there was a glisten about hiseyes, as if one were there. He came out into the verandah opening aheavy cigarette-case of soft Indian gold. His head tilted back as ifsipping from a cup, as he lit and inbreathed the cigarette. To Skag heseemed so utterly aloof, so irreparably out of touch with a man's needsat a moment like this, that he could not have asked a favour oradequately stated his case. Deenah took this part, however. If therewere drama or any interest in the tale, there was no sign from theDeputy, whose eyes now cooled upon Nels, and widened. Presently heinterrupted Deenah to inquire who owned this dog.

The servant signified the American, and Skag took the straight glistenof the Englishman's glance for the first time.

"May I inquire? From whom?"

Skag coldly told him that the dog had been owned by Police CommissionerHichens of Bombay. . . . The deputy regretfully ordered Deenah tocontinue his narrative, and in the silence afterward, presently spokethe name:

"Neela Deo, of course—"

This meant the Blue God, the leader of the caravan; and signified thelordliest elephant in all India. . . . The Deputy, after a slightpause, answered himself:

"But Neela Deo is away with the chief commissioner. . . . Mitha Baba—"

There was another lilting pause. This referred to a female elephant,the meaning of whose name was "Sweet Baby." The Deputy capitulated:

"Mitha Baba, yes; especially since she knows the Hakima—and oh, I say,that's a strange tale, you know—"

He glanced from Deenah to Nels, to Skag; but received no encouragementto narrate same. Not in the least unbalanced, he tipped back his headand took another drink from between his smoky fingers; then hisglassless eye glittered out through the white burning of the noon, ashe added:

"But Mitha Baba would not chase a strange elephant, unless she
positively knew the creature was running off with her own Gul
Moti. . . . She's discriminating, is Mitha Baba. But I say, Gunpat
Rao came from the Vindhas, you know."

It dawned upon Skag that this wasn't monologue, but conversation; alsothat it had some vague bearing upon his own affairs. The pause wasvery slight, when the Deputy resumed:

"Yes, Gunpat Rao is from the Vindha Hills, within the life-time of oneman. . . . Mitha Baba is as fast, but she won't do it; so there's anend. Gunpat Rao. . . . Gunpat Rao. The mahouts say young maleelephants will follow a strange male for the chance of a fight. It'sconsistent enough. Yes, we'll call in Chakkra. . . . Are you ready totravel, sir?"

This was to Skag.

No array of terms could express how ready to travel was Sanford Hantee.The Bengali mahout, Chakkra, appeared; a sturdy little man with blueturban, red kummerband, and a scarf and tunic of white.

The Deputy flicked away his cigarette and now spoke fast—talk havingto do with Nels, with the Hakima, with Gunpat Rao, who was hisparticular mahout's master, and of the strange elephant who had carriedthe two Sahibas away.

Chakkra reported at this point that he had seen this elephant in themarket place, an old male—with a woman's howdah, covering too few ofhis wrinkles—and a mahout who would ruin the disposition of anythingbut a man-killer. Chakkra appeared to have an actual hatred towardthis man, for he enquired of the Deputy:

"Have I your permission to deal with the mahout of this thief elephant?"

"Out of your own blood-lust—no. Out of necessity—yes."

A queer moment. It was as if one supposed only to crawl, had suddenlyrevealed wings. Not until this instant did Skag realise that a ChiefCommissioner had the flower of England to pick his deputies from, andhad made no mistake in this man. . . . A moment later, Nels had beengiven preliminary instruction, and Skag was lifted, with a playfulflourish of the trunk, by Gunpat Rao himself, into the light huntinghowdah. Chakkra was also in place, when the Deputy waved his hand withthe remark:

"Oh, I say, I'd be glad of the chase, myself, but an official, youknow, . . . and Lord, what a dog!"

The last was as Nels swung around in front of Gunpat Rao's trunk as ifformally to remark: "You see we are to travel together to-day."

The Deputy detained them a second or two longer, while he brought hisgun-case and a pair of pistols, to save the time of Skag procuring hisown at the station. They heard him call, after the start:

"It might be a running fight, you know. . . ."

A little out, Nels was given the scent of the strange elephant andDeenah left them, with nothing to mitigate the evil discovery thatCarlin and her friend had been carried straight through the open junglecountry, toward the Vindhas; not at all in the direction the messengerhad stated within hearing of the other servants.

A steady beat through Skag's tortured mind—was Deenah's story of themonster Kabuli; no softness nor mercy in those details. He hadwatched, in the Deputy, a man unfold, after the mysterious manner ofthe English. He had entered suddenly, abruptly into one of the mostenthralling centres of fascination in Indian life—the elephantservice. He had seen the exalted and complicated mechanism of a ChiefCommissioner's Headquarters get down to individual business withremarkable speed and not the loss of an ounce of dignity. But underevery feeling and thought—was the slow bass beat of Deenah's storyabout the monster Kabuli.

Nels had been called to the trail in the very hour of his arrival.Skag would have supposed their movement leisurely, except that he sawNels steadily at work. Gunpat Rao, the most magnificent elephant inthe Chief Commissioner's stockades—excepting Neela Deo and MithaBaba—was making speed under him, at this moment. (Gunpat Rao hadapproved of him instantly, swinging him up into the howdah with a gladgrace and a touch that would not unfreshen evening wear.)

Chakkra, the mahout, was singing the praises of Gunpat Rao, his master,as they rolled forward; flapping an ear to keep time and waving hisankas—the steel hook of which was never used.

"Kin to Neela Deo, is Gunpat Rao; liege-son to Neela Deo, the King!" herepeated.

It appeared that he was reminding Gunpat Rao, rather than informing the
American, of this honour.

"Did I not hear the Deputy Commissioner Sahib say that he came from the
Vindhas, and that Neela Deo is from High Himalaya?" Skag asked.

The mahout's face turned back; his trailing lids did not widen in thefierce sunlight. It was the face of a man still singing.

"The kinship is of honour, not of blood, Sahib," he answered.

Then Chakkra informed Skag that Kudrat Sharif, Neela Deo's mahout, wasthe third of his line to serve the Blue God, who was not yet nearly inthe ictus of his power and beauty; while he, Chakkra, was the onlymahout Gunpat Rao had known—since he came down from the Vindhiantrap-stockades, where he was snared. He was about thirty years youngerthan Neela Deo, the King. Would the Sahib bear in mind that anelephant continues to increase in strength and wisdom for an hundredyears? And now would he consider Gunpat Rao's size—the perfection ofhis shape? Might not such a Prince claim relationship to such a King?

. . . Chakkra then pointed out that when the grandson of his own littleson should sit just here, behind the incomparable ears of hisbeloved—the ears with linings like flower-petals—so, looking out uponthe world from a greater height than this—then doubtless people wouldhave learned that another mighty elephant had come into the world.

Skag missed nothing of the talk. Another time it would have filled himwith deep delight. It belonged to his own craft. A man might use allthe words, of all the languages in all their flexibilities and nevertell the whole truth of his own craft. In fact, a man can only drop apoint here and there about his life work. One never comes to the end.

Also before his eyes was the joy of Nels in action—the big fellowleaping to his task, steadily drawing them on, it appeared; and alwaysa breath of ease would blow across Skag's being as he noted thequickening; but when that was merely sustained for a while, the hope ofit wore away, and he wanted more and more speed—past any giving of manor beast. . . . The old drum of the Kabuli tale constantly recurred,as if a trap door to the deeps were often lifted. Skag would brush hishand across his brow, shading his head with his helmet lifted apart fora moment, to let the sunless air circulate.

They passed through the open jungle merging into a country of low hillsand frequent villages. The rains that had broken in Poona had not yetreached this country. . . . The sun went down and the afterglowchanged the world. Carlin's afterglow, it was to Skag, from theirmoment at the edge of the jungle—on the evening of the troth; therewas pain about it now. India had a different look to him—alien,sinister, of a depth of suffering undreamed of, because of the beatingbass of the Kabuli tale, intensified by the sense that falling nightwould slacken the chase. . . .

Skag had lost the magic of externals, the drift of his great interest.All his lights were around Carlin, and powers of hatred, altogetherforeign to his faculties, pressed upon him in the threat of thehour. . . . Yes, Chakkra remembered the five Kabuli men who had sat inthe market-place. Yes, he remembered the story of the beating of themonster, the long slow healing after that; and his last look, as heleft Hurda for the last time. . . .

It was well, Chakkra said, that they had open country for the chase.It was well that the Kabuli did not call to the Sahibas, and hide themin one of the great Mohammedan households of Hurda—where even IndianGovernment might not search. It was well that the Kabuli did not dareto come closer to Hurda than this, so that they had a chance toovertake his elephant afield, before the walls of thepurdahclosed. . . .

Such was the burden of Chakkra's ramble, and there was no balm in itfor Skag. The weight settled heavier and heavier upon him with theending of the day. Nels was a phantom of grey before them in theshadows, leisurely showing his powers. At times, while he ranged farahead, they would not hear him for several minutes; then possibly ahalf-humorous sniff in the immediate dark, and they knew the big fellowwaited for Gunpat Rao to catch up. Once he was lost ahead so long thatSkag spoke:

"Nels—"

The answer was a bound of feet and a whine below that pulled the man'shand over the rim of the howdah, as if to reach and touch his goodfriend.

"Take it, Nels—good work, old man," Skag said.

They passed through zones of coolness as the trail sank into hollowsbetween the hills, and Gunpat Rao rolled forward. Pitch and roll,pitch and roll—as many movements as a solar system and the painfulillusion of slowness over all. Often in Skag's nostrils one of thesubtlest of all scents made itself known, but most elusively—asuggestion of shocking power—like an instant's glimpse into anotherdimension. If you answer at all to an expression which at best onlyintimates—the smell of living dust—you will have something of thething that Skag sensed in the emanation of Gunpat Rao, warming toaction.

Occasionally as they crossed the streams there was delay in finding thetrail on the other side. Once in the dark after a ford, when Nels hadrushed along the left bank to find the scent, Gunpat Rao plungedstraight on to the right without waiting; and the mahout sang hispraises with low but fiery intensity:

"He is coming. He is coming into his own!"

"What do you mean, Chakkra? Make it clear to me who have not manywords of Hindi—"

"The meaning of our journey appears to him, Sahib; from our minds, fromthe thief ahead and from the great dog,—the thing that we do isappearing to him. He knows the way—see—"

Nels had come in from the lateral and found that Gunpat Rao was right.An amazing point to Skag, this. The great head before him, withChakkra's legs dangling behind the ears, had grasped something of theurge of their chase. A vast and mysterious mechanism was locked in thegreat grey skull. Actually Gunpat Rao seemed to laugh that he hadshown the way to Nels.

"You don't mean, Chakkra, that he goes into the silence like a holyman?"

"It is like."

Skag had seen something of this in his India—the yogi men shuttingtheir eyes and bowing their heads and seeming to sink theirconsciousness into themselves, in order to ascertain some factwithout and afar off.

"Our lord gives his mind to the matter and the truth unfolds—" Chakkraadded.

"Will the other elephant travel through the night so steadily?"

(The sense of his own powerlessness was in him like a spear.)

"Not like this, Sahib," said Chakkra.

The hint, however, was that the thief elephant would make all speed;that the lead of the four hours would be conserved as carefully aspossible by the other mahout.

"But he has a woman's howdah," Chakkra invariably added. "Two Sahibas,as well as the mahout himself. . . . To-morrow will tell—hai,to-morrow will tell, if they go that far!"

That was always the point of the blackest fear—that the elephant aheadshould come to some Mohammedan household, and leave Carlin where no onecould pass the veil.

"But what of the messenger who brought word to the Sahibas?" Skag asked.

"He would slip away. Some hiding place for him—possibly back at
Hurda."

Chakkra seemed sure of this.

That was Skag's long night. He tried to think of the Kabuli as if hewere an animal. A man might have a destroying enmity against a cobraor a tiger or a python; but it was not black and self-defiling likethis thing which crept over him, out of the miasma of Deenah's tale.

In the dawn they reached a small river. Skag saw Nels lose his treadin the deepening centre, swing down with the current an instant andthen strike his balance, swimming. Here was coolness and silence.To-night he would know. To-night, if he did not have Carlin—

. . . Gunpat Rao stood shoulder-deep in the stream. Skag fancied agleam of deep massive humour under the tilt of the great ear below him,as the elephant, none too delicately, set his foot forward into thedeeper part of the stream. His trunk and Chakkra's voice were raisedtogether—for Chakkra was slipping:

"Hai, my Prince, would you go without me? Would you leave the Sahibalone in his proving-time? Would you leave my childrenfatherless? . . . There is none other—"

They stood in the lifting day overlooking a broad sloping country—the
Vindha peaks faintly outlined in the far distance.

"It is the broad valley of Nerbudda," Chakkra said, "full of milk andwine against the seasons. One good day of travel ahead to the bank ofHoly Nerbudda, Sahib, before the fall of night—if the chase holds solong."

Skag did not eat this day. It was not until high noon that they haltedby a spring of sweet water, and the American thought of his thirst.Nels was leaner. He plunged to the water; then back to the scent againwith a far challenge call. (It was like the echo of his challenge tothe cheetah as the wall of the waters loomed across the hills, abovePoona.) On he went, seriously; his mouth open in the great heat, histongue rocking on its centre like nothing else.

Gunpat Rao seemed gradually overcoming obstructions; as if his greatidea mounted and cleared, his body requiring time to strike its rhythm.Chakkra sang to him. The sun became hotter and higher—until it hungat the very top of the universe and forgot nothing. There was astillness in the hills that would frighten anything but a fever bird tosilence. To Skag it was a weight against speech and he sat rigidly formany moments at a time—all his life of forest and city, of man andcreature, passing before his tortured eyes. . . . And the words Carlinhad spoken; all the mysteries of his nights near Poona when she hadseemed to draw near as he fell asleep—seemed to be there as he cameforth from a dream. Always he had thought he could never forget thedreams—only to find them gone utterly, before he stood upon his feet.Past all, was the marvel of the hunting cheetah day, when he looked atthe beast that gave no answer to his force; only murder in its savageheart—and Carlin's name was his very breath in that peril, somethingof her spirit like a whisper from within his own heart.

All that afternoon Skag's eyes strained ahead, and his respect grew forthe thief elephant with his greater burden, and his wonder increasedfor Nels and Gunpat Rao. One dim far peak held his eyes from time totime; but Skag lived in the low beat of India's misery—the fever andfamine; the world of veils and the miseries beyond knowledge of theworld. He sank and sank until he was chilled, even though the sweat ofthe day's fierce burning was upon him. He understood hate and death,the thirst to kill; the slow ruin that comes at first to the humanmind, suddenly cut off from the one held more dear than life. Itseemed all boyish dazzle that he had ever found loveliness in thisplace. That boyishness had passed. In this hour he saw only hatredahead and mockery, if Carlin—. . . but the far dim peak of mistylight held his aching eyes.

"Go on, Nels—on, old man," he would call.

And Chakkra would turn with protest that could not find words—histongue silenced by the lean terrible face in the howdah behind him.Presently Chakkra would fall to talking to his master, muttering in akind of thrall at the thing he saw in the countenance of the Americanwho had touched bottom.

Sanford Hantee was facing the worst of the past and an impossiblefuture, having neither hate nor pity, now. Yet from time to time witha glance at the gun-case at his feet, he spoke with cold clearness:

"We must overtake them before night."

Chakkra, who had ceased singing, would bow, saying:

"The trail is hot, Sahib. They are not far."

Steadily beneath them, Gunpat Rao straightened out, lengthening hisroll, softening his pitch. Nels was not trotting now, but in a longlow run. Skag was aghast at himself, that his heart did not go out tothese magnificent servants. There was notfeeling within him toanswer these verities of courage and endurance; yet he could rememberthe human that had been in his heart.

The low hills had broken away behind them; the first veil of twilightin the air. A shelving dip opened, showing the bottom of the valley.Skag could see nothing ahead—but Nels lying closer to the trail.Chakkra's shoulder was suddenly within reach of Skag's hand, for thehead of his master was lifted.

As the great curve of Gunpat Rao's trumpet arched before his face—twothings happened to Skag. A full blast of hot breath drove through him;and a keen high vibrant tone pierced every nerve. Then Chakkra shouted:

"Gunpat Rao, prince of Vindha—declares the chase is on! Hold fast,
Sahib,—we go!"

The earth rose up and the heavens tipped. There was no foundation; thebulwarks of earth's crust had given away. The landscape was racingpast—but backward—and Nels, yet ahead, was a still, whirring streak.The thing hardly believed and never seen in America—that the elephantis speed-king of the world—was revelation now! No pitch or roll; along curving sweep this—seeming scarcely to touch the ground. Thiswas the going Skag had called for—a night and a day. And Nels waslabouring beside them now, but seeming to miss his tread—seeming torun on ice.

"Hai!" yelled Chakkra. "Who says there is none other than Neela Deo?"

A thread of silver stretched before them, crossing the line of theircourse. It broadened in a man's breath. They turned the curve of thelast slope, and heard the shout of the mahout far ahead. The thiefelephant was running along Nerbudda's margin to a ford.

A roar was about Skag's head and shoulders like a storm—Gunpat Raotrumpeting again! The landscape blurred. The forward beast wasgrowing large . . . two standing figures above him—the fling of awhite arm!

The huge red howdah rocked as the thief elephant entered the river; amoment more, only the howdah showing. Distantly like the hum offurious insects, Skag heard Chakkra's chant:

"The thief is snared! Holy Nerbudda herself weaved the snare. . . .
The hand of destiny is ours, Sahib. Nay, mine, not thine! Did not the
Deputy Commissioner Sahib sayby necessity? . . . Plunge in! . . .
Hai, but softly. Prince of thy kind, take the water softly, I say—"

And Gunpat Rao entered the river at a swimming stroke. Skag's eyes hadhardly turned from the great red howdah. There was a keen squeal fromahead, answered by a fiery hissing intake of Chakkra's breath:

"That, Sahib, is the murderous mahout using his steel hook. . . . Yes,it wasby necessity, the Deputy Sahib said. Certainly it wasbynecessity!"

The fling of a white arm again. Sanford Hantee was standing.

"Carlin!" he called.

The answer came back to him in some mystery of imperishable vibration.

"I am here."

The two great beasts were moiled together against the stream. . . .The man and woman, whose eyes still held, might have missed the flashof steel that Chakkra parried with his ankas. In fact, it was thesound of a quick gasp of Margaret Annesley that made them turn, just asChakkra shouted:

"By necessity, Sahib! . . . It is accomplished!"

The other's blade had whirled into the water. They had heard the weltas Chakkra's ankas came down. The strange mahout looked drunken andspineless for a second; then there was a red gush under his white clothas he pitched into the stream.

The Great Dane had just caught up. He was in the river below them—notdoubting his part had come.

"Nels, steady! Let him go!" Skag called. "Don't touch, old man!"

And then, after the thief elephant, having no fight in him, was madefast, they heard Chakkra singing his song, but paid no attention. . . .

It was a longer journey back to Hurda, for they came slowly, but therewas no haste; and two, at least, in the hunting howdah could transcendpassing time, each by the grace of the other. Gunpat Rao was returnedto the Deputy Sahib with an amulet to add to his trophy-winnings; and asentence or two that might have been taken from the record of Neela Deohimself. The thief elephant was found to be a runaway that had falleninto native hands. And Nels was restored to Bhanah by the way of theheart of Carlin Deal. . . .

They never found out how far the two women would have been taken beyondthe Nerbudda. After they had first mounted into the red howdah atHurda, the messenger of the Kabuli had disappeared into the crowd andwas not seen again. . . . As for the monster himself, he had sufferedenough to plan craftily. (The Nerbudda took his mahout and covered himquite as deeply as the crowd had covered his messenger at Hurda.)

Much in his silence afterward, and in the great still joy that had cometo him, Sanford Hantee chose to reflect upon the mystery of pain he hadknown on the lonely out-journey—the spiritless incapacity to cope withlife—the loss even of his mastercraft with animals. He would looktoward Carlin in such moments and then look away, or possibly lookwithin. By her, the meanings of all life were sharpened—jungle andjungle-beast, monster, saint and man—the breath of all life more keen.

CHAPTER X

Hand-of-a-God

Skag and Carlin had come back from Poona where five of Carlin's sevenbrothers had been present at her marriage. There were weeks in Hurdanow, while Skag's equipment for jungle work arrived bit by bit. Theylived some distance from the city and back from the greatHighway-of-all-India, in Malcolm M'Cord's bungalow, a house to rememberfor several reasons.

The Indian jungles were showing Skag deep secrets about wildanimals—knowledge beyond his hopes. Some things that he thought heknew in the old days as a circus-trainer were beginning to look curiousand obsolete, but much still held good, even became more and moresignificant. The things he had known intuitively did not diminish.These had to do with mysterious talents of his own, and dated back tothe moment he stood for the first time before one of the "big cat"cages at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. That was his initiation-dayin a craft in which he had since gone very far as white men go—eveninto the endless fascination of the cobra-craft.

Skag was meeting now from time to time in his jungle work some of thebig hunters of India, men whose lives were a-seethe with tales ofadventure. When they talked, however, Skag slowly but surely graspedthe fact that what they had was "outside stuff." They knew trails,defensive and fighting habits, species and calls; they knew a greatcollection of detached facts about animals but it was all like what onewould see in a strange city—watching from outside its wall. There wasa certain boundary of observation which they never passed. All thatSkag cared to know was across, on the inner side of the wall.

As for the many little hunters, they were tame; only their bags were"wild." They never even approached the boundary. Skag reflected muchon these affairs. It dawned on him at last, that when you go out withthe idea of killing a creature, you may get its attitude toward death,but you won't learn about how it regards life.

The more you give, the more you get from any relation. This is notonly common knowledge among school-teachers, but among stock-raisersand rose-growers. Almost every man has had experience with a realteacher, at least once in his life—possibly only a few weeks or evendays, but a bit of real teaching—when something within opened andanswered as never before. It was like an extension of consciousness.If you look back you'll find that you loved that teacher—at least,liked that one differently, very deep.

Skag wanted a great deal. He wanted more from the jungle doubtlessthan was ever formulated in a white man's mind before. He wanted toknow what certain holy men know; men who dare to walk to and fro in thejungles without arms, apparently without fear. He wanted to know whatthe priests of Hanuman know about monkeys; and whatmahouts of famouselephants like Neela Deo and Mithi Baba and Gunpat Rao of the ChiefCommissioner's stockades, know about elephants.

At this point one reflection was irresistible. The priests of Hanumangave all they had—care, patience, tenderness, even their lives, to themonkey people. There were no two ways about themahouts; they lovedthe elephants reverently; even regarding them as beings more exaltedthan men. As for the holy men—the sign manual of their order was lovefor all creatures. No, there was no getting away from the fact thatyou must give yourself to a thing if you want to know it. . . . Skagwould come up breathless out of this contemplation—only to find it wasthe easiest thing he did—to love wild animals. . . .

Skag had reason to hold high his trust in animals. He had entered thebig cat cages countless times and always had himself and the animals inhand. He had made good in the tiger pit-trap and certainly the loosetiger near the monkey glen didn't charge. All this might haveestablished the idea that all animals were bound to answer his love forthem.

But India was teaching him otherwise.

In the hills back of Poona he had met a murderer. That cat-scream atthe last chilled him to the very centre of things. Cheetahs weremalignant; no two ways about that. Skag hadn't failed. He never wasbetter. There was no fear nor any lack of concentration in his workupon the cheetah beast. Any tiger he knew would have answered to hiscool force, but the cheetah didn't.

It was the same with the big snake in the grass jungle. Skag had metfear there—something of monstrous proportion, more powerful than will,harder to deal with by a wide margin than any plain adjustment todeath. It stayed with him. It was more formidable than pain. He hadtalked with Cadman about a peculiar inadequacy he felt in dealing withthe snake—as if his force did not penetrate. Cadman knew too much tohoot at Skag's dilemma. The more a man knows, the more he can believe.

"It would be easier with a cobra than a constrictor," Cadman had said."You'd have to strike just the right key, son. This is what I mean:The wireless instruments of the Swastika Line answer to one pitch; theships of the Blue Toll to another. . . . But I've seen thingsdone—yes, I've seen things done in this man's India. . . . I saw aman from one of the little brotherhoods of the Vindhas breathe a nestof cobras into repose; also I have seen other brothers pass throughplaces where the deadly little karait is supposed to watch and wait andturn red-eyed."

The more Skag listened and learned and watched in India, the more herealised that if he knew all there was to know about the differentorders of holy men, all the rest of knowledge would be included, eventhe lore of the jungle animals. He had come into his own considerableawe through what he had seen in the forest with the priests of Hanuman,but things-to-learn stretched away and away before him like range uponrange of High Himalaya.

Malcolm M'Cord was the best rifle-shot in India. The natives calledhim Hand-of-a-God. As usual they meant a lot more than a meredecoration. M'Cord was one of the big master mechanics—especiallyserving Indian Government in engine building—a Scot nearing fifty now.For many years he had answered the cries of the natives for helpagainst the destroyers of human life. Sometimes it was a mugger,sometimes a cobra, a cheetah, often a man-eating tiger that terrorisedthe countryside. There are many sizeable Indian villages where thereis not a single rifle or short piece in the place; repeated instanceswhere one pampered beast has taken his tolls of cattle and children ofmen, for several years.

The natives are slow to take life of any creature. They are suspicioustoward anyone who does it thoughtlessly, or for pastime; but the Hindualso believes that one is within the equity of preservation in doingaway with those ravagers that learn to hunt men.

In the early days M'Cord began to take the famous shoot trophies. Timecame when this sort of thing was no longer a gamesome event, but aforegone conclusion. His rifle work was a revelation of genius—likethe work of a prodigious young pianist or billiardist in the midst ofmere natural excellence.

He had wearied of the game-bag end of shooting, even before his prowessin the tournaments became a bore. . . . So there was only the bigphilanthropy left. The silent steady Scot gave himself more and moreto this work for the hunted villagers as the years went on. Itsufficed. Many a man has stopped riding or walking for mere exercise,but joyously, and with much profit, taken it up again as a means to getsomewhere.

It was Carlin who helped Skag to a deep understanding of her oldfriend, the Scot, and the famous bungalow in which he lived.

"It is 'papered' and carpeted and curtained with the skins of animals,but you would have to know what the taking of those skins has meant tothe natives and how different it is from the usual hunter-man's house.The M'Cord bungalow is a book of man-eater tales—with leather leaves."

Carlin, who had been one of M'Cord's favourites since she was a child,saw the man with the magic of the native standpoint upon him. . . .With all its richness there was nothing of the effect of thetaxidermist's shop about the place. Altogether the finest private setof gun-racks Skag had looked upon was in the dim front hall. Bhanahand Nels had a comfortable lodge to themselves, and there was a tinysummerhouse at the far end of the lawn that had been an ideal ofCarlin's when she was small. The playhouse had but one door, which wasturned modestly away from the great Highway. It was vined and partlysequestered in garden growths, its threshold to the west. The Scottishbachelor had turned this little house over to the child Carlin yearsago, as eagerly as his entire establishment now. Yet the woman was noless partial to the playhouse than the child had been.

. . . They hardly saw the Scot. In fact it was only a moment in thestation oval. Skag looked into a grey eye that seemed so steady as tohave a life all its own and apart, in the midst of a weatheredcountenance both kindly and grim. . . . There was a tiny locked roomon the south side of the bungalow, vividly sunlit—a room which initself formed a cabinet for mounted cobras—eight or ten specimens withmarvellous bodies and patchy-looking heads. . . . The place washeavily glazed, but not with windows that opened. Skag caught the hintbefore Carlin spoke—that the display might have a queer attraction forcobras that had not suffered the art of the taxidermist.

Skag turned to the girl as they stood together at the low heavy door,leading into the library. Something in her face held himutterly—something of wisdom, something of dread—if one could, imaginea fear founded on knowledge. . . . A brilliant mid-afternoon. Bhanahand Nels had gone to the stockades. Since the chase and rescue ofCarlin, Nels and the young elephant Gunpat Rao were becomingfriends—peculiar dignities and untellable reservations betweenthem—but undoubtedly friends.

There was a kind of stillness in the place and hour, as they stoodtogether, that made it seem they had never been alone before. Deep awehad come to Skag. As he looked now upon her beauty and health andcourage, with eyes that saw another loveliness weaving all wonderstogether—he knew a kind of bewildered revolt that life was actuallybounded by a mere few years; that it could be subject to change andchance. Thus he learned what has come to many a man in the first hoursafter bringing his great comrade home—that there must be some innerfold of romance to make straight the insistent torture at the thoughtof illness and accident and death itself—something somehow to enable aman to transcend all three-score and ten affairs and know that birthand death are mere hurdles for the runners of real romance.

. . . The sunlight brought out faint but marvellous gleamings from theserpents. It was as if every scale had been a jewel. . . . Skaglooked closer. It wasn't bad mounting. It was really marvellousmounting. His eye ran from one to another. Every cobra's head hadbeen shattered by a bullet. The broken tissues had been gatheredtogether, pieced and sewn—the art of the workman not covering thedramatic effect entirely, yet smoothing the excess of the horror away.

". . . I've heard of cobras always, yet I never tire and never seem anynearer them," Carlin was saying. "I remember the wordcobra when Iheard it the first time—almost the first memory. It never becomesfamiliar. They are mysterious. One can never tell the why or whenaboutthem. One never gets beyond the fascination. The more youknow the more you prepare for them in India. It's like this—any otherroom would have windows that open. . . . Cobras have much fidelity.We think of them as reptiles; and yet they are life-and-death-mates,like the best of tiger pairs. One who kills a cobra must kill two orlook out—"

Carlin had strange lore about mated pairs; about moths and birds andother creatures (as well as men-things) finding each other and livingand working together; about a tiger that had mourned for many seasonsalone, after some sportsman had killed his female; about anotherrollicking young tiger pair that leaped an eight foot wall into anative yard in early evening, made their kill together of a plump youngcow, and passed it up and over the wall between them.

"The cubs were hungry," Carlin had said.

Still they did not leave the door-way of the cobra room. Skag saw thatsomething more was coming. Once more he was drawn to the mystery ofthe holy men by her tale:

". . . I was a little girl. It was here in Hurda. . . . I had strayedaway into the open jungle, not toward our monkey glen, but farthersouth where the trees were scarce. . . . Of course I shouldn't havebeen alone—"

Skag was staring straight at one of the cobras. Carlin turned andplaced her hand upon his sleeve. She knew that he was fighting thatold dread that had come upon him on the day of the elephant pursuit—adread well enough founded, grounded upon many tragedies—of thepitfalls and menaces and miasmas of old Mother India; the infinitevariety, craft, swiftness and violence of her deaths. (White handswere certainly clinging to Skag.) One's vast careless attitudes tolife are fearfully complicated when life means two and not the selfalone.

"This isn't a horrible story—" she said.

He cleared his throat; then laughed.

"I'll get past all this," he muttered. "Go on, Carlin—"

"I heard a step behind," she said. "It was my uncle—the mostwonderful of many uncles. I have not seen him since that day. He is alittle older than my eldest brother—possibly thirty at thattime—tall, dark, silent; a frowning man, but not to me. Even then hebelonged to one of the little brotherhoods of the Vindhas—lesser, youknow, in relation to the great brotherhoods of the Himalayas. In factit is from the Vindha Hills that they move on when they are called—upthe great way and beyond—"

Another of Carlin's themes—always the dream in her mind of climbing tothe heights.

"We walked on together through one of the paths—some time I will showyou. It was not like anyone else coming to find a child, or coming totake it back. A most memorable thing to a little one, this elaborateconsideration from a great man. He did not suggest that I turn. Hemade himself over to my adventure."

She waited for Skag to see more of the picture from her mind than herwords suggested:

"Ahead on the path—leisurely, like nothing else, a cobra reared, aking cobra, as great as any of these. He barred our way. There comesa penetrating cold from the first glance. It's like an icy lance tothe centre of consciousness. Then I felt the man's presence beside me.My confidence was that which only a child can give. What the mindknows and fears has too much dominion afterward. . . . The appallingpower and beauty of the cobra fascinated me. I have never quiteforgotten. There was a lolling trailing grace about the lifted length,the head slightly inclined to us, the hood but partly spread—somethingwinged in the undulation, a suggestion of that which we could not see,faintly like the whir of a humming bird's wings. That is it—anintimation of forces we had not senses to register—also colours andsounds! . . . My hand was lost in the great hand. My uncle did notturn back. He was speaking. There was that about his tones which youhad to listen for—a low softness that you had to listen to get. Yes,it was to the cobra that he spoke.

". . . There was never a poem to me like those words, but they did notleave themselves in continuity. I could not say the sentences again.I seem to remember the vibration—some sense of the mysterious, kindredwith all creatures—and a vast flung scroll of wisdom and poetry, as ifthe serpents had been a great and glorious people of blinding,incredible knowledges—never like us—but all the more marvellous fortheir difference! . . . And the cobra hung there, his eyes darkeningunder the gentleness of the voice—then reddening again like fannedembers. . . .

"Then I heard my uncle ask to be permitted to pass, saying that hebrought no harm to the mother, undoubtedly near, nor to the babycobras—only good-will; but that it was not well for a man and a littlegirl to be prevented from passing along a man-path. . . . It was onlya moment more that the way was held from us. There was no rising atall, to fighting anger. A cobra doesn't, you know, until actualattack. In leisurely undulations, he turned and entered the deepergrowths. A moment later my uncle pointed to the lifted head in theshadows. One had need to be magic-eyed to see. We went on a littleway and walked back. It was not that we had to pass—but that we mustnot be obstructed." . . .

This was the India that astonished Skag more than all hunter tales,more than any hunter prowess; but there were always two sides. . . .The weeks were unlike any others he had ever known. The mysterydeepened between him and Carlin. Almost the first he had heard of herwas that she was "unattainable"—yetthey had known each other atonce. . . . Still Carlinwas unattainable; forever above and beyond.Such a woman is no sooner comprehended on one problem than she unfoldsanother; much of man's growth is from one to another of her mysteries.And always when he has passed one, he thinks all is known; and alwaysas another looms, he realises how little he knows after all. . . .

A thousand times Skag recalled the words of the learned man who hadspoken to Cadman and himself on their way to the grass jungle. "Youwill acknowledge love, but you will not know love until it is revealedby supreme danger. The way of your feet is in the ascending path.Hold fast to the purposes of your own heart and you will come into theheights."

Could Carlin be more to him than now? . . . Yes, she was more to-daythan yesterday. It would always be so. Love is always love, but it isalways different. . . . Sometimes he would stay away from the bungalowfor several hours. He was of a nature that could not be pleased withhimself when he gave way tumultuously to the thing he wanted—which wascontinually to be in Carlin's presence. His every step in themarket-place, or in the bazaar, had its own twitch back toward MalcolmM'Cord's bungalow; his every thought encountering a pressure of weightto hurry home.

Carlin was full of deep joys of understanding. One did not have tofinish sentences for her. She meant India—its hidden wisdom. She hadthe thing called education in great tiers and folds. Skag's educationwas of the kind that accumulates when a man does not know he is beingeducated. . . . Certainly Carlin was unattainable—this was an oftenrecurring thought as he learned Hindi from her and something of Urdu;the usages of her world, its castes and cults.

Down in the unwalled city one mid-afternoon, he finished certainerrands and started for the bungalow. Had he let himself go, his feetwould have stormed along. He laughed at the joy of the thing; and hehad only been away since tiffin. Yet there was tension too—the oldmystery. A man cannot feel all still and calm and powerful, when therehas suddenly descended upon him realisation of all that can possiblyhappen to take away one so much more important than one's own life asto make contrast absurd. Skag was looking ahead into stark days, whenhe would be called upon to take big journeys alone into the jungle forthe service. It was very clear there might be many weeks of separation. . . and now it was only a matter of hours. He was nearing the littlegate. . . .

These are affairs men seldom speak about—seldom write; yet hisexperience was one that a multitude of men have felt vaguely at least.There was a laugh about it, a sense of self-deprecation; but above all,Skag knew for the sake of the future that he must get himself better inhand against this incredible pull to the place where she was. Itseemed quite enough to reach the compound or the grass plot and hearher step.

She was not at the gate. He halted. Malcolm M'Cord was expected homethis day. He might have come. Surely he might give two such rare goodfriends a chance to have a chat together . . . in Malcolm's own house,too. Besides there was no better chance than now for a bit of moralcalisthenics. Skag turned back. No one was very near to note that hewas a bit pale. Still he was laughing. Even Nels, his Great Dane,would have thought him weird, he reflected. Had Bhanah been along,there could have been no possible explanation. . . . He was walkingtoward the city, but his eyes were called back again. Carlin had cometo the gate. She held up her right arm full and straight—her signalalways, such an impulse of joy in it.

He waved and made a broken sort of gesture toward Hurda, as if he hadforgotten something. Minute by minute he fought them out afterthat—sixty of them, ninety of them, good measure, sixty seconds each,before he started at last to the bungalow again. The sun was low. Thebazaars were but a little distance back, when he met Bhanah and Nelsout for their evening exercise. . . . No, M'Cord-Sahib had not yetcome. . . . Yes, all was quite well with the Hakima, Hantee-Sahiba,who was reading in the playhouse. . . .

Quite alone. Skag quickened, but repressed himself again. It wasbusiness for contemplation—the way Bhanah had spoken of Carlin asHantee Sahiba, after her usual title. . . . He heard the birds. Thegreat Highway was deserted; the noise of the city all behind. . . . Ifhe had merely "acknowledged love" so far, as the learned man hadsaid—what must be the nature of the emotion that would reveal the fullsecret to him? Always when his thoughts fled away like this, his stepsseized the advantage and he would find himself in full stride like aman doing road-work for the ring.

She wasn't at the gate this time. Just now Skag felt the firstcoolness of evening, the shadow of the great trees. . . . She did notcome to the gate. His hand touched its latch and still he had notheard her voice. On the lawn path—in that strange lovely wash oflight—he stood, as the sun sank and the afterglow mounted. This wasalways Carlin's hour to him—the magic moment of the afterglow. Insuch an hour in the outer paths of the tree jungle, they had spokenlife to life.

"Malcolm M'Cord—is that you, Malcolm?"

Her voice was from the playhouse. It was steady but startling.Something cold in it—very weary. Still he did not see her. The doorwas on the western side.

Skag answered.

"Oh—" came from Carlin.

There was an instant intense silence; then he heard:

"Go into the house. I thought it was Malcolm. . . . I'll join you.
Don't come here—"

He turned obediently. He had the male's absurd sense of not belonging.. . . He might at least be silent and do as she said. A keener gustof reality then shot through him. His steps would not go on. She musthave heard his change from the gravel to the grass, for she called:

"It's all right, go right in—"

"But, Carlin—"

"Don't come here, dear! It's—not for you to see now!"

He halted, an indescribable chill upon him. The low threshold was insight, yet Carlin did not appear in the doorway. It was not more thansixty feet away, across the lawn. It may have been something that shehad on. . . . A gold something. This came because of a fallen bit ofgold-brown tapestry on the threshold. It had folds. Out of the coneof it, was a rising sheen like thin gold smoke. A fallen garment wasthe first thing that came to Skag's mind, keyed to the suggestion ofsome fabric which Carlin was to put on. The thing actually before hiseyes had not dislodged for an instant, the thought-picture in his mind.

Right then Skag made a mistake. He had not taken ten running stepsbefore he knew it, and halted. That which had been like rising goldsmoke was a hooded head—lifting just now, dilating. Already he knew,almost fully, what the running had done. The thought of Carlin in theplayhouse had over-balanced his own genius. He walked forward now, forthe time not hearing Carlin's words from within. . . . The door wasopen; the windows were screened. The girl was held within by thecoiled one on the stone. . . . She was imploring Skag to go back:

". . . to the house!" he heard at last. "Wait there—don't come! Itis death to come to me!"

He could not see her.

"Where are you standing, Carlin?"

"Far back—by the sewing machine! . . . Will you not—will you not,for me?"

He spoke very coldly:

"While he watches me from the stone—you come forward slowly and shutthe door!"

"That would anger him into flying at you—"

Quite as slowly, his next words:

"I do not think he is angry with me—"

Yet Skag was not in utter truth right there, even in his own knowledge.His voice did not carry conviction of truth. . . . The thingunsteadied his concentration. The fact that he had started to run andthus ruffled the cobra, was still upon him like shame. It reacted todivide his forces now, at least to make tardier his self-command. Backof everything—Carlin's danger. There was a quick turn of his eye fora weapon, even as he heard a deep tone from Carlin—something immortalin the resonance:

". . . You might save me . . . but, don't you see—I want you more!"

Alakri of Bhanah's leaned against the playhouse at the side towardsthe road.

The cobra had lifted himself erect upon his tail almost to the level ofSkag's eyes, hood spread. Carlin talked to him—low tones—no wordswhich she or Skag should know again. . . .

Thelakri was of iron-wood from the North, thick as the man's wristat the top. It pulled Skag's eye a second time. It meant thesurrender of his faith in his own free-handed powers to reach for thelakri; it meant the fight to death. It meant he must disappear fromthe cobra's eye an instant behind the playhouse. . . . Carlin's toneswere in the air. He could not live or breathe until the threshold wasclear—no concentration but that. . . . Like the last outburst beforea breaking heart, he heard:

"If you would only go—go, my dear!"

He had chosen—or the weakness for him. There was an instant—as hishand closed upon thelakri, the corner of the playhouse wall shuttinghim off from the cobra—an instant that was doom-long, age-long, longenough for him to picturein his own thoughts the king turning uponthe threshold—entering, rising before Carlin! . . . The threshold wasempty as he stepped back, but the cobra had not entered. Perturbedthat the man had vanished, he had slid down into the path to look.

Skag breathed. "And now if you will shut the door, Carlin—"

A great cry from Carlin answered.

Thick and viperine, the thing looked, as it hurled forward. It waslike the fling of a lash. Four feet away, Skag looked into the hoodedhead poised to strike, the eyes flaming into an altogether differentdimension for battle.

The head played before him. The breadth of the hood alone held it atall in the range of the human eye—so swift was the lateral vibration,a sparring movement. The whole head seemed delicately veiled in a greymagnetic haze. Its background was Carlin—standing on the threshold.

"I won't fail—if you stay there!" he called.

It was like a wraith that answered—again the old mystery, as if thewords came up from his own heart:

"I—shall—not—come—to—you—until—the—end!"

Skag was back in the indefinite past—all the dear hushed moments hehad ever known massed in her voice.

"Stay there—not nearer—and I can't fail!"

He was saying it like a song—his eyes not leaving the narrow veiledhead before him. It was like a brown sealed lily-bud of hardenedenamel, brown yet iridescent—set off by two jewels of flaming rose.There was no haste. The king's mouth was not tight with strain. Itwas the look of one certain of victory, certain from a life that knewno failures—the look of one that had learned the hunt so well as tomake it play. . . .

The brown bud vanished. Skag struck at the same time. Hislakritouched the hood. With all his strength, though with a loose whippingwrist, he had struck. Thelakri had touched the hood, but there wasno violence to the impact. . . . Carlin's love tones were in hisheart. Skag laughed.

The head went out of sight. Skag struck again. It was as if hislakri were caught in a swift hand and held for just the fraction of asecond. No force to the man's blow. The cobra was no nearer; no showof haste. Skag's stick was a barrier of fury, yet twice the kingstruck between . . . twice and again. Skag felt a laming blow upon amuscle of his arm as from sharp knuckles.

And now they were fast at it. The man heard Carlin's cry but not thewords:

"Stay there!" he sang in answer. "Not nearer—just there and I can'tlose! . . . It isn't in the cards to lose, Carlin—"

Yet his mind knew he could not win. The cobra's head and hood recoiledwith each blow. It took Skag's highest speed—as an outfielder takes adrive bare-handed, his hands giving with the ball. The head moved pastall swiftness, even the speed greatest swordsmen know. It was likesomething that laughed. Before the whirringlakri, the cobra headplayed like a flung veil between and through and around.

. . . So, for many seconds. The grey magnetic haze was a dirty brownnow. The man was seeing through blood. He could not make a blow tell.He could not see Carlin. . . . She was not talking to him. . . . Shewas calling upon some strange name. . . . His arm was numbedagain—like a blow from a leaden sling. There was a suffocating knotin his throat and the smell of blood in his head . . . that old smellof blood he had known when his father whipped him long ago. . . .

He tried to chop straight down to break in upon the king's rhythm. Itanswered quicker than his thought. . . . Yes, it was Malcolm M'Cord,she was calling. . . . He saw her like a ghost now. She was utterlytall—her arms raised! . . . Then he heard a rifle crack—then abreath of moisture upon his face—the sealed bud smashed beforehim—the rest whipping the ground.

Skag went to Carlin who had fallen, but he was pulled off abruptly.

"I say, Lad, let me have a look at you. . . . The child's rightenough. Let her rest—"

The grim face was before him, two steady hands at work on him, pullingback his collar, taking one of Skag's hands after another—looking evenbetween the fingers, feeling his thighs.

"I can't find that he cut you, Lad," he said gently.

Skag pushed him away. Carlin was moaning.

"I'm thinking your lad's sound, deerie," M'Cord called to her. "Aminute more, to be sure." . . .

He kept a trailing hold of Skag's wrist, staring a last minute in hiseyes.

No break anywhere in the younger man's flesh.

The afterglow was thickening. A servant came down the path to callthem to dinner. The servant had never seen such a spectacle—theHakima sitting with Hand-of-a-God and Son-of-Power, together—on thelawn already wet with dew—their knees almost touching. . . .

"The like's not been known before, Lad—even of a man with a sword,"Malcolm M'Cord was saying. "You must have stood up to him two minutes.No swordsman has done as much. . . . And it was only alakri youhad—and a swordsman's blade goes soft and flat against a cobra'sscales! . . . You see, they take wings when the fighting rage flowsinto them. It's like wings, sir. . . . Yes, you'll have a lame armwhere the hood grazed. It couldn't have been the drive of the head orhe would have bitten through—"

Even Skag, as he glanced into Carlin's face from time to time, forgotthat Hand-of-a-God had done it again—one more king cobra with apatched |head and a life and death story to be added to the sunnycabinet in the bungalow. . . . Carlin rose to lead them to dinner atlast, but Malcolm shook his head.

"On you go, you two. I'll sit out a bit in the lamplight, just here bythe playhouse door. . . . She'll be looking for him soon. . . . Shewon't be far. She won't be long coming—to look for him. . . . She'dfind him and then set out to look for you, Lad."

The lights of the bungalow windows were like vague cloths upon thelawn. . . . Carlin and Skag hadn't thought of dinner. They were inthe shadow of the deep verandah. Once Carlin whispered:

"I loved the way he said 'Lad' to you."

It was hours afterwards that the shot was heard. . . . Carlin wascloser. He felt her shivering. He could not be sure of the words, yetthe spirit of them never left his heart:

"If I were she—and I had found you so—upon the lawn—I should want
Hand-of-a-God to wait for me—like that!"

CHAPTER XI

Elephant Concerns

"Only the altogether ignorant do not know that the women of my linehave been chaste."

It was the youngest mahout of the Chief Commissioner's elephantstockades of Hurda, who spoke.

They sat in comfort under the feathery branches of tall tamarisk trees,smoking their water-pipes, after the sunset meal. It was the time fortalk.

"A good beginning," said a very old man near by, "it being wise, incase of doubt, to stop the mouth of—who might speak afterward."

"And the men of my line," proceeded the youngest mahout, withoutembarrassment, "have been illustrious—save those who are forgotten.They all have been of High Himalaya; yet I am the least among you. Irender homage of Hill blood, hot and full, to every one of you—myelders—because you are all mahouts of High Himalaya, even as myfathers were."

The men of the stockades bowed their heads in grave acknowledgment.

"Then by what curse of what gods falls this calamity," the boy went on,"that we of the Chief Commissioner's stockades are forced to receive amahout from the Vindha Hills; and an unreputed elephant—from the hillswithout repute?"

"Softly, young one, softly!" a mahout in his full prime made swiftanswer. "Truly it is well the young are not permitted to use thatuntamed strength in speech, which is best governed by the waste ofsinew!"

The youngest mahout bent his head in humility and said with softreverence:

"Will he who is most wise among us, enlighten the darkness of him whois most foolish?"

"It is that elephants of great repute have come from the Vindha Hills;and mahouts of great learning. Also, there is a luminous traditionthat the most exalted creatures of their kind—those who travelled farfrom the high lands of Persia long ago—chose place for their futuregenerations in the Vindha Hills; and not in High Himalaya."

This man who had first rebuked sternly and afterward explained withextreme gentleness, was Kudrat Sharif, the mahout of Neela Deo—mightyleader of their caravan. He was malik—which is to say, governingmahout—over them all; and best qualified among them. Therefore aclamour rose for more. The youngest mahout went from his place and satnear, as Kudrat Sharif continued:

"The black elephants are all but gone. Not more than one in ageneration of men is seen any more. They are seldom toiled into thetrap-stockades, in which the less wary are taken. The natures of thosewho have been snared are strange to us of the High Hills. Theysometimes destroy men in their anger; they sometimes destroy themselvesin their grief."

"What is the heart of this knowledge?" asked a man who had not spokenbefore.

"That these stockades are distinguished by Government," Kudrat Sharifreplied. "The elephant who is to reach us this evening, is a blackelephant—descended from the lines of ancient Persia."

A chorus of exclamations swept the circle, before the gurgle of hookahstook the moment, as the mahouts gave themselves to meditation andwater-winnowed smoke.

Then the trumpet tones of an elephant were heard from far out in thegathering gloom.

"May Vishnu, the great Preserver, save us from a killer!"

The man who said these words was not less than magical in his power tocontrol the unruly; but he never took credit to himself. "That is thevoice of a fighter—smooth as curds of cream—and it reaches from farout; very far out."

The challenge-call sounded again; and the big males of the stockadeanswered without hesitation.

These mahouts had trained ears; and they listened—computing thestranger's rate of speed. The fullness of tone increased; andpresently one said:

"He comes fast."

But they were not prepared to see the elephant that rolled into theglare of their torches out of the night.

He came to pause in the centre of the exercise arena—a vast sandeddisk just front of the stockade buildings—and stood rocking his hugebody, tamping the ground with his feet as if still travelling. Themahout on his neck spoke to him patiently:

"Now will my master use his intelligence to understand that we havearrived?"

Then turning to the men on the ground, the strange mahout saidwistfully:

"Look on me with compassion, oh men of honour and of fame! I haveheard of you, but you have not heard of me."

"We have heard of you, that you are the making of a master-mahout, indue time," answered Kudrat Sharif.

"Then the gods who preserved my fathers to old age, have not forgottenthat I learned patience in my extreme youth," sighed the man.

Seeing that the elephant was not quieting, Kudrat Sharif spoke now inpacifying tones—to the mahout:

"Come down among us who are your brothers; we have prepared all thingsfor your refreshment."

"I will come down with a full heart and an empty stomach, mostbeneficent, when this Majesty will permit," the strange mahout assentedwearily.

"Is he rough, son—to sit?" asked the very old man, coming closer.

The elephant shied a step and his mahout cuddled one ear with hisfingers, as he replied:

"He is the smoothest thing that ever moved upon the surface of theearth—like a wind driven by fiends. But he never stops."

The elephant was rolling more widely if anything, than at first; so themahouts stood back a little and considered him.

His blackness was like very old bronze, with certain metallic gleams init—like time-veiled copper and brass. His flawless frame was coveredwith tight-banded muscle. There was no appearance of fat. His skinwas smooth—without wrinkles. He was young; about forty years, orless. But there was the nick of a tusk-stroke in one ear; and a smallred devil in his eye.

Without warning, he flicked his mahout off his neck and set himprecisely on the ground—the movement so quick no eye could follow histrunk as it did it.

The youngest mahout brought a sheaf of tender branches—such as aremost desirable—and laid them near, but not too near; and when theelephant began to eat, they removed the burden of his mahout'spossessions from his back.

Then the man received their ministrations—keeping an eye on theelephant. When he was ready to smoke, he began slowly:

"Ram Yaksahn is my name; and my ancestors—from the first far breath oftradition—have been servants of the elephant people. We were of HighHimalaya till the man who was the man before my father. Since then weserve in the Vindha Hills. My twin brother was called with his master,to the teak jungles of the South; but I have been with thetrap-stockades till now, when they send me down to these plains withthe catch of all seasons."

"It is a good hearing," said the very old man, as they all bent theirheads; and the youngest mahout carefully arranged some specially goodtobacco in Ram Yaksahn's hookah.

"Now what is his record?" one asked.

"First, there is a record," Ram Yaksahn replied, "which may be his oranother's. It is your right to know.

"Four monsoons before this elephant was trapped, the body of a forestreserve officer was found on a mountain slope. The head was broken;and the ribs. Rains had washed away all earth-marks, but small treeshad been uprooted near that place; therefore the thing had been done byan elephant. Close by, a dead dog lay; entirely battered—and a splitstick. Burial was given to that man with few words. He was notmourned. May the gods render to him his due!"

The mahouts assented, as Ram Yaksahn smoked a moment.

"Be patient with me, most honourable," he went on, in strained tones."I come to you serving a strange master. The record I tell now, istruly your right to know."

"Have no fear; we serve with you!" Kudrat Sharif reassured him.

"Some months after this elephant was trapped," he continued, "they hadhim picketed in the working grounds—to learn the voices of men. Itwas there, in the midst of us all, that he killed his first mahout. Noman could prevent.

"That mahout was a violent man. He had just struck his own child anunlawful blow. She lay on the ground as the dead lie. Then it wasthat this elephant moved before any man could move. We heard hispicket stakes come up, but we did not see them come up. No man couldprevent.

"He gathered the child's dead body in his trunk and swung it back andforth—back and forth. It hung like a cloth. Slowly he came nearer tohis mahout, while he swung the body of the child. When he was close,he laid the body between his own front feet. The violent man stoodwatching like one in a dream.

"Then this elephant who is now my master, caught the man who stoodwatching—as you saw him take me down, swiftly—and swung him, but in acircle. The man struck the ground on his head and it was broken; alsohis ribs."

Low murmurs of appreciation swelled among the listening mahouts. Ram
Yaksahn bent his head.

"It was determined," he said with satisfaction, "by wise men ofauthority who rule such matters at the trap-stockades, that thiselephant had done just judgment; because the man had done murder.

"But we could not come close to this elephant—to link with hisleg-chains—for his threatening eye. That night and the next day, hekept the body between his feet—the body of the little child hekept—save when he swung it. No man could prevent.

"Then he left it" (Ram Yaksahn's voice suddenly went husky), "and cameto me—and put me on his neck. For this reason I am his to him; and heis mine to me!"

"Well done, well done!" the mellow voice of Kudrat Sharif spoke softly;and the mahouts of the Chief Commissioner's stockades assented.

"There is yet one thing," Ram Yaksahn resumed, "and I should cover myface to tell it. But if you learn that I am a fool of fools, considermy foolishness. His blackness is strange; his strength is mighty—ittook four to handle him, not two, in the beginning—and his quicknessis more quick than a man can think. Also, he has a red devil in hiseye.

"When my name was spoken after his name and my duty rendered me toserve him, I found he was indeed my master. We consider the creaturesof his kind are exalted above men; but I thought him a son of darkness,come up out of the pit. In my fool heart I did; and I do not know yet.

"At the time when he was trapped, I was in High Himalaya finding a fairwoman of lineage as good as my own—as my fathers have done. So whenthis last thing happened, not many weeks ago, a son of mine lay on hismother's breast. She came out with the child and sat near me. She wasteaching me that my son laughed. I saw only her; and knew only thather babe was strong.

"I forgot that this elephant browsed close by, having long picketchains to reach the tender branches. He came toward where we sat andstood looking at us; and I called on her to behold the red devil in hiseye. But I looked—not into his eye; and I did not see him uponus—till he lifted my son from her breast. I saw the little body swingup, far above my head—the so very little body—and I heard her cry inthe same breath."

Ram Yaksahn laid his forehead against his fists and softly beat hishead. Looking up with drawn features, he went on:

"My face was in the grasses when I heard her laugh. Then I saw thebabe—not longer than a man's arm—slowly swinging in my master'strunk, back and forth—back and forth. The little one was makingnoises of content—such as babes use—when my master laid him verygently between his own front feet. The child spread his hands,reaching up for the curling tip above his face.

"Now it has been said that I am not lacking in courage; but in thathour I was without sense to know courage or fear. The fingers of colddeath felt along my veins and searched out the marrow of my bones; forwhen I leaped to take the babe—I met the red threat in my master'seye. But the mother of my son went like a blown leaf and stoopedbetween this elephant's feet, to lift up her first man-child.

"She came away with him safe; and this elephant swayed before us, atthe end of his picket chains, stretching his quivering trumpet-tiptoward the babe—with flaming fires in his eyes.

"The daughter of High Himalayan mahouts called this black majesty 'NutKut'; and they have added that name on the Government books. But theywill not take his first name away. I have finished."

And Ram Yaksahn gave himself to his hookah—still keeping his eye on
Nut Kut.

"His first name has not been told," mildly reminded the very old man.

"His first name is Nut Kut!" said Ram Yaksahn with decision. "But hislast name is Pyar-awaz."

All the mahouts laughed; translating the double name in their ownminds—-Mischief, the Voice-of-Love.

"We have no violent men in these stockades," said Kudrat Sharif,speaking to them all. "And we do not find that Ram Yaksahn was lackingin courage. We will prove the nature of Nut Kut with kindness."

His decision was conclusive; and they proceeded to encourage the mightyblack into his own enclosure.

This was the coming of Nut Kut to the Chief Commissioner's elephantstockades at Hurda. As time went by, the attraction of his mysteriousnature inflamed the mahouts with interest; and also with concern—forhe was a fearsome fighter.

Carlin had gone to a sick sister-in-law for a few days; and assoon as he heard of it, Dickson Sahib had driven to the M'Cordbungalow—realising that without her it would be desolate to his youngAmerican friend. Protesting that he needed someone to come and breakhis own loneliness, he carried Skag home.

So just now Skag was smoking his after-tiffin cigarette in the verandahof Dickson Sahib's big bungalow. The great Highway-of-all-India, withits triple avenue, its monarch trees, swept past the front of thegrounds. Several times from here, he had seen a big elephant gojoyously rolling by. He could tell it was joyous; and the man on itsneck was usually singing.

The very smell of elephants had always stirred Skag—like all cleangood earth-smells in one. When he was animal trainer in the circus,the elephants had not been his special charge; but he had seen a gooddeal of them. They looked to him like convicts; or manikins—moving tothe pull of the hour-string. They were incessantly being loaded,unloaded, made to march; cooped in small, stuffy places—chained.

He wanted to see elephants—herds of them! He wanted to see them inmultitudes, working for men in their own way; using their ownintelligence. He wanted to see them in their own jungles—living theirown lives.

Sooner or later he meant to see them, all ways. He had come to India,the land of elephants, partly for that reason; but in the Mahadeomountains he had found none—nor in the great Grass Jungle. Yet he hadlearned that when he wanted anything—way back in the inside ofhimself—he was due to get it. To-day this thing was gnawing more thanever before; he wanted elephants—hard.

Dickson Sahib came out on his way back to the offices and stopped tofinish their tiffin conversation:

"I'm glad you're interested in young Horace; you're going to be no endgood for him, I can see that. You'll find him far too mature for hisyears. His brain's too active; but he's not abnormal. His tutors callhim insatiable; but from his babyhood the breath of his life has beenelephants. He's taken a lot from the learned natives; they talk withhim as if he were quite grown—half of it I couldn't follow myself."

"That is extraordinary to me," said Skag.

"Of course it is. But there's been nothing else for it. My own daysare quite tied up, and his mother—the climate, you know. So you seewhat I mean, he's really needing—just you."

Dickson's eyes turned on a little fellow who stood alone, further downthe verandah. Then his face shadowed, as he spoke in a lower tone:

"I said he's not abnormal—that should be qualified. Several years agohe was carried home from the Chief Commissioner's elephant stockades bytheir governing mahout, Kudrat Sharif. The servants said he was cryingand fighting to go back; but otherwise seemed quite himself. When Icame from the offices in the evening, however, he was in a fever;raving about Nut Kut—raving about Nut Kut for days—always wanting togo back to Nut Kut.

"I went after the governing mahout and he said the child had played toohard; and that was why they brought him home. Kudrat Sharif is agraceful man, with much dignity; but I always felt he held something inreservation."

"What about Nut Kut?" Skag asked.

"Nut Kut is a great black elephant, trapped in the Vindha Hills only afew years ago. He's young and I've heard he's a dangerous fighter. Myson likes him; but I can't get over believing he's responsible for thehigh nerve tension the boy always carries. But don't let Horace annoyyou." Dickson Sahib finished hurriedly. "You're his first love, youknow!"

Any man knows the kind of thrill when he's told that a boy has fallenin love with him; but the lad's interest in elephants—reminding Skagof his own—made him specially worth considering. The little figuresuggested dynamic power rather than physical strength. The hair wasdull brown, with an overcast of pale flame on it; the skin too white.But the eyes held Skag. They were pure grey, full of smoulderingshadows and high lights—forever contending with each other. At thismoment the boy was leaning his head toward the road, listening.

"She's petulant to-day, the lady!" he chuckled. "Wait till you see
Mitha Baba, Skag Sahib."

Down through the great trees a handsome female elephant approached,careering at a curious choppy gait. With her trunk well up, she wastrumpeting every third step.

"What's the matter with her?" Skag asked.

"She's abused, Skag Sahib." The boy became a bit embarrassed;hesitating, before he went on: "The Hakima used to speak to herwhenever she passed Miss Annesley's bungalow; and now—she's not thereto do it."

Horace waved his hand to Mitha Baba's mahout; and the mahout shoutedsomething in a dialect Skag did not know.

"He's awfully proud of Mitha Baba; and it's true, Skag Sahib, thereisn't anything in grey beyond her; but—" Horace stopped, suddenlygone wistful.

"What's the trouble?" Skag asked, startled.

"They won't let me near him—they won't let me! I want him more thananything I know—"

"Then you'll get him!" interrupted Skag.

It must have been the sureness in Skag's voice, that made some chokingtightness way back in the boy's soul let go; whole vistas ofpossibilities opened up.

"We're going to get on, you know—I'm sure of it!" he saidbreathlessly. "If only I were old enough to be your friend!"

Skag remembered the father's words.

"I've never had a friend younger than myself," he answered, "and thereare only a few years difference—why not?"

Their hands met as men. And it was still early in the afternoon.

Horace went into the house and spoke with a servant. Coming out, hetook a long minute to get some excitement well in hand before speaking:

"I've arranged for one thing to show you, already! My boy will be backfrom the bazaar soon, to let me know whether the time will be to-day orto-morrow. It's a surprise—if you don't mind, Skag Sahib."

"All right, then what is the most interesting thing you know about?"
Skag asked.

"Elephants. No question."

"Have you many here in Hurda?"

"Not any belonging to Hurda; but our Chief Commissioner has fortyGovernment elephants in his stockades—the finest ever. Neela Deo, theBlue God—who is the leader of the caravan—the mahouts say there isn'tan elephant in the world to touch him; and Mitha Baba and GunpatRao—they're famous in all India. And Nut Kut; indeed, Skag Sahib, youshould see Nut Kut. They don't allow strangers about where he is; he'sthe one—the mahouts won't let me go near him."

"What's wrong with him?" Skag asked.

"I don't know; I'm always wondering. In the beginning—when I waslittle—but I don't believe it was—wrong."

The boy spoke haltingly, frowning; but went on:

"That's between Nut Kut and—Horace Dickson! I like him better thananything I know. The mahouts have tried every way to discourageme—yes, they have!"

"What does he do?" Skag questioned.

"You know Government doesnot permit elephant fighting," the boybegan solemnly, "but—Nut Kut doesn't know it! His pet scheme is tobreak away out of his own stockades, if there are any elephants acrossthe river—that's where the regiments camp—and get in among themilitary elephants. He's a frightful fighter."

"How do they handle him?" Skag asked.

"It takes more than two of their best males to do it—big trainedfellows, you understand. Even then, usually, one of the great femalescomes with her chain—the kind they call 'mother-things'—she handlesit with her trunk. Just one little flick across his ears and anyfighter will be willing to stop—even Nut Kut. But it's to see, SkagSahib; never twice the same—it can't be told."

A servant came in from the highway, salaaming before Horace andreporting that thetamasha would occur at the usual time thisafternoon—afternoon; not evening.

"Then we'll have tea, at once!" Horace interrupted him. "Quick! tellthe butler."

After tea they walked along the great Highway-of-all-India, by the edgeof the native town and over the low stone bridge. Beyond the river,they passed acres of tenting. A glamour of dust lay in the slantingsun-rays. An intense earth-smell penetrated Skag's senses. A feel ofexcitement was in the air.

"Where are the elephants?" Skag asked.

"How do you know it's elephants?" the boy countered.

"Several ways; but last of all, I smell 'em."

"It is elephants—much elephants. You are to see them in one of theirbig works in the Indian elephant-military department."

This announcement of the programme instantly made Skag forget that hehad come out with a lad in need of healthy comradeship.

"What work?" he asked.

"This is elephant concerns, Skag Sahib," the boy replied; "they workwith men and they work for men, but no one knows what they think aboutthe man-end of it; because they are always and always doing things mennever expect. They do funny things and strange things and wonderfulthings. It's the inside working of an elephant regiment, that makes itso different from anything else.

"It's all tied up with men on the outside; but you mustn't notice theoutside. Inside is what I mean—the elephant concerns. No one knowswhat it will be to-day."

"Have you forgotten Nut Kut?" smiled Skag.

"Not ever!" the boy answered quickly, "but even if he doesn'tcome—they almost always do something interesting. That's why we nevercall them animals or beasts, but sometimes creatures—because they havea kind of intelligence we have not. And that's why wealways speakof them as persons."

"I like that," Skag put in.

"From end to end of India," the boy went on, "down Bombay side and upCalcutta side, regiments of elephants go with regiments of men—in thenever-ending fatigue marching that keeps them all fit.

"The tenting and commissariat-stuff is carried by the elephants,straight from camp to camp, safe and sure and in proper time—always.That's the point, you understand, Skag Sahib—they never run away withit, or lose it, or go aside into the jungle to eat. You're going tosee one regiment start out to-day.

"The man-regiment will go another road—a little longer, but not sorough. The elephant regiment will go by themselves, just one mahout oneach neck—like you would carry a mouse. Really, they go on their ownhonour; because men have no power to control them—only with theirvoices. You know Government doesn't permit elephants to be shot, foranything—only in case one is court-martialled and sentenced to die."

"Don't the mahouts ever punish them?" Skag asked.

"They're not allowed to torture them—never mind what! And men can'tpunish elephants any other way—they're not big enough."

Then a voice rolled out of the dust-glamour before them. In qualityand reach and power, it reminded Skag of a marvel voice that used tocall newspapers in the big railway station in Chicago.

"Whose voice?" he asked Horace.

"That's the master-mahout. He calls the elephants; you'll see. He'sthe only kind of mahout who ever gets pay for himself."

"How's that?"

"It's what makes the elephant-military a proper department. Onlyelephant names on the books; the pay goes to them. The mahout isalways an elephant's servant; he eats from his master, of course. Fromthe outside it saves a lot of trouble, to be sure."

Skag laughed. From the elephant standpoint, a small Englishman wasconceding a certain amount of convenience to men.

"You see," the boy went on, "an elephant lives anyway more than ahundred years; and his name stays just like that and draws pay withoutchanging. Always a mahout's son takes his place, when he gets too oldor dies. I can recall when Mitha Baba's mahout was one of the mostwonderful of them all. Now he has gone old, as they say; and his sonis on her neck."

There was a moment when Skag would have given his soul—almost—if hemight have grown up in India, as this child was growing up; in theheart of her ancient knowledges—in the breath of her mystic power.Then a great plain opened before them. It appeared at first glance,completely full of elephants.

. . . The glamour of sun-drenched dust hung over all.

Looking more closely, Skag saw nothing but elephant ranks toward theright, and nothing but elephant ranks toward the left; but in thecentre, a large area was covered with separate piles of dunnage, evenlydistributed.

From where he stood toward where the sun would set—a broad divisionstretched; and in the middle of this division, a single line of loadedelephants filed away and away to the horizon.

. . . Skag became oblivious. He was so thralled with the sight that hedid not notice what was nearer. The whole panorama held his breathtill right before him a great creature rose from sitting—without asound. There was a dignity about its movement not less than majestic.It was a mighty load; but the huge shape slid away as smooth as flowingwater—as easy as a drifting cloud.

A deep voice said quietly:

"Peace, master; go thy way. Peace, son."

"Did he speak to both of them?" Skag asked of Horace.

"Yes; the first part was to the elephant and the last part was to themahout. This mahout must be one of the great ones, else themaster-mahout would not have spoken to him. But he will always speakto the elephants—something."

A strange name filled the air, rolling up and away. It was followed bya courteous request, in softer tones; and Skag watched another bigelephant approach from the unpicketed lines. It came to where themaster-mahout stood, close to a pile of tenting, wheeled to face theway it should go presently, and sank down to be loaded.

Men did the lifting into place and the lashing on. There was detail inthe process, to which the elephant adjusted his body as intelligentlyas they adjusted theirs. When they required to reach under with thebroad canvas bands, he rose a little without being told. Indeed theyseldom spoke even to each other; and then in undertones. Theelephant's mahout sat in his place on the neck, as if he were a part ofthe neck itself.

The smoothness, the ease of it all, amazed Skag. That every goodnight, spoken to every separate elephant, was different—peculiar toitself—was no less astounding. It was never as if addressed to ananimal, or even to a child; but always as if to a mature andunderstanding intelligence. As when the master-mahout said to onefemale:

"Fortune to thee, great Lady. May the gods guard that foot. And havea care in going down the khuds—it is that mercy should be shown us,thy friends."

And again to a young male, whose movements were very self-conscious:

"Remember there is to be no tamasha to-night, thou son of destiny. Itis not yet in thy head—to determine when shall be tamasha. Fiftyyears hence, and when wisdom shall be come to thee, thou heir ofancient learning, then we shall have tamasha at thy bidding."

. . . A monster female came at the call of her name, with a long heavychain—one end securely attached to her. The other end she handledwith her trunk. Advancing to within a few feet of the master-mahout,she stood facing him, teetering her whole body from side to side,swinging her chain as she rolled.

Horace flashed away and ran in among the massed elephants and mahouts.
Coming back to Skag, he said breathlessly:

"A mahout says the other one went before we came! That means, if NutKut comes—there'll be no one to manage him. You remember, Skag Sahib,I told you about the 'mother-thing'—if anyone starts a fight, shebreaks it up with her chain; better than any two or three fightingmales. Two tuskers just wake Nut Kut up!"

Then he stood staring at the female with her chain—getting red in theface as he spoke:

"Oh, I say! She doesn't want to be loaded; and she knows! Why, theyknow she knows! . . . Master-mahout!" he called in brave tones thattrembled, "I am Dickson Sahib's son—of the grain-foods department—"

"We know you, Sahib, salaam!" interrupted the master-mahout, with asmile.

"Is it not the unwritten-law that the great 'mother-thing' shall beobeyed?" the boy quavered.

"It is the unwritten-law, Sahib; and we will not impose our will onher. It is this, there is no sign of what she means; the masters areall quiet to-day—there is no warning oftamasha."

The master-mahout spoke with grave consideration; but just as hefinished, the "mother-thing" wheeled into place and went down to takeher load.

"Cheer up, son, I guess it's all right," comforted Skag.

"It's all right—if Nut Kut doesn't come," said the boy, whimsically.

"So 'tamasha' sometimes means trouble?" queried Skag, remembering thetamer definition he had learned.

"It means anything anybody considers entertaining!" answered Horace."By preference—an elephant fight! Remember, Government doesn't allow'em; but sometimes they just happen anyway."

Then an elephant failed to answer. Several mahouts left their placesand went to one spot; and Skag saw the one who had been called. He wassitting low against the ground, slowly rocking his head from side toside. A mahout was examining his ears—folding them back and feelingof them—laying his cheek against the inside surface.

"Is he sick?" Skag asked.

But the boy's eyes were wide upon the broad avenue before them, wherethe loaded elephants went marching away. Then he burst out, in chokingexcitement:

"Look, Skag Sahib! See that loaded elephant coming back from the line?I think you are going to see one of the most wonderful things that everhappened. They say it has been done; but I've never seen it—I'venever seen it myself."

Skag saw a powerful elephant coming back alongside the loaded line. Hedid not move with the same smooth flowing motion as the others. Hewalked as if he were coming on important business. With a load on hisback, he returned and sank down beside the pile of tenting intended foranother elephant.

"What's the meaning of it?" Skag asked.

Little Horace Dickson answered in a hushed way—as one in the presenceof a miracle:

"It is one of the regulars, come back to take a part of what belongs tothe sick elephant."

Skag looked at the boy's face, in incredulous amazement. It waslit—awe and exaltation were both there. Then he noticed the look ofthe master-mahout—that was a revelation.

. . . They were putting half as much again on top of the already loadedelephant.

. . . Certain phrases went through Skag's brain, as he watched thething done—over and over.No one had called this elephant back. Hecame before they knew themselves that an elephant was sick. When themahouts first went to examine the sick one—this one was already on theway. How did he know?

The extra loaded elephant rose and started again. Then a great shoutwent up. Tones of many voices filled the slanting sun-rays in all theglamour of dust. The wonderful voice of the master-mahout loomed aboveall:

"Wisdom and excellence are thy parts, oh Thou! Justice andkindness—we who are poor in them—will learn of thee! Thou son ofstrength, thou child of ancient knowledges and worth!"

And the mahouts shouted again!

At that moment Skag knew as well as he knew anything in life, that hestood somewhere in the outer courts of a great animal-cult; and he wasconvinced that it was of a mystic nature—however that could be. Heswore in his heart that he would never give up, till he got further in.

The master-mahout's voice ascended now on a strange call. It was alift-lift-lifting tone.

"What does that mean?" Skag asked.

"All the elephants know that—it's the lifting call," Horace explained."When an elephant is sick—unless they have an extra number in theregiment—they always call for two to volunteer; and they divide theload of the sick elephant between them. They use these tones insteadof a name—just for that. There comes a male now, to take the rest ofthis load."

Skag watched the added load going into place on the volunteer. It wasalmost finished, when a trumpet blast sounded directly behindhim—toward Hurda. Several elephants answered from the regiment; andmany mahouts called to each other.

"Is that the bad fighter coming?" Skag asked.

"Yes, Skag Sahib, that's Nut Kut. But I don't know just what you'regoing to see—the ones who ought to handle him are all gone."

The master-mahout's voice was rising up into the vault of heaven andfalling over upon the horizon. It seemed to Skag the like was neverheard before.

"He's calling the two big tuskers back," Horace chuckled, "but there'llbe doings on before they get here! Will you listen to Nut Kut'schallenge?"

Skag turned to face the looming trumpet tones. There were no tonesbehind him like them. Smooth and mellow, they were yet so full ofpower as to make all the others sound insignificant. They were likelove-tones translated into thunder.

But when Nut Kut came in sight, Skag caught his breath. The shape wasmade of gleaming bronze. No detail showed; it was a thing that tookthe eye and the breath and the blood. There was no look of effort inits inscrutable motion.

They stood in the open, between this thing and the regiment behind.There was no obstruction. And Skag moved to be between it andHorace—when it should pass them on its way. The regiment ofthoroughly trained elephants were standing firmly in their places; butthey were making the welkin ring with a thousand trumpets in the air.

Certainly Skag knew that this incredible thing before him—bigger everysecond—was Nut Kut. He looked to see why the great challenge-toneshad stopped, and revelation went through him—like an explosion. NutKut had seen Horace and was coming straight for him.

Skag leaped to meet Nut Kut first, but he couldn't catch the elephant'seye. The huge shape was upon him and he was flung aside. Recoveringhimself almost instantly, he got around in time to see—but not in timeto prevent.

Horace lifted both arms and leaned forward—his grey eyes goneblack—as Nut Kut's trunk caught him. A little broken cry came fromhim and his death-white face hung down an instant—from high up.

Then, backing away, swaying from side to side, Nut Kut set his eyes onthe man who followed—his red eyes, blazing with red warning. TheAmerican animal trainer did not fail to understand; he paused.

Slowly the great bronze trunk curled and cuddled about Horace Dickson'sbody and began to swing him. Skag knew that elephants swing men whenthey intend to kill them; and he heard a low moaning—like wind—riseup from the multitude of mahouts behind.

. . . Further and further the boy swung in the elephant's trunk, backand forth—back and forth. Unnatural tones startled Skag—soundinglike delirium. Nut Kut put little Horace Dickson down, close under hisown throat, his long trunk curling outside—always curlingabout—feeling up and down the boy's limbs, his frame, his face. Thesmall mouth was open; the little red tongue—flickering.

Horace seemed oblivious; but when he laughed aloud. Nut Kut caught himup again—lightning quick. This time he swung the boy higher, till herounded a perfect circle in the air; backing still further away andlifting his head. Nut Kut flung him round and round and yetaround—faster and yet faster.

The moaning—like wind—still came from behind.

After endless time—like perdition—Skag heard Horace gasping, choking.He thought there were words; but couldn't be sure. And while this wasgoing on. Nut Kut brought the boy down—flat on the ground. Theimpact must have broken a man. But Horace got to his feet—staggeringin the circle of the trunk—looking dazed.

Now Skag moved forward, holding his hands out—as he came nearer to thebig black head.

"I know you now, Nut Kut," he said quietly, "you're white inside allright. You're not meaning to hurt him. You like him—so do I."

But Nut Kut backed away, gathering the boy with him, looking down intothe American's eyes—the red danger signals flaring up in his own again.

"Nut Kut, old man," Skag reasoned in perfectly natural tones, "youcan't bluff me. I tell you, I know you. I know you as well as if wecame out of the same egg!"

Nut Kut was still backing away and Skag was following up.

"You may take me, if you want—I can't let you wear him out, you know."

And then, while Nut Kut wrapped about and drew Horace in closer, Skaglaid his fingers on the great bronze trunk, gently but firmlystroking—the red eyes focused in his own. For seconds the man and theelephant looked into each other. Suddenly Nut Kut loosed Horace andlaid hold on Skag.

The moaning ascended and broke—like wind going up a mountain khud.There was nothing certain to the mahouts, but that this man of couragewould be dashed to death before their eyes.

Skag squirmed in the grip about his body as Nut Kut held him high. Itlooked as if he were being crushed. But when he got his hands on thetrunk again, he laughed. Now Nut Kut lowered him quickly—holding himbefore his own red eyes. The touch of the elephant was the touch of amaster. But the eyes of the man were mastership itself.

. . . They were just so, when Ram Yaksahn—with a ghastly haggardface—lurched from behind Nut Kut, fairly sobbing. Nut Kut jerked Skagtight (it was like a hug), released him deliberately and turning, puthis own sick mahout up on his own neck, with a movement that lookedlike a flick of his trunk.

"Now easy, Majesty, go easy with me—indeed I am very ill!" Ram Yaksahnprotested in plaintive tones, as Nut Kut wheeled away with him.

Seeing Horace in the hands of a strange native—and certainlyrecovering—Skag looked away toward Hurda and wonder aloud if Nut Kutwould be punished. It was the master-mahout who answered him:

"Nay, Sahib. He has done no harm."

"I'd like to have a chance with him," said Skag.

The master-mahout smiled—a mystic-musical smile, like his voice.

"I have come from my place for a moment," he said, looking intentlyinto Skag's eyes, "for a purpose. We have heard of you, Son-of-Power.The wisdom of the ages is to know the instant when to act; not toolate, not too soon. We have seen you work this day; and the fame of itwill go before and after you, the length and breadth of India—amongthe mahouts."

He turned, pointing toward the elephant regiment. Many mahouts wereshouting something together; their right hands flung high.

"It is right for you to know," the master-mahout went on, "that mahoutsare a kind of men by themselves apart. Their knowledges are ofelephants—sealed—not open to those from without. Yet I speak as oneof my kind, being qualified, if in the future you have need of anythingfrom us—it is yours."

And without giving Skag a chance to answer him, but with a statelygesture of salaam, the master-mahout had returned to his place and wascalling another elephant.

Skag turned toward Horace, who was drawing a fine lookingnative forward by the hand. The boy spoke with repressedexcitement—otherwise showing no sign of Nut Kut's strenuous handling:

"Skag Sahib, I want you to know Kudrat Sharif, the malik of the ChiefCommissioner's elephant stockades. It is not known, youunderstand—meaning my father—but the malik has always been verywonderful to me."

Kudrat Sharif smiled with frank affection on the boy, as he drew hisright hand away, to touch his forehead in the Indian salaam. Thegesture showed both grace and dignity—as Dickson Sahib had said.

"I am exalted to carry back to my stockades the story of the manner ofyour work, Son-of-Power," he began.

"My name is Sanford Hantee," Skag deprecated gently.

"But you will always be known to Indians of India as Son-of-Power!"Kudrat Sharif protested. "It is a lofty title, yet you haveestablished it before many."

Just then a great elephant came near, playfully reaching for Kudrat
Sharif with his trunk.

"And this is Neela Deo, the leader of the caravan!" laughed Horace.

"It is my shame that there is no howdah on him to carry you; we camelike flight, when Nut Kut's escape was known," Kudrat Sharifapologised. "But after some days, when Nut Kut's excitement sleeps, weshall be distinguished if Son-of-Power chooses to come to the stockadesand consider him.

"I heard your judgment of his nature, Sahib; and I say with humilitythat I shall remember it, in what I have to do with the most strangeelephant I have ever met. Truly we are not sure of Nut Kut, whether heis a mighty being of extreme exaltation, above others of his kind inthe world, or—a prince from the pit!"

Kudrat Sharif salaamed again; and Neela Deo lifted him to his greatneck and carried him away.

Walking home, Horace expressed himself to his friend—as the heart of aboy may be expressed; and Skag dropped his arm about the slendershoulders, speaking softly:

"Remember, son, a little more—would have been too much."

"All right, Skag Sahib, because now you understand; but—isn't heinteresting?"

Knowing well what the boy meant about the great strange creature—morethan his fighting propensities, deeper than his physical might—Skagassented thoughtfully:

"Yes; I would like to know him better."

CHAPTER XII

Blue Beast

Across the river at the military camp, the cavalry outfits werepreparing for a jungle outing. It isn't easy to name the thing theycontemplated. Pig-sticking couldn't be called a quest, yet there are"cracks" at the game, quite the same as at polo or billiards.

Horse and man carry their lives on the outside, so to speak. The trickof it all is that a man never knows what the tusker will do. You can'teven count on him doing the opposite. And he does it quick. Often hesniffs first, but you don't hear that until after it is done. Men haveheard that sniff as they lay under a horse that was kicking its lifeout; yet the sniff really sounded while they were still in thesaddle—the horse still whole.

All the words that have to do with this sport are ugly. It's more likea snort than a sniff. . . . You really must see it. A trampled placein the jungle—tusker at bay—-a mounted sticker on each side waitingfor the move. The tusker stands still. He looks nowhere, out of eyeslike burning cellars. That is as near as you can come withwords—trapdoors opening into cellars, smoke and flame below.

At this moment you are like a negative, being exposed. There is filmedamong your enduring pictures thereafter, the raking curving snout,yellow tusks, blue bristling hollows from which the eyes burn. Thelances glint green from the creepers. . . .

Then the flick of the head that goes with the snort. The boar isn'tthere—lanced doubtless. . . . Yes, the cavalry "cracks" get him forthe most part and then you hear men's laughter and bits of comment andthe strike of a match or two, for very much relished cigarettes. Butnow and then, the scene shifts too quickly and theother rider maysee his friend's mount stand up incredibly gashed—a white horsepossibly—and thisother must charge and lance true right now, forthe boar is waiting for the man in the saddle to come down.

Nobody ever thinks of the boar's part. Queer about that. It's the badrevolting curve that goes with a tusker's snout, in the sag of whichthe eye is set, that puts him out of reach of decent regard. Only twoother curves touch it for malignity—the curve of a hyena's shoulderand the curve of a shark's jaw. Three scavengers that haven't had areal chance. They weren't bred right.

Among the visitors that came in for the jungle play was Ian Deal, oneof the younger of Carlin's seven brothers; one of the two who hadn'tappeared for her marriage. The other missing brother was in Australia,but Ian Deal had been in India at the time of the ceremony and not thefull-length of India away. Skag had thought about this; Carlin haddoubtless done more than that. Once she had flushed, when someone hadmarked Ian's absence to the point of speaking of it. Before that, Skaghad only heard that Ian was one of the best-loved of all. . . .

He watched the meeting of the brother and sister. It was at therailway station in Hurda, and Skag couldn't very well get away. Therewas something almost like anguish in the face of the young man as hehastened forward—anguish of devotion that never hoped to expressitself; anguish by no means sure of itself, because it burned with thethought of Carlin being nearer to any man. Ian didn't speak, as hestopped with a rush before his sister. He merely touched her cheek,but his eyes were the eyes of a man whose heart was starving. TheEnglish observe that this jealous affection occasionally exists betweentwins; the Hindus suggest certain mysterious spiritual relations asaccounting for it. . . . Finally Skag realised that Carlin's eyes wereturned to him, something of pity in them and something of appeal.

It was all very quick then. Skag's hand was out to her brother. Iandidn't see it. Only his right elbow raised the slightest bit; his darkface flushed and paled that second. The stare was refined; it wasn'thate so much as astonishment that any man could ever bring the thingabout to touch Carlin's heart. Back of it all was the matter that IanDeal would have died before confessing—the pain and powerlessness of abrother who loves jealously.

Few beings of his years would have seen so deep and kept his nerve thatinstant, but Skag had been different since his battle with the cobra.He had decided never to lose his nerve again. This was the first testsince that day. . . . His throat tightened a second, so that he had toclear it. All he knew then was that her brother was striding away,having muttered something about the need to see after unshipping KalaKhan, his Arab mount, which was aboard the train. There was a sort ofshimmer between Skag's eyes and Ian Deal's vanishing legs that madethem seem lifted out of all proportion. Then Carlin caught his arm,carried him forward and to her at the same time, as she whispered:

"You were perfect, Skag-ji. I never loved you so much as that moment,when poor Ian refused to take your hand—"

Skag cleared his throat a second time. . . . Carlin had used that nameonly once or twice before; and only in moments of her greater joy inhim. He had been told by Horace Dickson that "ji" used intimately was"nicer" than any English word.

Something in this experience threw Skag back to the point of the cobraand the last experience with crippling nerves. Of course, it was thethought of Carlin imprisoned in the playhouse that broke him. Startingto run when he first saw the cobra on the threshold, he countedFailure. That burst of speed for ten steps had put the king intofighting mood. Skag had beaten thin in his own mind the possibility ofever committing Failure again. A man must not lose his nerve in thestress of a loved one's peril. One doesn't act so well to bring theevent to a winning. In fact, there is no excuse and no advantage andno decency in losing one's nerve, any time, any place. . . .

Skag hadknown things in certain seconds of his duel with the cobra.(Mostly, a man only thinks he knows.) Carlin had stood on thethreshold, not more than fifteen feet away, while he was engaged. Noone had told him at that time, that the man does not live who cancontinue to keep off a fighting cobra from striking home; but Skaglearned in that short interval. He faced not only the fastest thing hehad ever seen move, but it was also thestillest. It would come to adead stop before him—stillness compared to which a post or a wall ismere squat inertia. This lifted head and hood was sustained,elate—having the moveless calm one might imagine at the centre of asolar system. Its outline was mysteriously clear. Often thebackground was Carlin's own self. The action took place in the periodof the Indian afterglow, in which one can see better than in brilliantsunlight, a light that breathes soft and delicate effulgences. Thecobra at the point of stillness was like dark dulled jewels againstit—dulled so that the raying of the jewels would not obscure thecontour.

And once toward the last, as he fought (the inside of his head feelinglike a smear of opened arteries), Skag had seen Carlin over the hood ofthe cobra. She had seemed utterly tall, utterly enfolding; hisrelation to her, one of the inevitables of creation. Nothing couldever happen to take her away for long. Matters which men call life anddeath were mere exigencies of his scheme and herstogether.

In a word, it was a breath of the thing he had been yearning for, fromthe moment he first saw her in the monkey glen; the need was the coreof the anguish he had known in the long pursuit of the thief elephant;the thing that must come to a man and a maid who have found each other,if there is to be any equity in the romantic plan at all, unless thetwo are altogether asleep and content in the tight dimensions ofthree-score-and-ten.

Skag had seen that he could not win; but he had also seen that Carlinwasthere—there to stay! . . . Something in her—that no fever orpoison or death could take away—something for him! The thing wasvivid to him for moments afterward; it lingered in dimmer outlines forhours; but as the days passed, he could only hold the vital essence ofwhat he had learned that hour.

Carlin was more to him every day—more dear and intimate in a hundredways; yet always she held the quest of her before him; a constantsuggestion of marvels of reserve; mysteries always unfolding, of nowill or design of hers. It seemed to the two that they were treadingthe paths of a larger design than they could imagine; and Skag was sureit was only the dullness of his faculty and the slowness of his taking,not Carlin's resources of magic, that limited the joy.

Ian Deal took up his quarters across the river with the cavalry. Hedid not come to the bungalow.

"He has always been strange," Carlin said. "In some ways he has beencloser to me than any of the others. Always strange—doing things onetime that showed the tenderest feeling for me and again the harshestresentment. You could not know what he suffered—remaining away whenwe were married. He has always hoped I would stay single. The ideawas like a passion in him. Some of the others have it, but not to thesame degree. . . . You know we have all felt the tragedy over us. Weare different. The English feel it and the natives, too; yet we holdthe respect of both, as no other half-caste line in India. It isbecause of the austerity of our views on one subject—to keep thelineage above reproach as it began. . . . No, Ian will not come here.He has seen his sister. He will make that do—"

"Why don't you go to him?" Skag asked.

She turned her head softly.

"You Americans are amazing."

"Why?" he laughed.

"An Englishman or any of my brothers in your place, wouldn't think
India could contain Ian Deal and himself."

"It wouldn't do any good to fight that sort of feeling," Skag said.

"Only a man whose courage is proven would dare to say that."

"If I were on the right side, it would not be my part to leave India."

Carlin liked this so well that she decided Skag deserved to hear of acertain matter.

". . . Ian has something on his side. You see I had almost decided notto marry—almost promised him. He always said he would never marry ifI didn't; that our people would do better forgotten—so much hid sorrowin the heart of us. . . . Something always kept me from making thecovenant with him; yet I have been closer and closer up the years tothe point of giving my life to the natives altogether. . . . That dayin the monkey glen, after the work was done . . . I looked into yourface! . . . You went away and came again. I had heard your voice.The old tiger down by the river had madeyou forget everything—butyour power"—

Carlin laughed. The last phrases had been spoken low and rapidly.

"I didn't forget everything, dear," she went on. "I didn't forgetanything! Everything meantyou—all else tentative and preparatory.I knew then that the plan was for joy, as soon as we knew enough totake it—"

On the third morning of the pig-sticking Ian Deal rode by the elephantstockades in Hurda just as the American passed. The hands were longthat held the bridle-rein, the narrowest Skag had ever seen on a man.The boots were narrow like a poster drawing. It was plainly anadvantage for this man to ship his own horse from the south for the fewdays of sport. The black Arab, Kala Khan, seemed built on the sameframe as its rider—speed and power done into delicacy, utter balanceof show and stamina. When the Arab is black, he is a keener black thana man could think. His eyes were fierce, but it was the fierceness offidelity; of that darkness which intimates light; no red burning ofviolence within.

Ian's face was darker from the saddle; the body superb in its hightension and slender grace. Was this the brother that Roderick Deal,the eldest, had spoken of as being darker than the average native? Yetthe caste-mark was not apparent; the two bloods perfectly blent.

The depth of Skag's feeling was called to pity as well as admiration.The rift in this Deal's nature was emotional not physical—some madpoetic thing, forever struggling in the tight matrices of a hard-setworld. India was rising clearer to Skag; even certain of her profoundcomplexities. He knew that instant how the fertilising pollen of theWest was needed here, and how the West needed the enfolding spiritualculture which is the breath within the breath of the East. This swiftrealisation had something to do with his own real work. It was filmy,yet memorable—like the first glimpse of one's sealed orders, carriedlong, to be opened at maturity. Also Skag had the dim impulse of athought that he had something for Ian Deal. He meant to speak toCarlin of this at the right time.

"Pig-sticking no-end," the cavalry officers had promised and they weremaking good.

That third afternoon Carlin and Skag took Nels out toward the openjungle, which thrust a narrow triangular strip in toward the town. Atintervals they heard shouts, far deeper in. The Great Dane was in hishighest form, after weeks of care and training by Bhanah. He couldwell carry his poise in a walk like this; having his full exercisenight and morning. A marvel thing, like nothing else—this dignity ofNels. . . . The two neared their own magic place—not the monkey glen;that was deeper in the jungle—the place where they had really foundeach other as belonging, in the moment of afterglow.

"It was wonderful then," he said, "but I think—it is even morewonderful now."

That was about as much as Sanford Hantee had ever put into a sentence.Carlin looked at him steadily. They were getting past the need ofwords. She saw that he was fulfilling her dream. Their story loomedhigher and more gleaming to him with the days. He had touched thesecret of all—that love is Quest; that love means on and on, means notto stay; love from the first moment, but always lovelier, range onrange. It could only burn continually with higher power and whiterlight, through steady giving to others.

A woman knows this first, but she must bide her time until the mancatches up; until he enters into the working knowledge that the farthervistas of perfection only open as two pull together with all their artand power; that the intimate and ineffable between man and woman isonly accomplished by their united bestowal to the world.

They walked long in silence and deeper into the jungle before haltingagain. Nels brushed the man's thigh and stood close. Skag's handdropped and he felt the rising hackles, before his eyes left Carlin's.They heard the Dane's rumble and the world came back to them—theshouting nearer.

For a moment they stood, a sense of languor stealing between them.Without a word, their thoughts formed the same possibility, as two whohave a child that is vaguely threatened. They were deeper in thejungle than they thought. . . . The cordon of native beaters was stilla mile away in its nearest arc, but there is never any telling what apig will do. . . . They turned back, walking together without haste,Nels behind. They heard the thudding of a mount that runs and swervesand runs again. It was nearer. . . . Their hands touched, but theydid not hasten.

When Carlin turned to him, Skag saw what he had seen on the cobraday—weariness, but courage perfect. A kind of vague revolt rose inhim, that it should ever be called again to her eyes—more, that itshould come so soon.He was ready, but not for Carlin to enter thevortex again.

This foreboding they knew, together. Love made them sentient. Notmerely a possibility, but almost a glimpse had come—as if an ominouspresence had stolen in with the languor.

"Let's hurry, Carlin—"

She was smiling in a child's delicate way, as their steps quickened.The thrash of the chase was nearer; the jungle was clearing as theymade their way to the border near Hurda. The low rumbling was fromNels. He would stand, turning back an instant, then trot to overtakethem. . . . No question now. One pig at least, was clear of thebeaters, coming this way, someone in chase.

The great trees were far apart. They were neartheir place, aftermany minutes. They had caught a glimpse of a mounted man through thetrees—playing his game alone—the pig, but a crash in theundergrowth. . . . There was silence, as if the hunter werelistening—then a cutting squeal, a laugh from the absorbed horseman,and it was all before their eyes!

The tusker halted at the border of their little clearing. He had justseen them and the dog—more enemies. . . . Hideous bone-rack—long asa pony, tapering to the absurd piggy haunches—head as long as a pony'shead, with a look of decay round the yellow tusks—dripping gash from alance-wound under one ear—standing stock just now, at the end of allflight!

Nels seemed to slide forward two feet, like a shoved statue. It was apenetrating silence before the voice of Ian Deal:

"You two—what in God's name—"

That was all of words.

His black Arab, Kala Khan, had come to halt twice a lance-length fromthe tusker. Carlin and Skag and Nels stood half the circle away fromthe man and mount, a little farther from the still beast, the red righteye of which made the central point of the whole tableau.

Ian looked hunched. He seemed suddenly ungainly—as if all sport likethis were mockery and he had merely been carried on in these lowercurrents for a price. His lance wobbled across his bridle-arm whichwas too rigid, the curb checking the perfect spring of the Arab'saction.

The tusker was bone-still, with that cocked look which means anythingbut flight. Skag moved a step forward. His knees touched Nels; hisleft hand was stretched back to hold Carlin in her place. There was noword, no sound—and that was the last second of the tableau.

The tusker broke the picture. Flick of the head, a snort—and hewasn't there. He wasn't on the lance! His side-charge, with no turnwhich the eye could follow, carried him under the point of Ian's thrustin direct drive at the black Arab's belly.

Kala Khan was standing straight up, yet they heard his scream. Theboar's head seemed on a swivel as he passed beneath. Ian Deal standingin the stirrups swung forward, one arm round his mount's neck, butbadly out of the saddle. . . . The tusker turned to do it again.

Skag spoke. That was the instant Nels charged. In the same second,the Arab, still on his hind legs, made a teetering plunge back, tododge the second drive of the beast, and Ian Deal fell, head-long onthe far side, his narrow boot locked in the steel stirrup.

Skag spoke again. It was to Kala Khan this time. Nels' smashing driveat the throat had carried the tusker from under the Arab's feet. Hisrumbling challenge had seemed to take up the scream of the horse; itended in the piercing squeal of the throated boar.

Skag still talked to Kala Khan, as he moved forward. The Arab stoodbraced, facing him now—the tumbled head-down thing to the left, armssprawled, face turned away. A thousand to one, among the best mounts,would have broken before the second charge and thrashed the hanginghead against the ground.

Skag's tones were continuous, his empty hand held out. There was nevera glance of his eye to the battle of the Dane and the beast. Four feetfrom his hand was the hanging rein, his eyes to the eyes of the black,his tones steadily lower, never rising, never ceasing. His loosefingers closed upon the bridle rein; his free hand pressed the Arab'scheek.

He felt Carlin beside him and turned—one of the tremendous moments oflife to find her there. (It was like the last instant of the cobrafight, when he had seen her over the hood—utterly white, utterlytall.) She took the rein from his hand. Her face turned to Nels'struggle—but her eyes pressed shut.

Skag stepped to Kala Khan's side, lifted the leather fender, slippedthe cinch, and let the light hunting saddle slide over, releasing IanDeal. Then he sprang to Nels, calling as he caught up the fallen lance:

"Coming, old man—coming to you!"

Nels on his feet was bent to the task—the tusker sprawling, the piggyhaunches settling flat.

". . . So, it's all done, son," the man said softly. "You're the bestof them all to-day."

He laughed. Nels looked up at him in a bored way, but he still held.Skag went back to Carlin. Ian Deal had partly risen. The American didnot catch his eye, and now Kala Khan stood between them, Carlin stillholding the rein. Skag's hand rested upon the wet trembling withers,where the saddle had covered. There was a blue glisten to themoisture. Skag loved the Arab very hard that moment, and no lessafterward. Kala Khan needed care at once. His wound was long anddeep, from the hock on the inside, up to the stifle-joint.

Ian Deal was on his feet, the Arab still between him and Skag's eyes.But now her brother drew off, back turned, walking away, his arms andhands fumbling queerly about his head, as he staggered a little.

"He will come back!" Carlin whispered.

Nels loosed now, but sat by his game—sat upon his haunches, bringingfirst-aid cleansing to his shoulders and chest, where the pinned tuskerhad worn against him in the battle. . . . All in astonishingly fewseconds—the blue beast still with an isolated kick or two.

It was as Carlin said. They had scarcely started toward Hurda beforethey saw Ian Deal following. His pace quickened as he neared—hisfirst words queerly shocking:

"Is he hurt—oh, I say—is the Arab hurt?"

Skag answered: "A bad cut, but he'll be sound in a week or two."

"One might ask first, you know. He's rather a fine thing—"

Carlin seemed paler, as she held her brother with curious eyes. Iandidn't see her. He was slowly taking in Skag, full-length.

"One might ask, you know," he repeated presently. "One couldn't make agift of a damaged thing. Oh, yes, you're to have him, Hantee. Thingsof Kala Khan's quality gravitate to you—I was thinking of the dog, youknow—"

Skag shook his head.

"Don't make it harder for me!" Ian said fiercely. "He belongs toyou—Carlin, too, of course—no resistance of mine left. A man seesdifferently—toes up."

Carlin pressed Skag's arm.

The American bowed. Ian Deal straightened.

"That's better," he breathed. "You'll see to the mount? I'd do it foryou, but I need an hour—in here among the trees, you know,alone. . . . If it isn't quite clear to me, I'll cock one foot up inthe crotch of a tree—until it's straight again. . . . But it's clear,Hantee," he added. "I'm seeing now—the man she sees—or somethinglike!"

Ian turned toward the deeper growths. . . . They walked in silence.The untellable thing—for Skag alone—lingered in Carlin's eyes, in thepallor of her face. She was the one who spoke:

"It is terrible—terribly dear, like a blending of two souls in a whiteheat together—those moments at the play-house and now—as you heldKala Khan—"

"It was not one alone," he answered strangely. "Something from you waswith me—half, with mine."

CHAPTER XIII

Neela Deo, King of All Elephants

This is the story of Neela Deo, King of all elephants! Protector ofthe Innocent! Defender of Defenders! Equitable King!

For his sake, knowledge of the place where he was known and of thosewho looked upon his person, shall go down from generation to generationinto the future and shall be continued forever, under the illuminationof his name.

How he preserved the great judge and how he fought that mightiest ofall battles, for the honour of his kind and for the preservation of hisliege-son, must be told in order.

The fortune of the season, the features of the town, and the chiefnames must be established.

See that nothing shall be added. See that no part be left unspoken.
It is the law.

The great rains had passed on their way north; and they had been goodto the Central Provinces country. The water-courses were even yet buta line below flood; the tanks were full, the wells abrim. The earthwas clothed with new garmenture. Jungle creatures were all in theirannual high-carnival. Life-forces were driving to full speed.

The town of Hurda, on the great triple Highway-of-all-India, clung tothe side of her little river leaning against the massive buttressedwalls of her old grey stone terraces, where—on their widestep-landings—at all seasons, she burned her human dead by the tide'smargin.

The great Highway spanned the river on a broad low stone bridge andturned—just south of the burning ghats—with a majestic sweepnorthward, between its four lines of sacred, flowering, perfumed andshade trees. Remember, those trees were planted by the forgottenpeoples of dead kings, for each within his own realm; they were allnourished under the unfailing rivalry that the highway of each kingshould be more excellent in beneficence and in beauty than the highwayof his neighbour kings.

But from High Himalaya to the beaches of Madras, from sea to sea, thetriple Highway-of-all-India was nowhere more august than here, whereNeela Deo lived. The exalted splendours of those so ancient andimperial trees rendered distinction to the town, in passing through it,like a procession of the radiant gods.

Beyond the hill and well outside the town—which would be called a cityif it were walled, which would be walled if a wall would not separateit from the great Highway—was the station Oval, where railway peoplelived in European bungalows of many colours, round about thegymkhana—a building made to contain music and strange games; butfrom the arches of all its verandahs the railway people saw.

On the other side from the Oval and toward Hurda, was the little oldbungalow where Margaret Annesley—of the tender heart—out of herlonely garden, looked that day and saw.

Across the great Highway from the temple of Manu, the bungalow ofDickson Sahib sheltered under the mighty sweep of full bearing mangotrees. His small son stood between two teachers in the deep verandahand beat his hands together while he saw.

At the top of the hill, the bare bungalow of the old missionary Sahibmade protest against the perfume-drunken orient and the colour-madEuropean world of India with its carbolic-acid whitewash and chastelines. Down the driveway his children ran away from their teachers andsaw.

But in sight of the town—as should be—and beside the courts—asshould be—stood the austere home of the Chief Commissioner, most highcivil judge of Hurda and all surrounding villages. One of his deputiesleaned from an upper balcony and saw.

Back of his park, more than three quarters of a mile away, were thestockades of the Chief Commissioner's elephants. A round parade groundspread its almost level disk straight away front of the stockadebuildings. Perfectly rimmed by a variety of low jungle growths,nesting thick at the feet of a circle of tall tamarisk trees, itseffect was satisfying to the eye beyond anything seen about the homesof men. Nay, the avenues which led up to the palaces of ancient kingswere not so good!

Now all is established concerning the time and the place and those whosaw; and it will not be questioned by any save the very ignorant—whoare not considered in the telling of tales.

So in the day of Neela Deo, most exalted King of all elephants, came arunner at the end of his last strength. Stripped naked, but for hismeagre loincloth, the oils of his body ran thick down all his limbs andhis splitting veins shed blood from his nostrils and from his mouth.In the market-place he fell and with his last breaths coughed out abroken message.

Many gathered to discover his meaning. Spread a swift excitement. Theshops were emptied, the doorways and alleys opened, and streams ofpeople poured out into a common tide.

Perfume dealers brought copper flasks of priceless oils. Flowermerchants gathered up their entire stock of freshly prepared garlandsof marigold and tuberose and jasmine and champak blooms—banked massesof garlands were hung on scores of scores of reaching arms, lifted tocarry them. Sixty full pieces of white turban-cloth were caught fromthe shelves of cloth sellers.

Companies and companies of nautch-girls, with their men-servants andinstruments to accompany them—even the most costly of these, who werealso singing women—poured out of the districts where the towns-womenlived and blended in their groups as individual units, in theincreasing surge that flowed out along the great Highway, like a riverwhich had broken its dam.

The multitude followed the great highway past the station oval andturned aside into the open jungle—deepening, thickening, swelling,teeming forward. Twenty thousand voices, lifted in all pitches of thehuman compass, were caught by tom-toms and the impelling cadence of thesinging nautch-girls—like drift-wood in a swift current—and driveninto rhythmic pulsation.

So the people of Hurda went out to meet Neela Deo, King of allelephants.

When the front of the throng went by his place, Hand-of-a-God enquiredof running men from his own gateway. By his side the Gul Moti stoodwith Son of Power. When they understood, she pushed her chosen of allmen through the vine-made arch and he sprang away and ran with thepeople.

They shared their garlands with him, that he should not come into NeelaDeo's presence with empty hands; and they exulted because he ran withthem, for the fame of Son-of-Power was already established.

At the margins of the true jungle, a high-tenor voice came out to meetthem. The feeling in it chained Skag's ear; it was like a strong mancontending bravely with his tongue, but calling on the gods for help,with his heart. Listening intently, the American began to get thewords:

"What are we before thee—oh thou most Exalted! Children of men, ourgenerations pass before thee as the seasons. But thou, oh mightyKing—thou Destroyer of the devastator, thou Protector of our wisejudge, blessed among men is he for whom thou hast spilled thy blood!We will send his name down from generation to generation under thelight of thy name! Thou most Glorious!"

The next words were more difficult to catch:

"Nay, nay! but my beloved, it is a little hurt! Do I not know, whoserve thee? I whose father served thee before me—whose father servedthee before him? I whose son shall serve thee after me? As my smallson lives, he shall serve thee—being come a man—in his day, even as Iserve thee in this my day!"

This was evidently enticing the great creature to live. But the voicewinged away again:

"Ah, thou heart of my heart, thou life of my life! Hear me, the milkof a thousand goats shall cool thee. The petals of a thousand bloomsshall comfort thee. Tuberose and jasmine and champak shall comfortthee, thou Lover of rare things! Nay, it is not enough, but theofferings of the heart's core of love shall satisfy thee—the blood ofa million-million blooms shall anoint thee, to thy refreshment!"

The words were lost for a moment, before they rang again:

"Are not the coverings of our heads upon thy wounds? Thou, mostexcellent in majesty! Have we not laid the symbols of our honour uponthy wounds? Thou, with the wisdom of all ages in thy head and thetenderness of all women in thy heart! We have seen thee suffer, thathe who is worthy might live! Thou Discerner of men! We have seen theedestroy the killer, without hurt to him who is kind! Thou EquitableKing!"

And slowly out of the shadows of forest trees, came the ChiefCommissioner's elephant caravan, trailing in very dejected formation,behind Neela Deo, who showed naked as to his back—for his housings hadbeen stripped off him; and as to his neck, for Kudrat Sharif was not onit but on the ground—walking backward step by step, enticing him withthe adoration and sympathy of his voice.

Sanford Hantee saw Neela Deo stop to receive the first garlands on histrunk. From there on, the great elephant paused deliberately afterevery step to take the offerings of homage from hundreds of reachinghands.

When the American had laid his garlands over Neela Deo's trunk and wasabout to make his turn in the press, he saw the Chief Commissionerhimself, walking behind the wounded elephant with uncovered head.After a keen glance, the great judge motioned Skag to close in by hisside. His strong face was shadowed by deep concern; and for some timehe did not speak. This was the man of whom Skag had heard that hisname was one to conjure with. His fame was for unfailing equity,which—together with strange powers of discernment and bewilderingkindness—had won for him the profound devotion of the people. Skag'sthoughts were on these matters when he heard, on a low explosive breath:

"Most extraordinary thing I've ever seen!"

The Englishman's eye scarcely left the huge figure swaying before himand the distress in his face was obvious.

"I see you're greatly concerned," Skag said gently.

"Well, you understand, I've jolly good right to be—he saved my life!And he's got a hole in his neck you can put your head into—only it'sfilled up and covered up with twenty dirty turbans! And by the way,you may not know, but it's unwritten law—past touching—the man inthis country never uncovers his head excepting in the presence of hisown women. It's more than a man's life is worth to knock another'sturban off, even by accident. But look, yonder are the turbans of mycaravan—deputies, law-clerks and servants together—on Neela Deo'sneck! Their heads are bare before this multitude and without shame.What's one to make of it? There's no knowing these people!"

Skag's eye quite unconsciously dropped to the white helmet, carriedceremonially in the hand; and glancing away quickly, he caught amounting flush on the stern countenance.

Presently the Chief Commissioner spoke again:

"We were coming in on the best trail through a steady bit of really oldtree-jungle—Neela Deo leading, as always. We've been out nine weeksfrom home, among the villages. It's not supposed to be spoken, but astretch like that is rather a grind. The elephants wanted their ownstockades; they were tired of pickets. You understand, they're allthoroughly trained. They answer their individual mahouts like a man'sown fingers. Neela Deo is the only elephant I've heard of who has beenknown to run; I mean, to really run—and then only when he's coming infrom too many weeks out.

"Few European men have ever seen an elephant run. Nothing alive canpass him on the ground but the great snake. I stayed on top of NeelaDeo once when he ran home. It was not good sitting. I've never caredfor the experience again.

"As the jungle began to open toward Hurda, he was nervous. Of course Ishould have been more alive to his behaviour—should have made out whatwas disturbing him. If we lose him, I shall feel very muchresponsible. But his mahout was easing him with low chants—made of athousand love-words. They're not bad to think by. I was clear awayoff in an adjustment of old Hindu and British law—you know we have touse both together; and sometimes they're hard to fit.

"I know no more about how it happened than you do. I was knocked wellup out of my abstraction by a most unmerciful jolt. Kudrat Sharif hadbeen raked off Neela Deo's neck and was scrambling to his feet on theground. In one glimpse I saw hisdothi was torn and a long drippingcut on one thigh. He shouted, but I couldn't make it out, because allthe elephants were trumpeting to the universe.

"There are always four hunting pieces in the howdah and I reached forthe heaviest automatically, leaning over to see whatever it was. Therewas nothing intelligible in the hell of noise and nothing in sight. Itell you, I could not see a hair of any creature under me—but NeelaDeo. And don't fancy Neela Deo was quiet this while. My howdah waspitching me to the four quarters of heaven—with no one to tell whichnext. Six of the hunters had rifles trained on us, but I knew theydared not fire for the fear of hitting me or him. And I'm confidentthey would be as ready to do the one as the other.

"Then he began swaying from side to side with me. It was a frightfuljog at first, but he went more and more evenly, further and furtherevery swing, till I kept myself from spilling out by the sheer grip ofmy hands. The rifles were knocking about loose.

"At last I was up-ended cornerwise and I thought, on my word, I thoughtmy elephant had turned upside down. A shriek fairly split my head openand Neela Deo was dancing straight up and down on one spot. It was athorough churning, but it was a change.

"I should say his dance had lasted sixty seconds or more, before hehimself spoke; then he put up his trunk and uttered a long strongblast. I've never heard anything like it; in eighteen years amongelephants, I've never heard anything like it.

"After that he slowed down and they closed in on him, with weeping andlaughter and pandemonium of demonstrations, mostly without meaning tome, till I climbed down and saw the remains of what must have been aprime Bengali tiger—under his feet.

"It had charged his neck and gotten a hold and eaten in for the bigblood-drink. It had gripped and clung with its four feet—there areghastly enough wounds—but the hole it chewed in his neck is hideous.

"He poured blood in a shocking stream till they checked it with somekind of jungle leaves and their turbans. And you see—he's groggy.He's quite liable to stagger to his knees any moment. If he gets in tohis own stockades, there may be a chance for him; but he doesn't lookit just now. Still, I fancy they're keeping him up rather. Eh? Ohyes, quite so."

The Chief Commissioner wiped his forehead patiently, before he went on:

"You're an extraordinary young man, Sir. I've heard about you; thepeople call you Son-of-Power. You haven't interrupted me once—not onein twenty could have done it. I'm glad to know you."

This was spoken very rapidly and Skag smiled:

"I'm interested."

The Chief Commissioner's eyes bored into Skag with almost impersonalpenetration, till the young American knew why this big Englishman'sname was one to conjure with. Then he went on:

"Yes, we'll have much in common. You see, I'm working it out in my ownmind. . . . The curious part of it all is, they say an elephant hasnever been known to behave in this manner before. The mahouts seem tounderstand; I don't. This I do know: When a tiger charges anelephant's neck, the elephant's way is—if the tiger has gotten in pastthe thrust of his head—to plunge dead weight against a big tree, anupstanding rock, or lacking these—the ground. In that case he alwaysrolls. You see where I would have been very much mixed with the tiger.

"In this case, Neela Deo measured his balance on a swing and when hefound how far he dare go, he took his chance and struck the cat offwith his own front leg. It's past belief if you know an elephant'sanatomy."

The Chief Commissioner broke off. Neela Deo had lurched and waswavering, as if about to go down. The sense of tears was in KudratSharif's voice; but it loomed into courage, as it chanted the superiorexcellence of Neela Deo's attributes.

Then Neela Deo braced himself and went on, but more slowly. The big
Englishman smiled tenderly:

"He's a white-wizard, is Kudrat Sharif—that mahout! He does beautifulmagic, with his passion and with his pain. It's practically worship,you understand; but the point is, it works!

"The mahouts say Neela Deo did the thing for me; stood up and took it,till he could kill the beast without killing me. Oh, you'll neverconvince them otherwise. They'll make much of it. They're alreadypledged to establish it in tradition—which means more than one wouldthink. These mahouts come of lines that know the elephant from beforeour ancestors were named. They know him as entirely as men can. Allhis customs are common knowledge to them—in all ordinary and in allextraordinary circumstances. They say that once in many generations anelephant appears who is superior to his fellows—he's the one whosometimes surprises them."

The Chief Commissioner stopped, looking into Skag's eyes for a minute,before he finished:

"I'm a Briton, you understand; stubborn to a degree—positively requiredemonstration. I'm not qualified to open the elephant-cult toyou—it's as sealed as anything—but I've had bits; and I recommendyou—if you'll permit me—to give courtesy to whatever the mahouts maychoose to tell you. You'll find it more than interesting."

"I'm very grateful to you," Skag answered. "I've had a promise ofsomething and I mean to know more about the mahouts and aboutelephants."

It was well on in the night when the elephants turned down out of thegreat highway into their own stockades. Neela Deo staggered and swayedever so slowly forward, with his head low and his trunk resting heavyand inert on Kudrat Sharif's shoulder; but he got in.

After that no man saw him for sixteen weeks—save the mahouts of hisown stockades. But every morning the flower merchants sent huge moundsof flower garlands to comfort him.

Then a proclamation was shouted in the marketplace—in the name of theChief Commissioner—calling all to come and sit in seats which had beenprepared around the parade ground before his elephant stockades—towitness the celebration of Neela Deo's recovery. Great was therejoicing.

Many Europeans of distinction answered the Chief Commissioner'sinvitation—from as far as Bombay. But all the Europeans togetherlooked very few; for from the surrounding villages and towns andcities, a vast multitude had been flooding in for days. Sixty-twothousand people found places in good sight of the arena, in preparedseats. That number had been reckoned for; but half as many morethronged the roofs of the stockade buildings and hung—multicoloureddensity—from their parapets. And above all, a few tall tamarisk treesdrooped long branches under hundreds of small boys.

Famous nautch-girls had come from distant cities and trained with thoseof Hurda for an important part in the celebration. They were allstaged on twelve Persian-carpeted platforms, ranged on the groundwithin the outer edge of the arena and close against the foot of thecircular tier of seats. Artists of the world had wrought to clothethese women. Artists in fabric-weaving, in living singing dyes; incloths of gold, in pure wrought-gold and in the setting of gems.

People were looking to find the concealed lights which revealed thisscene of amazing splendour, when thirty-nine of the ChiefCommissioner's elephants came out through the stockade gates, singlefile. Many drums of different kinds, together with a thousand voices,beat a slow double pulse. The elephants, setting their feet preciselyto the steady rhythm of it, marched around the entire arena threetimes. Those elephants were perfect enough—and they knew it! Theywere freshly bathed and groomed. Their ears showed rose-tintedlinings, when they flapped. Their ivories were smooth and pure. Theirhowdahs—new-lacquered—gleamed rose and orange and blue, with crimsonand green silk curtains. Their caparisons of rich velvets, hung heavywith new gold fringes.

Every elephant turned toward the centre of the arena, coming to pauseat his own appointed station, evenly spaced around the circle. Thenevery mahout straightened, freezing to a fixed position that did notdiffer by a line from the position of his neighbour on either side.Now the people saw that this celebration for Neela Deo, King of allelephants, was to show as much pomp as is prepared for kings ofmen—and they were deeply content.

The strings of one sitar began to breathe delicate tones. Other sitarscame in illusively, till they snared the current of human blood in agolden mesh and measured its flow to the time of mounting emotion.Then Neela Deo himself—Neela Deo, the Blue God!—appeared at thestockade gates alone, with Kudrat Sharif on his neck. His caparisonwas of crimson velvet, all over-wrought with gold thread. The goldfringes were a yard deep. The howdah was lacquered in raw gold—itscurtains were imperial blue. Kudrat Sharif was clothed in pure thinwhite—like the son of a prince—but he was very frail; and ninety-oddthousand people sent his name, with the name of Neela Deo, up into theIndian night—for the Indian gods to hear.

Neela Deo was barely in on the sanded disk, when the elephants liftedtheir heads as one and saluted him with an earth-rocking blast; againand yet again. Then he thrust his head forward, reached histrumpet-tip—quivering before him—and made speed till he came close tothe Chief Commissioner's place, where he rendered one soft salute andwheeled into position by the stand. This was a movement no one hadanticipated. Nothing like it was in the plan; the Chief Commissionerhad not intended to ride! But Neela Deo demanded him and there wasnothing for it but to go; so with a very white face, he stepped intothe howdah.

Waves upon waves of enthusiasm swept the multitude. They shouted toheaven—for all time it was established. No man could ever denyit—Neela Deo himself had made his meaning perfectly plain, that he haddone the marvel thing sixteen weeks before, to save the life of hisfriend—their friend! They stood up and flung their flower-garlands onboth of them—as Neela Deo, with a stately tread, carried the ChiefCommissioner around the circle. The nautch-girls sprang from theirplatforms into the middle of the arena and danced their most wonderfuldances—tossing the fallen garlands, like forest fairies at play.

Then a thousand voices lifted upon the great chorus of laudation, whichhad been prepared in high-processional time; the drums and the sitarsfurnishing a dim background for the volume of sound. The elephantsturned out of their stations as Neela Deo passed them and came intotheir accustomed formation behind him. The tread of four times fortysuch ponderous feet, in perfect time with the music, shook the earth.

The chorus told the story of the incredible manner of their ChiefCommissioner's deliverance; it exalted his record and his character; itpledged the preservation of his fame. Then a master-mahout from HighHimalaya went alone to the centre of the disk and in incomparabletones—such as master-mahouts use—having no accompaniment at all, toldthe story of Neela Deo's birthright. The people were utterly hushed;but the elephants kept their even pace—as if listening. Then thegreat chorus came back, rendering the acknowledgment of a human race.

At last the multitude rose up and loosed its strangling exultation inmighty shouts. The elephants raised their big heads, threw high theirtrumpets and rent the leagues of outer night—as if calling to theirbrothers in the Vindha Hills.

The next part of the celebration was to happen suddenly. The mahoutshad planned it in sheer boyishness; and to their mountain hearts itmeant something like the clown-play in a western circus. Its successdepended on whether Neela Deo had enough foolishness in him—to playthe game. So now they wheeled the elephants into their stations again,just in time before one section of the enclosure folded down flat onthe ground. This left that part open to the outside world; for theshrubs that used to grow thick at the feet of the tamarisk trees hadbeen rooted up and green tenting-cloth stretched in their place. Oneshrub still grew in the midst of that opening.

Neela Deo stopped short one moment—frozen so still that he looked likea granite image—then, feeling toward the shrub with his trumpet tip aninstant only, flung up his head with a joyous squeal and was upon itbefore a man could think. The shrub melted to pulp under his trampingfeet. Then they saw the black and yellow stripes of the tiger he hadkilled in this same way—tramping, tramping. He was doing it overagain, for them.

The mahouts laughed, calling their strange mountain calls; and thepeople went quite mad. Even the English taxidermist who had taken thetrouble to sew and roughly stuff that mangled tiger-skin for themahouts—even he shouted with them. Every time Neela Deo put thatlittle quirk into his trunk and slanted his head in that absurdangle—Neela Deo, whose smooth dignity had never shown a wrinklebefore—they broke out afresh.

This clown-play certainly brought the people back to earth; but it didsomething queer to the elephants. Having learned to know human voices,they had already felt the mounting excitement; they had already beentamping the ground with hard driving strokes, as if making speed on theopen highway—for some time. But in this abandonment to amusement,this joyous unrestraint, they must have found some reminder. They didnot have Neela Deo's sense of humour. But they must have rememberedthe unwalled distances of their own Hills—the hedge of shrubs had beentaken away; the tall slender tamarisk trees still standing, made noobstruction. Beyond the waning torches they must have looked and seenthe quenchless glory of the same old Indian stars.

It was Nut Kut, the great black elephant not long down from his ownwilds among the Vindha Hills, who left his station first and moved onout into the night. Gunpat Rao followed him. . . . One by one theyfiled away. Indeed, there was not one shrub left to bar their path.But in this falling of calamity upon their so successful foolish plan,the mahouts were stricken—desperate. There was something grotesqueabout their hands, as they disappeared. With wild gestures andtwisted-back faces many of them went out of sight. The elephants weresurely their masters, in that hour.

They all passed quite close to where the Chief Commissioner sat inNeela Deo's howdah. Neela Deo had regained his dignity; he was gravelydriving fragments of black and yellow stripes into the sand—patientlyfinishing his job. But Kudrat Sharif's voice had no effect upon theothers; and the Chief Commissioner was entirely helpless. No one couldprevent their going. Then it appeared that one had not gone—oneother, beside Neela Deo.

Mitha Baba, the greatest female of the caravan, under her pale rosecaparison and gold lacquered howdah with its curtains of frost-green,was beating the ground with angry feet and thrusting her head asideimpatiently. Something was holding her. When he saw, the ChiefCommissioner made haste to reach her—leaving Kudrat Sharif, who wasconfident of keeping Neela Deo.

Mitha Baba's station in the circle was close to where the Gul Moti sat;her new housings had been specially designed to recognise her devotionto the Gul Moti, whose low 'cello tones were now soothing the greatcreature and restraining her. But when the Chief Commissionerapproached, Mitha Baba started, flinging herself forward—and the GulMoti was suddenly at the edge of the stand. Just as the elephantlunged out to take her stride, the colourful voice that she had neverrefused to obey said:

"Come near, Mitha Baba, come near!"

Mitha Baba was not sure about it; she struck the voice aside with herhead. But the voice was saying:

"Mitha Baba, you may take me with you!"

Then Son-of-Power was on his feet, but it was too late—Mitha Babadecided quickly and she acted soon—he could not reach the edge in timeto go himself, but on an impulse he threw his great-coat into the GulMoti's hands and she laughed as she caught it from the howdah.

In swerving suddenly to pass close by the stand, the elephant hadunbalanced her boy-mahout from her neck; but his father—the very oldmahout—was coming as fast as he could across the space before them,calling to her—like the lover of wild creatures that he was.

Carlin bent from her howdah and spoke joyously:

"Put him up, Mitha Baba, put him up!"

And Mitha Baba scarcely broke her stride, which was lengthening everystep, as she obediently circled the old man with her trunk andcarelessly flung him on her neck.

"We'll fetch them all home!" the Gul Moti's voice floated back, as theymelted away into the night.

The Chief Commissioner gave Son-of-Power his hand—being without words,for the moment.

"Is she safe?" Skag asked.

"Absolutely safe!" the Chief Commissioner assured him. "The caparisonsmay be doused in the Nerbudda, but the howdahs will not be in the leastwet."

"What did she mean—that she'd fetch them all back?"

"She meant that Mitha Baba has been used in the High Hills—for yearsbefore she was sent down—to decoy wild elephants into thetrap-stockades. She's entirely competent, is Mitha Baba; she's theleader of my caravan—next to Neela Deo. Of course Neela Deo is ouronly hope of overtaking them; he's fast enough, but this is rather soonafter his injury, and he'll have to rest a bit. In the meantime, comeaway up to the house; we'll talk there."

CHAPTER XIV

Neela Deo, King of All Elephants (Continued)

To possess one white elephant is calamity. But if Evil—the namelessone—could possess a pair, he would breed an army able to break down thevery walls of Equity.

Indra—supreme hypocrite—fathered the first two, who were brother andsister. Kali—wife of Shiva, the great destroyer—Kali—goddess ofplague and famine and fear and death—was their mother.

Beware the white elephant—who is never white. The stain of Indra is onhis skin; the shadow of Kali on his hair. Honour is not in him!

The Gul Moti had always loved adventures; and she had been in the throatof several. But this was no lark; it was more serious than funny.Thirty-eight of the most valuable elephants in India were rolling awaybefore her toward the Vindha Hills. If they once arrived there, no mancould say how many of them, or if any of them, would ever be recovered.The Nerbudda River crossed their path mid-way—almost at flood. If theyentered that tide—deep and wide and muddy—state-housings of great valuewould be hopelessly damaged.

Mitha Baba was beginning to show that she did not like the old mahout'surging—but Mitha Baba was always willful. Indeed, the Gul Moti wasdepending much on this same willfulness. The splendid female was stillyoung, but she had been for years a celebrated toiler of wild elephants;and it was well known she had loved the game. Had she forgotten it?Could she be reminded? First, it was supremely important to overtake allthe others this side the Nerbudda.

The old mahout gasped a broken cry, as Mitha Baba lifted him and set himnot too gently on the ground; she was in a hurry herself and she wasmaking speed on her own account—she objected to being urged. The GulMoti, understanding in a flash, cried quickly:

"No, no! Mitha Baba, I want him! Put him up to me—put him up tome—soon!"

Mitha Baba wavered in her long stride.

"Mitha Baba, I want him—I want him!"

And the elephant turned on a circle and caught him up, throwing him farenough back, so the Gul Moti could help him into the howdah.

"My day is done!" he said bitterly.

"Nay, father!" the girl physician answered him. "She knew you were notsafe there."

"Is it so?" the old man marvelled. "Indeed, she always loved me! Now Iam satisfied!"

Then, in the white fire of what men call genius, the Gul Moti stood up tomeet this new emergency—leaning toward Mitha Baba's head—and called inringing tones:

"Now come, Mitha Baba, we're away! We're going out to fetch them in!
Away, away, awa-a-ay!"

So long as he lived, the old mahout told of the intoxicating splendour ofthat young voice—the golden beauty of those tones; of how Mitha Babareached out further and further every stride, to its rhythm, till theearth rose up and the stars began to swing.

"We'll fetch them in, Mitha Baba, we'll fetch them in! . . . Away, away,awa-a-ay!"

But the toiler of wild elephants had remembered the game she loved.

As they topped the crest of a low hill, the Gul Moti scanned the countrydeclining before her toward the Nerbudda. A string of jewelsappeared—incredibly gorgeous in mid-day light. It was thirty-eightfull-caparisoned elephants—going fast. Mitha Baba called on them towait for her; but they remained in sight only a few minutes. The GulMoti's high courage sank; the caravan was too near the river to bedelayed by Mitha Baba's calls—the river too far ahead.

"Do they ever obey her, Laka Din?" the Gul Moti asked.

"They always used to," the old man replied dubiously.

Finally Mitha Baba came out into the straight descent toward the river.
No elephants were in sight, but a blotch of colour showed on the bank.

"Well done for those mahouts!" the Gul Moti cried out in relief. "Thecaparisons at least are safe. How did they do it?"

"It was well done, Hakima-ji," the old man exulted. "The masters werelistening to Mitha Baba, delaying between her and the river—spaceof six breaths; then those men became like monkeys! It is noeasiness—unfastening everything from top of an elephant. (I who am oldhave done it!) Also, some went down to loosen underneath buckles. Youshall see."

They found four very disconsolate mahouts on the bank of the river besidethe great pile of nicely arranged stuff.

"I want the smallest howdah you have!" called the Gul Moti, as the mensprang in front of Mitha Baba.

"But, Hakima-ji," they protested, "by getting down—we were left behind!"

"I must not be left—and yet you must take these clothes from her!" the
Gul Moti said, while they helped the old man to the ground.

"Then go to her neck—oh, Thou Healer-without-fear! She will not waitlong—she follows Nut Kut, the demon! and Gunpat Rao, who both got awaywith everything on!"

Still hoping, the Gul Moti slipped over the edge of the big howdah andclimbed toward Mitha Baba's neck. The mahouts worked fast stripping her.Then Mitha Baba flung her head, striding away from their puny fingers,and plunged into the river. Sinking at first enough to wet the Gul Motia little, she rose beautifully as she found her swimming stroke.

Day went by—and no elephants in sight. Night came on—and no elephantsin sight. Mitha Baba rolled across the Nerbudda valley, as confident ofher way as if she travelled the great Highway-of-all-India. She began toclimb into the rising country beyond, as certain of her steps as if shewere coming in to her own stockades. The Gul Moti took up her callagain—thinking of the caravan they were following. But Mitha Baba wasnot thinking of the caravan. It had happened that the Gul Moti's toneshad fallen upon those intonations used in High Himalaya, to send thetoilers out to toil wild elephants in.

It was night-time, before the moon came up, when a strange elephantcrashed past them—lunging in the opposite direction. It reeled as itran and went down on its knees; evidently having been done to death in afight. But the outline of it, in the shadows, appeared too lean to beone of her own.

Soon after that, Mitha Baba trumpeted in a new tone of voice—one the Gul
Moti had never heard before. It sounded very wild, very desolate.

"In the name of all the gods, Mitha Baba, what's the meaning of that?"the Gul Moti enquired with a little tension—it being one of thosemoments when one gains assurance by speech.

But Mitha Baba's reply was in the very oldest language of India—one eventhe mahouts know only a very little of. It rose in wild, wistfultones—higher and higher. It was repeated from time to time; the senseof it strangely thrilling to the girl on her neck.

. . . They were well up in the mountains, so far that the trees hadbecome massive of body and heavy and dense of top—the moon only justshowing through—when they heard the trumpeting of elephants, off towardthe east. Mitha Baba answered at once, turning abruptly toward the east.

"Mitha Baba!" the Gul Moti protested, "our people have never gone off inthis direction—where are we, anyway?"

Mitha Baba's calling was just as wild as before; but it had become wildexultation.

. . . They were coming up into what reminded the Gul Moti of somethingshe had heard—that the really old jungle is always dark; that the lightof day never touches earth there. This was almost dark, the moonglinting through black shadows—only at intervals.

The sense of this place was strange. It might be on another planet. Andthat thought touched the root of the difference—this was not on, thiswas in. Everything felt in—deep in.

Here Mitha Baba changed her voice again. (Nothing had ever happened tothe Gul Moti like it.) It was still wild, still wistful—quite as muchso as before. But there was a cooing roll in it—away and away the mostenticing thing human ears ever listened to. It sounded likeNature—weaving all spells of all glamour, in tone; soft-flaming gold, intone; soft-flaming rose, in tone; and on and on—the very softest,deepest magics of life-perpetual!

. . . The trumpeting ahead was fuller and nearer, distinctly nearer;almost as if they were coming into it. Then, without warning, the mightymountain trees cut off the moon-lit sky. It had been dark before—now itwas utterly dark!

Suddenly the Gul Moti was aware of a strong earth-smell. There was nostench about. It had a quality of incense made of tree-gums andsandalwood and perfume-barks, all together. Then a dull thudding caughther ear—almost rhythmic.

. . . The earth-smells deepened and the thudding thickened. Mitha Babawas not climbing any more; moving smoothly, on what felt like firm soil,she seemed to turn and turn again. It was fathoms deep in raylessnight—the place that never knew the light of day!

Carlin clung tight to Mitha Baba's neck and remembered everything actual,everything definite, everything sound and sensible she knew. Theearth-smells filled her nostrils, her lungs, her blood; tree-gums,sandal-wood, perfume-bark, body-warmth—charging the air.

And over all—wild, and wistful, and pulsing-tender—the weaving of Mitha
Baba's enchantment through the dark.

The thudding all about her on the ground—must be the sound of many wildfeet! This must be—the "toiling in."

. . . A rending, tearing noise broke in on Mitha Baba's voice; and atonce a great crash among the trees, high up. (Someone had torn a saplingfrom its place and flung it far.)

. . . The keen squeal of a very little elephant—right near—and theangry protest of a strange voice. (Some mother's baby had been pinched,in the crowd!)

. . . It must be imagination—this strong nearness! The Gul Moti,putting out her hand, touched—skin! And within the same breath, on bothsides of Mitha Baba—first this side and then that side—two greatelephants challenged each other. They were both long, rocking blasts, alittle above and almost against the Gul Moti's quickened ears. Sheshivered under the shock.

Mitha Baba, without breaking her step, backed away from between them; andthe impact of frightful blow meeting frightful blow, bruised through theoutbreak of much trumpeting.

As Mitha Baba went further and further from the fighters, the Gul Motiwas amazed at the sounds of their meeting—like explosions. Sheremembered their tonnage; and recalled having heard that an elephantfight is not the sort of thing civilised men call sport.

. . . A soft,feeling thing crept from the Gul Moti's shoulder alongdown her back! With convulsive fingers she clung tighter to Mitha Baba'sneck. Instantly Mitha Baba turned a bit, driving sidewise at thestranger with her head. The Gul Moti's confidence in the great female'sintention to protect her, was established!

At last, lifting her head sharply to utter a different call, Mitha Babadeveloped a peculiar drive in her motion; a queer drive in the whole hugebody that had something to do with a wide swinging of the head. It madethem both touch the strange elephants, every few minutes; and alwaysthere was a storm of trumpeting all about. Gradually these outbreaksbegan to sound toward one side; but the direction kept changing—so theGul Moti made out that Mitha Baba was moving round and round on theoutside of the mass.

After a while they came again into the vicinity where the big males werestill fighting. Mitha Baba rocked on her feet a moment, calling acurious low call—a question, softly spoken. At once there was the soundof rapid movement in front. Then Mitha Baba literally whirled—plungingaway at incredible speed—almost exactly in the opposite direction fromthe one she had been facing.

Doctor Carlin Deal Hantee tried to remember Skag—tried to remember herown name. She locked herself about that neck with her strength—sheclung with her might. She flattened her body and gripped with herfingers and with her toes—long since having kicked off her low shoes.Away and away they went, coming out into the moonlight—long enough tosee a mass of dun shadows rising and falling, lurching and rolling, onall sides. Surely the Gul Moti had known that this was a wild elephantherd—these hours. Surely the Gul Moti had heard the "toiling" of themin! But what was Mitha Baba going to do with them—now that she had them?

Down the long slopes and up the steep inclines—the two big elephantsclose on either side of Mitha Baba—plunging into khuds and outagain—most of the time up-ended, one way or the other, at astoundingangles—the wild herd raced with Mitha Baba toward whatever destinationshe might choose.

Dawn broke upon them while they were still in the very rugged hills; andas the mountain outlines cleared of mist, the Gul Moti saw that MithaBaba was leading her catch straight away back to Hurda. True to hertraining—there being no trap-stockades near—the toiler was taking themhome! The situation was absurd; but it roused the Gul Moti—like one outof a dream—to actual joy.

Through grey avenues of forest trees—rolling down khuds, ringing upcrags—the voice of Nut Kut went on out beyond the mountain peaks, tomeet approaching day. Nut Kut, the great black elephant who had beentrapped in these same Vindha Hills only a few years ago, was rejoicing infreedom again. Nut Kut, who had already made his reputation as the mostdeadly fighter known to the mahouts, was exulting in strength. It washis joy-song. It came from straight ahead. Mitha Baba answered with arollicking squeal. But the wild herd voices were savage—chaotic. NowNut Kut's challenge came back—looming. The situation was no longerabsurd.

It meant a fight—an open fight—between the wild herd and the caravan.The wild herd would never give Mitha Baba over to her own—they wouldsurely fight to keep her. Everything tightened in the Gul Moti andlocked—hard. She had known most of the caravan elephants all herlife—what would happen to them? They had lived among men these many andmany years—never permitted to fight—they could not be equallyfighting-fit. The herd would be much leaner—it must be much tougher.So she bruised her head and her heart between the things that were due tohappen to her caravan—horrible punishments and almost certain deaths.

When the caravan appeared, the males were leading; the four females wellin the rear. Nut Kut's flaming orange and imperial-blue trappingscovered and cumbered him; and young Gunpat Rao's gorgeous saffron andold-rose burned through the Gul Moti's eyes to the hard lump in herthroat—it was the one time in their lives when they should be free.

At once the wild females gathered their youngsters—and some who seemedalmost mature—cutting them out from the herd and driving them back.This revealed the wild fighters—many more in number than those of thecaravan. The approaching challenges, from both sides, were thunderingthick and fast now. The two bodies of elephants were plunging down theopposite sides of a deep khud and would meet in the broad bottom. MithaBaba—the big males on each side of her—was setting the pace for thisside, as if everything depended on time. But when they were quite close,she rushed ahead—straight through the caravan and beyond.

Mitha Baba had been leading her catch to her own stockades—being in nowise responsible that they were not trap-stockades! Now, the homeelephants having come to receive it, she had rushed it in—exactly as shewould have rushed it into a trap. But Mitha Baba was not satisfied.With a curious little call she wheeled, coming back to face the wild herdfrom her own side.

It was a turmoil that looked and sounded like nothing imaginable. Thefighting pairs were choosing each other and taking place. They hadplenty of room. When it was settled between them, Nut Kut was facing themost powerful-looking of the wild fighters; and Gunpat Rao, another wholooked almost as dangerous. The extra males of the wild herd—every oneformidable—were skirmishing about, watching for a chance to interfere.It looked bad for the caravan.

The mahouts—the Gul Moti had scarcely remembered them till now—werecalling back and forth about a bad one, a "tricky elephant." Followingtheir gestures, she saw a pale shape moving around in the open. Theyleft no doubt that he represented the worst of all danger. They werecharging each other to watch him—never mind what.

. . . The fight was on. Plainly—in every tone, every action—the wildwent in with wild enthusiasm, the tame with grave determination. MithaBaba, having come in closer than any of the other females, did notmove,—save for a constant turning of her head under the Gul Moti's icyfingers—seeming to keep an eye on all the separate fights at once.

Her fear for the caravan elephants was anguish, her fatigue extreme; butexcitement held the Gul Moti in a vise. She saw the fighters meet, skullto skull. (Those were the frightful blows she had heard in the dark,through the trumpeting of a whole herd!) How could any living thingendure the impact of such weight? She looked to see the skin break awayand fall apart at once. She expected to see an elephant's head splitopen. It was nerve-wrecking—an arena of giant violence.

"Pray the gods to send Neela Deo!" one of the mahouts shouted.

"Pray the gods to send Neela Deo!" others called back.

The Gul Moti knew that Neela Deo did not fight; that it was hisleadership they needed. Soon she heard a muffled cry from the samemahout:

"Men of the Hills, mourn with me!"

(A low wind of tone replied.)

His elephant seemed slower than the one against him; slower in gettingback—in coming on. . . . Now he was wavering—shaken through his wholebulk by every meeting. . . . He was not running—he was dazed—he wasdown! Staring wide-eyed at the horror—the way a barbarian elephantkills—the Gul Moti was glad Skag did not see! . . . The mahout hadmanaged to reach a tree in time to save his own life and was crouching ona branch, with his head buried in his arms.

Nut Kut was finishing with the leader of the wild herd—more mercifullythan the wild was of doing it—when two of the extras charged himtogether. Ram Yaksahn, his mahout—whose voice had not been heardbefore—cried out; and Mitha Baba went in like a thunder-bolt. How ithappened no one could tell, but one of the wild elephants—before MithaBaba's rush, or in the instant when she reached him—caught his tuskunder Nut Kut's side-bands. They were made of heavy canvas, with chainson top. As Mitha Baba drove at him and Nut Kut turned—his tusk rippedout sidewise. With a frantic scream he got away, running up into thejungle—still screaming so far as they could hear.

The Gul Moti, numb with weariness, had held on with her last ounce ofstrength. Now she sat amazed at her escape—while a tumult of trumpetingshattered the air about her. There was disturbance among the fightingpairs; some staying with each other, some changing—running to andfro—charging at odd angles. But when the confusion cleared—more freshones had come in!

Now Nut Kut was a whirl-wind—he was unbelievable. One broke away fromhim and ran—demoralised. One died—fairly defeated. Still others cameto meet him; yet his challenges were triumphant to the point of frenzy.

"Call on the gods! The devil is in!" rang out.

Gunpat Rao was now fighting for his life. The "tricky elephant" hadcharged him from the open. This was the bad one whom the mahouts hadrecognised on sight—had feared from the beginning. Gunpat Rao was oneof the finest young elephants in captivity; one of the swiftest in thecaravan; but the mahouts knew he could not think a trick! The sense ofhis danger swept them.

The Gul Moti knew that "white elephants" are always feared—being almostalways bad. This one was not white; nor grey, nor yellow. He waswhitish-grey—dull-tawny overcast—unclean looking. He was larger inframe than Gunpat Rao; but very lean—long, loose-jointed. He moved likea suckling trying to caper. But there was a rakish look about him.

In spite of all their own stress—every one of their elephants being insome degree of jeopardy—the mahouts gave as much attention to Gunpat Raoas they could. It was foregone conclusion—he was doomed. Bracingthemselves to witness his defeat, expecting to see his bitter death inthe end, yet the bad one's method at the start maddened them beyondcontrol.

"He was bred in the Pit!" one mahout called.

"His father was Depravity!" another called back.

And they cursed him with the curses of the Hills.

Chakkra, who was Gunpat Rao's mahout, was a plucky little man; but hisface had gone old.

The pale one's behaviour was entirely different from any the Gul Moti hadseen. He was doing nothing regular—not using the common methods at all.He was giving Gunpat Rao no chance to get back—to put his body-weightinto his drive. He was staying too close. He was circling—starting torush in and veering away—round and round, in and out. Then the Gul Motisaw! He was manoeuvring to strike Gunpat Rao back of his ear! He wastrying to "hit below the belt!"

So Gunpat Rao was kept pivoting in his own tracks to face the danger,with scant room to meet a rush when it came. And always it came whenleast suggested by the other's manner. Then the pale one squealed—asuccession of thin, cutting tones—and Gunpat Rao answered with a charge.The pale one raced away from him, wheeling suddenly and coming in behindhis head. (An instant before, it looked as if they would meet fairly.)But Gunpat Rao, being in full drive and not on guard against such amanoeuvre, could not stop quickly; yet he swerved just enough to clearthat yellow tusk—with a long slash in his flank! . . . Gunpat Rao beganto show that he was baffled. His trunk came around—feeling of Chakkra!

"He wants Neela Deo! His heart is alone!" Chakkra cried out.

"Pray the gods to send Neela Deo!" the mahouts answered together.

And from the khud-wall behind them, a thundering challenge rolled down.
It was like an avalanche of dynamic power.

Now the elephants of the Chief Commissioner's stockades gave account ofthemselves. Youth had returned to them—courage had been restored. Theyclamoured to heaven that they were doing well. They shouted to theuniverse that they belonged to him—to Neela Deo, their King!

Sanford Hantee scarcely saw—an impossible thing—Carlin on Mitha Baba'sneck! Her face was actually strange—the awful pallor—the fire. Itleft his brain a blank to other impressions, for minutes.

The Gul Moti only glimpsed the stone-white face of her American, besidethe Chief Commissioner, as Neela Deo charged past, on his way to takeover the fight that was taxing Gunpat Rao to the last breath beforedefeat. Neela Deo had seen at once where he was needed most. He went inwith a charging challenge that was intoxication to those who heard—allthe assurance of ancient mastership in it.

No one had ever seen Neela Deo fight before. Kudrat Sharif was soastonished that he barely got back from his neck in time to be out of theway. The mahouts were amazed—Neela Deo did not fight! Neela Deo wasthe Lord of peaceful rule!

Many of the fighting pairs broke away from each other, when they heardNeela Deo's charging challenge, as if agreeing that the destiny of allhung on the issue of his contest. This left most of the mahouts free towatch. With passionate distress they saw the King—wounded almost todeath less than four months since—carrying a heavy howdah and threemen—going in to fight with a bad elephant who was all but fresh. Theycursed the wild elephant with every inward breath, seeing as little hopefor Neela Deo as they had seen for Gunpat Rao.

The Gul Moti watched—appalled. It seemed to her that the pale one hadbeen playing—before he engaged with Neela Deo. But he did not play anymore. He manoeuvred so fast that his body appeared to glance in and out.But Neela Deo foiled him with still greater speed. Her eye could notfollow all—the maze, the glamour, the incredible spectacle.

Neela Deo's first blow had shaken the pale one, carrying a differentdimension of force from any in himself. He gave way—backing from itwith an angry scream, showing surprise and rage in every movement. Whenhe circled round, trying to get in on Neela Deo's side, the King was tooquick for him—forcing him out, forcing him further out; not permittinghim to follow his chosen course, whatever direction he took. He came inwith his peculiar art of approaches—the jarring blow was there! Heplayed all his lightning feints—the shock that rocked him was a flashquicker! Neela Deo met him squarely, whatever curve he made—whatevertangent he turned upon. This, every time, in spite of himself; for healways meant to avoid that crash!

He tried his falsetto squeals—all aggravation in them. But Neela Deorefused to accept taunts. This caused an instant's pause—the pale oneseeming to consider. Then he raced away and came back on a full drive,as if meaning to meet the King in a legitimate encounter—after all. ButNeela Deo only lowered his head a fraction, leaning a bit forward; andthe pale one, instead of finishing straight, or passing alongside closeenough to strike—swerved out. This was the moment when Neela Deocharged him and he ran, dodging—far beyond the range of the fightingarena—down the khud valley. Everyone followed; the wild elephantsrunning by themselves—screaming in harsh tones; the caravan—trumpetingin clear, full tones; the mahouts, calling the name of the King—besidethemselves with delight.

But Neela Deo was at the pale one's heels—his tusks not dangerous,having been shortened and banded. Yet they were sharp enough to make thepale one turn and defend himself. And desperately he fought, using everyfaculty of his nature—every value of his wild fitness. Still the crookin him showed. It was all faster now than in the beginning, but he wasnot exhausted, he was not broken; only a bit less certain, a breath lessquick, when he tried the same old trick—to get in back of Neela Deo'sear. And it was on that false turn that Neela Deo caught him fairly inthe throat—caught him and finished him in one thrust—with the bluntpoint of a banded tusk. (That was the miracle of it all—the bandedtusk!)

Then Neela Deo stood back, put up his trunk and uttered a long, strongblast. They were ringing tones—mounting clarion tones, with tremendousvolume at the top. They were the King's proclamation of victory.

The mahouts answered him in High Himalayan voices—full of unleasheddevotion. The caravan made announcement of that allegiance the heart ofan elephant gives—sometimes. But the wild herd broke away and ranshrieking up into the Vindha Hills.

Coming down from Mitha Baba's neck between Skag's hands, the Gul Motismiled into his anguished eyes.

"Carlin! Are you—safe?" he asked.

"Safe—now!" she answered.

The tone of that low "now" startled him.

"Where have you been?" he breathed.

"Far—" she said, "very far!"

"But where?" he questioned.

"It was not inour world, Skag," she said. "It was—dark!"

The Chief Commissioner had come close, to hear; was stroking hershoulder, in fact—in an absent-minded way—shaking his head.

"You can't mean—the dark?" he broke in.

"I mean it was utterly dark, sir," she said. "It was absolutely dark!"

"But—I'm not able to understand!" her old friend protested.

"It was there Mitha Baba found them," the Gul Moti explained. "It wasthere she did the 'toiling in.' Then, she was leading them home toHurda, when we met the caravan—at dawn."

Some of the mahouts had gathered about. The Chief Commissioner spoke tothem in their speech and they answered him—calling others. Soon the menof High Himalaya drew near with grave deference, slowly stooping to touchthe ground at her feet.

"No human has ever been inthat before," said Kudrat Sharif. "We willprepare rest for her—Chosen-of-Vishnu, the Great Preserver!"

It was after they had cared for the Gul Moti with the best theyhad—water from a mountain stream and food Neela Deo had carried, in ashelter made of tender deodar tips, where she now slept on a bed made ofthe same—that the mahouts told the Chief Commissioner and Skag, all theythemselves had seen.

By this time concern had spread from Hurda throughout the country. NeelaDeo had gone out to find the Gul Moti, carrying the Chief Commissionerand Son of Power. No one had come back. Calamity must have fallen. Menwent out on horses to trace them. But it was certain priests of Hanumanwho found the caravan first. (The Gul Moti having saved the life of amonkey king once, her safety was their concern also.) Without being seenor heard themselves, they went close enough to learn that she was makingrecovery from great exhaustion; and that the mahouts were caring for anelephant unable to travel by reason of a bad wound. They overheard talkof strange happenings; but more about Neela Deo's undreamed-ofachievement.

Before any of the searchers from Hurda reached the caravan, mysteriousgifts of provisions—much needed—were found by the mahouts, with a crudewriting beside them: "For the Healer-without-fear." And those samepriests of Hanuman—preparing a signal-system as they came—brought thegood word back to the anxious people, who became joyous at once. TheirGul Moti was safe! Neela Deo was safe—everyone was safe. (But that wasa strange saying—that Neela Deo had fought!)

Bonfires blazed up in every village within sight of the caravan's wayhome—from so far away as watchers on Hurda's highest hill couldsee—burning night and day. At last the one furthest from Hurda wentout. The watchers raced in—Neela Deo's caravan was coming! One by one,the bonfires went out—till it was this side the Nerbudda. Then thepeople made ready.

They thronged out the great Highway-of-all-India, meeting the caravanwhere the slow-moving elephants turned in from open jungle. Eagerlystriving to see the Gul Moti's face, eagerly pointing at Neela Deo, yetit was a stranger silent multitude. Only many tears on many tears showedtheir feeling.

The Gul Moti sat in Neela Deo's howdah, with the Chief Commissioner andSon-of-Power. Two men came close, carrying a long slender shape coveredwith pure white cloth—dripping wet.

"We be poor men," one said, "but our hands bring to thee, oh Healer—fromthe people of Hurda, oh Healer—" and breaking off, because his lipscould speak no more, he stooped reverently to lay aside the covering.

A great folded leaf appeared; a long heavy stalk; then the flawlesssplendour of one bloom—immaculate! a sacred lotus, brought from farlakes. The Gul Moti received its ineffable loveliness and rose tostretch her fingers toward the multitude. Then their shouts swept thehorizon.

Still, their concept of Neela Deo's character must be either shattered orrestored—and soon; they would not wait. Ominously quiet questions wentup to the mahouts; and the mahouts were full-ready to answer! In theend, it sounded like a wild Himalayan chant about Neela Deo's great fightto save Gunpat Rao. The people listened patiently, till an inwardmeaning enlightened them. Then they exulted:

"Neela Deo, Neela Deo, King of all elephants!"

"Exalted in majesty, Defender of honour, protecting his own withstrength! We will remember him!"

"Neela Deo, Neela Deo, King of all elephants!"

"He with the wisdom of ages. Destroyer of devastators, preserving hisfriend with blood! Our children shall not forget!"

"He the Discerner of men, Equitable King! He the Discerner of evil,Invincible King! All generations after us shall hear of him; but we havelooked upon his face!"

"Neela Deo, Neela Deo, King of all elephants!"

CHAPTER XV

The Lair

Carlin appeared to get right again in a few days of quiet after herterrific experience on Mitha Baba. There were a few more wonderfulweeks for Skag and herself in the Malcolm M'Cord bungalow inHurda—weeks always remembered. Then Skag undertook a little adventureof his own that had to do with Tiger. He was away seven days in alland made no report of the thing he had done to his department. He cameback with a deeper quiet in his eyes and told no one but Carlin whatthe days had shown him. Skag never was at his best in trying to makewords work. He was slow to explain. He had been hurt two or threetimes in earlier days, trying to tell something of peculiar interest tohis work and finding incredulity and uncertain comment afterward. Thismade the animal trainer more wary than ever about talk.

But Carlin required few words. Carlin always understood. She didn'tpraise or fall into excesses of admiration, but she understood, and theolder one gets the dearer that becomes. Carlin didn't advise with Skagwhether she should speak of the matter. She merely decided that herold friend, Malcolm M'Cord, Hand-of-a-God, deserved to be told. Thesilent Scot knew much about animals and this was an affair that wouldstand high in his collection of musings and memories. M'Cord observed,in a Scotch that had suffered no thinning in thirty years of India,that if he hadn't known Hantee Sahib he would be forced to pass byCarlin's report as an invention, though a "fertile" one. It was M'Cordwho decided that Government should get at least a private account ofthe affair.

A remarkable tiger pair had operated for several years in the brokencliff country stretching away toward the valley of the Nerbudda beyondthe open jungle round Hurda. As mates they had pulled together soefficiently that the natives had started the interminable process ofmaking a tradition concerning them. These were superb youngindividuals and not man-eaters, for which reason Hand-of-a-God had notbeen called out to deliver the natives; also on this account Skag hadbeen interested from the beginning.

Their lair had never been found, but they had been seen together andsingly over a ranging ground that covered seventy miles and containedseveral dejected villages. Once, hard pressed for game, the male tigerhad entered a village grazing ground and made a quick kill—on therun—of one of the little sacred cows—a tan heifer much loved by thepeople. The point of comment was that the tiger had spared the boy; infact, the young herder had been unable to run so rapidly as his littledrove, which was lost in a dust cloud ahead of him. The tiger hadactually passed him by, entered the drove, knocked the heifer down andstood over it as the boy circled past.

There were no firearms in the village, so that the natives did notventure close in the falling darkness. It was evident next day,however, that the tiger had not fed on the spot of the kill. It wassupposed that the female had come to help him carry away the game.

Also, this was the same tiger pair that had leaped an eight-foot wallsurrounding another village, made their choice of a sizable bullock ina herd of ordinary cattle, and actually helped each other drag thecarcass over the wall and away—a daylight raid, this, witnessed fromthe shadows of several village huts.

So the stories went, but nothing monotonous about them. Often formonths at a time no villager would sight the tiger mates. It waspositively stated that there were no other mature tigers within thevicinity: that is, within the seventy-miles range. The pair had beenknown to bring up at least three litters; but the young had been drivenat the approach of maturity to outlying hunting grounds, as had beenall the weaker tigers of the vicinity.

Now the report came into Hurda that an English hunter had wounded thebig female. Another report followed that the Englishman had killed themale and wounded the female. The hunter himself did not appear inHurda; nor was a trophy hide recorded anywhere. Skag heard the twostories. Thinking over the affair, he called Nels for a stroll in theopen jungle toward the Monkey Glen.

To the American there was a pang about the hunter's story. He wasaltogether unsentimental, but wild animals had to do with his reasonfor being and there was his fixed partiality for tigers. Theuncertainty about the story troubled him. This was the time of yearfor kittens and it was seldom far from his mind that these parents werenot man-eaters. The stories of the hunter were indefinite. The thingworked upon Skag as he walked. The thought of finding the motherlesslair and bringing in a hamper of starving young occurred to him as asane performance, but not one to speak about. Also his servant,Bhanah, reported Nels superbly fit for travel and adventure.

The animal trainer rode the elephant, Nut Kut, into one of the villagesin the tiger-ranging grounds and left him in charge of the mahout,saying that he might be gone two or three days and that he was out fora ramble among the waste places of the valley. Skag took merely ahaversack, a canteen, light blanket and a hunting belt, carrying aknife and a six-shooter but no rifle. Nels actually lost his dignityin enthusiasm for the excursion, and they were miles away from avillage and hours deep in an apparently leisurely journey before hesubsided into that observant calm which was his notable characteristic.

This light travelling, with none other than the great hunting dog,brought him back a keen zest of appreciation and memories of early daysamong the circus animals, and his first adventures in India withCadman. Moreover, there was a fresh mystery that had to do with Carlinafter Skag's first supper fire afield. He had always resented the factthat it was straight out-and-out pain for him to be away from the placeshe had made in Hurda. Suffering of any kind to Skag was a sign ofweakness. He had dwelt long on the subject.

The mystery of that first night out had to do with the fact that Carlinseemed to be near. He had known something of this before, a flash atleast, but nothing like this. There wasn't the pain about separationhe had known aforetime. It was as if the miracle he had longed for hadcome—some awakening of life within himself that was quick to herpresence even at a distance and cognisant that absence was illusion.Carlin's uncle, the mystic of the Vindhas, had told him that there weremysteries of romance that had to do with separation as well as withtogether, and that real mates learn this mystery through the years.To-night Skag found to his wonder that the mystic had spoken the truth.

He cooked the supper joyously and shared it with Nels, talking to himoften and answering himself for the Dane. The camp was in the open andthe night was presently lustrous with stars. There was a sense ofwell-being, together with his fresh delight in the unfolding secret ofCarlin's nearness, that made him enjoy staying awake. Nels was wakefulalso—as if these moments were altogether too keen with life to wastein sleep.

"It's just a ramble, old man. We'll be about it early," Skag saidtoward the last. "We may find what we're after and we may not. In anycase we'll live on the way."

That was Skag's old picture of the Now; making the most of theever-moving point named the Present.

"And I'm expecting great things from you, my son—an altogether newbrand of self-control—if we find what we're out after. I don't mindtelling you that it's Tiger, Nels—tiger babies possibly—littleorphans just grown enough to be demons and just knowing enough not tobehave."

Nels woofed.

"Half-grown tiger cubs are apt to be a whole lot meaner than theirparents," Skag went on. "Wild—that's the word. They haven't senseenough to be careful or mind enough to be appealed to. I think that'ssomething of what I mean to say."

Skag was taking more pains to explain than he would to a man. Nelsdidn't get it—didn't even make a pretense. He knew what Tiger meant,but so far as he was concerned that subject had been dropped somemoments since. He had listened intently to the point in which Tigerceased to be the topic—sitting on his haunches. Then he dropped tohis front elbows, and as Skag's voice trailed away he rolled quietly tohis side, keeping himself courteously awake.

There was silence. Skag's eyes were far off among the blazing Indianstars.

"We'll manage 'em together," he added sleepily. The next day theywandered—rough desolate country in burning sunlight. It gave theimpression that the whole surface crust of earth had been burned to awhite heat ages ago. Low hills with clifflike faces; shallow nullahsused only a month or two a year to carry the monsoon deluges to theNerbudda; the stones of the river bottoms bone-white—everywhere sparseand scrubby foliage with dust-covered leaves. There was no turf inthis stony world except the sand of the hollows and the wind eddiedmost of these spaces like water, quickly covering all tracks. It wastoward the end of the afternoon that Nels first intimated a scent.

Tiger of course—that was Nels' orders—but it wasn't fresh. Skag gavethe Dane word to do the best he could and followed leisurely. The bigfellow worked with painful care for more than an hour before he becamesure of himself; then his speed quickened, following a dry nullah atlast, for several miles. The dark was creeping in before they came toa deep fissure among the rocks where the empty waterway sunk into apool which was not yet dry. Skag and the Dane drank deep; then the manfilled his canteen, with the remark:

"We'll camp a little back, not to obstruct the water hole. All trailsend here. To-morrow morning we'll get fresh tiger scent if we're inluck. But I wonder what we're trailing?"

It was a fact of long establishment among the villages that only theone mated pair worked this section of the country. According to one ofthe stories of the English hunter, the male tiger had been killed andthe female wounded—in which case what was this? Certainly there wasnothing to indicate that the scent was left by a wounded tiger. Othersmight have doubted Nels' discrimination, but Skag scouted that in hisown mind. The Dane knew Tiger. It was as distinct and individual tohim from the other big cats as the voices of friends one from another.

Nels was said to have met Tiger in battle before he came to Skag, butit was no purpose of his present master to give him a chance now. Itwas established that several of the great Indian hunting dogs hadsurvived such meetings. Malcolm M'Cord declared that a veteran in thecheetah game would show himself master in any ordinary tiger affair.

They were tired and sun drained. Skag laid down his blankets in theearly dusk and there were hours of sleep before he was awakened by thedifferent activities at the water hole. Nels apparently had been awakefor some time, studying the separate noises in a moveless calm. Skagtouched his chest affectionately. A panther or some smaller cat hadjust made a kill among the rocks above the pool, yet Nels' hackles hadnot lifted in answer to the bawl of the stricken beast.

"Spotted deer possibly," Skag muttered. Then he added to the Dane:

"You're an all-right chap to camp with, son. You'd sit it out aloneuntil they brought the fracas to our doorstep rather than disturb afriend's sleep. That's what I call being a white man."

Skag always thought of Cadman as the unparallelled comrade for fieldwork. In fact, he had learned many of the little niceties of the openfrom the much-travelled American artist and writer—finishedperformances of comradeship, a regard for the unwritten things,reverence for those rights which never could be brought to the point ofwords, but which give delicacy and delectation to hours togetherbetween men. Skag never ceased to delight in the silence andself-control of the Dane. The dog rippled and thrilled with all thefundamental elements of friendship and fidelity, but his big bodyseemed able to contain them with a dignity that endeared him to the onewho understood. Bhanah's work in the training of this fellow wasnothing short of consummate art.

Breakfasting together, Skag refreshed Nels' mind with the work of theday—that it meant Tiger, that all lesser affairs might come and go.The big fellow was up and eager to be off, before Skag finishedstrapping his blanket roll. There was rather a memorable moment ofsentiency just there. Skag was on one knee as he glanced into Nels'face. His own powers were highly awake that minute, so that heactually sensed what was in the dog's mind—that they must go down tothe pool for a look before moving on. The thing was verified a momentlater when Nels led the way down into the dim ravine to the margin ofthe water.

Tiger tracks—full four feet on the soft black margin of the pool—ahuge beast, unmarked by any toe scar or eccentricity. Long body,heavy, a perfect thing of his kind. It was as if the tiger had stoodsome moments listening. Yet the natives declared that only the matedpair operated in this range and the hunter was said to have killed themale. If these were the tracks of the tigress she certainly was notbadly hurt. There wasn't the overpressure of a single pad to indicateher favouring a muscle anywhere. And this couldn't have been the trackof anything but a mature beast—the finished print of a perfectspecimen.

"That hunter didn't tell it all, Nels, or else he didn't do it all,"Skag remarked. "We started out to find a sick tigress and a hamper ofneglected babies. I'm not saying we won't find that much. The thingis, we may find more."

Nels was already five yards away across the pebbly hollow, waiting forSkag to follow along the ravine. Not a sign of a track that human eyecould detect after that—straight, dry, stony nullah bed, deeplyshadowed from the narrow walls and stretching ahead apparently formiles. At least it was cool work; the sun would not touch the floor ofthe fissure for hours yet. Nels never faltered. His pace graduallyquickened until Skag softly called. The Dane would remember forfifteen or twenty minutes, when Skag, again finding that he had to stepuncomfortably fast to keep up, would laughingly call a check. The manwas watching the walls and the coverts of broken rock, and Nels' speed,if left alone, altogether occupied his outer faculties.

It was eleven in the forenoon and Skag reckoned they must be close tothe Nerbudda when Nels halted—even bristled a bit, his broad blackmuzzle quivering and held aloft. Skag came up softly and stood close.He touched his finger to his tongue and drew a moist line under hisnostrils, trying to get the message that Nels was working with soobviously. Presently an almost noiseless chuckle came from the man,and he touched Nels' shoulder as if to say that he had it too. Thething had come unexpectedly—the faintest possible taint of a lair.

They would have passed it a hundred times if it had not been for thescent. The silence was absolute and the walls of the fissureapparently as unbroken as usual. No human eyes would have noted thewear of pads upon the stones, and one had to pass and look back to seethe cleft in the walls of the ravine, far above the high-water mark,which formed the door of significant meaning for the man. Nels hadn'tseen this much, but he couldn't miss now. He nosed the pebbles againand made an abrupt turn to the right. They climbed to the rocks nearthe entrance. The taint was unmistakable now—past doubt a bone pileof some kind in there—and Nels had followed Tiger to the door.

Skag sat down upon a stone a little below and mopped his forehead, witha smile at the Dane. For ten minutes he sat there. He thought of thefirst time he had ever entered a tiger cage as a mere boy, way back inthe Middle West of the States, travelling with the circus. A boredshow tiger in that cage, and he had blinked unconcernedly at the boy.Years of circus life had atrophied that tiger's organs of resentment.Miles and miles of the public stream had passed his cage with awe,speculating upon the great cat's ferocity. Skag had merely to learnafter that, the trick of it all—that one's perfect self-control notonly soothes but disarms most normal beasts. Skag had cultivated suchself-control in recent years to a degree that made him the astonishmentof many Hindu minds. India had shown him that the attainment of thissort of poise is a stage of the same mastery that the mystics are outafter—to gain complete command of the menagerie in one's own insides.Hundreds of times after that, night and day, in storm, in sultryweather, Skag had entered the cages of all kinds of animals in alltheir moods.

His first adventure in India came back, when with his friend Cadman hehad fallen into the pit trap and the grand young male tiger had tumbledafter them. Skag had prevailed upon the nervy Cadman to sit tight andnot to shoot, against all that the writer man knew; also he hadappeared to prevail upon the tiger to keep his side of the pit untilthey were rescued. And now Skag recalled the big tiger that had lainon the river margin near the Monkey Glen while he had told Carlin thathe had never really seen what a woman was like before. The presence ofthe big sleepy cat down among the wet foliage had nerved him and calledout all his strength for that romantic crisis.

He thought of the moment under the poised head of the great serpent inthe place of fear in the grass jungle; and of the coming of Nut Kut,the incomparable black elephant, whom he had forced to listen in spiteof the red hell in the untamable eyes. Always between and in andround, his thoughts were of Carlin—her voice, her presence, thecurious art of her ministration and the utterly wise lure of her heart.Even now he couldn't quite be calm under the whip of memory of theafternoon of the cobra fight. The whole panorama might have been namedCarlin so far as Skag was concerned.

He didn't think of his own danger now. It wasn't that he ignored it;rather that he had entered upon a new dimension of his power. He hadno thought of failure. No thought came to him that Carlin would haveprevented his entering had she been near. This was different fromanything he had ever been called to do, but his power was different.The thing that engaged his mind was utterly clear from every angle. Hecouldn't have missed the novelty from the unusual stress of Nels'manner. The big Dane was actually burning with excitement. His eyeswere filled with firelight and back of the smoky burning was a dumbappeal turned to his chief. Hyenas alone had been able to break Nels'nerve for himself, but he was frightened now for the man. The big bonyjowl was steadily pressed like a knuckled hand against Skag's knee, thebody only half lifted from the dry stones and cramped with tension.

Skag's eyes were turned up toward the mouth of the lair and his lefthand fell to the Dane's head. The beast actually shook because hiseyes were covered a second.

"Of course you're to stay outside, Nels," he said softly as he rose.

The dog lowered his breast to the stones. It was like a blow tohim—the one thing he had feared most.

"Don't, Nels!" the man muttered. "You're to stand at the mouth of thelair and watch there. I need you there—outside, of course."

The dog followed him heavily up the slope past the high-water mark.Skag turned with a cheering whisper, shielding his eyes from the lightfor a moment before peering in. There was a sound like blown paperacross a marble floor and then another sound—low, soft, prolonged,like the hiss of escaping steam.

Skag shoved himself into the narrow, rocky aperture. He could seenothing for the moment. The taint was oppressive at the first breathof the still air. There were kittens—no doubt of that. He heardtheir scurrying; he felt their eyes and the sort of melting panic inthe place that would have utterly unstrung any but a perfectly keyedset of nerves.

It was a cave, the mouth higher than the floor. The way down wasjagged and precipitous. Skag, advancing softly, had to feel for eachstep and yet give no distracting attention to keep his footing, for thefull energy of his faculties was directed ahead.

The sound of blown paper was from the kittens—that was clear enough.Yet the hissing continued and this was the mystery of it all—thatthere appeared to be no movement besides. If this sound came from thetigress, at least, she had not stirred to meet him.

The hiss sunk to a low guttural grating. No cub had a cavernousprofundity of sound such as that. Still there was not the stir of amuscle, so far as his senses had detected.

Skag was puzzled. Big game before him, possibly nerved to spring, andyet the tensity was not like that. The man stood still, waiting forhis eyes to adjust to the darkness—waiting for the mystery to clear.Then to the right, like a little constellation suddenly prickingthrough the twilight, Skag saw a cluster of young stars. His heartwarmed—kittens hunched there in a bundle and watching him. Theirpricked ears presently shadowed somewhat from the blacker background;then he saw the little party suddenly swept and overturned, as if along thin arm had brushed them back out of reach of the intruder.

Now his eyes turned slightly to the left and began to get the rest—thegreat levelled creature upon the darkened floor. Skag kept hisimagination down until his optic nerves actually brought him thepicture. The long thin sweep was the mother's tail, yet she was notcrouched. Skag saw her sprawled paws extended toward him. She layupon her side.

Thus it was that he was rounded back to the original proposition. Hehad found the lair of the wounded tigress and her young. For fully twominutes Skag stood quiet before her, working softly—her hiss changingat slow intervals to the cavernous growl. The kittens were too youngto organise attack—the tigress was too maimed for resistance, eventhough at bay in lair with her kittens to defend.

Now the man saw the gleam of her eyes. She had followed his movementsand was holding him now, but half vacantly. The pity of it all touchedhim; the rest of the story cleared. Her tongue was like a blown bag,the blackness of it apparent even in the dark. She was dying ofthirst, the bullet wound in the shoulder turned up to him. The littleones were still active, for the tigress had fed them until her wholebody was drained. He saw how her breast had been torn by the thirstylittle ones—the open sores against the soft grey of her nether parts.Skag backed out. Nels pressed him—half lifted his great body insilent welcome.

"Oh, yes," Skag was saying, "we got the call, all right, my son. Fourlittle duds in there eating their mother alive, and she full of feverfrom a wound—no water for days. I'm just after the canteen, Nels."

Skag entered again. His movements were deliberate, but not stealthy.He spoke softly to the creature on the floor—his voice lower than theusual pitch, yet sinking often deeper still. The words were merenothings, but they carried the man's purpose of kindness—carried itsteadily, tirelessly. The great beast tried to rise as he steppedcloser. Skag waited, still talking. He had uncorked the canteen andheld it forward—his idea being not only that she would smell the waterbut become accustomed to the thing in his hand. Each time he pressed abit nearer she struggled to rise toward him—Skag standing just out ofreach, tirelessly working with his mind and voice. He keenlyregistered her pain and helplessness in his own consciousness and wasunwilling to prolong it, yet at the same time he had a very clearunderstanding of the patience required to bring help to her.

It was fully a quarter of an hour before he bent close, withoutstarting a convulsion of fear and revolt in the huge fevered body uponthe rocky floor. Skag poured a gurgle of water upon the swollentongue, watching the single baleful tortured eye that held his face.The water was not wasted, though not drunk, for it washed away some ofthe poison formed of the fever and the thirst. Skag poured again andfor a second the great holding eye was lost to him and the tongue moved.

Thus he worked, permitting her fear and rage to rouse no answer in kindfrom himself; talking to her softly, luring her out of fury into theenveloping madness of her own great need.

He waited a moment and her tongue stretched thickly to draw to itselfthe water on the rock; then he turned toward the cubs. They scurriedback deeper into the cave. He poured a gill or two of water into ahollow of the rock and returned to the mother. Presently as hemoistened her tongue again, one of the little ones crept forward andbegan to lap the puddle on the rock.

Skag smiled in the gloom. The others were presently beside the babyleader. A few moments later Skag interrupted his ministrations to themother to fill the hollow for the kittens again. All this with lessthan three pints of water—the work of a full half hour as he foundwhen he emerged to Nels and the light.

"It's only a beginning, old man. We've got to get more water. It'sfive hours' march back to the pool where we camped. I'm gambling thatwe're a lot nearer than that to the Nerbudda."

Nels' jubilation was stayed by the unfolding of fresh plans that werenot slow to dawn upon his eager mind. They hastened along the riverbed, continuing in the direction they had come. Skag was in a queerelation, dropping a sentence from time to time. Suddenly he halted.It had occurred to him to recall something his mind had merely notedduring the work in the cave. There was fresh meat there. He had notlooked close, but at least two partly devoured carcasses had lain inthe shadows.

"They were mighty thirsty, Nels," he muttered. "The mother dying ofthirst, but the little ones were only sultry compared. Yes, they'reold enough to tear at fresh meat. They weren't so bad off and therewas plenty of meat there. Only thirsty," he added thoughtfully.

It was clear to his mind that the tigress had been helpless at leastthree days, possibly four. She could not have brought the game. Therewas one conclusive reason—that the meat was in an altogether too freshcondition to have been brought by the mother before she gave up. Skagwalked rapidly. They did not reach the Nerbudda, but sighted a villageback Horn the river bed after nearly two hours' walk.

They refilled the canteens and procured two water skins besides; also abroad deep gourd which Skag carried empty. The man's difficulty was toescape without assistance. A white man in his position was notsupposed to carry goatskin water bags over his shoulders. The boys ofthe village followed him after the elders had given up, and Skag haltedat last to explain that this was an affair that would interest themvery much—when a teller came back to tell the story; but that this wasthe doing part of the story and must be carried to its conclusion alone.

A little later in the nullah bed he fastened the canteen and the gourdto Nels' collar, but continued to pack the two skins himself—a ratherarduous journey in full Indian daylight with between forty and fiftypounds of water on his shoulders. It was four in the afternoon whenthey neared the mouth of the lair and Nels was drooping again.

"Buck up, old man!" Skag said. "I'll go in for a while with thethirsty ones. Then we'll make a camp and have some supper together."

Skag heard the hiss again as he entered the darkness, and the kittenswere not so still as before. Only a trifle less leisurely heapproached the mother. He knew that any strength that had come wouldonly feed her hostility so far; that a man was not to win theconfidence of a great mammal thing like this in a day. His firstimpulse was to silence the kittens with a gourd of water, but he couldnot bear to make the mother wait.

She raised her head against him as before, but the smell of the watercaught and altered her fury more swiftly this time. Skag saw the glarego out from the great eye as the tortured mouth was cooled; and now thehope grew within him that the tigress might actually be saved. Hetalked softly to her as he poured drop by drop upon her tongue from theside—the little ones pressing closer and closer. Even in theconvulsive trembling that took her body from time to time there was aninflowing rather than the ebb of strength.

Presently he left her long enough partly to fill the big gourd for thebabies. He had scarcely drawn back before the first was at the edge.Lapping was not enough for this infant. He wanted to cover himself;apparently to overturn the dish upon himself. The others helped tobalance the gourd for a moment or two, but the massed effort became toofurious and over it went among them. Skag laughed. Only a portion waswasted, for the kittens followed the little streams on the rock,tonguing them as they moved and filled. He tried them again, onlycovering the bottom of the gourd, but it was as swiftly overturned.Still the young had drunk enough presently and went to tearing at themeat in the deeper shadows.

Skag went back to the mother, still using the canteen for her.Alternately now he dropped the water upon the wound in her shoulder.There were hours of work here to soften the fever crust and establishdrainage. Some time afterward this work was stopped abruptly by thewarning of Nels at the door. Skag stood his canteen against a rock andhurried forth. Nels stood at the mouth of the lair, his head turned upthe river bed. His eyes did not alter from their look of fixity as theman emerged. The shoulder nearest Skag merely twitched a trifle, theleft paw lifting to the toes. Skag followed the Dane's eyes.

The great male himself stood stock-still in the centre of the riverbed, the carcass of a lamb having dropped from his mouth. So strange,so vast and still, the picture, that it seemed dreamlike; the great,round, sunny eyes unwinking—serious rather than savage—a dark-bandedthing of gold in the ruddy gold of late afternoon.

Skag was silent, the magic of the moment flowing into him. Nels hadnot moved. Skag had been forced to walk round him to find room tostand. They faced the big Bengali together for an instant, the man'shand dropping softly to the dog's shoulder.

"The king himself, son," Skag whispered raptly. "He's the loveliestthing in stripes. We'll have to look out for this fellow, Nels.There's no fear in him. We're on his premises and the missus is sickand needs quiet. He's apt to charge, and I can see his point of view.We'll back down, son, and not obstruct the gentleman's door."

They couldn't have been three seconds clambering down the rocks to thenullah bed, yet the male tiger was twenty feet nearer when they lookedup. Moreover, he had brought the lamb with him, and this time he keptit in his mouth as he watched.

"We mustn't let him see our dark side again, Nels," Skag muttered.
"See if we can't stare as straight as he does. God, what a picture!
Yet I'm rather glad he's got that lamb. He must have brought it far.
Carrying out her orders doubtless. Only a great male would do that.
Oh, it's not that he cares for the babies, Nels. It's to please her
that he does it! And she's down and done, but running the lair!"

So Skag talked, hardly knowing what he said, keeping in touch with Nelswith his hand and holding the eyes of the royal beast that seemed to bemade of patience and poise and gilded beauty. Skag didn't step back,but presently to the side, away from the mouth of the lair. Thetiger's counter movement was not to lessen the distance between themthis time, but to drop to his haunches, still holding his game. Herocked a little on his hind feet, that ominous undulation whichportends the charge. Not more than ten seconds passed and no outwardchange was apparent, yet there was a relief of tension in Skag's voice.

"It's the little lamb that saved us that time, Nels. I think we'vepassed it—passed the crisis, my boy. We'll just stand by now andmeasure patience with him."

It was two minutes before Skag ventured a further movement to theright. The tiger made absolutely no counter this time. Skag now spoketo Nels:

"You're doing beautifully, son."

The dog had stood by like part of himself. The droop and the quiverthat he had known twice that day when the man disappeared into the lairhad given way in the real test to unbreakable nerve and defiant heart.Yet it was less the courage than his absolute obedience that enteredthe man with a charge of feeling that instant. A minute later Skagtook another ten steps to the right.

In the deeper shadows, less than an hour afterward, he struck a matchto the little supper fire a hundred yards up the slope from the mouthof the lair. Skag then loosened his hunting belt, dropping the weightfrom him to the blanket with a sigh of content. The hardware hadchafed him all day and had only been really forgotten in the stressesof action.

"I didn't pack that gun for tiger," he said softly. "Why, I would assoon have shot our good Arab, Kala Khan, or put a bullet between NutKut's eyes, as to stop that big fellow bringing young mutton home—toplease her! Won't Carlin love to hear that! Oh, yes, it's been a day,son, one more day! I've loved it minute by minute, and you'vebeen—well, I can't think in words, when it comes to that."

The big fellow drowsed in the firelight, his four paws stretched evenlytoward the man.

In the morning and afternoon of the next two days Skag brought water tothe tigress and bathed her shoulder long. On the third day he couldnot be sure that the male had left the lair until late afternoon, andwhen he finally ventured to the mouth and his eyes grew accustomed tothe darkness within he saw that the tigress was watching him from thedeeper shadows—not prone, but on three feet.

He filled the gourd and weighted it with stones; then backed out.

"We're starting for Hurda to-night, son," he said to Nels. "I've lefther a drink or two, and by the time she needs more, she'll be able toget to the river herself."

Carlin must have caught the reality of that moment of crisis fromSkag's telling—the moment when the male tiger might have charged butdidn't, because she succeeded in making Malcolm M'Cord see it, too.

"And you say there was no sign from the tiger, but that Hantee Sahibknew when the instant was past?" the famous marksman repeated curiously.

Carlin nodded.

"But how did he know?"

"Ask him," she said.

"Huh," he muttered. "I might as well enquire of the Dane beastie."

CHAPTER XVI

Fever Birds

Carlin had been listless for a day or two. This was several weeksafter her forty-two hours on Mitha Baba. They were still living inMalcolm M'Cord's bungalow. Skag woke in the night, not with a dream,but rather with a memory. He was broad awake and recalled an incidentthat had entirely escaped his day-thoughts for a long time. It had todo with that hard-testing period, just after his meeting with Carlin,when he had journeyed to Poona to confer with the eldest brother,Roderick Deal, and had been forced to wait more than a month. In thatinterval he had learned about hyenas at first hand, through the plightof Beatrice Hichens and the children; also his servant Bhanah had cometo him, and the Great Dane, Nels; still it had been a vague stretch ofdays, in retrospect.

It was during the return-trip to Hurda that the thing happened whichheld him now as he lay broad awake. Toward twilight, as the trainhalted at one of the civil stations, a white-covered cot was liftedaboard. There was a kind of silence about that station. The mountainswere near on the left hand which was to the West. The white glare ofIndian day had softened into delicate rose. A haze of orange andbronze lay upon the lower slopes of the mountains, magically enrichingthe greens; and the blue against which the mountains were contoured,was pure and immense and still. It was difficult to remember the fretand pain and discolouration of a world bathed in so vast a peace. . . .

At first he thought that the body on the cot was in its shroud. Thehush about it and from the mountains touched him with a feeling that hehad not quite known before, the depth of it having to do with Carlin.Then he saw, back of the natives who had lifted the cot, yet not toonear, the figure of an Englishman of the Military—standing quietly by,as if casually ordering a platoon of soldiers in the duty of loadingthe train. Now Skag looked at the man's face. It had nothing to dowith the lax grace of the officer's figure. This was the face of a manwho could endure anything without a cry—a narrow face, tanned and abit hard possibly from years of self-repression—a silent man,doubtless loved for thefeeling around him, rather than because ofwhat he was accustomed to say or do—a face stricken now to the vergeof chaos—unchanging anguish of fear and loneliness and sorrowimprinted from within. A strange white glow, that had nothing to dowith the tan, shone forth from the skin—etheric disruption, subtlerthan the breakdown of mere cells. This man would put a bullet in hisbrain if pressed too far, but he would not cry out. Just now he wasclose to his limit.

Skag knew something of what passed in the English officer's heart,because he himself was learning what love means. Before his hour withCarlin in the afterglow, on their way back from the monkey glen, hewould never have dreamed that there was such feeling in the world; infact, he would have been unable to read the vivid story of it in theofficer's face. . . . So much in a second or two.

The cot had been partly lifted into the coach. The face now wasuncovered—the white wasted face of a lovely woman, a woman stillliving; an utterly delicate face, telling the story of one who hadnever met a rough impact from the world. It was as if there had alwaysbeen a strong hand between her and the grit and the grind ofworld-affairs—first her father's and then the lover's. In the greatsilence, the eyelids opened. It seemed that night and chill hadsuddenly come in. The lips moved. The most mournful and hopelessvoice spoke straight into Skag's eyes:

"Oh, won't you please stop those fever birds!"

Skag supposed it an isolated sentence of delirium. He didn'tunderstand. There was a drive of drama or tragedy back of it, but hismind did not give him details. He did not see the English officeragain. He did not know if he entered the train. One thing Skag knew:Deep under that narrow masculine face there was a capacity for feelingthat this officer's men never saw; that his closest associates neversaw. The American reverenced the secret. . . . Sometimes during thehushes of the night, when the train stopped for a moment, Skag lyingawake, heard the voice of the woman. There was a feeling from itutterly strange to him. It carried him out of himself, as if he sharedsomething of her delirium and something of the man's agony.

The next day was one of the hardest that Skag ever lived, for Carlinwas not at Hurda to meet him. She had gone with a strange elephantinto the country. That was the day of the chase on the great youngelephant Gunpat Rao, the day in which the story of the monster Kabuliunfolded. The face of the man at the mountain station and the sentenceof the woman were completely erased from his surface consciousness, asthe memory of an illness.

That was months away, and life had been very full in between. . . .

Carlin said she was just tired, when he went to her room in themorning. She looked at him long. It suddenly came to him vaguely,that she wasn't thinking; rather that her eyes were merely turned tohis face. A queer breathlessness came to him a little later, as herhead rolled to one side—such a sinking of weakness in the movement.It reminded him with a shock that she had never seemed quite tirelesssince that long ride on Mitha Baba's neck. But never before had herface turned away from him.

And now he saw a certain inimitable loveliness of her. There were nowords to describe the last—only that it was Spirit made of all thedusks and all the white fires. There was something little about herthat called an undreamed-of tenderness; and something superb andmysterious, so vast that he could be held in it like a toy in the hands.

Burning Indian day was walled and curtained and barred from the placewhere she lay. White of the walls, white of her face, white of thepallet—the rest a breathless, ungleaming shadow that held a heat notfrom the sun, as it seemed, but from the centre of the earth.

. . . Skag was away in timelessness and an unfamiliar space. Thisspace was not fixed to one dimension, but moved back and forth. AsBhanah came to him, he saw more than Bhanah animate upon thefeatures—like someone who had belonged always, whom he had known forages, whom Carlin had always known. So many things struck himdifferently now; as if they belonged not just to this crisis, but to acrisis of eons.

Yet externals in the main were so trifling. Carlin didn't eat; peopleseemed to take that as significant. Malcolm M'Cord came. MargaretAnnesley came. Horace Dickson's father came. Skag went to the bazaarsand back again. He went to the monkey glen. It was all a blur. Oncehe caught himself walking on the great Highway-of-all-India; and oncedeep in the jungle. He passed the civil surgeon of Hurda on his ownverandah; and someone said that the old "family doctor" was to comefrom Poona. . . . Now he was in Carlin's room and Carlin was lookingat him. He saw her face the moment he entered the room, and the factthat he had come in from the fierce daylight into the shadows did, notseem to blur his eyes, even for a second.

Her people in the room—Bhanah, the ayah, the civil surgeon, Ian Dealand someone else—but the line from her eyes to Skag was not crossed.The heart of the man leaped from what he saw—the transcendentunderstanding which needed no words; the look of all looks that meantherself—a little lingering smile on the lips, the endless lure ofher wise eyes.

But all that was whipped away as he came three steps nearer her couch.The wonder of it was not taken, but the old pain returned; rather, thepain had been there all the time, but he had forgotten for a space. Hesaw the ashen and frail face again and the inexpressible weariness ofher eyes, too tired to tell of it, too tired to stay! Then the face ofthe English officer appeared for his eyes—hovering back of the people,in a background of mountains. . . .

Carlin seemed listening. What she heard came out of a grey intolerablemonotony; but still her eyes held his. They seemed concentrated uponsome weakness of his nature—some dementia that had been before her foryears, that had confronted her in every highway of life, frightenedaway every opportunity and spoiled every day. Her hand lifted justslightly, the palm turned toward him:

"Oh, won't you please stop those fever birds?"

. . . Then one day Skag, standing in the darkened library, heardMargaret Annesley and one of her friends speaking together in theverandah.

"But does she really hear anything?" the friend asked.

"Oh, yes; though you never hear them unless you are ill with the fever."

"How strange and terrible, and is it a particular fever?"

"Jungle fever, dear. It comes to us sometimes of itself, but moreoften after a shock. . . . Carlin's night in the dark—"

Skag's arm lifted in a curve to cover his face as if from a blow. . . .Yet Margaret Annesley was not quite right; for he had learned to hearwhat Carlin heard:

From far away very faint, curiously thin tones came to him; alwaysrepeating one word, with an upward inflection, like a question. Everyrepetition sounded the fraction of a degree higher than the last, tillthey were far above the compass of any human voice:

"Fee-vur? fee-vur? fee-vur? fee-vur? — — —" and on and on.

When it began, quite low, he heard infinite patience in it; gradually,it grew full of fear; then it climbed into a veritable panic of terror.

When it stopped at last, on a long distracted "u-u-u-r-r-r-r?"—heheard the male bird's answer, sounding nearer, in deep tones of utterhopelessness, with a prolonged descending inflection:

"Bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r! bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r! bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r!"—theIndian word for fever, repeated only three times. Then the femalebegan again; so, day and night—night and day.

After he had once heard it, he could always hear it. So he learnedthat they never rest. Always, by listening, he could hear it at somepoint of its maddening scale—its insane assurance of the hopelessnessof jungle fever.

Skag faced the ultimatum. This was different. It had nothing to dowith his world of animal dangers. This was a slow devouring which hecould not touch nor stay.Carlin was melting before his eyes. . . .The brothers had come in, one by one, from over India. (MargaretAnnesley had attended to that.) Skag met them, moved quietly about,yet could not remember their faces one from another. He answered whenspoken to, but retained no registration as to whom he had spoken, orwhat had been said. Sometimes he was alone for a few moments withCarlin; and when her eyes were open he was appalled by the growingsense of distance in them. Then before she spoke, he would hear whatshe heard:

"Bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r! bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r! bhoo-kha-a-a-r-r-r!"

There were queer rifts of light in his mind, instants when he realisedthat all the hard moments of the past had prepared him for this. Hesaw clearly that he could not have endured, even to the present hour,without every experience life had shown him—especially without thedifficult ones. He lived again the great moments—all the Indianafterglows that were identified with Carlin—perfect lessons of mercyshe had taught him, through the very yearning of his own heart in herpresence to be worthy of days with her. Never useless words fromCarlin, but always the vivid meaning. He had been slow at first to seehow much more magic were their days together, because she paid for themwith a night-and-day readiness to go forth to the call of service toothers.

Yet through all, he was utterly, changelessly desolate. Not onlybitterness, but an icy bitterness, was upon all meaning and movement oflife. It was almost like a conspiracy that no part in ministration wasdemanded of him by those who were now in his house. The doctors talkedto Miss Annesley or to the servants; the brothers came and went withtheir fear and fidelity—but spoke to Skag of other things than theillness. Still, in his heart a concept slowly formed—that he hadsomething which Carlin needed now; that this something had to do,though it was different, with the power he used to change animals. Itseemed absurd even to think of this—with all these wise ones aroundhim, not perceiving it. They formed a barrier of their thoughts whichkept him from expression. He stood apart for hours as the days passed,thinking of his part; and yet the icy bitterness held him from action.

Sometimes his heart seemed dying; chill already upon it. Again heseemed filled with a strange vitality, other than his own. Thisphenomenon frightened him more than the first, so that he would hurryto look at Carlin lest the strength had come from her. He tried tothink the strength back to her; to think all his own besides; butthere was no drive to his mind-work because he did not have faith inhimself.

At length came the night when the fever birds ceased for Carlin. Outof a great soft depth of tone which no one but Skag had heard before(which he had thought no other would hear until there was a baby in herarms), her words came with unforgettable intensity:

"Oh, the jungle shadows! The jungle shadows!"

After that he did not know whether it was night or day, until he heardthe end of a sentence from the doctor from Poona:

". . . only four hours left to break the fever."

The room was in great still heat—heat of a burning night, a smotheringheat to the couch from a distant lamp—the fire of the day coming upfrom the ground like flashes of anger. . . .

A strange stillness was settling on everything; the silence before hadnot been so heavy. The old family doctor from Poona came into it; andMargaret Annesley stood by him near the bed.

"Carlin has not spoken for more than an hour," Skag heard her tell him.

It seemed long before he answered:

"She has passed too far down into the shadows. She will not speakagain."

The words came to Skag as if through limitless space; but the last onespenetrated deep and laid hold.

Margaret went out swiftly and the doctor followed. He looked a very,very old man—with his head bent, like that.

. . . She will not speak again!

The universe was falling into disruption.

It was all white where she lay. Only the heavy masses of her darkhair, spread on the pillows and across one shoulder, showed anycolour—shadowed gold, shadowed red.

. . . She will not speak again!

Seven tall men filed into the room before Skag's eyes, and ranged oneither side of her. These were her own brothers. Skag felt the vaguepang again, of being alien to them.

Roderick Deal, the eldest—the one with the inscrutable blackness ofeyes—leaned and kissed the white, white forehead; and a fold of thesplendid hair.

One figure had gone down at the lower end of the bed—long armsstretched over her feet—slender dark hands clenching and unclenching.The detail of it cut into Skag, like a spear of keen pain throughchaos. Returned away—it was intolerable.

. . . An arm fell about Skag's shoulders.

"Brother?" Roderick Deal's fathomless eyes drew Skag's and held themwhile he spoke: "We are leaving you to be alone with her—at the last!"

The arm gripped as he added:

"You are to know this—we will not fail you, now!" and he was gone.
They were all gone.

Faint tones of the fever bird, ascending, came from far out. Othertones, descending, came from greater distances within. . . . She willnot speak again!

Bhanah touched his sleeve.

"My Master!" The man's nearness of spirit, as he spoke, vibrated intoSkag and roused him to something different, something clearer. "Amystic from the Vindha mountains has but just reached this place. Theyare very powerful, having great knowledge. This man is blood-kin toher. Give me permission and I will call him."

Skag looked into Bhanah's eyes, finding the ancient friendship there;then he said only one word:

"Hurry!"

Bhanah leaped away across the lawn and Skag turned to stand by Carlin'sside.

The silence seemed absolute now; the whiteness absolute. He rememberedthat she had gone down into shadows. He bent his head toward herbreast and looked down.

. . . Sense of time was gone—even the endlessness of it. Sense ofwhiteness was gone. His vision wakened, as he groped through deepeningshadows, on and on—till they turned to utter blackness. In that utterblackness appeared a thread of pure blue; he traced it back up till itentered Carlin's body. There, it was not blue any more, but a faintglow of high white light centred in her breast and shed—likemoonlight—through all her person.

The heart of his heart called to her. . . . There was no answer.

. . . He became aware that a tall slender man stood at his side; but itdid not disturb him. The man wore long straight robes of camel's hair.The sense of him was strength. At last he spoke:

"Son, why do you call to her? She cannot come back—of herself. Youcannot fetch her back."

"Why?" breathed Skag. "I ought to be able to."

"No," the man said kindly, "you are not able to—I am not able to—nocreated being is able to."

The man emphasised the word created.

"What can?" Skag asked.

"First you must learn not to depend on yourself; then you must knowsomething of the law."

The man was holding one hand out, above Carlin's head—quite still, butnot close, while he spoke. Skag felt his strength more than at first.

"Do you want her for yourself?" he asked.

Skag looked into his kind dark eyes—his own eyes speaking for him.

"Do you want her for her own sake—because she loves you? Is it thatyou have knowledge what will be best for her? Did you create her—didyou prepare her ultimate destiny, do you even know it?"

"I know that I am in it!"

Skag answered very low, but with conviction. His eyes were agonised;but the man bored into them, without relenting.

"Do you want her to come back from the margin of departure, for thesake of others—for the sake of her ministry to their need?"

The answer to this last question came up in Skag—waves on waves,rolling into engulfing billows.

"That answer may avail!" the man said conclusively. "If it isaccepted—if your love for her is perfect enough to forget itself—ifyou are able to make your mind altogether inactive—"

"Then how shall I work—if not with my mind?" Skag interrupted.

"First know that you yourself can do nothing." The man spoke withsoft, slow emphasis. "No created being has power to do that kind ofwork."

"What has?" Skag asked.

"A Power that we are not worthy to name," the man answered, withreverence. "If it accepts your reason why she should stay—if yourlove is found to be without tarnish of self—it will work herrestoration; not otherwise.

"Make yourself still. Give your mind to the apprehension of hernature—till your mind has come to beas if it were not. . . .Peace!"

The man dropped his head a moment, before he moved to stand at the foodof her bed. With his eyes on her face he leaned, laying his palms overher feet; then, seeming to float backward to the wall, he sankslowly—to sit as the Hindus do.

The sense of his strength seemed to fill the whole room. It was thelast outward thing Skag was aware of.

. . . It was as if Skag had passed through eons of ages trying to putaway all the tender yearning anguish of his love for Carlin. He cameto know her as a beneficent entity of high voltage—needed in more thanone place.

It must be that he should make it possible for her to serve here, morepotently than there—else she could not be held back. With all hisstrength, he would try.

"Son," the mystic's voice rang out, "now give yourself to your love forher—with your strength!"

Presently a warm glow flowed up into Skag's feet, filling his personand extending his physical sentiency into her body. That body wasutterly bound in a strange vise—very heavy; as if every particle ofevery part were separately frozen.

. . . It seemed to Skag as if he could not breathe.

"Breathe!" the mystic said, as he rose from the floor to stand on hisown feet.

That instant an impact of force from him struck Skag like a blow; andthe next moment his sense of strength had become like that of twentymen—it was hard to bear.

"Steady—slow!" It was a soft, but imperative order.

Gradually the warmth increased; not in degree, but in the rate of itsflow. At last it was a surge, so intense that Skag could feel his ownblood-pulse—a different kind of pulse.

The need of help was very great. There was a faintness—surely moreterrible than any death!

"Fear not!" the mystic called tenderly. "The Supreme Power cares forher—more than you can!"

As he heard these words, a great tide rose up into Skag, penetratinghis body and his mind and the uttermost deeps of his consciousness. Avast sweeping tide—it descended below all depths, it ascended aboveall heights, it compassed all reaches. It was ineffablelove—transcendent. It was for her! But it was for him—too! Nay—itwas for every living thing in this mortal condition and in all otherconditions!

. . . Carlin turned her head a little, lifted one hand a little andsighed deeply. Then she moved till she lay easily on one side, justmurmuring:

"I think I'll sleep."

Carlin had spoken again!

"Son" (the mystic spoke very softly, while he drew Skag to a largecouch in the same room), "it is finished. She is altogether safe now.You should be this far away; stretch yourself here and give yourself tosleep also—it will be best for her if you do.

"Be at perfect rest—there is no fear. (I will give Bhanahdirections.) Now—Peace be on thee; and on thy house, forever!"

His words permitted no answer. He went and smiled down on Carlin. Hetouched her forehead with his finger-tips—he even kissed her curlinghair.

"Child of my brother's love!" he said softly, as he turned away.

Then Skag also slept.

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