E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, David Garcia, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team

THE JUNGLE GIRL

by

GORDON CASSERLY

Author of _The Elephant God_, etc.

New York

1922

CONTENTS

I.    THE GREY BOAR
II.   YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH
III.  THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL
IV.   A CROCODILE INTERVENES
V.    SENTENCE OF EXILE
VI.   A BORDER OUTPOST
VII.  IN THE TERAI JUNGLE
VIII. A GIRL OF THE FOREST
IX.   TIGER LAND
X.    A POLITICAL OFFICER IN THE MAKING
XI.   TRAGEDY
XII.  "ROOTED IN DISHONOUR"
XIII. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE
XIV.  THE DEVIL DANCERS OF TUNA
XV.   A STRANGE RESCUE

CHAPTER I

THE GREY BOAR

    Youth's daring courage, manhood's fire,
      Firm seat and eagle eye,
    Must he acquire who doth aspire
      To see the grey boar die.

    --_Indian Pigsticking Song_.

Mrs. Norton looked contentedly at her image in the long mirror which
reflected a graceful figure in a well-cut grey habit and smart long
brown boots, a pretty face and wavy auburn hair under the sun-helmet.
Then turning away and picking up her whip she left the dressing-room
and, passing the door of her husband's bedroom where he lay still
sleeping, descended the broad marble staircase of the Residency to the
lofty hall, where an Indian servant in a long red coat hurried to open
the door of the dining-room for her.

Almost at that moment a mile away Raymond, the adjutant of the 180th
Punjaub Infantry, looked at his watch and called out loudly:

"Hurry up, Wargrave; it's four o'clock and the ponies will be round in
ten minutes. And it's a long ride to the Palace."

He was seated at a table on the verandah of the bungalow which he
shared with his brother subaltern in the small military cantonment near
Rohar, the capital of the Native State of Mandha in the west of India.
Dawn had not yet come; and by the light of an oil lamp Raymond was
eating a frugal breakfast of tea, toast and fruit, the _chota hazri_ or
light meal with which Europeans in the East begin the day. He was
dressed in an old shooting-jacket, breeches and boots; and as he ate his
eyes turned frequently to a bundle of steel-headed bamboo spears leaning
against the wall near him. For he and his companion were going as the
guests of the Maharajah of Mandha for a day's pigsticking, as hunting
the wild boar is termed in India.

He had finished his meal and lit a cheroot before Wargrave came yawning
on to the verandah.

"Sorry for being so lazy, old chap," said the newcomer. "But a year's
leave in England gets one out of the habit of early rising."

He pulled up a chair to the table on which his white-clad Mussulman
servant, who had come up the front steps of the verandah, laid a tray
with his tea and toast. And while he ate Raymond lay back smoking in a
long chair and looked almost affectionately at him. They had been
friends since their Sandhurst days, and during the past twelve months of
his comrade's absence on furlough in Europe the adjutant had sorely
missed his cheery companionship. Nor was he the only one in their
regiment who had.

Frank Wargrave was almost universally liked by both men and women, and,
while unspoilt by popularity, thoroughly deserved it. He was about
twenty-six years of age, above medium height, with a lithe and graceful
figure which the riding costume that he was wearing well set off.
Fair-haired and blue-eyed, with good though irregular features, he was
pleasant-faced and attractive rather than handsome. The cheerful,
good-tempered manner that he displayed even at that trying early hour
was a true indication of a happy and light-hearted disposition that made
him as liked by his brother officers as by other men who did not know
him so well. In his regiment all the native ranks adored the young
sahib, who was always kind and considerate, though just, to them, and
looked more closely after their interests than he did his own. For, like
most young officers in the Indian Army, he was seldom out of debt; but
soldierly hospitality and a hand ever ready to help a friend in want
were the causes rather than deliberate extravagance on his own account.
Taking life easily and never worrying over his own troubles he was
always generous and sympathetic to others, and prompter to take up
cudgels on their behalf than on his own. His being a good sportsman and
a smart soldier added to his popularity among men; while all women were
partial to the pleasant, courteous subaltern whom they felt to have a
chivalrous regard and respect for them and who was as polite and
attentive to an old lady as he was to the prettiest girl.

While admiring and liking the other sex Wargrave had hitherto been too
absorbed in sport and his profession to have ever found time to lose his
heart to any particular member of it, while his innate respect for, and
high ideal of, womankind had preserved him from unworthy intrigues with
those ready to meet him more than half-way. Even in the idleness of the
year's furlough in England from which he had returned the previous day
he had remained heart-whole; although several charming girls had been
ready to share his lot and more than one pretty pirate had sought to
make him her prize. But he had been blind to them all; for he was too
free from conceit to believe that any woman would concern herself with
him unasked. He had dined and danced with maid and young matron in
London, ridden with them in the Row and Richmond Park, punted them down
backwaters by Goring, Pangbourne and the Cleveden Woods, and flirted
harmlessly with them in country houses after days with the Quorn and the
Pytchley, and yet come back to India true to his one love, his regiment.

As Raymond watched him the fear of the feminine dangers in England for
his friend suddenly pricked; and he blurted out anxiously:

"I say, old chap, you haven't got tangled up with any woman at home,
have you? Not got engaged or any silly thing like that, I hope?"

Wargrave laughed.

"No fear, old boy," he replied, pouring out another cup of tea. "Far too
hard up to think of such an expensive luxury as a wife. Been too busy,
too, to see much of any particular girl."

"You had some decent sport, hadn't you?" asked his friend, with a
feeling of relief in his heart.

"Rather. I told you I'd learnt to fly and got my pilot's certificate,
for one thing. Good fun, flying. I wish I could afford a 'bus of my own.
Then I had some yachting on the Solent and a lot of boating on the
Thames. I put in a month in Switzerland, skiing and skating."

"Did you get any hunting?"

"Yes, at my uncle's place near Desford in Leicestershire. He gave me
some shooting, too. It was all very well; but I was very envious when
the regiment came here and you wrote and told me of the pigsticking you
were getting. I've always longed for it. It's great sport, isn't it?"

"The best I know," cried Raymond enthusiastically. "Beats hunting
hollow. You're not following a wretched little animal that runs for its
life, but a game brute that will turn on you as like as not and make
you fight for yours."

"It must be ripping. I do hope we'll have the luck to find plenty of pig
to-day."

"Oh, we're sure to. The Maharajah told me yesterday they have marked
down a _sounder_--that is, a herd--of wild pig in a _nullah_ about seven
miles the other side of the city, which is two miles away, so we have a
ride of nine to the meet."

"That will make it a very hard day for our ponies, won't it?" asked
Wargrave anxiously. "Eighteen miles there and back and the runs as
well."

"Oh, that's all right. The Maharajah mounts us at the meet. We'll find
his horses waiting there for us. Rawboned beasts with mouths like iron,
as a rule; but good goers and staunch to pig."

"By Jove! The Maharajah must be a real good chap."

"One of the best," replied Raymond. "He is a man for whom I've the
greatest admiration. He rules his State admirably. He commanded his own
Imperial Service regiment in the war and did splendidly. He is very good
to us here."

"So it seems. From what I gathered at Mess last night he appears to
provide all our sport for us."

"Yes; he arranges his shoots and the pigsticking meets for days on which
the officers of the regiment are free to go out with him. When we can
travel by road he sends his carriages for us, lends us horses and has
camels to follow us with lunch, ice and drinks wherever we go."

"What a good fellow he must be!" exclaimed Wargrave. "I am glad we get
pigsticking here. I've always longed for it, but never have been
anywhere before where there was any, as you know."

"It's lucky for us that the sport here is good; for without it life in
Rohar would be too awful to contemplate. It's the last place the Lord
made."

"It's the hardest place to reach I've ever known," said Wargrave. "It
was a shock to learn that, after forty-eight hours in the train, I had
two more days to travel after leaving the railway."

"How did you like that forty miles in a camel train over the salt
desert? That made you sit up a bit, eh?"

"It was awful. The heat and the glare off the sand nearly killed me. You
say there is no society here?"

"Society? The only Europeans here or in the whole State, besides those
of us in the regiment, are the Resident and his wife."

"What is a Resident, exactly?"

"A Political Officer appointed by the Government of India to be a sort
of adviser to a rajah and to keep a check on him if he rules his State
badly. I shouldn't imagine that our fellow here, Major Norton, would be
much good as an adviser to anybody. The only thing he seems to know
anything about is insects. He's quite a famous entomologist. Personally
he's not a bad sort, but a bit of a bore."

"What's his wife like?"

"Oh, very different. Much younger and fond of gaiety, I think. Not that
she can get any here. She's a decidedly pretty woman. I haven't seen
much of her; for she has been away most of the time, that the regiment
has been here. She has relatives in Calcutta and stays a lot with them."

"I don't blame her," said Wargrave, laughing. "Rohar must be a very
deadly place for a young woman. No amusements. No dances. No shops. And
the only female society the wives of the Colonel and the Doctor."

"Luckily for Mrs. Norton she is rather keen on sport and is a good
rider. You'll probably meet her to-day; for she generally comes out
pigsticking with us, though she doesn't carry a spear. I've promised to
take her shooting with us the next time we go. Hullo! here are the
ponies at last. Are you ready, Frank?"

The two officers rose, as their _syces_, or native grooms, came up
before the bungalow leading two ponies, a Waler and an Arab. Raymond
walked over to the bundle of spears and selected one with a leaf-shaped
steel head.

"Try this, Frank," he said. "See if it suits you. You don't want too
long a spear."

His companion balanced it in his hand.

"Yes, it seems all right. I say, old chap, how does one go for the pig?
Do you thrust at him?"

"No; just ride hard at him with the spear pointed and held with
stiffened arm. Your impetus will drive the steel well home into him."

Mounting their ponies they started, the _syces_ carrying the spears and
following them at a steady run as they trotted down the sandy road
leading to the city, where at the Palace they were to meet the Maharajah
and the other sportsmen. The sky was paling fast at the coming of the
dawn; and they could discern the dozen bungalows and the Regimental
Lines, or barracks, comprising the little cantonment, above which
towered the dark mass of a rocky hill crowned by the ruined walls of an
old native fort. On either side of their route the country was flat and
at first barren. But, as they neared the capital, they passed through
cultivation and rode by green fields irrigated from deep wells, by
hamlets of palm-thatched mud huts where no one yet stirred, and on to
where the high embrasured walls of the city rose above the plain. Under
the vaulted arch of the old gateway the ponies clattered, along through
the narrow, silent streets of gaily-painted, wooden-balconied houses, at
that hour closely shuttered, until the Palace was reached as the rising
sun began to flush the sky with rose-pink.

The guard of sepoys at the great gate saluted as the two officers rode
into the wide, paved courtyard lined by high, many-windowed buildings.
In the centre of it a group of horsemen, nobles of the State or
officials of the Palace in gay dresses and bright-coloured _puggris_, or
turbans, with gold or silver-hilted swords hanging from their belts, sat
on their restless animals behind the Maharajah, a pleasant-faced,
athletic man in a white flannel coat, riding-breeches and long, soft
leather boots, mounted on a tall Waler gelding. He was chatting with
four or five other officers of the Punjaubis and raised his hand to his
forehead as the newcomers rode up and lifted their hats to him.

"Good morning, Your Highness," said Raymond. "I hope we're not late. Let
me present Mr. Wargrave of our regiment, who has just returned from
England."

With a genial smile the Maharajah leant forward and held out his hand.

"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wargrave," he said, "and very
pleased to see you out with us to-day. Are you fond of pigsticking?"

"I've never had the chance of doing any before, Your Highness," replied
Frank, shaking his hand. "I'm awfully anxious to try it; but, being a
novice, I'm afraid I'll only be in the way."

"I'm sure you won't," said the Maharajah courteously. His command of
English was perfect. "Pigsticking is not at all difficult; and I hear
that you are a good rider."

He looked at his watch and then, turning in the saddle, addressed
another officer of the regiment who was chaffing Raymond for being late:

"Are we all here now, Captain Ross?"

"Yes, sir. These two lazy fellows are the last," replied Ross
laughingly.

"Very well, gentlemen, we'll start."

He waved his hand; and at the signal two black-bearded _sowars_, or
soldiers of his cavalry regiment, dashed by him and out through the
Palace gates at a hard-gallop, leading the way past the guard, who
turned out and presented arms as the Maharajah and the British officers,
together with the crowd of nobles, officials and mounted attendants,
followed at a smart pace. The city was now waking to life. From their
windows the sleepy inhabitants stared at the party, mostly too stupefied
at that hour to recognise and salute their ruler. Pot-bellied naked
brown babies waddled on to the verandahs to gaze thumb in mouth at the
riders. Pariah dogs, nosing at the gutters and rubbish-heaps that
scented the air, bolted out of the way of the horses' hoofs.

As the sportsmen passed out of the city gates the sun was rising above
the horizon, the terrible Hot Weather sun of India, whose advent ushers
in the long hours of gasping, breathless heat. For a mile or so the
route lay through fertile gardens and fields. Then suddenly the
cultivation ended abruptly on the edge of a sandy desert that, seamed
with _nullahs_, or deep, steep-sided ravines, and dotted with tall
clumps of thorny cactus, stretched away to the horizon. The road became
a barely discernible track; but the two _sowars_ cantered on,
confidently heading for the spot where the fresh horses awaited the
party.

Over the sand the riders swept, past a slow-plodding elephant lumbering
back to the city with a load of fodder, by groups of tethered camels.
Hares started up in alarm and bounded away, grey partridges whirred up
and yellow-beaked _minas_ flew off chattering indignantly. The slight
morning coolness soon vanished; and Wargrave, soft and somewhat out of
condition after his weeks of shipboard life, wiped his streaming face
often before the guiding _sowars_ threw up their hands in warning and
vanished slowly from sight as their sure-footed horses picked their way
down a steep _nullah_. This was the ravine in which the quarry hid. One
after another of the riders followed the leaders down the narrow track,
trotted across the sandy, rock-strewn river-bed and climbed up the far
side to where the fresh horses and a picturesque mob of wild-looking
beaters stood awaiting them.

Among the animals Wargrave noticed a smart grey Arab pony with a
side-saddle.

"I see Mrs. Norton intends coming out with us," observed the Maharajah
looking at the pony. "We must wait for her."

"It won't be for long, sir," said Raymond, pointing to a rising trail of
dust on the track by which they had come. "I'll bet that is she."

All turned to watch the approaching rider draw near, until they could
see that it was a lady galloping furiously over the sand.

"By Jove, she can ride!" exclaimed Wargrave admiringly. "I hope she'll
see the _nullah_. She's heading straight for it."

A shouted warning caused her to pull up almost on the brink; and in a
few minutes she joined the waiting group. Wargrave looked with interest
at her, as she sat on her panting horse talking to the Maharajah and the
other officers, who had dismounted.

Mrs. Norton was a decidedly graceful and pretty woman. The rounded
curves of her shapely figure were set off to advantage by her
riding-costume. Her eyes were especially attractive, greenish-grey eyes
fringed by long black lashes under curved dark brows contrasting with
the warm auburn tint of the hair that showed under her sunhat. Her
complexion was dazzlingly fair. Her mouth was rather large and
voluptuous with full red lips and even white teeth. Bewitching dimples
played in the pink cheeks. Even from a man like Wargrave, fresh from
England and consequently more inclined to be critical of female beauty
than were his comrades, who for many months had seen so few white women,
Mrs. Norton's good looks could justly claim full meed of admiration and
approval.

Accepting Captain Ross's aid she slipped lightly from her saddle to the
ground and on foot looked as graceful as she did when mounted. Raymond
brought his friend to her and introduced him.

Holding out a small and shapely hand in a dainty leather gauntlet she
said in a frank and pleasant manner:

"How do you do, Mr. Wargrave? You are a fortunate person to have been in
England so lately. I haven't seen it for nearly three years. Weren't you
sorry to leave it?"

"Not in the least, Mrs. Norton. I'd far sooner be doing this," he waved
his hand towards the horses and the open desert, "than fooling about
Piccadilly and the Park."

"Oh, but don't you miss the gaieties of town, the theatres, the dances?
And then the shops and the new fashions--but you're a man, and they'd
mean nothing to you."

The Maharajah broke in:

"Mrs. Norton, I think we had better mount. The beaters are going in; and
the _shikaris_ (hunters) tell me that the _nullah_ swarms with pig.
There are at least half a dozen rideable boar in it."

In pigsticking only well-grown boars are pursued, sows and immature
boars being unmolested.

Ross started forward to help Mrs. Norton on to her fresh pony; but
Wargrave refused to surrender the advantage of his proximity to her. So
it was into his hand she put her small foot in its well-made riding-boot
and was swung up by him.

The saddles of the rest of the party had been changed on to the horses
that the Maharajah had provided. The beaters streamed down the steep
bank into the ravine which some distance away was filled with dense
scrub affording good cover for the quarry. Forming line they moved
through it with shrill yells, the blare of horns, the beating of
tom-toms and a spluttering fire of blank cartridges from old muskets.
The riders mounted and, spear in hand, eagerly watched their progress
through the jungle. Wargrave found himself beside Mrs. Norton; but,
after exchanging a few words, he forgot her presence as, his heart
beating fast with a true sportsman's excitement, he strained his eyes
for the first sight of a wild boar.

Suddenly, several hundred yards away, he saw a squat, dark animal emerge
from the tangled scrub and, climbing up the _nullah_ on their side,
stride away over the sand with a peculiar bounding motion that reminded
Wargrave of a rocking-horse. All eyes were turned towards the
Maharajah, who would decide whether the animal were worthy of pursuit or
not. He gazed after it for a few moments, then raised his hand.

At the welcome signal all dashed off after the boar at a furious gallop,
opening out as they went to give play for their spears. Wild with
excitement, Wargrave struck spurs to his horse, which needed no urging,
being as filled with the lust of the chase as was the man on its back.
Like a cavalry charge the riders thundered in a mad rush behind His
Highness, whose faster mount carried him at once ahead of the rest. He
soon overtook the boar. Lowering his spear-point the Maharajah bent
forward in the saddle; but at the last moment the pig "jinked," that is,
turned sharply at right angles to his former course, and bounded away
untouched, while the baffled sportsman was carried on helplessly by his
excited horse.

Wargrave, following at some distance to the Maharajah's right rear, saw
to his mingled joy and trepidation the boar only a short way in front of
him.

"Ride, ride hard!" cried Mrs. Norton almost alongside him.

Frank drove his spurs in; and the gaunt, raw-boned countrybred under him
sprang forward. But just as it had all but reached the quarry, the
latter jinked again and Wargrave was borne on, tugging vainly at the
horse's iron jaws. But the boar had short shrift. With a rush Ross
closed on it and before it could swerve off sent his spear deep into its
side and, galloping on, turned his hand over, drawing out the lance. The
pig was staggered by the shock but started to run on. Before it could
get up speed one of the Indian nobles dashed at it with wild yells and
speared it again.

The thrust this time was mortal. The boar staggered on a few steps, then
stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. The hunters reined in their
sweating horses and gathered round it.

"Not a big animal," commented the Maharajah, scrutinising it with the
eye of an expert. "About thirty-four inches high, I think. But the tusks
are good. They're yours, Captain Ross, aren't they?"

"Yes, Your Highness, I think so," replied Ross.

Pigsticking law awards the trophy to the rider whose spear first
inflicts a wound on the boar.

"Better luck next time, Mr. Wargrave," said Mrs. Norton, riding up to
him. "I thought you were sure of him when he jinked away from the
Maharajah."

"To be quite candid I was rather relieved that I didn't get the chance,
Mrs. Norton," replied the subaltern. "As I've never been out after pig
before I didn't quite know what to do. However, I've seen now that it
isn't very difficult; so I hope I'll get an opportunity later."

"You are sure to, Mr. Wargrave," remarked the Maharajah. "There are
several boars left in cover; and the men are going in again."

The tatterdemalion mob of beaters was descending into the _nullah_; and
soon the wild din broke out once more. A gaunt grey boar with long and
gleaming tusks was seen to emerge from the scrub and climb the far bank
of the ravine, where he stood safely out of reach but in full view of
the tantalised hunters. But a string of laden camels passing over the
desert scared him back again; and while the riders watched in eager
excitement, he slowly descended into the _nullah_, crossed it and came
up on the near side some hundreds of yards away.

The Maharajah raised his spear.

"Ride!" he cried.

"Go like the devil, Frank!" shouted Raymond, as the scurrying horsemen
swept in a body over the sand and he found himself for a moment beside
his friend. "He's a beauty. Forty inches, I'll swear. Splendid tusks."

Wargrave crouched like a jockey in the saddle as the riders raced madly
after the boar. The Indians among them, wildly excited, brandished their
lances and uttered fierce cries as they galloped along. Their
Maharajah's speedier mount again took the lead; but even in India sport
is democratic and his nobles, attendants and soldiers all tried to
overtake and pass him. The white men, as is their wont, rode in silence
but none the less keenly excited. Over sand and stones, past tall,
prickly cactus-plants, in hot pursuit all flew at racing speed.

It was a long chase; for the old grey boar was speedy, cunning, and a
master of wiles. First one pursuer, then another, then a third and a
fourth, found himself almost upon the quarry and bent down with
outstretched, eager spear only to be baffled by a swift jink and carried
on helplessly, pulling vainly at the reins.

At length a sudden turn threw out all the field except the Maharajah,
who had foreseen it and ridden off to intercept the now tiring boar.
Overtaking it he bent forward and wounded it slightly. The brute
instantly swung in upon his horse, and with a fierce grunt dashed under
it and leapt up at it with a toss of the head that gave an upward thrust
to the long, curved tusk. In an instant the horse was ripped open and
brought crashing to the ground, pinning its rider's leg to the earth
beneath it. The boar turned again, marked the prostrate man, and with a
savage gleam in its little eyes charged the Maharajah, its gleaming
ivory tusks, six inches long, as sharp and deadly as an Afridi's knife.

CHAPTER II

YOUTH CALLS TO YOUTH

But at that moment a shout made the boar hesitate, and Raymond dashed in
on it at racing speed, driving his spear so deeply into its side that,
as he swept on, the tough bamboo broke like match-wood. The stricken
beast tottered forward a yard or two, then turned and stood undauntedly
at bay, as a _sowar_ rode at it. But before his steel could touch its
hide it shuddered and sank to the ground dead.

The dying horse was lifted off the Maharajah who, with the courage of
his race, had remained calm in the face of the onrushing death. He was
assisted to rise, but was so severely shaken and bruised that at first
he was unable to stand without support. Leaning on the arm of one of his
nobles he held out his hand to Raymond, when the latter rode up, and
thanked him gratefully for his timely aid. Then the exhausted but
gallant prince sat down on the sand to recover himself. But he assured
everyone that he was not hurt and, insisting that the sport should go
on, gave orders for the beat to continue.

Wargrave had chanced to dismount to tighten the girth of Mrs. Norton's
horse, when a fresh boar broke from cover and was instantly pursued by
all the others of the hunt. The subaltern ruefully accepted the lady's
apologies and hurriedly swung himself up into the saddle again to
follow, when his companion cried:

"Look! Look, Mr. Wargrave! There's another. Come, we'll have him all to
ourselves."

And striking her pony with her gold-mounted whip she dashed off at a
gallop after a grey old boar that had craftily kept close in cover and
crept out quietly after the beaters had passed. Wargrave, filled with
excitement, struck spurs to his mount and raced after her, soon catching
up and passing her. Over the sand pitted with holes and strewn with
loose stones they raced, the boar bounding before them with rocking
motion and leading them in a long, stern chase. Again and again the
beast swerved; but at last with a fierce thrill Wargrave felt the steel
head of the spear strike home in the quarry. As he was carried on past
it he withdrew the weapon, then pulled his panting horse round. The boar
was checked; but the wound only infuriated him and aroused his fighting
ardour. He dashed at Mrs. Norton; but, as Frank turned, the game brute
recognised the more dangerous adversary, and with a fierce grunt charged
savagely at him. Wargrave plunged his spurs into his horse, which sprang
forward, just clearing the boar's snout, as the rider leant well out and
speared the pig through the heart. Then with a wild, exultant whoop the
subaltern swung round in the saddle and saw the animal totter forward
and collapse on the sand. Only a sportsman could realise his feeling of
triumph at the fall of his first boar.

Mrs. Norton was almost as excited as he, her sparkling eyes and face
flushed a becoming pink, making her even prettier in his eyes as she
rode up and congratulated him.

"Well done, Mr. Wargrave!" she cried, trotting up to where he sat on his
panting horse over the dead boar. "You did that splendidly! And the very
first time you've been out pigsticking, too!"

"It was just luck," replied the subaltern modestly, not ill-pleased at
her praise.

"What a glorious run he gave us!" she continued. "And we had it all to
ourselves, which made it better. I'm always afraid of the Maharajah's
followers, for in a run they ride so recklessly and carry their spears
so carelessly that it's a wonder they don't kill someone every time.
Will you help me down, please? I must give Martian a rest after that
gallop."

With Wargrave's aid she dropped lightly to the ground; and he remarked
again with admiration the graceful lines and rounded curves of her
figure as she walked to the dead boar and touched the tusks.

"What a splendid pair! You are lucky," she exclaimed. "The biggest
anyone has got yet this season."

"I hope you'll allow me to offer them to you," said Wargrave generously,
although it cost him a pang to surrender the precious trophy. "You
deserve them, for you rode so well after the boar and I believe you'd
have got him if you'd carried a spear."

"No, indeed, Mr. Wargrave; I wouldn't dream of taking them," she
replied, laughing; "but I appreciate the nobility of your self-denial.
This is your first pig; and I know what that means to a man. Now we must
find a _sowar_ to get the coolies to bring the boar in. But I wonder
where we are. Where is everyone?"

Wargrave looked about him and for the first time realised that they were
far out in the desert without a landmark to guide them. On every side
the sand stretched away to the horizon, its flat expanse broken only by
clumps of bristling cactus or very rarely the tall stem of a palm tree.
Of the others of the party there was no sign. His companion and he
seemed to be alone in the world; and he began to wonder apprehensively
if they were destined to undergo the unpleasant experience of being lost
in the desert. The sun high overhead afforded no help; and Wargrave
remembered neither the direction of the city nor where lay the ravine in
which the beat had taken place.

"You don't happen to know where we are, I suppose, Mrs. Norton?" he
asked his companion.

"I haven't the least idea. It looks as if we're lost," she replied
calmly. "We had better wait quietly where we are instead of wandering
about trying to find our way. When we are missed the Maharajah will
probably send somebody to look for us."

"I daresay you're right," said Wargrave. "You know more about the desert
than I do. By Jove, I'd give anything to come across the camel that
Raymond tells me brings out drinks and ice. My throat is parched. Aren't
you very thirsty?"

"Terribly so. Isn't the heat awful?" she exclaimed, trying to fan
herself with the few inches of cambric and lace that represented a
handkerchief.

"Awful. The blood seems to be boiling in my head," gasped the subaltern.
"I've never felt heat like this anywhere else in India. But, thank
goodness, it seems to be clouding over. That will make it cooler."

Mrs. Norton looked around. A dun veil was being swiftly drawn up over
sun and sky and blotting out the landscape.

"Good gracious! There's worse trouble coming. That's a sandstorm," she
cried, for the first time exhibiting a sign of nervousness.

"Good heavens, how pleasant! Are we going to be buried under a mound of
sand, like the pictures we used to have in our schoolbooks of caravans
overwhelmed in the Sahara?"

Mrs. Norton smiled.

"Not quite as bad as that," she answered. "But unpleasant enough, I
assure you. If only we had any shelter!"

Wargrave looked around desperately. He had hitherto no experience of
desert country; and the sudden darkness and the grim menace of the
approaching black wall of the sandstorm seemed to threaten disaster. He
saw a thick clump of cactus half a mile away.

"We'd better make for that," he said, pointing to it. "It will serve to
break the force of the wind if we get to leeward of it. Let's mount."

He put her on her horse and then swung himself up into the saddle.
Together they raced for the scant shelter before the dark menace
overspreading earth and sky. The sun was now hidden; but that brought no
relief, for the heat was even more stifling and oppressive than before.
The wind seemed like a blast of hot air from an opened furnace door.

Pulling up when they reached the dense thicket of cactus with its broad
green leaves studded with cruel thorns, Wargrave jumped down and lifted
Mrs. Norton from the saddle. The horses followed them instinctively, as
they pressed as closely as they could to the shelter of the inhospitable
plant. The animals turned their tails towards the approaching storm and
instinctively huddled against their human companions in distress.
Wargrave took off his jacket and spread it around Mrs. Norton's head,
holding her to him.

With a shrill wail the dark storm swept down upon them, and a million
sharp particles of sand beat on them, stinging, smothering, choking
them. The horses crowded nearer to the man, and the woman clung tighter
to him as he wrapped her more closely in the protecting cloth. He felt
suffocated, stifled, his lungs bursting, his throat burning, while every
breath he drew was laden with the irritating sand. It penetrated through
all the openings of his clothing, down his collar, inside his shirt,
into his boots. The heat was terrific, unbearable, the darkness intense.
Wargrave began to wonder if his first apprehensions were not justified,
if they could hope to escape alive or were destined to be buried under
the stifling pall that enveloped them. He felt against him the soft body
of the woman clinging desperately to him; and the warm contact thrilled
him. A feeling of pity, of tenderness for her awoke in him at the
thought that this young and attractive being was fated perhaps to perish
by so awful a death. And instinctively, unconsciously, he held her
closer to him.

For minutes that seemed hours the storm continued to shriek and roar
over and around them. But at length the choking waves began to diminish
in density and slowly, gradually, the deadly, smothering pall was lifted
from them. The black wall passed on and Wargrave watched it moving away
over the desert. The storm had lasted half an hour, but the subaltern
believed its duration to have been hours. The fine grit had penetrated
into the case of his wrist-watch and stopped it. A cool, refreshing
breeze sprang up. Pulling his jacket off Mrs. Norton's head, Wargrave
said:

"It's all over at last."

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed fervently, standing erect and drawing a
deep breath of cool air into her labouring lungs. "I thought I was going
to be smothered."

"It was a decidedly unpleasant experience and one I don't want to try
again. My throat is parched; I must have swallowed tons of sand. And
look at the state I'm in!"

He was powdered thick with it, clothes, hair, eyebrows, grey with it. It
had caked on his face damp with perspiration.

"Thanks to your jacket I've escaped pretty well, although I was almost
suffocated," she said. "Well, now that it is over surely someone will
come to look for us."

"Then we had better get up on our horses and move out into the open.
We'll be more visible," said Wargrave.

Yet he felt a strange reluctance to quit the spot; for the thought came
to him that their unpleasant experience in it would henceforth be a link
between them. A few hours before he had not known of this woman's
existence! and now he had held her to his breast and tried to protect
her against the forces of Nature. The same idea seemed born in her mind
at the same time; for, when he had brushed the dust off her saddle and
lifted her on to it, she turned to look with interest at the spot as
they rode away from it.

They had not long to wait out in the open before they saw three or four
riders spread over the desert apparently looking for them, so they
cantered towards them. As soon as they were seen by the search party a
_sowar_ galloped to meet them and, saluting, told them that the
Maharajah and the rest had taken refuge from the storm in a village a
couple of miles away. Then from the _kamarband_, or broad cloth
encircling his waist like a sash, he produced two bottles of soda-water
which he opened and gave to them. The liquid was warm, but nevertheless
was acceptable to their parched throats.

They followed their guide at a gallop and soon were being welcomed by
the rest of the party in a small village of low mud huts. A couple of
kneeling camels, bubbling, squealing and viciously trying to bite
everyone within reach, were being unloaded by some of the Maharajah's
servants. Other attendants were spreading a white cloth on the ground by
a well under a couple of tall palm-trees and laying on it an excellent
cold lunch for the Europeans, with bottles of champagne standing in
silver pails filled with ice.

As soon as his anxiety on Mrs. Norton's account was relieved by her
arrival, His Highness, who as an orthodox Hindu could not eat with his
guests, begged them to excuse him and, being helped with difficulty on
his horse, rode slowly off, still shaken and sorely bruised by his fall.
His nobles and officials accompanied him.

After lunch all went to inspect the heap of slain boars laid on the
ground in the shade of a hut. Wargrave's kill had been added to it. Much
to the subaltern's delight its tusk proved to be the longest and finest
of all; and he was warmly congratulated by the more experienced
pigstickers on his success. Shortly afterwards the beaters went into the
_nullah_ again; and a few more runs added another couple of boars to the
bag. Then, after iced drinks while their saddles were being changed back
on to their own horses, the Britishers mounted and started on their
homeward journey.

Without quite knowing how it happened Wargrave found himself riding
beside Mrs. Norton behind the rest of the party. On the way back they
chatted freely and without restraint, like old friends. For the
incidents of the day had served to sweep away formality between them and
to give them a sense of long acquaintanceship and mutual liking. And,
when the time came for Mrs. Norton to separate from the others as she
reached the spot where the road to the Residency branched off, the
subaltern volunteered to accompany her.

It had not taken them long to discover that they had several tastes in
common.

"So you like good music?" she said after a chance remark of his. "It is
pleasant to find a kindred spirit in this desolate place. The ladies and
the other officers of your regiment are Philistines. Ragtime is more in
their line than Grieg or Brahms. And the other day Captain Ross asked me
if Tschaikowsky wasn't the Russian dancer at the Coliseum in town."

Wargrave laughed.

"I know. I became very unpopular when I was Band President and made our
band play Wagner all one night during Mess. I gave up trying to elevate
their musical taste when the Colonel told me to order the bandmaster to
'stop that awful rubbish and play something good, like the selection
from the last London _revue_.'"

"Are you a musician yourself?" she asked.

"I play the violin."

"Oh, how ripping! You must come often and practise with me. I've an
excellent piano; but I rarely touch it now. My husband takes no interest
in music--or indeed, in anything else I like. But, then, I am not
thrilled by his one absorbing passion in life--insects. So we're quits,
I suppose."

Their horses were walking silently over the soft sand; and Wargrave
heard her give a little sigh. Was it possible, he wondered, that the
husband of this charming woman did not appreciate her and her
attractions as he ought?

She went on with a change of manner:

"When are you coming to call on me? I am a Duty Call, you know. All
officers are supposed to leave cards on the Palace and the Residency."

"The call on you will be a pleasure, I assure you, not a mere duty, Mrs.
Norton," said the subaltern with a touch of earnestness. "May I come
to-morrow?"

"Yes, please do. Come early for tea and bring your violin. It will be
delightful to have some music again. I have not opened my piano for
months; but I'll begin to practise to-night. I have one or two pieces
with violin _obligato_."

So, chatting and at every step finding something fresh to like in each
other, they rode along down sandy lanes hemmed in by prickly aloe
hedges, by deep wells and creaking water-wheels where patient bullocks
toiled in the sun to draw up the gushing water to irrigate the green
fields so reposeful to the eye after the glaring desert. They passed by
thatched mud huts outside which naked brown babies sprawled in the dust
and deer-eyed women turned the hand-querns that ground the flour for
their household's evening meal. Stiff and sore though Wargrave was after
these many hours of his first day in the saddle for so long, he
thoroughly enjoyed his ride back with so attractive a companion.

When they reached the Residency, a fine, airy building of white stone
standing in large, well-kept grounds, he felt quite reluctant to part
with her. But, declining her invitation to enter, he renewed his promise
to call on the following day and rode on to his bungalow.

When he was alone he realised for the first time the effects of fatigue,
thirst and the broiling heat of the afternoon sun. But Mrs. Norton was
more in his thoughts than the exciting events of the day as he trotted
painfully on towards his bungalow.

The house was closely shut and shuttered against the outside heat, and
Raymond was asleep, enjoying a welcome _siesta_ after the early start
and hard exercise. Wargrave entered his own bare and comfortless
bedroom, and with the help of his "boy"--as Indian body-servants are
termed--proceeded to undress. Then, attired in a big towel and slippers,
he passed into the small, stone-paved apartment dignified with the title
of bathroom which opened off his bedroom.

After his ablutions Wargrave lay down on his bed and slept for an hour
or two until awakened by Raymond's voice bidding him join him at tea.
Strolling in pyjamas and slippers into the sitting-room which they
shared the subaltern found his comrade lying lazily in a long chair and
attired in the same cool costume. The outer doors and windows of the
bungalow were still closed against the brooding heat outside. Inside the
house the temperature was little cooler despite the _punkah_ which
droned monotonously overhead.

Over their tea the two young soldiers discussed the day's sport,
recalling every incident of each run and kill, until the servants came
in to throw open the doors and windows in hope of a faint breath of
evening coolness. The _punkah_ stopped, and the coolie who pulled it
shuffled away.

After tea Raymond took his companion to inspect the cantonment, which
Wargrave had not yet seen, for he had not reached it until after dusk
the previous day. It consisted only of the Mess, the Regimental Office,
and about ten bungalows for the officers, single-storied brick or
rubble-walled buildings, thatched or tiled. Some of them were unoccupied
and were tumbling in ruins. There was nothing else--not even the
"general shop" usual in most small cantonments. Not a spool of thread,
not a tin of sardines, could be purchased within a three days' journey.
Most of the food supplies and almost everything else had to be brought
from Bombay. Around the bungalow the compounds were simply patches of
the universal sands surrounded by mud walls. No flowers, no trees, not
even a blade of grass, relieved the dull monotony. Altogether the
cantonment of Rohar was an unlovely and uninteresting place. Yet it is
but an example of many such stations in India, lonely and
soul-deadening, some of which have not even its saving grace of sport to
enliven existence in them.

After a visit to the Lines--the rows of single-storied detached brick
buildings, one to a company, that housed the native ranks of the
regiment--where the Indian officers and sepoys (as native infantry
soldiers are called) rushed out to crowd round and welcome back their
popular officer, Wargrave and Raymond strolled to the Mess. Here in the
anteroom other British officers of the corps, tired out after the day's
sport, were lying in easy chairs, reading the three days' old Bombay
newspaper just arrived and the three weeks' old English journals until
it was time to return to their bungalows and dress for dinner.

Early on the following afternoon Wargrave borrowed Raymond's bamboo cart
and pony--for he had sold his own trap and horses before going on leave
to England and had not yet had time to buy new ones--and drove to the
Residency. When he pulled up before the hall-door and in Anglo-Indian
fashion shouted "Boy!" from his seat in the vehicle, a tall, stately
Indian servant in a long, gold-laced red coat reaching below the knees
and embroidered on the breast with the Imperial monogram in gold, came
out and held a small silver tray to him. Wargrave placed a couple of his
visiting cards on it, and the gorgeous apparition (known as a
_chuprassi_) retired into the building with them. While he was gone
Wargrave looked with pleasure at the brilliant flower-beds, green lawn
and tall plants and bushes glowing with colour of the carefully-tended
and well-watered Residency garden, which contrasted strikingly with the
dry, bare compounds of the cantonment.

In a minute or two the _chuprassi_ returned and said:

"Salaam!"

Wargrave, hooking up the reins, climbed down from the trap, leaving
Raymond's _syce_ in charge of the pony, and entered the grateful
coolness of the lofty hall. Here another _chuprassi_ took his hat and,
holding out a pen for him, indicated the red-bound Visitor's Book, in
which he was to inscribe his name. Then one of the servants led the way
up the broad staircase into a large and well-furnished drawing-room
extending along the whole front of the building. Here Wargrave found
Mrs. Norton awaiting him. She looked very lovely in a cool white dress
of muslin--but muslin shaped by a master-hand of Paris. She welcomed him
gaily and made him feel at once on the footing of an old friend.

She was genuinely glad to see him again. To this young and attractive
woman, full of the joy of living, hardly more than a girl, yet married
to a much older man, sober-minded, stolid and uncongenial to her, and
buried in this dull and lonely station, Wargrave had appealed instantly.
Youth calls to youth, and she hailed his advent into her monotonous life
as a child greets the coming of a playfellow. With the other two ladies
in Rohar she had nothing in common. Both were middle-aged, serious and
spiteful. To them her youth and beauty were an offence; and from the
first day of their acquaintance with her they had disliked her. As for
the other officers of the regiment none of them attracted her; for, good
fellows as they were, none shared any of her tastes except her love of
sport. But in Wargrave she had already recognised a companion, a
playmate, one to whom music, art and poetry appealed as they did to her.

On his side Frank, heart-whole but fond of the society of the opposite
sex, was at once attracted by this charming member of it who had tastes
akin to his own. Her beauty pleased his beauty-loving eye; and he would
not have been man if her readiness to meet him on a footing of
friendship had not flattered him. He had thought that a great drawback
to life in Rohar would be the lack of feminine companionship; for the
ladies of his regiment were not at all congenial, although he did not
dislike them. But it was delightful to find in this desert spot this
pretty and cultured woman, who would have been deemed attractive in
London and who appeared trebly so in a dull and lonely Indian station.
He had thought much of her since their meeting on the previous day; and
although it never occurred to him to lose his heart to her or even
attempt to flirt with her, yet he felt that her friendship would
brighten existence for him in Rohar. Nor did the thought strike him
that possibly he might come to mean more to Mrs. Norton than she to him.
For, while he had his work, his duties, the goodfellowship of the Mess
and the friendship of his comrades to fill his life, she had nothing.
She was utterly without interests, occupation or real companionship in
Rohar. Her husband and she had nothing in common. No child had come
during the five years of their marriage to link them together. And in
this solitary place where there were no gaieties, no distractions such
as a young woman would naturally long for, she was lonely, very lonely
indeed.

It was little wonder that she snatched eagerly at the promise of an
interesting friendship. Wargrave stood out and apart from the other
officers of the regiment; and his companionship during the uncomfortable
incident of the sandstorm bulked unaccountably large in her mind. It
seemed to denote that he was destined to introduce a new element into
her life.

As they talked it was with increasing pleasure that she learnt they had
so many tastes in common. She found that he played the violin well and
was, moreover, the possessor of a voice tuneful and sympathetic, even if
not perfectly trained. This made instant appeal to her and would have
disposed her to regard him with favour even if she had not been already
prepared to like him.

The afternoon passed all too quickly for both of them. Violet Norton
had never enjoyed any hours in Rohar so much as these; and when, as she
sat at the piano while Frank played an _obligato_, a servant came to
enquire if she wished her horse or a carriage got ready for her usual
evening ride or drive, she impatiently ordered him out of the room. When
the time came for Wargrave to return to his bungalow to dress for dinner
she begged him to stay and dine with her.

"I shall be all alone; and it would be a charitable act to take pity on
my solitude," she said. "My husband is dining at your Mess to-night."

"Thank you very much for asking me," replied the subaltern. "I should
have loved to accept your invitation; but it is our Guest Night and the
Colonel likes all of us to be present at Mess on such evenings."

"Oh, I forgot!" she exclaimed. "I ought to have remembered; for Mr.
Raymond told me the same thing only last week when I invited him
informally. Well, you must come some other night soon."

Reluctant to part with her new playmate she accompanied him to the door
and, to the scandal of the stately _chuprassis_, stood at it to watch
him drive away and to wave him a last goodbye as he looked back when the
pony turned out of the gate.

India is a land of lightning friendships between men and women.

THE LOVE-SONG OF HAR DYAL

The bugler was sounding the second mess-call as the Resident's carriage
drew up before the steps of the Mess verandah on which stood all the
officers of the regiment, dressed in the white drill uniform worn at
dinner in India during the hot weather. From the carriage Major Norton,
a stout, middle-aged man in civilian evening dress, descended stiffly
and shook hands with the Commandant of the battalion, Colonel Trevor,
who had come down the steps to meet him and whose guest he was to be.

On the verandah Wargrave was introduced to him by the Colonel and took
his outstretched hand with reluctance; for Frank felt stirring in him a
faint jealousy of the man who was Violet's legal lord and an indefinite
hostility to him for not appreciating his charming wife as he ought. And
while the Resident was shaking hands with the others Wargrave looked at
him with interest.

Major Norton was a very ordinary-looking man, more elderly in appearance
than his years warranted. He was bald and clean-shaved but for scraps of
side-whiskers that gave him a resemblance to the traditional
stage-lawyer of amateur theatricals, a likeness increased by his heavy
and prosy manner. It was hard to believe that he had ever been a young
subaltern, though such had once been the case, for the Indian Political
Department is recruited chiefly from officers of the Indian Army. But he
was never the gay and light-hearted individual that most junior subs.
are at the beginning of their career. Even then he had been a sober and
serious individual, favourably noted by his superiors as being earnest
and painstaking. And now he was well thought of by the Heads of his
Department; for his plodding and methodical disposition and his slavish
adherence to rules and regulations had earned him the reputation of
being an eminently "safe" man. How such a gay, laughter-loving,
coquettish and attractive woman as Violet Dering came to marry one so
entirely her opposite puzzled everyone who did not know the inner
history of a girl, one of a large family of daughters, given "her chance
in life" by being sent out to relatives in Calcutta for one season, with
a definite warning not to return home unmarried under penalty of being
turned out to face the world as a governess or hospital nurse. And
Violet liked comfort and hated work.

During dinner Wargrave found himself instinctively criticising Norton's
manner and conversation, and rapidly arrived at the conclusion that
Raymond had described him accurately. The Resident, though a very worthy
individual, was undoubtedly a bore; and Colonel Trevor, beside whom he
sat, strove in vain to appear interested in his conversation. For he had
heard his opinions on every subject on which Norton had any opinions
over and over again. As the Resident was the only other European in the
station he dined regularly at the Mess on the weekly Guest Night with
one or other of the officers. He was not popular among them, but they
considered it their duty to be victimised in turn to uphold the
regiment's reputation for hospitality; and in consequence each resigned
himself to act as his host.

After dinner, as the Resident played neither cards nor billiards, the
Colonel sat out on the verandah with him, all the while longing to be at
the bridge-table inside; and, as his guest was a strict teetotaller, he
did not like to order a drink for himself. So he tried to keep awake and
hide his yawns while listening to a prosy monologue on insects until the
Residency carriage came to take Major Norton away.

When his guest had left, the Colonel entered the anteroom heaving a sigh
of relief.

"Phew! thank God that's over!" he exclaimed piously. "Really, Norton
becomes more of a bore every day. I'm sick to death of hearing the
life-story of every Indian insect for the hundredth time. I'll dream of
_coleoptera_ and Polly 'optera and other weird beasties to-night."

The other officers looked up and laughed. Ross rose from the
bridge-table and said:

"Come and take my place, sir; we've finished the rubber. Have a drink;
you want something to cheer you up after that infliction. Boy!
whiskey-soda Commanding Sahib _ke wasté lao_. (Bring a whiskey and soda
for the Commanding officer.)"

"You've my entire sympathy, Colonel," said Major Hepburn, the Second in
Command. "It's my turn to ask the Resident to dinner next. I feel
tempted to go on the sick-list to escape it."

"I say, sir, I've got a good idea," said an Irish subaltern named Daly,
who was seated at the bridge-table. "Couldn't we pass a resolution at
the next Mess meeting that in future no guests are ever to be asked to
dinner? That will save us from our weekly penance."

The others laughed; but the Colonel, whose sense of humour was not his
strong point, took the suggestion as being seriously meant.

"No, no; we couldn't do that," he said in an alarmed tone. "The Resident
would be very offended and might mention it to the General when he comes
here on his annual inspection."

The remark was very characteristic of Colonel Trevor, who was a man who
dreaded responsibility and whose sole object in life was to reach safely
the time when, his period of command being finished, he could retire on
his full pension. He was always haunted by the dread that some
carelessness or mistake on his part or that of any of his subordinates
might involve him in trouble with his superiors and prevent that happy
consummation of his thirty years of Indian service. This fear made him
merciless to anyone under him whose conduct might bring the censure of
the higher authorities on the innocent head of the Commanding Officer
who was in theory responsible for the behaviour of his juniors. It was
commonly said in the regiment that he would cheerfully give up his own
brother to be hanged to save himself the mildest official reprimand.
Perhaps he was not altogether to blame; for he was not his own master in
private life. It was hinted that Colonel Trevor commanded the battalion
but that Mrs. Trevor commanded him. And unfortunately there was no doubt
that this lady interfered privately a good deal in regimental matters,
much to the annoyance of the other officers.

Now, relieved of the incubus that had hitherto spoiled his enjoyment of
the evening, the Colonel gratefully drank the whiskey and soda brought
him by Ross's order and sat down cheerfully to play bridge. He always
liked dining in the Mess, where he was a far more important person than
he was in his own house.

It did not take Wargrave long to settle down again into the routine of
regimental life and the humdrum existence of a small Indian station. But
he had never before been quartered in so remote and dull a spot as
Rohar. The only distractions it offered besides the shooting and
pigsticking were two tennis afternoons weekly, one at the Residency, the
other at the Mess. Here the dozen or so Europeans, who knew every line
of each other's faces by heart gathered regularly from sheer boredom
whether the game amused them or not. Neither Mrs. Trevor nor her
bosom-friend Mrs. Baird, the regimental surgeon's better half, ever
attempted it; but they invariably attended and sat together, usually
talking scandal of Mrs. Norton as she played or chatted with the men.
Mrs. Trevor's chief grievance against her was that the General
Commanding the Division, when he came to inspect the battalion, took the
younger woman in to dinner, for, as her husband the Resident was the
Viceroy's representative, she could claim precedence over the wife of a
mere regimental commandant. No English village is so full of petty
squabbles and malicious gossip as a small Indian station.

Like everyone else in the land Wargrave hated most those terrible hours
of the hot weather between nine in the morning and five in the
afternoon. He and Raymond passed them, like so many thousands of their
kind elsewhere, shut up in their comfortless bungalow, which was
darkened and closely shuttered to exclude the awful heat and the
blinding glare outside. Too hot to read or write, almost to smoke, they
lay in long cane chairs, gasping and perspiring freely, while the
whining _punkah_ overhead barely stirred the heated air. One exterior
window on the windward side of the bungalow was filled with a thick mat
of dried and odorous _kuskus_ grass, against which every quarter of an
hour the _bheestie_ threw water to wet it thoroughly so that the hot
breeze that swept over the burning sand outside might enter cooled by
the evaporation of the water.

But Frank found alleviation and comfort in frequent visits to the
Residency, where Mrs. Norton and he spent the baking hours of the
afternoon absorbed in making music or singing duets. For Violet had a
well-trained voice which harmonised well with his. No thought of sex
seemed to obtrude itself on them. They were just playmates, comrades,
nothing more.

Yet it was only natural that the woman's vanity should be flattered by
the man's eagerness to seek her society and by his evident pleasure in
it. And it was delightful to have at last a sympathetic listener to all
her little grievances, one who seemed as interested in her petty
household worries or the delinquencies of her London milliner in failing
to execute her orders properly as in her greater complaint against the
fate that condemned a woman of her artistic and gaiety-loving nature to
existence in the wilds and to the society of persons so uncongenial to
her as were the majority of the white folk of Rohar.

To a man the rôle of confidant to a pretty woman is pleasant and
flattering; and Wargrave felt that he was highly favoured by being made
the recipient of her confidences. It never occurred to him that there
might be danger in the situation. He regarded her only as a friend in
need of sympathy and help. His chivalry was up in arms at the thought
that she was not properly appreciated by her husband, who, he began to
suspect, was inclined to neglect her and treat her as a mere chattel.
The suspicion angered him. True, Violet had never definitely told him
so; but he gathered as much from her unconscious admissions and revered
her all the more for her bravery in endeavouring to keep silent on the
subject.

Certainly Major Norton did not seem to him to be a man capable of
understanding and valuing so sweet and rare a woman as this. After their
introduction in the Mess Frank's next meeting with him was at his own
table at the Residency, when in due course Wargrave was invited to
dinner after his duty call. Raymond was asked as well; and the two
subalterns were the only guests.

Their hostess looked very lovely in a Paris-made gown of a green shade
that suited her colouring admirably. England did not seem to the young
soldiers so very far away when this charming and exquisitely-dressed
woman received them in her large drawing-room from which all trace of
the East in furniture and decoration was carefully excluded. For the
English in India try to avoid in their homes all that would remind them
of the Land of Exile in which their lot is cast.

Major Norton came into the room after his guests, muttering an
unintelligible apology. He shook hands with them with an abstracted air
and failed to recall Wargrave's name. At table he asked Frank a few
perfunctory questions and then wandered off into his inevitable subject,
entomology, but finding him ignorant of and uninterested in it he
engaged in a desultory conversation with Raymond. He soon tired of this
and for the most part ate his dinner in silence. He never addressed his
wife; and Wargrave, watching them, pitied her if her husband was as
little companionable at meal-times when they were alone. He pictured her
sitting at table every day with this abstracted and uncommunicative man,
whose thoughts seemed far from his present company and surroundings and
who was scarcely likely to exert himself to talk to and entertain his
wife when he made so little effort to do so to his guests.

Determined that on this occasion at least his hostess should be amused
Frank did his best to enliven the meal. He described to her as well as
he could all that he remembered of the latest fashions in England, told
her the plots of the newest plays at the London theatres, repeated a
few laughable stories to make her smile and provoked Raymond, who had a
dry humour of his own, to a contest of wit. Between them the two
subalterns brightened up what had threatened to be a dull evening. Mrs.
Norton laughed gaily and helped to keep the ball rolling; and even the
host in his turn woke up and actually attempted to tell a humorous
story. It certainly lacked point; but he seemed satisfied that it was
funny, so his guests smiled as in duty bound. But Wargrave noted Mrs.
Norton's look of astonishment at this new departure on the part of her
husband and thought that there was something very pathetic in her
surprise. When the meal was ended she laughingly declined to leave the
men over their wine and stayed to smoke a cigarette with them.

When they all quitted the dining-room the Resident asked his guests to
excuse him for returning to his study, pleading urgent and important
work; and his wife led the subalterns up to the drawing-room and out on
to the verandah that ran alongside its French windows. Here easy chairs
and a table with a big lamp had been placed for them. As soon as they
were seated one of the stately _chuprassis_ brought coffee, while
another proffered cigars and cigarettes and held a light from a silver
spirit-lamp. Then both the solemn servitors departed noiselessly on bare
feet.

After some conversation Mrs. Norton said to the adjutant:

"Do you remember, Mr. Raymond, that you have promised to take me out
shooting one day?"

"I haven't forgotten," he replied; "but I was not able to arrange it, as
the Maharajah had pigsticking meets fixed up for all our free days. But
I don't think we'll have another for some time; for I hear that His
Highness is laid up from the effects of his fall. So we might go out
some day soon."

"Good. When shall we go?" asked Wargrave. "Let's fix it up now."

"What about next Thursday?" said his friend, turning to Mrs. Norton.

"Yes; that will suit me. Where shall we go?"

"There are a lot of partridge and a few hares, I'm told, near the tank
at Marwa, where there is a good deal of cultivation," answered Raymond.
Then turning to his friend he continued:

"You are not very keen on small game shooting, Frank; so you can bring
your rifle and try for _chinkara_. I saw a buck and a couple of doe
there not very long ago. A little venison would be very acceptable in
Mess."

"The tank is about eight miles away, isn't it?" said the hostess. "I'll
write to the Maharajah and ask him to lend us camels to take us out. My
cook will put up a good cold lunch for us."

She rose from her chair and continued:

"Now, Mr. Wargrave, come and sing something. I've been trying over
those new songs of yours to-day."

She led the way into the drawing-room and Raymond was left alone on the
verandah to smoke and listen for the rest of the evening, while the
others forgot him as they played and sang.

Suddenly he sat up in his chair and with a queer little pang of jealousy
in his heart stared through the open window at the couple at the piano.
He watched his friend's face turned eagerly towards his hostess.
Wargrave was gazing intently at her as in a voice full of feeling and
pathos, a voice with a plaintive little tone in it that thrilled him
strangely, she sang that haunting melody "The Love Song of Har Dyal."
Wistfully, sadly, she uttered the sorrowful words that Kipling puts into
the mouth of the lovelorn Pathan maiden:

    "My father's wife is old and harsh with years,
      And drudge of all my father's house am I.
    My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears,
      Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!
      Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!"

And the singer looked up into the eager eyes bent on her and sighed a
little as she struck the final chords. Out on the verandah Raymond
frowned as he watched them and wondered if this woman was to come
between them and take his friend from him. Just then the bare-footed
servants entered the room, carrying silver trays on which stood the
whiskies and sodas that are the stirrup-cups, the hints to guests that
the time of departure has come, of dinner-parties in India.

As the two subalterns drove home in Raymond's trap through the hot
Indian night under a moon shining with a brilliance that England never
knows, Wargrave hummed "The Love Song of Har Dyal."

Suddenly he said:

"She's wonderful, Ray, isn't she? Fancy such a glorious woman buried in
this hole and married to a dry old stick like the Resident! Doesn't it
seem a shame?"

The adjutant mumbled an incoherent reply behind his lighted cheroot.

Arrived in their bungalow they undressed in their rooms and in pyjamas
and slippers came out into the compound, where on either side of a table
on which was a lighted lamp stood their bedsteads, the mattress of each
covered with a thin strip of soft China matting. For in the hot weather
in many parts of India this must be used to lie upon instead of a linen
sheet, which would become saturated with perspiration. Looking carefully
at the ground over which they passed for fear of snakes they reached and
lay down on their beds, over each of which a _punkah_ was suspended from
a cross-beam supported by two upright posts sunk in the ground. One rope
moved both _punkahs_, and the motive power was supplied by a coolie
who, salaaming to the sahibs and seating himself on the ground, picked
up the end of the rope and began to pull. Raymond put out the lamp.

Wargrave stared up at the moon for a while. Then he said:

"I say, Ray; didn't Mrs. Norton look lovely to-night? Didn't that dress
suit her awfully well?"

"Oh, go to sleep, old man. We've got to get up in a few hours for this
confoundedly early parade. Goodnight," growled the adjutant, turning on
his side and closing his eyes.

But he listened for some time to his friend humming "The Love Song of
Har Dyal" again! and not until Frank was silent did he doze off. An hour
later he woke up suddenly, bathed in perspiration and devoured by
mosquitoes; for the _punkahs_ were still--the coolie had gone to sleep.
He called to the man and aroused him, then before shutting his eyes
again he looked at his companion. The moon shone full on Wargrave's
face. He was sleeping peacefully and smiling. Raymond stared at him for
a few minutes. Then he muttered inconsequently:

"Confound the woman!"

And closing his eyes resolutely he fell asleep.

In the days that elapsed before the shoot at Marwa, Wargrave rode every
afternoon to the Residency with the _syce_ carrying his violin case,
except when tennis was to be played. In their small community this
could not escape notice and comment--not that it occurred to him to try
to avoid either. The Resident did not object to the frequency of his
visits; and Frank saw no harm in his friendship with Mrs. Norton. But
others did; and the remarks of the two ladies of his regiment on the
subject were venomously spiteful. But their censure was reserved for the
one they termed "that shameless woman"; for like everyone else they were
partial to Wargrave and held him less to blame.

His brother officers, although being men they were not so quick to nose
out a scandal, could not help noticing his absorption in Mrs. Norton's
society. One afternoon his Double Company Commander, Major Hepburn,
walked into the compound of Raymond's bungalow and on the verandah
shouted the usual Anglo-Indian caller's demand:

"Boy! _Koi hai_?" (Is anyone there?)

A servant hurried out and salaaming answered:

"_Adjitan Sahib hai_." (The adjutant is here).

"Oh, come in, Major," cried Raymond, rising from the table at which he
was seated drinking his tea.

"Don't get up," said Hepburn, entering the room. "Is Wargrave in?"

"No, sir; he went out half an hour ago."

"Confound it, it seems impossible ever to find him in the afternoon
nowadays," said the major petulantly. "I wanted him to get up a hockey
match against No. 3 Double Company to-day. He used to be very keen on
playing with the men; but since he came back from England he never goes
near them. Where is he? Poodlefaking at the Residency, as usual?"

This is the term contemptuously applied in India to the paying of calls
and other social duties that imply dancing attendance on the fair sex.

"I didn't see him before he went out, sir," was Raymond's equivocal
reply. He loyally evaded a direct answer.

Hepburn shook his head doubtfully.

"I'm sorry about it. I hope the boy doesn't get into mischief. Look
here, Raymond, you're his pal. Keep your eye on him. He's a good lad;
and it would be a pity if he came to grief."

The adjutant did not answer. The major put on his hat.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to see to the hockey myself."

He left the bungalow with a curt nod to Raymond, who watched him pass
out through the compound gate. Then the adjutant walked over to
Wargrave's writing-table and stood up again in its place a large
photograph of Mrs. Norton which he had hurriedly laid face downwards
when he heard Hepburn's voice outside. He looked at it for a minute,
then turned away frowning.

When the morning of the shooting party arrived Wargrave and Raymond,
having sent their _syces_ on ahead with their guns, rode at dawn to the
Residency. In front of the building a group of camels lay on the ground,
burbling, blowing bubbles, grumbling incessantly and stretching out
their long necks to snap viciously at anyone but their drivers that
chanced to come near them. At the hall-door Mrs. Norton stood, dressed
in a smart and attractive costume of khaki drill, consisting of a
well-cut long frock coat and breeches, with the neatest of cloth gaiters
and dainty but serviceable boots. To their surprise her husband was with
her and evidently prepared to accompany them. For he wore an old coat,
knickerbockers and putties, from a strap over his shoulder hung a
specimen box, and he was armed with all the requisite appliances for the
capture and slaughter of many insects.

Avoiding the camels' vicious teeth the party mounted after exchanging
greetings. Mrs. Norton and Wargrave rode the same animal; and Frank,
unused to this form of locomotion, took a tight grip as the long-legged
beast rose from the ground in unexpected jerks and set off at a jolting
walk that shook its riders painfully. Then it broke into a trot equally
disconcerting but finally settled into an easy canter that was as
comfortable a motion as its previous paces had been spine-dislocating.
The route lay at first over a space of desert which was unpleasant, for
the sand was blown in clouds by a high wind, almost a gale. But the
camels were fast movers and it did not take very long before they were
passing through scrub jungle and finally reached the wide stretch of
cultivation near Marwa.

The tank, as lakes are called in India, lay in the centre of a shallow
depression, the rim of which all round was about four hundred yards from
the water which, now half a mile across, evidently filled the whole
basin in the rainy season. The strong breeze churned its surface into
little waves and piled up masses of froth and foam against the bending
reeds at one end of the tank, where, about fifty yards from the water's
edge stood a couple of thorny trees, offering almost the only shade to
be found for a long distance around. In the shallows were many yellow
egrets, while a _sarus_ crane stalked solemnly along the far bank, and
everywhere bird-life, rare elsewhere in the State, abounded. The land
all about was green, a refreshing change from the usual sandy and
parched character of most of the country.

But beyond the tank the fields stretched away out of sight. At the edge
of the cultivation the camels were halted and the party dismounted from
them and separated. Mrs. Norton, who was a fair shot and carried a light
12-bore gun, started to walk up the partridges with Raymond, while her
husband went to search the reeds and the borders of the lake for strange
insects. Wargrave armed with a sporting Mannlicher rifle, set off on a
long tramp to look for _chinkara_, which are pretty little antelope with
curving horns. The wind, which was freshening, prevented the heat from
being excessive.

The sport was fairly good. When lunch-time came the adjutant and Mrs.
Norton had got quite a respectable bag of partridges and a few hares.
The entomologist was in high spirits, for he had secured two rare
specimens; and Wargrave had shot a good buck. So in a contented frame of
mind all gathered under the trees near the end of the tank, where lunch
was laid by a couple of the Residency servants on a white cloth spread
on the ground. As they ate their _tiffin_ (lunch) the members of the
party chatted over the incidents of the morning; and each related the
story of his or her sport.

After the meal Mrs. Norton decided to rest; for the ride and the long
walk with her gun had tired her. The servants spread a rug for her under
the trees and placed a camel saddle for her to recline against. Then
carrying away the empty dishes, plates, glasses and cutlery they retired
out of sight.

"Are you sure you don't mind being left alone, Mrs. Norton?" asked
Wargrave.

"Not in the least. Do go and shoot again," she replied, smiling up at
him. "I'm very comfortable and I'm glad to have a good rest before
undertaking that tiresome ride back. It's very pleasant here. The wind
comes so cool and fresh off the water. Isn't it strong, though?"

The breeze had freshened to a gale and under the trees the temperature
was quite bearable. The Resident had already gone out of sight over the
rim of the basin, having exhausted the neighbourhood of the tank and
being desirous of searching farther afield. Wargrave and Raymond now
followed him but soon separated, the latter making for the cultivation
again, while his friend set off for the open plain. Ordinarily the heat
would have been intense, for the hours after noon up to three o'clock or
later are the hottest of the day in India; but the gale made it quite
cool.

To Wargrave, tramping about unsuccessfully this time, came frequently
the sound of Raymond's gun.

"Ray seems to be having all the luck," he thought, as through his
field-glasses he scanned the plain without seeing anything. "I'm getting
fed up."

At last in despair he shouldered his rifle and turned back. After a long
walk he came in sight of the adjutant standing near the edge of the
fields talking to Norton. When Frank reached them he found that his
friend had increased his bag very considerably.

"Well done, old boy, you'd better luck than I had," he said. Then
turning to the Resident he continued: "How have you done, sir?"

"Nothing of any value," replied Norton "Have you finished? We're
thinking of going back now."

"Yes, sir; I'm through. By Jove, I'm thirsty. I could do with a drink,
couldn't you, Ray?"

"Rather. My throat's like a lime-kiln. We'll join Mrs. Norton and then
have an iced drink while the camels are being saddled."

They strolled towards the lake, which was hidden from their view by the
rim of the basin. As they reached the slight ridge that this made all
three stopped dead and gazed in amazement.

"What's happened to the tank?" exclaimed Raymond. "The water's almost up
to the trees."

"Good God; My wife! Look! Look!" cried the Resident.

They stood appalled. The wide body of water had swept up to within a few
yards of the trees under which Mrs. Norton lay fast asleep. And
stealthily emerging from it a large crocodile was slowly, cautiously,
crawling towards the unconscious woman.

CHAPTER IV

A CROCODILE INTERVENES

Major Norton opened his mouth to cry a warning; but Wargrave grasped his
arm and said hurriedly:

"Don't shout, sir! Don't wake her! She'd be too confused to move."

Then he thrust his field-glasses into the adjutant's hand.

"Watch for the strike of my bullet, Ray," he said.

He threw himself at full length on the ground and pressed a cartridge
into the breech of his rifle. His companions stood over him as he cast a
hurried glance forward and adjusted his sight, muttering:

"Just about four hundred yards."

The crocodile was nearly broadside on to him; and even at that distance
he could see the scaly armour covering head, back and sides, that would
defy any bullet. The unprotected spot behind the shoulder was hidden
from him; the only vulnerable part was the neck. Wargrave laid his cheek
to the butt and sighted on this.

The crocodile crept on inch by inch, dragging its limbs forward with the
slow, stealthy movement of its kind when stalking their prey on land.
The horrified watchers saw that the terrible snout with its protruding
fangs was barely a yard from Mrs. Norton's feet. Raymond's hands holding
the glasses to his eyes trembled violently. The Resident shook as with
the palsy; and he stared in horror at the crawling death that threatened
the sleeping woman.

Wargrave fired.

As the rifle rang out the creeping movement ceased.

"You've hit him, I'll swear," cried Raymond. "I didn't see the bullet
strike the ground."

Wargrave rapidly worked the bolt of his rifle, jerking out the empty
case and pushing a fresh cartridge into the chamber. He fired again.

"That's got him! That _must_ have got him!" exclaimed Raymond.

The crocodile lay still. Frank leapt to his feet and, rifle in hand,
dashed down the incline. At that moment Mrs. Norton awoke, turned on her
side, raised her body a little and suddenly saw the horrible reptile.
She sat up rigid with terror and stared at it. The brute slowly opened
its huge mouth and disclosed the cruel, gapped teeth. Then the iron jaws
clashed together. With a shriek the woman sprang to her feet, but stood
trembling, unable to move away.

"Run! Run!" shouted Wargrave, springing down the slope towards her.

Behind him raced Raymond, while her husband, who was unable to run
fast, followed far behind.

Mrs. Norton seemed rooted to the spot. But she turned to Wargrave with
outstretched arms and gasped:

"Save me, Frank! Save me!"

With a bound he reached her, and, as she clung to him convulsively,
panted out:

"It's all right, dear. You're safe now."

He pushed her behind him, and bringing the rifle to his shoulder, faced
the crocodile. The brute opened and shut its great jaws, seeming to gasp
for air, while a strange whistling sound came from its throat. Its body
appeared to be paralysed.

"It can't move. You've broken its spine," cried Raymond, as he reached
them. "Your first shot it must have been. Look! Your second's torn its
throat."

He pointed to the neck and went round to the other side. From a jagged,
gaping wound where the expanding bullet had torn the throat, the blood
spurted and air whistled out with a shrill sound.

Wargrave turned to Violet and took the terrified woman, who seemed on
the point of fainting, in his arms.

"All right, little girl. It's all right. The brute's done for."

She pulled herself together with an effort and looked nervously at the
crocodile. Then she released herself from Frank's clasp and said,
smiling feebly:

"What a coward I am! I'm ashamed of myself. Where's John? Oh, here he
is. Doesn't he look funny?"

The Resident, very red-faced and out of breath, had slowed down into a
shambling walk and was puffing and blowing like a grampus. As he came up
to them he spluttered:

"Is it safe? Is it dead?"

"It's harmless now, sir," answered Raymond. "It's still living but it
can't move. The spine's broken, I think."

The Resident turned to his wife. The poor man had been in agony while
she was in danger; but now that the peril had passed he could only
express his relief in irritable scolding:

"How could you be so foolish, Violet?" he asked crossly. "The idea of
going to sleep near the tank! Most unwise! You might have been eaten
alive."

His wife smiled bitterly and glanced at the grumbling man with a
contemptuous expression on her face.

"Yes, John, very inconsiderate of me, I daresay. But how was I to know
that there was a _mugger_ (crocodile) in the tank?"

Then for the first time she realised the nearness of the water.

"Good gracious! I thought I was much farther--how did I get so close to
it? Did I slip down in my sleep?"

"No; there are the trees," said Raymond. "It's extraordinary. The whole
tank seems to have shifted."

The Resident was mopping his bald scalp and lifted his hat to let the
gusty wind cool his head. A sudden squall blew the big pith sun-helmet
out of his hand. Wargrave caught it in the air and returned it to its
owner.

"By Jove! it's a regular gale," he said. "I think I know what's
happened. This wind's so strong that it's blown the water of the tank
before it and actually shifted the whole mass thirty or forty yards this
way."

"Yes, I've known that to occur before with shallow ponds," said Raymond.
"I've heard the passage of the Red Sea by the Israelites and the
drowning of Pharaoh's Army explained in the same way. It's said that the
crossing really took place at one extremity of the Bitter Lake through
which the Suez Canal passes."

Major Norton was staring at the far end of the tank now left bare.

"There may be some interesting insects stranded on the bottom uncovered
by the receding water," he said, abstractedly, and was moving away to
search for them when Wargrave said disgustedly:

"Don't you think, sir, that, as Mrs. Norton has had such a shock, the
sooner we get off the better?"

"Yes, yes. Very true. But you can order the camels to be saddled while
I'm having a look," replied the enthusiastic collector. "I really must
go and see. There may be some very interesting specimens there."

And he hurried away. His wife smiled rather bitterly as he went. Then
she turned to the two subalterns.

"But tell me what happened? How did the _mugger_ come here? How was I
saved?"

Raymond rapidly narrated what had taken place. Violet looked at Wargrave
with glistening eyes and held out her hands to him.

"So you saved my life. How can I thank you?" she said gratefully. Her
lips trembled a little.

Frank took her hands in his but answered lightly:

"Oh, it was nothing. Anyone else would have done the same. I happened to
be the only one with a rifle."

Raymond turned away quickly and walked over to the crocodile. Neither of
them took any notice of him. Violet gazed fondly at Wargrave.

"I owe you so much, Frank, so very much," she murmured in a low voice.
"You've made my life worth living; and now you make me live."

He was embarrassed but he pressed the hands he held in his. Then he
released them and tried to speak lightly.

"Shall I have the _mugger_ skinned and get a dressing-bag made out of
his hide for you?" he said, smiling. "That'd be a nice souvenir of the
brute."

She shuddered.

"I don't want to remember him," she cried, turning to glance at the
crocodile. "Horrid beast! I can't bear the sight of him."

The _mugger_ certainly looked a most repulsive brute as it lay stretched
on the ground, its jaws occasionally opening and shutting spasmodically,
the blood from its wounded throat spreading in a pool on the sun-baked
earth. It was evidently an old beast; and skull and back were covered
with thick horny plates and bosses through which no bullet could
penetrate. The big teeth studded irregularly in the cruel jaws were
yellow and worn, as were the thick nails tipping the claws at the ends
of the powerful limbs.

"The devil's not dead yet. Shall I put another bullet into him?" said
Wargrave.

"It's only wasting a cartridge," replied his friend. "He can't do any
more harm. When the men come we'll have him cut open and see what he's
got inside him."

Violet shuddered.

"Oh, do you think he has ever eaten any human being?" she asked, gazing
with loathing at the huge reptile.

"Judging from the way he stalked you I should think he has," answered
Raymond. "Hullo! here comes one of the camel-drivers with some of the
villagers. They'll be able to tell us about him."

On the rim of the basin appeared a group of natives moving in their
direction. Suddenly they caught sight of the crocodile, stopped and
pointed to it and began to talk excitedly. One of the local peasants ran
back shouting. The rest hurried down for a closer view of the reptile. A
chorus of wonder rose from them as they stood round it. The Mahommedan
camel-driver exclaimed in Hindustani:

"_Ahré, bhai! Kiya janwar! Pukka shaitan!_ (Ah, brother! What an animal!
A veritable devil!)"

As the villagers spoke only the dialect of the State, Raymond used this
man as interpreter and questioned them about the crocodile. They
asserted that it had inhabited the tank for many years--hundreds, said
one man. It had, to their certain knowledge, killed several women
incautiously bathing or drawing water from the tank. As women are not
valued highly by the poorer Hindus this did not make the _mugger_ very
unpopular. But early in that very year it had committed the awful crime
of dragging under water and devouring a Brahmini bull, an animal devoted
to the Gods and held sacrosanct.

By this time the crocodile had breathed its last. Raymond measured it
roughly and found it to be over twelve feet in length. The peasants
turned the great body on its back. Wargrave saw that the skin
underneath was too thick to be made into leather, so he bade them cut
the belly open. The stomach contained many shells of freshwater crabs
and crayfish, as well as a surprising amount of large pebbles, either
taken for digestive purposes or swallowed when the fish were being
scooped up off the bottom. But further search resulted in the finding of
several heavy brass or copper anklets and armlets, such as are worn by
Indian women. Some had evidently been a long time in the reptile's
interior.

When the camels had come and the party was preparing to mount and start
back home, a crowd of villagers, led by their old priest, bore down upon
them. Learning that Frank was the slayer of the sacrilegious crocodile
the holy man hung a garland of marigolds round his neck and through the
interpreter offered him the thanks of gods and men for his good deed.
And to a chorus of blessings and compliments he rode away with his
companions.

So ended the incident--apparently. But consequences undreamed of by any
of the actors in it flowed from it. For imperceptibly it brought a
change into the relations between Mrs. Norton and Wargrave and
eventually altered them completely. At first it merely seemed to
strengthen their friendship and increase the feeling of intimacy. To
Violet--they were Violet and Frank to each other now--the saving of her
life constituted a bond that could never be severed. He had preserved
her from a horrible death and she owed Wargrave more than gratitude.

Hitherto she had often toyed with the idea of him as a lover, and the
thought had been a pleasant one. But it had hardly occurred to her to be
in love with him in return. In all her life up to now she had never
known what it was to really love. She had married without affection. Her
girlhood had been passed without the mildest flirtation; for she had
been brought up in a quiet country village where there never seemed to
be any bachelors of her own class between the ages of seventeen and
fifty. Even the curate was grey-haired and married. She had made up for
this deprivation during the voyage out to India and her season in
Calcutta; but, although she had found many men ready to flirt with her,
Norton's proposal was the only serious one that she had had and she
accepted him in desperation. She had never felt any love for him. She
did not realise that he had any for her; for, although he really
entertained a sincere affection of a kind for her, it was so seldom and
so badly expressed that she was never aware of its existence. Since her
marriage she had had several careless flirtations during her visits to
her relatives in Calcutta; but her heart was not seriously affected.

She never acknowledged to herself that any gratitude or loyalty was due
from her to her husband. On the contrary she felt that she owed him, as
well as Fate, a grudge. She was young, warmblooded, of a passionate
temperament, yet she found herself wedded to a man who apparently needed
a housekeeper, not a wife. Her husband did not appear to realise that a
woman is not essentially different to a man, that she has feelings,
desires, passions, just as he has--although by a polite fiction the
prudish Anglo-Saxon races seem to agree to regard her as of a more
spiritual, more ethereal and less earthly a nature. Yet it is only a
fiction after all. Violet was a living woman, a creature of flesh and
blood who was not content to be a chattel, a household ornament, a piece
of furniture. It was not to be wondered at that she longed to enter into
woman's kingdom, to exercise the power of her sex to sway the other and
to experience the thrill of the realisation of that power. Often in her
loneliness she pined to see eyes she loved look with love into hers. She
was not a marble statue. It was but natural that she should long for
Love, a lover, the clasp of strong arms, the pressure of a man's broad
chest against her bosom, the feel of burning kisses on her lips, the
glorious surrender of her whole being to some adored one to whom she was
the universe, who lived but for her.

Now for the first time in her life her errant dreams took concrete
shape. At last she began to feel the companionship of a particular man
necessary for her happiness. She had never before realised the
pleasure, the joy, to be derived from the presence of one of the
opposite sex who was in sympathy, in perfect harmony with her nature.

In her lonely hours--and they were many--she thought constantly of
Wargrave; his face was ever before her, his voice sounding in her ears.
She usually saw her husband--absorbed in his work and studies--only at
meals; and as she looked across the table at him then she could not help
contrasting the heavy, unattractive man sitting silent, usually reading
a book while he ate, with the good-looking, laughter-loving playfellow
who had come into her life. She learned to day-dream of Wargrave, to
watch for his coming and hate his going, to enjoy every moment of his
presence. He had brought a new interest into her hitherto purposeless
life, the life that he had preserved and that consequently seemed to
belong to him. New feelings awakened in her. The world was a brighter,
happier place than it had been. It pleased her to realise what it all
meant, to know that the novel sensations, the fluttering hopes and
fears, the strange, delightful thrills, were all symptoms of that
longed-for malady that comes sooner or later to all women. She knew at
last that she loved Wargrave and gloried in the knowledge. And she never
doubted that he loved her in return.

Did he? It was hard to tell. To a man the thought of Love in the
abstract seldom occurs; and the realisation of the concrete fact that
he is in love with some particular woman generally comes somewhat as a
shock. He is by nature a lover of freedom and in theory at least resents
fetters, even silken ones. And Wargrave had never thought of analysing
his feelings towards Violet. He was not a professional amorist and,
although not a puritan, would never set himself deliberately to make
love to a married woman under her husband's roof. He was fond of Mrs.
Norton--as a sister, he thought. She was a delightful friend, a real
pal, so understanding, so companionable, he said to himself frequently.
It had not occurred to him that his feelings for her might be love. He
had often before been on terms of friendship with women, married and
single; but none of them had ever attracted him as much as she did. He
had never felt any desire to be married; domesticity did not appeal to
him. But now, as he watched Violet moving about her drawing-room or
playing to him, he found himself thinking that it would be pleasant to
return to his bungalow from parade and find a pretty little wife waiting
to greet him with a smile and a kiss--and the wife of his dreams always
had Violet's face, wore smart well-cut frocks like Violet's, and showed
just such shapely, silken-clad legs and ankles and such small feet in
dainty, silver-buckled, high-heeled shoes. And he thought with an inward
groan that such a luxury was not for a debt-ridden subaltern like him,
that his heavily-mortgaged pay would not run to expensive gowns, silk
stockings and costly footwear.

Yet it never occurred to him that Violet cared for him nor did it enter
his mind to try to win her love. But he felt that he would do much to
make her happy, that saving her life made him in a way responsible for
it in future; and he knew that she was not a contented woman. His
sympathy went out to her for what he guessed she must suffer from her
ill-assorted union.

But soon he had no need to surmise it; for before long Violet began to
confide all her sorrows to him and the recital made his heart bleed for
one so young and beautiful mated to a selfish wretch who was as blind to
her suffering as he was to her charm. The younger man's chivalry was up
in arms, and he felt that such a boor did not deserve so bright a jewel.
At times Frank was tempted to confront the callous husband and force him
to open his dulled eyes to the bravely-borne misery of his neglected
wife and realise how fortunate he ought to consider himself in being the
owner of such a transcendent being. But the next moment the infatuated
youth was convinced that Norton was incapable of appreciating so rare a
woman, that only a nature like his own could understand or do full
justice to the perfections of hers. Such is a young man's conceit. He
rejoiced to know that his poor sympathy could help in a measure to make
up to Violet for the happiness that she declared that she had missed in
life. And so he gladly consented to play the consoler; and she, for the
pleasure of being consoled, continued to pour out her griefs to him.

But if Frank was unconscious of the danger of his post as sympathising
confidant to another man's young and pretty wife, others were not. Her
husband, of course, was as blind as most husbands seem to be in
Anglo-Indian society. For in that land of the Household of Three, the
Eternal Triangle, it is almost a recognised principle that every married
woman who is at all attractive is entitled to have one particular
bachelor always in close attendance on her, to be constantly at her beck
and call, to ride with her, to drive her every afternoon to tennis or
golf or watch polo, then on to the Club and sit with her there. His
duty, a pleasant one, no doubt, is to cheer up her otherwise solitary
dinner in her bungalow on the nights when her neglectful husband is
dining out _en garçon_. No _cavaliere servente_ of Old Italy ever had so
busy a time as the Tame Cat of the India of to-day. And the husband
allows it, nay seems, as Major Norton did, to hail his presence with
relief, as it eases the conscience of the selfish lord and master who
leaves his spouse much alone.

But if the Resident saw no harm or danger in the young officer
constantly seeking the society of his pretty wife others did. At first
Frank's well-wishers tried to hint to him that there was likelihood of
his friendship with her being misunderstood. But he laughed at
Raymond's badly-expressed warning and rather resented Major Hepburn's
kindly advice when on one occasion his Company Commander spoke plainly,
though tactfully, to him on the subject. Then Violet's enemies took a
hand in the game. Mrs. Trevor, having failed to decoy him to her
bungalow for what she called "a quiet tea and a motherly little chat,"
cornered him one afternoon when he was on his way to the Residency and
spoke very openly to him of the risk he ran of being entangled in the
coils of such an outrageous coquette as "that Mrs. Norton," as she
termed her. Frank was so indignant at her abuse of his friend that for
the first time in his life he was rude to a woman and snubbed Mrs.
Trevor so severely that she went in a rage to her husband and insisted
on his taking immediate steps to arrest the progress of a scandal that,
she declared, would attract the unfavourable attention of the higher
military authorities to the regiment.

"Do you realise, William, that you will be the one to suffer?" said the
angry woman. "If anything happens, if Major Norton complains, if that
shameless creature succeeds in making that foolish young man run away
with her, you will be blamed. You can't afford it. You know that the
General's confidential report on you last year was not too favourable."

"It wasn't really bad, my dear; it only hinted that I lacked decision,"
pleaded the hen-pecked man.

"Exactly. You are not firm enough," persisted his domestic tyrant. "They
will say that you should have put your foot down at once and stopped
this disgraceful affair."

"But what can I do?" asked the Colonel helplessly.

"Someone ought to speak to Major Norton at once."

"Oh, my dear Jane, I couldn't. I daren't."

"For two pins I'd do it myself. Mrs. Baird said the other day that it
was our duty as respectable women."

"No, no, no, Jane. You mustn't think of it," exclaimed the alarmed man.
"I forbid you. You mustn't mix yourself up in the affair. It would be
committing me."

"Then send that impertinent young man away," said Mrs. Trevor firmly. No
General would have accused _her_ of lack of decision. "I used to have a
high opinion of him once; but after his insolence to me I believe him to
be nearly as bad as that woman."

"Where can I send him?" asked the worried Colonel. "He has done all the
courses and passed all the classes and examinations he can."

"You know you have only to write confidentially to the Staff and inform
them that young Wargrave's removal to another station is absolutely
necessary to prevent a scandal; and they'll send him off somewhere else
at once."

Her husband nodded his head. He was well aware of the fact that the Army
in India looks closely after the behaviour and morals of its officers,
that a colonel has only to hint that the transfer of a particular
individual under his command is necessary to stop a scandal--and without
loss of time that officer finds himself deported to the other side of
the country.

One morning, a week after Mrs Trevor's conversation with her husband,
Wargrave, superintending the musketry of his Double Company on the rifle
range, was given an official note from the adjutant informing him that
the Commanding Officer desired to see him at once in the Orderly Room.
As Major Hepburn was not present Frank handed the men over to the senior
Indian company commander and rode off to the Regimental Office,
wondering as he went what could be the reason of the sudden summons.
Reaching the building he found Raymond on the watch for him, while
ostensibly engaged in criticising to the battalion _durzi_ (tailor) the
fit of the new uniforms of several recruits.

"I say, Ray, what's up?" asked his friend cheerily, as he swung himself
out of the saddle.

The adjutant nodded warningly towards the Orderly Room and dropped his
voice as he replied:

"I don't know, old chap. The C.O.'s said nothing to me; but he's in
there with Hepburn trying to work himself up into a rage so that he can
bully-rag you properly. You'd better go in and get it over."

Wargrave entered the big, colour-washed room. The Colonel was seated at
his desk, frowning at a paper before him, and did not look up. Major
Hepburn was standing behind his chair and glanced commiseratingly at the
subaltern.

Frank stood to attention and saluted.

"Good morning, sir," he said. "You wanted to see me?"

Colonel Trevor did not reply, but turning slightly in his chair, said:

"Major Hepburn, call in the adjutant, please."

As the Second in Command went out on the verandah and summoned Raymond,
Wargrave's heart misgave him. He had no idea of what the matter was; but
the Colonel's manner and the presence of the Second in Command were
ominous signs. He wondered what crime he was going to be charged with.

"Shut the doors, Raymond," said the Commanding Officer curtly, as the
adjutant entered. The latter did so and sat down at his writing-table,
glancing anxiously at his friend.

Colonel Trevor's lips were twitching nervously; and he seemed to
experience a difficulty in finding his voice. At last he took up a
paper from his desk and said:

"Mr. Wargrave, this is a telegram just received from Western Army Head
Quarters. It says 'Lieutenant Wargrave is appointed to No. 12 Battalion,
Frontier Military Police. Direct him to proceed forthwith to report to
O.C. Detachment, Ranga Duar, Eastern Bengal.'"

CHAPTER V

SENTENCE OF EXILE

At the words of the telegram Raymond started and Frank stared in
bewilderment at the Colonel.

"But I never asked for the Military Police, sir," he exclaimed. "I----"

The Colonel licked his dry lips and, working himself up into a passion,
shouted:

"No, you didn't. But I did. I applied for you to be sent to it. I asked
for you to be transferred from this station. You can ask yourself the
reason why. I will not tolerate conduct such as yours, sir. I will not
have an officer like you under my command."

Frank flushed deeply.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I don't understand. I really don't know what
I've done. I should----"

But the Colonel burst in furiously:

"He says he doesn't know what he's done, Major Hepburn. Listen to that!
He does not know what he's done"; and the speaker pounded on the desk
with his clenched fist, working himself up into a rage, as a weak man
will do when he has to carry out an unpleasant task.

"But, sir, surely I have a right----," began Wargrave, clenching his
hands until the nails were almost driven into his palms in an effort to
keep his temper.

"I cannot argue the question with you, Wargrave," said the Colonel
loftily. "You have got your orders. Headquarters approve of my action. I
have discussed the matter with my Second in Command, and he agrees with
me. You can go. Raymond, make out the necessary warrants for Mr.
Wargrave's journey and give him an advance of a month's pay. He will
leave to-morrow. Tell the Quartermaster to make the necessary
arrangements."

Frank bit his lip. His years of discipline and the respect for authority
engrained in him since his entrance to Sandhurst kept the mutinous words
back. He saluted punctiliously and, turning about smartly walked out of
the Orderly Room. In the glaring sunshine he strode out of the compound
and down the white, dusty road to his bungalow, his brain in a whirl,
blind to everything, seeing neither the sepoys saluting him nor his
_syce_ hurrying after him and dragging the pony by the bridle.

When he reached his house he entered the sitting-room and dropped into a
chair. His "boy" approached salaaming and asked if he should go to the
Mess to order the Sahib's breakfast to be got ready. Wargrave waved him
away impatiently.

He sat staring unseeingly at the wall. He could not think coherently. He
felt dazed. His bewildered brain seemed to be revolving endlessly round
the thought of the telegram from Headquarters and the Colonel's words "I
will not have an officer like you under my command." What was the
meaning of it all? What had he done? A pang shot through him at the
sudden remembrance of Colonel Trevor's assertion that Major Hepburn
agreed with him. Frank held the Second in Command in high respect, for
he knew him to be an exceptionally good soldier and a gentleman in every
sense of the word. Had he so disgraced himself then that Hepburn
considered the Colonel's action justified? But how?

He shifted uneasily in his chair and his eyes fell on Mrs. Norton's
portrait. At the sight of it his Company Commander's advice to him about
her and Mrs. Trevor's spiteful remarks flashed across his mind. Could
Violet be mixed up in all this? Was his friendship with her perhaps the
cause of the trouble? He dismissed the idea at once. There was nothing
to be ashamed of in their relations.

A figure darkened the doorway. It was Raymond. Wargrave sprang up and
rushed to him.

"What in Heaven's name is it all about, Ray?" he cried. "Is the Colonel
mad?"

The adjutant took off his helmet and flung it on the table.

"Well, tell me. What the devil have I done?" said his friend
impatiently.

Raymond tried to speak but failed.

"Go on, man. What is it?" cried Wargrave, seizing his arm.

The adjutant burst out:

"It's a damned shame, old man. I'm sorry."

"But what is it? What is it, I say?" cried Wargrave, shaking him.

The adjutant nodded his head towards the big photograph on the
writing-table.

"It's Mrs. Norton," he said.

"Mrs. Norton?" echoed his friend. "What the--what's she got to do with
it?"

Raymond threw himself into a chair.

"Someone's been making mischief. The C.O.'s been told that there might
be a scandal so he's got scared lest trouble should come to him."

Frank stared blankly at the speaker, then suddenly turned and walked out
of the bungalow. The pony was standing huddled into the patch of shade
at the side of the house, the _syce_ squatting on the ground at its head
and holding the reins. Wargrave sprang into the saddle and galloped out
of the compound. Raymond ran to the verandah and saw him thundering down
the sandy road that led to the residency.

Arrived at the big white building Frank pulled up his panting pony on
its haunches and dismounting threw the reins over its head and left it
unattended.

Walking to the hall door he cried:

"_Koi hai_?"

A drowsy _chuprassi_ at the back of the hall sprang up and hurried to
receive him.

"_Memsahib hai_? (Is the mistress in?)"

"_Hai, sahib_. (Yes, sir)" said the servant salaaming.

Wargrave was free of the house and, taking off his hat, went into the
cool hall and walked up the great staircase. He entered the
drawing-room. After the blinding glare outside the closely-shuttered
apartment seemed so dark that at first it was difficult for him to see
if it were tenanted or not. But it was empty; and he paced the floor
impatiently, frowning in chaotic thought.

"Good morning, Frank. You are early to-day. And what a bad temper you
seem to be in!" exclaimed a laughing voice; and Mrs. Norton, looking
radiant and delightfully cool in a thin white Madras muslin dress,
entered the room.

He went to her.

"They're sending me away, Violet," he said.

"Sending you away?" she repeated in an astonished tone. "Sending you
where?"

"To hell, I think," he cried. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean--yes,
they're sending me away from Rohar, from you. Sending me to the other
side of India."

The blood slowly left her face as she stared uncomprehendingly at him.

"Sending you away? Why?" she asked.

"Because--because we're friends, little girl."

"Because we're friends," she echoed. "What do you mean? But you mustn't
go."

"I must. I can't help it. I've got to go."

Pale as death Violet stared at him.

"Got to go? To leave me?"

Then with a choking cry she threw her arms about his neck and sobbed.

"You mustn't. You mustn't leave me. I can't live without you. I love
you. I love you. I'll die if you go from me."

Frank started and tried to hold her at arm's length to look into her
face. But the woman clung frenziedly to him, while convulsive sobs shook
her body. His arms went round her instinctively and, holding her to his
breast, he stared blankly over the beautiful bowed head. It was true,
then. She loved him. Without meaning it he had won her heart. He whose
earnest wish it had been to save her from pain, to console her, to
brighten her lonely life, had brought this fresh sorrow on her. To the
misery of a loveless marriage he had added a heavier cross, an unhappy,
a misplaced affection. No exultant vanity within him rejoiced at the
knowledge that, unsought, she had learned to care for him. Only regret,
pity for her, stirred in him. He was aware now as always that his
feeling for her was not love. But she must not realise it. He must save
her from the bitter mortification of learning that she had given her
heart unasked. His must have been the fault; he it must be to bear the
punishment. She should never know the truth. He bent down and
reverently, tenderly, kissed the tear-stained face--it was the first
time that his lips had touched her.

"Dearest, we will go together. You must come with me," he said.

Violet started and looked wildly up at him.

"Go with you? What do you mean? How can I?"

"I mean that you must come away with me to begin a new life--a happier
one--together. I cannot leave you here with a man who neglects you, who
does not appreciate you, who cannot understand you."

"Do you mean--run away with you?" she asked.

"Yes; it is the only thing to do."

She slowly loosed her clasp of him and released herself from his arms.

"But I don't understand at all. Why are you going? And where?"

He briefly told her what had happened. His face flushed darkly as he
repeated the Colonel's words.

"'He wouldn't have an officer like me under his command,' he said. He
treated me like a criminal. I don't value his opinion much. But Major
Hepburn agrees with him. That hurts. I respect him."

"But where is this place they're sending you to?" she asked.

"Ranga Duar? I don't know. Eastern Bengal, I believe."

"Bengal. What? Anywhere near Calcutta?"

"No; it must be somewhere up on the frontier. Otherwise they wouldn't
send Military Police to garrison it."

"But what is it like? Is it a big station?" she persisted.

"I can't tell you. But it's sure not to be. No; it must be a small place
up in the hills or in the jungle. There's only a detachment there."

"But what have I got to do with your being sent there?" she asked in
perplexity.

"Don't you understand? Someone's been making mischief," he replied.
"Those two vile-minded women have been talking scandal of us to the
Colonel."

"What? Talking about you and me? Oh!" she exclaimed.

His words brought home to her the fact that these bitter-tongued women
whom she despised had dared to assail her--her, the _Burra Mem_, the
Great Lady of their little world. Had dared to? She could not silence
them. And what would they say of her, how their tongues would wag, if
she ran away from her husband! And they would have a right to talk
scandal of her then. The thought made her pause.

"But how could I go with you to this place in Bengal? Where could I
live?" she asked.

"You'd live with me."

"Oh! In your bungalow? How could I? And how would I get there?" she
continued. "I haven't any money. I don't suppose I've got a ten-rupee
note. And I couldn't ask my husband."

"Of course not. I would----" He paused. "By Jove! I never thought of
that." It had not occurred to him that elopements must be carried out on
a cash basis. He had forgotten that money was necessary. And he had
none. He was heavily in debt. The local _shroffs_--the native
money-lenders--would give him no more credit when they knew that he was
going away. All that he would have would be the one month's advance of
pay--probably not enough for Violet's fare and expenses across
India--the Government provided his--and certainly not enough to support
them for long. He frowned in perplexity. Running away with another man's
wife did not seem so easy after all.

Violet was the first to recover her normal calm.

"Sit down and let us talk quietly," she said. "One of the servants may
come in. Or my husband--if people are talking scandal of us."

She touched the switch of an overhead electric fan--the Government of
India housed its Political Officer in Rohar much more luxuriously than
the military ones--and sat down under it. Wargrave began to pace the
room impatiently.

"Come, Frank, stop walking about like a tiger in a cage and let's
discuss things properly."

With an effort he pulled himself together and took a chair near her. The
woman was the more self-possessed of the two. The shock of suddenly
finding herself up against the logical outcome of her desires had
sobered her; and, faced with the prospect of an immediate flight
involving the abdication of her assured social position and the
surrender of a home, she was able to visualise the consequences of her
actions. The most sobering reflection was the thought that by so doing
she would be casting herself to the female wolves of her world--and she
knew the extent of their mercy. There were others of her acquaintance
besides Mrs. Trevor who would howl loud with triumph over her downfall.
The thought has saved many a woman from social ruin.

Thinking only of what she had so often told him of the misery of living
with a man as unsympathetic as her husband, Frank pleaded desperately
with a conviction that he was far from feeling. The hard fact of the
lack of sufficient money to pay for her travelling expenses, the
difficulty of getting off together from this out-of-the-way station,
were not to be got over. Then the impossibility of knowing whether she
could remain with him when he was on frontier duty and of supporting her
away from him, the realisation of the fact that they would have to face
the Divorce Court with its heavy costs and probably crushing damages,
all made the situation seem hopeless. In despair he sprang up and
resumed his nervous pacing of the room.

At last Violet said:

"All I can see, dearest, is that we must wait. It will be harder for me
than for you. You at least will not have to live with anyone uncongenial
to you. But I must. Yet I can bear it for your sake."

He stopped before her and looked at her in admiration of her courageous
and self-sacrificing spirit. Then he bent down and kissed her tenderly.
Sitting beside her he discussed the situation more calmly than he had
hitherto done. It was finally agreed that he was to go alone to his new
station, save all that he could to pay off his debts--he would receive a
higher salary in the Military Police and his expenses would be less--and
when he was free and had made a home for her Violet would sacrifice
everything for love and come to him. With almost tears in his eyes as he
thought of her nobility he strained her to his heart. When the time came
for parting the woman broke down completely and wept bitterly as she
clung to him. He kissed her passionately, then with an effort put her
from him and almost ran from the room, while she flung herself on a
lounge and sobbed convulsively.

One of the Residency _syces_ had taken charge of the pony; and Wargrave,
mounting it, galloped madly back to his bungalow, his heart torn with
anguish for the unhappiness of the broken-hearted woman that he was
leaving behind.

When he arrived home he found that Raymond and his own "boy" and
sword-orderly (his native soldier-servant) had begun his packing for
him, for his heavy baggage had to be despatched that afternoon. The
bungalow was crowded with his brother-officers waiting to see him. He
had intended to avoid them, for he felt disgraced by the Colonel's
censure which it was evident the Commanding Officer had not kept secret,
though the whole matter should have been treated as confidential. But
they made light of his scruples and showed him that he had their
sympathy. He had meant to dine alone in his room that night; but his
comrades insisted on his coming to the Mess, where they were to give him
an informal farewell dinner. They would take no refusal.

Daly, who was the Acting Quartermaster of the battalion, told him that
the arrangements for his journey had been made. He was to leave at dawn
and drive sixty miles in a _tonga_--a two-wheeled native conveyance
drawn by a pair of ponies--to a village called Basedi on the shores of a
narrow gulf or deep inlet of the sea which formed the eastern boundary
of the State of Mandha. Here he would have to spend the night in a
dâk-bungalow--or rest-house--and cross the water in a steam-launch next
morning. After that, five days more of travel by various routes and
means awaited him.

Before dinner that night a few minutes apart with Hepburn made Frank
happier than he had been all day. For his Company Commander told him
that he had only agreed with the Colonel's action because he believed
that it would be for the subaltern's own good, not because he considered
that the latter had done anything to disgrace him. Hepburn added that if
he was given command of the regiment in two years' time--as should
happen in the ordinary course of events--he would be glad to have
Wargrave back again in the battalion then. Frank, with a guilty feeling
when he remembered his compact with Violet, thanked him gratefully, and
with a lightened heart went to the very festive meal that was to be his
last for some long time, at least with his old corps.

The Colonel had refused to agree to his being invited formally to be the
guest of the regiment; and neither he nor the other married man, the
Doctor, were present. If they slept that night they were the only two
officers in the Cantonment that did; for none of the others, not even
senior major, Hepburn, left the Mess until it was time to escort their
departing comrade to his bungalow to change for the journey. And, as the
_tonga_-ponies rattled down the road and bore him away, Frank's last
sight of his old comrades was the group of white-clad figures in the
dawn waving frantically and cheering vociferously from the gateway of
his bungalow.

The memory of it rejoiced him throughout the terrible hours of the long
journey in the baking heat and blinding glare of the Hot Weather day.
The worse moments were the stops every ten miles to change ponies, when
he had to wait in the blazing sunshine. His "boy," who sat on the front
seat of the vehicle beside the driver, produced from a basket packed
with wet straw cooled bottles of soda-water, without which Wargrave felt
that he would have died of sunstroke.

Then on after each halt; and the endless strip of white road again
unrolled before him, while the never-ceasing clank of the iron-shod bar
coupling the ponies maddened his aching head with its monotonous rhythm.

As the weary miles slid past him his thoughts were with Violet, so
beautiful, so patient and brave in her self-denying endurance. And he
cursed himself for having added to her pain, and inwardly vowed that
some day he would atone to her for it.

At last the _tonga_ rattled into the bare compound of the Basedi
dâk-bungalow standing on a high stone plinth. The untidy
_khansamah_--the custodian of the rest-home--hurried on to the verandah
to greet the unexpected visitor and show his "boy" where to put the
sahib's bedding and baggage in a bleak room with a cane-bottomed wooden
bed hung with torn mosquito-curtains.

From a glass case in the sitting-room containing a scanty store of
canned provisions the _khansamah_ provided a meal with such ill-assorted
ingredients as Somebody's desiccated soup lukewarm, a tin of sardines
and sweet biscuits to eat with them, and a bottle of beer to wash it
down with. Wargrave was too choked with dust, too sickened with the heat
and glare, to have any appetite. After a smoke he dragged his weary body
to bed and in spite of the mosquitoes that flocked joyously through the
holes in the gauze curtains to feast on him slept the profound sleep of
utter exhaustion.

He was up at daybreak; for the tide served in the early morning and only
at its height could the launch approach the shore, which at low water
was bordered with the filthy slime of mangrove swamps.

Landed at the other side of the gulf he had even a worse experience of
travel before him than on the previous day. For the next stage of the
journey was forty miles across a salt desert in a tram drawn by a camel.
The car was open on all sides and covered by a cardboard roof; and its
wooden seats were uncomfortably hard for long hours of sitting. The heat
was appalling. It struck up from the baked ground and seemed to scorch
the body through the clothes. The glare from the white sand and even
whiter patches of salt was blinding and penetrated through the closed
eyelids. A hot wind blew over the hazy, shimmering desert, setting the
whirling dust-devils dancing and striking the face like the touch of a
heated iron. Wargrave's small store of ice and mineral water was
exhausted, and he felt that he was likely to die of thirst. For in the
villages where they changed camels cholera was raging; and he dared not
drink the water from their wells.

The tram slid easily along the shining rails that stretched away out of
sight over the monotonous plain, the camel loping lazily along, its
soft, sprawling feet falling noiselessly on the sand. The last ten miles
of the way lay through less sterile country; and the tram passed herds
of black buck--the pretty, spiral-horned antelope. Used to its daily
passage, the graceful animals, which were protected by the game-laws of
the native State through which the line ran, barely troubled to move out
of its way. They stood about in hundreds, staring lazily at it, some not
ten yards off, the bucks turning their heads away to scratch their sides
with the points of their horns or rubbing their noses with dainty hoofs.

That night Wargrave slept at a dâk-bungalow near the terminus in a
little native town with a small branch-railway connecting it with a main
line. Then for four days he travelled across the scorching plains of
India, shut up in stuffy carriages with violet-hued glass windows and
Venetian wooden shutters meant to exclude the heat and glare. Over bare
plains broken by sudden flat-topped rocky hills, through
closely-cultivated fields and stretches of scrub-jungle, by mud-walled
villages, he journeyed day and night. The train crossed countless wide
river-beds in which the streams had shrunk to mean rivulets; but when it
clattered over the Ganges at Allahabad the sacred flood rolled a broad
and sluggish current under the bridge on its way to the far-distant Bay
of Bengal.

On the fourth night Wargrave slept on a bench in the waiting-room of a
small junction, Niralda, from which a narrow-gauge railway branched off
to the north from the main line through Eastern Bengal. At an early hour
next morning he took his seat in the one first-class carriage of the toy
train, which journeyed through typical Bengal scenery by mud-banked
rice-fields, groves of tall, feathery bamboos and hamlets of pretty
palm-thatched huts, their roofs hidden by the broad green leaves of
sprawling creepers. Soon across the sky to the north a dark, blurred
line rose, stretching out of sight east and west. It grew clearer as the
train sped on, more distinct. It was the great northern rampart of
India, the Himalayas. Then, seeming to float in air high above the
highest of the dark mountain peaks and utterly detached from them, the
white crests of the Eternal Snows shone fairy-like against the blue sky.

As Wargrave gazed enraptured, suddenly hills and plain were shut out
from his sight as the train plunged from the dazzling sunlight into the
deep shadows of a tropical forest. And the subaltern recognised with a
thrill of delight that he was entering the wonderful Terai Jungle, the
marvelous belt of woodland that stretches for hundreds of miles along
the foot of the Himalayas through Assam and Bengal to the far Siwalik
range, clothing their lower slopes or scaling their steep sides into
Nepal and Bhutan. Deep in its recesses the rhinoceros, bison and buffalo
hide, herds of wild elephants roam, tigers prey on the countless deer,
and the great mountain bears descend to prowl in it for food. Frank had
learned on the way that Ranga Duar was practically situated in it; and
the knowledge almost consoled him for his exile in the promise of sport
that kings might envy.

At a small wayside station in a clearing in the forest his railway
journey ended. Beside the one small stone building two elephants were
standing, incessantly swinging their trunks, flapping their ears and
shifting their weight restlessly from leg to leg. Frank, on getting out
of his carriage, learned with pleasure from their salaaming _mahouts_
(drivers) that these animals were to be his next means of transport, a
novel one that harmonised with the surroundings. On the back of each
great beast was a massive, straw-filled pad secured by a rope passing
surcingle-wise around its body.

Each _mahout_ carried a gun, one a heavy rifle, the other a
double-barrelled fowling-piece, which they offered to Wargrave.

"_Huzoor_!" (the Presence--a polite mode of address in Hindustani), said
one man, "the _Burra_ Sahib (the Political Sahib) sends salaams and
lends you these, as you might see something to shoot on the way."

"Oh, the Political Officer. Very kind of him, I'm sure," remarked the
subaltern. "What is his name?"

"Durro-Mut Sahib."

"What a curious name!" thought Frank. For in the vernacular "_durro
mut_!" means, "Do not be afraid!" He concluded that it was a nickname.

"Why is he called that?" he asked in Hindustani.

"Because the Sahib is a very brave sahib," replied the man. "Where he is
there no one need fear."

The other _mahout_ nodded assent, then said:

"The Commanding Sahib has sent Your Honour from the Mess a basket with