CHAPTER X.
A SQUARE BARGAIN.
"The faith of men that ha' brothered men, By more than easy breath; And the eyes o' men that ha' read wi' men, In the open books of death." --KIPLING.
"Behold! Captain Sahib,--there where the sky touches earth. In thespace of half an hour we arrive."
Desmond lifted sun-weary eyes to the horizon, and nodded.
When a man is consumed with thirst, and scorched to the bone, by fivehours of riding through a furnace seven times heated in the teeth of ablistering wind, he is chary of speech; and the two rode forward insilence--mere specks upon the emptiness of earth and sky--keepingtheir horses to the long-distance canter that kills neither man norbeast. A detachment of forty sabres followed in their wake; and therhythmical clatter rang monotonously in their ears.
The speck on the horizon was an outpost--a boundary mark ofempire,--where a little party of men watched, night and day, for theleast sign of danger from the illusive quiet of the hills.
It is these handfuls of men, natives of India all, stationed in stonewatch-towers twenty miles apart along the Border, who keep the gatewayof India barred; and who will keep it barred against all intruders forall time. The unobtrusive strength of India's Frontier amazes thenew-comer. But only those who have spent their best years in itsservice know the full price paid for the upkeep of that same strengthin hardship, unremitting toil, and the lives of picked men.
As the riders neared the post its outline showed, stern and clear-cut,against the blue of the sky. A single circular room, loop-holed andbattlemented, set upon an outward sloping base of immense solidity,and surrounded by a massive stone wall:--a tower in which ten mencould hold their own against five hundred. The look-out sentry,sighting the detachment afar off, gave the word to his companions, wholowered the ladder that served them for staircase; and when Desmond'sparty drew rein the door in the wall stood open to receive them.
During the halt that followed, the men, having fed and watered theirhorses, took what rest they might in patches of burning shadow withinthe wall. Though the sun-saturated masonry breathed fire, it served toshelter them from the withering wind that scours the Border at thisfiery time of year.
Desmond, who had breakfasted five hours earlier on stale bread and afew sardines, lunched, with small appetite, on biscuits and a slab ofchocolate, and moistened his parched throat with tepid whisky-and-water.Quenching his thirst was an achievement past hoping for till Kohatitself should be reached.
He had left the station with his detachment early on the previous day;had relieved four outposts between dawn and dusk, covering eightymiles of desert road, with four brief halts for rest; and had spent anight of suffocating wakefulness in a sun-baked windowless room, builtout from the base of the last post relieved. It was all in the day'swork--as Frontier men understand work. The exposure and long hours inthe saddle had little effect upon his whipcord and iron frame: but asharp attack of fever--unrecorded in his letter to his wife--hadslackened his alertness of body and spirit; and it was with an unusualsense of relief that he faced the last twenty-mile stretch of road,leaving behind him six fresh men to take up the task of watching theblank, unchanging face of the hills.
Three hours later, the little party turned their horses' heads towardsKohat. The sun still smote the uncomplaining earth, and many miles ofriding lay before them. But at least it was the beginning of the end;a fact which the two stout-hearted chargers seemed to recognise asclearly as their riders. The Ressaldar, who had not failed to note hisCaptain's slight change of bearing, proposed a short cut acrosscountry well known to himself.
"Hazur," he urged, "there runs a long deep nullah, straight as alance, across the plain; and as the sun falls lower, it would givesome measure of shade."
"Well spoken, Ressaldar Sahib! I have had my fill of the road. I'm forthe nullah. Come on, men."
And, striking out across country, they vanished from the earth'ssurface, entering one of those giant clefts in the clay soil formed bythe early downrush of torrents from the hills.
Suddenly, in the midst of a swinging canter, the Ressaldar reined inhis horse, and the rest followed suit. The old Sikh threw up his head,as a stag will do at the first whisper of danger. In the strong lighthis chiselled face, with its grey beard scrupulously parted and drawnup under his turban, showed lifeless as a statue; and his eyes had thefar-off intentness of one who listens with every fibre of his being.
Desmond watched him in a growing bewilderment that verged onimpatience.
"What's up now?" he demanded sharply.
But no flicker disturbed the rigid face: the keen eyes gave no sign.The old man raised a hand as if enjoining silence, dismounted hastily,and, kneeling down, pressed his ear close against the ground.
Desmond's suspense was short-lived but keen.
In less than ten seconds the Ressaldar was beside him, one hand on hisbridle, a consuming anxiety in his eyes.
"Hazur, it is a spate from the hills," he said between quick breaths."It is coming with the speed of ten thousand devils and there are fivemiles to go before we can leave the nullah."
"Mount, then," the Englishman replied with cool decision. "We can butride."
And swiftly, as tired horses could lay legs to ground, they rode.
Desmond could catch no sound as yet of the oncoming danger; but thepractised ears of the native detected its increase, even through therattle of hoofs that beat upon the brain like panic terror madeaudible.
"Faster,--faster!" he panted. His Captain's danger was the onecoherent thought in his mind. Desmond merely nodded reassurance; andshifting a little in his saddle, eased matters as far as possible for_Badshah Pasand_.[20]
[20] Beloved of kings.
The ground raced beneath their horses' hoofs. The serene strip of skyraced above their heads. The imprisoning walls fell apart before theireyes, seeming to divide like a cleft stick as they drew near, andreeling away on either hand as they passed on. All things in earth andheaven seemed fleeing in mortal haste save only themselves.
Theo Desmond heard the voice of the enemy at last:--an ominous roar,growing inexorably louder every minute. At the sound his head took amore assured lift; his mouth a firmer line; and the fire ofdetermination deepened in his eyes.
By a movement of the rein he urged Badshah Pasand to renewed effort.But the devoted animal was nearing the end of his tether, and hisrider knew it. Thick spume flakes blew backward from his lips, and thesawing motion of his head told its own tale.
Sher Dil, who was still going lustily, gained upon him by a neck, andthe Ressaldar turned in his saddle.
"The spurs, Hazur--the _spurs_!" he entreated, knowing well hisCaptain's abstemiousness in this regard.
But Desmond shook his head. Badshah Pasand was doing his utmost; andneither man nor beast can do more. He merely rose in the stirrups,pressed his heels lightly against the quivering flanks and, leaningforward, spoke a few words of encouragement almost in the charger'sear.
The sensitive animal sprang forward with a last desperate output ofstrength; and in the same instant a hoarse shout broke from RajinderSingh.
"An opening--an opening, Captain Sahib! By the mercy of God we aresaved!"
Five minutes later the whole party drew rein on the upper levels ofearth, and their sometime pursuer swept tumultuously onward fifteenfeet below.
Desmond's eyes had an odd light in them as he turned from the swirlingwaters to the impassive face of the man who had saved their lives.
"I do--not--forget," he said with quiet emphasis.
The old Sikh shook his head with a rather uncertain smile.
"True talk, Hazur. I had known it without assurance. Yet was mine ownhelp no great matter. It was written that my Captain Sahib should notdie thus!"
"That may be," Desmond answered gravely, for he had been strangelyupheld by the same conviction. "Yet there be also--these others. In mythinking it is no small _matter_ that, except for your quickness ofmind a
nd hearing, forty-four good men and horses would now be at themercy of that torrent. But this is no time for words. It still remainsto reach Kohat before sundown."
The sun was slipping behind the hills, with the broad smile of atyrant who fully enjoys the joke, when Desmond drew up before his ownverandah and slid to the ground.
"Thank God that's over!" he muttered audibly. But he did not at onceenter the house. His first care, as always, was for the horse he rode;and with him it was no mere case of the "merciful man," but of sheerlove for that unfailing servant of the human race.
He accompanied Badshah Pasand to the stable, superintended the removalof his saddle, and looked him carefully all over. That done, he issuedexplicit orders for his treatment and feeding: the great charger--asthough fully aware of his master's solicitude,--nuzzling amouse-coloured nose against his shoulder the while.
Arrived in the comparative coolness of the hall, he shouted for adrink, and a bath. Then, turning towards the drawing-room, promisedhimself a few minutes blessed relaxation in the depths of hisfavourite chair.
But passing between the gold-coloured curtains he saw that whichchecked his advance, and banished all thought of relaxation from hisbrain.
Harry Denvil--whose buoyancy and simplicity of heart had led Desmondto christen him the Boy--sat alone at Evelyn's bureau, his headbetween his hands, despair in every line of his figure.
Desmond regarded him thoughtfully, marvelling that the sounds of hisown arrival should have passed unheard. Then he went forward, and laidhis hand on the Boy's shoulder.
"Harry! I don't seem to recognise _you_ in that attitude. Anythingseriously wrong?"
Denvil started, and revealed a face of dogged dejection.
"You here?" he said listlessly. "Never heard you come in."
"That's obvious. But--about yourself?"
The Boy choked down a sigh.
"Why the deuce should I bore you with myself, when you're hot andtired? I've been a confounded fool; if not worse, and the devil's inthe luck wherever I turn."
But Desmond waited in expectant silence for the Boy's trouble tooverflow. While he waited, the coveted "drink" arrived, and he emptiedthe long tumbler almost at a gulp. The station had run out of ice--acheerful habit of Frontier stations; but at least the liquid was cooland stinging.
"Well?" he said at length, Denvil having returned to his formerattitude. "I want something more explicit. How am I to help you, ifyou slam the door in my face?"
"Don't see how you can help me. I've only been ... a great many kindsof a fool: and _you_----"
"Well, what of me? I've been plenty of kinds of fool in my time, Iassure you. Money's the backbone of your trouble, no doubt. Nothingworse, I hope?"
Denvil's honest eyes met his own without flinching.
"No, on my honour--nothing worse. The money's bad enough." And thetrouble came out in a quick rush of words--explanatory, contrite,despairing--all in one breath. For the Boy had Irish blood in hisveins; and the initial difficulty over, he found it an unspeakablerelief to disburden his soul to the man who had "brothered" him eversince he joined the Force.
Desmond, perceiving that the overflow, once started, was likely to beexhaustive and complete, took out pipe and tobacco, balanced himselfon the arm of a chair, and listened gravely to the Boy's disjointedstory.
It was a long story, and a commonplace one, if even the most trivialrecord of human effort and failure can be so styled. It was the storyof half the subalterns in our Imperial Army--of small pay, engulfed byheavy expenses, avoidable and unavoidable; the upkeep of much needlessuniform; too big a wine bill at Mess; polo ponies, and other luxuriousnecessities of Indian life, bought on credit; the inevitable appeal tothe "_shroff_,"[21] involving interest upon interest; the finaldesperate attempt to mend matters by high stakes at cards, and fitful,injudicious backing of horses, most often with disastrous results.
[21] Native money-lender.
"Have you the smallest idea what the total damage amounts to?" askedDesmond, when all was said. "I'm bound to know everything now."
Denvil nodded.
"Close on fifteen hundred, I think," he answered, truthfully.
"Why, in Heaven's name, didn't you tell me all this sooner?"
"Oh, I kept hoping to get square somehow--without that. I wanted tostay in your good books; and I saw you were rather down on chaps whoare casual about money. But I seem to be made that way, and----"
"So are most of us, my dear chap. But it's up to you to make yourselfsome other way, if you don't want to come a cropper and leave theService. I hope I am no Pharisee, but I've been reared to believe thatliving in debt is an aristocratic, and rather mean form of theft. Mynotion of you doesn't square with that; and I know a good man when Isee one. You'll never mend matters, I assure you, by playing the foolover horses and cards. How about your mother?"
Denvil looked down at the blank sheet of foreign note-paper beforehim, and answered nothing. He was the only son of his mother, and shewas a widow.
"Can't you see that the fact of your having no father to pull you upsharp puts you on your honour to keep straight in every way, on heraccount? Does she know anything about all this?"
"How _could_ I tell her?" the Boy murmured, without looking up. "Shethinks me no end of a fine chap; and--and--I'm hanged if I know how toanswer her letters since--things have got so bad----"
"When did you write last?"
"About six weeks ago."
Desmond flung out an oath.
"Confound you!" he cried hotly. "What do you think she's imagining bynow? All manner of hideous impossibilities. I suppose you never gave_that_ a thought----"
The Boy looked up quickly, pain and pleading in his blue eyes. "I say,Desmond, don't hit so straight. I know I've been a brute to her; and Ifeel bad enough about it, without being slanged--by _you_."
Theo Desmond's face softened, and he took the Boy's shoulders betweenhis hands.
"My dear lad," he said gently. "I'm sorry if I hit too hard. But Ifeel rather strongly on that subject. I've no wish to slang you. Ionly want to set you on your feet, and _keep you_ there. So we may aswell get to business at once."
"Set me on my feet! How the devil's _that_ to be done?"
Desmond smiled.
"It's simply a question of making up one's mind to things. In thefirst place we must sell Roland. He's the best pony you have."
Harry straightened himself sharply, but Desmond's gesture commandedsilence.
"It's a cruel wrench, I know," he said gently. "Few men understandthat better than myself. But it's all you can do. And you're bound todo it. You can advertise him as trained by me. He's safe to fetchseven hundred that way."
Denvil bent his head in desperate resignation.
"You are down on a fellow, Desmond. How about the other eight?"
"That will be--my affair."
Again the Boy was startled into protest.
"Look here! That's impossible. I couldn't pay you back within the nextthree years."
"Did I say anything about paying me back?"
"_Desmond_--you don't mean----?"
Their eyes met, and Denvil was answered. He brought his fist down onthe bureau with such force that Evelyn's knick-knacks danced again.
"By God, I won't have it!" he protested passionately. "I'll not takesuch a sum of money from you."
Desmond's smile showed both approval and amusement.
"No call for violence, Boy! I told you my mind was made up; and it'sfolly wasting powder and shot against a stone wall."
"Look here, though--can you manage it--easily?"
"Yes, I can manage it." And in the rush of relief Harry failed to notethe significant omission of the adverb. "But it's to be a squarebargain between us. No more _shroffs_; no more betting, or I come downon you like a ton of coals for my eight hundred. Stick to whist andpolo in playtime. Polish up your Pushtoo, and get into closer touchwith your Pathans. Start Persian with me, if you like, and replaceRoland with the money you get for passing. But
first of all write toyour mother, and tell her the chief part of the truth. Not my share init, please. That remains between ourselves and--my wife. She'llunderstand, never fear. Now--shake hands on that, and stick to it,will you?"
"Desmond, you _are_ a trump!"
"No need for compliments between you and me, Harry. Shut up and get onwith your letter."
Then, because his mind was freed from anxiety, he realised that theBoy's hand felt like hot parchment, and that his eyes were unusuallybright.
"You've got fever on you," he said brusquely. "Feel bad?"
"Pretty average. My head's been going like an engine these two days.Couldn't eat anything yesterday or get a wink of sleep last night.That's what set my conscience stirring perhaps."
Desmond laughed.
"Likely as not! I'm off for Mackay all the same. Get into my chair andstay there till further orders. Don't bother your head about thatletter. It shan't miss the mail. I'll write it myself to-night."
An invisible reminder from the doorway that the Heaven-born's bath hadlong been waiting, elicited a peremptory order for the Demon; and AmarSingh departed, mystified but obedient. The Sahib he worshipped, withthe implicit worship of his race, was a very perplexing person attimes.
James Mackay's verdict--given well out of the patient's hearing--wasimmediate and to the point.
"Typhoid, of course--104 deg. Fool of a boy not to have sent for mesooner. Ought to have been in bed two days ago. Get him there sharp,and do what you can with wet sheets and compresses. I'll wire for anurse, but we shan't get one. Never do. Not a ounce of ice in theplace, and won't be for three days. That's always the way. He'll keepyou on the go all night by the looks of him. May as well let the Majordo most of it. You'd be none the worse for a few hours in bedyourself."
A certain lift of Desmond's head signified tacit denial, and theastute Scotsman knew better than to insist. Meeting Wyndham at thegate, he counselled a policy of non-resistance.
"The fellow's overdone without knowing it," he said. "Take my advice,man, and let him gang his ain gait. Fever or no, he's hard as nails,and he'll be glad enough to knock under in twenty-four hours' time."
Throughout that night of anxious battling with the fire of fever thetwo Englishmen seemed translated into mechanical contrivances for theadministering of milk, brandy, and chicken-broth; for the incessantchanging of soaked sheets, that were none too cool at best; and forallaying, as far as might be, a thirst that no water on earth canquench.
Nothing draws men into closer union than a common danger, or a commonanxiety; and in the past twelve years these two had stood shoulder toshoulder through both many times over. But their zeal produced nomanifest results. Denvil's temperature rose steadily, and his stressof mind broke out in a semi-coherent babble of remorse andself-justification, of argument and appeal, of desperate reckonings inregard to ways and means. Desmond left his station by the bed andcrossed over to his friend, who was noiselessly washing a cup andsaucer.
"Don't hear any more of that than you can help. Fact, you might aswell take your chance of a short rest till he's quieter. I'll come andtell you, no fear."
Paul glanced up with his slow smile from the saucer he was polishingwith elaborate care.
"On your word, Theo?"
"On my word."
And he retired obediently to his own room--the room that in the coldweather had belonged to Honor Meredith; that, even now, empty casketthough it was, awoke in him a subtle sense of her presence; of thestrength and cheerfulness that crowned her beauty like a diadem, andtransformed his outlook on life.
The letter to Mrs Denvil was written in the small hours. Harry neverdiscovered its contents; but his mother, after reading it half a dozentimes, locked it up with a hoard of sacred treasures pertaining to herboy. And soon after six, in the pitiless gold of dawn, the two mencantered leisurely down to early parade.
Here Desmond's attention was arrested by the absence of RajinderSingh. Hailing a lesser native officer, he learnt that the Ressaldarhad been ill with sun-fever all night, and was still quite unfit forwork. Hindus are creatures of little or no stamina, and they go downlike mown grass before the unhealthy heat of the Frontier.
Desmond despatched a message to the stricken man, adding that hehimself would come to make inquiry before eleven o'clock. On hisreturn he found Harry temporarily quieter, and fallen into a lightsleep.
"I must see Frank about him," he reflected, "on my way back from theLines." For Frank was the regimental standby in every emergency, andwould claim the lion's share of the nursing as a matter of course.
True to his word, Desmond was back on the deserted parade-ground byhalf-past ten, his syce pursuing him closely, a flat paper parcelunder his arm. It contained a full-length photo of himself in thesilver frame that had held his mother's picture, because frames werenot to be procured at an hour's notice in Kohat, and he had a greatwish that his gift should be complete: a lasting memento--such as theold Sikh would keenly appreciate--of their stirring ride, and of thefact that he owed his life to the man's remarkable quickness of earand brain.
Rajinder Singh lived alone; for the Sikh, when he enters Imperialservice, leaves his wife behind in her own village. His one-roomed hutwas saturated with heat, and almost devoid of light. It contained achair, a strip of matting, and a low string-bed, with red cotton quiltand legs of scarlet lacquer. Mud walls and floor alike werescrupulously clean. Sacred vessels, for cooking and washing, werestowed away out of reach of defilement. Above his bed thesimple-hearted soldier had nailed a crude coloured print of the_Kaiser-i-Hind_ in robes and crown; and on the opposing wall hung atawdry looking-glass, almost as dear to his heart.
The Sirdar was nominally in bed; that is to say, he lay on the barestrings, beneath his cotton quilt, fully dressed in loose white tunicand close-fitting trousers. His turban alone had been discarded, andstood ready-folded beside him, a miracle of elaborate precision.
At the sound of hoofs he sat up instantly, his uncut hair and beardflowing down to his waist. In less than twenty seconds both had beentwisted to a deft knot high on the head, his turban adjusted at anirreproachable angle; and, as Desmond's figure darkened the doorway,he staggered to his feet and saluted with a trembling hand.
"Sit down, sit down!" his Captain commanded him; and he obeyed, rathersuddenly, with a rueful smile.
"The years steal away my strength, Hazur. A little fever, and my bonesbecome as water--yea, though I had once the might of ten in thisdried-up arm."
Desmond smiled and shook his head.
"No reason to speak evil of the years, after yesterday, and the feverhath the power of seven devils over any man. I have been all nightbeside Denvil Sahib, who lieth without sense and strength thismorning, young as he is."
"Denvil Sahib! I had not known. Is it fever also?"
"Yes,--the great fever. A matter of many weeks, and sore trouble ofmind; for disease takes strong hold upon the strong. And what willcome to the squadron, with both my troop commanders laid in theirbeds?"
"_Na_,--na, Hazur. I will arise, even as I am----"
"That you will not, Sirdar Sahib," Desmond interposed with kindlydecision; "we will rather give Bishan Singh a chance to prove that heis fit for promotion. I have had the assurance from him many times inwords. Now I will have it in deeds--the fittest language for asoldier."
The deep-set eyes gleamed approval.
"Great is the wisdom of the Captain Sahib, understanding thedeceitfulness of man's heart. Bishan Singh's tongue is as a horsewithout bit or bridle. If head and hand carry him as far, he will dowell."
"True talk," Desmond answered, smiling. Then with the incurablediffidence of the Englishman when he is moved to do a gracious action,he held out his parcel. "See here, Rajinder Singh. This is a smallmatter enough for your acceptance. A token merely that--I do notforget."
"_Hazur!_"
The eagerness of a child transfigured the man's weatherbeaten face,and his fingers plucked unsteadily at the string.
Desmond took ou
t a knife and slit it without a word.
For a long moment Rajinder Singh gazed upon the miracle before him insilent wonder. To the unsophisticated native--and there are happilymany left in India--a photograph remains an abiding miracle; a fact tobe accepted and reverenced without explanation, like theinconsistencies of the gods.
"In very truth, it is the Captain Sahib himself!" he muttered with theair of one who makes an amazing discovery. Then, grasping hispossession in both hands, he held it out at arm's length, examiningevery detail with loving care; glancing from the counterfeit to theoriginal as if to satisfy himself that the artist had omitted nothing;for Desmond was wearing the undress uniform of the picture.
"_Bahut, bahut salaam_,[22] Sahib!" he broke out in a tremulousfervour of gratitude. "It is your Honour's self, as I said, lackingonly speech. Feature for feature--cord for cord. All things arefaithfully set down. Behold, even these marks upon the scabbard,--thevery scar upon your Honour's hand! Now, indeed, hath God favoured mebeyond deserving; for my Captain Sahib abideth under this my roofuntil I die."
[22] Many, many thanks.
Rising unsteadily, in defiance of Desmond's mute protest, he removedthe cherished looking-glass, hung the photo in its place, and, drawinghimself up to his full six-feet-two of height, gravely saluted it.
"_Salaam, hamara_,[23] Captain Sahib Bahadur!"
[23] Salaam, my Captain Sahib.
Then he turned to find Desmond, who had risen also, watching himintently, his full heart in his eyes.
"I thought it would give you pleasure," he said, in a tone ofrestrained feeling, "but I had no knowledge that it would please youas much as that. I am very glad I thought of it. But now," he addedmore briskly, "enough of talk. There waiteth more work to be done thana man can accomplish before dark. Get you back to bed, RessaldarSahib, and stay there until I order otherwise."
Once outside, he sprang to the saddle, and set off at a canter throughthe withering, stupefying sunlight towards Captain Olliver'sbungalow.