CHAPTER I.
NIGHT.
"To the rescue! To the rescue!"
The cry was no more than that at first. To the rescue of theeighty-five martyrs, the blows upon whose shackles still seemed toecho in their comrades' ears. Even so, the cry heard by Soma as hepassed through the bazaar meant insubordination--the greatest crime heknew--and sent him flying to his own lines to give the alarm. Sent himthence by instinct, oblivious of that promise for the 31st--or perhapsmindful of it and seeing in this outburst a mere riot--to hisColonel's house with twenty or thirty comrades clamoring for theirarms, protesting that with them they would soon settle matters for theHuzoors. But suspicion was in the air, and even the Colonel of the11th could not trust all his regiment. Ready for church, he flunghimself on his horse and raced back with the clamoring men to thelines.
And by this time there was another race going on. Captain Craigie'sfaithful troop of the 3d Cavalry were racing after his shout of"_Dau-ro! bhai-yan, Dau-ro!_" (Ride, brothers, ride!) toward the jailin the hopes of averting the rescue of their comrades. For, as therecords are careful to say, he and his troop "were dressed as forparade"--not a buckle or a belt awry--ready to combat the dangerbefore others had grasped it, and swiftly, without a thought, went forthe first offenders. Too late! the doors were open, the birds flown.
What next was to be done? What but to bring the troop back without adefaulter--despite the taunts of escaping convicts, the temptations ofcomrades flushed by success--to the parade ground for orders. Butthere was no one to give them, for when the 3d Cavalry led the van ofmutiny at Meerut their Colonel was in the European cantonment as fieldofficer of the week, and there he "conceived it his duty to remain."Perhaps rightly. And it is also conceivable that his absence made nodifference, since it is, palpably, an easier task to make a regimentmutiny than to bring it back to its allegiance.
Meanwhile the officers of the other regiments, the 11th and the 20th,were facing their men boldly; facing the problem how to keep themsteady till that squadron of the Carabineers should sweep down,followed by a company or two of the Rifles at the double, and turn thebalance in favor of loyalty. It could not be long now. Nearly an hourhad passed since the first wild stampede to the jail. The refuse andrabble of the town were by this time swarming out of it, armed withsticks and staves; the two thousand and odd felons released from thejails were swarming in, seeking weapons. The danger grew every second,and the officers of the 11th, though their men stood steady as rocksbehind them, counted the moments as they sped. For on the other sideof the road, on the parade ground of the 20th regiment, the sepoys,ordered, as the 11th had been, to turn out unarmed, were barelyrestrained from rushing the bells by the entreaties of their nativeofficers; the European ones being powerless.
"Keep the men steady for me," said Colonel Finnis to his second incommand; "I'll go over and see what I can do."
He thought the voice of a man loved and trusted by one regiment, a manwho could speak to his sepoys without an interpreter, might have powerto steady another.
_Jai bahaduri!_ (Victory to courage!) muttered Soma under his breathas he watched his Colonel canter quietly into danger. And his fingerhungered on that hot May evening for the cool of the trigger which wasdenied him.
_Jai bahaduri!_ A murmur seemed to run through the ranks, they dressedthemselves firmer, squarer. Colonel Finnis, glancing back, saw a sightto gladden any commandant's heart. A regiment steady as a rock, drawnup as for parade, absolutely in hand despite that strange new sound inthe air. The sound which above all others gets into men's brains likenew wine. The sound of a file upon fetters--the sound of escape, offreedom, of license! It had been rising unchecked for half an hourfrom the lines of the 3d, whither the martyrs had been brought intriumph. It was rising now from the bazaar, the city, from everyquiet corner where a prisoner might pause to hack and hammer at hisleg-irons with the first tool he could find.
What was one man's voice against this sound, strengthened as it was bythe cry of a trooper galloping madly from the north shouting that theEnglish were in sight? What more likely? Had not ample time passed forthe whole British garrison to be coming with fixed bayonets and awhoop, to make short work of unarmed men who had not made up theirminds?
That must be no longer!
"Quick! brothers. Quick! Kill! Kill! Down with the officers! Shoot erethe white faces come!"
It was a sudden wild yell of terror, of courage, of sheer cruelty. Itdrowned the scream of the Colonel's horse as it staggered under him.It drowned his steady appealing voice, his faint sob, as he threw uphis hands at the next shot, and fell, the first victim to the GreatRevolt.
It drowned something else also. It drowned Soma's groan of wild,half-stupefied, helpless rage as he saw his Colonel fall,--the sahibwho had led him to victory,--the sahib whom he loved, whom he waspledged to save. And his groan was echoed by many another brave man inthose ranks, thus brought face to face suddenly with the necessity fordecision.
"Steady, men, steady!"
That call, in the alien voice, echoed above the whistling of thebullets as they found a billet here and there among the ranks; for themen of the 20th, maddened by that fresh murder, now shot wildly attheir officers.
"Steady, men! Steady, for God's sake!"
The entreaty was not in vain; they were steady still. Ay, steady, butunarmed! Steady as a rock still, but helpless!
Helpless, unarmed! By all the gods all men worshiped, men could notsuffer that for long, when bullets were whistling into their ranks.
So there was a waver at last in the long line. A faint tremble, likethe tremble of a curving wave ere it falls. Then, with a confusedroar, an aimless sweeping away of all things in its path, it broke asa wave breaks upon a pebbly shore.
"To arms, brothers! Quick! fire! fire!"
Upon whom?[2] God knows! Not on their officers, for these were alreadybeing hustled to the rear, hustled into safety.
"Quick, brothers, quick! Kill! Kill!"
The cry rose on all sides now, as the wave of revolt surged on. Butthere was none left to kill; for the work was done in the 20th lines,and no new white faces came to stem the tide. Two thousand and oddEnglishmen who might have stemmed it being still on the parade-groundby the church, waiting for orders, for ammunition, for a General, foreverything save--thank Heaven!--for courage.
So the wave surged on, to what end it scarcely knew, leaving behind itgroups of sullen, startled faces.
"Whose fault but their own?" muttered an old man fiercely; an old manwhose son served beside him in the regiment, whose grandson was on theroster for future enlistment. "Why were we left helpless as new-bornbabes?"
"Why?" echoed a scornful voice from the gathering clusters ofundecided men, waiting, with growing fear, hope, despair, or triumph,for what was to come next: waiting, briefly, for the master to come,or not to come. "Why? because they were afraid of us; because theirtime is past, baba jee. Let them go!"
Let them go. Incomprehensible suggestion to that brave worn stiff inthe master's service; so, with a great numb ache in an old heart, anold body strode away, elbowing younger ones from its path savagely.
"Old Dhurma hath grown milksop," jeered one spectator; "that is withdoing dry-nurse to his Captain's babies."
The words caught the old man's ear and sent a quick decision to hisdazed face. The baba logue! Yes; they must be safeguarded; for ominoussmoke began to rise from neighboring roof-trees, and a strange note ofsheer wild-beast ferocity grew to the confused roar of the drifting,shifting, still aimless crowd.
"Quick, brothers, quick! Kill, root and branch! Why dost linger? Artafraid? Afraid of cowards? Quick--kill everyone!"
The cry, boastful, jeering, came from a sepoy in the uniform of the20th, who, with a face ablaze with mad exultation, forced his wayforward. There was something in his tone which seemed to send a shiverof fresh excitement through his comrades, for they paused in theirstrange, aimless tumult, paused and listened to
the jeers, thereproaches.
"What! art cowards too?" he went on. "Then follow me. For I beganit--I fired the first shot--I killed the first infidel. I----"
The boast never ended, for above it came a quicker cry: "Kill, kill,kill the traitor! Kill the man who betrayed us."
There was a rush onward toward the boastful, arrogant voice, thereport of half a dozen muskets, and the crowd surged on to revolt overthe body of the man who had fired the first shot of the mutiny.
For it was a strange crowd indeed; most of it powerless for good orill, sheep without a shepherd, wandering after the rabble of escapedconvicts and the refuse of bazaars as they plundered and fired thehouses. Joining in in the license helplessly, drifting inevitably toviolence, so that some looked on curiously, unconcernedly, whileothers, maddened by the smell of blood, the sounds of murder, draggedhelpless Englishmen and Englishwomen from their carriages and did themto death savagely.
But there were more like Soma, who, as the darkness deepened and theglare and the dire confusion and dismay grew, stood aloof from itvoluntarily, waiting, with a certain callousness, to see if the masterwould come, or if folk said true when they declared his time was past,his day done.
Where was he? He should have come hours ago, irresistible,overwhelming. But there was no sign. Not a hint of resistance, saveevery now and again a clatter of hoofs through the darkness, an alienvoice calling "Maro! Maro!" to those behind him, and a fierce howl ofan echo, "Maro! Maro! Ma-roh!" from the faithful troop. For CaptainCraigie, finding none to help him, had changed his cry. It was "kill,kill, kill" now. And the faithful troop obeyed orders.
Soma when he heard it gave a great sigh. If there had been more ofthat sort of thing he would dearly have loved to be in it; but theother was butchery. So he wandered alone, irresolute, driftingnorthward from the dire confusion and dismay, and crossing the Mall toquestion a sentry of his own regiment as to what had happened to themasters. But the man replied by eager questions as to what hadhappened to the servants. And they both agreed that if the twothousand could not quell a riot it would be idle to help them, theLord's hand being so palpably against them.
Nevertheless, half an hour afterward the sentry still waited at hispost, and the guard over the Treasury saluted as if nothing unusualwas afoot to a group of Englishmen galloping past.
"Those men know nothing," called Major Erlton to another man. "Itcan't be so bad. Surely something can be done!"
"Something should have been done two hours ago," came a sharp voice."However, the troops have started at last. If anyone----"
The remainder was lost in the clatter. But more than one man's voicehad been lost in those two hours at Meerut on the 10th of May, 1857;indeed, everything seems to have been lost save--thank Heaven oncemore!--personal courage.
It was now near eight o'clock, and Soma, skulking by the Mall, midwaybetween the masters and the men, still irresolute, still uncertain,heard the first cry of "To Delhi! to Delhi!" which, as the night woreon, was to echo so often along that road. The cry which came unbiddenas the astounding success of the revolt brought thoughts of greatersuccess in the future.
The moon was now rising to silver the dense clouds of smoke which hungabove the pillars of flame, and give an additional horror of light tothe orgies going on unchecked. It showed him a group of 3d Cavalrytroopers galloping madly down the Mall. It showed them the glitter ofhis buckles, making them shout again:
"To Delhi, brother, to Delhi!"
Not yet. He had not seen the upshot yet. He must go and see what wasgoing on in the lines first. So he struck rapidly across the open asthe quickest way. And then behind him, close upon him, came anotherclatter of hoofs, a very different cry.
"_Shah bash! bhaiyan. Maro! Maro!_"
Remembering the glitter of his buckles, he turned and ran for thenearest cover. None too soon, for a Mohammedan trooper was after him,shouting "_Deen! Deen!_ Death to the Hindoo pig!" For any cry comeshandy when the blood is up and there is a saber in the hand. Soma hadto double like a hare, and even so, when he paused to get his breathin a tangle of lime-bushes there was a graze on his cheek. He hadjudged his distance in one of those doubles a hair's breadth toolittle. The faint trickle of blood sent a spasm of old inherited racehatred through him. The outcaste should know that the Hindoo pig shotstraight. The means of showing this were not far to find in the trackof the faithful troop. Five minutes after, Soma, with a musket draggedfrom beneath something which lay huddled up face down upon MotherEarth, was crouching in a belt of cover, waiting for the troop to comeflashing through the glare seeking more work. For there had been yellsand screams enough round that bungalow to stop looting there. And asit came number seven bent lower to his saddle bow suddenly, thentoppled over with a clang.
"Left wheel! clear those bushes!" came the order sharply. But Soma wastoo quick for that.
"Close up. Forward!" came the order again, as Captain Craigie'sfaithful troop went on, minus a man, and Soma, stumbling breathlesslyin safety, knew that the die was cast. There was an answering quiverin his veins which comes when like blood has been spilled. He knew hisfoe now; he could go to Delhi now. And hark! There was a regularrattle of musketry, at last--not the dropping fire of mere butchery,but a regular volley. He gripped his musket tighter and listened: ifthe battle had begun he must be in it. The air was full of cracklingsand hissings--an inarticulate background to murderous yells, terrifiedscreams, horrors without end; but no more volleys came to tell ofretribution.
What did it mean? Soma held his breath hard. Hark! what was that? Alouder burst of that recurring cry, "To Delhi! to Delhi!" as thelast stragglers of the 3d Cavalry, escaping from the lines at thelong-delayed appearance there of law and order, followed theircomrades' example.
So that the two thousand coming down in force found nothing but thewomen and children; poor, frightened, terror-struck hostages, leftbehind, inevitably, in the unforeseen success.
But Soma, knowing nothing of this, waited--that grip on his musketslackening--for the next volley. But none came. Only, suddenly, abugle call.
The retreat!
Incredible! Impossible! Yes! Once, twice, thrice--the retreat! Themasters were not going to fight at Meerut then, and he must try Delhi.So, turning swiftly, he cut into the road behind the cry.
"My God, Craigie! what's that? Not the retreat, surely!" came a boyishvoice from the clatter and rattle of the faithful troop.
"Don't know! Hurry up all you can, Clark! There's more of the devilsneeding cold steel yonder, and I'd like to see to my wife's safety assoon as I can. _Shah bash bhaiaan Dan-ro. Maro_."
"Maro--Ma--ro--Ma----roh!" echoed the howl. What was the retreat tothem when their Captain's voice called to them as brothers? It is idleto ask the question, but one cannot help wondering if the Captain'spocket still held the official wigging. For the sake of picturesqueeffect it is to be hoped it did.
Nevertheless it _was_ the retreat. A council of officers had suggestedthat since the mutineers were not in their lines, they might belooting the European cantonments. So the two thousand returnedthither, after firing that one volley into a wood, and then findingall quiet to the north proceeded to bivouac on the parade ground forthe night. Not a very peaceful spot, since it was within sight andsound of blazing roof-trees and plundering ruffians. The worst horrorsof that night, we are told, can never be known. Perhaps some peoplebeg to differ, holding that no horror can exceed the thought of womenand children hiding like hares on that southern side, creeping fordear life from one friendly shadow to another, and finding help indark hands where white ones failed them, within reach of that bivouac.But the faithful troop did good service, and many another band ofindependent braves also. Captain Craigie, finding leisure at last,found also--it is a relief to know--that some of his own men hadsneaked away from duty to secure his wife's safety when they saw theirCaptain would not. And if anything can relieve the deadly depressionwhich sinks upon the soul at the thought of that horrible lack ofemotion in the north, it is to picture that very di
fferent scene onthe south, when Captain Craigie, seeing his only hope of getting theladies safely escorted to the European barracks lay in his troopers,brought the two Englishwomen out to them and said, simply, "Here arethe mems! Save them."
And then the two score or so of rough men, swashbucklers by birth andtraining, flung themselves from their horses, cast themselves at thosealien women's feet with tears and oaths. Oaths that were kept.
But, on the other side, people were more placid. One reads ofEnglishmen watching "their own sleeping children with gratitude intheir hearts to God," with wonderings as "to the fate of their friendsin the south," with anticipations of "what would befall theirChristian brethren in Delhi on the coming morn, who, less happy thanourselves, had no faithful and friendly European battalions to shieldthem from the bloodthirsty rage of the sepoys."
What, indeed? considering that for two hours bands of armed men hadclattered and marched down that dividing road crying "To Delhi, toDelhi!" But no warning of the coming danger had been sent thither; theconfusion had been too great. And now, about midnight, the telegraphwires had been cut. Yet Delhi lay but thirty miles off along a broadwhite road, and there were horses galore and men ready to ride them.Men ready for more than that, like Captain Rosser of the Carabineers,who pleaded for a squadron, a field battery, a troop, a gun--anythingwith which to dash down the road and cut off that retreat to Delhi.But everything was refused. Lieutenant Mohler of the 11th offered toride, and at least give warning; but that offer was also set aside.And many another brave man, no doubt, bound to obey orders, ate hisheart out in inaction that night, possessing himself in some measureof patience with the thought that the dawn must see them on that Delhiroad.
But there was one man who owed obedience to none; who was free to goif he chose. And he did choose. Ten minutes after it dawned uponHerbert Erlton that no warning had been given, that no succor would besent, he had changed horses for the game little Arab which had oncebelonged to Jim Douglas, and was off, to reach Delhi as best he could;for a woman slept in the very city itself exposed to the first assaultof ruffianism, whom he must save, if he could. So he set his teethand rode straight. At first down the road, for the last of thefugitives had had a good hour's start of him, and he could count onfour or five miles plain sailing. Then, since his object was to headthe procession, and he did not dare to strike across country from hisutter ignorance both of the way or how to ask it, he must give theroad a half-mile berth or so, and, keeping it as a guide, make his waysomehow. There were bridges he knew where he must hark back to theonly path, but he must trust to luck for a quiet interval.
The plan proved more difficult than he expected. More than once hefound himself in danger from being too close to the disciplined trampwhich he began to overtake about six miles out, and twice he losthimself from being too far away, by mistaking one belt of trees foranother. Still there was plenty of time if the Arab held out with hisweight. The night was hot and stifling, but if he took it coolly tillthe road was pretty clear again he could forge ahead in no time; forthe Arab had the heels of every horse in Upper India. Major Erltonknew this, and bent over to pat its neck with the pride of certaintywith which he had patted it before many a race which it had won forhim since it had lost one for Jim Douglas.
So he saved it all he knew; but he rode fourteen stone, and that, overjumps, must tell. There was no other way, however, that he knew of, bywhich an Englishman could head that procession of shouting blackdevils.
One headed already, as it happened; though he was unaware of thesupreme importance of the fact, ignorant of what lay behind him. JimDouglas, who had left Meerut all unwitting of that rescue party on itsway to the jail, was still about a mile from the halfway house wherehe expected to find his relay. He had had the greatest difficulty ingetting the drugged mare to go at all at first, and more than once hadregretted having refused old Tiddu's advice. She had pulled herselftogether a bit, but she was in a drip of sweat and still shaky on herfeet. Not that it mattered, he being close now to Begum-a-bad, withplenty of time to reach Delhi by dawn.
He rather preferred to pace slowly, his feet out of the stirrups, hisslight, easy figure dressed, as it always was when in English costume,with the utmost daintiness, sitting well back in the saddle. For theglamour of the moonlight, the stillness of the night, possessed him.Everything so soundless save when the jackals began; there were anumber of them about. A good hunting country; the memory of many a runin his youthful days, with a bobbery pack, came to him. After all hehad had the cream of life in a way. Few men had enjoyed theirs more,for even this idle pacing through the stillness was a pleasure.Pleasure? How many he had had! His mind, reverting from one toanother, thought even of the owner of the golden curl without regret.She had taught him the religion of Love, the adoration of a spotlesswoman. And Zora, dear little Zora, had taught him the purity ofpassion. And then his mind went back suddenly to a scene of hisboyhood. A boy of eighteen carrying a girl of sixteen who held astring of sea-trout midway in a wide, deep ford. And he heard, as ifit had been yesterday, the faint splash of the fish as they slippedone by one into the water, and felt the fierce fighting of the girl tobe set down, his own stolid resistance, their mutual abuse of eachother's obstinacy and carelessness. Yes! he would like to see hissisters again, to know that pleasure again. Then his mind took anotherleap. Alice Gissing had not struggled in his hold, because she hadbeen in unison with his ideal of conduct; but if she had not been, shewould have fought as viciously, as unconsciously as any sister. AliceGissing, who---- He settled his feet into the stirrups sternly,thinking of that telegram with its one word "Come," which ended somany chances.
Hark! What was that? A clatter of hoofs behind. And something more,surely. A jingle, a jangle, familiar to a soldier's ears. Cavalry atthe gallop. He drew aside hastily into the shadow of the arcaded treesand waited.
Cavalry, no doubt. And the moon shone on their drawn sabers. ByHeaven! Troopers of the 3d! Half a dozen or more!
"Shah bash, brothers," cried one as they swept past, "we can breatheour beasts a bit at Begum-a-bad and let the others come up; no need toreach Delhi ere dawn. The Palace would be closed."
Delhi! The Palace! And who were the others? That, if they were comingbehind, could soon be settled. He turned the Belooch and trotted herback in the shadow, straining eyes and ears down the tree-fringed roadwhich lay so still, so white, so silent.
Something was on it now, but something silent, almost ghost-like,--anold man, muttering texts, on a lame camel which bumped along as evenno earthly camel ought to bump. That could not be the "others."
No! Surely that was a thud, a jingle, a clatter once more. And oncemore the glitter of cold steel in the moonlight. Forty or fifty of the3d this time, with stragglers calling to others still further behind,"To Delhi! To Delhi! To Victory or Death!"
As he stood waiting for them all to pass ere he moved, his firstthought was, that with all these armed men at Begum-a-bad there wouldbe no chance of a remount. Then came a swift wonder as to what hadhappened. A row of some sort, of course, and these men had fled. Erelong, no doubt, a squadron of Carabineers would come rattling afterthem. No! That was not cavalry. That was infantry in the distance.Quite a number of men shouting the same cry. Men of the 20th, to judgeby what he could see. Then the row had been a big one. Still the menwere evidently fugitives. There was that in their recurring cry whichtold of almost hopeless, reckless enthusiasm.
And how the devil was he to get his remount? It was to be at the seraion the roadside, the very place where these men would rest. Yet hemust get to Delhi, he must get there sharp! The possibility that Delhiwas unwarned did not occur to him; he only thought how he might bestget there in time for the row which must come. Should he wait for theEnglish troops to come up, and chance his remount being coolly takenby the first rebel who wanted one? Or, Delhi being not more thanfifteen miles off across country, should he take the mare as far asshe would go, leave her in some field, and do the rest on foot? Helooked at his watch. Half-past one! Say
five miles in half an hour.The mare was good for that. Then ten miles, at five miles an hour. Thevery first glimmer of light should see him at the boat-bridge if--ifthe mare could gallop five miles.
He must try her a bit slowly at first. So, slipping across the broad,white streak of road to the Delhi side, he took her slanting throughthe tall tiger grass, for they were close on a nullah which must beforded by a rather deep ford lower down, since the bridge was deniedto him. About half a mile from the road he came upon the tracksuddenly, in the midst of high tamarisk jungle growing in heavy sand,and the next moment was on the shining levels of the ford. The marestrained on his hand, and he paused to let her have a mouthful ofwater. As she stood there, head down, a horseman at the canter showedsuddenly, silently, behind him, not five yards away, his horse's hoofsdeadened by the sand.
There was a nasty movement, an ominous click on both sides. But themoon was too bright for mistakes; the recognition was mutual.
"My God, Erlton!" he cried, as the other, without a pause, went oninto the ford. "What's up?"
"Is it fordable?" came the quick question, and as Jim Douglas for ananswer gave a dig with his spurs, the Major slackened visibly; his eyetelling him that the depth could not be taken, save at a walk.
"What's up?" he echoed fiercely. "Mutiny! murder! I say, how far am Ifrom Delhi?"
"Delhi!" cried Jim Douglas, his voice keen as a knife. "By Heaven! youdon't mean they don't know--that they didn't wire--but the troops----"
"Hadn't started when I left," said the Major with a curse. "I came onalone. I say, Douglas," he gave a sharp glance at the other's mountand there was a pause.
"My mare's beat--been drugged," said Jim Douglas in the swish-swish ofthe water rising higher and higher on the horses' breasts, and therewas a curious tone in his voice as if he was arguing out something tohimself. "I've a remount at the serai, but the odds are a hundred toone on my getting it. I'd given up the chance of it. I meant to takethe mare as many miles across country as she'd go--more, perhaps--forshe feels like falling at a fence, and walk the rest. I didn't knowthen----" He paused and looked ahead. The water, up to the girths,made a curious rushing sound, like many wings. The long, shiny levelsstretched away softly, mysteriously. The tamarisk jungle reflected inthe water seemed almost as real as that which edged the shining sky. Awhite egret stood in the shallows; tall, ghostly.
"I thought it was only--a row."
The voice ceased again, the breathings of the tired horses hadslackened; there was no sound but that rushing, as of wings, as thosetwo enemies rode side by side, looking ahead. Suddenly Jim Douglasturned.
"You ride nigh four stone heavier than I do, Major Erlton."
The heavy, handsome face came round swiftly, all broken up with sheerpassion.
"Do you suppose I haven't been thinking that ever since I saw yourcursed face. And you know the country, and I don't. You know thelingo, and I don't. And--and--you're a deuce sight better rider than Iam, d----n you! But for all that, it's my chance, I tell you. Mychance, not yours."
A great surge of sympathy swept through the other man's veins. But thewater was shallowing rapidly. A step or two and this must be decided.
"It's yours more than mine," he said slowly, "but it isn't ours, isit? It's the others', in Delhi."
Herbert Erlton gave an odd sound between a sob and an oath, a savagejag at the bridle as the little Arab, over-weighted, slipped a bitcoming up the bank. Then, without a word, he flung himself from thesaddle and set to work on the stirrup nearest him.
"How many holes?" he asked gruffly, as Jim Douglas, with a great achein his heart, left the Belooch standing, and began on the other.
"Three; you're a good bit longer in the leg than I am."
"I suppose I am," said the Major sullenly; but he held the stirrupfor the other to mount.
Jim Douglas gathered the reins in his hand and paused.
"You had better walk her back. Keep more to the left; it's easier."
"Oh! I'll do," came the sullen voice. "Stop a bit, the curb's tootight."
"Take it off, will you? he knows me."
Major Erlton gave an odd, quick, bitter laugh. "I suppose he does.Right you are."
He stood, putting the curb chain into his pocket, mechanically, butJim Douglas paused again.
"Good-by! Shake hands on it, Erlton."
The Major looked at him resentfully, the big, coarse hand camereluctantly; but the touch of that other like iron in its grip, itsdetermination, seemed to rouse something deeper than anger.
"The odds are on you," he said, with a quiver in his voice. "You'lllook after her--not my wife, she's in cantonments--but in the city,you know."
The voice broke suddenly. He threw out one hand in a sort ofpassionate despair, and walked over to the Belooch.
"I'll do everything you could possibly do in my place, Erlton."
The words came clear and stern, and the next instant the thud of theArab's galloping hoofs filled the still night air. The sound sent aspasm of angry pain through Major Erlton. The chance had been his, andhe had had to give it up because he rode three stone heavier; and,curse it! knew only too well what a difference a pound or two mightmake in a race.
Nevertheless Jim Douglas had been right when he said the chance wasneither his nor the Major's. For, less than an hour afterward, ridingall he knew, doing his level best, the Arab put his foot in a rat holejust as his rider was congratulating himself on having headed therebels, just as, across the level plain stretching from Ghazeabad tothe only bridge over the Jumna, he fancied he could see a big shadowybubble on the western sky, the dome of the Delhi mosque. Put its footin a rat hole and came down heavily! The last thing Jim Douglas sawwas--on the road which he had hoped to rejoin in a minute or two--astrange ghostlike figure. An old man on a lame camel, which bumpedalong as even no earthly camel ought to bump.
As he fell, the rushing roar in his ears which heralds unconsciousnessseemed by a freak of memory to take a familiar rhythm:
"La! il-lah-il-Ullaho! La! il-lah-il-Ul-la-ho!"