"The burra major is dead. I have laid his body inside the mess-room.
The mem sahib must have escaped or been carried off."
"You did this, Dost?" I cried, after a pause.
"Yes, sahib. It was dreadful for him to lie there."
"Take us where you have laid him," said Brace, sternly; "but mind, if
you attempt to escape, I shall fire."
"Why should thy servant try to escape?" said the man simply. "This
way."
"You do not trust him?" I said to Brace.
"Trust?" he replied bitterly. "Who can ever trust a Hindu again?"
We followed Dost across the compound, to where the blank windows of the
mess-room loomed out of the darkness, and we saw that they and the door
were carefully closed.
"I have misjudged him, Gil," whispered Brace; "he has been here."
As the Hindu began to open the door, we glanced sharply about the place,
each holding his double rifle, ready for immediate action against human
tigers, as I told myself. But all was silent and deserted, and as I
looked toward the major's quarters and thought of the pleasant English
lady who had so often made me welcome in the little drawing-room she
fitted up so charmingly wherever we stayed, and whose soft carpets,
purdahs, and screens came back to my memory in the soft light of the
shaded lamps, I shivered, and wondered what had been her fate.
"I could not find the lieutenant, sahib," said Dost, as he threw open
the door.
"Be on your guard, Gil," whispered Brace to me in French; "it may be a
trap after all. Hush! Look out. I thought so," he cried; and I swung
round the muzzle of my rifle, as four figures suddenly came upon us from
out of the darkness at our back.
The alarm was momentary, for a familiar voice said, as the point of a
sword gritted in the sand at the speaker's feet--
"All right. I was growing uneasy about you, and brought three of the
boys in case of accident."
"Thank you, doctor," said Brace. "We are going in here. The major--"
"Hush!" said the doctor, drawing in a hissing breath. "Stand fast, my
lads."
"If you hear anything wrong," said Brace to the three men who stood
sword in hand, "you know what to do."
There was a low hiss, more than a murmur, and then we were in the
darkness of the mess-room.
"I'll shut the door," said Dost, softly.
"Why?" said the doctor, quickly.
"The sahib doctor can trust me," said the man, quietly. "It is dark. I
am going to light a candle. I think the barracks are quite empty, but
some of the budmashes might be about seeking to rob, and they would see
the light."
He closed the door, and the darkness for the moment was intense, while
my heart beat with a heavy throb as I wondered whether, after all, there
was treachery intended, and Brace's words rang in my ears--"Who can ever
trust a Hindu again?"
The silence was awful in the moments which followed the closing of the
door. There was a faint rustling sound followed by a sharp click click,
which I knew was the cocking of a rifle or pistol; then came a scraping
sound as of a sword-edge touching the wall--sounds which told me that my
suspicions were shared; but, directly after, they were dispelled, for
there was a crackling noise and a faint line of light; a repetition of
the scratching, accompanied by a few sparks, and, at the third
repetition, there was a flash which lit up the dark face of Dost and his
white turban; then the match began to burn, and we could see his fingers
look transparent as he sheltered the flame and held it to a piece of
candle, which directly after lit up the mess-room, one wreck now of
broken glass, shattered chairs, and ragged curtain and cloth.
I saw all that at a glance, but as my eyes wandered about the room, they
rested upon a couch at the side, upon which lay something covered
completely by a tablecloth, whose whiteness was horribly stained.
I shuddered, and tried to turn my eyes away, but I could not, and
involuntarily I followed Brace and the doctor, as Dost went to the
couch.
"Better keep away, Gil, lad," said Brace, in a low voice, full of
emotion. "You will have enough horrors forced upon you without seeking
them out."
I made no answer, but I did not retire, as Brace softly raised the cloth
from the face of our commanding officer, and I saw that, though
disfigured by a couple of terrible cuts, it was quite placid; and my
heart warmed--in my sorrow for my poor friend--toward the Hindu servant
who had so reverently treated his remains.
Then a thrill ran through me, for as Brace stood holding the cloth
raised, and Dost held the candle for us to see, the doctor uttered an
ejaculation, pushed Brace rudely aside, and then laid his rifle on the
ground, and began to tear open the light cotton garment the major wore,
while his busy hands played, in the dim light, about his breast.
"Here, Dost," he whispered, "put down the light. Tear this cloth into
narrow bandages. Vincent, lad, take out my pocket-book from my breast,
and open it."
"Great heavens, Danby!" began Brace.
"Thank Heaven, you mean," said the doctor, in his quick, business-like
way. "Good job I'm here. Dost, you fool, you shouldn't be in such a
hurry. Why, you might have buried him. The man's not dead."
No word was uttered, but there was a quick expiration of the breath, and
then a busy silence, only broken by the rustling movements of the
doctor, who kept on examining and bandaging.
At last he began to speak.
"Wonderful how nature stops bleeding," he whispered. "He has cuts and
stabs enough to have bled any one to death, but there's a spark left
yet."
"Hist! what's that?" said Brace, as a sound came from the door.
"Right, sir," said a voice, which I knew to be Sergeant Craig's. "Mr
Haynes is getting uneasy."
"Go and tell him," said Brace, who was kneeling and holding one end of a
bandage.