A GIRL OF THE FOREST
From the frontier of Bhutan, six thousand feet up on the face of the
mountains, a line of men wound down the serpentining track that led to
Ranga Duar. At their head walked a stockily-built man with cheery
Mongolian features, wearing a white cloth garment, _kimono_-shaped and
kilted up to give freedom to the sturdy bare thighs and knees--the legs
and feet cased in long, felt-soled boots. It was the _Deb Zimpun_, the
Envoy of the independent Border State of Bhutan. Behind him came a tall
man in khaki tunic, breeches, puttees and cap, his breast covered with
bright-coloured ribbons. His uniform was similar to the British; but his
face was unmistakeably Chinese, as were those of the twenty tall,
khaki-clad soldiers armed with magazine rifles at his heels. They were
followed by three or four score Bhutanese swordsmen, thick-set and not
unlike Gurkhas in feature, with bare heads, legs and feet, and clad only
in a single garment similar to their leader's and kilted up by a cord
around the waist, from which hung a _dah_, a short sword or long knife.
In rear of them trudged a number of coolies, some laden with bundles,
others with baskets of fruit.
Where the track came out on the bare shoulder of a spur free from the
small trees and undergrowth clothing the mountains the _Deb Zimpun_
pointed to the roofs of the buildings in the little station a thousand
feet below them and hitherto invisible to them.
"That is Ranga Duar," he said briefly. The Chinaman behind him looked
down at it.
"It seems a very small and weak place to have stopped our invading
troops in the war," he said in Bhutanese. "So here lives the Man."
"The Man? Yes, perhaps he is a man. But many, very many, there be that
think him a god or devil. They say he can call up a horde of demons in
the form of elephants. With such he trampled your army into the earth.
"Devils? Leave such tales to lamas and the ignorant fools that believe
their teaching. But if even a part of what I have heard about this man
be true he is more dangerous than many devils. He stands in China's way,
and he who does shall be swept aside."
"He is my friend," said the _Deb Zimpun_ shortly, and tramped on in
silence.
Before they reached the station they were met by two of the Political
Officer's men, Bhuttias resident in British territory, detailed to
receive and guide them to the Government Dâk Bungalow in which the _Deb
Zimpun_ and as many of his followers as could crowd into it were to
reside during their stay. Arrived at it the long line filed into the
compound.
Half a mile away down the hill Colonel Dermot and Wargrave watched them
through their field-glasses.
"Who is that fellow in khaki uniform, sir?" asked the subaltern.
The Political Officer lowered his binoculars and laughed.
"A gentlemen I've been very anxious to meet. He's the Chinese
_Amban_--we call him an Envoy of the Republic of China to Bhutan. But
the Chinese themselves prefer to regard him as a representative of the
suzerainty they pretend to exercise over the country. I'm curious to see
him. He is a product of the times, an example of the modern Celestial,
educated at Heidelberg University and Oxford, speaking German, French
and English. He has been specially chosen by his Government to come to a
Buddhist land, as he is a son of the abbot of the Yellow Lama Temple in
Pekin and so might have influence with the Bhutanese by reason of his
connection with their religion."
"But what have the Chinese to do with Bhutan?"
"Nothing now. But they've been intriguing for years to re-establish the
suzerainty they once had over it. This _Amban_, Yuan Shi Hung by name,
is a clever, unscrupulous and particularly dangerous individual."
"You seem to know a lot about him, Colonel."
"It's my business to do so. There is no apparent reason for his coming
here with the _Deb Zimpun_, nor has he a right to. But I won't object,
for I want to study and size him up. By the way, the Envoy will make his
official call on me this morning. Would you like to be present?"
"Very much indeed. I'm always interested in seeing the various races of
India and learning all I can about them. I'd love a job like yours, sir,
going into out-of-the-way places and dealing with strange peoples."
"Would you?" The Political Officer looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you
good at picking up native languages?"
"Fairly so. I got through my Lower and Higher Standard Hindustani first
go and have passed in Marathi and taken the Higher Standard, Persian."
Colonel Dermot regarded him critically and then said abruptly:
"Come to my office a few minutes before eleven. That's the hour I've
fixed for the _Deb Zimpun's_ visit."
Punctually at the time named Wargrave reached the Dermots' bungalow, on
the road outside which, a Guard of Honour of fifty sepoys under an
Indian officer was drawn up. Passing along the verandah he entered the
office and saluted the Colonel who, seated at his desk, looked up and
nodded for him to be seated and then returned to the despatch that he
was writing.
In a few minutes a confused murmur drew nearer down the road and was
stilled by the sharp words of command to the Guard of Honour and by the
ring of rifles brought to the present in salute. Over the low wall of
the garden appeared the heads and shoulders of the Envoy and his Chinese
companion, followed by a train of attendants and swordsmen. They passed
in through the gate. The Political Officer rose as the _Deb Zimpun_,
removing his cap, entered the office and rushed towards him. The
bullet-headed, cheery old gentleman beamed with pleasure as they shook
hands and greeted each other in Bhutanese. Wargrave marvelled at the
ease and fluency with which Colonel Dermot spoke the language. The
_Amban_ now entered the room and was formally presented by the _Deb
Zimpun_.
Speaking in excellent English but with an accent that showed that he had
first acquired it in Germany, he said:
"I am very pleased to meet you, Colonel. I have heard much of you in
Bhutan."
"It gives me equal pleasure to make Your Excellency's acquaintance and
to welcome you to India," replied Dermot with a bow.
Then in his turn Wargrave was presented to the two Asiatics, and the
Envoy, calling an attendant in, took from him two white scarves of
Chinese silk and placed one round each officer's neck in the custom
known as "_khattag_". All sat down and the Envoy plunged into an
animated conversation with Colonel Dermot, first producing a metal box
and taking betel-nut from it to chew, while the attendant placed a
spittoon conveniently near him.
Yuan Shi Hung chatted in English with Wargrave, who was astonished to
find him a well-educated man of the world and thoroughly conversant with
European politics, art and letters. But for the inscrutable yellow face
the subaltern could have believed himself to be talking to an able
Continental diplomat. The contrast between the semi-savage Bhutanese
official and his companion, in whom the most modern civilised
gentleman's manners were successfully grafted on the old-time courtesy
of the Chinese aristocrat, was very striking. The old Envoy was a frank
barbarian. He laughed loudly and clapped his hands in glee when Colonel
Dermot presented him with a gramophone--which, it appeared, he had
longed for ever since seeing one on a previous visit to India--and
taught him how to work it. He showed his betel-stained teeth in an
ecstatic grin when a record was turned on and from the trumpet came the
Political Officer's familiar voice addressing him by name and in his own
language with many flourishes of Oriental compliment.
Towards the termination of their call the _Deb Zimpun_ called in two
attendants with large baskets of fine blood oranges and walnuts from
Bhutan and presented them in return. A number of coolies were needed to
carry off the royal gift of the flesh of the bison, the sight of which
made the Envoy's eyes glisten. He shook Wargrave's hand warmly when he
learned to whose rifle he owed it. Then he and his Chinese companion
took their leave, and with their followers passed up the hilly road.
Wargrave, gazing after them, came to the conclusion that of the pair he
preferred the savage to the ultra-cultivated Celestial.
Having thanked the Colonel for permitting him to be present at the
interview, which had interested him greatly, the subaltern was about to
leave when Mrs. Dermot appeared at the office door.
"May I come in, Kevin?" she began. "Oh, good morning, Mr. Wargrave. I
was just sending a _chit_ (letter) to you and Captain Burke asking you
to tea this afternoon. A coolie has arrived from the _peelkhana_ to say
that Mr. and Miss Benson and Mr. Carter are on their way up and will be
here soon. So you'll meet them at tea. You will like Miss Benson. She's
a dear girl."
"Thanks very much, Mrs. Dermot. I'll be delighted to come, if you'll
forgive me should I be a little late. I've got to take the signallers'
parade this afternoon. I'll tell Burke when I get to the Mess. I'm going
straight there now."
"Thank you. That will save me writing. _Au revoir_."
Half-way up the road to the Mess Wargrave looked back and saw an
elephant heave into sight around a bend below the Dermots' house and
plod heavily up to their gate. On the _charjama_--the passenger-carrying
contrivance of wooden seats on the pad with footboards hanging by short
ropes--sat a lady and two European men holding white umbrellas up to
keep off the vertical rays of the noonday sun. When the animal sank to
its knees in front of the bungalow Wargrave saw the girl--it could only
be Miss Benson--spring lightly to the ground before either of her
companions could dismount and offer to help her. Her big sunhat hid her
face, and at that distance Wargrave could only see that she was small
and slight, as she walked up the garden path.
When the signallers' afternoon practice was over the subaltern passed
across the parade ground to the Political Officer's house. When he
entered the pretty drawing-room, bright with the gay colours of chintz
curtains and cushions, he found the strangers present, one man talking
to Mrs. Dermot at her tea-table, the other chatting with the Colonel,
while Burke was installed beside a girl seated in a low cane chair and
dressed in a smart, hand-embroidered Tussore silk dress, _suede_ shoes
and silk stockings. Little Brian stood beside her with one arm
affectionately round her neck, while Eileen was perched in her lap. But
when Frank appeared the mite wriggled down to the floor and rushed to
him.
The subaltern was presented to Miss Benson, her father and Carter, the
Sub-Divisional Officer or Civil Service official of the district. When
he sat down Eileen clambered on to his knee and seriously interfered
with his peaceful enjoyment of his tea; but while he talked to her he
was watching Miss Benson over the small golden head. She was
astonishingly pretty, with silky black hair curving in natural waves,
dark-bordered Irish grey eyes fringed with long, thick lashes, a
rose-tinted complexion, a pouting, red-lipped mouth and a small nose
with the most fascinating, provoking suspicion of a tip-tilt. She was as
small and daintily-fashioned as her hostess; and Wargrave thought it
marvellous that their forgotten outpost on the face of the mountains
should hold two such pretty women at the same time. His comrade Burke
was evidently acutely conscious of Muriel Benson's attractions, and, his
pleasantly ugly face aglow with a happy smile, he was flirting as openly
and outrageously with her as she with him.
"Sure, it's a cure for sore eyes ye are, Miss Flower Face," he said.
"That's the name I christened her with the first moment I saw her,
Wargrave. Doesn't it fit her?" Then turning to the girl again, he
continued, "Aren't you ashamed av yourself for laving me to pine for a
sight av ye all these weary months?"
Miss Benson could claim to be Irish on her mother's side and so was a
ready-witted match for the doctor's Celtic exuberance; though to
Wargrave watching it seemed that Burke's easy banter cloaked a deeper
feeling.
Drawn into their conversation Frank found the girl to be natural and
unaffected, without a trace of conceit, gifted with a keen sense of
humour and evidently as full of the joy of living as a school-boy. He
thought her laugh delightfully musical, and it was frequently and
readily evoked by Burke's droll remarks or the quaint oracular sayings
from the self-possessed elf on Wargrave's knee. Her admiration of and
genuine affection for Mrs. Dermot was very evident when Noreen joined
their group.
The subaltern, covertly and critically observing her, could hardly
believe the tales which their hostess had previously told him of the
courage and ability that this small and dainty girl had frequently
shown. But only a few minutes' conversation with her father convinced
Frank that he was an amiably weak and incompetent individual, more
fitted to be a recluse and a bookworm than a roamer in wild jungles
where his work brought him in contact with strange peoples and constant
danger. It was evident that the reputation which his large section of
the Terai Forest bore as being well managed and efficiently run was not
due to him and that somebody more capable had the handling of the work.
Hardly had Wargrave come to this conclusion and begun to believe that
the stories that he had heard of the daughter's business ability and
powers of organisation were true when he was given a very convincing
proof of her courage and coolness in danger.
After tea, as the sun was nearing its setting and a deliciously cool
breeze blew down from the mountains, a move was made to the garden,
where the party sat in a circle and chatted. When evening came and the
dusk rose up from the world below, blotting out the light lingering on
the hills, Mrs. Dermot made her children say goodnight to the company
and bore them reluctant away to their beds. As the darkness deepened the
servants brought out a small table and placed a lamp on it, and by its
light carried round drinks to the men of the party. Miss Benson was
leaning back in a cane chair and chatting lazily with Burke, who sat
beside her. She had one shapely silk-clad leg crossed over the other,
and a small foot resting on the grass. Opposite her sat Colonel Dermot
and Wargrave. As the brilliant tropic stars came out in the velvety
blackness of the sky occasional silences fell on the party. A tale of
Burke's was interrupted by the Political Officer's voice, saying in a
quiet forceful tone:
"Miss Benson, please do not move your foot. Remain perfectly still. A
snake is passing under your chair. Steady, Burke! Keep still!"
There was a terror-stricken hush. Frank looked across in horror. The
lamplight barely showed in the shadow under the chair a deadly
hill-viper writhing its way out within a few inches of the small foot
firmly planted in its dainty, high-heeled shoe. He looked at the
motionless girl. Less pale than the men about her she sat quietly,
smiling faintly and apparently not frightened by the Death almost
touching her. One pink hand lay without a tremor in her lap, but the
other rested on the arm of her chair and the knuckles showed white as
the fingers gripped the bamboo tightly. She did not even glance down.
But the men, frozen with dread, watched the shadowy writhing line
passing her foot slowly, all too slowly, until it had wriggled out into
the centre of the circle of motionless beings. Then Colonel Dermot
sprang up. Seizing his light bamboo chair in his powerful grip he
whirled it aloft and brought it crashing down on the viper, shattering
the chair but smashing the reptile's spine in half a dozen places.
The other men had risen from their seats; but the girl remained seated
and said quietly:
"Thank you very much, Colonel, for warning me. I might easily have moved
my foot and trodden on the snake. I've seen so many of the horrid things
in camp lately. Now, Captain Burke, I'm sorry that the interruption
spoiled your story. Please go on with it."
Her coolness silenced the men, who were breaking into exclamations of
relief and congratulation. Even her father sat down again calmly.
But Burke's enthusiastic admiration of her courage found an outlet at
Mess that night when he recounted the adventure to Major Hunt and
appealed to Wargrave for confirmation of the story of her plucky
behaviour. Later in his room as he was going to bed Frank smiled at the
recollection of the Irishman's exuberant expressions; but he confessed
to himself that the girl's calm courage was worthy of every praise.
"She is certainly brave," he thought. "I'm not surprised at old Burke's
infatuation. She is decidedly pretty. What lovely eyes she's got--and
what a provokingly attractive little nose! Well, the doctor's a lucky
man if she marries him. She seems awfully nice. Violet will certainly
have two very charming women friends in the station if she hits it off
with them."
But as his eyes rested on her pictured face his heart misgave him; for
he remembered that she had little liking for her own sex. And then, he
told himself, these two would probably refuse to know a woman who had
run away from her husband to another man. When he had turned out the
light and jumped into bed he lay awake a long time puzzling over the
tangle into which the threads of her life and his seemed to have got.
Time alone could unravel it.
He tossed uneasily on his bed, unable to sleep, and presently a slight
noise on the verandah outside caught his ear. He lay still and listened;
and it seemed to him that soft footfalls of a large animal's pads
sounded on the wooden flooring. Then suddenly he heard a beast sniffing
at his closed door. "A stray dog," he thought. But suddenly he
remembered Burke's account of the panther that haunted the Mess; and a
thrill of excitement ran through him and drove all his unhappy thoughts
away. He sprang out of bed and rushed across the room to get his rifle,
but in the darkness overturned a chair which fell with a crash to the
ground. This scared the animal; for there was a sudden scurry outside,
and by the time Wargrave had found the rifle and groped for a couple of
cartridges there was nothing to be seen on the verandah when he threw
open the door. It was a brilliant star-lit night. Burke called to him
from his room and when Wargrave went to him said that he too had heard
the animal, which was undoubtedly the panther.
Returning to bed Frank was dropping off to sleep half an hour later when
he was startled by a shrill, agonised shriek coming from a distance.
Rifle in hand he rushed out on to the verandah again and heard faint
shouts coming from a small group of Bhuttia huts on a shoulder of the
hills hundreds of feet above the Mess. He called out but got no answer;
and after listening for some time and hearing nothing further he
returned to bed and at last fell asleep. In the morning he learned that
the panther had made a daring raid on a hut and carried off a Bhuttia
wood-cutter's baby from its sleeping mother's side, and had devoured it
in the jungle not two hundred yards away.
The Durbar, or official ceremony of the public reception of the Bhutan
Envoy and the paying over to him of the annual subsidy of a hundred
thousand rupees, was held in a marquee on the parade ground in the
afternoon. There was a Guard of Honour of a hundred sepoys to salute,
first the Political Officer and afterwards the _Deb Zimpun_ when he
arrived on a mule at the head of his swordsmen and coolies. The
solemnity of his dignified greeting to Colonel Dermot was somewhat
spoiled by shrieks of delight and loud remarks from Eileen (who was
seated beside her mother in the marquee) at the stately appearance of
the Envoy. He was attired in a very voluminous red Chinese silk robe
embroidered in gold and wearing a peculiar gold-edged cap shaped like a
papal tiara.
The Political Officer's official dinner took place that evening at his
bungalow. Besides the officers and the three European visitors the _Deb
Zimpun_ and the _Amban_ were present. The latter wore conventional
evening dress cut by a London tailor, with the stars and ribands of
several orders. But the old Envoy in his flowing red silk robe
completely outshone the two ladies, although Miss Benson was wearing her
most striking frock.
"Sure, don't we look like a State Banquet at Buckingham Palace or a
charity dinner at the Dublin Mansion House?" said Burke, looking around
the company gathered about the oval dining-table. He was seated beside
Miss Benson, who was on the host's right and facing the _Amban_ on his
left.
At the Durbar Wargrave had noticed that the Chinaman stared all the time
at the girl, and now during the meal he seemed to devour her with an
unpleasant gaze, gloating over the beauties of her bared shoulders and
bosom until she became uncomfortably conscious of it herself. The
unveiled flesh of a white woman is peculiarly attractive to the Asiatic,
the better-class females of whose race are far less addicted to the
public exposure of their charms than are European ladies. While the _Deb
Zimpun_ touched nothing but water the _Amban_ drank champagne, port and
liqueurs freely--even the untravelled Chinaman is partial to European
liquors--yet they seemed not to affect him. But his slanted eyes burned
all the more fiercely as their gaze was fixed on the girl opposite him.
He endeavoured to engage her in conversation across the table, and
appeared ready to resent anyone else intervening in the talk as he
dilated on the gaieties and pleasures of life in London, Berlin and
Paris, where he had been attached to the Chinese Embassies. He glared at
Burke when the doctor persisted in mentioning the panther's visit during
the previous night, for the conversation at their end of the table then
turned on sport. A chance remark of Miss Benson on tiger-shooting made
Wargrave ask:
"Have you shot tigers, too, like Mrs. Dermot? And I've never seen one
outside a cage!"
The girl smiled, and the Colonel answered for her.
"Miss Benson has got at least six. Seven, is it? More than my wife has.
And among them was the famous man-eater of Mardhura, which had killed
twenty-three persons. The natives of the district call her 'The Tiger
Girl.'"
"Troth, my name for you is a prettier one, Miss Benson," said Burke
laughing.
She made a _moue_ at him, but said to the subaltern:
"Cheer up, Mr. Wargrave, you've lots of time before you yet. You
oughtn't to complain--you've only been a few days here and you've
already got a splendid bison. And they're rare in these parts."
"We'll have to find him a tiger, Muriel," said their host. "When you
hear of a kill anywhere conveniently near, let me know and we'll arrange
a beat for him."
"With pleasure, Colonel. We're soon going to the southern fringe of the
forest; and, as you know, there are usually tigers to be found in the
_nullahs_ on the borders of the cultivated country. I'll send you
_khubber_ (news)."
"Thank you very much," said Wargrave. "I do want to get one."
All through the conversation the girl felt the Chinaman's bold eyes
seeming to burn her flesh, and she was glad when the Political Officer
spoke to him and engaged his attention. And she was still more relieved
when dinner ended and Mrs. Dermot rose to leave the table. When the men
joined them later on the verandah Burke and Wargrave made a point of
hemming her in on both sides and keeping the _Amban_ off; for even the
short-sighted doctor had become cognisant of the Chinaman's offensive
stare.
When he and the _Deb Zimpun_ had left the bungalow she said to the two
officers:
"I'm so glad you didn't let that awful man come near me. He makes me
afraid. There's something so evil about him that I shudder when he looks
at me."
"The curse av the crows on the brute!" exclaimed Burke hotly. "Don't ye
be afraid. We won't let the divil come next or nigh ye, will we,
Wargrave?"
And on the following day when the visitors were entertained by athletic
sports of the detachment on the parade ground and an interesting archery
competition between excited teams of the _Deb Zimpun's_ followers and
of local Bhuttias, they allowed the _Amban_ no opportunity of
approaching her. During the sports Wargrave noticed on one occasion that
he seemed to be speaking of her to the commander of his escort of
Chinese soldiers, a tall, evil-faced Manchu, pock-marked and blind of
the right eye, who stared at her fixedly for some time. At the dinner at
the Mess that night the two ladies wore frocks that were very little
_décolleté_. Burke, as Mess President, had arranged the table so that
the _Amban_ was as far away from them as possible; and Wargrave and he
mounted guard over Miss Benson when the meal was ended.
The _Deb Zimpun_ had fixed his departure for an early hour on the
following morning and was to be accompanied by the Political Officer,
who was going to visit the Maharajah of Bhutan. In the course of the day
the Chinese _Amban_ had announced to Colonel Dermot that he did not wish
to leave so soon and desired to remain longer in Ranga Duar; but the
Political Officer courteously but very firmly told him that he must go
with the Envoy.
Early next morning, while Noreen Dermot was occupied with her children,
and her husband was completing his preparations for departure, Muriel
Benson went out into the garden. Badshah, pad strapped on ready for the
road, was standing at one side of the bungalow swinging his trunk and
shifting from foot to foot as he patiently awaited his master. The girl
greeted and petted him, then went to gather flowers and cut bunches of
bright-coloured leaves from high bushes of bougainvillea and poinsettia
that hid her from view from the house.
Suddenly a harsh voice sounded in her ears.
"I have tried to speak to you alone, but those fools were ever in my
way. Do not cry out. You must listen to me."
She started violently and turned to find the _Amban_, dressed in khaki
and ready to march, behind her. Courageous as she usually was the
extraordinary repulsion and terror with which he inspired her kept her
silent as he continued:
"I want you, and I shall take you sooner or later. Listen! I am one of
the richest men in all China. One day I shall be President--and then
Emperor the next; and when I rule my country shall no longer be the
effete, despised land torn with dissension that it is now. I can give
you everything that the heart of a woman, white or yellow, can
desire--take you from your dull, poverty-stricken life to raise you to
power and immense wealth. I shall return for you one day. Will you come
to me?"
The girl drew back, pale as death and unable to cry out. He glanced
around. The tall, red-leaved bushes hid them; there was no one or
nothing within sight, except the elephant shifting restlessly.
"Answer me!" he said almost menacingly.
She was silent. He sprang forward and seized her roughly.
"Speak! You must answer," he said.
The girl shrank at his touch and struggled in vain in his powerful
grasp.
Then suddenly she cried out:
"Badshah!"
The Chinaman thrust his face, inflamed with passion and desire, close to
hers.
"You must, you shall, come to me--by force, if not willingly," he
growled. "By all the gods or devils----."
But at that instant he was plucked from her by a resistless force and
hurled violently to the ground. Dazed and half-stunned he looked up and
saw the elephant standing over him with one colossal foot poised over
his prostrate body, ready to crush him to pulp. Brave as the Chinaman
was he trembled with terror at the imminent, awful death.
But a quiet voice sounded clear through the garden.
"_Jané do_! (Let him go!)"
The elephant brought the threatening foot to the ground but stood, with
curled trunk and ears cocked forward, ready to annihilate him if the
invisible speaker gave the word. The girl shrank against the great
animal, clinging to it and looking with horror at the prostrate man. The
_Amban_ slowly dragged his bruised body from the ground and staggered
shaken and dizzy out of the garden.
Muriel kissed the soft trunk and laid her cheek against it, and it
curved to touch her hair with a gentle caress. Then she fled into the
bungalow to find Colonel Dermot on the verandah grimly watching the
Chinaman stumbling blindly up the steep road. His wife beside him opened
her arms to the shaken girl.
"He shall pay for that some day, Muriel," said the Political Officer
sternly. "But not yet."
An hour later the two women watched the snaking line crawl up the steep
face of the mountains, and through field-glasses they could distinguish
Badshah with his master on his neck, the _Deb Zimpun_ and his followers
and the tall form of the Chinaman, until all vanished from sight in the
trees clothing the upper hills.
Benson and Carter left that afternoon, Muriel remaining to spend a
longer time with her friend and, as she told Wargrave, to try and regain
the affections of the children which he had stolen from her.
Frank was thinking of her next day as he was standing on the Mess
verandah after tea, cleaning his fowling-piece, when on a wooded spur
running down from the mountains and sheltering the little station on the
west he heard a jungle-cock crowing in the undergrowth not four hundred
yards away. Seizing a handful of cartridges he loaded his gun and,
running down the steps and across the garden, plunged into the jungle.
He walked cautiously, his rope-soled boots enabling him to move
silently, and stopped occasionally to listen for the bird's crow or the
telltale pattering over the dried leaves. Peering into the undergrowth
and searching the ground he crept quietly forward. Suddenly his heart
seemed to leap to his throat. In a patch of dust he saw the unmistakable
_pug_ (footprint) of a large panther. One claw had indented a new-fallen
leaf, showing that the animal had very recently passed. Wargrave halted
and thought hard. He had only his shotgun, but the sun was near its
setting and if he returned to the Mess to get his rifle--which was taken
to pieces and locked up in its case--darkness would probably fall before
he could overtake the panther, which was possibly moving on ahead of
him. So he resolved not to turn back, but opened the breech of his gun
and extracted the cartridges. With his knife he cut their thick cases
almost through all round at the wad, dividing the powder from the shot.
For he knew that thus treated and fired the whole upper portion of the
cartridges would be shot out of the barrels like solid bullets and carry
forty yards without breaking up and scattering the shot.
Reloading he advanced cautiously, frequently losing and refinding the
trail. Creeping through a clump of thin bushes he stopped suddenly,
frozen with horror and dread.
In an open patch of woodland the two Dermot children stood by a tree,
the girl huddled against the trunk, while the little boy had placed
himself in front of her and, with a small stick in his hand, was bravely
facing in her defence an animal crouching on the ground not twenty yards
away. It was a large panther. Belly to earth, tail lashing from side to
side, it was crawling slowly, imperceptibly nearer its prey. With ears
flattened against the skull and lips drawn back to bare the gleaming
fangs in a devilish grin it snarled at the brave child whose dauntless
attitude doubtless puzzled it.
"Don't cry, Eileen. I won't let it hurt you," said the little boy
encouragingly. "Go 'way, nasty dog!"
He raised his little stick above his head. A boy should always protect a
girl, his father had often said, so he was not going to let the beast
harm his tiny sister. The panther crouched lower. The watcher in the
bushes saw the powerful limbs gathering under the spotted body for the
fatal spring. Every muscle and sinew was tense for the last rush and
leap, as the subaltern raised his gun.