THE RED WOLF
With the assistance of the shepherd Kathlyn went down the rope agilely
and safely. Once firmly on her feet, she turned to thank the wild-eyed
hillman. But her best Hindustani (and she was able to speak and
understand quite a little by now) fell on ears which heard but did not
sense what she said. The man, mild and harmless enough, for all his
wild eyes, shrank back, for no woman of his kind had ever looked like
this. Kathlyn, with a deal of foreboding, repeated the phrase, and
asked the way back to the hunter's rest house. He shook his head; he
understood nothing.
But there is one language which is universal the world over, and this
is sign language. Kathlyn quickly stooped and drew in the dust the
shape of the rest house. Then she pointed in the direction from whence
she had come. He smiled and nodded excitedly. He understood now.
Next, being unarmed, she felt the need of some sort of weapon. So she
drew the shape of a rifle in the dust, then produced four rupees, all
she had. The shepherd gurgled delightedly, ran into the hut, and
returned with a rifle of modern make and a belt of cartridges. With a
gesture he signified that it was useless to him because he did not know
how to use it.
He took the rupees and Kathlyn took the rifle, vaguely wondering how it
came into the possession of this poverty-stricken hillman. Of one
thing she was certain; it had become his either through violence of his
own or of others. She examined the breech and found a dead shell,
which she cast out. The rifle carried six cartridges, and she loaded
skillfully, much to the astonishment of the hillman. Then she swung
the butt to her shoulder and fired up at the ledge where the panthers
had last been seen.
The hillman cried out in alarm and scuttled away to his hut. When he
peered forth again Kathlyn made a friendly gesture, and he approached
timidly. Once more she pointed to the dust, at the picture of the rest
house; and then, by many stabs of his finger in the air, he succeeded
in making the way back sufficiently clear to Kathlyn, who smiled,
shouldered the rifle and strode confidently down the winding path; but
also she was alert and watchful.
There was not a bit of rust on the rifle, and the fact that one bullet
had sped smoothly convinced her that the weapon was serviceable. Some
careful hunter had once possessed it, for it was abundantly oiled. To
whom had it belonged? It was of German make; but that signified
nothing. It might have belonged to an Englishman, a Frenchman, or a
Russian; more likely the latter, since this was one of the localities
where they crossed and recrossed with their note-books to be utilized
against that day when the Bear dropped down from the north and tackled
the Lion.
Kathlyn had to go down to the very bottom of the ravine. She must
follow the goat path, no matter where it wound, for this ultimately
would lead her to the rest house. As she started up the final incline,
through the cedars and pines, she heard the bark of the wolf, the red
wolf who hunted in packs of twenty or thirty, in reality far more
menacing than a tiger or a panther, since no hunter could kill a whole
pack.
To this wolf, when hunting his kill, the tiger gave wide berth; the
bear took to his cave, and all fleet-footed things of the jungles fled
in panic.
Kathlyn climbed as rapidly as she could. She dared not mount a tree,
for the red wolf would outwit her. She must go on. The bark, or yelp,
had been a signal; but now there came to her ears the long howl. She
had heard it often in the great forests at home. It was the call of
the pack that there was to be a kill. She might shoot half a dozen of
them, and the living rend the dead, but the main pack would follow on
and overtake her.
She swung on upward, catching a sapling here, a limb there, pulling
herself over hard bits of going. Once she turned and fired a chance
shot in the direction of the howling. Far away came the roar of one of
the mountain lions; and the pack of red wolves became suddenly and
magically silent. Kathlyn made good use of this interval. But
presently the pack raised its howl again, and she knew that the grim
struggle was about to begin.
She reached the door of the rest house just as the pack, a large one,
came into view, heads down, tails streaming. Pundita, who was at the
fire preparing the noon meal, seized Kathlyn by the arm and hurried her
into the house, barricading the door. The wolves, arriving, flung
themselves against it savagely. But the door was stout, and only a
battering-ram in human hands could have made it yield.
Unfortunately, there was no knowing when the men-folk would return from
their chase of the horses, nor how long the wolves would lay siege.
The two women tried shooting, though Pundita was the veriest tyro,
being more frightened at the weapon in her hands than at the howling
animals outside. They did little or no damage to the wolves, for the
available cracks were not at sufficiently good angles. An hour went
by, Kathlyn could hear the wolves as they crowded against the door,
sniffing the sill.
The colonel, Bruce, Ramabai and Ahmed had found the horses half a dozen
miles away; and they had thrashed the thieving natives soundly and
instilled the right kind of fear in their breasts. At rifle point they
had forced the natives back to the rest house. The crack of their
rifles soon announced to Kathlyn that the dread of wolves was a thing
of the past. She wisely refrained from recounting her experiences.
The men had worry enough.
After a hasty meal the journey toward the sea-port began in earnest.
Umballa's attack had thrown them far out of the regular track. They
were now compelled to make a wide detour. Where the journey might have
been made in three days, they would be lucky now if they reached the
sea under five. The men took turns in standing watch whenever they
made camp, and Kathlyn nor Pundita had time for idleness. They had
learned their lessons; no more carelessness, nothing but the sharpest
vigilance from now on.
One day, as the pony caravan made a turn round a ragged promontory,
they suddenly paused. Perhaps twenty miles to the west lay the emerald
tinted Persian Gulf. The colonel slipped off his horse, dragged
Kathlyn from hers, and began to execute a hornpipe. He was like a boy.
"The sea, Kit, the sea! Home and Winnie; out of this devil's cauldron!
You will come along with us, Bruce?"
"I haven't anything else to do," Bruce smiled back.
Then he gazed at Kathlyn, who found herself suddenly filled with
strange embarrassment. In times of danger sham and subterfuge have no
place. Heretofore she had met Bruce as a man, to whom a glance from
her eyes had told her secret. Now that the door to civilization lay
but a few miles away, the old conventions dropped their obscuring
mantles over her, and she felt ashamed. And there was not a little
doubt. Perhaps she had mistaken the look in his eyes, back there in
the desert, back in the first day when they had fled together from the
ordeals. And yet . . . !
On his part, Bruce did not particularly welcome the sea. There might
be another man somewhere. No woman so beautiful as Kathlyn could
possibly be without suitors. And when the journey down to the sea was
resumed he became taciturn and moody, and Kathlyn's heart
correspondingly heavy.
The colonel was quite oblivious to this change. He swung his legs free
of the primitive stirrups and whistled the airs which had been popular
in America at the time of his departure.
There was no lightness in the expressions of Ramabai and Pundita. They
were about to lose these white people forever, and they had grown to
love, nay, worship them. More, they must return to face they knew not
what.
As for Ahmed, he displayed his orientalism by appearing unconcerned.
He had made up his mind not to return to America with his master.
There was much to do in Allaha, and the spirit of intrigue had laid
firm hold of him. He wanted to be near at hand when Ramabai struck his
blow. He would break the news to the Colonel Sahib before they sailed.
It was four o'clock when the caravan entered the little seaport town.
A few tramp steamers lay anchored in the offing. A British flag
drooped from the stem of one of them. This meant Bombay; and Bombay,
in turn, meant Suez, the Mediterranean and the broad Atlantic.
The air was still and hot, for the Indian summer was now beginning to
lay its burning hand upon this great peninsula. The pale dust, the
white stucco of the buildings, blinded the eyes.
They proceeded at once to the single hotel, where they found plenty of
accommodation. Then the colonel hurried off to the cable office and
wired Winnie. Next he ascertained that the British ship Simla would
weigh anchor the following evening for Bombay; that there they could
pick up the _Delhi_, bound for England. There was nothing further to
do but wait for the answer to the colonel's cable to Winnie, which
would arrive somewhere about noon of the next day.
And that answer struck the hearts of all of them with the coldness of
death. Umballa had beaten them. Winnie had sailed weeks ago for
Allaha, in search of father and sister!
Ahmed spat out his betel-nut and squared his shoulders. Somehow he had
rather expected something like this. The reason for Umballa's
half-hearted pursuit stood forth clearly.
"Sahib, it is fate," he said. "We must return at once to Allaha.
Truly, the curse of that old guru sticks like the blood leeches of the
Bengal swamps. But as you have faith in your guru, I have faith in
mine. Not a hair of our heads shall be harmed."
"I am a very miserable man, Ahmed! God has forsaken me!" The colonel
spoke with stoic calm; he was more like the man Ahmed had formerly
known.
"No, Allah has not forsaken; he has forgot us for a time." And Ahmed
strode out to make the arrangements for the return.
"Bruce," said the colonel, "it is time for you to leave us. You are a
man. You have stood by us through thick and thin. I can not ask you
to share any of the dangers which now confront us, perhaps more
sinister than any we have yet known."
"Don't you want me?" asked Bruce quietly.
Kathlyn had gone to her room to hide her tears.
"Want you! But no!" The colonel wrung the young man's hand and turned
to go back to Kathlyn.
"Wait a moment, Colonel. Supposing I wanted to go, what then?
Supposing I should say to you what I dare not yet say to your daughter,
that I love her better than anything else in all this wide world; that
it will be happiness to follow wherever she goes . . . even unto death?"
The colonel wheeled. "Bruce, do you mean that?"
"With all my heart, sir. But please say nothing to Kathlyn till this
affair ends, one way or the other. She might be stirred by a sense of
gratitude, and later regret it. When we get out of this--and I rather
believe in the prophecy of Ahmed's guru or fakir--then I'll speak. I
have always been rather a lonely man. There's been no real good
reason. I have always desired to be loved for my own sake, and not for
the money I have."
"Money?" repeated the colonel. Never had he in any way associated this
healthy young hunter with money. Did he not make a business of
trapping and selling wild animals as he himself did? "Money! I did
not know that you had any, Bruce."
"I am the son of Roger Bruce."
"What! the man who owned nearly all of Peru and half the railroads in
South America?"
"Yes. You see, Colonel, we are something alike. We never ask
questions. It would have been far better if we had. Because I did not
question Kathlyn when I first met her I feel half to blame for her
misfortunes. I should have told her all about Allaha and warned her to
keep out of it. I should have advised her to send native
investigators, she to remain in Peshawur till she learned the truth.
But the name Hare suggested nothing to me, not till after I had left
her at Singapore. So I shall go back with you. But please let Kathlyn
continue to think of me as a man who earns his own living."
"God bless you, my boy! You have put a new backbone in me. It's hard
not to have a white man to talk to, to plan with. Ahmed expects that
we shall be ready for the return in the morning. He, however, intends
to go back on a racing camel, to go straight to my bungalow, if it
isn't destroyed by this time. Perhaps Winnie has not arrived there
yet. I trust Ahmed."
"So do I. I have known him for a long time--that is, I thought I
did--and during the last few weeks he has been a revelation. Think of
his being your head man all these years, and yet steadily working for
his Raj, the British Raj."
"They can keep secrets."
"Well, we have this satisfaction: when Pundita rules it will be under
the protecting hand of England. Now let us try to look at the cheerful
side of the business. Think of what that girl has gone through with
scarcely a scratch! Can't you read something in that? See how strong
and self-reliant she has become under such misfortunes as would have
driven mad any ordinary woman! Can't you see light in all this? I
tell you, there is good and evil working for and against us, and that
Ahmed's fakir will in the end prove stronger than your bally old guru.
When I am out of the Orient I laugh at such things, but I can't laugh
at them somehow when I'm in India."
"Nor I."
That night Kathlyn signified that she wished to go down to the beach
beyond the harbor basin. Bruce accompanied her. Often he caught her
staring out at the twinkling lights on board the Simla. By and by they
could hear the windlass creaking. A volume of black smoke suddenly
poured from the boat's slanting funnel. The ship was putting out to
sea.
"Why do you risk your life for us?" she asked suddenly.
"Adventure is meat and drink to me, Miss Hare."
The prefix sounded strange and unfamiliar in her ears. Formality. She
had been wrong, then; only comradeship and the masculine sense of
responsibility. Her heart was like lead.
"It is very kind and brave of you, Mr. Bruce; but I will not have it."
"Have what?" he asked, knowing full well what she meant.
"This going back with us. Why should you risk your life for people who
are almost strangers?"
"Strangers?" He laughed softly. "Has it never occurred to you that
the people we grow up with are never really our friends; that real
friendship comes only with maturity of the mind? Why, the best man
friend I have in this world is a young chap I met but three years ago.
It is not the knowing of people that makes friendships. It is the
sharing of dangers, of bread, in the wilderness; of getting a glimpse
of the soul which lies beneath the conventions of the social pact.
Would you call me a stranger?"
"Oh, no!" she cried swiftly. "It is merely that I do not want you to
risk your life any further for us. Is there no way I can dissuade you?"
"None that I can think of. I am going back with you. That's settled.
Now let us talk of something else. Don't you really want me to go?"
"Ah, that isn't fair," looking out to sea again and following the
lights aboard the Simla.
It was mighty hard for him not to sweep her into his arms then and
there. But he would never be sure of her till she was free of this
country, free of the sense of gratitude, free to weigh her sentiments
carefully and unbiasedly. He sat down abruptly on the wreck of an
ancient hull embedded in the sand. She sank down a little way from him.
He began to tell her some of his past exploits: the Amazon, the
Orinoco, the Andes, Tibet and China; of the strange flotsam and jetsam
he had met in his travels. But she sensed only the sound of his voice
and the desire to reach out her hand and touch his. Friendship! Bread
in the wilderness!
* * * * * *
Ahmed was lean and deceptive to the eye. Like many Hindus, he appeared
anemic; and yet the burdens the man could put on his back and carry
almost indefinitely would have killed many a white man who boasted of
his strength. On half a loaf of black bread and a soldier's canteen of
water he could travel for two days. He could go without sleep for
forty-eight hours, and when he slept he could sleep anywhere, on the
moment.
Filling his saddle-bags with three days' rations, two canteens of
water, he set off on a hagin, or racing camel, for Allaha, three
hundred miles inland as the crow flies. It was his intention to ride
straight down to the desert and across this to Colonel Hare's camp, if
such a thing now existed. A dromedary in good condition can make from
sixty to eighty miles a day; and the beast Ahmed had engaged was of
Arab blood. In four days he expected to reach the camp. If Winnie had
not yet arrived, he would take the road, meet her, warn her of the
dangers which she was about to face, and convey her to the sea-port.
If it was too late, he would send the camel back with a trusted
messenger to the colonel, to advise him.
They watched him depart in a cloud of dust, and then played the most
enervating game in existence--that of waiting; for they had decided to
wait till they heard from Ahmed before they moved.
Four nights later, when Ahmed arrived at the bungalow, he found
conditions as usual. For reasons best known to himself Umballa had not
disturbed anything. In fact, he had always had the coming of the
younger sister in mind and left the bungalow and camp untouched, so as
not to alarm her.
She had not yet arrived. So Ahmed flung himself down upon his cotton
rug, telling the keepers not to disturb him; he would be able to wake
himself when the time came. But Ahmed had overrated his powers; he was
getting along in years; and it was noon of the next day when a hand
shook him by the shoulder and he awoke to witness the arrival of Winnie
and her woman companion.
For the first time in many years Ahmed cursed his prophet. He that had
had time to warn the child, had slept like the sloth of Ceylon!
He went directly to the point. He told her briefly what had happened.
He had not the least doubt that Umballa was already aware of her
arrival. She must remain hidden in the go-down of the bungalow; her
maid also. That night, if Umballa or his men failed to appear, he
would lead her off to safety. But there was no hope of stealing away
in the daytime. In his heart, however, he entertained no hope; and
like the good general he was, he despatched the messenger and camel to
the sea. The father and daughter were fated to return.
Ahmed had reckoned shrewdly. Umballa appeared later in the day and
demanded the daughter of Colonel Hare. Backed as he was by numerous
soldiers, Ahmed resigned himself to the inevitable. They found Winnie
and her maid (whom later they sent to the frontier and abandoned) and
took them to the palace.
There was no weeping or wailing or struggling. The dark proud face of
the young girl gave forth no sign of the terror and utter loneliness of
her position. And Umballa realized that it was in the blood of these
children to be brave and quiet. There was no mercy in his heart. He
was power mad and gold mad, and his enemies lived because he could
reach neither of his desires over their dead bodies.
The rigmarole and mummery Winnie went through affected her exactly as
it had affected her sister. It was all a hideous nightmare, and at any
moment she expected to wake up in her cozy corner at Edendale.
In the bazaars they began to laugh at Umballa and his coronations, or
durbars. They began to jest at his futile efforts to crown some one
through whom he could put his greedy hand into the treasury. Still,
they found plenty of amusement and excitement. And so they filled the
square in front of the platform when Umballa put the crown on Winnie's
head. How long would this queen last?
And Kathlyn, her father and Bruce were forced to witness the event from
behind the cordon of guards, dressed in native costume, their faces
stained and their hearts swelling with impotent anger and despair. For
it was in such guise they had returned to Allaha.
During a lull in the ceremonies a resonant voice from out the dense
throne cried, "Give us a queen of our blood and race, thou black,
gutter born dog!"
Ramabai started at the sound of that voice, but caught himself before
he looked in the direction from whence it rose. It belonged to one Lal
Singh.
Umballa scowled, but gave no other sign that he heard. But a guard
dove into the crowd; uselessly, however.
Kathlyn touched Ramabai's arm.
"Oh, I must speak to her!"
"Be careful, Mem-sahib!" he warned.
But even as she spoke she stepped past him, toward her beloved sister,
and offered the flowers she held.
Winnie, not dreaming that this dark veiled creature was her sister,
smelled the flowers and beheld a card which had writing on it--English!
"Courage! Father and I have a plan for your escape. Kathlyn."