"By the Prophet's head,He shall die," he said,"By the knife of the Khyberee!"Civil and Military Gazette.
"By the Prophet's head,
He shall die," he said,
"By the knife of the Khyberee!"
Civil and Military Gazette.
Li Fong, contractor and general shopkeeper, was wearied of Dorian fruit, ofnga-pe, and of Pazobin. Li was no "eleven o'clock chink "--that is, a Chinaman born and bred out of the Celestial Empire--but was a pure Hankow man, and had migrated to Burma with the philanthropic motive of spreading enlightenment among the outer barbarians, and to extract as much as he could out of the country he was honouring with his presence. But he was tired of Pazobin. Pazobin had no more to give, and for him the orange was sucked dry. His real business did not lie among the lead-foil packets of bad tea, with the cubes of China sugar, that crumbled to dust at the touch, with the inferior writing paper, the preserved ginger, and the pickled bamboo, with which his little shop was stocked. No, it had other and more paying ramifications, or Li could not have looked so sleek and comfortable as he sat in his cane chair beneath a green and yellow paper lantern and inhaled a long cigarette, thesoupconof opium in the tobacco imparting a dreamy flavour to his smoke. But Li was not in his usual spirits. "Allee pidgin gone," his thoughts ran on; "Li he go too." Yes, this was true, too true. All business, really paying business, had gone since Pozendine and Iyer were swept away with other refuse, and there was nothing to be done with Mr. Pillay, who reigned in their place. Profits had come down to zero, for Mr. Pillay was thatrara avisof his class--an honest man. Li Fong's approaches toward him had resulted in Li's being treated with indignity, and, what was worse, in attracting the particular attention of Jackson toward the Chinaman. And when the special attention of a district officer is drawn to a person like Li, it is better for him or her to move on, and our sleek friend, fully aware of this, was on the eve of his departure. But he was going heavily laden. He had sold his shop, and was for this night a care-taker only. Honest Yen Chow, of Myobin, was the purchaser. Yen would come to-morrow, and then Li was free as air. He smoked his cigarette comfortably through, and dozed off slowly. When he awoke he found that the township was going to bed. It was not a bad idea, thought Li. He would do the same. He turned down the burner of the little kerosene lamp that was placed within the gaudy lantern, locked his shop door, and went inside. Here, in a little back room, in heat and stuffiness so great that only a Chinaman could endure it, Li Fong lived his celibate life. He lit a small lamp carefully and placed it in a corner of the room; then he kneeled down, but not to pray. He merely fumbled under a heap of bedding and pulled out a small box. His eyes sparkled with delight as he opened the casket, and he gazed at the contents with a smile of deep satisfaction. When he had gladdened his eyes he shut the lid slowly with a regretful snap, and put aside the treasure. There was one more delight before sleep came, and that was contained in his opium pipe. He lit this with a luxurious slowness, and then, stretched out on his pallet, smoked himself into paradise. What rosy dreams were Li's! He would be a mandarin of the green button, his ancestors would be ennobled, he might become an Amban! "To-mollow," he murmured to himself; but to-morrow never came to Li on earth. Li dreamed on, sunk in lethargy, and finally fell into profound sleep, and the lamp burned low.
When he awoke again it was with the consciousness of physical pain, and behold! the lamp was burning brightly in the room.
Two men were seated beside the light, and spread out on the floor were the jewels the little box contained. The men were arranging them in little heaps, counting them carefully. Li made a frantic effort to call out, but he was gagged. Then he rolled over toward the men, and the light of despair was in his eyes. "Keep him quiet, Moung Sen," said one of the two, and the taller man held his sharpdahover Li, who crouched still, making no effort to move. The other finished his counting, and then swept the jewels into a bag. Then he turned savagely on the Chinaman. "Beast!" he said, "and you were going away with the earnings of honest men!" Then, changing his voice: "What! and you wouldn't even come and say good-bye to an old friend--to poor old Father Fragrance! It was very wrong of you, Li Fong, very wrong." Moung Sen here pricked Li with thedah, and a shiver went over the limbs of the bound man. Bah Hmoay then spoke again. "To think that you can't even speak, Li Fong, that your wicked mouth is gagged, and that all my money--ourmoney," and he pointed to Moung Sen, "has come back to its rightful owners, and some more besides! Li Fong, you were going a far journey with all that wealth. You will now go a farther journey, where wealth will no longer avail you--where the gems of the world are useless. Li Fong, you are going to die!" If eyes could have spoken there would have been a piteous appeal for mercy, but being merely eyes they could only look words, not speak them.
* * * * *
"I never knew a more atrocious thing in my life," said Phipson to his chief. "We found the poor devil with his throat slit from ear to ear, and on the wall of the room, scratched in charcoal, the respectful compliments of Bah Hmoay to you. Confound the brute! I'd give ten years of my life to see him swinging at the end of a rope!"
Jackson rose from his chair and slowly paced the room. After six months of absolute quiet he had begun to think that the dacoit had disappeared with the destruction of his gang, when here came a fresh atrocity--an atrocity out-Heroding the others. It was too bad, and yet, after all, in his heart Jackson could not help admiring the daring of the man.
"By Jove!" he said, "that fellow should be bottled and kept as a curiosity. Had he lived a hundred years ago, he would have died a prince."
"He'll die very high up," grunted Phipson.
"The inspector sahib has come on urgent business," announced an orderly.
"Tell him to come in," said Phipson, and Serferez Ali entered the room.
He explained briefly that he had at last a clew to the hiding place of the dacoits, and begged permission to start off at once.
It is needless to say that this permission was readily granted, and Phipson himself expressed his intention of accompanying the party. He noticed, however, the shade of disappointment that passed over Serferez Ali's face as he said he would come, and, being a generous young fellow, guessed its meaning. It was as if the old man had said, "Do not rob me of the honour," and the mute appeal won its way. "No, on second thoughts, I don't think I shall come, Serferez."
"May you end as a lord sahib!" said the inspector. "By sunset the heads of the base born will be in your veranda."
"Take a strong body of men with you, inspector," said Jackson, and Serferez said, "Huzoor!" saluted, and went out. He passed down the drive with rapid strides, and regained the police barracks with all speed. Here he picked out half a dozen men, and in a few minutes they were in a long snake boat rowing steadily and swiftly toward the great silk-cotton tree.
"One thousand rupees for Bah Hmoay dead or alive, and five hundred for Moung Sen, my children," said Serferez from the tiller, "and I will give up my share. You can all cut your names after this and go back to the grants the Sirkar is giving on the Chenab without fear of that jackal's spawn, Shankar the bunnia. Ahi! for the five rivers, but Serferez must die here--die in the swamps of this ill-begotten land."
"Aho!" grunted the bearded Sikhs, and the boat fairly hissed along the water. It was a long row and a stiff row against the main stream, but presently they entered the backwater, and the boat slid like a huge saurian on the ooze. They passed deeper and deeper into the jungle, which hung so thickly about the creek that the men had to stoop below the gunwale to prevent the branches from stopping their progress and the terrible thorns from doing them injury. Finally they could proceed no farther; so tangled was the maze of forest, so thickly did it overhang the water, that it seemed as if the creek ran into the bowels of the earth with a sudden abruptness. Very softly did Serferez ground the boat, and one by one they all stepped out. "Stay you here and look after the boat," whispered Serferez to the youngest of the men. "And, fool! don't sit in the boat, but hidehere--herein the bushes, and keep your eyes and ears open. Shoot the first Burman who comes near it dead. Don't waste time in asking questions. Remember this, or you will never see the white hills again, I swear by the Prophet's head!" and he tapped his sword hilt significantly. After this no word was spoken, but the five men with Serferez at their head made their way in Indian file through the forest. Sometimes they were able to walk, but most frequently they had to resort to the tedious process of crawling through the jungle on all fours. They dared not use theirdahsto cut the underwood, for the slightest sound might alarm their quarry, and many a detour had to be made to find a passage. Serferez himself acted as guide, and he made no mistakes. Finally they came to the little clearing, and halted on its borders. A little to the left the huge silk-cotton tree reared its white trunk and spread out its huge ghostly arms like a forest giant struck with white leprosy. It was in full bloom, and the magnificent scarlet and orange of the bombax flowers starred its foliage, and ever and anon dropped with soft heaviness on the turf below. But it was not this, nor the hummingbirds that dipped their long beaks into the red cups of the flowers, that made the eyes of the men watching from the jungle lighten and Serferez's lips to draw back with a tigerish snarl.
There, under the tree, not forty yards away, seated, smoking comfortably, were the two men whom they had sought for so long. Two of the police put up their rifles, but at a glance from their chief put them down again. "Alive," he whispered; "you two go round and then rush them; they will come straight at us, and then----" The two men sidled off like snakes noiselessly through the damp undergrowth. Moung Sen now began to sing in a droning voice:
"Mah Se hath a dower of roses,Mah Kit hath a dower of pelf;And I sigh for the scent of the roses,But die for the gleam of the pelf."
"Mah Se hath a dower of roses,
Mah Kit hath a dower of pelf;
And I sigh for the scent of the roses,
But die for the gleam of the pelf."
"But die for the gleam of the pelf," echoed the priest sonorously.
"Mah Se hath the grace of an angel,Mah Kit she is crooked and old."
"Mah Se hath the grace of an angel,
Mah Kit she is crooked and old."
Crack! went the sharp report of a police carbine, and a bullet whistled harmlessly over the singer's head.
"May hell burn those fools!" shouted Serferez. "Come on!" and almost before the words had left him he was on the dacoits. The Boh sprang straight at him, and aimed a terrible cut at Serferez. He parried this, but it shivered his sword to splinters, and would have killed him on the spot but for the folds of his turban. It bore him on his knees, however, and had Bah Hmoay been allowed a moment's more time Serferez would have slept in paradise. But the opportunity was not to be lost; without a second's hesitation the dacoit chief sprang off, and, cutting down another man with a back-handed sweep of his long dah, dashed into the jungle and was lost. Not so Moung Sen. The minstrel was overpowered at the outset, and was now sitting like a trussed fowl securely bound with the long coils of a couple of turbans. Serferez had regained his feet, and shouted out, "Who fired that shot?" One of the men explained that his rifle had gone off by accident--caught in a twig.
"You are a liar, Bullen, son of Bishen!" said the inspector; "and that shot of yours has cost us a thousand rupees. Still, one remains in the net.--Ho, Moung Sen! Red Diamond! Do you remember me? I have come to pay back the debt I owe you."
Moung Sen made no answer, but strained at the bandages that bound him until the muscles of his arms swelled out like knotted ropes.
"He will be very heavy to carry to the boat, will he not, my children?" said Serferez. "And the law is uncertain--he may not hang."
"And nine men from the Doab died that day at Yeo," said one.
"We get no more for his head than for the rest of him," added another.
"And he attempts to escape," said a third, pointing to the man, who strained desperately to free himself.
* * * * *
In the dusk of the evening seven men of the Sikh police rolled out something from a cloth at the feet of Phipson.
"May it please the Feeder of the Poor," said Serferez, "the base born attempted to escape as the other did, and there was no way but this," and he held the grinning head of Moung Sen out at arm's length before him.
Saddle me straight the red roan mare,She of the Waziri breed;The wings of death are beating the air,Hola! the Waziri steed!The wings of death are fleet and strong,But we win the race, though the race be long.Lays of the Punjab.
Saddle me straight the red roan mare,
She of the Waziri breed;
The wings of death are beating the air,
Hola! the Waziri steed!
The wings of death are fleet and strong,
But we win the race, though the race be long.
Lays of the Punjab.
"Ruys, would you like to go home?"
"Home! This is my home, is it not?"
"You know what I mean," said Habakkuk. "This is getting too much for you," and he stopped in a hesitating sort of way. A sad little smile lit up his wife's face--a face that had grown stronger and braver with the soul struggle of the past year. It was changed, too; the old brightness, the old vivacity had gone, but there was a serious light in the eyes that told of battle fought and victory won. And Habakkuk missed that old brightness and saw not the struggle. He was always dull, even if he knew how to suffer and be strong. But he thought that his wife was dying for freedom, and he vowed in his heart that, in so far as he could give her freedom, she should be free. Home--yes, home was the best place for her. He would never see it again, but she would be uncaged. He was not rich in the world's goods, and what he had he gave freely to the cause for which he laboured; but he held his hand back now, and during the past year the cause had suffered in this respect. But this little wrong was necessary to lighten a stricken heart. And while he thus laboured his wife saw it all with a woman's quickness, and inch by inch he was gaining ground, unknown at first to herself and through all utterly unguessed by him. At last the summer madness of the past drifted away, at last she began to realize, and just as she had done so this blundering fool asked her to go. It was too bad! After all, she had her woman's rights. Why did he not try to win her back with soft words? A new softness, a new mistrust of herself had come over her, and she could not speak. And then she dissembled and evaded the question. "I am very well," she said; "there is nothing the matter with me."
Smalley made no answer, and his wife, rising, went to the door and then stopped. For a moment the thought flashed upon her that she would ask him to come with her as far as the schoolhouse of Dagon. But he saw nothing in her hesitation. Finally she left him and went to her daily duties; but as she walked down the grassy lane that led to the school she thought to herself that if he had made any advance, ever so little a one, that she would have spoken. After all, this was part of her punishment, and she should bear it, her thoughts ran on.
"Alms, in the name of the Buddh!" An old man, shaking with palsy, held out a gourd to her, and Ruys gave to him and walked on. The beggar picked out the coin from the calabash and poised it lightly on his finger. The palsy had all gone now, and his hand was as firm as a rock.
"Three times," he muttered to himself--"three times has my hand been crossed with silver to-day. By God! I have him now. Thanks to the chattering tongue of that servant girl, I know her secret and his. I will strikethere--there!"--and he pointed to the retreating figure--"and this will make him live with a heart wound. For a whole year have I waited and worked and planned, and now the time has come. Oh, that this were the day! But I will not disregard a single omen. Thrice crossed with silver, therefore the third day from this. Courage, Bah Hmoay!"
Once more palsy stricken, his feeble steps tottered along the lane and led him toward the pagoda. There at the feet of one of the two great griffins that guarded the gate he crouched, swinging himself backward and forward, and ever and anon calling out, "Alms, in the name of the Buddh!" So he sat until about the hour of sunset, when the womanfolk of the place gathered to the temple, and then he saw one whose stately step and carriage were unmistakable. It was Ma Mie, and as she passed by he called out her name softly, and she turned with a start. At a glance she recognised him. "Youhere!" she said with a little gasp that choked the word "devil!" which she hissed under the breath.
"Yes, but not alone. Where can we speak?"
"Come to my house; my mother is there, and there is no harm in listening to the advice of a holy bonze."
"Ever ready with your tongue as usual," said the dacoit as he rose, flung his saffron robe loosely around him and followed her with feeble steps.
And as she led him toward the house Ma Mie was thirsting for revenge. Here, here was the man who had led her into disaster, and he, above all others, with a price on his head, was walking beside her, going to her own house. The old fox was noosed at last, and it was with a beating heart that she led him into her house, where her mother, old, wrinkled, and hideous beyond measure, mumbled out a greeting.
"See, mother, this is a friend, a holy man, whom I have brought to rest here a while. I knew him in the old days, and he has something to say to me."
The hag chuckled out: "He is too old for a lover; let him speak, I will not be in hearing," and she went out of the door and sat hard by on a rude seat at the foot of a large palm tree.
"Now, what is it you want here?" said Ma Mie; "you with a price on your head!"
"You, at any rate, will not give me away."
"And why not?"
"First, because your brother is one of us, and lies sick in a place I know of; if I am lost, so is he--I have but to speak a word; and, secondly, because you want revenge, and I offer it to you."
Ma Mie dropped her eyes for a moment to hide the fierce light that came into them, and pretended to adjust the rich folds of hertamein.
"Yes," she said slowly, "I want revenge," and she looked at Bah Hmoay straight in the face.
"Then listen; I want your help. I am not alone, as I said. Away in the swamp lie twenty good men who would raze this place to the ground if anything were to happen to me. I, too, want revenge, and upon Jackson--he who ruined your husband, he who has hunted me until I live a beast of the field. I could kill him at any time, but that is not enough. I want him to live with a wound on his heart from which he will never recover. I will kill him afterward if it suits me, and now--stoop--see here," and the dacoit rapidly whispered to Ma Mie words that made her start back and say, "No! no!" "But I say yes--think of it--it is a vengeance worthy of a Burman. We will sack the place on the third night from this, and but one shall be spared. I shall take her to my swamp, and she shall live as my slave; but these white women are delicate, and I do not want her to dieyet. I want your help, therefore--a woman needs a woman. Soh! You understand? You can name your price."
"Vengeance has no price," said Ma Mie, "and I agree."
"So be it," said the dacoit. "Then you will be ready?"
"Yes," she replied; "and now go."
"My blessing," and the dacoit rose and tottered out of the room.
"Ho, mother!" he said as he passed the old Mah Kit, "the night air is chilly for old bones; you had better go in."
"Old bones," the hag mumbled--"old bones, but eyes young yet, young yet. There is devilment abroad. What is it, daughter?" she asked as she entered the room.
"It would have been death, mother, had he stayed another five minutes. I would have put my dagger in his heart. But let me be; I will tell you all. I must think."
And she sat moodily slowly drawing the point of her stiletto in little crosses on the wood flooring. An hour or two passed in this way, and then Ma Mie looked up.
"Mother," she said, "I am going on a journey. I shall be back on the third day from this. Ifhecomes, make some excuse. Listen, it will be worth a thousand to us."
"Clever girl! clever girl!" said the hag; "leave it to Ma Kit. I know now. Oh, yes, I know many things that nobody else knows. He! he! When are you going, child?"
"Now," said Ma Mie. "The little steamer touches here at ten to-night, and it now wants but a half hour to the time."
Her packing arrangements were of the simplest character, and an hour later she was leaning over the side of the small steamer that plied between Dagon and Pazobin, with burning revenge in her heart and a long cheroot in her mouth--bathos and tragedy hand in hand. The morning brought her to Pazobin, and she went straight to Jackson's house. To her dismay, she found he was not there--he had gone to the district the night before, and Phipson with him. Then she bethought her of the native deputy magistrate; but he was a Burman, and she doubted him. Finally she thought of old Serferez Ali, and, seeking him out, poured the information into the old man's ears. It was not the reward she wanted, it was revenge; but not revenge upon Jackson, but upon the fiend who had tempted and was now tempting again to drag her to the lowest deep. "Is all this true, girl?" said the inspector, and Ma Mie merely looked at him in reply. He was satisfied. "Go back at once," he said; "the dispatch boat leaves this afternoon; you will be there by the early morning; and stay--not a word of this to a soul. You have money?"
Ma Mie laughed. "Yes," she said. "And see, I will add five hundred rupees to the government reward if you have him this time." She turned and was gone.
"Light of my eyes! thou art gone," said Serferez to himself. "Fool that I was not to recognise her! But, Allah! this is no time for words. Bullen! Bullen! thief from the Boab, saddle me the roan mare--and listen, on your head! Bear this telegram, and let it be despatched at once. I want the police steamer at Myo to-night; and you, sergeant, be ready with twenty picked men at the quay to-morrow morning at seven. Soh! Is the mare ready? On your heads, see that my orders are carried out to the letter." He swung himself into the saddle, and five minutes later was Debte riding at a breakneck pace to Jackson's camp.
Ah! woe is me! They brought him home,My winsome knight of Dee:On lances four my knight they bore,Who died for love and me.Old Ballad.
Ah! woe is me! They brought him home,
My winsome knight of Dee:
On lances four my knight they bore,
Who died for love and me.
Old Ballad.
Three men ride through the shivering moonlight--ride with teeth set hard and eyes that looked straight before them. Neck and neck they race across the open, and then the man on the left mutters a curse as they come to a stretch of rice fields. The long rice stalks seem planted in plate glass, but it is only water. Under the water lies three feet of mud, and beyond, like a huge dismasted hulk, rises the solid outline of the forest. The fields are divided by narrow embankments, and, as it is impossible to gallop through the quagmire, they resign themselves to circumstances, and pick their way slowly in Indian file across the narrow ridges that separate the sloppy water-logged fields. Yet they speak no word. After a time, short in itself, but which seems endless to the leader, they reached the end of the rice ground, and then the foremost horseman spoke.
"Good God! must we crawl through this as well?"
"By your favour, sahib, the road is to the right. Let me lead."
There is a scatter of dead leaves, and Serferez, galloping forward, plunged into the dark archway of foliage. Through its deep gloom they race, and the hoofs of the horses fall with a dead sound on the damp bed of leaves below them.
Shurr-r-r-sh! A sound of wild boar plunges into the thickets, with much grunting and hubbub over the strange sight that flashes past them. The old boar peers after the horsemen with his bloodshot eyes, the white foam hissing round his tushes, then with a peculiar long-drawn moan of anger he turns and shambles slowly after his tribe.
Light at last!--the fires of a native hamlet and the indescribable odours that always hang around it. They dash past. There is a yell of rage from the napless yellow pariah dog, roused from his sleep in the middle of the road. He was nearly killed, and he protests vigorously against such reckless riding. A chorus of his fellows take up his complaint, and the riders push on amid a storm of howls.
"Don't think this beast will hold out," said Phipson suddenly. The horse was almost staggering in its stride under him, and he knew by the ominous way in which the poor animal seized the bit between his teeth at intervals and flung forward his head that it could not keep up the pace for long.
No one answered, for at that time the loud, deep whistle of a steamer reached their ears, ringing through the woods with echo upon echo.
"Allah ho Akbar! 'Tis the steamer!" shouted Serferez.
"Thank God!" came in deeper tones from the very hearts of the two Englishmen. The horses themselves seemed to know it. Brave hearts! They had won a race for life, and ten minutes later kind hands were rubbing them down on the deck of the little Beeloo, and the old Panjabi was purring over the neck of his roan.
"There is none like thee in the land, my pearl," he said softly as he stroked her silver mane--"there is none like thee in the land. By the Prophet's head, I swear that for this night's work I will never forget thee--never!"
"What's the time, Phipson?"
"Two thirty," said Phipson, holding his watch out to the broad moonlight. "We reach Pazobin at seven to-morrow, pick up the men, and go straight on."
Peregrine made no answer, but his white face as it shone out of the moonlight almost scared Phipson, so fixed and rigid was its look.
"I say, Jackson!"
"What is it?"
"That was a devil of a ride. Think I'll turn in and take a nap, and you'd better do the same." This was the policeman's way of telling his friend he looked worn to death.
"No, thanks, Phipson, I can't sleep; I must see this thing through."
Phipson stretched himself out in a long cane chair and watched his friend as he paced slowly up and down the small quarterdeck. "He must be devilish keen," he murmured to himself, "or devilish hard hit."
And then all the starlight seemed to dim, and he was asleep. In the white mists of the morning they reached Pazobin, and, taking on board their men, started on at once. Phipson had persuaded Peregrine to rest. "Look here," he said, "this is all Tommy rot! You've got to rest. Have some grub first, throw away that infernal cheroot, and go and lie down. You'vefightingto do this evening, and will want your head and your nerves in first-rate order."
There was no gainsaying this, and after lunch Jackson fell into a deep sleep. He was aroused by a scrunching noise, and woke with a start.
"What's the matter?"
"The matter is that it's half-past six, and that damned idiot of aseranghas stuck us fast into a sandbank, and we can only get off with the next tide. There's only one thing to be done. Get the boats from Thomadine village and row for it."
Thomadine village was half a mile below, but a small boat had raced them as far as the scene of the disaster. Matters were rapidly explained to the occupants of the boat, the explanation was made clear by the line of shining barrels that was pointed toward them, and they pulled up alongside the Beeloo. Some of the crew were temporarily transferred to the steamer, three or four policemen took their places, and the long canoe danced back to the village. It was fully an hour before it returned, bringing with it two other canoes, and, leaving the police tug with strict orders to come on with the next tide, Jackson and his men embarked in the boats, and, hugging the bank, rowed for their lives. It was no time for words, no time for anything but to strain every muscle to reach their goal. Suddenly a broad sheet of flame lit the sky, and the reports of half a dozen matchlocks rang out in quick succession; then came the short, sharp crack of a Winchester, then another and another.
"By God, they've begun!" shouted Phipson. "Row on, you devils!"
"There's a short cut by the creek, sahib!" called out Serferez, and the snake head of the leading boat, steered by Jackson, turned promptly round, and with a little white sparkle of foam fizzing over her bows she shot into the creek, followed in quick succession by her fellows.
The sky was one sheet of light, for the village had been fired in several places, and the houses blazed up like touchwood. Long forks of flame from the mission school sprang up to the sky, and a dense cloud of smoke rolled westward with the breeze. Still the Winchester kept speaking, and every shot gave the rescue party hope, for they knew that Smalley was selling his life dearly.
"We divide here into two parties," said Phipson as they landed. "You, inspector, take six men with you, and make for the boats. We will drive on to you. By God," he added, pulling his revolver out, "I rather think we're only just in time!"
Serferez needed no second bidding, but was already off, and Jackson and his companion marched rapidly forward.
"We'll give them a volley from here," said Phipson as they reached the skirts of the clearing round the little mission school, about which the firing was concentrated. "By Jove! they're going to batter down the door. Steady, men! Fire!" The crackling of the volley was followed by a cheer, and in a moment the police had rushed forward and were engaged hand to hand with the dacoits. Some one sprang straight at Jackson, but his hand seemed to lift itself up of its own accord, and a second after a huddled mass lay before the smoking barrel of his revolver. The issue was not one moment in doubt, and in a few seconds the dacoits were heading straight for their boats. Here they were intercepted by Serferez and his party, who gave them a warm reception. Three or four of the dacoits, however, among whom was the Boh, secured a boat and rowed off for their lives.
"Follow them!" shouted Jackson, springing into the snake boat; "not a man must escape!" Phipson and a few others took another boat, and there was a hot pursuit. The dacoits realized, however, that it was no use, and, evidently resolving to die fighting, ran their boat ashore on a small island near the middle of the river and took to the thickets, from which they began a smart fire.
"Go behind, and take them on the rear," called out Jackson to his companion. Almost as the words were spoken Phipson's boat turned to the left and was round the head of the little island.
"Sit down, sahib; don't stand up--we are quite close to them now," said thenaickof police, who was in Jackson's boat. Peregrine laughed, and the next moment thenaickuttered a cry of horror, for a red tongue of flame shot out of the covert, and Jackson, flinging his hands up, fell forward on his face with a gasping sob.
With a yell of rage the police grounded their boat and rushed into the jungle. There was but half an acre of ground, and Bullen, son of Bishen, Sikh from the Doab, had gone Berseker.
As the men landed the dacoits made for the opposite side of the little island, but to their dismay found Phipson there. With a curse Bah Hmoay darted back into the cover, followed in hot haste by Phipson. And here in the uncertain light, where the jungle was so tangled that there was barely room to use a sword, there was a short but desperate fight. "Come on, Jackson, we have the lot here! Where on earth are you?" shouted Phipson as his revolver barked out like a snapping pup, and one of the dacoits fell dead, and another, staggering backward, was finished by a policeman with hisdah. "Where are you, Jackson?" called out Phipson again.
"Jackson is in hell--where you will follow him!" and the Boh sprang at Phipson like a panther. A projecting branch saved him from the downward sweep of the longdah, the revolver snapped out again, and the next moment they had grappled each other by the throat.
"I'm afraid it's no use, Bah Hmoay," said Phipson as he shook off his assailant like a rat, and, throwing him heavily, placed the barrel of his revolver against his temple.
Click! click! The handcuffs were on him like a flash of lightning, and the Boh was surrounded by a group of men.
"This is Bah Hmoay himself," said one of the policemen as he held a rudely improvised torch at the face of the captive.
"There isn't another of them alive on the island," said Bishen. "Two were killed by your honour, two I have accounted for, and this is the last."
"Where is the sahib?"
"He awaits you in the boat," said Bishen, and a chill went through Phipson's heart.
"Why--what is the matter? Speak, can't you?"
"The doctor sahib will tell. Some one from the island fired, and the sahib, he was standing, fell back in the boat; but the doctor sahib's knowledge is great. He will live."
Bah Hmoay was subjected to the indignity of being frog-marched to the boat. He was flung in without much ceremony, and a loaded carbine held at his head. When Phipson reached his friend he found him unconscious, and sadly the two boats rowed back to the village. As they approached Phipson saw by the still burning town the tall figure of Serferez Ali talking to Smalley, and close by the white fluttering of a woman's dress.
"By God!" he groaned, "I don't think it was worth it, even for this. Jackson, old man, can't you speak?"
But there was no answer, and almost at this moment they reached the landing place. A cheer went up from those on shore, and Smalley came forward with outstretched hand. "I can't thank you enough. Come, let my wife thank you, too. Where is Jackson?"
Phipson shook hands with them both.
"Where is Mr. Jackson?" asked Ruys.
There was no help for it but to speak out at once before her. As the words left Phipson's lips Smalley was beside the boat, and they tenderly lifted out the wounded man and placed him on an improvised couch of greatcoats. They stood round him in a sad group while Smalley with gentle hands examined the wound, and the silence was only once broken when a great sob burst from honest Serferez Ali, and the old man turned away with his head hanging down. Ruys held a lantern for her husband, and Phipson noticed that there was not a quiver in her hand, although her lips were blue.
After a time Smalley rose to his feet and shook his head. "He can not even be moved from here," he whispered, "and all my appliances are under that blazing roof. God works very hardly sometimes." The dying man moaned feebly, and Ruys was on her knees beside him.
"What is it? Can't you speak? Oh, husband, can not you save him?"
"God knows that I would!" said Habakkuk sadly, and then his wife bent low to hide the tears that fell fast down her cheeks.
That strange power of hearing, that supreme strength which comes to persons at the last, came to Peregrine now.
"Die!" he said; "who says I am going to die? I am young yet; my work is not done. Mother," he cried, "I am coming!"
Ruys bent down and kissed the hot forehead softly. There was a shivering of the limbs, and the strong young spirit had passed.
Pick up the threads, the web is spun;For weal or woe, the task is done.Maraffa.
Pick up the threads, the web is spun;
For weal or woe, the task is done.
Maraffa.
"Good-bye, Phipson. We can never forget what we owe you--you and the poor boy who lies there. Come to us when you can. We will give you a warm welcome. It's a big country, and there's room for a young man with hands and feet. Good-bye again!"
Habakkuk shook hands cordially with Phipson, and passed up the gangway of the Woon to join his wife, who had already said farewell. The siren whistle screamed shrilly, and with much laughter and good-humoured hustling the crowd on board left the decks, the paddles drummed, and the Woon sidled back from the quay, and then, turning gracefully round, steamed down the river, followed by a multitude of boats whose gaily dressed occupants formed bright groups of gorgeous colour on the gleaming water. Phipson stood and watched, and answered the wave of the white handkerchief from the stern; stood and watched until the convoy of boats became but little black specks, and the Woon entered a curve of golden water that reflected back the glories of the sunset and was lost to view. In the fore part of the ship, beside his belongings, sat Serferez Ali, who had cut his name, and was going back to enjoy his well-earned pension in his home in the Salt Range of the Punjab. He was rich with this and the rewards he had gained, and if at times he had done things which our civilization does not approve of, that did not the less make him a gallant old specimen of his class. Occasionally he would rise, and, walking to the inclosed space reserved for horses, caress the soft muzzle of his roan, a round, black muzzle that thrust itself confidingly forward toward him.
"We are going back, Motee, my heart--going back out of this accursed land of swamps. Didst thou think, thou of the Waziri, that I would leave thee to die here? Nay, nay! We are going back to the land where women bring forth men. But we saw the assassin hang before we went--hang-like the dog he was; and Bullen, son of Bishen, thy old comrade, brave, but a fool, is now inspector inmyplace. But comfort thee, my pearl, we are goinghome!"
The mare whinnied back to her master, and the old man sought his seat again, keeping one eye on a heavy brass-bound box and the other on his favourite.
At intervals he watched the broad fan of the electric light throw its white radiance across the river, and murmured to himself as he inhaled the grateful fumes of the hubble-bubble:
"Prophet of God! But these English are a wonderful race! Nevertheless, except for their cursed engines, thekhalsawould still have been.Ahi!those were the battles of giants!"
On the quarter deck Ruys, very pale and white, leaned back in a lounge chair, and Habakkuk stood beside her with a new light in his eyes. They watched the thin scimitar of the new moon gleam out of the sky, and the gray mists creep up the river and enfold the dim and now distant outlines of the forest. They were leaving the country, leaving the East for good. One felt that to other and stronger hands must be left the work so well begun by him; and as for the other, she had gone through the furnace and had come out pure gold. From his post by the man at the wheel Skipper Jack watched the pair. He was a man whom the ordinary cares of the world troubled not, but on the present occasion serious misfortune had assailed him, and he was out of temper. His tobacco had run out, and he had sunk to the degradation of filling his pipe with the half-burned stump of a cheroot. Skipper Jack stood, therefore, hard by the man at the wheel, and, while his keen eyes evermore watched the ship's course, his tongue murmured strange oaths under his beard. But what was that, seen through the gloom, that crinkled up the gnarled features of the skipper into a sour smile of amusement? He saw it again, and in his astonishment almost dropped his favourite clay.
"Bust me foolish!" he muttered to himself. "Blowed if the parson ain't a-spooning the missis! Gr-r-r! the old pipe is out!"