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'Not to-night though! Listen!' said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed
bullets
was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert
valued
their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark.

'Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?' the subaltern asked of
the
engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers.

'I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing
old
Harry with my permanent way if we don't stop 'em.'

'Right O!'

'Hrrmph!' said the machine gun through all its five noses as the
subaltern
drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor
and the
smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate
firing at
the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and
unlimited howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with
delight
at the sounds and the smells.

'God is very good--I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em
hell,
men. Oh, give 'em hell!' he cried.

The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a
party
went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The
children
of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty
minutes
were lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress
recommenced, to be
varied with more shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick
of the
machine guns, and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the
train
came under the protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Hassan.

'Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,'
said
the subaltern, unshipping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun.

'It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long. How
superb
it must have looked from outside!' said Dick, sighing regretfully.

'It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you've settled
about
your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I'm
Bennil
of the Gunners--in the artillery lines--and mind you don't fall over
my
tent-ropes in the dark.'

But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the
hay-bales,
the cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the tents as
he
stood, where he had dropped from the train, shouting for George.
There
was a sound of light-hearted kicking on the iron skin of the rear
trucks,
with squealing and grunting. George was unloading the mules.

The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick's ear; a cold
wind of the
desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and
dirty--so dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That
was a
hopeless job; he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to
count over
the many times that he had waited in strange or remote places for
trains
or camels, mules or horses, to carry him to his business. In those
days he
could see--few men more clearly--and the spectacle of an armed
camp at
dinner under the stare was an ever fresh pleasure to the eye. There
was
colour, light, and motion, without which no man has much
pleasure in
living. This night there remained for him only one more journey
through
the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how far he has travelled.
Then
he would grip Torpenhow's hand again--Torpenhow, who was
alive and
strong, and lived in the midst of the action that had once made the
reputation of a man called Dick Heldar: not in the least to be
confused
with the blind, bewildered vagabond who seemed to answer to the
same
name. Yes, he would find Torpenhow, and come as near to the old
life as
might be. Afterwards he would forget everything: Bessie, who had
wrecked the Melancolia and so nearly wrecked his life; Beeton,
who lived
in a strange unreal city full of tin-tacks and gas-plugs and matters
that
no men needed; that irrational being who had offered him love and
loyalty for nothing, but had not signed her name; and most of all
Maisie,
who, from her own point of view, was undeniably right in all she
did, but
oh, at this distance, so tantalisingly fair.

George's hand on his arm pulled him back to the situation.

'And what now?' said George.

'Oh yes of course. What now? Take me to the camel-men. Take me
to
where the scouts sit when they come in from the desert. They sit
by their
camels, and the camels eat grain out of a black blanket held up at
the
corners, and the men eat by their side just like camels. Take me
there!'

The camp was rough and rutty, and Dick stumbled many times
over the
stumps of scrub. The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick
knew
they would. The light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded
faces,
and the camels bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was
no part
of Dick's policy to go into the desert with a convoy of supplies.
That
would lead to impertinent questions, and since a blind
non-combatant is
not needed at the front, he would probably be forced to return to
Suakin.

He must go up alone, and go immediately.

'Now for one last bluff--the biggest of all,' he said. 'Peace be with
you,
brethren!' The watchful George steered him to the circle of the
nearest
fire. The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the camels,
scenting a European, looked sideways curiously like brooding
hens, half
ready to get to their feet.

'A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line to-night,' said Dick.

'A Mulaid?' said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed
that
he knew.

'A Bisharin,' returned Dick, with perfect gravity. 'A Bisharin
without
saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.'

Two or three minutes passed. Then--
'We be knee-haltered for the night. There is no going out from the
camp.'

'Not for money?'

'H'm! Ah! English money?'

Another depressing interval of silence.

'How much?'

'Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my
journey's end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik
here,
to be paid when the driver returns.'

This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would
get his
commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf.

'For scarcely one night's journey--fifty pounds. Land and wells and
good
trees and wives to make a man content for the rest of his days.
Who
speaks?' said Dick.

'I,' said a voice. 'I will go--but there is no going from the camp.'

'Fool! I know that a camel can break his knee-halter, and the
sentries do
not fire if one goes in chase. Twenty-five pounds and another
twenty-five
pounds. But the beast must be a good Bisharin; I will take no
baggage-camel.'

Then the bargaining began, and at the end of half an hour the first
deposit was paid over to the sheik, who talked in low tones to the
driver.

Dick heard the latter say: 'A little way out only. Any baggage-beast
will
serve. Am I a fool to waste my cattle for a blind man?'

'And though I cannot see'--Dick lifted his voice a little--'yet I carry
that
which has six eyes, and the driver will sit before me. If we do not
reach
the English troops in the dawn he will be dead.'

'But where, in God's name, are the troops?'

'Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know?
Remember
it will be life or death to thee.'

'I know,' said the driver, sullenly. 'Stand back from my beast. I am
going
to slip him.'

'Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's head a moment. I want to
feel
his cheek.' The hands wandered over the hide till they found the
branded
half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built
riding-camel.

'That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of God
comes on
those who try to cheat the blind.'

The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture.
He had
intended to substitute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt.

'Stand back!' one shouted, lashing the Biharin under the belly with
a
quirt. Dick obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his
hand,--and a cry went up, 'Illaha! Aho! He is loose.'

With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged
forward
toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and
lamentation.

George caught Dick's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping
past a
disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels.

'What's the row now?' he cried.

'Every stitch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,' Dick answered,
after
the manner of a common soldier.

'Go on, and take care your throat's not cut out side--you and your
dromedary's.'

The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a
hillock,
and his driver had called him back and made him kneel down.

'Mount first,' said Dick. Then climbing into the second seat and
gently
screwing the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion's back,
'Go on
in God's name, and swiftly. Good-bye, George. Remember me to
Madame, and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child
of the
Pit!'

A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly
broken by
the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. Dick
adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace,
girthed
his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was
conscious only of the sense of rapid progress.

'A good camel,' he said at last.

'He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,' the driver
replied.

'Go on.'

His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor
of his
thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze
in
seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's.
He
had committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she
had
locked him up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more
than the
first two lines of the hymn--

When Israel of the Lord believed
Out of the land of bondage came.

He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned
in the
saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver
and
ending the ride. Dick roused, struck him over the head with the
butt, and
stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of
camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot
was
fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep.
Dick
could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to do
more
than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and
punching
the driver with the pistol.

'Is there a moon?' he asked drowsily.

'She is near her setting.'

'I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the
desert talk.'

The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of
wind. It
rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased.
A
handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench
and
crumbled softly to the bottom.

'Go on. The night is very cold.'

Those who have watched till the morning know how the last hour
before
the light lengthens itself into many eternities. It seemed to Dick
that he
had never since the beginning of original darkness done anything
at all
save jolt through the air. Once in a thousand years he would finger
the
nailheads on the saddle-front and count them all carefully.
Centuries
later he would shift his revolver from his right hand to his left and
allow
the eased arm to drop down at his side. From the safe distance of
London
he was watching himself thus employed,--watching critically. Yet
whenever he put out his hand to the canvas that he might paint the
tawny yellow desert under the glare of the sinking moon, the black
shadow of a camel and the two bowed figures atop, that hand held
a
revolver and the arm was numbed from wrist to collar-bone.
Moreover,
he was in the dark, and could see no canvas of any kind whatever.

The driver grunted, and Dick was conscious of a change in the air.

'I smell the dawn,' he whispered.

'It is here, and yonder are the troops. Have I done well?'

The camel stretched out its neck and roared as there came down
wind
the pungent reek of camels in the square.

'Go on. We must get there swiftly. Go on.'

'They are moving in their camp. There is so much dust that I
cannot see
what they do.'

'Am I in better case? Go forward.'

They could hear the hum of voices ahead, the howling and the
bubbling
of the beasts and the hoarse cries of the soldiers girthing up for the
day.

Two or three shots were fired.

'Is that at us? Surely they can see that I am English,' Dick spoke
angrily.

'Nay, it is from the desert,' the driver answered, cowering in his
saddle.

'Go forward, my child! Well it is that the dawn did not uncover us
an
hour ago.'

The camel headed straight for the column and the shots behind
multiplied. The children of the desert had arranged that most
uncomfortable of surprises, a dawn attack for the English troops,
and
were getting their distance by snap-shots at the only moving object
without the square.

'What luck! What stupendous and imperial luck!' said Dick. 'It's
"just
before the battle, mother." Oh, God has been most good to me!
Only'--the agony of the thought made him screw up his eyes for an
instant--'Maisie . . .'

'Allahu! We are in,' said the man, as he drove into the rearguard
and the
camel knelt.

'Who the deuce are you? Despatches or what? What's the strength
of the
enemy behind that ridge? How did you get through?' asked a dozen
voices. For all answer Dick took a long breath, unbuckled his belt,
and
shouted from the saddle at the top of a wearied and dusty voice,
'Torpenhow! Ohe, Torp! Coo-ee, Tor-pen-how.'

A bearded man raking in the ashes of a fire for a light to his pipe
moved
very swiftly towards that cry, as the rearguard, facing about, began
to
fire at the puffs of smoke from the hillocks around. Gradually the
scattered white cloudlets drew out into the long lines of banked
white
that hung heavily in the stillness of the dawn before they turned
over
wave-like and glided into the valleys. The soldiers in the square
were
coughing and swearing as their own smoke obstructed their view,
and
they edged forward to get beyond it. A wounded camel leaped to
its feet
and roared aloud, the cry ending in a bubbling grunt. Some one
had cut
its throat to prevent confusion. Then came the thick sob of a man
receiving his death-wound from a bullet; then a yell of agony and
redoubled firing.

There was no time to ask any questions.

'Get down, man! Get down behind the camel!'

'No. Put me, I pray, in the forefront of the battle.' Dick turned his
face to
Torpenhow and raised his hand to set his helmet straight, but,
miscalculating the distance, knocked it off. Torpenhow saw that
his hair
was gray on the temples, and that his face was the face of an old
man.

'Come down, you damned fool! Dickie, come off!'

And Dick came obediently, but as a tree falls, pitching sideways
from the
Bisharin's saddle at Torpenhow's feet. His luck had held to the last,
even
to the crowning mercy of a kindly bullet through his head.

Torpenhow knelt under the lee of the camel, with Dick's body in
his
arms.

The End

Volume VII THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS

Preface

To THE ADDRESS OF

CAPTAIN J. MAFFLIN,

Duke of Derry's (Pink) Hussars.

DEAR MAPFLIN,-You will remember that I wrote this story as an
Awful Warning. None the less you have seen fit to disregard it and
have followed Gadsby's example-as I betted you would. I
acknowledge that you paid the money at once, but you have
prejudiced the mind of Mrs. Mafflin against myself, for though I
am almost the only respectable friend of your bachelor days, she
has been darwaza band to me throughout the season. Further, she
caused you to invite me to dinner at the Club, where you called me
"a wild ass of the desert," and went home at half-past ten, after
discoursing for twenty minutes on the responsibilities of
housekeeping. You now drive a mail-phaeton and sit under a
Church of England clergyman. I am not angry, Jack. It is your
kismet, as it was Gaddy's, and his kismet who can avoid? Do not
think that I am moved by a spirit of revenge as I write, thus
publicly, that you and you alone are responsible for this book. In
other and more expansive days, when you could look at a magnum
without flushing and at a cheroot without turning white, you
supplied me with most of the material. Take it back again-would
that I could have preserved your fetterless speech in the
telling-take it back, and by your slippered hearth read it to the late
Miss Deercourt. She will not be any the more willing to receive
my cards, but she will admire you immensely, and you, I feel sure,
will love me. You may even invite me to another very bad
dinner-at the Club, which, as you and your wife know, is a safe
neutral ground for the entertainment of wild asses. Then, my very
dear hypocrite, we shall be quits.

Yours always,

RUDYARD KIPLING.

P. S.-On second thoughts I should recommend you to keep the
book away from Mrs. Mafflin.

POOR DEAR MAMMA

The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, The deer to the wholesome
wold,
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old.
Gypsy Song.

SCENE. - Interior of Miss MINNIE THREEGAN'S Bedroom at
Simla. Miss THREEGAN, in window-seat, turning over a
drawerful of things. Miss EMMA DEERCOURT, bosom - friend,
who has come to spend the day, sitting on the bed, manipulating
the bodice of a ballroom frock, and a bunch of artificial lilies of
the valley. Time, 5:30 P. M. on a hot May afternoon.

Miss DEERCOURT. And he said: "I shall never forget this
dance," and, of course, I said: "Oh, how can you be so silly!" Do
you think he meant any-thing, dear?

Miss THREEGAN. (Extracting long lavender silk stocking from
the rubbish.) You know him better than I do.

Miss D. Oh, do be sympathetic, Minnie! I'm sure he does. At least
I would be sure ii he wasn't always riding with that odious Mrs.
Hagan.

Miss T. I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through
one's heels first? Look at this-isn't it shameful? (Spreads
stocking-heel on open hand for inspection.)

Miss D. Never mind that! You can't mend it. Help me with this
hateful bodice. I've run the string so, and I've run the string so, and
I can't make the fulness come right. Where would you put this?
(Waves lilies of the valley.)

Miss T. As high up on the shoulder as possible.

Miss D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Older look
lopsided.

Miss T. Yes, but May hasn't your shoulders. Hers are like a
hock-bottle.

BEARER. (Rapping at door.) Captain Sahib aya.

Miss D. (Jumping up wildly, and hunting for bodice, which she has
discarded owing to the heat of the day.) Captain Sahib! What
Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and I'm only half dressed!
Well, I sha'n't bother.

Miss T. (Calmly.) You needn't. It isn't for us. That's Captain
Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes
five days out of the seven.

AGONIZED VOICE. (Prom an inner apartment.) Minnie, run out
and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in
ten minutes; and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, there's a dear
girl!

Miss T. Oh, bother! (Aloud.) Very well, Mamma.

Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed, and rubbing her
fingers.

Miss D. You look pink. What has happened?

Miss T. (In a stage whisper.) A twenty-four-inch waist, and she
won't let it out. Where are my bangles? (Rummager on the
toilet-table, and dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval.)

Miss D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don't think I've met him.

Miss T. You must have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I've danced
with him, but I've never talked to him. He's a big yellow man, just
like a newly-hatched chicken, with an enormous moustache. He
walks like this (imitates Cavalry swagger), and he goes
"Ha-Hmmm!" deep down in his throat when he can't think of
anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don't.

Miss D. (Abstractedly.) Does he wax that moustache?

Miss T. (Busy with Powder-puff.) Yes, I think so. Why?

Miss D. (Bending over the bodice and sewing furiously.) Oh,
nothing-only-Miss T. (Sternly.) Only what? Out with it, Emma.

Miss D. Well, May Olger-she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you
know-said-Promise you won't repeat this?

Miss T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?

Miss D. That-that being kissed (with a rush) with a man who
didn't wax his moustache was-like eating an egg without salt.

Miss T. (At her full height, with crushing scorn.) May Olger is a
horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she
doesn't belong to my set-I must go and feed this man! Do I look
presentable?

Miss D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your
Mother, and then we can talk. I shall listen at the door to hear what
you say to him.

Miss T. 'Sure I don't care. I'm not afraid of Captain Gadsby.

In proof of this swings into the drawing-room with a mannish
stride followed by two short steps, which Produces the effect of a
restive horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting
in the shadow of the window-curtain, and gazes round helplessly.

CAPTAIN GADSBY. (Aside.) The filly, by Jove! 'Must ha'
picked up that action from the sire. (Aloud, rising.) Good evening,
Miss Threegan.

Miss T. (Conscious that she is flushing.) Good evening, Captain
Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few
minutes. Won't you have some tea? (Aside.) I hope Mamma will
be quick. What am I to say to the creature? (Aloud and abruptly.)
Milk and sugar?

CAPT. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm.

Miss T. (Aside.) If he's going to do that, I'm lost. I shall laugh. I
know I shall!

CAPT. G. (Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways
down
his nose.) Ha-Hamm. (Aside.) 'Wonder what the little beast can
talk about. 'Must make a shot at it.

Miss T. (Aside.) Oh, this is agonizing. I must say something.

Both Together. Have you Been-CAPT. G. I beg your pardon. You
were going to say-Miss T. (Who has been watching the moustache
with awed fascination.) Won't you have some eggs?

CAPT. G. (Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table.) Eggs! (Aside.)
O Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S'pose they've
wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on
her duds. (Aloud.) No, thanks.

Miss T. (Crimson with confusion.) Oh! I didn't mean that. I
wasn't thinking of mou-eggs for an instant. I mean salt. Won't you
have some sa-sweets? (Aside.) He'll think me a raving lunatic. I
wish Mamma would come.

CAPT. G. (Aside.) It was a nursery-tea and she's ashamed of it. By
Jove! She doesn't look half bad when she colors up like that.
(Aloud, helping himself from the dish.) Have you seen those new
chocolates at Peliti's?

Miss T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?

CAPT. G. These! De-licious. (Aside.) And that's a fact.

Miss T. (Aside.) Oh, bother! he'll think I'm fishing for
compliments. (Aloud.) No, Peliti's of course.

CAPT. G. (Enthusiastically.) Not to compare with these. How
d'you
make them? I can't get my khansamah to understand the simplest
thing beyond mutton and fowl.

Miss T. Yes? I'm not a khansamah, you know. Perhaps you
frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his
head. It's very bad policy.

CAPT. G. He's so awf'ly stupid.

Miss T. (Folding her hands in her Zap.) You should call him
quietly and say: "O khansamah jee!"

CAPT. G. (Getting interested.) Yes? (Aside.) Fancy that little
featherweight saying, "O khansamah jee" to my bloodthirsty Mir
Khan!

Miss T Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish.

CAPT. G. But I can't speak the vernacular.

Miss T. (Patronizingly.) You should pass the Higher Standard and
try.

CAPT. G. I have, but I don't seem to be any the wiser. Are you?

Miss T. I never passed the Higher Standard. But the khansamah is
very patient with me. He doesn't get angry when I talk about
sheep's topees, or order maunds of grain when I mean seers.

CAPT. G. (Aside with intense indignation.) I'd like to see Mir
Khan
being rude to that girl! Hullo! Steady the Buffs! (Aloud.) And do
you understand about horses, too?

Miss T. A little-not very much. I can't doctor them, but I know
what they ought to eat, and I am in charge of our stable.

CAPT. G. Indeed! You might help me then. What ought a man to
give his sais in the Hills? My ruffian says eight rupees, because
everything is so dear.

Miss T. Six rupees a month, and one rupee Simla allowance-
neither more nor less. And a grass-cut gets six rupees. That's
better than buying grass in the bazar.

CAPT. G. (Admiringly.) How do you know?

Miss T. I have tried both ways.

CAPT. G. Do you ride much, then? I've never seen you on the
Mall.

Miss T. (Aside.) I haven't passed him more than fifty times.
(Aloud.) Nearly every day.

CAPT. G. By Jove! I didn't know that. Ha-Hamm (Pulls at his
mousache and is silent for forty seconds.) Miss T. (Desperately,
and wondering what will happen next.) It looks beautiful. I
shouldn't touch it if I were you. (Aside.) It's all Mamma's fault for
not coming before. I will be rude!

CAPT. G. (Bronzing under the tan and bringing down his hand
very
quickly.) Eh! What-at! Oh, yes! Ha! Ha! (Laughs uneasily.)
(Aside.) Well, of all the dashed cheek! I never had a woman say
that to me yet. She must be a cool hand or else-Ah! that
nursery-tea!

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