LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Wah! Desmin Sahib argya!"17 the sowars of his squadron called to one another through the curling smoke; and the new arrivals were speedily surrounded by a little crowd of officers and men: Wyndham, Denvil, Alla Dad Khan, and Ressaldar Rajinder Singh, in the spotless tunic and vast silken turban of private life.

      The Jemadar took possession of the Demon's bridle, and Desmond, leaping lightly to the ground, hurried straightway to the relief of a distressed grass-cut. The man had been rash enough to attempt the capture of two horses at once, and now stood in imminent danger of being kicked to death by his ungrateful charges.

      Desmond took both horses in hand, holding them at arm's length, and soothing them with his voice alone.

      "Here you are, Harry!" he said, as Denvil came to his assistance. "This poor fellow will go with you now, quietly enough."

      Handing over his second horse to the grass-cut, he vanished into the darkness; where, betwixt stampeding horses and the incredible swiftness of fire, he found more than sufficient scope for action.

      He came to a standstill, at length, for a second's breathing space; – and lo, Rajinder Singh emerging suddenly from the heart of pandemonium, breathless with haste, a great distress in his eyes.

      "Hullo, Ressaldar!" Desmond exclaimed. "What's up now?"

      The tall Sikh saluted.

      "The knife, Sahib! Give me your knife! It is Sher Dil,18 fallen amongst his ropes. He is like to strangle – "

      "Great Scott! I'll see to it myself."

      And he set out, full speed, Rajinder Singh after him, protesting at every step.

      The great black charger, the glory of the squadron and of his owner's heart, was in a perilous case. So securely had he entangled himself in the head-rope that, despite the freedom of his heels, and spasmodic efforts to regain his feet, he remained pinned to earth, not many yards from where the fire was raging, – his fear and misery increased by wind-blown fragments of lighted straw, by the roar and crackle of the burning pile.

      Desmond saw at a glance that his rescue might prove a dangerous business, but Rajinder Singh was beside him now, still hopeful of turning him from his purpose.

      "Hazúr – consider – the horse is mine – "

      "No more words!" Desmond broke in sharply. "Stay where you are!"

      He plunged forthwith into the stinging, blinding smoke; dexterously avoiding the hoofs of Sher Dil, subduing his terror with hand and voice, though himself half choked, and constantly forced to close his eyes at the most critical moments; while the task of avoiding the burning fragments that fell about him seemed in itself to demand undivided attention.

      Rajinder Singh, stationed at the nearest possible point, anxiously watched his Captain's progress; and here Paul Wyndham joined him hurriedly.

      "Who is that?" he asked. "The Captain Sahib?"

      "To my shame, your honour speaks truth," the old man made answer humbly. "His heart was set to do this thing himself – "

      "Have no fear," Wyndham reassured him kindly; and, with a sharp contraction of heart, ran to his friend's assistance.

      Desmond had already stooped to slit the rope that pressed so cruelly against the charger's throat; and, as Wyndham reached him, the animal gave a last convulsive plunge; threw out his forelegs in an ecstasy of freedom; and struck his deliverer full on the shoulder.

      "Damnation!" Desmond muttered, as he fell to the ground, and Sher Dil staggered, panting, to his feet.

      Rajinder Singh sprang forward with a smothered cry. But, quick as lightning, Desmond was up again, and had secured the morsel of rope dangling by the horse's head. Only his left arm hung limp and helpless, the droop of the shoulder telling its own tale.

      "Collar-bone," he said laconically, in reply to the mute anxiety of Paul's face. "Same old spot again!"

      "It might just as well have been – your head," Paul answered, with a twist of his sensitive mouth. He had not quite got over his few moments of acute suspense.

      Desmond laughed.

      "So it might, you old pessimist! But it wasn't! Here you are, Ressaldar Sahib! Never have I seen a horse so set on killing himself. But it was needful to disappoint him on your account."

      Rajinder Singh, who had come forward, plucking the muslin scarf from his shoulders for a bandage, saluted in acknowledgment of the words.

      "How is it possible to make thanks, Hazúr…?"

      Desmond laid a hand on the man's shoulder.

      "No need of thanks," said he. "This fine fellow hath already thanked me in his own rough fashion, clapping me on the shoulder, – forgetful of his great strength, – because he had no power to say 'Shahbash!'"

      The old Sikh shook his head slowly, a great tenderness in his eyes.

      "Such is the gracious heart of the Captain Sahib, putting a good face even upon that which is evil. Permit, at least, that we make some manner of bandage till it be possible to find the Doctor Sahib."

      It was permitted; and the useless arm having been strapped into place, Wyndham insisted upon his friend's departure; a fiat against which Desmond's impetuous protests were launched in vain. For, like many men of habitually gentle bearing, Paul Wyndham's firmness was apt to be singularly effective on the rare occasions when he thought it worth while to give proof of its existence.

      "I'll ride back with you myself," he announced, in a tone of finality, "and go on to the Mess for Mackay afterwards. The worst is over now, and you'll only let yourself in for a demonstration if your men find out that any harm has come to you." The diplomatic suggestion had the desired effect; and they rode leisurely back to the bungalow, under a moon no longer robbed of its radiance.

      Few words passed between them as they went; but on arriving at the squat, blue gate-posts Wyndham drew rein and spoke.

      "Good-night, dear old chap. Take a stiff 'peg' the minute you get in. I'm in need of one myself."

      "Sorry if I gave you a bit of a shock, old man," Desmond answered smiling, and rode at a foot's pace toward the house.

      "Here I am, Ladybird!" he announced, on entering the drawing-room; and Evelyn, springing from the depths of his chair, made an eager movement towards him.

      But at sight of his bandaged arm and damp dishevelled appearance she halted with lips apart. A curious coldness crept into her eyes and entirely banished the young look from her face.

      "Theo – you're hurt – you've broken something."

      "Well, and if I have?" he answered laughing. "It's a mere nothing. Only a collar-bone."

      "Your collar-bone isn't nothing. And I can't bear to see you all hideous and bandaged up like that. I knew something would happen! I was sure it would!"

      The light of good-humour faded from his eyes.

      "Well, well, if you knew it all beforehand, no need to make so many words about it now. Let me sit down. It's been stifling work and – I'm tired."

      He sank into the chair and closed his eyes, his face grown suddenly weary. His wife drew near to him slowly, with more of pained curiosity than of solicitude in her face, and laid a half-reluctant hand on the arm of his chair.

      "Does it hurt, Theo?" she asked softly.

      "Nothing to bother about. Mackay will be here soon."

      "Won't you tell us how it happened?"

      "There's not much to tell, Ladybird. Rajinder Singh's charger kicked me while I was cutting his head-rope – that's all. The good old chap was quite upset because I wouldn't let him do it himself."

      "Well, I think you ought to have let him. It wouldn't have mattered half so much if he– "

      "That's enough, Evelyn!" the man broke out in a flash of genuine anger. "If you're only going to say things

Скачать книгу