Son of Power. Will Levington Comfort

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      "Who was she?" Cadman asked.

      "She was the most beautiful thing on earth. She was indeed the most marvellous thing on earth, being a Bombay singing nautch-girl—undefamed. There has been no one else, these ages."

      The Doctor sat smoking, apparently oblivious of his guests.

      "The Spartan Helen?" Cadman suggested.

      "Hah! The Spartan Helen was not invincible!"

      "The Noor Mahal?"

      "The Noor Mahal was always in seclusion."

      "Her name?" Skag questioned.

      "She had no name," the Doctor answered, "but she was called 'Dhoop Ki Dhil'—Heart-of-the-Sun; possibly on account of her voice. There has been none like it. The master-mahouts of High Himalaya, their voices pass those of all other men for splendour; but I tell you there was none other in the world, beside hers. Rich men in Bombay would give fortunes to anyone who would find her."

      "Then she is not dead?" Skag spoke startled.

      "We do not know that she is dead," the Doctor answered. "We would suppose so, but for a curious happening four days before she disappeared. Down in the silk-market a dealer was buying silk from an up-country native—a man from the Grass Jungle. The native was exceptionally good to look upon. Dhoop Ki Dhil came into the place to make some purchase. Her eye fell on the jungle man and she stood back. She was a valuable customer, so the silk-merchant made haste to signal her forward. But she shook her head and moved further back."

      The Doctor stopped to smoke.

      "After a while Dhoop Ki Dhil came forward, moving like one in a trance, and said to the jungle man, 'Are you a god?' and the jungle man answered her with shame, 'No, I am a common man.'

      "Now that silk-merchant will tell no more. One doesn't blame him. The natives are not patient with such a tale of her. To hear that any man had taken her eye, maddened them. She had passed the snares of desire—immune. She had turned away from fabulous wealth. She had denied princes and kings. She smiled on all men alike—with that smile mothers have for little children."

      "She was a mother-thing," murmured Cadman.

      The Doctor turned, questioning:

      "A mother-thing? Yes, probably. But she led the singing women like a super-being incarnate. She led the dancing women like a living flame. They sing and dance yet, but the fire of life is gone out!"

      "Where is the Grass Jungle?" Cadman asked.

      "Nobody seems to know. As for me, I never heard of it—till this. The silk-merchants say that once in several years some strange man—one or another—in strange garments, comes down with a peculiar kind of silk, to exchange for cotton cloth. He won't take money for it and he's easily cheated. He won't talk—only that he's from the great Grass Jungle. He usually calls it 'great.'"

      "It must be possible to find," said Cadman, glancing at Skag. "What do you say?"

      "I'm with you," Skag answered.

      "Now am I gone quite mad, or do I understand you?" the Doctor enquired.

      "I think you understand us," Cadman answered.

      The Doctor sprang up, exclaiming:

      "I've often told you, Cadman, you Americans develop most extraordinary surprises. Most remarkable men on earth for—for developing at the—at the very moment, you understand!"

      "Do you know anyone who might give us something on the locality?" Skag asked Cadman.

      "That's the point. I think I do," Cadman nodded. "But we'll have to go and find out."

      "My resources are at your disposal," the Doctor put in.

      "Your resources have accomplished the first half," smiled Cadman. "It's fair that the rest of it should be ours."

      "Then what's to do?" the Doctor questioned.

      "A few things to purchase first, easily done to-day," Cadman answered, glancing out at the faint dawn. "Then, I know Dickson of the grain-foods department, at Hurda—Central Provinces. He ought to be familiar with the topography of all the inside country. We'll risk nothing by going to him."

      "Then away with you to bed and get one good sleep. The boy will bring you a substantial choti-hazri when you're out of your bath at six. I have a couple of small elephant-skin bags—you'll not find the like in shops—they're made for the interior medical service."

      So Cadman and Skag went up from Bombay that night on the Calcutta-bound train, facing the far interior of India. The boy in Skag found joy in every detail of his outfit; especially the elephant-skin bag, stocked with necessary personal requirements and nothing more. But somewhere, far out before him, lost in this mystery-land—was a woman. That woman must be found.

      "What's the secret about the Doctor?" he asked Cadman, after they had been rolling through the night some hours.

      "Nobody knows, unless it's a woman he didn't get," Cadman answered.

      "What's the grip this wonder-woman has on him?"

      "Beauty and music and life, in the superlative degree; when it all happens together, in one woman—she grips."

      After that they both dreamed vague man-dreams of Dhoop Ki Dhil.

      "There stands Dickson Sahib himself!" Cadman exclaimed, at Hurda station; and Skag saw the two meet, perceiving at once that it was a friendship between men of very different type.

      Then Dickson Sahib promptly gathered them both into that Anglo-Indian hospitality which is never forgotten by those who have found it. Skag was made to feel as much at home as the evidently much-loved Cadman; not by word or gesture, but by a kindly atmosphere about everything. He met a slender lad of twelve years, presented to him by Dickson Sahib as "My son Horace," whose clear grey eyes attracted him much.

      After dinner Cadman told the story of Dhoop Ki Dhil. There was perfect silence for minutes when he finished. Skag was groping on and on—his quest already begun. Dickson was smoking hard, till he startled them both:

      "Of course, it's altogether right; I'd like to be with you."

      "Then will you direct us?" Cadman asked.

      "As an officer in a land-department, you understand—" Dickson answered slowly, "I'm not supposed to send men into a place like that, to their death. But I want you to know that my responsibility has nothing whatever to do with my concern. Because I value your lives as men—I want to be careful. You must let me think it out loud. It's a maze. I may place you, as I get on."

      "We appreciate your care," Cadman said earnestly.

      "The 'great' Grass Jungle is the proper name for vast territory—not all in one piece," Dickson Sahib began. "It comes in rifts between parallel rivers among the mountains. Seepage back and forth between the streams, gives the moisture necessary for such growth—year round.

      "When white men come to the edge of one СКАЧАТЬ