Son of Power. Will Levington Comfort

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СКАЧАТЬ It's pestilential with wild beasts. Natives call it the Place-of-Fear.

       White men don't challenge it—they go round. Government has named one

       part of it—over toward the eastern end of the Vindhas—the Bund el

       Khand, the closed country; that name tells its own story."

      Dickson Sahib stopped, frowning.

      "The native with silks to exchange goes down to Bombay?" he went on. "That means, not Calcutta-way. It also means, not anywhere in the Deccan—which clears us away from large tracts. Yet he usually calls it 'great'—that should mean, the Bund el Khand. No one knows how far in; but you'll best approach it from this side. I'm not dissuading you; I'd like to be along. I'm offering you choice of my assortment of firing-pieces. I'll work you out some running lines—they'll be ready by late-breakfast time. But I'm certain your best place to leave the tracks will be Sehora."

      Dickson Sahib was worrying with a match, his face troubled, as he muttered:

      "Now if Hand-of-a-God—"

      "What is that?" Skag asked quietly, of Cadman.

      "That," smiled Dickson Sahib, "is a Scotchman. This civil station of Hurda is famous because he lives here. He is an absolutely perfect shot. Years ago he took all the medals and cups at the great shooting tournaments. He took 'em all, till for shame's sake he withdrew from contesting. He goes to the tournaments just the same—the crackshotmen wouldn't be without him—but he doesn't enter for the trophies any more."

      "He is called the avenger of the people, Skag," Cadman put in, "because he goes out and gets the man-eaters; never sights for anything but the eye or the heart, and never misses."

      "As I was saying," Dickson Sahib went on, "if Hand-of-a-God were here, he'd go without asking. Or even if the Rose-pearl's brother Ian were here, he's quick enough. But he plays with situations, rather."

      "Don't let this situation trouble you, Dickson," said Cadman.

      There fell a moment of curious silence. Cadman was a bit pale, but

       Skag's face looked serene, as he questioned innocently:

      "Rose-pearl?"

      "Yes," Dickson Sahib began absently, "she's here when she's not visiting one of her numerous brothers; just now it's Billium in Bombay. Her degree is from London University and the medical service recognises her work among the people. She's a holy thing to them; indeed, she never rests when there's much sickness among them. But one wouldn't ask a favour of one of her brothers."

      "Hold on, Dickson, I protest!" Cadman interrupted laughingly. "I'm not such a bad shot myself, you know!"

      "The Grass Jungle is crowded—I say crowded—with the worst kinds of blood-eaters. You may want an extra good shot; at the very top notch of practice, what's more."

      As Dickson Sahib came out with it, he noticed Skag's surprise, and challenged him:

      "Bless your soul, man, I believe it's your grip that grips us!"

      Skag's serene face got warm, but Cadman assented.

      "Skag dwells in the fundamentals," he explained; "most of us never touch 'em. He's practically incapable of fear; and the idea of failure never occurs to him."

      Early next morning Cadman got a telegram calling him to Calcutta; and afterward to England.

      "We'll take time to do this big thing first, though," he said, putting the wire into Skag's hand. "They want me sooner—as you see; but they'll get me later. Come away and I'll send word to that effect."

      Skag was realising what it would have meant to him, if Cadman had failed; so he asked—vaguely—something about the Rose-pearl.

      "Don't let yourself get interested in her, son. That family is like a secret sanctuary; and she is the holy thing behind the altar. She's unattainable."

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

       Son of Power (Continued)

      They left the train at Sehora and struck out through rough country, following Dickson Sahib's directions. They camped in full jungle—wild beast voices ringing through the night.

      Next day they came into a valley like Eden, nourished by a small river. On its banks—near a mud-walled, grass-thatched village—Cadman discovered a devout man of great learning, who rested on the path of a long pilgrimage. The devout man was approachable and spoke perfect English; so they asked him about the land ahead.

      "The Grass Jungle, sons? It is the place of secret ways. Only the very innocent of men-things dwell there; those not soiled by the wisdom of evil. To the wise of the world, it is the place of plague and pestilence and fear; and swift death by heat—and the shedding of blood. Past all else—to such—it is the place of the shedding of blood."

      He stopped a moment, musing; then in softer tones went on:

      "The days are all still there. The creature-multitude sleeps in hidden lairs—black and gold and brown and grey—all veiled in golden gloom. The little men-things go their ways, on their own man-paths, which they only know; remember this—they only know.

      "When you go in, they will send boys with you from one village to the next; but only in the early hours, or in the late hours of day. See that you do not persuade them otherwise. The full-day heat is called 'blight' because it robs men of their wits."

      Skag scarcely breathed, till the Learned spoke again.

      "At night—I speak who know—at night the earth rises up to the heavens on the voices of the wild and the ears of the gods are offended. Creatures go out on their own paths—as the men-things go on theirs by day. They rend and contend, they kill and are killed; but they do not cease till dawn."

      The devout man's head sank low upon his breast and he was very still.

      "It's romance, Skag," whispered Cadman, "but that's not saying it's our romance. The man's off again in his abstractions; but I'm going to try once more."

      Skag nodded.

      Touching the wise man's foot with reverence and speaking in the form of utmost respect, Cadman asked:

      "Is it well that we go in? We search for one who sings as the super-human sing; we search for the sake of sick hearts—her heart and others. Is it well?"

      The eyes that lifted were not abstract; they were very deep and keen.

       Both the Americans felt winnowed before he spoke again.

      "Ignorance is not good, but innocence is the supreme defence. If it is the will of the beneficent gods that you find the unmothered woman of great beauty in time, then it shall be so. But be patient. Move slowly through the little peoples, forgetting your search—I say forgetting your search, as you go. Be kind; haste will not delay the sacrifice—kindness may. The way lies before you. Peace."

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