Part 18 (2/2)
There was a chorus of assent, and the Risaldar arose to let his sons and grandsons file past hiive each one of therined that they should now refuse to exchange horses with hiht of their stalwart fra to serve the Raj
”All, then, for England!” he exclaiht on whichever side thou sayest!”
”Disloyal one!” growled the Risaldar with a scowl But he grinned into his beard
”Well, to your hoht jackals howled their discontent while heat-cracked India writhed in stuffy torh the stillness and the blackness of the night ca wails of women, that no one answered-for, under that Tophet-lid of blackness, punctured by the low-hung, steel-white stars, men neither knew nor cared whose child had died Life and hell-hot torture and indifference-all three were one
There was noto make the inferno visible, except that here and there an oil laainst the blackness It was a sensation, rather than sight or sound, that betrayed the neighborhood of thousands upon thousands of hu upon the roofs, in restless suffering
There was no pity in the dry, black vault of heaven, nor in the bone-dry earth, nor in the hearts ofthat hot weather of '57 Men waited for the threatened wrath to coues And while they waited in sullen Asiatic patience, through the restless silence and the sotten smell of India-there ran an undercurrent of even deeper mystery than India had ever known
Priest-ridden Hanadra, that had seen the downfall of a hundred kings, watched through heat-wearied eyes for another whel the blood-soaked, sudden flood that was to burst the dam of servitude and rid India of her latest horde of conquerors But eight hundred yards froe-scars in the stifling reek, gun-chains jingled in a courtyard, and, sharp-clicking on age-old flagstones, rose the ring of horses' feet
Section Nu under arriland could produce, each ht loo twelve-pounders, in tow behind their liled as a wheel-horse twitched his flank; and sometimes a man spoke in a low voice, or a horse staes of war-Gods, half-s darkness And above them, from athat overlooked the courtyard, shone a solitary launs and flickered on the saber-hilts, and deepened the already dead-black atmosphere of mystery
Froauze curtains came the sound of voices; and in the deepest, death-darkest shadow of the door below there stood a ers clutched his sword-hilt and whose breath ca breast; between his fierce, black mustache and his up-brushed, two-pointed beard, his white teeth showed through parted lips But he gave no other sign that he was not soht
He was an old e The night concealed his shabbiness; but it failed to hide the medals on his breast, one bronze, one silver, that told of caone And his patience was another sign of age; a youngerto and fro instead of standing still
He stood still even when footsteps resounded on the winding stair above and a saber-ferrule clanked frounners heard and stood squarely to their horses There was a rustling and a sound of shi+fting feet, and, a ”Whoa,-you!” to an irritated horse; but the Rajput stayed motionless until the footsteps reached the door Then he took one step forward, faced about and saluted
”Salaam, Bellairs sahib!” boomed his deep-throated voice, and Lieutenant Bellairs stepped back with a start into the doorway again-one hand on his sword-hilt The Indian ht from the room above could fall upon his face
”Salaaain
Then the lieutenant recognized hi, what brought you here? Heavens, how you startled ht you?”
”Nay! It seelad to see you!”
”The breath of ruht you?”
”Where a er! Is all ith the Raj, sahib?”
”With the Raj? How d'you uns and smiled
”In uns at night!”