Part 11 (1/2)

”It was an accident,” the major replied. ”Come to the bungalow to-night and you will be given the price of two dogs.”

”Better make it the price of five dogs, major,” Swinton called.

”I'll pay for a whole pack of hounds; I'll stock a kennel for him. I was too devilish quick on the trigger.” Lord Victor emptied the black muck from his ears.

The Banjara, not understanding English, looked suspiciously at Finnerty, who hedged: ”The sahib says you will be given the price of three dogs.”

”Sahib, how shall we fix the price of Banda, that is a Banjara? Such are not sold. I have dogs that are just dogs, and if I had known that this sahib was young in the ways of the hunt I would have brought them for his practice. And was there a kill of tiger, or did the sahib also shoot somebody's dog?”

”Be careful!” Finnerty took a step toward the ironical one, who backed up. Then the major said in a mollifying way: ”We'll kill the tiger to-morrow.”

Muttering ”_Kul, kul_--it is always to-morrow for a difficult work,”

the herdsman took under his arm his wounded dog and strode angrily away.

”Too devilish bad! He's fond of that cur,” Lord Victor said mournfully.

”I had a corking good chance at Stripes,” Finnerty offered, ”but I muddled it when my elephant almost stepped on the smooth old cuss, who was lying doggo; he got up with a roar of astonishment and took a swipe at the beast's trunk. I was holding the ten-bore, loaded with shot to fire across the cane should Stripes try to break back, and, rattled by his sudden charge, I blazed away, peppering him with bird shot. So, you see, Gilfain, we're all liable to blunder in this game. We'll go back now and take up the hunt to-morrow.”

As they went back Mahadua put his hand on Finnerty's foot and asked: ”Did you see the spectacles on Pundit Bagh?”

Finnerty nodded, for he had seen the black rings when the tiger lifted his head.

”And did sahib put down the ball gun and take up the one that is for birds and shoot over Pundit's head because he, too, thinks that it is the spirit of a man?”

”It is not good to offend the G.o.ds, Mahadua, if one is to live with them, so we will save the killing of the pundit for the young sahib who soon goes back to Inglistan, where the anger of the G.o.ds cannot follow him,” Finnerty answered solemnly.

In the other howdah, Lord Victor, in whose mind rankled the dog's shooting, brought up in extenuation this same matter of Finnerty's confessed blunder, for he had not caught the chivalry of the major's lie. ”I didn't miss like the major, anyway,” he began.

”No, you didn't--unfortunately.” Swinton was holding a cheroot to a lighted match.

”Really, captain, I wasn't so bad. Fancy an old hunter like him getting fuzzled and banging at a tiger with bird shot.”

Swinton shot a furtive look at the thin, long-nosed face that was still piebald with patches of caked lava; then he turned his eyes away and gazed out over the plain with its coloured gra.s.s and wild indigo scrub.

A pair of swooping jheel birds cut across, piping shrilly: ”Did you do it, did you do it!”

”That'll be a corking fine yarn for the club when I get back,” Lord Victor added.

”And will you tell them about the dog you shot?”

”Rather! I didn't miss, and the major did.”

Swinton turned his brown eyes on the cheerful egoist. ”Gilfain, you're young, therefore not hopeless.”

”I say, old chap, what's the sequel to that moralising?”

”That probably before you get out of India you'll understand just how good a sportsman Major Finnerty is.”