Part 27 (1/2)

Past all, was the marvel of the hunting cheetah day, when he looked at the beast that gave no answer to his force; only murder in its savage heart--and Carlin's name was his very breath in that peril, something of her spirit like a whisper from within his own heart.

All that afternoon Skag's eyes strained ahead, and his respect grew for the thief elephant with his greater burden, and his wonder increased for Nels and Gunpat Rao. One dim far peak held his eyes from time to time; but Skag lived in the low beat of India's misery--the fever and famine; the world of veils and the miseries beyond knowledge of the world. He sank and sank until he was chilled, even though the sweat of the day's fierce burning was upon him. He understood hate and death, the thirst to kill; the slow ruin that comes at first to the human mind, suddenly cut off from the one held more dear than life. It seemed all boyish dazzle that he had ever found loveliness in this place. That boyishness had pa.s.sed. In this hour he saw only hatred ahead and mockery, if Carlin--. . . but the far dim peak of misty light held his aching eyes.

”Go on, Nels--on, old man,” he would call.

And Chakkra would turn with protest that could not find words--his tongue silenced by the lean terrible face in the howdah behind him.

Presently Chakkra would fall to talking to his master, muttering in a kind of thrall at the thing he saw in the countenance of the American who had touched bottom.

Sanford Hantee was facing the worst of the past and an impossible future, having neither hate nor pity, now. Yet from time to time with a glance at the gun-case at his feet, he spoke with cold clearness:

”We must overtake them before night.”

Chakkra, who had ceased singing, would bow, saying:

”The trail is hot, Sahib. They are not far.”

Steadily beneath them, Gunpat Rao straightened out, lengthening his roll, softening his pitch. Nels was not trotting now, but in a long low run. Skag was aghast at himself, that his heart did not go out to these magnificent servants. There was not _feeling_ within him to answer these verities of courage and endurance; yet he could remember the human that had been in his heart.

The low hills had broken away behind them; the first veil of twilight in the air. A shelving dip opened, showing the bottom of the valley.

Skag could see nothing ahead--but Nels lying closer to the trail.

Chakkra's shoulder was suddenly within reach of Skag's hand, for the head of his master was lifted.

As the great curve of Gunpat Rao's trumpet arched before his face--two things happened to Skag. A full blast of hot breath drove through him; and a keen high vibrant tone pierced every nerve. Then Chakkra shouted:

”Gunpat Rao, prince of Vindha--declares the chase is on! Hold fast, Sahib,--we go!”

The earth rose up and the heavens tipped. There was no foundation; the bulwarks of earth's crust had given away. The landscape was racing past--but backward--and Nels, yet ahead, was a still, whirring streak.

The thing hardly believed and never seen in America--that the elephant is speed-king of the world--was revelation now! No pitch or roll; a long curving sweep this--seeming scarcely to touch the ground. This was the going Skag had called for--a night and a day. And Nels was labouring beside them now, but seeming to miss his tread--seeming to run on ice.

”Hai!” yelled Chakkra. ”Who says there is none other than Neela Deo?”

A thread of silver stretched before them, crossing the line of their course. It broadened in a man's breath. They turned the curve of the last slope, and heard the shout of the mahout far ahead. The thief elephant was running along Nerbudda's margin to a ford.

A roar was about Skag's head and shoulders like a storm--Gunpat Rao trumpeting again! The landscape blurred. The forward beast was growing large . . . two standing figures above him--the fling of a white arm!

The huge red howdah rocked as the thief elephant entered the river; a moment more, only the howdah showing. Distantly like the hum of furious insects, Skag heard Chakkra's chant:

”The thief is snared! Holy Nerbudda herself weaved the snare. . . .

The hand of destiny is ours, Sahib. Nay, mine, not thine! Did not the Deputy Commissioner Sahib say _by necessity_? . . . Plunge in! . . .

Hai, but softly. Prince of thy kind, take the water softly, I say--”

And Gunpat Rao entered the river at a swimming stroke. Skag's eyes had hardly turned from the great red howdah. There was a keen squeal from ahead, answered by a fiery hissing intake of Chakkra's breath:

”That, Sahib, is the murderous mahout using his steel hook. . . . Yes, it was _by necessity_, the Deputy Sahib said. Certainly it was _by necessity_!”

The fling of a white arm again. Sanford Hantee was standing.