Part 36 (1/2)

”It wouldn't do any good to fight that sort of feeling,” Skag said.

”Only a man whose courage is proven would dare to say that.”

”If I were on the right side, it would not be my part to leave India.”

Carlin liked this so well that she decided Skag deserved to hear of a certain matter.

”. . . Ian has something on his side. You see I had almost decided not to marry--almost promised him. He always said he would never marry if I didn't; that our people would do better forgotten--so much hid sorrow in the heart of us. . . . Something always kept me from making the covenant with him; yet I have been closer and closer up the years to the point of giving my life to the natives altogether. . . . That day in the monkey glen, after the work was done . . . I looked into your face! . . . You went away and came again. I had heard your voice.

The old tiger down by the river had made _you_ forget everything--but your power”--

Carlin laughed. The last phrases had been spoken low and rapidly.

”I didn't forget everything, dear,” she went on. ”I didn't forget anything! Everything meant _you_--all else tentative and preparatory.

I knew then that the plan was for joy, as soon as we knew enough to take it--”

On the third morning of the pig-sticking Ian Deal rode by the elephant stockades in Hurda just as the American pa.s.sed. The hands were long that held the bridle-rein, the narrowest Skag had ever seen on a man.

The boots were narrow like a poster drawing. It was plainly an advantage for this man to s.h.i.+p his own horse from the south for the few days of sport. The black Arab, Kala Khan, seemed built on the same frame as its rider--speed and power done into delicacy, utter balance of show and stamina. When the Arab is black, he is a keener black than a man could think. His eyes were fierce, but it was the fierceness of fidelity; of that darkness which intimates light; no red burning of violence within.

Ian's face was darker from the saddle; the body superb in its high tension and slender grace. Was this the brother that Roderick Deal, the eldest, had spoken of as being darker than the average native? Yet the caste-mark was not apparent; the two bloods perfectly blent.

The depth of Skag's feeling was called to pity as well as admiration.

The rift in this Deal's nature was emotional not physical--some mad poetic thing, forever struggling in the tight matrices of a hard-set world. India was rising clearer to Skag; even certain of her profound complexities. He knew that instant how the fertilising pollen of the West was needed here, and how the West needed the enfolding spiritual culture which is the breath within the breath of the East. This swift realisation had something to do with his own real work. It was filmy, yet memorable--like the first glimpse of one's sealed orders, carried long, to be opened at maturity. Also Skag had the dim impulse of a thought that he had something for Ian Deal. He meant to speak to Carlin of this at the right time.

”Pig-sticking no-end,” the cavalry officers had promised and they were making good.

That third afternoon Carlin and Skag took Nels out toward the open jungle, which thrust a narrow triangular strip in toward the town. At intervals they heard shouts, far deeper in. The Great Dane was in his highest form, after weeks of care and training by Bhanah. He could well carry his poise in a walk like this; having his full exercise night and morning. A marvel thing, like nothing else--this dignity of Nels. . . . The two neared their own magic place--not the monkey glen; that was deeper in the jungle--the place where they had really found each other as belonging, in the moment of afterglow.

”It was wonderful then,” he said, ”but I think--it is even more wonderful now.”

That was about as much as Sanford Hantee had ever put into a sentence.

Carlin looked at him steadily. They were getting past the need of words. She saw that he was fulfilling her dream. Their story loomed higher and more gleaming to him with the days. He had touched the secret of all--that love is Quest; that love means on and on, means not to stay; love from the first moment, but always lovelier, range on range. It could only burn continually with higher power and whiter light, through steady giving to others.

A woman knows this first, but she must bide her time until the man catches up; until he enters into the working knowledge that the farther vistas of perfection only open as two pull together with all their art and power; that the intimate and ineffable between man and woman is only accomplished by their united bestowal to the world.

They walked long in silence and deeper into the jungle before halting again. Nels brushed the man's thigh and stood close. Skag's hand dropped and he felt the rising hackles, before his eyes left Carlin's.

They heard the Dane's rumble and the world came back to them--the shouting nearer.

For a moment they stood, a sense of languor stealing between them.

Without a word, their thoughts formed the same possibility, as two who have a child that is vaguely threatened. They were deeper in the jungle than they thought. . . . The cordon of native beaters was still a mile away in its nearest arc, but there is never any telling what a pig will do. . . . They turned back, walking together without haste, Nels behind. They heard the thudding of a mount that runs and swerves and runs again. It was nearer. . . . Their hands touched, but they did not hasten.

When Carlin turned to him, Skag saw what he had seen on the cobra day--weariness, but courage perfect. A kind of vague revolt rose in him, that it should ever be called again to her eyes--more, that it should come so soon. _He_ was ready, but not for Carlin to enter the vortex again.

This foreboding they knew, together. Love made them sentient. Not merely a possibility, but almost a glimpse had come--as if an ominous presence had stolen in with the languor.

”Let's hurry, Carlin--”

She was smiling in a child's delicate way, as their steps quickened.