Part 11 (1/2)
”Good man!” he said. ”But what on earth is the fellow up to?”
Next moment both he and Ferrier were shaking their sides with laughter, almost hysterical now that the tension was relaxed. The Bengali, too much overcome with terror to be aware of his safety, was scrambling up a thorn tree with an agility that would have done credit to a slimmer man.
Up he went, frantically swinging himself from bough to bough. Half way up he lost his puggaree, s.n.a.t.c.hed from his head by a long spike, and every stage of his ascent was marked by little bits of his white cotton dhoti left clinging to the branches. For some moments John was helpless with laughter, but at last he managed to shout to Said Mohammed to come down, for the beast was dead. The shout only made him climb the faster, nor did he stop until he was perched on the topmost branch, his white robe flapping in tatters about him. Nothing would induce him to budge until the lion's head had been cut off, to be carried back to the farm as a trophy. Then he descended, much more slowly than he had mounted, and with a piteous effort to regain his dignity that was too much for John and Ferrier, who turned their backs so that he should not see their amus.e.m.e.nt.
These excitements were considered enough for one day, and the party set off for home, the natives carrying the lion's head and shouting a song of triumph. John said nothing to Said Mohammed until he thought his composure was restored. Then he said--
”I owe you my life, khansaman. It was very plucky of you to draw the lion after you, and I shan't forget it.--Shut up!” he whispered to Ferrier, who emitted a sort of gurgle.
A gratified smile stole across the Bengali's face.
”I am quite bucked, sir,” he said. ”Your words are sweeter than honey.
When your honoured parent returns to this vale of woe, my heart will be in my mouth when I say to him: 'Lo! here is your progeny, whom I, Said Mohammed, failed B.A. of Calcutta University, saved from the jaws of the lion. If I had not been on the spot he would have been absolutely up a gum-tree.'”
Ferrier guffawed.
”Why didn't you do as your uncle did in the Sunderbunds?” he asked presently, unable to resist the temptation of a sly dig at the failed B.A.
”The absence of one ingredient, sir, spoils the sauce. It was rotten nuisance, but I forgot _in toto_ the words of the charm.”
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH--The Sack of the Farm
At breakfast on the day after the lion-hunt Ferrier, who was silent and seemed embarra.s.sed, said suddenly--
”I say, old boy, d'you know I've been here nearly two months?”
”What! Getting tired of it?” said John, with a smile.
”Not a bit; only--well, to put it straight, I've been here so long that I ought to pay for my keep.”
”Rot!”
”I mean it. It's all very well to be your guest for a week or two, and I'm jolly comfortable, but to hang on like this--no, really, I ought to pay something to help keep the pot boiling.”
”Now look here, Charles Ferrier, you're a very good sort, but I'm hanged if I stand that. If there's any talk of pay, I ought to pay you for your services. Five weeks in charge while I was droving--name your figure. Rounding up strayed cattle; looking after the natives--how much that lot? You do far more in a day than any hired man, as I believe you call 'em in your part of the world.”
”Well, I like it, and I've nothing else to do; in fact, I've a great mind to settle about here myself, and I would, like a shot, if it weren't for Hilda. I'm afraid it wouldn't do to bring her among the lions, as your khansaman said. But here I am, learning all about it on the cheap, and with no responsibility.”
”Look here, we'll leave it at that. I'm very glad of your company, to say nothing of your help, and as by the look of it that misguided father of mine has been hooked, and the widow must be rolling in money, I don't suppose we shall see him back here. He'll settle down in Park Lane, and die before his time of overfeeding. You stay on as long as you like, and if you're getting experience, I'm getting your services, so we'll cry quits.”
So it was left. The two young fellows shared in the management of the farm. They found their time pretty fully occupied, and a portion of a letter which John wrote to his father a week or two later may be quoted as showing how affairs at the farm were progressing.
The rains have stopped, and I've got all the planting done. I'm trying some radish and rhubarb this season; also carrots, which Mr. Gillespie told me are good for the cattle. By the way, that bull we called Moses because he's fierce, is off his feed; I don't know what's wrong with him, and you might send me Barton's book on common ailments. I don't suppose you'll find a copy in Geneva, or wherever you are now, but if you're not too busy to send a card in London, I dare say I'll get it when Moses is dead.
”That'll touch him up, Charley; he'll think Moses would be all right if he were here.”
I bought a few fat-tailed sheep from old Sobersides (the chief of the neighbouring village) the other day. He got them, he says, from a party of Rendili who were driven south of the Waso Nyiro by the drought in their own country. I don't suppose it's true, for Coja tells me the Rendili live a big long way beyond the mountain, and we've seen nothing of them.
Sobersides tells us, too, that a gang of Swahilis have established themselves somewhere north of Kenya, and are raiding the surrounding tribes. As they've got guns, I bet they're that sweep Juma and his crew. That's all we've heard of them since we licked them.