Part 52 (2/2)

”Now we're going to Thibet,” said the Man's Wife merrily, as the horses drew near to f.a.goo. She was riding on the cliff-side.

”Into Thibet,” said the Tertium Quid, ”ever so far from people who say horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you--to the end of the world!”

A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare went wide to avoid him--forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare should go.

”To the world's end,” said the Man's Wife, and looked unspeakable things over her near shoulder at the Tertium Quid.

He was smiling, but, while she looked, the smile froze stiff as it were on his face, and changed to a nervous grin--the sort of grin men wear when they are not quite easy in their saddles. The mare seemed to be sinking by the stem, and her nostrils cracked while she was trying to realize what was happening. The rain of the night before had rotted the drop-side of the Himalayan-Thibet Road, and it was giving way under her. ”What are you doing?” said the Man's Wife. The Tertium Quid gave no answer. He grinned nervously and set his spurs into the mare, who rapped with her forefeet on the road, and the struggle began. The Man's Wife screamed, ”Oh, Frank, get off!”

But the Tertium Quid was glued to the saddle--his face blue and white--and he looked into the Man's Wife's eyes. Then the Man's Wife clutched at the mare's head and caught her by the nose instead of the bridle. The brute threw up her head and went down with a scream, the Tertium Quid upon her, and the nervous grin still set on his face.

The Man's Wife heard the tinkle-tinkle of little stones and loose earth falling off the roadway, and the sliding roar of the man and horse going down. Then everything was quiet, and she called on Frank to leave his mare and walk up. But Frank did not answer. He was underneath the mare, nine hundred feet below, spoiling a patch of Indian corn.

As the revellers came hack from Viceregal Lodge in the mists of the evening, they met a temporarily insane woman, on a temporarily mad horse, swinging round the corners, with her eyes and her mouth open, and her head like the head of the Medusa. She was stopped by a man at the risk of his life, and taken out of the saddle, a limp heap, and put on the bank to explain herself. This wasted twenty minutes, and then she was sent home in a lady's 'rickshaw, still with her mouth open and her hands picking at her riding-gloves.

She was in bed through the following three days, which were rainy; so she missed attending the funeral of the Tertium Quid, who was lowered into eighteen inches of water, instead of the twelve to which he had first objected.

A WAYSIDE COMEDY

Because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore the misery of man is great upon him.

--Eccles. viii. 6.

Fate and the Government of India have turned the Station of Kas.h.i.+ma into a prison; and, because there is no help for the poor souls who are now lying there in torment, I write this story, praying that the Government of India may be moved to scatter the European population to the four winds.

Kas.h.i.+ma is bound on all sides by the rock-tipped circle of the Dosehri hills. In Spring, it is ablaze with roses; in Summer, the roses die and the hot winds blow from the hills; in Autumn, the white mists from the hills cover the place as with water; and in Winter the frosts nip everything young and tender to earth-level. There is but one view in Kas.h.i.+ma--a stretch of perfectly flat pasture and plough-land, running up to the grey-blue scrub of the Dosehri hills.

There are no amus.e.m.e.nts, except snipe and tiger shooting; but the tigers have been long since hunted from their lairs in the rock-caves, and the snipe only come once a year. Narkarra--one hundred and forty-three miles by road--is the nearest station to Kas.h.i.+ma. But Kas.h.i.+ma never goes to Narkarra, where there are at least twelve English people. It stays within the circle of the Dosehri hills.

All Kas.h.i.+ma acquits Mrs. Vansuythen of any intention to do harm; but all Kas.h.i.+ma knows that she, and she alone, brought about their pain.

Boulte, the Engineer, Mrs. Boulte, and Captain Kurrell know this. They are the English population of Kas.h.i.+ma, if we except Major Vansuythen, who is of no importance whatever, and Mrs. Vansuythen, who is the most important of all.

You must remember, though you will not understand, that all laws weaken in a small and hidden community where there is no public opinion. When a man is absolutely alone in a Station he runs a certain risk of falling into evil ways. The risk is multiplied by every addition to the population up to twelve--the Jury-number. After that, fear and consequent restraint begin, and human action becomes less grotesquely jerky.

There was deep peace in Kas.h.i.+ma till Mrs. Vansuythen arrived. She was a charming woman, every one said so everywhere; and she charmed every one. In spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, since Fate is so perverse, she cared only for one man, and he was Major Vansuythen. Had she been plain or stupid, this matter would have been intelligible to Kas.h.i.+ma. But she was a fair woman, with very still grey eyes, the color of a lake just before the light of the sun touches it. No man who had seen those eyes, could, later on, explain what fas.h.i.+on of woman she was to look upon. The eyes dazzled him. Her own s.e.x said that she was ”not bad looking, but spoiled by pretending to be so grave.” And yet her gravity was natural It was not her habit to smile. She merely went through life, looking at those who pa.s.sed; and the women objected while the men fell down and wors.h.i.+pped.

She knows and is deeply sorry for the evil she has done to Kas.h.i.+ma; but Major Vansuythen cannot understand why Mrs. Boulte does not drop in to afternoon tea at least three times a week. ”When there are only two women in one Station, they ought to see a great deal of each other,”

says Major Vansuythen.

Long and long before ever Mrs. Vansuythen came out of those far-away places where there is society and amus.e.m.e.nt, Kurrell had discovered that Mrs. Boulte was the one woman in the world for him and--you dare not blame them. Kas.h.i.+ma was as out of the world as Heaven or the Other Place, and the Dosehri hills kept their secret well. Boulte had no concern in the matter. He was in camp for a fortnight at a time. He was a hard, heavy man, and neither Mrs. Boulte nor Kurrell pitied him. They had all Kas.h.i.+ma and each other for their very, very own; and Kas.h.i.+ma was the Garden of Eden in those days. When Boulte returned from his wanderings he would slap Kurrell between the shoulders and call him ”old fellow,” and the three would dine together. Kas.h.i.+ma was happy then when the judgment of G.o.d seemed almost as distant as Narkarra or the railway that ran down to the sea. But the Government sent Major Vansuythen to Kas.h.i.+ma, and with him came his wife.

The etiquette of Kas.h.i.+ma is much the same as that of a desert island.

When a stranger is cast away there, all hands go down to the sh.o.r.e to make him welcome. Kas.h.i.+ma a.s.sembled at the masonry platform close to the Narkarra Road, and spread tea for the Vansuythens. That ceremony was reckoned a formal call, and made them free of the Station, its rights and privileges. When the Vansuythens were settled down, they gave a tiny housewarming to all Kas.h.i.+ma; and that made Kas.h.i.+ma free of their house, according to the immemorial usage of the Station.

Then the Rains came, when no one could go into camp, and the Narkarra Road was washed away by the Kasun River, and in the cup-like pastures of Kas.h.i.+ma the cattle waded knee-deep. The clouds dropped down from the Dosehri hills and covered everything.

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