Part 16 (2/2)
But the door opened upon a grizzled man at the sight of whose face McCalloway bent forward as though confronted by a spectre--and indeed the newcomer belonged to a world which he had renounced as finally as though it had been of another incarnation.
This visitor was lean and weather-beaten. His face was long and somewhat dour, but tanned brown, and instead of speaking he brought his hand to his temple with a smart salute. It was such a salute as bespoke a long life of soldiering and the second nature of military habit. The voice in which McCalloway greeted him was almost unrecognizable as his own, because it was both far away and strained.
”Sergeant!” he exclaimed; ”what has brought you here?”
”The lad, sor'r,” the other gravely reminded him. ”I must speak with ye alone. 'Tis a verra private and a verra serious matter that brings me.”
Boone had never heard so hard a note in his benefactor's voice as that which crept into his curt reply:
”It must needs be--to warrant your coming without permission, MacTavish.”
They were just finis.h.i.+ng their daylight supper, and the boy rose, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair. Faithfully he regarded his pledge of respecting the other's privacy whenever he was not invited to share it, and instinctively he felt that this was no moment for his intrusion.
”I reckon I'll hev ter be farin' over thar ter see how Asa's woman's comin' on,” he remarked casually, as he reached for the hat that lay at his feet. ”Like es not she needs a gittin' of firewood erginst nightfall.”
But the matter-of-fact tone and manner were on the surface. Boone secretly distrusted the few messages that came to his preceptor from the outside world. By such voices he might be called back again and hearken to the summons. Boone could not contemplate existence with both his idols ravished from his temple.
Now he closed the door behind him in so preoccupied a mood that he left his rifle standing against the wall forgotten and McCalloway remained standing by the table rather inflexible of posture and sternly inquisitorial of countenance.
”MacTavish,” he said in sharply clipped syllables, ”you are one of few--a very few--who know of my incognito and address. I have relied upon you implicitly to guard those secrets. I trust you can explain following me into what you must know was a retirement not to be trespa.s.sed upon without incurring my anger--my very serious anger.”
Respectfully, but with a face full of eager resoluteness, the other saluted again.
”General,” he said, ”it's China--they need you there.”
”Sergeant”--an angry light leaped in the steel-gray eyes--”if they want me in China some one whom I have trusted has betrayed my ident.i.ty. No living soul there ever heard of Victor McCalloway, _Mister_ McCalloway, not General Anything, mind you!”
The newcomer crossed to the centre of the room, and his movements were quick and precise, as are those of the drill-ground.
”To every other man on earth ye may be _Mister_ McCalloway--but to me ye are my general. Before I'd betray any trust ye might place in me, sor'r, I'd cut off that hand at the wrist, as ye ken, sor'r, full well. I've told nae soul where ye wor'r. I've only said that I'd seek for ye.”
”But in G.o.d's name how--?”
”If I may interrupt ye, sor'r, I am no longer Sergeant Major MacTavish; I'm a time-retired man at home, but when I wear a uniform now it's that of the army of the Manchu Emperor. They seek to reorganize their army along western lines. They want genius. They ken nothin' of ye save that one Victor McCalloway was once a British officer of high rank who served so close to Dinwiddie, that Dinwiddie's strategy is known to him.--Read this, sor'r, and ye'll understand more of the matter.”
The General took the large, official-looking missive and stood for a moment with a drawn and concentrated brow before he slit its linen-lined covering.
The feel of the thing in his fingers brought to him a certain stirring and quickening of the pulses: such a restiveness as may come to the retired thoroughbred at the far-off sound of the paddock bugle, or to the spent war horse at the rolling of drums.
The heavy blue paper and the thick seal set into disquieting momentum an avalanche of memories. Active days which he had resolved to forget were conjured into rebirth as he handled this bulky envelope which proclaimed its officialdom. Even the daily papers came to him here with desultory lack of sequence. He knew in disjointed fas.h.i.+on how that same summer an anti-foreign revolt had broken out in Shantung and spread to Pechili. He had read that the j.a.panese Government had dispatched twenty thousand men to China. Later he had followed the all too meagre accounts of how the Allies had raced for Peking to relieve the besieged legations. The young Emperor's ambition to impress upon his realm the stamp of western civilization had made him, for two years, a virtual prisoner to the Empress Dowager and her reactionaries. Now in turn the Empress Dowager was in flight and, presumably, the j.a.panese, working in concert with agents of the captive Emperor and Prince Ching, were looking toward the future.--It would seem that they divined once more the opportunity to Occidentalize army and government. If so, it was the rising of a world tide which might well run to flood, and it offered him a man's work. At all events, this letter which caused his fingers to itch and tremble as they held it, came from high j.a.panese sources and it was addressed only ”Excellency,” without a name. The envelope itself was directed to ”The Honourable Victor McCalloway.”
For a long time he stood there immovable, looking at the paper, as great dreams marched before him. Organization, upbuilding--that was his _metier_!
Seeing the rapt concentration of his brow and the hunger of his eyes, the former British sergeant spoke again with persuasive fervour:
”Go under any name ye like, sor'r; ye'll be prompt to give it glory! For many years I served under ye, General. For G.o.d's sake, let me take my commands from ye once again! Come out to China, sor'r, where they need a great soldier--and can keep silent!”
<script>