Rung Ho! A Novel by Talbot Mundy (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📗

is honor to be won. There is watch and ward and sterner duty yet.

No sound came, from within the schoolhouse. The little building, coaxed from a grudging Maharajah, seemed to strain for light and air between two overlapping, high-walled brick warehouses. Before the door, in a spot where the scorching sun-rays came but fitfully between a mesh of fast-decaying thatch, the old hag who had followed Rosemary McClean lay snoozing, muttering to herself, and blinking every now and then as a street dog blinks at the passers-by. She took no notice of Mahommed Gunga until he swore at her.

“Miss-sahib hai?” he growled; and the woman jumped up in a hurry and went inside. A moment later Rosemary McClean stood framed in the doorway still in her cotton riding-habit, very pale—evidently frightened at the summons—but strangely, almost ethereally, beautiful. Her wealth of chestnut hair was loosely coiled above her neck, as though she had been caught in the act of dressing it. She looked like the wan, wasted spirit of human pity—he like a great, grim war-god.

“Salaam, Miss Maklin-sahib!”

He dismounted as he spoke and stood at attention, then stared truculently, too inherently chivalrous to deny her civility—he would have cut his throat as soon as address her from horseback while she stood—and too contemptuous of her father's calling to be more civil than he deemed in keeping with his honor.

“Salaam, Mohammed Gunga!” She seemed very much relieved, although doubtful yet. “Not letters again?”

“No, Miss-sahib. I am no mail-carrier! I brought those letters as a favor to Franklin-sahib at Peshawur; I was coming hither, and he had no man to send. I will take letters, since I am now going, if there are letters ready; I ride to-night.”

“Thank you, Mahommed Gunga. I have letters for England. They are not yet sealed. May I send them to you before you start?”

“I will send my man for them. Also, Miss Maklin-sahib” (heavens! how much cleaner and better that sounded than the prince's ironical “sahiba”!)

“If you wish it, I will escort you to Peshawur, or to any city between here and there.”

“But—but why?”

“I saw Jaimihr. I know Jaimihr.”

“And—”

“And—this is no place for a padre, or for the daughter of a padre.”

What he said was true, but it was also insolent, said insolently.

“Mahommed Gunga-sahib, what are those ribbons on your breast?” she asked him.

He glanced down at them, and his expression changed a trifle; it was scarcely perceptible, but underneath his fierce mustache the muscles of his mouth stiffened.

“They are medal ribbons—for campaigns,” he answered.

“Three-four-five! Then, you were a soldier a long time? Did you—did you desert your post when there was danger?”

He flushed, and raised his hand as though about to speak.

“Or did people insult you when you chose to remain on duty?”

“Miss-sahib, I have not insulted you!” said Mahommed Gunga. “I came here for another purpose.”

“You came, very kindly, to ask whether there were letters. Thank you, Mahommed Gunga-sahib, for your courtesy. There are letters, and I will give them to your man, if you will be good enough to send him for them.”

He still stood there, staring at her with eyes that did not blink. He was too much of a soldier to admit himself at a loss what to say, yet he had no intention of leaving Howrah without saying it, for that, too, would have been unsoldierly.

“The reason why your countrymen have found men of this land before now to fight for them—one reason, at least—” he said gruffly, “is that hitherto they have not meddled with our religions. It is not safe! It would be better to come away, Miss-sahib.”

“Would you like to say that to my father? He is—”

“Allah forbid that I should argue with him! I spoke to you, on your account!”

“You forget, I think,” she answered him gently, “that we had permission from the British Government to come here; it has not been withdrawn. We are doing no harm here—trying only to do good. There is always danger when—”

“I would speak of that,” he interrupted—“You will not come away?”

She shook her head.

“Your father could remain.”

She shook her head again. “I stay with him,” she answered.

“At present, Jaimihr is the danger, Miss-sahib; but I think that at present he will dare do nothing. The Maharajah dare do nothing either, yet. Should either of them make a move to interfere with you, it would not be safe to appeal to the other one. You will not understand, but it is so. In that event, there is a way to safety of which I would warn you.”

“Thank you, Mahommed Gunga. What is it?”

“There are men more than a day's ride away from here who are to be depended on—by you, at least—under all circumstances. Is that old woman to be trusted?”

“How should I know?” she smiled. “I believe she is fond of me.”

“That should be enough. I would like, if the Miss-sahib will permit, to speak with her.”

At a word from Miss McClean the old hag came out into the sun again and blinked at the Rajput, very much afraid of him. Mahommed Gunga saluted Miss McClean—swore at the old woman—pointed a wordless order with his right arm—watched her shuffle half a hundred yards up-street—followed her, and growled at her for about five minutes, while she nodded. Finally, he drew from the pocket of his crimson coat a small handful of gold mohurs—fat, dignified coins that glittered—and held them out toward her with an air as though they meant nothing to him—positively nothing—Her eyes gleamed. He let her take a good look at the money before replacing it, then tossed her a silver quarter-rupee piece, saluted Miss McClean again—for she was watching the pantomime from the doorway still—and mounted and rode off, his back looking like the back of one who has neither care nor fear nor master.

At the caravansary his squire came running out to hold his stirrup.

“Picket the horse in the yard,” said Mahommed Gunga, “then find me another servant and bring him to me in the room here!”

“Another servant? But, sahib—”

“I said another servant! Has deafness overcome thee?” He used a word in the dialect which left no room for doubt as to his meaning; it was to be a different servant—a substitute for the squire he had already. The squire bowed his head in disciplined obedience and led the horse away.

An hour later—evening was drawing on—he came back,