Stories by English Authors: The Orient (Selected by Scribners)
General
Stories by English Authors: The Orient (Selected by Scribners)
Fiction; Short stories
“What did which do? There was a party called Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan
that was with Dravot. Shall I tell you about him? He died out there in
the cold. Slap from the bridge fell old Peachey, turning and twisting in
the air like a penny whirligig that you can sell to the Amir. No; they
was two for three ha’pence, those whirligigs, or I am much mistaken and
woful sore. . . . And then these camels were no use, and Peachey said to
Dravot, ‘For the Lord’s sake let’s get out of this before our heads
are chopped off,’ and with that they killed the camels all among the
mountains, not having anything in particular to eat, but first they took
off the boxes with the guns and the ammunition, till two men came along
driving four mules. Dravot up and dances in front of them, singing,
‘Sell me four mules.’ Says the first man, ‘If you are rich enough to
buy, you are rich enough to rob;’ but before ever he could put his hand
to his knife, Dravot breaks his neck over his knee, and the other party
runs away. So Carnehan loaded the mules with the rifles that was taken
off the camels, and together we starts forward into those bitter-cold
mountaineous parts, and never a road broader than the back of your
hand.”
He paused for a moment, while I asked him if he could remember the
nature of the country through which he had journeyed.
“I am telling you as straight as I can, but my head isn’t as good as it
might be. They drove nails through it to make me hear better how Dravot
died. The country was mountaineous and the mules were most contrary,
and the inhabitants was dispersed and solitary. They went up and up, and
down and down, and that other party, Carnehan, was imploring of Dravot
not to sing and whistle so loud, for fear of bringing down the tremenjus
avalanches. But Dravot says that if a King couldn’t sing it wasn’t worth
being King, and whacked the mules over the rump, and never took no
heed for ten cold days. We came to a big level valley all among the
mountains, and the mules were near dead, so we killed them, not having
anything in special for them or us to eat. We sat upon the boxes, and
played odd and even with the cartridges that was jolted out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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