American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories; Western stories
vanished; the tables were in the same mysterious way cleared as rapidly
as they were set, and any attempt to recall a dish was met by the
declaration that it was already packed away in the wagon. As they
at last rose from the actually empty board, and saw even the tables
disappear, Lady Elfrida plaintively protested that she felt as if she
had been presiding over an Arabian Nights entertainment, served by
genii, and she knew that they would all awaken hungry when they were
well on their way back. Nevertheless, in spite of this expedition, the
officers lounged about smoking until every trace of the festivity had
vanished. Reggy found himself standing near Peter. “You know,” he said,
confidentially, “I don't think the colonel has a very high opinion of
your pets,--the Indians. And, by Jove, if the 'friendlies' are as nasty
towards you as they were to us this morning, I wonder what you call the
'hostile' tribes.”
“Did you have any difficulty with them?” said Peter quickly.
“No, not exactly, don't you know--we were too many, I fancy; but, by
Jove, the beggars whenever we met them,--and we met one or two gypsy
bands of them,--you know, they seemed to look upon us as TRESPASSERS,
don't you know.”
“And you were, in point of fact,” said Peter, smiling grimly.
“Oh, I say, come now!” said Reggy, opening his eyes. After a moment he
laughed. “Oh, yes, I see--of course, looking at it from their point
of view. By Jove, I dare say the beggars were right, you know; all the
same,--don't you see,--YOUR people were poaching too.”
“So we were,” said Peter gravely.
But here, at a word from the major, the whole party debouched from
the woods. Everything appeared to be awaiting them,--the large covered
carryall for the guests, and the two saddle horses for Mrs. Lascelles
and Lady Elfrida, who had ridden there together. Peter, also mounted,
accompanied the carryall with two of the officers; the troopers and
wagons brought up the rear.
It was very hot, with little or no wind. On this part of the plain the
dust seemed lighter and finer, and rose with the wheels of the carryall
and the horses of the escort, trailing a white cloud over the cavalcade
like the smoke of an engine over a train. It was with difficulty the
troopers could be kept from opening out on both sides of the highway to
escape it. The whole atmosphere seemed charged with it; it even appeared
in a long bank to the right, rising and obscuring the declining sun. But
they were already within sight of the fort and the little copse beside
it. Then trooper Cassidy trotted up to the colonel, who was riding in a
dusty cloud beside the carryall, “Captain Fleetwood's compliments, sorr,
and there are two sthragglers,--Mrs. Lascelles and the English lady.” He
pointed to the rapidly flying figures of Jenny and Friddy making towards
the wood.
The colonel made a movement of impatience. “Tell Mr. Forsyth to bring
them back at once,” he said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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