British -- Asia -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Soldiers -- Fiction
“There was plenty to do just at first, but my rascals are quiet enough
now. A good many of them are dead, for one thing. You heard of our big
fight before you came up--with a raiding-party six hundred strong? I
had to send here for help, worse luck! but even when the
reinforcements came up we were so few that the fellows actually stood
to receive us. We charged through them again and again--I never
remember a finer fight--and there were very few of them left
afterwards.”
“You speak as if you liked it!” said Penelope, with a shudder.
“Like it? it’s the finest thing in life--the only thing worth living
for. You see a great big brute of a Malik coming at you with a curved
tulwar just sweeping down. You try to parry, or fire your Colt
point-blank into his face, and for the moment you can’t quite decide
whether you are dead or the Malik, until you suddenly realise that
your horse is carrying you on towards another fellow, and the Malik is
down. Splendid is no word for it!”
“Don’t!” said Lady Haigh sharply. “You’ll make Miss Ross ill again.
What’s that?” as a long-drawn, quavering cry seemed to descend from
the upper air, “Mem Sahib, the regiment returns!”
Lady Haigh sprang up, and was rushing out of the room, when she
suddenly remembered Penelope, and ran back to her. “Yes, I’ll help
you, Pen--how selfish of me! It’s our _chaprasi_,” she explained
hurriedly to Ferrers. “I stationed him on the tower above this to
watch for any one who might be coming. He was horribly frightened, and
said he knew he should fall down and be killed; but of course I was
not going to give in to that. Carry this cushion up for Miss Ross,
please. There’s a doorway on the ramparts where she can sit in the
shade.”
Ferrers followed obediently, as Lady Haigh half helped, half dragged
her friend up the narrow stairs, and, after allowing her one look at
the moving cloud of dust, which was all that could be seen in the
distance, established her in the doorway on the cushion, taking her
own place at a telescope which was fixed on a stand.
“This is my own idea,” she said to Ferrers. “Now, why don’t you say I
may justly be proud of it? I am as good as a sentry, I spend so much
time up here scanning the desert. I’m glad they’re coming from that
direction, for we shall be able to distinguish them so much sooner.
They must pass us before getting into the town. Now I begin to see
them. They have prisoners with them, Pen, and there are certainly
fewer of them than started, but somehow they don’t look as if they had
been fighting. No, I see what it is. There’s a whole squadron gone!”
“What!” cried Ferrers, who was standing by, unable to get a single
glance through the telescope, which was monopolised by his hostess.
“Clean gone, Lady Haigh? Must have been detached on special duty,
surely? It couldn’t have been wiped out.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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