The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west FrontierStrang, Herbert
General
The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; Airplanes -- Juvenile fiction; British -- India -- Juvenile fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Juvenile fiction
"We came upon the tracks of the aeroplane some miles up; there was
litter of all sorts about--scraps of food, broken branches and what not,
and I feared you’d smashed yourself and your machine, only we couldn’t
find any pieces of it. But we found your rifle and field-glass in a
little hollow, and the Gurkha guessed that you had tumbled among the
Kalmucks. An hour after dark we caught sight of the camp-fire. The
Gurkha volunteered to creep up and reconnoitre, so the rest of us
halted, waiting for his report.
"He’s a clever little chap, with a double dose of Gurkha courage. He
came back very soon and told me he’d seen you tied up among them, and
about the raft and so on. My sowars wanted to rush the place, but it
struck me that that might be the end of you. The first instinct of such
barbarians would be to knife their prisoner. It was a bit of a
quandary--and the Gurkha came out strong again. It was his suggestion
that he should creep into the camp and release you before we moved."
"Plucky little chap!" said Lawrence warmly.
"A treasure! The noise of the scuffle brought us up hot-foot, and the
only thing I regret is that, as the Gurkha informed me, the ringleaders,
those rascally miners of yours, got away.... Now the sooner we get to
your mine the better. You had better sit my horse. As all our food is
gone, we shall have a strong motive for hurry, so we ought to get home
before night. Of course if you think you can’t stand it we’ll take our
time."
"No: I’m fit enough. Your men will look after the raft?"
He explained the method by which the aeroplane had been taken safely
past the gorges, and the Major went off to instruct his men.
Lawrence summoned Fazl, who was resting on a grassy knoll overlooking
the river.
"I owe you my life; you’re a brave fellow, and I thank you," he said.
Fazl’s plastered face broadened in a grin.
"Wah! sahib, the Kalmucks are pigs, and their hearts melt like butter.
The sahib’s servant is unworthy of praise. It is a small thing to do
for the heaven-born."
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST
THE FRONTIER HOUSE
Some ninety miles southward of the tower in which Major Endicott had
been besieged, on the bare summit of a low hill, stood a solitary
building of stone, known to the British officers of the borderland as a
frontier house. It had no pretentions to architectural excellence,
consisting of a square tower, somewhat resembling a truncated
chimney-stack, crowned by a small turret on a platform, which looked
like a square straight-brimmed Quaker hat. Adjoining the tower was a
sloping wall twenty feet high, that formed one side of an enclosure,
within which were a number of rudely built huts, set up against the
inward side of the wall. Neither tower nor wall had any windows, but in
the latter a doorway gave entrance to the interior.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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