Chatterbox, 1906 Part 30

'Perhaps he will some day,' said Estelle, looking with pity at d.i.c.k's face.

''Tisn't likely, Miss. We shall never be likely to meet d.i.c.k's enemy; don't you believe it! But it pleases him to think he will, so I don't gainsay him.'

'I shall hope he will,' returned Estelle, as her cousins made a move to go back to the gardens.

The children were to have tea on the lawn with Lady c.o.ke, and they could see preparations even now being made for it. They did not often have such a treat: Lady c.o.ke, sweet and loving as she always was to her great-nephews and nieces, was too old and delicate to indulge in their companionship for very long at a time. The children were on their quietest behaviour with her, but the little voices tired her unconsciously, and she would not spare herself while they were with her.

Lord Lynwood, Estelle's father, and Colonel De Bohun were brothers and nephews to Lady c.o.ke, while Mrs. De Bohun was the niece of Sir Horace c.o.ke, Lady c.o.ke's husband, who had died many years ago. This close relationship on both sides, and the nearness of the two properties, made the two households almost like one. Colonel and Mrs. De Bohun were deeply attached to their aunt, and glad to take counsel with her in the bringing up of their children. Lady c.o.ke, in her turn, was very dependent upon them for companionship, her own sons being away on foreign service.

A merry party the children made. The laughter and chatter were as free and happy as Aunt Betty loved to hear it. The adventure in the tower appeared to interest them more than anything else, and very wild were the guesses as to what the man could have wanted. But when Aunt Betty ventured to express some admiration for Thomas' bravery, to her astonishment she was met by silence on the part of the two greatest talkers, Alan and Marjorie. The latter almost at once turned the subject by asking how Aunt Betty supposed the man managed to escape. Aunt Betty had no ideas to suggest. Alan frowned at Marjorie, but she went on quite serenely.

'Do you know, Auntie, what the summer-house contains? Peet keeps the place locked up as if he had something of value there. I wish you would let us go and see. Father says it is dangerous because of the falling of stones from the roof, but if it is safe for Peet, and the stones don't crash down on his head, why should they on ours?'

'I think it would be a good lesson if they did knock him over for once,'

said Alan, grimly.

'I know he is trying at times,' said Lady c.o.ke, in her soft, gentle voice, 'but he is a sterling old man all the same, and it is a pity you cannot let him alone.'

'He won't let us alone, Aunt Betty,' said Alan, 'and he is cheeky too. I suppose we do worry him a bit,' he added, as recollections came to him of the havoc made with the tidy paths, or the injury to shrubs when hunting for lost b.a.l.l.s after games of tennis.

'We went to see d.i.c.k just now,' said Estelle, 'and oh, Auntie, what a dreadful thing it seems that he should have become like that! Mrs. Peet told us a little about him, and how good he is.'

'Perhaps,' answered Lady c.o.ke, 'you would all feel more kindly towards Peet if I were to tell you how sadly he has suffered. Almost as much as his son, only in another way.'

(_Continued on page 102._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Are you well to-day?' asked Georgie."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Charlie Eccles half lay, half sat upon the ground."]

ROUND THE CAMP FIRE.

III.--IN THE JAWS OF DEATH.

(_Concluded from page 83._)

'I waited a moment (continued Denison) in order to give the shikari time to recover himself. I can tell you that I was not feeling at that moment much more cheerful than the poor fellow himself, who had evidently witnessed some terrible calamity to my poor friend, Charlie Eccles. I waited on tenterhooks; then I could bear the suspense no longer.'

'Did the tiger then spring upon the Sahib and kill him?' I faltered.

'Where is the Sahib's body?'

'Alas!' said the shikari, 'who can tell! Listen, Protector of the Poor.

The Sahib Eccles shrieked, for the great yellow beast--may he lead a life of pain!--sprang upon him, as you say. The Sahib's bullet had struck but not killed him. He bore the Sahib to the earth, and lay for a moment upon him, the Sahib crying out once and twice again. With the Sahib's second gun I fired into the body of the beast, but whether I hit him or not I cannot say, for all was confusion and dust and terror, and also there was the fear lest the bullet should strike the Sahib. Then, in a moment, the tiger had disappeared, and the Sahib also. There was none to see, for these other men, the beaters, had quickly taken flight at the sound of the roar of the tiger, and, as for me, I must confess that, for a moment, after shooting at the beast, I turned my back upon the animal, fearing lest he should now fall upon me. When I looked again--it was but a few seconds later--both tiger and Sahib had, as I say, disappeared; therefore I made no doubt that the savage brute seized the Sahib Eccles and carried him into the jungle. Alas! there is no doubt that he is dead. This is an evil tiger, an eater of men. There is no hope that the poor Sahib is still alive.'

I listened to the shikari's narrative in speechless horror. It was difficult to realise that he had spoken of Charlie Eccles, my old school friend; that this tale he had just told me was of Charlie's death; and that his death had happened within an hour or so, and might have been prevented if I had arrived but a single day, or even half a day, earlier.

'Shikari, this is a dreadful tale you have told me,' I groaned. 'If you have told me the truth, and not lied in order to hide your own cowardice, the Sahib Eccles is probably dead. This, however, must be ascertained immediately, and his body must be found and brought in. You will guide me at once to the spot, and we shall follow upon the tiger's tracks.'

'Into the jungle, Sahib!' exclaimed the shikari. 'Upon the track of a wounded tiger! Then we are lost men, both of us.'

'At any rate, if you are a coward, and dare not help me to seek your master, you shall at least show me where he was seized, and I will go alone.'

The shikari, though evidently a nervous man, was no coward. He pulled himself together.

'I will go with the Sahib,' he said. 'It shall not be spoken of me that there was a thing of which I was afraid. The Sahib will allow me to carry this second rifle of the Sahib Eccles?'

'Of course. You have answered well, shikari; it shall be said that you are a brave man. Take the rifle and come, for this is a matter that cannot wait.'

So we set out for the place where poor Eccles had lost his life, some two or three miles from the bungalow, and my heart was heavy as lead as I tramped along with the shikari at my side, recalling many scenes in which old Charlie had been my companion at school and at Oxford and in after-life. I scarcely thought of the extreme danger of the enterprise upon which the shikari and I were now engaged, my mind being otherwise occupied; but when we came near the place, and the native, looking frightened and positively trembling as he spoke, whispered that here, within twenty-five yards, was the spot where the tiger had sprung upon the Sahib, I suddenly realised that we were about to meet a crisis in our lives.

'Have your rifle ready,' I whispered back, 'and look all ways at once.

If you see the tiger, fire at the same instant.'

We reached the spot where the scuffle had taken place. The gra.s.s was trampled and broken, and there were marks of a struggle. A yard or two further on lay Charlie's helmet, with puggaree attached, and a sc.r.a.p of his clothing fluttered in the midst of a th.o.r.n.y bush, through which, I suppose, he had been dragged. The jungle became denser at this point with every step forward, and we advanced inch by inch, very slowly, very cautiously, feeling that we carried our lives in our hands, for a wounded tiger lying hid in the cover, with so much energy left in him as this beast presumably still possessed, since he had carried Charlie's body away with him, is one of the most dangerous things that a man can face. I need not tell you fellows that, however, both of you being experienced hunters. Probably, being wounded, the tiger would not travel far. Of course, there was only the shikari's word for it that he _was_ wounded; but, in any case, being burdened with the body of a twelve-stone man, he would not go further than he need. So we crept slowly forward.

It, was a gruesome experience. To tell the truth, I was almost more afraid that I should suddenly come upon the body of poor Eccles lying across our pathway, than of hearing the terrible roar of the wounded tiger and seeing him crouch to spring upon us. Expecting him, as I did, at every second, it would be hard if I could not get in my shot before he could get in his spring.

The track was easily followed. A great beast cannot drag another large creature through gra.s.s and plants of all kinds without leaving behind pretty evident signs of his pa.s.sing. We had gone forward--creeping almost as noiselessly as snakes--some quarter of a mile, scarcely more, when suddenly the most astonishing thing happened that ever I experienced.

Not fifty yards from the place in which we then stood, as it happened, listening for any sound which might reveal the whereabouts of the tiger, a shot suddenly rang out, instantly followed by a kind of sound, half roar, half moan; then came the noise of a scuffle, the crashing of twigs, a few gasping coughs--then silence.

'Shikari,' I cried aloud, scarcely knowing in my excitement what I said, 'it is the Sahib! Come!' I dashed forward. 'Charlie--Charlie Eccles!' I yelled, 'is it you? I am Ralph!'

A feeble cheer replied to my shout. The next moment a remarkable spectacle opened itself out before us.

Charlie Eccles half lay, half sat upon the ground--pale, tattered, but smiling; a few feet away lay upon its side the body of an enormous tiger. I sprang forward. 'Don't touch me, old chap,' said Charlie, 'I feel as if I was broken all over!'--then he fainted.

Well, except a couple of broken ribs and some nasty gashes and scratches, there was nothing seriously the matter, and with the help of a litter and half-a-dozen natives summoned by the shikari, we got him home to the bungalow without further damage. There he told me his story.

The tiger had been wounded, but not seriously, by his first shot. The shikari fired and missed. Then the beast had seized him by the shoulder, which was lacerated, and had dragged him to this place. Charlie had clung to his rifle, and upon reaching the spot where we had found him, the tiger laid him down and rested. Fortunately the pain of his wound had rendered the brute disinclined to eat. He stood over him for nearly half an hour, listening, licking his wound, and growling. Charlie lay still as death, for he knew that if he moved a finger he would be slain that instant. After half an hour the brute left him and lay a few yards away, but in such a position that Charlie could not fire a fatal shot; he therefore waited in hopes that he would change his att.i.tude. The tiger lay and attended to his wound for a full hour or more, and Eccles waited patiently.

At last--just before we arrived--the tiger shifted, presenting his side and shoulder, and Charlie, pointing his rifle with the utmost care, for he knew his life depended upon the shot, pulled trigger.

'I think,' Ralph concluded, 'that evening in the Dak Bungalow was about the happiest I ever spent. The doctor had been summoned from the camp at Bandapore and had p.r.o.nounced Charlie Eccles to be progressing excellently. You may imagine how happy I must have felt after my fears.

You may imagine, also, what a hero Charlie was among the natives after his exploit. Of course my friend the shikari, in telling them the story, made out that the chief honours were his, but he was good enough to admit that the Sahib behaved also like a brave man, and probably his hearers, knowing each other's little ways, distributed the honours pretty fairly.'

ABOUT TOPIARIES.

What is a topiary? If you have never been in one, you may have seen one represented by some artist who draws scenes that show us gardens or shrubberies of bygone days. Perhaps you may at least have been in some old-fashioned garden, which had one or more trees of odd shapes, into which they had been cut and trained years ago. When a number of such trees are growing together, the place is called a topiary, and lately people who can afford the money have been contriving topiaries in some parts of their grounds. Gardeners who understand how to make trees resemble the human figure, or different animals, or other objects, can usually get plenty of employment.

We read about sculptured hedges as far back as the times of the Tudors; it was chiefly the yew hedge that people cut and shaped into odd figures. But it was not till the Dutch gardeners came over in the reign of William III., that it became the practice to give curious shapes to trees and shrubs scattered over gardens, or brought together into a topiary. Various trees were used, but chiefly yew and box.