Son of Power Part 36

"It wouldn't do any good to fight that sort of feeling," Skag said.

"Only a man whose courage is proven would dare to say that."

"If I were on the right side, it would not be my part to leave India."

Carlin liked this so well that she decided Skag deserved to hear of a certain matter.

". . . Ian has something on his side. You see I had almost decided not to marry--almost promised him. He always said he would never marry if I didn't; that our people would do better forgotten--so much hid sorrow in the heart of us. . . . Something always kept me from making the covenant with him; yet I have been closer and closer up the years to the point of giving my life to the natives altogether. . . . That day in the monkey glen, after the work was done . . . I looked into your face! . . . You went away and came again. I had heard your voice.

The old tiger down by the river had made _you_ forget everything--but your power"--

Carlin laughed. The last phrases had been spoken low and rapidly.

"I didn't forget everything, dear," she went on. "I didn't forget anything! Everything meant _you_--all else tentative and preparatory.

I knew then that the plan was for joy, as soon as we knew enough to take it--"

On the third morning of the pig-sticking Ian Deal rode by the elephant stockades in Hurda just as the American pa.s.sed. The hands were long that held the bridle-rein, the narrowest Skag had ever seen on a man.

The boots were narrow like a poster drawing. It was plainly an advantage for this man to ship his own horse from the south for the few days of sport. The black Arab, Kala Khan, seemed built on the same frame as its rider--speed and power done into delicacy, utter balance of show and stamina. When the Arab is black, he is a keener black than a man could think. His eyes were fierce, but it was the fierceness of fidelity; of that darkness which intimates light; no red burning of violence within.

Ian's face was darker from the saddle; the body superb in its high tension and slender grace. Was this the brother that Roderick Deal, the eldest, had spoken of as being darker than the average native? Yet the caste-mark was not apparent; the two bloods perfectly blent.

The depth of Skag's feeling was called to pity as well as admiration.

The rift in this Deal's nature was emotional not physical--some mad poetic thing, forever struggling in the tight matrices of a hard-set world. India was rising clearer to Skag; even certain of her profound complexities. He knew that instant how the fertilising pollen of the West was needed here, and how the West needed the enfolding spiritual culture which is the breath within the breath of the East. This swift realisation had something to do with his own real work. It was filmy, yet memorable--like the first glimpse of one's sealed orders, carried long, to be opened at maturity. Also Skag had the dim impulse of a thought that he had something for Ian Deal. He meant to speak to Carlin of this at the right time.

"Pig-sticking no-end," the cavalry officers had promised and they were making good.

That third afternoon Carlin and Skag took Nels out toward the open jungle, which thrust a narrow triangular strip in toward the town. At intervals they heard shouts, far deeper in. The Great Dane was in his highest form, after weeks of care and training by Bhanah. He could well carry his poise in a walk like this; having his full exercise night and morning. A marvel thing, like nothing else--this dignity of Nels. . . . The two neared their own magic place--not the monkey glen; that was deeper in the jungle--the place where they had really found each other as belonging, in the moment of afterglow.

"It was wonderful then," he said, "but I think--it is even more wonderful now."

That was about as much as Sanford Hantee had ever put into a sentence.

Carlin looked at him steadily. They were getting past the need of words. She saw that he was fulfilling her dream. Their story loomed higher and more gleaming to him with the days. He had touched the secret of all--that love is Quest; that love means on and on, means not to stay; love from the first moment, but always lovelier, range on range. It could only burn continually with higher power and whiter light, through steady giving to others.

A woman knows this first, but she must bide her time until the man catches up; until he enters into the working knowledge that the farther vistas of perfection only open as two pull together with all their art and power; that the intimate and ineffable between man and woman is only accomplished by their united bestowal to the world.

They walked long in silence and deeper into the jungle before halting again. Nels brushed the man's thigh and stood close. Skag's hand dropped and he felt the rising hackles, before his eyes left Carlin's.

They heard the Dane's rumble and the world came back to them--the shouting nearer.

For a moment they stood, a sense of languor stealing between them.

Without a word, their thoughts formed the same possibility, as two who have a child that is vaguely threatened. They were deeper in the jungle than they thought. . . . The cordon of native beaters was still a mile away in its nearest arc, but there is never any telling what a pig will do. . . . They turned back, walking together without haste, Nels behind. They heard the thudding of a mount that runs and swerves and runs again. It was nearer. . . . Their hands touched, but they did not hasten.

When Carlin turned to him, Skag saw what he had seen on the cobra day--weariness, but courage perfect. A kind of vague revolt rose in him, that it should ever be called again to her eyes--more, that it should come so soon. _He_ was ready, but not for Carlin to enter the vortex again.

This foreboding they knew, together. Love made them sentient. Not merely a possibility, but almost a glimpse had come--as if an ominous presence had stolen in with the languor.

"Let's hurry, Carlin--"

She was smiling in a child's delicate way, as their steps quickened.

The thrash of the chase was nearer; the jungle was clearing as they made their way to the border near Hurda. The low rumbling was from Nels. He would stand, turning back an instant, then trot to overtake them. . . . No question now. One pig at least, was clear of the beaters, coming this way, someone in chase.

The great trees were far apart. They were near _their_ place, after many minutes. They had caught a glimpse of a mounted man through the trees--playing his game alone--the pig, but a crash in the undergrowth. . . . There was silence, as if the hunter were listening--then a cutting squeal, a laugh from the absorbed horseman, and it was all before their eyes!

The tusker halted at the border of their little clearing. He had just seen them and the dog--more enemies. . . . Hideous bone-rack--long as a pony, tapering to the absurd piggy haunches--head as long as a pony's head, with a look of decay round the yellow tusks--dripping gash from a lance-wound under one ear--standing stock just now, at the end of all flight!

Nels seemed to slide forward two feet, like a shoved statue. It was a penetrating silence before the voice of Ian Deal:

"You two--what in G.o.d's name--"

That was all of words.

His black Arab, Kala Khan, had come to halt twice a lance-length from the tusker. Carlin and Skag and Nels stood half the circle away from the man and mount, a little farther from the still beast, the red right eye of which made the central point of the whole tableau.

Ian looked hunched. He seemed suddenly ungainly--as if all sport like this were mockery and he had merely been carried on in these lower currents for a price. His lance wobbled across his bridle-arm which was too rigid, the curb checking the perfect spring of the Arab's action.

The tusker was bone-still, with that c.o.c.ked look which means anything but flight. Skag moved a step forward. His knees touched Nels; his left hand was stretched back to hold Carlin in her place. There was no word, no sound--and that was the last second of the tableau.

The tusker broke the picture. Flick of the head, a snort--and he wasn't there. He wasn't on the lance! His side-charge, with no turn which the eye could follow, carried him under the point of Ian's thrust in direct drive at the black Arab's belly.

Kala Khan was standing straight up, yet they heard his scream. The boar's head seemed on a swivel as he pa.s.sed beneath. Ian Deal standing in the stirrups swung forward, one arm round his mount's neck, but badly out of the saddle. . . . The tusker turned to do it again.

Skag spoke. That was the instant Nels charged. In the same second, the Arab, still on his hind legs, made a teetering plunge back, to dodge the second drive of the beast, and Ian Deal fell, head-long on the far side, his narrow boot locked in the steel stirrup.

Skag spoke again. It was to Kala Khan this time. Nels' smashing drive at the throat had carried the tusker from under the Arab's feet. His rumbling challenge had seemed to take up the scream of the horse; it ended in the piercing squeal of the throated boar.

Skag still talked to Kala Khan, as he moved forward. The Arab stood braced, facing him now--the tumbled head-down thing to the left, arms sprawled, face turned away. A thousand to one, among the best mounts, would have broken before the second charge and thrashed the hanging head against the ground.

Skag's tones were continuous, his empty hand held out. There was never a glance of his eye to the battle of the Dane and the beast. Four feet from his hand was the hanging rein, his eyes to the eyes of the black, his tones steadily lower, never rising, never ceasing. His loose fingers closed upon the bridle rein; his free hand pressed the Arab's cheek.

He felt Carlin beside him and turned--one of the tremendous moments of life to find her there. (It was like the last instant of the cobra fight, when he had seen her over the hood--utterly white, utterly tall.) She took the rein from his hand. Her face turned to Nels'

struggle--but her eyes pressed shut.

Skag stepped to Kala Khan's side, lifted the leather fender, slipped the cinch, and let the light hunting saddle slide over, releasing Ian Deal. Then he sprang to Nels, calling as he caught up the fallen lance:

"Coming, old man--coming to you!"

Nels on his feet was bent to the task--the tusker sprawling, the piggy haunches settling flat.

". . . So, it's all done, son," the man said softly. "You're the best of them all to-day."

He laughed. Nels looked up at him in a bored way, but he still held.

Skag went back to Carlin. Ian Deal had partly risen. The American did not catch his eye, and now Kala Khan stood between them, Carlin still holding the rein. Skag's hand rested upon the wet trembling withers, where the saddle had covered. There was a blue glisten to the moisture. Skag loved the Arab very hard that moment, and no less afterward. Kala Khan needed care at once. His wound was long and deep, from the hock on the inside, up to the stifle-joint.

Ian Deal was on his feet, the Arab still between him and Skag's eyes.

But now her brother drew off, back turned, walking away, his arms and hands fumbling queerly about his head, as he staggered a little.

"He will come back!" Carlin whispered.