The Jungle Girl Part 18

The elephant brought the threatening foot to the ground but stood, with curled trunk and ears c.o.c.ked forward, ready to annihilate him if the invisible speaker gave the word. The girl shrank against the great animal, clinging to it and looking with horror at the prostrate man. The _Amban_ slowly dragged his bruised body from the ground and staggered shaken and dizzy out of the garden.

Muriel kissed the soft trunk and laid her cheek against it, and it curved to touch her hair with a gentle caress. Then she fled into the bungalow to find Colonel Dermot on the verandah grimly watching the Chinaman stumbling blindly up the steep road. His wife beside him opened her arms to the shaken girl.

"He shall pay for that some day, Muriel," said the Political Officer sternly. "But not yet."

An hour later the two women watched the snaking line crawl up the steep face of the mountains, and through field-gla.s.ses they could distinguish Badshah with his master on his neck, the _Deb Zimpun_ and his followers and the tall form of the Chinaman, until all vanished from sight in the trees clothing the upper hills.

Benson and Carter left that afternoon, Muriel remaining to spend a longer time with her friend and, as she told Wargrave, to try and regain the affections of the children which he had stolen from her.

Frank was thinking of her next day as he was standing on the Mess verandah after tea, cleaning his fowling-piece, when on a wooded spur running down from the mountains and sheltering the little station on the west he heard a jungle-c.o.c.k crowing in the undergrowth not four hundred yards away. Seizing a handful of cartridges he loaded his gun and, running down the steps and across the garden, plunged into the jungle.

He walked cautiously, his rope-soled boots enabling him to move silently, and stopped occasionally to listen for the bird's crow or the telltale pattering over the dried leaves. Peering into the undergrowth and searching the ground he crept quietly forward. Suddenly his heart seemed to leap to his throat. In a patch of dust he saw the unmistakable _pug_ (footprint) of a large panther. One claw had indented a new-fallen leaf, showing that the animal had very recently pa.s.sed. Wargrave halted and thought hard. He had only his shotgun, but the sun was near its setting and if he returned to the Mess to get his rifle--which was taken to pieces and locked up in its case--darkness would probably fall before he could overtake the panther, which was possibly moving on ahead of him. So he resolved not to turn back, but opened the breech of his gun and extracted the cartridges. With his knife he cut their thick cases almost through all round at the wad, dividing the powder from the shot.

For he knew that thus treated and fired the whole upper portion of the cartridges would be shot out of the barrels like solid bullets and carry forty yards without breaking up and scattering the shot.

Reloading he advanced cautiously, frequently losing and refinding the trail. Creeping through a clump of thin bushes he stopped suddenly, frozen with horror and dread.

In an open patch of woodland the two Dermot children stood by a tree, the girl huddled against the trunk, while the little boy had placed himself in front of her and, with a small stick in his hand, was bravely facing in her defence an animal crouching on the ground not twenty yards away. It was a large panther. Belly to earth, tail lashing from side to side, it was crawling slowly, imperceptibly nearer its prey. With ears flattened against the skull and lips drawn back to bare the gleaming fangs in a devilish grin it snarled at the brave child whose dauntless att.i.tude doubtless puzzled it.

"Don't cry, Eileen. I won't let it hurt you," said the little boy encouragingly. "Go 'way, nasty dog!"

He raised his little stick above his head. A boy should always protect a girl, his father had often said, so he was not going to let the beast harm his tiny sister. The panther crouched lower. The watcher in the bushes saw the powerful limbs gathering under the spotted body for the fatal spring. Every muscle and sinew was tense for the last rush and leap, as the subaltern raised his gun.

CHAPTER IX

TIGER LAND

Wargrave fired. His shot struck the panther rather far back, wounding but not disabling it. It swung round to face its a.s.sailant. Seeing Frank it promptly charged. The second cartridge took it in front of the shoulder and raked its body from end to end. Coughing blood the beast rolled over and over, biting its paws, clawing savagely at the earth, trying to rise and falling back in fury, while Frank rapidly reloaded and stepped between it and the children. But the convulsions became fewer and less violent, the limbs stiffened, the beautiful black and yellow body sank inert to the ground. The tail twitched a little. A few tremors shook the panther. Then it lay still.

The subaltern turned eagerly to the children.

"It's Frank. Look, Eileen, it's Frank," cried Brian. "He's killed the nasty dog."

The little girl, who had sunk to the ground, struggled to her feet and with her brother was swept up in a joyous embrace by the subaltern.

Then, bidding the boy hold on to the sleeve of the arm carrying the gun, Wargrave started back with Eileen perched on his shoulder. As they pa.s.sed the panther's body she looked down at it and clapped her hands.

"He's deaded. Nasty, bad dog!" she cried.

Striking a path through the undergrowth the subaltern climbed down the steep ravine that lay between the hill and the Political Officer's bungalow. As he struggled up the steep side of the _nullah_ he heard their mother calling the children with a note of inquietude in her voice; and he answered her with a rea.s.suring shout. Coming up on the level behind the low stone wall of the garden he found Mrs. Dermot and Muriel anxiously awaiting him.

"Mumsie! Hallo, Mumsie! Here's me. Fw.a.n.k shooted bad dog," cried Eileen, waving her arms and kicking her bearer violently in her excitement.

"Yes, Mumsie, Frank killded the nasty dog that wanted to eat us," added Brian.

Wargrave pa.s.sed the children over the wall into the anxious arms outstretched for them, then vaulted into the garden.

"What has happened, Mr. Wargrave?" asked Mrs. Dermot, pressing her children to her nervously. "What is this about your shooting a dog?"

The subaltern told the story briefly.

"Oh, my babies! My babies!" cried the mother with tears in her eyes, clasping the mites to her breast and kissing them frantically. The little woman who had many times faced death undauntedly at her husband's side broke down utterly at the thought of her children's peril.

She overwhelmed Wargrave with her thanks, while Muriel complimented him on his promptness and presence of mind and then scolded the urchins for their disobedience in wandering away from the garden by themselves. But the unrepentant pair smiled genially at her from the shelter of their mother's arms and a.s.sured her that "Fw.a.n.kie" would always take care of them. Their mother, even when she grew more composed, could not be severe after so nearly losing them; but although unwilling to terrify them by a recital of the awful fate from which the subaltern had saved them by the merest chance, she impressed upon them again and again her oft-repeated warning that they must never leave the garden alone.

But they were not awed; so, bidding them thank and kiss him, she bore them off to bed, her eyes still full of tears.

Wargrave sent a servant to fetch his orderly and the detachment _mochi_, or cobbler, to skin the panther, the news of the death of which soon spread. So Major Hunt and Burke joined Miss Benson and the subaltern when they went to look at its body, and numbers of sepoys streamed up from the Fort to view the animal, which had long been notorious in the station. Lamps had to be brought to finish the skinning of it; and the hide, when taken off, was carried in triumph to the Mess compound to be cured.

On the following afternoon on the tennis-court in a corner of the parade ground Miss Benson was left with Burke and Wargrave when Mrs.

Dermot had taken her children home at sunset.

"You've completely won her heart," the girl said to the subaltern, pointing with her racquet to the disappearing form of her friend.

"Nothing's too good for you for saving these precious mites. But she'll never let them out of her sight again until their big nurse returns."

"You mean their elephant? Well, of course he's a marvellously well-trained animal; but is he really so reliable that he can always be trusted to look after those children?"

"Badshah is something very much more than a well-trained animal. Perhaps some time out in the jungle you may understand why the natives regard him as sacred and call Colonel Dermot the 'G.o.d of the Elephants.' You don't know Badshah as we do."

"Well, old Burke here has told me some strange yarns about him. But, as he's always pulling my leg, I never know when to believe him."

The doctor grinned.

"We won't waste words on him, Captain Burke," said the girl. "It's time to go home now."

They escorted her to the Dermots' bungalow, where the doctor lingered for a few more minutes in her society, while Wargrave climbed up to the Mess and went to look at the panther's skin pegged out on the ground under a thick coating of ashes and now as hard as a board after a day's exposure to the burning sun.

A few days later Miss Benson left the station to rejoin her father in one of the three or four isolated wooden bungalows built to accommodate the Forest Officer in different parts of his district, each one lost and lonely in the silent jungle. For days after her departure Burke was visibly depressed; and Wargrave, too, missed the bright and attractive girl who had enlivened the quiet little station during her stay.

A fortnight later Colonel Dermot returned from Bhutan; and his grat.i.tude to the subaltern for the rescue of his children was sincere and heart-felt. He was only too glad to take the young man out into the jungle on every possible occasion and continue his instruction in the ways of the forest. This companionship and the sport were particularly beneficial to Wargrave just then. For they served to take him out of himself and raise him from the state of depression into which he was falling, thanks to Violet's letters, the tone of which was becoming more bitter each time she wrote.

Her reply to his long and cheery epistle describing Ranga Duar's unusual burst of gaiety during the Envoy's visit and his own rescue of the children was as follows:

"You do not seem to miss me much among your new friends. While I am leading a most unhappy and miserable life here you appear to be enjoying yourself and giving little thought to me. You are lucky to have two such very beautiful ladies to make much of you; and I daresay they think you a wonderful hero for saving the little brats who, if they are like most children, would not be much loss. Their mother seems extremely friendly to you for such a devoted wife as you try to make her out to be. Or perhaps it is the girl you admire most; this marvellous young lady who shoots tigers and apparently manages the whole Terai Forest. You say you love me; but you don't seem to be pining very much for me. While each day that comes since you left me is a fresh agony to me, you appear to contrive to be quite happy without me."

This letter stung Wargrave like the lash of a whip across the face. To do Violet justice no sooner had she sent it than she regretted it. But deeply hurt as he was by the bitter words he forgave her; for he felt that her life was indeed miserable and that he was unconsciously in a great measure to blame for its being so. But it maddened him to realise his present helplessness to alter matters. He was more than willing to sacrifice himself to help her; but it would be a long time before he could hope to save enough to pay his debts and make a home for her.

Whether it was wicked or not to take away another man's wife did not occur to him; all that he knew was that a woman was unhappy and he alone could help her. It seemed to him that the sin--if sin there were--was the husband's, who starved her heart and rendered her miserable.

In his distress work and sport proved his salvation. He threw himself heart and soul into his duty, and whenever there was nothing for him to do with the detachment Major Hunt encouraged him to go with the Political Officer into the jungle. For little as he suspected it the senior guessed the young man's trouble and watched him sympathisingly.

One never-to-be-forgotten day as Wargrave was returning from afternoon parade Colonel Dermot called to him from his gate and showed him a telegram. It ran: "Tiger marked down. Come immediately _dak_ bungalow, Madpur Duar. Muriel."

As the subaltern perused it with delight the Colonel said:

"Ask your C.O. for leave. Then, if he gives it, get something substantial to eat in the Mess and be ready to start at once. Madpur Duar is thirty odd miles away; and we'll have to travel all night. Come to my bungalow as soon as you can."

Half an hour later the two were trudging down the road to the _peelkhana_ carrying their rifles. Badshah, with a _howdah_ roped on to his pad, plodded behind them; for it is far more comfortable to walk down a steep descent than be carried down it by an elephant. At the foot of the hills they mounted and were borne away into the gathering shadows of the long road through the forest. As they proceeded their talk was all of tigers; for in India, though there be bigger and more splendid game in the land, its traditional animal never fails to interest, and to Wargrave on his way to his first tiger-shoot all other topics were insignificant.