Hector Graeme Page 4
*CHAPTER IV*
Early morning on the Khyber Hills. Not the autumn morning known todwellers in rural England, where eyes rest on a landscape of stillloveliness, on stubble-fields of pale yellow, on copses of russet andgold, and on meadows sheeted in silver dew, but something far differentfrom that. Here is no green of grass, no vitalising chill of morningair, but instead a dull burning heat, clothing a land of flat stonyplain and glowing mountain, towering up into a sky of hard cloudlessblue.
In the centre of the plain, apparently alone, a British soldier stoodwatching, a white-faced soldier, his khaki uniform creased and tumbled,and, though his _role_ of sentry was no laborious one, already stainedwith dark patches of sweat. Around him for miles stretched the brownmonotony of sun-baked stony flat, seamed here and there by ragged-edgednullahs and dry watercourses, in the sandy beds of which a few witheredshrubs and tussocks of grass clung hard to a miserable existence.
Before him, some three miles away, a wall of mountains barred the view,a rampart of earth and stone glaring red in the sunlight; sheer from theplain it rose, a forbidding barrier between India and Afghanistan, abarrier too with but few gateways, one of which, however--a dark rift inthe hills--lay directly in front of the soldier as he stood.
Here and there, huddled against the foot of the mountains, could be seenthe mud walls and strong square towers of a Pathan village, apparentlydeserted save for the occasional appearance of a white-clad figure and afew herds of miserable-looking sheep and goats browsing on the hillsidehard by. Far away behind him, the solid walls and ramparts of FortHussein rose from the plain, a former Sikh stronghold, and now thetemporary abode of her Majesty's 1st Regiment of Lancers.
Screening its mass, arose a thick haze of dust and smoke, through whichnow and again could be seen the faint twinkle of lance-point andsword-scabbard, and, the dust at times clearing, strings of mules andhorses moving to and from a pond of muddy water. Over all was apitiless brazen sky, in which glared the yellow disc of the sun, itsrays smiting down on sweating man and beast, and turning Fort Husseininto an inferno of flies, fever, and burning walls.
Sentry Bates, clutching his carbine, now well-nigh too hot to hold,viewed all these things with aching eyes, and spat on the ground andswore. "An' this is bein' on active service," he muttered, "this doin'of guards and pickets more than wot a man 'as in barriks, no fightin',no enemy, no nuthink, only patrollin,' an' stinkin' rations and 'ot beerwhen you git 'ome. Wot are we 'ere for, I'd like to know, wot for didthey send the ridgmint up 'ere? Fed up, that's wot I am, fair fed up."He paused, took off his helmet and wiped his brow. He then replaced theheadpiece, front to back, as is customary with Tommy Atkins when out ofsight of authority, and, taking from his breast-pocket a packet of"Swell" cigarettes, lit one and resumed his soliloquy.
"Wonder what 'Ooky's doin' over there?" he murmured, gazing towards ahillock some two miles away to the front of him, where a small group ofhorses could be seen standing. "Fancy the bloke a-sendin' 'im ondetached post, ruddy foolishness, I call it, not like the bloke at all.'Ullo, they're movin', strike me, they're gone, now what the 'ell doesthat mean?" He remained staring vacantly.
Private Bates, though apparently solitary and unsupported, wasnevertheless not so, for close at hand, hidden from view in the depthsof a great nullah, a troop of the 1st Lancers were lying; to which forcehe was now acting as look-out man.
Here, standing in a row, their heads fastened together by the processknown in the Service as "linking," were the horses, black with sweat andrestlessly kicking at the buzzing flies, while their riders, except theluckless Bates and a few men told off to watch the animals, were sittingin a circle smoking and indulging in that desultory conversation towhich the British soldier is addicted. Some yards away Hector Graemewas lying on his back, his head resting on his helmet and a handkerchiefspread over his face. For an hour he had so lain, trying to sleep; but,the flies and heat forbidding, he had now abandoned the attempt, and waslistening to the conversation of the men.
The detachment of which he was this morning in command, or rather onesimilar to it--for the duty devolved on each troop of the regiment inturn--was sent out daily from Fort Hussein to its present position, itsmission being to watch for and report on any movement of tribesmen fromthe direction of the Pass. For the better fulfilment of the taskallotted, and to avoid unnecessary wear and tear of horseflesh, it wascustomary to push forward from the troop itself a detached post of sixmen under a non-commissioned officer. These were stationed on a smallhillock about a mile distant from the mouth of the Pass, their ordersbeing to watch it, but on no account to enter it.
To-day the command of this post had been entrusted to a certain SergeantWalker, familiarly known as "Hooky," for, as every soldier is aware, inthe Army all Walkers are "Hookies," just as all Clarkes are "Nobbies."
It was the sudden disappearance of this party from its hillock that hadso excited the interest of Private Bates, and, curiously enough, at thesame time, the conversation in the nullah had also turned on the subjectof this particular non-commissioned officer.
"Think 'Ooky's caught the 'Addy Mullah yet, Jim?" said a voice.
"Shouldn't wonder at all, Spider," was the answer, "got 'im tied by aneck-rope to 'is 'orse and a-bringin' of 'im up before the orfcer. Nowthen, 'Addy, quick march, 'alt, saloot. Stand up straight, can't yer?and stop fiddlin' with yer 'ands. This 'ere 'Addy, sir, 'as been givin'a lot of trouble lately, creatin' of disturbances in the Khyber Parse.Most troublesome man, sir, can't do nothin' with 'im. Sivin days tobarriks? Very good, sir. Right turn, dismiss. Come back, d'ye 'ear,and saloot the orfcer properly.'"
"'Ooky's a bloke like a lot more we 'ave in the Army," said another,Wilde by name, "always a-gettin' of a man 'set' and naggin' at 'im. 'Emakes crime, does Sergeant Walker."
"That's a fact, Oscar, and 'e 'imself ain't no perticler class, neither.'E don't know 'is 'orses and 'e don't know 'is drill, but 'e's got akind o' soapy way with 'im wot goes down with Rawson. Don't get round'im, though," jerking his head towards Graeme and lowering his voice toa cautious whisper.
"'Oo, 'im? Why, Taylor, 'im as is waiter in the orfcer's Mess, says as'ow the other orfcers..." The rest of the sentence was inaudible.
"Orfcers, wot do they know? Why..." Mumble, mumble, and then, in theheat of controversy, a voice raised:
"'E ain't a fool, I tell you, Ginger, the 'ole squadron knows that.Ferrers, 'oo's Ferrers? Give me 'Ector, and you can 'ave the rest, oleman and all."
"Now then, stop that language," came sharply from a recumbent figurewith three gold stripes on his arm, surmounted by a crown.Sergeant-Major Stocks had suddenly become alive to the enormity of thepresent discussion, and hastened to intervene. At his voice a hush fellon the group till, authority once more slumbering, the conversation wasresumed.
"Wot for then 'as 'e gone and put 'Ooky on detached post, that's what Iwant to know?" said a voice, echoing the same doubt that had arisen inPrivate Bates's mind.
"Better arsk 'im, cully, not me. 'E knows 'Ooky same as 'e knows everyman in the squadron, and if so be as 'e's put 'Ooky to watch the Parse,'e's got 'is reasons for it, same like 'e always 'as."
A somewhat curious smile played over Hector's face as he listened, forthe speaker was right in what he said. He _did_ know his men. More, hehad an intimate knowledge of their natures and capabilities, such as noother officer of the regiment could have hoped to acquire even had hetried. However, the other officers had not tried, the study of characterin no way being regarded as part of the training of an officer in theBritish Army. With Hector such knowledge was a natural gift, as well asa hobby, and possibly it was owing to this that he possessed his curiouspopularity and influence over the men, at which Major Rawson, hissquadron leader and constant foe, had so often wondered.
And yet, knowing them as he did, he had deliberately selected anon-commissioned officer, whom he knew to be one of the most incompetentin the regiment, for the responsible
position he now held. But again,as Private Thomas had observed, he had his reasons, though these wouldprobably have much astonished that person, as well as anyone else towhom they had been divulged.
Briefly they were as follows. The present was the fourth occasion onwhich Graeme had been entrusted with this particular mission, and so faras had also happened to his brother officers, the proceedings had beenof a singular tameness--no sign of an enemy having been seen and no shotfired. While they were content to grumble, Hector had determined to actand at all costs to have some little fighting to his credit, even ifthis should involve an attack on the Pass with his one troop.
On the way out this morning, his mind occupied with the problem of howhis object was to be attained, he had by chance overheard a conversationbetween the redoubtable Sergeant Walker and a corporal; the former, aswas his wont, vaunting his bravery and informing his incredulouscompanion that "give me but arf a chance, and I will show them I amafraid of no Pathan blokes; up the bloody Pass I mean to go sooner orlater, orders or no orders."
Graeme, at first bored, soon became attentive, and finally, to theastonishment of the troop, called the hero up, and told him he would bein command of the detached post that day. This information hesupplemented with a few remarks on the necessity of daring andenterprise on the part of subordinates, concluding by a short anecdotedealing with the subject of a certain sergeant who, though acting indefiance of orders, had yet achieved great renown. Having thus fired analready sufficiently vainglorious spirit, he despatched the man on hismission, observing with secret gratification his victim surreptitiouslyborrow the trumpeter's revolver, and with this tucked away in hisholster depart, rating his followers as he went, even more than was hiswont.
Having then watched the party's arrival at their destination, Graeme,well pleased, descended into the nullah, occasionally climbing out,glasses in hand, while a frown gradually overspread his face as timewent on and nothing happened. By now he had abandoned hope, and wasapathetically listening to his soldiers' talk when there was a suddengeneral cry of "'Ullo!" and removing the handkerchief from his face, helooked up to meet a pair of bulging eyes staring at him from above. Itwas Bates the sentry, an agitated Bates, bursting with momentoustidings.
"Beggy pardon, sir," he gasped, '"Ook ... Sergeant Walker, sir, 'as left'is 'ill, and there's 'eavy firin' goin' on in the Parse, you can 'earit quite plain from 'ere."
A chorus of "Gawds," a scuffle, a rush, and all were up the nullah'sside and standing on the level, with eyes fixed on the dark rift in themountain wall. Yes, there it was, the dull intermittent thudding ofshots, plainly audible in the still morning air, and, as Graemelistened, a queer cold thrill ran through him--that strange sensation,half awe, half exultation, which every soldier has felt on whose earsthe sound beats for the first time.
In those red mountains yonder a drama was now being enacted, a drama allthe more terrible because unseen and only imagined; one in which he toomust shortly play his part. He, now warm and palpitating with life,would a few minutes hence be standing in Death's presence, nay, mighthave passed into his keeping and become deaf and insensible as thestones on which he lay.
Fascinated, he stood gazing, and still the firing continued, but, strainhis eyes as he might, no sign of enemy could he see on those bare brownslopes; nor yet of the sergeant and his party was there a trace. Theywere gone, apparently swallowed up in the mountains.
At last from the mouth of the Pass a cloud of dust appeared, throughwhich horsemen could be discerned galloping hard along the road leadingto Fort Hussein.
At the sight, a buzz of conversation arose.
"Made a 'ash of it, same as I thought he would."
"Been up the Parse, cont'r'y to orders."
"An' now 'ookin out of it, double quick?"
"'Ow many's been shot, I wonder?"
"Mount," from Graeme, and straightway there was a cessation of commentsand a frenzied descent to the nullah and horses, each man seizing thefirst animal he came to, regardless of ownership. A blast of badlanguage rose up like smoke.
"Leave my 'orse alone, Ginger. Get on yer own ruddy 'orse."
"Which of you blokes 'as pinched my lance?"
"Take yer 'orse's foot off my carbine."
"Forward, gallop, march" from the leader, and the troop were off, makingfor the road along which the horsemen were advancing--Graeme with histrumpeter some thirty yards ahead. As he rode, he thought hard,speculating as to what had happened, and wondering if it meant thechance for which he had been asking, till at length the road having beenreached he halted, the troop drawn up in line across the way behind him,waiting for the fugitives, now barely a quarter of a mile distant, andstill galloping hard towards him. On they came, nearer and nearerstill, till their faces could be seen, and at the sight a simultaneousmurmur of "Gawd" broke from the staring men.
"Halt!" shouted Graeme.
The horsemen paid no heed, but still came on, a wild-eyed rabble, theirhorses in a lather, with necks outstretched as they thundered along thedusty road.
"Halt!" he roared once more. "Halt!" echoed the Sergeant-Major.
"Christ, they'll be into us," from the troop, whereupon an ominousmurmur and shuffling arose from the ranks.
"Damn it, my lot'll be off in a moment," muttered Graeme, and then,inspiration coming to him, "Engage!" he shouted.
Immediately, at the familiar word of command, the murmuring ceased, witha clatter of bamboo and steel down came the lances, and a row ofglittering points barred the road; behind them sat a line of motionlessfigures, soldiers firm and steady once more, their momentary waveringgone.
At the sight the fugitives stopped, and a high-pitched chattering roseupon the air, each man telling his story, glancing the while withfearful eyes towards the mountains behind. Livid cheeks ran wet withtears, and little quavers of laughter, broken with sobs, broke fromloose-lipped mouths, the loud gasping of the steaming horses drowningthe pitiful outcry; but their comrades behind the lance-points answerednothing, only looked at them, their eyes cold and faces grown suddenlywhite and very serious.
"And these are British soldiers," muttered Graeme, a feeling of disgustcoming over him; "the others would have been the same too in anotherminute." And then rage seized him, and riding up to Sergeant Walker,now a shivering jelly of a man, he began furiously to question him.
In vain, however; the creature was too far gone to answer, and couldonly babble incoherently, while he pointed with shaking finger to hishorse, in whose side could be seen a small dark hole, from which atevery laboured breath a thin stream of blood ran out, staining with dullcrimson the white dust of the road. At length, patience deserting him,he seized the man by the collar and shook him. This method proved moreeffectual, and he succeeded in eliciting the fact that he had taken hisparty up the Pass in spite of orders, that they had been suddenly firedupon from all sides, and he couldn't clearly remember what had happenedthen; but they had got out all right, all of them.
"Private Mortlock missing," said the Sergeant-Major's voice from therear, and at the words a cry of exultation almost escaped Graeme, forhis calculations had proved correct, and Sergeant Walker had providedhim with the chance asked for. Remembering in time, however, he checkedhimself, and turning his back on the troop began rapidly to consider.The risks were obvious, also the futility of the proceeding on which hehad already determined, but of these he thought not at all, for with himan idea once formed became an obsession. It had to be carried out,right or wrong, possible or to all seeming the reverse, for such was hisnature. The "how" might require consideration--deep consideration too,as now--but the "whether" never. His course once decided on, doubtsnever assailed him, and in this he had the advantage over most; forfeeling no doubt, and consequently no counter-emotion rising to cloudhis brain, this was at his disposal, free to work undisturbed at theproblem before it. So now, with all eyes fixed upon him, he satdebating and then the plan clear before him he turned and rode slowlyback to the staring troop:
"I'm wiv yer, Billy, strike me," said a voice, and Private Rogers, hischum and constant associate in evil-doing, also rode forward and rangedhimself alongside.
"I'll come too, sir; it's a Christian's duty," said another quietly, andPrivate Green, the religious man of the troop, and an ardent temperanceadvocate, joined the other two.
A pause followed, Graeme's eye running down the line.
"I should like you, Haslopp," he said at last, "to make up the party,"whereupon, without a word, a huge shoeing-smith, the regimental "strongman," left the ranks, and the number required was complete. "Right,"said Hector, "four good men," at which unwonted eulogy Rogers andWilliams winked in unison. "Now, Sergeant-Major, you'll be in charge ofthe troop till I return. Bring them on after me to that rise there, andopen fire on the hills bordering the Pass. Don't suppose you'll seeanything, or hit it if you do, but it will help to keep the enemy's fireoff me. As for them," pointing to Sergeant Walker's men, now verysilent and subdued, "keep 'em well in front; run a lance into any man ofthem who tries to bolt. That's all, I think. Now then, my heroes,forward on," and, shaking up his horse, Graeme set off, followed closelyby the quartette of volunteers.
"A nice selection," he reflected as he rode, "two bad hats, onereligious lunatic and a thick-headed shoeing-smith. Never mind, such asthey are, they came at a word from me, and I love 'em for it. Gad, Ido. Devilish quiet it all is," as mile after mile was covered, andstill the silence remained unbroken; "nearly there now, must be, and nota shot so far. Wonder whether they've cleared off and it's going to bea walk-over after all. Ah, not it," suddenly ducking his head, assomething sighed through the air above him, followed by a deep bang,while a wailing cry of "Allah, Allah," came faintly to his ears."Stooks is at it too now," he continued, as the rending shriek ofcordite sounded from behind, and a flight of bullets whistled overhead."Lord, we're in for it." He bent forward in his saddle and urged hishorse forward at top speed, while the air was alive with winged deathand the hills ahead echoed to the loud banging of Jezail and Snider."It's good though, all the same, worth living for;" and, a suddenfeeling of exhilaration coming over him, he shouted aloud. Rogers andWilliams screamed hoarsely in sympathy, till a loud thud followed by aringing crash brought the concert to an abrupt termination. "Who isit?" shouted Graeme, pulling up and looking round.
"Rogers, sir," came faintly from a dusty heap on the road, the said heapsitting up and looking around with dazed eyes. "Not 'urt, though, sir,it's me 'orse 'e's got 'it in the 'ead. 'Ere, Billy," rising andwalking unsteadily towards his chum, "gimme 'old of yer stirrup, I'llfoot it alongside."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," shouted Graeme, "go back to the troopat once, and take your sword and carbine with you."
"Beggy pardon, sir, Williams and I..."
"Get back, damn you."
"Beggy..."
"Oh, go to the devil. Come on, men. Let go of that stirrup, Rogers;hit him on the head, Haslopp, if he won't," and once more the party wereoff, leaving Rogers looking sullenly after them. For some minutes hestood there, and then, having addressed a few pungent remarks to hisdead horse, unbuckled his sword and extricated his carbine from itsbucket, and, one under each arm, trudged away to a rock hard by. Herehe sat down, and, having lighted a cigarette, proceeded at his leisureto take pot-shots at the hills in front of him.
Meanwhile, the party, now reduced to four, were rapidly nearing themouth of the Pass, but so far no sign of the missing man was to be seen.Faces began to look serious, and the sense of imminent peril to strikehome, but still their leader held on, though with every yard covered thesituation was becoming more desperate.
Suddenly there arose a cry of "Here he is, sir," and Graeme, lookinground, saw Green bending over a heap of khaki lying some distance fromthe road, the others with their officer having passed it by unseeing.
"Get up, Mortlock," shouted Hector, galloping towards the prone figure.
"Look sharp, man, there's no time to be lost. What's the matter, Green,not dead, is he? Oh--" stopping short and looking curiously down atwhat had been a human face before Pathan knives had altered it. Muchinterested Graeme remained staring, till roused by a warning voice.
"Look out, sir, they're comin' down from the rocks; they'll be on us ina minute. Better be off, sir; can't do nuthink for 'im now."
"Go to blazes. Haslopp, where the devil are you, Haslopp? Here, I'llhold your horse; you get down and hand him up to me, put your back intoit, man. Oh, for the Lord's sake, look sharp."
"It's all right, sir, plenty of time. Christ, but ye're 'eavy, ole man.'Ere you are, sir, got 'im? Not that way, sir. Put yer arm round 'im,let 'is 'ead rest agin yer shoulder like."
"Damn, he's slipping; he's slipped, Haslopp. Get your swords out, youtwo, look behind you," to Green and Williams, whose faces were nowashen.
"Orl right now, sir. Gimme my 'orse, Williams. Blast ye, don't let 'imgo."
"Are you up, Haslopp? The point, Green, mind, not the cut."
"Not yet, sir, steady," to his dancing horse; "orl right now, sir."
"Come on then. Be off, you two, no good your waiting here. Gallop onand tell the troop I'm coming--you too, Haslopp."
There was no answer from the shoeing-smith; he remained where he was.Not so the other two; they were off like swallows, nor did they drawrein till a voice from the roadside made them pull up, sick with suddenterror. It was only Rogers, however, requesting the loan of a stirrup,and, much relieved, the two, Rogers running alongside, proceeded ontheir way.
"Price of a pint out of this 'ere?" gasped the pedestrian.
"Thank God, on your bended knees, Rogers, for 'Is mercy to us all thisday," said Green.
"So I will, matey, when I gits the pint. Think the bloke 'll stand it,Billy?"
"Ruddy oceans, cully," was the reassuring answer, "and a limon squashfor the rivrend Grassey 'ere."
Meanwhile, Graeme and Haslopp were struggling painfully on. More thanonce the burden slipped, and but for the "strong man's" assistance wouldhave rolled to the ground, while, to add to their difficulties, Hector'shorse had been shot through the neck and was trying his best to bolt.From a canter the pace had fallen to a trot, and finally a walk, bulletsand chunks of telegraph-wire shaving them at every step. Fortunately,however, the enemy, the party having once moved off, made no furtherattempt at pursuit. Possibly they deemed it hopeless, more probably thesight of the troop in rear deterred them; but whatever the reason, theystopped where they were, contenting themselves with shooting at theretreating horsemen from behind their rocks. Still, it was a wearyjourney, and Graeme's arms were numb with the strain and his brainreeling with the smell of sweat and blood, when at length the firingslackened and then, save for an occasional shot, ceased altogether.Now, but half conscious, yet clutching his burden the tighter, Graemetoiled on, till at last, mingling with the fast-increasing roar in hisbrain, the thud of galloping hoofs was heard approaching. Louder andlouder it sounded, and then round a bend in the road ahead appeared thesturdy figure of Sergeant-Major Stocks, with the troop behind him.
Seemingly miles away, Graeme heard the shout of "'tion" followed by"Carry lance," and then the white road seemed to rear up and smite himin the face. He reeled, fell forward on his horse's neck, hung therefor a moment, and then, still gripping the corpse, rolled over sideways,Haslopp supporting the double burden till help arrived, when he rodequietly back to his former place in the rear rank.
* * * * *
"Stand 'im on his 'ead, Major; always keep a bloke's 'ead wot's faintedlower than 'is 'eels."
"Take yer 'orse, Cobble, and 'urry up the ambulance. Tell 'em theorfcer's dead."
"Water-bottle, water-bottle," from many voices, "'oo's got awater-bottle? 'Ere y'are, sir."
"Send the men away, Sergeant-Major, what the devil are they staring at?"
"No business to be 'ere at all, sir. Be off, all of you, at once; neverseen an orfcer before? Get back to yer 'orses sharp."
"Where's Mortlock?"
"Lying over there, sir, where them men are. I've sent for theambulance; it's comin' along the road now, sir. Cut about 'orrible isMortlock, sir, 'is brains----"
"Oh, shut up, and give me a cigarette."
"Cigarette, 'oo's got a cigarette? The orfcer wants a cigarette. 'Erey'are, sir."
"Get the troop mounted now, and tell the trumpeter to bring my horse."
"Better ride in the ambulance, sir, ye're faint-like."
"With Mortlock? No, thank you, Sergeant-Major. I'm all right, I tellyou," getting up and promptly sitting down again. "Wait a minute, nowI'm ready," and shaking off the Sergeant-Major's arm he walked slowlyback to the troop.
"Three cheers for the orfcer," said a voice.
"Stop that and get mounted," was the surly answer, "right about wheel,walk, march."
The troop moved off, the ambulance following close in the rear, and inan hour's time they were passing under the walls of Fort Hussein. Thesewere lined with soldiers in every species of undress, for the messengerdespatched for the ambulance had made good use of his time; and all wereanxious to see the corpse, which, from Private Wainwright's account,must be well worth inspection.
"The Colonel would like to see you in his quarters at once, Graeme,"said Ferrers, riding up; "the body is to be taken to the mortuary. I'llarrange about that," whereupon without further colloquy the adjutantrode away.
"Curious way to greet a fellow who's just done what I have," mutteredGraeme, staring after him, "I suppose he's sick he didn't do it himself.Gad, what jealous beggars fellows are. Never mind, I've got the crowover them this time anyway," and with a pleased smile on his lips Hectordismounted, and handing over his horse to a waiting orderly made his wayto the Colonel's quarters.
A cold summons to "Come in" answered his knock, and entering he foundhimself in the presence of two men, one his commanding officer, theother a thick-built individual, whose hair of bristling black stood uparound his head like a brush, a round rosy face and staring black eyescompleting the picture. This person was Colonel Quentin, generallyknown as Golliwog, a man who, despite his somewhat quaint appearance,was reputed to be one of the best staff officers in India. As Hector'sfate would have it, he had selected this day for a few hours' inspectionvisit to Fort Hussein, which time he had spent on the top of the towerin company with a powerful telescope.
"You sent for me, sir?" said Graeme, addressing his Colonel and smilingas he spoke, the smile fading, however, as he noted the expression onthe latter's face, which, far from being congratulatory or even civil,was unpleasantly hostile.
"Yes, I sent for you," he answered shortly, "but first let me introduceyou to Colonel Quentin. This is Captain Graeme, sir, the officer incommand this morning," whereupon Golliwog rose from his chair andsilently held out his hand. He then resumed his seat, his eyes fixingthemselves upon Graeme in a hard, unwinking stare, maintained withoutintermission throughout the ensuing interview.
"It seems, Graeme," resumed Schofield, "and I regret to say it's not thefirst time, you've made a mess of things."
"I, sir, how?" stammered Hector, utterly taken aback.
"By disobeying orders; you know perfectly well the strict injunctionsnot to enter the Pass, and yet in spite of them your patrol went up thismorning, with the result that you lost a man most unnecessarily. Ofcourse, my information may be incorrect, and, if so, I should be glad tohear it."
For a moment Graeme was silent. This view of the matter was onealtogether unexpected by him, and rendered his action the moreimpossible of explanation from the fact that it was true--though howtrue fortunately neither his Colonel nor anyone else knew.
"Sergeant Walker, sir, exceeded his instructions, I think, though, I'mhardly to blame for that."
"Not to blame," snapped Schofield, "who is then, I should like to know?If you'd given your instructions properly, it wouldn't have happened.An officer's not responsible for his troop, isn't he? A nice theory tohold, I must say."
"You recovered the man's body, I believe, Captain Graeme?" said Golliwoggently.
"I did," was the sullen answer.
"Was the firing heavy when you went back?"
"It was."
"Hum," and Quentin again relapsed into silence.
"It's thanks to that, Graeme, your recovery of the body, I mean,"resumed Schofield in a quieter tone, "and the intercession of ColonelQuentin, who has promised to explain the affair to the General, that Ido not intend to carry the matter further. I trust, however, it will bea lesson to you, and that in future you'll be good enough to obey ordersexactly and implicitly. That's all, I think, unless, sir," turning toGolliwog, "you'd care to say anything."
"Of course, Graeme," answered Quentin, "I'm quite in accord with yourColonel. An officer must stand or fall by what his command does. Hehas the training of them, he gives the orders, and if the latter aremisunderstood he gets the blame; it's really fair, for he also, and notthe men, gets the credit if things go right. A very great many officerscan do things themselves, Graeme, but to make others do them for you,you being the head and they the hands, wants a leader. All the same, asregards this morning, I think, and I am sure your Colonel agrees withme, that your personal share was creditable, most creditable."
"Oh, most creditable," snarled Schofield.
"That's all I wish to say, Colonel," continued Quentin. "Good-bye,Graeme, I hope to meet you again some time," and the speaker's teethgleamed in a sudden smile, as he shook Graeme warmly by the hand.
"That's a curious-looking officer, Schofield," he resumed, the doorhaving closed behind Hector. "Stuff in him, I should say, must be. Howdoes he do his work?"
"Indifferently well, to be truthful, sir."
"Hum, very likely. Three-cornered beggar I can see. Wouldn't do for anA.B.C., you think? Belman wants one, I know, for this Tirah show, andif you recommend I could easily get him the job."
"Couldn't do it, sir, really; his General would starve in a week, and Ishould get the blame. As you told him yourself just now, sir, a man'sresponsible for his subordinates."
"Hum, in that case I suppose I mustn't ask for him. Pity though, Ishould like to have done something for him. Good-bye, Colonel, I mustget back to Saidabad. Not done much inspecting, thanks to Graeme.Good-bye."
* * * * *
Meanwhile Hector, with wrath in his heart, was striding back to hisquarters, passing, as he went, the officers' Mess, a disused stable,where a crowd was assembled discussing lunch and the morning's events.
"Hullo, there goes the hero," said Kinley, seeing him pass. "Hi,Graeme, come here, tell us all about it," vainly calling. "Lord, helooks sick; wonder what the old man's been saying to him? Damned badluck, really, to earn a V.C. and get a choking off."
"V.C. be hanged," said another, "damned disgraceful, the whole thing, Icall it. Nice show up for the regiment, Golliwog looking on too."
"Shut up, O'Hagan," said Royle, one of the majors. "It was a devilishplucky thing to do, and I for one mean to tell Graeme so when I seehim."
"Oh, of course, Royle, I didn't mean anything against Graeme personally.He did his best to save the situation, but, all the same, it's not anice thing for a fellow to have his men bolt, for bolt they did; youcan't get away from that. If I were he, I know I'd send in my papers andnever be seen again, not a bad thing for the regiment, too, if he did.By-the-bye, I'm having a small gamble in my room to-night, hope you'llcome, Royle, and you too, Carson," to another officer who had justentered. "We'll have dinner sent over from the Mess."
"Thank you, O'
Hagan, I should like to," answered Royle, but the otherrefused somewhat shortly.