Jungle Laughter

It was while Skag was waiting near Poona, for Carlin's eldest brother Roderick Deal, that he became toiled in the snare of his own interest in jungle laughter. It is a strange tale; lying over against the mud wall of the English caste system in India. It is to be understood that a civil officer of high rank in that country is a man whose word is law. His least suggestion is imperative. The usages of his household may not be questioned by a thought, if one is wise.

Police Commissioner Hichens was such a man. He was stationed in Bombay and there is nothing better in appointment in all India. His responsibilities were heavy like those of an empire. Personally he was austere—entirely unapproachable. Of his home life no one knew anything whatever, outside the very few of equal rank. It was understood that the mother of his two small children had died more than a year ago. Some indiscreet person had mooted that she was not sent Home in time. Still, European women do not live long in that climate anyway; and it is common knowledge that to maintain a family requires several successive mothers.

The present Mrs. Hichens was but recently a bride; a mere girl and lovely; but within a few weeks of her landing, Bombay fever had begun to destroy the more tangible qualities of her beauty—which could not be permitted.

It does not take long for the most exalted official to discover that Bombay fever resembles the Supreme Being in that it is no respecter of persons. Yet it was not even so nearly convenient to send this Mrs. Hichens Home, as it had been to send that Mrs. Hichens Home; and that had been quite out of the question. But the Western Ghat mountains furnish a very good barricade against Bombay fever. (Devoutly inclined persons have even intimated that they were specially placed there for the convenience of men who are much attached to their homes.)

Extending a thousand miles parallel with the coast, from five to forty miles inland, built mostly of pinnacles and peaks rising a few hundred or a few thousand feet from near sea level, more rugged than any mountains of their size in the world, the Western Ghats are like a section of Himalaya in miniature. The railway line up has a reversing-station proclaimed far and wide to be the most splendid piece of railway engineering on earth. (That there are several more splendid in the Rocky Mountains is unimportant.)

Just over the top, about seventy miles from Bombay, is Khandalla and Lanowli and further on, Poona. Poona is a military station, sometimes too far. Lanowli is a railway station—which means that no one lives there who is fit to associate with a police commissioner's wife. But Khandalla is no station at all, being only a small mountain village with three or four abandoned bungalows far apart from each other. Heaven knows who built them in the beginning, but whoever it was, they must have done it too late, because there is a neglected grave or two near each one.

The native agents got in every good argument for the bungalows, but Police Commissioner Hichens was not persuaded. He seemed to have a constitutional antipathy to those bungalows.

No, the bungalows might be safer and dryer and warmer at night; they might be cleaner and healthier and more comfortable all the time; but he wanted a tent and he meant to put it where he wanted it. So, at great expense of time and labour on the part of natives, but very little expenditure of money on his part, he succeeded in hoisting a tent from Bombay to the top of the Western Ghat mountains, of a size and of an age and of a strength which suggested a military mess-camp.

The tent was set up in the Jungle at the edge of Khandalla. The servants would find quarters in Khandalla village; a cook, a cook's servant-boy and a butler for the entire household; a boy for the small son, an ayah for the wee girl and a very expensive ayah for the lady herself.

If an ayah is expensive enough, she is usually a very intelligent person, thoroughly informed on most general subjects pertaining to her own country and entirely competent to impart that information. It is understood she will always interpret the native standpoint relative to any matter under discussion. Her value as a servant may be great, but her value as an instructor will be greater. It was necessary that each of the ayahs should be wife to one of the men servants, but it is always possible to make a temporary arrangement of that sort to accommodate the customs of a high official.

So the present Mrs. Hichens was to be established in the tent, very comfortably matted as to the floor and furnished with all necessary appointments of a satisfying quality and wealthy appearance. Men of high rank must do all things with a certain pomp and circumstance, otherwise the ignorant might sometimes forget their rank. And rank must never be allowed to be forgotten.

Police Commissioner Hichens would spend all week-ends with her; that is to say, he would leave Bombay by the first train going up after Court closed on Saturday and would be obliged to take the Sunday evening train down. The two children so recently come into the care of a second mother, would be occupied and entertained by their servants; and the little girl, not quite three years old, would be under the additional guardianship of a Great Dane dog who had once belonged to her own mother.

It will be observed that the Great Dane dog is spoken of as a personality. He was so. He seemed to have quite fixed conclusions about the family. He ignored the servants (excepting Bhanah the cook, who was a servant as far out of the ordinary as the lady's own ayah). He tolerated the small boy. He approved of the new lady. He never ceased to mourn for his dead mistress; especially in the presence of the man.

He would extend his great length on the floor in a low couchant position, not too close to where the man sat—and search the strong human face with eyes more strong. Without the twitch of a muscle anywhere in his whole body, he would endure the man's gaze as long as the man chose, with a level look of cold, untiring rebuke. There was no anger in it, no flash of light, no flame of passion—but it had a way of eating in.

The servants bear common witness that it is the only thing they have ever known to drive the Sahib away from the delightful relaxations of his own home, which he claimed as sanctuary from the stress and grind of his official days. But the Great Dane Nels had done it more than once. Afterward the Sahib would sometimes take Nels on a hunting-furlough.

It was the first Mrs. Hichens who took the puppy with her, when she went to India with Police Commissioner Hichens; and before she died he was made to promise her on his honour, that he would care for and protect Nels as if Nels were his own son, so long as Nels should live. There was no help for it.

Especially as it was quite well known among the servants, that on the very day of her death she had made the Sahib with his own hands lay the sleeping child over on the bed underneath Nels' out-stretched paws; because this was done in the presence of Baby's ayah and of her own ayah also, and therefore two witnesses had heard her say:

"Nels, I am giving my baby to you. The Sahib her father is not able to be with her, much. But you are to care for my baby for me. Do you understand, my dear?" She often called Nels "my dear" with a peculiar inflection on the dear and an upward lilt of tone.

And Nels had agreed, because he pressed the little body hard and lifted up his big grey head and cried a long, low cry. And the lady had laughed a little and wiped glistening tears from her death-misted face, for her baby would be—not quite alone.

So all the servants knew that Nels had owned the child from that day. Now it is not a wise thing to antagonise a body of East Indian servants in matters which they consider sacred; and Police Commissioner Hichens was a lawyer and a judge and a wise man. He might fear Nels as he feared death itself, the two being equivalent in his mind, but he might not destroy Nels with his own hand, nor let it be known that he had caused the great dog's death. Still, if he took Nels with him on hunting-furloughs, as often as possible setting him to charge most deadly game, there was always the possibility of an accident.

To many it seemed strange that the present Mrs. Hichens, a regal young English thing, was made to live in a lonely tent, well back among dense jungle growths, quite out of sight or call away from any human habitation, with her husband's little son and littler daughter and the Great Dane dog. Certainly the servants were about during the daytime; as much out of sight as possible, according to their good teaching. But at night there were no servants about; they were all far away at the other end of the village, because the natives who lived at this side were low caste.

And it was at night the thing developed. A slow-driving inquisition, night after night. It drove her through and beyond the deadly fever lassitude. She was not building up out of it; she was beaten down below it. She was beaten through all the successive stages of breaking nerves. She used all the known arguments, all the intellectual methods to sustain pure courage, to hold herself immune. She used them all up.

At first, when her husband came up for his weekends, he was quite evidently pleased with his arrangement. And it would take a self-confidence which had long since gone a-glimmering out of her, to break in on his enthusiasm with any criticism of his provisions for her comfort; certainly no criticism on any basis of noise. It has been said that Police Commissioner Hichens was an unapproachable man; and some things are impossible. One can die, you know, any death. But some things are entirely impossible.

The day came when she dragged her weary weight up from the couch and drove her unsteady frame along the new pathway through jungle thickets toward the village. The idea had been gnawing in her consciousness for days; to find the nearest house or hut or any kind of place where human beings lived, so as to have it in her mind where to run when the time came. It had come to that. It went in circles through her brain; when the time came to run, she positively must know where to run.

Her progress was slow and painful. When her limbs shook so she could not stand alone, she leaned against a tree. She must not lie down on the ground on account of the centipedes and scorpions.

"Hello—"

Startled a little, she turned toward the voice. A man's voice, very low. It came from somewhere behind her. She broke away from her support and the fever-surge caught her and whipped her from head to foot. Her balance was going—

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

She was kept from falling by the arm of the stranger.

"No. It's the fever. I assure you it's the fever."

Now he just steadied her with one hand. The fever was filling her brain with a dull haze. . . . He was slender and not tall. He was much bronzed. She could see only his eyes and his mouth. He spoke again:

"Why are you alone in this jungle—with such a fever?"

The words dropped into her consciousness; even, smooth, like pebbles gently released into water.

Then the blackness of outer darkness came up between.

. . . That was how the present Mrs. Hichens began to know Skag.

He carried her back along the path, fresh-marked by her own footsteps, to the tent.

Next afternoon he called to learn how she was. He had a sheaf of wild mountain lilac-blooms in his hand.

"Oh, lovely! I haven't seen lilacs since England."

"They make me think of my mother," he said, giving the flowers into her hands.

"I would so much like to hear about your mother."

Skag had not the habit of much speaking, but he found it easy to tell this English girl about the mother who had died when he was a child. She leaned against banked pillows and watched the changes flow across his face. They were almost startling and yet so clean, so wholesome, that she felt inwardly refreshed, as by a breath from mountain heights.

Naturally he went on to tell her about Carlin; but when at last he spoke her name, the English girl interrupted him:

"Is it possible you are meaning Doctor Carlin Deal?"

"Yes; do you know her?" Skag asked.

"I have met her several times—quite frightened at first, because I had heard about her—you know she is very learned, even for one much older."

"I know she is a physician."

"Yes; London Medical. But it's not just her profession; it's herself. She's really wonderful; her sweetness is so strong and—all her strengths are so lovely."

"She is wonderful to me," Skag said.

"I'm congratulating you, you understand?" The present Mrs. Hichens smiled as she added: "I've heard that she has a fine discernment of men."

He went before sunset. After he had gone she asked her ayah to find out about who he was and whatever concerning him.

When Police Commissioner Hichens came up that week-end, he was so seriously dissatisfied with the tediousness of her recovery, that she had no inclination to tell him about having gone out from the tent on her own unsteady feet, at all. Certainly it would be calamitous for him to hear of her having been carried in by a perfect stranger. For which reason she called her ayah, while the Sahib was in his bath before dinner and said to her hurriedly:

"Ayah, will you do a thing for my sake?"

"To the shedding of my blood, Thou Shining."

"Then guard from the master that he shall not learn of my going out, or of the stranger who appeared."

"He shall never learn. Never while he lives shall he learn, unless from your own lips."

"Will all the other servants help you, Ayah dear?"

"It is already considered and determined among us. He shall never learn from us."

"Why are you all good to me?"

"Because by the hand of our master, who is our father and our mother, our bodies live; but by the grace of thy soul our hearts are glad. It is better to have joy in the heart one day than to endure upon the fatness which grows out of a full stomach for ten years."

"Oh, Ayah, don't tell me things like that, because they are never to be forgotten."

"That is a great saying, oh Flower-of-Life. A saying come down from many generations. My people have found in it much food. The most poor among us go empty many days by the strength in it. And it is known that holy men have lived long years of holy life, without any satisfaction to the body at all, dwelling in that courage by which the unutterable of suffering may be endured, entirely by the memory of one day."

The ayah's voice finished in the tones of ceremony; and she moved smoothly from the room, unconscious that she had not been dismissed.

The following evening, after the police commissioner had gone down, the ayah brought report concerning the stranger. His name was Sanford Hantee Sahib. He was an American Sahib. He did not consort with any of his own people, nor with Europeans. Of all human beings he had only one friend and associate, Cadman Sahib, who was a great man among men—as was well known by even the ignorant. Cadman Sahib had been heard to call him "Skag," but Cadman Sahib would permit no one to call him by that title excepting himself; therefore it was a sealed title, to pronounce which few are worthy. Five days ago Sanford Hantee Sahib had come by train from far in the interior, beyond the Grass Jungle country, to meet an Indian Sahib of high rank in the railway service, at Poona. It was an appointment personal to himself; no one knew the purpose. Also, why Cadman Sahib had not come together with him was not known, unless—

"Oh, Ayah! I don't care a bit about Cadman Sahib—will you be good enough. What about the man? Now go on."

"Most illustrious lady, the thing is an exaltation. I am poor and ignorant. My head is at your feet. One like I am should not approach power like his save turning fresh from a bath."

"Ayah dear! I am prepared."

"He has the power to control all wild animals. So great is his power that not long ago, when he and his so-fortunate friend Cadman Sahib had both fallen into a tiger pit-trap and a mighty young tiger in his full strength had come after them, falling bodily down upon them and being full of fright and fury, had turned upon them to destroy them, beholding his master's face, the beast had become subject to him in the instant and had sat quietly before him the whole night, without moving to hurt them. What man will require more than this?"

"For Heaven's sake! What a tale. But Ayah, what sort of man is he?"

"Who will be able to know what sort of man? Is it not enough?"

"We require much more than that."

"Lady, I—who am not as you are—I have not bathed since dawn. Surely calamity will fall on me, if I set my tongue to the nature of such an one."

"If he is holy, then he will be willing to help."

"The knowledge of him among men is that he is that."

"Then, Ayah, I will take the danger of calamity away from you, for I have need. Speak."

"It is known that he resembles the most high masters themselves, in that he is always kind. And yet there was a strange saying, that he permitted his friend Cadman Sahib to destroy the head of a mighty serpent who had feasted upon the creatures and children of a Grass Jungle village. Now these things could not both be true at the same time, unless he had taken a vow to protect the children of men. In that case his presence in the land was a benediction beyond the benediction of twenty years of full rains. He might even be one of the high gods, incarnated to serve Vishnu the Great Preserver, if what they said was true, that he had been recognised by Neela Deo, the Blue god—king of all the elephants—in his own place."

"Then, Ayah, fasten it all into one word."

"That he is a very great mystic. Not one of the yogis who are unclean and scrap-fed, but a true mystic; a master and an adept in one of the greatest of all powers."

"Have no fear. I alone shall carry the burden of speaking."

Since there are few more potent benedictions than "Have no fear," the ayah withdrew in deep content.

While Skag sat in the tent next day, the police commissioner's wife said to him:

"I have learned that you are a wonder man."

"That is a mistake."

"Is it true that you and a friend spent the night in a pit-trap with a living, unchained tiger and that he did not hurt you?"

"A part of the night, yes."

"Will you explain it on any ordinary grounds?"

"Maybe not quite ordinary. I travelled several years with a circus in America; and I learned to handle animals, especially big cats of different sorts."

"How do you do it?"

"A man does it by first mastering the wild animals in himself. Then he must have learned never to be afraid."

"Is that all?"

"He must always be fair to them. I mean he must never take advantage of them; never do anything to them that would make him fight back, if he were in their place."

"I am thinking what a difference there is between your standpoint and that of the hunters of wild animals I know. But tell me—have you ever been afraid?"

"Yes, once."

"Really afraid?"

"Yes."

"I want to hear about it some day, if you will be so good; but first I want to tell you a story of fear; two kinds of fear. There has been no one I could speak to—and I am in need of help."

"I would like to help you. Tell on."

"Do you know much about hyenas?"

"I know they are the most unclean of all beasts. I have never heard that they are dangerous to men."

"Sometimes they are. Only a little way from where we sit in this jungle, a woman was killed and eaten last year, by a hyena. But I am not afraid for myself. I have said my fear is of two kinds. First, I am seriously concerned for the children; especially the baby. She is frail at her best and if it were not for her long afternoon naps, I am unwilling to think what would come to her just from the sort of thing which has been happening. She is highly organised; and one has heard that any kind of nerve-shock is most dangerous to such children. Then, there is a different kind of fear, quite different; it is for her Great Dane dog."

"Won't he charge them?"

"That is the most awful part of it. Of all creatures I have ever known, I may as well say of all people I have ever known, he has the most splendid courage. One night in every week he is taken to Bhanah's own quarters, so that his master shall not be disturbed. The change seemed to relieve him, at first. But—one who had not seen could never conceive how gradually, through the long, long nights—I have watched his almost super-human courage—breaking."

Skag opened his lips to speak, but she put up her hand.

"This is hard to tell because I have never known that I could be afraid. I have always supposed that I had perfect courage. But while Nels' courage has been in the wrecking, my own has been wrecked—quite!"

Her voice was very low and very bitter.

"I don't believe it's as bad as that."

She glanced up and smiled the slow smile of extreme age upon extreme youth.

"My husband, the police commissioner, has hunted in India more than twenty years; some of his friends longer than that. I suppose they are as familiar with the natures and doings of most animals in this country as foreign hunters can become. But of course the natives know jungle creatures even better. We have two servants, born in these hills, my ayah and Bhanah the old cook; I have much from both of them. But my experience here in this tent, has—as the natives would say—established it all in me. You will have heard that hyenas are almost always the scouts for tigers."

"Yes, Mr. Cadman told me that."

"Jackals run with them. The hunters say that between the hyena, whose stench is beyond description awful, and the jackal, whose stench is strong dog, they obliterate the tiger smell and so prevent the desperate panic coming in time to the hunted creatures, who fear the tiger more than anything."

"Hyenas in captivity do not smell so exceptionally bad."

"One has heard that all flesh-eating animals in captivity are fed clean meat, reasonably fresh—"

"They are; and for the moment I forgot their reputation—that would make a difference."

"It is claimed here, that they eat only two kinds of flesh, at once—human and dog. They say that the hyena entices and betrays to the killing, the tiger kills and eats his fill, then the jackals come in and leave only bones and tendon-stuff for the hyena. This is what he devours as soon as it is old enough to suit his taste."

"Are all these animals here in this jungle?"

"Plenty of jackals; but the tigers have been killed out of all this part of these Ghats by the European sportsmen of Bombay and Poona. The hunters disregard hyenas; so there are many left, with no killer to kill for them."

"That might make them dangerous."

"And they will tell you that when a hyena is forced to kill for himself, he invariably hunts for a dog. It has become very important to me that dog flesh is their first choice. And dogs never fight hyenas; never even to defend their own lives. They may bark or howl while the hyena is some distance away, but as soon as it comes near they are silent; and when it approaches them, they simply cower and submit. Not only that, but it is beyond question that hyenas have the power to call dogs to them. . . . For five weeks I have been alone in this tent six nights in every week all night, with two children and the spartan soul of Nels the Great Dane dog; and I have seen and I have heard the process of the hyena's lure."

"That is what I want to hear about."

"You shall hear; but will you be good enough to remember, please, Nels is no average dog. There is nothing better in lineage than his. Also, he is a thoroughly trained hunting dog. My husband, the police commissioner, has used him in hunting tigers and cheetahs, black panthers and leopards of the long sort, the big black bears of Himalaya and jungle pigs, which we call wild boars at Home. To different famous hunting districts of the country he has taken Nels, on many hunting-furloughs; and Nels' courage stands to him and to his friends, the very last word in courage. I have often heard him say he does not know a man with courage to equal that which has never once failed in Nels."

"I should like to know that dog."

"You shall certainly meet him; and it may be you are the one to know him. I am confident no one does, now."

"About the hyenas?"

"The hyena has three kinds of call. The most common is the bark of a puppy. (If you ever hear it you will not wonder why mother dogs go out to it, to their death.) Presently the bark breaks into a puppy's cry. It whimpers, then it climbs up into heart-breaking desolation; the wailing cry of a lost puppy. It snaps out in distraction futile little yappings; then it whimpers again, like sobbing. So on for hours.

"The next most common is a laugh; a harsh, senseless laugh. The effect is to terrorise, to paralyse its prey. It is wicked. It climbs up into piercing, high, falsetto tones; all maniacal. . . . So insane that though one knows perfectly well what it is, it chills one's blood. This keeps on a long time, with variations. Every change seems worse than the last. But sooner or later it brings one up standing with a laugh impossible to describe, unless it is devilish—so clear, so keen, so intelligent, so beyond expression malicious. Toward morning this sometimes brings sweat. Oh, maybe not if one were alone; but with Nels, watching Nels—indeed yes!

"The last and least often heard—I mean they do not do it every night, sometimes not for several nights, sometimes they do all three in one night—is the cry of a little native baby; the cry of a lost baby; the cry of a deserted baby; the cry of a baby alone out in the jungle shadows and frightened to death."

She stopped and lay quite still; seeming to forget he was there.

"And what then?"

"Nothing, only it keeps on sometimes the rest of that night. They never mix the three kinds together. Even when they do them all in one night, they are usually in this order as I am telling you. Sometimes the baby is still for a few minutes; then it begins again and goes on."

Again she stopped a long time. Suddenly she flung up her hand and spoke faster:

"No, there's nothing more about that little deserted native baby's cry, excepting that I've started up in broad daylight afterward, with a cold panic in my heart that it had really been a baby, a true baby and I had failed to go and save it. And—the nights, the long nights I have fastened my weight on Nels' neck to keep him inside of this door!"

She pointed to the opening by her couch.

"Why don't you chain him?"

"He goes on a leash perfectly, but he has never been taught to be chained up. My husband has never permitted the servants to do it. I tried it here myself, but he suffers and cries; and that keeps both the children awake. It would jeopardise Baby's life to force him. On account of the ceremony which occurred a few hours before her mother died, the servants believe she belongs to Nels. They claim that he acknowledges the ownership. I will admit that he behaves like it. She has often kept him back. He goes from this tent door to her cot yonder, to look at her. But always he comes back to the door. Some night my weight will not be sufficient. That is my fear."

"The situation is clear and I think I can manage it, if you will leave it to me for a night or two. These beasts must be kin to a big snake I met in the Grass Jungle country. My friend Mr. Cadman shot him. That was when I found fear—"

At that moment Skag heard the clear, treble tones of a child's voice:

"Nels-s, Nels-s, Nels-s!"

And the veriest fairy thing his eyes had ever looked upon came flying in the tent door before him. Her head was a halo of gold made of the finest kind of baby curls. She was unbelievable. She was like a flame, beside the couch.

"This is Betty, our baby."

The child lifted intensely blue eyes and while Skag smiled into them, he was without words before the vivid whiteness of her face. She was sent with her ayah to the back of the tent for her nap. Then Nels came in.

Skag had never seen such a dog. For size, for proportions, for power, for dignity, he was quite beyond comparison.

"This is Nels, one of the four greatest hunters in India."

Nels came to him at once. With a searching regard he looked into Skag's face one long moment, then a glow came up in his eyes and he swung about and stretched himself alongside Skag's chair, reached his arms out before him and laid his chin on them, almost touching the man's foot. Skag leaned over and stroked the big head. It felt like sealskin, but it was soft clean grey colour.

"Nels has adopted you, Wonder Man!"

The lady on the couch spoke like a small child, marvelling.

"I am glad to have his friendship. But I wish, if you will excuse me, I wish that you wouldn't call me by that name. Skag is not my real name, but the few friends I have call me Skag. I'd be pleased if you would call me that."

"That's very nice of you, but do you much mind? I like Wonder Man better."

"I don't believe I quite understand why."

"Partly from things I've heard about you. But rather more on account of what I've seen just now. I fancy the natives are not far wrong and you are a wonder man to them. . . . If you do this sort of thing, delivering people who are in danger of their lives, and getting the devotion of creatures as hard to win as Nels, I can see that you are going to have a great reputation in this India. And you are not to be in the least disturbed if I call you Wonder Man; I am believing the title is prophetic at least."

"What I'm doing for you is only what any man would do. If you hear me outside to-night, don't be startled. I'll get the beast as soon as I can. If there's more than one, I'll stay around till they're cleaned out."

Soon after dusk Skag circled out into the jungle. He carried one of the best hunting-pieces made and plenty of ammunition. Taking a position in sight of the tent on the jungle side, he waited. Within half an hour a little puppy began to bark. No man alive could ever know it was anything but a puppy. It yapped and whimpered a while and then it began to get frightened. He moved toward it, but it stopped. For several minutes there was silence. Then another one began back of him. He slipped through the shadows with the utmost caution, but before he got near it, it also stopped. This occurred several times. At last, away in another direction, a wild, grating laugh broke out. He turned at once and moved carefully but swiftly to come in range between it and the tent.

This laugh-thing was torture. It couldn't stop. It was insane. He thought it would never be done. In a few minutes it was important to have it done. She had said it was to paralyse its prey. It was enough to paralyse anything. Then he jumped. Now that was devilish! But he was coming closer to the sound and getting interested, when it stopped. So he followed it from place to place. Always, when he got near possible range, it stopped. Always it began in a few minutes in some other spot. There might be a dozen. . . .

And a woman, alone with two children and a dog, had endured this six nights out of seven, night after night all night, for five weeks. . . .

Near morning, toward the front, a sick baby began to cry. While he made his way around, his steps quickened to the very urge of its need. He was quite near the tent when—a clear, high, agonised shriek. It was the girl! And he ran.

There was an instant when he did not realise anything. He just saw. Fifty feet from the tent, the Great Dane dog, his head low, almost touching the ground, moving slowly, step by step—with a long, slender, white figure dragged bodily on his neck. Then he heard:

"Rodger! Keep back! Take care of Baby. Nels, Nels! Nels, you must listen to me. . . . Nels!"

He caught hold of her and the dog at the same moment.

"Don't let him go. Don't let go of Nels!"

"All right, I won't. Now will you go back to the tent, please? I've got Nels. I'm going with him."

"No, the thing has happened! I tell you, he doesn't even know me!
Why do you want him to go at all?"

"Because they keep out of my range, alone. He'll lead me to this one.
I'll take care of him. Now go; will you please go back?"

"I don't—"

A frantic scream from a boy's throat and in the same instant the lifting cry of a younger child. Clear in the door-space of the tent, behind them, two little figures clung together in the opening—and just at one side, close to the children, a dark, ungainly shape! Skag sprang three jumps toward the opposite side, dropped on one knee and fired. The shape bounced up, crumpled over and lay still.

They both ran to the children. Skag had just made sure the beast was dead, when he heard:

"Nels, Nels!—He is gone!"

"If you'll shut the door safely, I'll take care of Nels."

"It won't fasten, but I'll stay."

The Great Dane was not in sight but Skag knew the direction. He ran almost upon them. Nels stood, but crouched toward the ground. A shape rose against him—above his shoulders on the other side. Skag slipped around to reach it without hitting the dog. In the same instant Nels took a blow from the jungle beast's head. The two swerved over toward one side. Skag set his gun-muzzle against the hyena's neck—he could see that much—and blew it away from him. (There wouldn't be much danger but it was dead.) Then he knelt, his hand instantly wet at Nels' throat. But the blood was not gushing, it was streaming. He put his arms underneath to lift him, but couldn't do it alone. There was nothing to do but go for the girl.

"I'm sorry. I need your help. Dare we leave the children a minute?"

"Yes, Baby is falling asleep; and Rodger is brave, he will watch her. . . . Tell me, is Nels killed?"

"No, I think we can save him. But we must be quick."

She was by his side running, as he added:

"I know how to do it, when we get him to the light."

They worked together and it was all they could do, but they got Nels into the tent. She brought the materials he asked for, and while he stopped the flow of blood and dressed the wound, she went to the baby. When he rose she was leaning over the child.

"I'm afraid something has happened to her! Her face is strange Her breath is not right. I wish Ayah would come; I don't know a thing about babies!"

"Is there a doctor near?"

"Not this side Poona."

"I can go after him."

"You're awfully good, but there will be no train before the one my husband comes up on. It's a holiday. He would have been up last evening, only he had important business. I am not at liberty to determine about a physician, because he will be here so soon."

"Shall I go after the ayah?"

"That might help—thank you so much!"

Skag learned in the next two hours that there is nothing in life more difficult for a man to find, than servants' quarters in a native village. By full daylight he gave up and tramped back a considerable distance. As he approached the tent, an Englishman came out walking rapidly toward him. Police Commissioner Hichens had a very red face. He spoke before Skag could see his eyes:

"Sir, I take pleasure in ordering you to leave my premises. You will be good enough not to be seen again in this vicinity."

"Yes? You—are—finding—fault—with—me?"

"What occurs to mine does not in the least concern you! You are occupying yourself with my affairs. I will not permit it. Am I explicit enough?"

"You are explicit enough."

Skag wheeled on the path and walked away from the police commissioner under a sharp revelation that if he didn't get away at once, he would do a thing he had never been inclined to do before. He was amazed by his own fury. Unconsciously he spoke aloud:

"I never wanted to——"

"Remember, it is not necessary to touch the unclean."

Low tones of strange vibration. Skag looked up. A brown-robed man stood before him. (The long straight lines of the garment were made of a material hand-woven of camel's hair, known in the High Himalayas as puttoo.) The quiet face was in chiselled lines. The level dark eyes were looking deep into the place where Skag's soul lived. Skag was intensely conscious that he stood in a Presence. He endured the eyes. They made him feel better. The robed man spoke again:

"I speak to give you assurance that those you have served will be cared for. Also, a responsibility may fall upon you. If you accept, a great good will come to you in this life."

"I will do what I can."

"Peace be with thee."

"Shall I see you again?"

"Never."

Skag stood aside and the robed man walked toward the tent.

Skag went back to Poona. Carlin's eldest brother Roderick Deal had not come yet. Still waiting, a week later, he walked one morning on the stone causeway, which is a most attractive unit in the architecture of Poona's great waterworks, and filled his eyes with the Ghat vistas toward the north and west. Joyous dog tones made him glance back. It was Nels, straining forward on a heavy chain-leash in the old cook's hand.

"Let him go."

Now Skag noticed that the dog moved with some effort, possibly with some pain; but when he arrived, Nels reared his mighty body and set his paws on Skag's two shoulders. Skag hugged him and eased him down. The old cook handed Skag a note. It read:

To the Wonder Man, by the hand of Bhanah the cook, who is a gift to the Man from the gods. Together with Nels the beautiful, a gift to the Man from Eleanor Beatrice (Hichens)—who is free!

Bhanah the cook will tell his master the rest. Save this, that Eleanor
Beatrice is grateful with her full heart to the Man.

He is to remember that he has been adopted by Nels. He is to walk softly because he is on the way to be adopted—of course it is past belief, but also it is past question—by the mightiest of all mystic orders, whose messengers have accomplished this thing.

N.B. The Sahib is to enquire of his servant Bhanah what is the native meaning of "walk softly." He will find Bhanah entirely trustworthy in all matters of information.

Skag looked up and the old cook spoke:

"I, who am speaking to Sanford Hantee Sahib, am Bhanah—entered into covenant before the gods that I am his servant to serve him with my strength, so long as I endure to live.

"I bring from the shining lady who was my mistress, whom may the gods protect! certain messages for him alone.

"The child is dead. Her body lies deep in a metal case beside her mother's, near one of the old bungalows."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Death does not snare the soul. If she were still here, Nels would not be free to come to my master. And my master has become his heart's desire."

"I am glad to have him and you."

The old cook laid his hand on his forehead and bent low before Skag.

"The lady-beautiful will sail from Bombay in a few days, returning to her own mother's house. She is forever free from Police Commissioner Hichens Sahib, who was my master only for her sake and for the sake of Nels. The lady's own ayah will go with her to her own country, to serve her as I serve thee.

"These things are accomplished by a Power which works through those who are seldom seen and never known of men.

"I have spoken and it is finished. Have I permission to take Nels to my quarters where he can rest? He is well; but not yet fully strong. If my master will tell us his place, we will come to him in the morning."

Skag told them. The recognition of Nels as a personality amused him; but he did not quarrel with it.