Part 10

Mr. Desborough was sleeping too, having had no rest for two whole nights. She could not bear to wake him, so she called up Kathleen. It was early; but the early morning in India is delightful. The ayah brought her, and returned to Horace, who had not yet seen his brother.

Swarms of young frogs had appeared in the veranda after last night's storm. The bhisti was gathering them up, sweeping them into a pail to carry away and put them somewhere outside the compound. Kathleen amused herself with watching the round, red insects which covered the grass, looking as if, instead of a hailstorm, there had been a shower of red velvet buttons, the rain had brought them out in such numbers. The gardener was hoeing within call.

"Yes," thought Mrs. Desborough; "all safe at home. All danger over now." Yet she could not take her eyes off the little sleeper in the mignonnette.

"When he awakens," she said to Kathleen, "we will let him see Horace at play in the veranda. I fear they have forgotten each other; but they are twins, and the old love will revive. It will be safer to have the veranda railing between them at first. Racy is so trying, and if Carl grew cross he might fly at his brother as he did at your moongus. We will put the old red reins on Carl, so that he cannot leap away unawares. Being with Racy will bring Carl round sooner than anything else, if it is but safe to let them be together."

Whilst Mrs. Desborough was speaking the men came in with their bundles of grass. As the gate opened, in rushed the wolf with a cry. Up flew Carl with a bound of delight to meet it. They tumbled on the grass together in a tumult of ecstasy. Mrs. Desborough's first thought was to lift up Kathleen into the acacia under which they were sitting, while she shrieked for help. At the sound of her voice and of the running feet hurrying towards her from every direction, the wolf stopped in its gambols, seized Carl in its mouth, and was dragging him away. They were nearly at the gate.

"Come back, Carl! Carl, come back!" cried Kathleen from the acacia boughs.

Mr. Desborough ran out with his gun. He was levelling it to take deadly aim, when he perceived the close embrace with which Carl was clinging to the wolf, and lowered it in despair.

"Shut the gate!" he shouted.

Oliver and the Thibetan rushed into the garden.

Mrs. Desborough saw Carl turn his head at the sound of his sister's voice, and she repeated the call in her desperation. His name rang loud and clear above the clamour the servants were raising in their usual fashion. Carl came as a well-trained dog obeys his master, and, O horror! the young wolf with him. She showered the cakes she had brought with her across the grass towards him. Oliver snatched a pitchfork from one of the grass-cutters and ran; but the Thibetan, who was the nearest, seized the wolf by the hind legs and held it fast. Oliver put the arching tines of the pitchfork over its neck like a collar, and drove the points into the ground until its head was fixed but not hurt, and he leaned on the handle with all his strength to keep it there. Oh for Tara Ghur! but the old shikaree was far away, rejoicing in his well-deserved and ample reward. Was there nobody to help?

"Hold hard!" shouted Mr. Desborough, as he rushed up white and resolute to pull the child away. But Carl clung passionately to his furry playfellow. The wolf had ceased to struggle, but it held his pinafore in a grip of iron.

Mr. Desborough tore the thin muslin in two, and forced the child backwards. Mrs. Desborough was close beside him. She pushed the sweetest cake she had into Carl's mouth to try to divert his attention. He threw it to the wolf as he struggled to free himself from his father's arm.

"Booraba no hurt child," said the Thibetan, who had watched the wolf and the child all night in the shikaree's pit. "Young booraba like its bahee [brother]. Hurt it, and child hate you all its life. Cage it, child stop, feed booraba; no run away from each other."

There was so much sense in what she urged so earnestly, Mr. Desborough was afraid to disregard it. He looked around him, not knowing what to do for the best. Then he shouted to the grass-cutters to fetch the iron hurdles which divided the paddock behind the garden. They ran across, pulled them up, and flung them over the hedge of roses.

Meanwhile Bene Madho had fetched old Gobur to the sahib's assistance. Mrs. Desborough had taken off Kathleen's sash and knotted it round Carl's waist, so that she could hold him whilst Mr. Desborough fixed the hurdles firmly in the grass.

Gobur came up with another pitchfork and put it over the wolf's hind legs, fixing them to the ground, as Oliver had fixed its head, to release the courageous Thibetan. It was a trying moment for Oliver when Mr. Desborough put down the fourth hurdle and shut him in with the wolf and Gobur. It was a tremendous effort to hold the wolf down, and he was getting exhausted.

Mr. Desborough saw this, and leaving his men to make a threefold fence round the wolf, he leaned over the hurdle and took the handle of the pitchfork from him. The boldest of the syces followed his example, and released Gobur. It was a moment of intense relief to Mrs. Desborough when she saw them both safely outside. The Thibetan was helping her to control Carl, who was struggling to get free. Five or six men were driving in the hurdles as fast as they could, and in the noise of their hammering Mrs. Desborough could no longer make herself heard.

By Mr. Desborough's orders every hurdle on the place was brought, until a perfect pyramid of iron was piled over the prostrate wolf. After the three-fold fence a row of hurdles were set endways between the lines, slanting inwards, and over these another tier was laid to form a roof, and another and another, crossing each other in every direction. Before the last corners were shut in the pitchforks were slowly withdrawn, and young Fawnie was left unhurt to examine the iron house which had been built over him.

One hurdle at the top was so placed that it could be withdrawn a little way, like a window-shutter. Gobur climbed up and let down a pail of water.

All the while the men were at work, Carl and the wolfling were crying to each other.

The wolfling was not yet six months old, and had not learned to be so wary as its mother. Yet it was strangely quieted when it found itself a prisoner. Not so Carl: he stamped, and sobbed, and kicked in an agony of distress, because he was shut out.

"Give him his liberty," said Mr. Desborough. "Let him run up to it if he likes."

Carl flew to the hurdles and tried to push between their rails, whilst Fawnie, as Oliver called the wolfling, worked at them from the inside. But the iron walls of his prison were too firmly built to be shaken. A frog leaped out of the grass. Fawnie snapped it up, and brought it to give to Carl through his prison bars.

Then Mrs. Desborough realized how her darling had been fed and kept alive in the trackless jungle.

Oliver was telling her of the old gray wolf now in Rattam's cage, and the Thibetan repeated her story.

The mother's feelings can be better imagined than described when she saw thus clearly that the love of the wild wolves had saved her child. Could she doubt it?

"Ought we to think it impossible?" urged Oliver. "In spite of all its savagery, the dog's nature is in the wolf. It is the strong family feeling amongst them which makes the pack. You see, I have heard a great deal about them from Tara Ghur; and I shall never forget that old wolf's face as she turned to Carl in the pit."

Gobur and the gardener were cutting off some long branches from the nearest trees, to thatch poor Fawnie's pyramid and shelter him from the sun.

Oliver ran to help them, until Fawnie's den looked like a gigantic heap of boughs. Then Oliver fetched the gardener's syringe and drenched it.

When Fawnie found it growing dark and cool as the nest beneath the korinda bush, he laid himself down and fell into the sound mid-day sleep of the wild beast.

But nothing short of force could drag Carl away, and that was not to be thought of. Mr. Desborough saw it would only embitter the child, and rouse and exasperate the wolfling. He was hoping that if Carl were left to himself he too would fall asleep. But no; all sleep was gone. Carl kept on raging round and round the pyramid, tugging with all his might at the boughs which hid his furry friend.

Mr. Desborough lifted Kathleen down from the acacia. Her presence had helped him so much in getting Carl safely through his journey home. But her brave little heart was failing her; she had been terribly frightened at the sight of Fawnie, and she clung to her mother, trembling.

"Fetch Racy," said Mr. Desborough in despair. "The sight of his twin-brother may draw the child away. We must try something."

Mrs. Desborough went herself, not daring to trust any one else with the rebellious Racy in such circumstances.

She soon reappeared, driving him before her on his pretty bicycle-horse; while the ayah crept beside her, her black face puckered with anxiety and fear as she looked at the group on the lawn, and above all at the portentous pyramid.

Horace, who could not understand what had happened, flourished his whip and shouted to his heart's content. He was highly delighted at having got mamma to be his syce. She slowly drove him round the lawn. Of course, he wanted to gallop off at once to his father and Kathleen; but Mrs. Desborough turned him back, so that Carl might see him. The twins perceived each other at last, and drew together, staring.

"Look, Racy, who is that sitting on the grass? Can it be Carl--Racy's own lost Carl--come home at last?"

Carl's eyes followed every movement of the pretty brown horse with a strange bewilderment.

Kathleen, with her father's arm round her, felt her courage revive. She glanced up at him inquiringly. He nodded. Away she ran to meet the young equestrian, calling Carl to follow. Again he obeyed.

"O Racy!" she exclaimed, "we've found poor Carl. Let us put him on your horse, and you and I will drive him home, for fear we should lose him. You push, and I will hold him on. Quick, dear, quick!"

"God bless her," said Mr. Desborough; "she has done it again."

Racy tumbled out of his saddle. Mrs. Desborough and the ayah lifted Carl into his place. He made no resistance, but laid his face down and began to bite the horse's ears. Kathleen seized the bridle. Racy pushed manfully behind. Mrs. Desborough held one arm and the ayah the other. Up ran the bhisti, who stretched over Horace's head and lifted the horse and its rider right up the veranda steps. As usual, the hall door stood wide; in rode Carl, and Mrs. Desborough locked it behind him.

"What is up now?" exclaimed Major Iffley, as he stopped at the familiar gate. "You have found out something wrong about the place?"

"Yes, an imperative necessity to leave it. I want to make over the indigo factory to you for at least a twelvemonth, whilst I take holiday with my wife and children. We should never have rescued Carl if he had not learned to obey, and now distance is our best defence," said Mr. Desborough gravely.

"Done!" answered the major gaily.

"If you go," put in Oliver earnestly, "give Fawnie over to me. He is young enough to tame and train, and I should be proud to own him. With a stout chain and collar he will prove a noble dog."

THE END.