Part 2

Aware of the danger of facing such a formidable charge, both gentlemen wheeled round, and prepared to fire if necessary. The major was inwardly groaning for the boar-spear that was standing idle in the corner of his bungalow. He looked up, and perceived the party of travellers coming along one of the narrow paths which divided the rice-fields, just in front of the bristling array of fiery eyes and curling tails. He saw a lady's dandy--that is, a kind of canoe-shaped seat with a canopy--carried on two men's shoulders. There it was in the line of the angry pigs. The danger to the unwary occupants was imminent. The little cavalcade had halted in dismay. The major thought of the naked legs of the bearers, who wore nothing but their white calico waist-cloths and cotton turbans, and galloped to the rescue, firing as he rode, to make the old boar change his course.

The weary bearers shrank back in terror, raising a wild howl for assistance, when a small lad, who was riding a little pony in the rear, pressed forward through the standing rice which had hitherto concealed him, and planted himself in the front of his companions, with no better defence than a huge bough he had broken from the nearest tree.

"Well done, my young hero!" cried the major as he rode up to them and waited; for dandy and bearers had retreated behind the screen which the green ears afforded, and safety was best secured by silence. The furious boar came on, foaming and champing his enormous tusks; but the well-timed shots urged him forward. He crossed the path of the travellers within a dozen yards of the hole into which the boy had pushed them, with nothing but the growing rice-straw for a shelter. The stampede of the pigs passed over. The boy still stood sentinel behind his bough.

"Trying the trick of Dunsinane," said the major, with a laugh he intended to prove reassuring to the unseen occupant of the dandy.

"Well content if they do take me for a young mango sapling," answered the little stranger, in the shy, blunt tones of an English school-boy. His broad sun-hat hid every bit of his face except the firm-set white lips. The major had seen enough. He dismounted, and assisted in lifting the dandy out of the rice. The blades were higher than his head, and the ground was more than muddy, for the field was undergoing its morning irrigation from the nearest tank.

"Tie-tara! tie-tara!" cried the black partridges they had unceremoniously disturbed. The birds, with a tameness which astonished the young travellers, fluttered about among the rice-stalks, pecking at the curtains of the dandy.

"Oliver, Oliver! where are you?" entreated a girlish voice from within.

"Safe, my dear young lady, quite safe," reiterated the major. "Let me ask if you were intending to change coolies at Noak-holly," pointing as he spoke in the direction of the village nearest to the indigo factory. "You had better join forces with us, as we were the unfortunate cause of your alarm, having dislodged those pigs whilst searching for a lost child."

"A lost child!" re-echoed the voice within. "Oliver, Oliver, can we help to find it?"

At that moment a great shout of triumph arose around the grass clump, and with one accord the little party pressed forward to ascertain its cause.

The sharp report of a gun sent the major spurring in advance. Had his friend forgot his caution? How had he dared to fire?

Another moment and he saw Mr. Desborough wheel round, raise himself slightly in his stirrups, and discharge his second barrel at a dusky speck emerging from the tufted grass. The tall blades swayed and quivered with the report. There was a smothered shuffling sound, a heavy thud upon the ground, a rustling in the quivering grasses. The native grooms ran forward eagerly, and dragged out the body of a satiated wolf.

"A cool shot, Desborough," observed the major.

"It may save another parent such a pang as mine, but it cannot give me back my child," groaned Mr. Desborough.

*CHAPTER III.*

_*HOW THE SEARCH ENDED.*_

Their work was not yet done. There were many narrow paths leading into the clump, which the wild beasts had made for their own convenience. Some of the grass had been cut down by the wild boar's tusks, and some of it had been trampled under-foot. Mr. Desborough dismounted, determined to penetrate the tangled mass, to see if any vestige of his little darling was to be found there.

The major followed him; old Gobur entered by another path.

"Let me go with you," entreated Oliver, as the coolies set down his sister's dandy under a tree, and flung themselves upon the ground to rest, waiting until some of the men in the nearest village should answer their summons, and present themselves according to custom, prepared to take their places.

Oliver had already picked up enough Indi to make his request intelligible; but forcing his way into the twisted grass was very trying. There were sudden drops into holes and unexpected scrambles up steep banks; whilst the twisted stalks, interlaced with most luxuriant wild-flowers, presented an impervious wall on either side, diversified by tufts of wild arrowroot and an occasional bramble. Now and then old Gobur paused to point out a porcupine's burrow, or to drag his young companion aside, as a hissing snake wound its green length across the path; whilst the impudent monkeys chattered and screamed as they swung themselves high over Oliver's head, rejoicing in the sudden departure of their more formidable neighbours the great pig family. Bright and beautiful birds peeped at him out of their nests, unscared, with that happy boldness common to all the feathered tribes in India; because no Hindu boy would ever dream of hurting or teasing any living thing. As for old Gobur, he darted about like a monkey, dragging Oliver along with him until they reached a sort of grassy tent in the very centre of the clump. It was the wild-hog's lair, which they love to make in the midst of "thatching-grass," as Gobur called it.

The boy went down on his hands and knees and crept inside.

It was a sort of grassy tent which its hoggish owner had made by cutting down some of the grass with his teeth. One half he had trampled under-foot, and the other half he had heaved aloft with his head, as he walked round and round in a circle, until his grassy cave was complete.

An aspiring porcupine was just disputing with a giant rat which of the two had the better right to this deserted mansion, when Oliver poked in his head. Forthwith the rat, with his twelve-inch length of tail switching from side to side, made a grab at his hair; and the porcupine, bristling with spears, rushed at him. Oliver received the charge on his arm, which he hastily extended to save his face.

Gobur pulled him backwards; but the resolute boy refused to cry out, although the blood was streaming from his elbow to his wrist.

Oliver was wofully crestfallen at this unexpected disaster. There was nothing for it but to retrace his steps.

His silken shirt was torn to shreds, and his hat was left in pawn with the rat. His knees were bruised, with slipping into holes and crawling out again.

Old Gobur began to think it wiser to extricate his unknown companion than to continue a search which he knew to be utterly hopeless. When they got free of the grass at last, it was some small consolation to Oliver to find they had penetrated farther into the thicket than any one else. Mr. Desborough and the major owned themselves baffled, and were now trusting to the sagacity of the dogs.

Poor Oliver's appearance attracted Mr. Desborough's attention.

"Who is that boy?" he asked.

"A young stranger who joined in the search and got scratched by a sahee," explained the grooms.

Such being the case, Anglo-Indian ideas of hospitality compelled Mr. Desborough to offer him a bath and breakfast if he would return with them to Noak-holly and have his arm bound up.

The major turned surgeon, and offered to do the job for him on the spot. He had taken to the boy, and wanted to know a little more about him.

One of the syces pinned up a large leaf with thorns, and fetched some water in it from the nearest well. The major tore his own handkerchief into strips, and bound up the lacerated arm with a wet bandage.

Taking the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity at the same time, he quickly ascertained that Oliver St. Faine and his sister Bona had come out to join an uncle, a deputy-judge, who was to have sent to meet them. They had travelled from Calcutta in a big box, with shutters in the sides, so the boy asserted, with a grimace at the recollection.

"Oh, of course," remarked the major; "that was what we call a _dak-gharri_, our Eastern equivalent to a post-chaise. Why did you leave it?"

"Because we were to leave at the last government bungalow, and take a short cut across the country to my uncle's; but it seems to be one of those short things which grow longer with cutting," answered the boy dryly. "There has been a muddle and a mistake. The gentleman who took care of us on our journey could come no farther, and some one was to have met us. But that some one did not come; so he got the pony for me, and hired these fellows to carry my sister, and I believe they have lost their way."

"Then we will put you in it again. Come on with us to Noak-holly; and when I have done all I can in this melancholy business to help poor Desborough, I will take you myself to Judge St. Faine in the cool of the evening," said the major.

Kathleen was watching for her father's return. Her sad eyes grew bright with excitement and hope as she heard the gate open. She was sitting by the gardener, in the midst of a heap of roses and carnations which he had just flung down, on the shady side of the veranda; for India is a very land of flowers. He had brought in his baskets full, as usual, to adorn the rooms, and was sitting cross-legged in his snowy turban, weaving them with his dexterous fingers into wreaths and bouquets of surpassing loveliness. But the sweet perfume and the fresh, cool touch of the leaves, which Kathleen loved so well, had lost their charm. The roses fell from her lap, and she trampled recklessly upon the glorious azaleas with which he had been trying to divert her.

She sprang into her father's arms. "Horace is better!" she cried. "He has slept; he will get well, papa. But have you found Carl?"

Her father pressed her to him and turned his head away as he answered, "We have been searching everywhere. No, darling; we have not found him yet. These people must all have breakfast. There! go to that young lady. In mamma's absence I must leave her to you.--I dare not tell her the worst," he added in a low aside to the major as he turned towards the tent, where the hardest task of all awaited him.

In shy obedience to her father's wishes, Kathleen followed the major to the gate. As Bona St. Faine was lifted out of her dandy, she too whispered something about the sincere sympathy of a stranger, and her exceeding reluctance to intrude at such a time.

The major thought it a pretty little speech from a stranger; so he engaged her forthwith to do her best to comfort his little fairy Kathleen.

Bona promised readily; and Oliver, who gave no promise, did still more. They took the little girl between them, and would have led her to the house; but she hung back, intent upon the coolies, who were bringing home the dead wolf. She slipped her hand away from Miss St. Faine and ran to the gate.

"Fetch her back, Oliver," whispered his sister. "It is dreadful to let her see that brute. You say it has devoured her brother."

But he was too late to prevent it. Kathleen was peeping through the iron-work of the gate.

"It is the wolf," he said gently. "Your father shot it. It will never frighten you again. Come and tell us all about it."

"I can't," persisted Kathleen. "Let me look." She laid her hand on the iron. It was so hot to the touch in that burning sunshine it almost blistered her fingers; but she did not heed that. "Did papa shoot the wolf?" she asked, with a painful catch in her breath between each word. "Then where is Carl?"

Oliver dare not tell her, for he had heard what her father had said to the major; and being of a straightforward turn of mind, who naturally answered yes or no to every inquiry--"I will tell you" or "I will not tell you"--he was quite at a loss for a reply, not having the least idea how to evade a question.

"Why don't you speak?" she asked desperately.

Oliver muttered something, and creaked the gate, so that she could not hear what he said.

Out she flew panting, Oliver after her.

"What could he do that for!" exclaimed his sister, considerably chagrined. "How just like a boy! He always is so stupid. I believe he wanted to have a look at the wolf himself."

The syces had laid the dead animal on the bank which ran round Mr. Desborough's compound, and were standing under the shadow of the garden trees considering it. They called to the gardener to bring them some fern leaves and bushes to cover the wolf from the sun, until they knew whether the sahib wished to preserve its skin.

It was a savage-looking brute, young, for its prevailing colour was a tawny fawn, with a little gray on its back and inside its legs.

"That is not the horrid dog that ran away with Carl!" exclaimed Kathleen. "It was not a buff dog; it was a gray dog, with a great scratch on its shoulder. I should know it anywhere. I see it now--I always see it--stealing out of the bathroom."

The gardener pressed in between and threw his load of fern leaves over it, to prevent her seeing any more of the fierce booraba. Her own favourite syce, who drove her out in her little carriage every evening, tried to lead her away. Old Gobur stopped him.

"Let the little beebee [the little lady] look."

"It will only terrify her; and the sahib will be angry," urged the syce.

"Stop!" persisted Gobur, speaking in his soft Indi, which Oliver tried hard to follow; and then the old man explained--"The colour of a wolf tells its age: they all turn gray as they grow old. If a gray wolf carried off the child, it has carried it off alive. We must search again."

At this moment Bona St. Faine appeared at the gate, and taking little Kathleen's hand in hers, led her resolutely away, threatening the servants with their master's displeasure for suffering such a child to see the dead wolf.

"How wrong of you, Oliver!" she said, glancing at her brother reproachfully.

To avoid her upbraiding, which Oliver felt he deserved, he stepped behind old Gobur, who was forcing open the wolf's mouth and examining its teeth. He sprang up excitedly and pointed to the little bits of matted hair sticking about them.

"What is that?" he asked triumphantly. "Where did that come from? The buffalo hide. The wolves as well as the jackals follow the tiger to feast on what he leaves, as every hunter knows. The little beebee is right. We must search again."

How Oliver listened! These dark-skinned men, who were chattering round him so fast, had lived in the midst of wild beasts all their lives.

One was telling of a wolf which had stolen a baby from its mother's arm as she lay sleeping.

The gardener hurried away to find his master. The coolies who had carried Bona's dandy joined in the eager discussion; some were contradicting the old man's assertion, others were asking questions none of them could answer. Had any one heard the child cry? No, not even the coolies in the veranda. Why, they kept on fanning the empty cot! The child had been spirited away in its sleep. Only a clever old wolf could have done it.

"That scratch on its shoulder--was the blood dropping from it?" asked Gobur, almost breathlessly. "Wherever a drop has fallen you will find the black ants covering it by this time. Run and look."

Up sprang Mr. Desborough's own syce, followed by half-a-dozen others, gesticulating and talking all at once at the top of their voices.

"Stop that row!" exclaimed Mr. Desborough, who was bending over the cot of his other little boy, trying to prepare its mother for the dread disclosure.

Out went the major. "Two wolves indeed! Preposterous!"

The syce pointed to the patches of tiny black ants which he had found along the veranda and across the grass, as Gobur expected.

"Sahib," he asked suggestively, "is it from the wolf or from the child?"

"From the child," answered the major, examining the rhododendron bushes, where the crushed flowers and broken stalks were thickly covered by the busy insects.

Both believed they had found the fatal spot to which the wolf had retreated.

Oliver had gone up to the fountain on the lawn, and was deluging his bandaged arm.

"Go indoors, my boy, and rest," said the major, as he passed him, "or you will suffer for it with that arm."

Oliver walked slowly on towards the veranda, examining for himself the little black patches that marked the trail of the wolf. He traced its course from the rhododendron to the window of the bathroom, then he discovered a second trail leading from the veranda to the pool.

He pointed it out to the gardener, who was returning.

"Wasn't old Gobur right after all?"

The punkah coolie joined them. He was certain he must have heard the snap of the wolf's teeth if he were behind that bush. For a wolf, they both asserted, bites with a snap, and clashes its teeth with as much noise as a steel trap. No; it had carried off the child alive to its lair.

Oliver bounded up the steps of the veranda, and ran into the hall. Kathleen was flitting restlessly from room to room.

"Be comforted, dear!" he exclaimed; "your brother is not killed. We may find him yet, alive in the jungle."

*CHAPTER IV.*

_*THE WOLF'S LAIR.*_

Yes, it was all true! That grim gray wolf was not seeking an early breakfast for herself, but a safe plaything for the five young wolflings which she loved so dearly. She cared but little for the scratch on her shoulder when she thought of their delight.

She snatched up Carl so stealthily, and with so soft a touch, he never wakened until he felt the cool breeze that arose with the peep of day, fanning his hot cheeks as the wolf ran swiftly on. It was too dark for him to see where he was, or he might have been frightened into fits. He put up his two little chubby hands and felt the wolf's shaggy coat. He thought it was Sailor, and threw his arm lovingly round the big throat. He was far too sleepy to take much notice.

The wolf gave him a gentle swing, as she still ran at her fastest pace,--aware, by the way in which she looked over her shoulder, that the pursuers were already on her track. She could hear the baying of the dogs, and darting down the river-bank, hid herself in a natural hollow formed by the dripping of a little spring. She laid Carl down where the cool drops trickled on his head, and he was soon asleep again, sounder than before.

The wolf knew well what she was about. In that quiet water-cradle, with long trailing creepers for fly-curtains, and the softest of mosses for a bed, the child never roused to utter a sound.

Many a native mother tries the same plan, and puts her little black baby to sleep in a shallow watercourse when the heat and the insects become intolerable, and so secures a few hours' refreshing sleep for it on the most sultry days.

The dogs lost the scent when the wolf stepped into the water, and scoured the plain beyond her retreat. Then the wary creature took up her prize once more, and doubling cleverly upon her pursuers, made her way to the hills, where her mate was keeping watch over the precious wolflings. A run of five miles through the morning air was an invigorating experience after his fretful, feverish night, and Carl waked up at last, with a stretch and a laugh, quite unconscious of his perilous position.

They had entered one of the basins scooped in the side of the hills, where the wild beasts made their retreat. The gorge was narrow at the entrance, and partly filled up by dislodged stones and fallen rocks, now overgrown with tangle and jungle, and overshadowed by spreading trees.

These places are called _koonds_ in India; and in the rainy season are well watered by a mountain torrent, dashing and foaming from the heights above. Beneath those precipitous rocks, and through the dense foliage which clothed them, the hottest rays of the midday sun could scarcely penetrate. Now, at that early hour, it was so dark Carl could distinguish nothing but a dog-like form. He was still dreaming of his faithful Sailor, and began to struggle and kick to be set on his feet. His hands had dabbled in the wolf's blood, and he rubbed his half-open eyes, wondering more and more why his ayah did not come and make Sailor leave go of him.

The rapid exercise had made the wolf's torn shoulder burst out bleeding again, and as they forced their way through a perfect sea of grass and fern and flowers, under bush and over brake, he became smeared all over. This was his safeguard. Wolves live for the night, and trust to their own keen scent to recognize each other, in the blackness of darkness which envelopes them, as they penetrate deeper and deeper into the innermost recesses of the koond.

It is a well-known fact that when a pack of wolves are out hunting, if one of their number gets into a fight, and becomes smeared with the blood of their prey, the rest of the pack mistake it for the object of their chase, and tear it to pieces instead.

We think only of the savage ferocity of the wolf when it is seeking its prey, but it has a warm and loving heart beneath its shaggy coat. The nobility of the dog is in it; and to each other they are as faithful, affectionate, and obedient, and even more intelligent.

The gray wolf stopped at last before a luxuriant korinda bush. The thick-leaved branches arched over until they touched the ground, forming a leafy tent so thick and dark and cool no rain could filter through, and the brightest sunshine could scarcely dart more than a flickering glimmer upon the snug nest it sheltered.

Such was the spot the wolves had chosen for their nursery. They had dug a hole and lined it with the softest moss they could find, and the wolf-mother had torn off the hair from her own coat to improve her babies' bed.

Five little heads popped up to welcome mother, as the gray wolf, with Carl in her mouth, pushed her way beneath the branches; and the grim, gaunt wolf-father, who had been guarding them in her absence. got up with a stretch as she dropped the child into the midst of the pricking ears and wagging tails. She had brought Carl to her wolflings as a cat brings a mouse to her kittens, to teach them how to kill and to devour; but the savage lesson was yet unlearned. They were more ready for play than for lessons, and found infinite delight in tearing his shirt to pieces, and freeing him from so strange an encumbrance.

They rolled over and over together as puppies love to do; and when Carl cried, not knowing what to make of such strange surroundings, the wolf-father in much perplexity sniffed all over him.

Could that smooth-skinned, hairless little creature be one of his cubs? How he pricked up his ears every time the small lips puckered, half in fear, and more than half in anger, because nobody came to fetch Carl! The deepening sobs ended at last in a roar that made the five strong wolflings howl in concert.

The shaggy mother stepped into her nest and cuddled her young ones lovingly in her rough paws. The sixth little head crept closer and closer until it also found a pillow on that hairy shoulder. Sleeping in the dark on the dewy moss, Carl dreamed of Sailor in a rougher coat, and waked to find his dream a reality. But his arms were round his hairy nurse, and the pouting lips were kissing her rough cheek, as if she really were his own dear old doggie.

Could he have seen the savage face, he might have been afraid.