Part 3

"About twelve miles from here, I believe. A native's just come in to tell Sir Reginald, I don't think he much believes in the story, though; he says these Kashmiris are such liars it would be only waste of time going. Still, I think we might persuade him if you'd care for it."

"Rather, of course I would," said Hector, and perchance at the sudden return to mundane interests the great mountains and forests laughed, quietly derisive, for well they knew the resistless force of which they, like him, were but the phenomena, and how--make what plans and resolutions he may--man must dance when the master-hand chooses to pull the strings and call the tune, though till then he is seemingly free to act as he pleases. And so Hector was allowed to become his own confident self once more, and, feeling rather ashamed of his recent lapse from common sense, hurried off with Lucy to the coercion of his unwilling host.

"Oh, Sir Reginald," he said, entering the drawing-room, "my wife tells me there are bears about. Why not have a go at them to-morrow?"

"I hardly think it worth while, Graeme," said the Resident, "I don't suppose there's a bear near the place."

"Surely, the fellow wouldn't dare bring you false khubber?"[#] said Hector. "Why, I'd fine his village a hundred rupees if he did, were I the Resident."

[#] Information.

"Oh, please let's go, Sir Reginald," said Lucy. "It would be a day out whether we shot anything or not. Lady Wilford will come too, and we'll have a ripping time. I should love it."

The Resident hesitated. He knew perfectly well that what Graeme had said was true, and that no Kashmiri would have dared to bring him false information, but he had secret and most important reasons for not wishing to leave his post at the time. That morning's mail had brought in news of serious trouble on the North West Frontier, hinting, moreover, at the possibility of its being necessary to recall to their regiments all officers now on leave in Shiraz. This information, being confidential, could not be given as a reason for refusing Graeme and his wife. The latter continued to press the attack.

"I have never seen a bear except in the Zoo," she pleaded, "and I promise to be very good and quiet, and not get in the way. Oh, do go."

"I have never had a chance with that new .303 of mine," said Hector, "and I badly want to give that lazy devil of a shikari of mine something to do, and see if he's the wonder he makes himself out to be, simply eating and smoking his head off in idleness, the brute."

"My dear fellow, I should like it as much as you do, but we're rather busy in the office just now, and..."

"Why not go, Reginald?" said Lady Wilford. "It would be a day out, as Mrs. Graeme says, and anything urgent could be sent after you by a peon;[#] it's only twelve miles."

[#] Native Messenger.

The Resident capitulated straightway, as was his habit with his wife. After all, she was right, he thought, and most likely no letter of importance would come. If it did, well, his secretary could give out the necessary orders to the officers. He would chance it and go.

"Very well, my dear," he said, "if you're set upon it; only don't blame me if the bears fail to appear, that's all. I'll go now, and start off the servants with the tents, etc. You'd better go to bed at once, young lady," turning to Lucy; "we'll have to leave here by five at latest, you too, Graeme, you must be tired after your exertions to-day. By the way, Latimer," to his secretary, "you might give me a few minutes in my study, there are one or two things I want to see you about," and Sir Reginald went off to make his preparations for the morrow.

Graeme, having first inspected the aforementioned .303, proceeded to interview his shikari, to whom he imparted the unwelcome news of the forthcoming expedition. This done, he acted upon his host's advice, and, making his way to his room, was soon in bed and asleep.

*CHAPTER III*

Shortly after five the next morning, the party, mounted on ponies, left the lamp-lit Residency and started on their way to the village of Karin, in the vicinity of which the aforesaid bears were supposed to be awaiting them. The sun was not yet risen; the air was chill; and the sahibs sleepy and disinclined for conversation.

Close at their heels trudged the four saises, bearing their charges' blankets, while some distance in the rear stalked two dignified-looking natives, Gokal Singh, Sir Reginald's dogra orderly, and Ahmed Khan, Graeme's shikari. The latter, a man of gigantic stature and imposing appearance, was a typical specimen of the Kashmiri race.

On Graeme's arrival at Baramoula three weeks before, this worthy, recognising at a glance the green and inexperienced new-comer, had at once attached himself to Hector's retinue, and, heedless of rebuffs, had seized upon the sahib's gun-cases and started off with them in triumph to Shiraz. In vain did Graeme order him to put the guns down and be off; Ahmed Khan merely smiled and stuck sturdily to his booty.

Who did the sahib propose was to clean these weapons? he asked, marching on. Not the saises assuredly, nor the bhisti,[#] and certainly not the Presence's bearer. He appealed to the latter, who at once--satisfactory terms having been previously arranged--supported him. The Kashmiri's questions were reasonable, he declared, a shikari was a necessity to a sahib of importance; but first, why not see the man's chits,[#] for if an honest man he would doubtless have such on him, and thereupon he commanded Ahmed to produce what documents of the kind he had, and to beware of showing false ones, for, he assured his master, such things were done in Kashmir, and it behoved one to be wary.

[#] "Water-carrier.

[#] Written characters, mostly forged, from former employers.

A bundle of dirty papers was thereupon dragged to light, an examination of which proved to Hector that he had secured a treasure, for they one and all declared that, of all shikaris now in Kashmir, this one, for honesty, skill, and lion-hearted bravery, was incomparably the first. Graeme, impatient to be off, and by this time bored with the discussion, then gave in, and Ahmed secured a place, which suited him exactly. He smoked and slept all day, spent his nights in the bazaar, and left the cleaning of the guns to the sais, his sole self-imposed duty being to stand up and salute the sahib whenever he saw him, a performance which he religiously observed, and which irritated Graeme exceedingly. The present expedition, involving a departure from the daily routine, was by no means to his liking, and on receiving his orders the previous night he had at once raised objections. Right well he knew Karin, he declared, and its inhabitants, the headman especially, a liar, a very prince of liars, he was too, always deceiving sahibs by false tales of bears.

Afraid, did the Presence say, he, Ahmed Khan, afraid of a bear? How could that be, for was he not known throughout the country as a lion-hearted one, and the terror of all wild beasts? Let the Presence but deign to look at his chits once more, and forthwith his hand sought the folds of his dirty garments. The frequent production of these documents had by this time got on Graeme's nerves, and, advancing on the lion-hearted one with uplifted arm and dangerous eyes, he was about to make his meaning clearer, when Ahmed, recognising the inevitable, salaamed humbly, and with a meek "Taiyar, sahib, taiyar hojaega,"[#] proceeded, with wrath in his heart, to make preparations for the morrow. He was now morosely trudging along by the side of Gokal Singh, with whom as a Hindu dog he had nothing in common, but to whom as a soldier and man of violence he was invariably respectful.

[#] "I will be ready, sir."

For the first six or seven miles the journey lay through the dense fir and pine forest, the track winding its way along the mountain-side. Here and there the path was broken by noisy rivulets rushing down from above, nasty chasms being thus formed, bridged in the usual slack Kashmiri way by a few poles covered over with sods and brushwood. Dangerous places these for the rider, as when the brushwood rots holes are left, through which the crossing pony may chance to drop a leg. Soon, however, these and the gloomy forest were left behind and the party emerged on to an open plateau, where the full glory of a Kashmiri morning suddenly burst upon them.

Far below lay the valley, its green and gold gleaming through a veil of silver mist, which glittered and flashed like a diamond cobweb in the rays of the morning sun. To their right stretched an endless succession of mountains, the summits rising like islands through the vapour billows which swirled around them--a restless, tossing sea, now fast breaking up and melting into floating patches of white beneath the growing splendour of the sun. Far across the valley gleamed the great snow-wall of the Himalayas, now no longer spirit-haunted and visionary, but pink-flushed and radiant with the kisses of the dawn.

At the sight Lucy gave a cry of pleasure, and, moving instinctively closer to her husband, began to point out to him the various beauties thus unfolded. He was unresponsive, for once more there had stolen over him the faint melancholy of the previous night, and with it the desire for solitude and silence. He therefore assisted her to dismount--Sir Reginald had here called a halt--and muttering an excuse went to some distance, where he stood gazing towards the north.

Lucy, much hurt at his behaviour, remained for a moment looking after him, and then, with a sigh, walked slowly away to join Sir Reginald and his wife, whom she found tucked away behind a rock, whither they had betaken themselves for shelter from the breeze that blew cold and clear from the distant snows.

The Resident had not yet regained his wonted _bonhomie_, and was full of gloomy forebodings. He ought not to have left Shiraz, he declared; something would be certain to happen in his absence, and Latimer, though a good enough fellow in his way, was not the man to cope with unforeseen emergencies. The present expedition too was more likely than not to turn out a failure; a bear-shoot so often did. Possibly they might get a shot, but he doubted it, he very much doubted it. He only hoped there would be no mistake about breakfast. Samuel--his Madrasi butler--was not given to make a hash of things, but natives were so unreliable, and to-day somehow he had a presentiment he would. But they must be getting on, not waste time on this infernal hill, where he was rapidly freezing.

"Where's Graeme? Oh, looking at the snows, is he?--very fine, very fine indeed. Where's my sais? Abdul, you rascal, leave that stinking hubble-bubble at once, and bring my pony, the lady sahib's too. Why don't you roll karo[#] and keep them warm, instead of letting them stand in the cold while you're squatting on the ground like a damned fool? They'll get a chill now and die, and you'll be in jail khana. Serve you right. Hold his head, will you, how the devil can I get up with the brute twisting about like a top? My foot, curse it, right on my foot, you clumsy lout, and now I shan't be able to shoot. Oh, come on, come on, Sarah, you too, Mrs. Graeme, never mind about that husband of yours, he'll turn up at breakfast all right."

[#] "Walk them about."

Thus encouraged by the leader, the party, joined shortly after by Graeme, once more resumed their journey, and, the wind-swept plateau left far above and behind them, were soon winding their way through the crops and woodlands of the valley below. Gradually, as the warmth increased, Sir Reginald grew more amiable, till by the time the mud huts of Karin appeared in sight he had become his own genial self again, and was the first to point out the camp, a collection of large tents hard by the village, their white sides looking cool and inviting through the dark green of the trees.

At a respectable distance a crowd of natives were squatting, anxious for a sight of the great man and his guests. At their approach they stood up together, and a chorus arose of "Salaam, sahib, salaam," while turbaned heads bowed low in reverence. The headman came forward, and with many protestations of unworthiness proceeded to welcome the Protector of the Poor and the other Presences. Sir Reginald cut him short. Afterwards, he said, he would be pleased to see him, but not now, and thereupon he dismounted, and, followed by the others, entered the large marquee, where he stood, a smile appearing on his face as he viewed the result of Madrasi Samuel's efforts.

It was a cheering sight on which his eyes rested. On the snowy tablecloth, glittering with glass and silver and tastefully decked with flowers, stood crystal dishes piled high with peaches, nectarines, and pears, while on a trestle sideboard were displayed cold baked meats of many kinds, from the tiny but succulent quail, nestling in his bed of quivering jelly, to the lordly turkey, carefully browned and portly with chestnut stuffing. From buckets of ice, hock and soda-water bottles reared inquiring heads, while from the kitchen outside came the inspiring sizzle of bacon and chop, their fragrance mingling with that of the roasting coffee-berry.

The faces of the Resident and his wife beamed with pleasure at the sight. "Let come what might" now, the main object to them of the expedition was assured, and, no matter whether the bears were found or not, there was at any rate eating and drinking to fall back upon.

Promptly vetoing Hector's suggestion that before falling to they should make arrangements for the first drive in order to waste no time. Sir Reginald summoned the servants and the business of breakfast commenced, during which Graeme and Lucy mentally beheld the quarry, bored with waiting, stalk disgustedly away to their mountain fastnesses. At length the apparently interminable meal was ended, but not their trials, for Sir Reginald, drowsy with repletion, called for cheroots, and, having carefully selected a long and black weed from the box, notched the end neatly with a knife, and, lighting it, lay back in his chair and proceeded to abandon himself to dreamy reflection. This was too much for the now indignant pair, and goaded at length into action by their fidgeting Sir Reginald, with a sigh of regret, rose and accompanied them outside, where the headman and his retinue were still patiently squatting.

The story, as told by this worthy, was sufficiently thrilling. The country, it appeared, for miles round was alive with bears, black in hue, and of incredible size and ferocity, and though the number of those actually seen dwindled down to three under the close cross-questioning of the Resident, still three, one a man-slayer, was news enough to inspire any man, or woman either, and it was with a heart beating with excitement, not unmixed with fear, that Lucy accompanied her husband to the scene of the coming drama.

Hector was confident, as usual. His experience of big-game shooting was nil, but what of that? He was a crack performer with a shot-gun, and no doubt, should the occasion present itself, he would prove himself equally proficient with the rifle. His vanity also was stirred, for had not the headman besought him to deliver the village from the tyranny of these beasts, and, though he was addressing Sir Reginald at the time, his eyes had turned to him more than once; and naturally, for it was hardly likely that anyone so old and fat as the Resident could be relied on in an emergency like the present. No, it was to him they looked, and, by Jove! they should find their confidence was not misplaced. Ahmed Khan well knew how to foster these sentiments, for in them he saw lay profit to himself. Like most natives, he was an unconscious student of human nature; it is their stock-in-trade for the extracting of rupees, and, as he was aware from experience, the lordlier the sahib's frame of mind, the more noble the bakshish, as is befitting.

Edging up to his master, therefore, who on this occasion did not repulse him, he proceeded to launch forth into a panegyric of Graeme's virtues, expressing his conviction, that, of all the sahibs he had hitherto served, his sahib was incomparably the bravest and most expert with gun and rifle. And for this, he ejaculated fervently, Allah be praised, since no one less gifted could hope to emerge victorious from a contest with bears so ferocious as these undoubtedly were. Thereupon followed a stream of gruesome and imaginary anecdote illustrative of these animals' incredible daring and savagery; but, with a pleased glance at Lucy's white face, let not the memsahib be frightened, for he, Ahmed Khan, would be there to see that no harm came to her or the sahib. Only over his dead body should that happen, for he had no fear of the beasts, ferocious as they were. Let her but look, and here again his hand sought out the bundle of papers, till, suddenly catching the sahib's eye, he changed his mind, and lifting up a fold of his dingy garments blew his nose hastily with it.

At length, after an hour's walk, the scene of action was reached, this being a deeply-wooded ravine roughly triangular in shape and about half a mile in length. Lining the base could be seen the beaters awaiting the signal to advance, the guns being placed in position near the apex, one on either side.

Perched on a tree, overhanging the edge of the ravine and halfway between the beaters and guns, sat, in dignified eminence, the patriarch of the village. His duty it was to stimulate the exertions of his friends by much laudation of their efforts, and at the same time to excite their hatred of the quarry by bitter cursing and vituperation of the same. His further mission was to act as sentinel, and to give notice of the bear's approach to his lords and patrons at the other end.

Suddenly a long loud whistle broke the silence, and at the sound pandemonium broke loose in the ravine, each villager howled his loudest, while through the din was heard the dull monotonous throbbing of a tom-tom, lustily beaten by the village priest. The line of beaters crept on, but so far there was no sign of the enemy; the uproar gradually abated, and even the tom-tom had ceased to beat, when suddenly the figure in the tree began to show signs of agitation. He craned forward, his neck was thrust out like that of a vulture, and then with a wild shriek of "Balu! balu!"[#] he commenced to wave his arms and gesticulate with a frenzied energy, which threatened every minute to precipitate him from his perch into the abyss below.

[#] "The bear! the bear!"

Instantly the clamour was renewed, the thrumming of the tom-tom rose to a roar, while, faintly heard through the din, the thin screams of the patriarch in the tree smote upon the ear. He exhorted his brothers to advance and fear not, in the same breath cursing the bear and reviling its female ancestors with an intensity and bitter hatred, which that harmless mulberry-eater would hardly seem to have merited.

At the sportsmen's end of the ravine a tense silence reigned, all eyes being fixed on the undergrowth below, whence a faint rustling and clatter of loose stones were now coming, betokening something's approach. Lucy's face whitened, and she clutched her husband by the arm. Shaking her off, he grasped his rifle tighter; but, alas! the quarry was not for him, for suddenly the "old and fat" Sir Reginald was seen to raise his weapon, a dull boom echoed through the ravine, followed by a "Woof, woof," a commotion in the bushes, and then the silence of death. The bear was slain.

"Damn!" muttered Graeme, and was turning sharply away when a gasp from Lucy stopped him, and looking round he beheld another bear, which, having emerged unseen from below, was now hastily shuffling off. Graeme fired, but the bear paid no heed; again he fired, and still the target refused to stop, but to the accompaniment of a wail from Lucy and a curse from Ahmed Khan lumbered on to the shelter of some bushes and was lost to view.

A dreadful moment followed; not only had he, Hector Graeme, missed an easy shot in the eyes of the whole village, but, worse still, he had failed where another had succeeded, an altogether impossible situation, and one by no way improved by the well-meant, though perhaps tactless, condolences of his host, who now joined them. The thing was done, however, and the bear in safety miles away, so assuming what nonchalance he might, and avoiding the reproachful eyes of Lucy, who declined to look at Sir Reginald's bear, and the glum face of Ahmed Khan, whose hopes of bakshish had disappeared with the bear, he turned to his host, and jauntily inquired what the next move was to be. Sir Reginald without hesitation answered that that must undoubtedly be lunch, it being now past one, and the next beat more than a mile distant, whereupon, guided by a white-clad khitmagar, sent forward for the purpose by the thoughtful Samuel, the party returned to the marquee, where once more they found a repast awaiting them, more suggestive of Prince's or the Savoy than a picnic in the wilds of Kashmir.

At first Graeme's mood was not conversational, but gradually, under the influence of good cheer and much hock and soda, his mortification subsided, till at cigarette time he had recovered his wonted serenity, and even permitted himself to discuss the recent disaster.

"Curious thing," he observed, "my missing like that, wonder what happened. Don't often do it, rather good shot as a rule, ain't I, Lucy?"

"Indeed you are, Hector," answered the latter, looking indignantly at her host and refusing to respond to a wink. "My husband is considered one of the best shots in Hertfordshire, Sir Reginald, and how he came to miss the bear I can't imagine. I think there must be something wrong with that rifle, Hector, I really do."

"Wrong with the powder, I should say, Mrs. Graeme," said the Resident, in high good-humour, "wants straightening. Have to do better than that when you go to Tirah, why ... Try that Grand Marnier, Graeme, I can recommend it."

"Thanks, I will," said Graeme, filling his glass, "and about Tirah--going up, are we, when?"

"Surely, Sir Reginald, there's no chance of that?" said Lucy, with startled eyes.

"No chance whatever, Mrs. Graeme, no chance at all, I should say; foolish of me to have mentioned it, must have been dreaming. A native regiment or two may have to go, that is, if the Afridis really mean trouble, which I doubt, but hardly British cavalry. No, no, set your mind at rest."

"Native troops again," muttered Graeme discontentedly; "it's always the same story. They have all the fun, while we fool about in cantonments. Wish to Heaven I was in a black corps."

"You'd very soon wish yourself out again, my friend," said his host. "I know I'd give something to be back in the old 12th," his thoughts reverting as he spoke to the days when he was a subaltern in a fashionable Hussar regiment. "Gad, what times we used to have, and what an infernal young fool I was to come the mucker I did. Real life that was, not this tin-pot grandeur and importance."

Lady Wilford at once intervened. To her, a former Mussoori belle and daughter of a police official in that place, Sir Reginald's London reminiscences were always distasteful. India, not England, was her native country, and she was not going to hear the former or its dignity derided, certainly not in the presence of a mere soldier officer, who, as everyone knows, is in no way the equal of an Indian civilian.