CHAPTER III

Ted does not think much of the Guides

Quite dazed and half-unconscious Ted was lifted from the saddle. As in a dream he heard the prolonged applause of his mess-mates and the shrill yells of delight raised by the swarthy men of the 193rd. Lieutenant Spencer held out his hand to the victor and looked him approvingly in the face.

"You young scoundrel!" he cheerfully exclaimed, "I congratulate you. You deserved to win."

Ted heartily returned the handshake of his brother's friend, and muttered something to the effect that the horse should be given all the credit, not the rider. So great a triumph he had never before known, yet he bore his honours modestly. Colonel Woodburn, Major Munro, Captain Markham, and other mess-mates were quickly on the spot, patting and praising both horse and rider. The thumps on the back given to Ted were rather more vigorous than those awarded to "The Padre", and the ensign had little breath wherewith to make suitable reply to the shower of congratulations. Pir Baksh, the subadar, waved his sword wildly and led the sepoys in their volleys of deafening applause.

There was one jarring note. A brother ensign who was strolling moodily past the group moved a step nearer to Ted and snarled in an undertone:

"I've dropped two hundred rupees to-day, thanks to you."

It was Harry Tynan--a tall, handsome lad with dark hair inclined to curl, and big brown eyes; the type of boy who from childhood is petted and spoilt by mothers and aunts. Unless such an one possesses an exceptionally strong character the result is fatal, and Tynan showed a weak mouth and chin.

"The Padre's" owner caught the whisper.

"More fool you, you young idiot!" Markham genially observed, as the silly youngster turned away with a muttered curse.

Miss Woodburn's congratulations were even more welcome than the praises of his comrades.

"I'm proud of my future brother," she said. "You rode just splendidly. Oh, it was exciting! I gave up all hope at the last water-jump.... And then when you began to overhaul him down the incline! Didn't the shouting affect your nerves?"

Ted shook his head. "I don't remember hearing anything. For all I knew there might not have been a single person within miles except me and Spencer--I mean Spencer and I--Spencer and myself, I should say."

"I could hardly hold myself in," went on Ethel. "I was dancing up and down--screaming, I'm afraid."

"You were indeed, madame," interposed Jim. "You were making a most discreditable exhibition."

"Ted," exclaimed the girl, "will you marry me? I'm tired of your brother."

"That I will!" replied Ted. "To-morrow if you like. I never could imagine what you could see in that chap, you know."

"Very well, I'll abandon him to his fate. He was actually cheering on that Guide fellow during the last hundred yards."

"The brute!"

"Isn't he?"

"Who--the Guide fellow?"

With this embarrassing query Lieutenant Spencer joined the party. Ethel blushed crimson, and for once in her life was at a loss for a remark. Jim chuckled away to himself at his sweetheart's discomfiture in most brutal fashion.

"That's right, Spencer," said he. "Come and back me up, I'm in a minority here."

Miss Woodburn recovered from her confusion. She had already been introduced by Jim to "that Guide fellow".

"I really beg your pardon, Lieutenant Spencer. We were indulging in a little inter-regimental chaff and abuse. Captain Russell had dared to applaud you rather than his brother at the final burst. And you don't understand how fond we all are of 'The Padre'. He's the regimental horse."

"Please don't apologize," Miss Woodburn. "I quite understand and sympathize with you. Indeed, I'm glad you're scorching him, for he needs it. And so he was cheering me in preference to your favourite? He must have most execrable taste."

"Thank you, Spencer!" Jim hurriedly and joyfully broke in. "Thanks!... Be grateful, Ethel. Don't you see how very complimentary to you that remark is?"

For a few moments Miss Woodburn struggled with her amusement, but laughter mastered her, and she could not speak before Spencer had partially recovered his senses and recognized what a left-handed compliment he had paid her. The Guides lieutenant was far more confused and nervous now than at any time during the steeple-chase.

With crimson face he offered reparation.

"It's my turn to apologize now, Miss Woodburn. I think you'll forgive me, though. It's my misfortune that I'm not very intelligent."

"I couldn't dream of doing so, Lieutenant Spencer," Ethel asserted, still laughing. "You paid me out nicely, and I'm sure you did it wilfully; it was far too smart to be unintentional."

"'Pon my honour, I didn't. I'm not half sharp enough to say anything of that kind except by accident. One can't be perfect, you know, and we must take into account that Russell did show poor taste in applauding the inferior horse and rider--especially going against your opinion, though we must acknowledge his perfect taste in at least one respect."

"I must forgive you after that, Mr. Spencer, though it was rather crude," said the girl, shaking her head.

"And I say, Spencer," Jim interposed, "don't talk about 'inferior rider'. We all know, and Ted knows, that you are a far better horseman than he."

"Of course I do," the ensign heartily agreed.

"Too much praise isn't good for a youngster," the elder brother sagaciously opined.

Spencer placed a hand on Ted's shoulder.

"All the same, young 'un, you won the Aurungpore Cup, and you deserved to win."

The party of four came to a halt opposite Colonel Woodburn's bungalow.

"What time shall we start back for Murdan to-morrow?" asked the lieutenant.

"We must leave early," Jim replied. "Will eight o'clock suit?"

"Very good," Spencer assented; "the young 'un and I will leave you here."

"But you must not think of leaving us yet, Mr. Spencer. Won't you come in? My father would be delighted to know you."

"Couldn't dream of it, Miss Woodburn, delighted though I should be to make the colonel's acquaintance. It will be some time before Russell gets leave again, and your last evening shall be sacred. Good-bye, Miss Woodburn! I'm very glad to have met you. And may I congratulate you both? I've known Russell well for some years, and I can congratulate you, and--forgive me for saying it--I've known you for a couple of days, and I do most sincerely congratulate him."

Ethel pressed the "horrid Guide man's" hand, and when he and Ted had departed, observed:

"Whilst congratulations are passing round, Jim, I congratulate you on your friend."

Ted shared a small, one-story residence just outside the town with his chum Ensign Paterson. His bedroom was only just large enough to allow sleeping-room for Jim, but hearing that Captain Russell's comrade of the Guides was coming to Aurungpore, Paterson had placed his equally limited accommodation at Spencer's disposal. Arrived at home, Ted doffed the pigskin and discussed horses and riding with his guest until the time came for them to sally forth once more. A dinner was to be given by the officers of the 193rd in honour of the triumph of their regiment. For the third time in succession they had won the Aurungpore Cup, and Ted was the hero of the hour. He enjoyed the rôle until, his health having been drunk with acclamation, he was called upon for a speech.

Such an ordeal had never been contemplated, and he had to be dragged to his feet, a victim of nervous funk. As he faced his quizzing comrades his mind was a blank; he stammered a few incoherent sentences intended for thanks, and abruptly sat down again, feeling convinced that he had qualified for a place in any home for the feeble-minded. Yet the older officers liked him better for this lack of self-confidence than had he shown no sign of confusion. In reply to the toast, "Our Guests", Lieutenant Spencer made a neat and witty speech that set everyone at his ease.

The ordeal over, Spencer, Paterson, and Ted returned to the little bungalow, and settled down to await Jim's arrival. Lieutenant Spencer filled his pipe and lay back in the one chair that the apartment boasted, Paterson sat straddle-legged across a camp-stool, and Ted squatted on a box with his back to the wall and his legs dangling. The room was lighted by a candle stuck in a bottle, for were they not in the "Gorgeous East" where luxury and splendour reign supreme?

"So you fellows of the 193rd are proud of your regiment!" the Guides' officer observed.

"It's a first-class corps," Ted replied. "They fought like good 'uns throughout both Sikh wars. You see, we've Bhurtpore as well as Sobraon, Moodkee, and Gujerat on the colours; and the colonel says he'd lead 'em anywhere--they'd follow their officers to the death. Markham's the favourite with the men, though they're very fond of the 'old man' and Major Munro."

"Yours is a queer corps, is it not, Lieutenant Spencer?" Paterson asked.

Spencer chuckled.

"It is! But I'm proud of being in the Guides."

"They say," continued the Scotch boy, "that you have all the frontier races in the corps--Afridis, Afghans, and other Pathan tribes, Sikhs and Gurkhas--and that some of them have been robbers and outlaws, and murderers even. Is that true?"

Spencer chuckled still more.

"Quite true. We have all sorts--men with the best of characters, men with the worst, and men with no characters at all. We've outlaws and dacoits, thieves and murderers--though they don't call themselves murderers; they resemble the border raiders of Scotland of some hundreds of years ago. But every man who joins the Guides has to be strong, healthy, active, brave as a lion, able to track like a Red Indian, climb mountains, and think for himself. Lumsden gets hold of the most daring men on the border, such as Dilawur Khan and Futteh Khan and Bahram Khan, and makes Guides of them. They don't get coddled; and I guess we shall have more work to do in the future than any regiment in India. We've men of all races and creeds and men of no race or creed--mostly big truculent Pathans, and nearly a hundred jolly little Gurkhas sent us by the King of Nepal at Sir Henry Lawrence's request. Oh, it's a grand corps! and we can get as many men as we like--scores apply for every vacancy. Why, there are dozens of fellows learning the drill at their own expense, both cavalry and infantry, waiting for an opportunity to join us. There's no other regiment in India or England can say the same."

"Well, I'd rather serve in the 193rd B.N.I.," Ted declared. "I shouldn't care to trust your Guides very far. Why, many of your Sikhs must have fought against us eight years ago; and as for the Afridis and Yusufzais, they're always raiding British territory and killing our men, whilst the sepoys of the 193rd have fought under British colours for half a century."

"That's right, young 'un; stick up for your regiment."

"Jim was going to tell me," Ted remarked, "something about that Pathan officer who was speaking to you this morning. Who is he?"

"Bahram Khan, do you mean?"

"Yes, that's the man. We noticed the natives shrinking from him when he looked at them. Why was that?"

The lieutenant lay back in his chair and smiled.

"His is a queer story and typical of the Guides," he replied. "A few years ago he was a well-known outlaw and brigand chief, who raided and burnt villages and robbed right and left. We could never catch him, so Lumsden, our colonel, offered to make him an officer if he'd join the Guides, and he consented and brought his brigands with him."

Paterson regarded the speaker curiously.

"Is that a fact?" he asked.

"It is an absolute fact."

"We'd keep that sort of ruffian out of the 193rd, wouldn't we, Paterson?" Ted asserted. "Aren't you afraid that you'll wake up some morning with all your throats cut?"

"Not in the least. I'd rather be with the Guides than any corps. With all respect to your sepoys of the 193rd, they've neither the stamina nor the resource of our fellows."

"H'm! you're welcome to them. Eh, Paterson?"

"I agree with you, Ted. Have you ever seen Colonel Nicholson, Lieutenant Spencer?"

"Jan Nikkulseyn? Rather. I sha'n't forget the first time I met him. It was south of Peshawur, close to the border, where a gang of Afghan labourers were making a road, protected by a half-company of sepoys under an English subaltern, for it was in a wild district. It was just after the rains, and a bullock-cart had stuck fast in the deep mud; and the bullocks, not having the grit of a horse, wouldn't make any efforts. I happened to be riding past with a couple of troopers. A big fellow standing by in civilian dress had taken his coat off and put his shoulder to the wheel, but they couldn't move it. This civilian, whom I took to be the man in charge of the work, then asked the lieutenant and the sepoys to lend a hand. But the sepoys coolly informed him that they had enlisted to fight, not to do menial work, and the officer said:

"'It's no business of mine. I'm here to protect the road-makers, not to do their work.'

"I dismounted, and so did one of my two men. The other, Hafiz Khan, bent down and whispered:

"'I go to get help, Lieutenant Sahib'; and before I could stop him he was galloping away. Well, we two turned the scale--though the big civilian was worth us both--and at last we got the cart out and trotted away. A mile or two farther on we saw Hafiz Khan waiting for us, and when I slanged him for not staying to help us, he replied:

"'But he once threatened to hang me, Lieutenant Sahib, and Jan Nikkulseyn never breaks his word'.

"'Who?' I asked, quite taken aback.

"'Jan Nikkulseyn. I am not afraid of a little pushing and pulling, but of Jan Nikkulseyn are we all afraid.'

"The civilian was Colonel Nicholson. Hafiz Khan had been engaged in two or three raids before he had enlisted, and, bold as they are, there's not a Pathan along the border dare look Nicholson between the eyes."

"And what became of the lieutenant?" asked Ted.

"He applied for an important appointment at Peshawur a month later. He found out his mistake then, and felt sorry he'd ever been born."

A clatter of hoofs interrupted their talk, and Ted ran to the outer door to admit his brother. Captain Russell was quiet and grave, for his happy days had come to an end, and to-morrow the dull routine of regimental work would begin again. He was evidently little inclined for conversation, and before long the four officers passed off into the adjoining bedrooms.

Captain Russell was well liked by about one-half of his acquaintances, and disliked by a good proportion of the remainder. His friends knew him for a brave, good-hearted, conscientious man, and his detractors termed him a prig. The fault was in his manner, at times heavy, awkward, and solemn, largely the result of shyness, for with intimate friends he could be lively and full of fun.

Serious thoughts occupied his mind as he undressed. Ought not he, the elder brother and man of experience, to give the youngster a few words of advice, before leaving him, on some subjects more serious than steeple-chasing? But how to begin? Jim Russell knew his own failings, and dreaded lest Ted should sneer at him as a prig; and he envied his chum, Spencer, who, he felt sure, could have given the lad sound advice and warning without the least suspicion of preaching. However, Jim was conscientious, and he resolved to take the risk.

The ensign's evident _esprit de corps_ and delight in his regiment furnished an admirable opening, and sitting on the low bed half-undressed, the elder brother spoke like a father to the younger concerning his duty to the regiment.

Then, as the captain was an enthusiastic admirer of the great brothers Henry and John Lawrence, and of their band of devoted followers, the first topic naturally led to a eulogy of the Punjab leaders; and Jim explained to the ensign how Henry Lawrence had begun, and how John Lawrence was now carrying on the work of showing to the wild Sikhs, Jats, and Mohammedans of the Punjab the highest ideal of British justice and uprightness.

Ted listened attentively, but said nothing. He too was already filled with admiration for those Christian soldiers and statesmen who were soon to save India.

"Not that I want you to be an objectionable young prig," the captain went on; "there's a big difference between that and the genuine article. You know what I mean?"

The ensign nodded, and Jim continued:

"I like your chum--Paterson; he seems a very decent lad. And I noticed on one occasion that he showed he was not ashamed of his religion. Why should we so-called Christians be so afraid of acting up to what we profess to believe? Look at the Lawrences and Herbert Edwardes, three of the greatest men in India! They are true Christians, and where could you find finer soldiers and braver men? It's a poor soldier who's ashamed of his colours."

Ted nodded assent, and, feeling that he had done his duty, Jim bade him good-night and blew out the candle.

An early breakfast next morning, and our ensign and his two visitors were in the saddle by seven o'clock. Ten minutes later Ethel Woodburn cantered up, attended by a sais, and Spencer and Ted ambled along, keeping well ahead of the lovers.

"I suppose that's the fort over there?" Spencer asked, and pointed to an ugly square building of dark sandstone that dominated the town.

"Yes, it's an arsenal too. There'd be a big smash in Aurungpore if it was to blow up," said Ted, who little thought of the influence that forbidding fortress would exert upon his career.

"It has half-ruined the town already by its ugliness," Spencer mused. "That mosque on the left is a little gem, and that dome is perfect, but the arsenal spoils them as completely as a factory chimney spoils a view at home. The Moslems beat us at architecture."

"I think I must be turning back now," Ted presently observed, "I have plenty to do before parade."

They came to a halt and awaited the arrival of the others. The lovers parted, Ted shook hands with Jim and Spencer, and nodded in response to his brother's parting injunction to take care of Ethel. Miss Woodburn stayed, waving her handkerchief, until a bend of the road hid her betrothed from view. Joining Ted, she touched her bay lightly with the whip, and they trotted home without exchanging a word.