The Adventures of Kathlyn

"No, Sahib; don't wait: come back with me!" Quickly he outlined the

desperate straits in which Kathlyn stood. "To-morrow may be too late."

"Ali!" called Bruce, rising.

"Yes, Sahib."

"The Pasha. No questions. Give him water. Use the hunting howdah.

Both guns and plenty of cartridges. That's all." The young man ran into

his sleeping tent and presently came forth with a pair of ugly looking

Colts; for this was before the days of the convenient automatics. "All

aboard, Ramabai!" Bruce laughed; the sound was as hard and metallic as

the click of the cartridge belt as he slung it round his waist; but it

was music to Ramabai's ears. "Trust me. There shan't be any ordeals;

not so you would notice it. . . . Great God! A white woman, one of my

kind! . . . All right, Ali; quick work. Thanks!"

"There will be many pitfalls, Sahib," said Ramabai.

"Indeed!"

"I have some influence with the populace, but Umballa has the army, paid

for. The priests and the council are back of him. And, after all, the

priests are most to be feared. They can always sway the people through

fear."

Bruce laughed again. "Either Kathlyn Hare will be free to-morrow or

Umballa and the council meat for the jackals . . . or I shall be," he

added, in afterthought. "Now, do not speak till I speak. I wish to

think, for I've got to act quickly; I can't make any mistakes when I get

there."

Far away a brown figure in clout and drab turban watched the young man.

When he saw the elephant with the hunting howdah he knew that he had the

information for which his master had detailed him to follow, night and

day, the young banker Ramabai. The white hunter was coming hot-foot to

the city. He turned and ran. Running was his business; he was as

tireless as a camel and could run twenty and thirty miles at a stretch.

The soles of his feet were as tough as elephant's hide. Thus he reached

the city an hour before Bruce and Ramabai.

When Bruce and the native banker arrived at the gate coolies stood about

with torches. Suddenly beyond the gate half a regiment drew up. The

officer in charge raised his hand warningly.

"The white hunter is Bruce Sahib?"

"Yes." Bruce spoke the dialects with passable fluency.

"Good. The Sahib will be pleased to dismount."

"I am on my way to the palace."

"That is impossible, Sahib." At a sign from the officer the troopers

extended their guns at half aim. It was a necessary precaution. These

white sahibs were generally a mad people and were quick to shoot.

"Please dismount, Sahib. It is the orders."

Bruce's mahout, who was a Rajput Mohammedan, turned his head to learn

what his master had to say. Bruce, pale under his tan, nodded. The

mahout reached down with his silver tipped goad and touched the elephant

on the knee. The big brute slowly and ponderously kneeled. Bruce

stepped out of the howdah, followed by Ramabai, who saw that in some

unaccountable manner they had been betrayed. He was sick at heart.