The Adventures of Kathlyn

Ah, they talked about it that night in the surging bazaars, in the

palace, wherever two persons came together: how the white hunter had

appeared from nowhere, rushed toward the trap as the tiger approached,

entered and dropped the door, blazed away at the beast, who turned tail

and limped off into the jungle. Ai! It was a sight for eyes. They

could laugh behind Umballa's back, the gutter born, the iron heeled

upstart; they could riddle (confidentially) the council with rude jests.

The law was the law; and none, not even the priests in their shaven polls

and yellow robes, might slip beyond the law as it read. The first ordeal

was over. Nor, as the law read, could they lay hands upon this brave

young man. Ai! it was good. Umballa must look elsewhere for his chief

wife; the Mem-sahib would not adorn his zenana. It was more than good,

for now there would be a second ordeal; more amusement, perhaps another

miracle. True, they had taken away the pistols of the white Sahib, but

he had his hands.

"Thank you," Kathlyn had said. "Somehow I knew you would come." And

what she had seen in his eyes had made her tremble visibly for the first

time that day.

She was conducted back to the palace. The populace howled and cheered

about her palanquin to the very gates. Not in many a big rain had they

had such excitement.

The fury in Umballa's heart might have disquieted Bruce had he known of

its existence.

Kathlyn, arriving in her chamber, flung herself down upon her cushions

and lay there like one dead, nor would she be comforted by the worshiping

Pundita. Bruce had saved her this time, but it was not possible that he

could repeat the feat.

Having convinced Umballa and the council that she would not marry her

persecutor, the council announced to the populace that on the next fete

day the queen would confront the lions in the elephant arena. What could

one man do against such odds? Lions brought from the far Nubian deserts,

fierce, untamable.

That night there was a conference between Bruce, Ahmed and Ramabai.

"They have taken my guns away, and God knows I can't do the impossible.

Where the devil were your camels, Ahmed?"

"Umballa has his spies, Ramabai," said Ahmed, smiling, as he got into his

bheestee rags, which Ramabai had surrendered willingly enough: "Ramabai,

thou conspirator, what about the powder mines you and your friends hid

when the late king signified that he was inclined toward British

protectorate? Eh? What about the republic thou hadst dreams of? Poor

fool! It is in our blood to be ruled by kings, oppressed; we should not

know what to do with absolute freedom. There! Fear not. Why should I

betray thee? The mines. The arena is of wood."