The Adventures of Kathlyn

The colonel knocked the ash from his pipe. "The old boy used to do

some trapping himself, and whenever he'd catch a fine specimen he'd

turn it over to me. He had a hunting lodge not far from my quarters.

One day Ahmed came to me with a message saying that the king commanded

my presence at the lodge, where his slaves had trapped a fine leopard.

Yes, my dears, slaves. There is even a slave mart at the capital this

day. A barbaric fairy-land, with its good genii and its bad djinns."

"_The Arabian Nights_," murmured Winnie, snuggling close to Kathlyn.

"The Oriental loves pomp," went on the colonel. "He can't give you a

chupatty----"

"What's that?" asked Winnie.

"Something like hardtack. Well, he can't give you that without

ceremonial. When I arrived at the lodge with Ahmed the old boy--he had

the complexion of a prima donna--the old boy sat on his portable

throne, glittering with orders. Standing beside him was a chap we

called Umballa. He had been a street rat. A bit of impudence had

caught the king's fancy, and he brought up the boy, clothed, fed him,

and sent him away down to Umballa to school. When the boy returned he

talked Umballa morning, noon and night, till the soldiers began to call

him that, and from them it passed on to the natives, all of whom

disliked the upstart. Hanged if I can recall his real name. He was

ugly and handsome at the same time; suave, patient, courteous; yet

somehow or other I sensed the real man below--the Tartar blood. I took

a dislike to him, first off. It's the animal sense. You've got it,

Kit. Behind the king sat the Council of Three--three wise old ducks I

wouldn't trust with an old umbrella."

Winnie laughed.

"While we were salaaming and genuflecting and using grandiloquent

phrases the bally leopard got loose, somehow. Maybe some one let him

loose; I don't know. Anyhow, he made for the king, who was too

thunderstruck to dodge. The rest of 'em took to their heels, you may

lay odds on that. Now, I had an honest liking for the king. Seeing

the brute make for him, I dashed forward. You see, at ceremonials

you're not permitted to carry arms. It had to be with my hands. The

leopard knocked the old boy flat and began to maul him. I kicked the

brute in the face, swept the king's turban off his head and flung it

about the head of the leopard. Somehow or other I got him down. Some

of the frightened natives came up, and with the help of Ahmed we got

the brute tied up securely. When the king came around he silently

shook hands with me and smiled peculiarly at Umballa, who now came

running up."