The Great Amulet

by Maud Diver

  BOOK III.-THE TENTS OF ISHMAEL.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  "Leave the what at the what's-its-name, Leave the sheep without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterred, Leave the bride at the altar." --Kipling.

  Even in a land where danger and discomfort flourish like the ungodly,that journey from the cedar-crowned Himalayas to the white hot flats ofthe Derajat, with the Punjab furnace in full swing, was an experience notreadily forgotten by the three who set out upon it in the dripping greydawn of a July morning. Before them stretched two nights and three daysof pure martyrdom, aggravated by that prince of evils--a troubled mind:for the Desmonds a haunting anxiety, and for Lenox the harassingrealisation that his own strength or weakness during the next few monthsstood for no less than the happiness or misery of the only woman onearth. It is this irrevocable fusion of two lives, and the network ofresponsibilities arising from an act less simple than it seems, thatconstitute the strength, the charm, the tragedy of marriage: and a dimforeknowledge of its complexity dawned upon Lenox during his penitentialprogress into a land of fire and death.

  Throughout their fifty mile descent to the foot-hill terminus it rainedperseveringly. But toward evening the clouds parted, and an hour ofsunshine set the drenched earth steaming like a soup kettle when the lidis lifted off. Desmond had ordained that Lenox and his wife should becarried down in doolies; an indignity to which they submitted underprotest: and Honor, scrambling out of her prison through an opening levelwith the ground, passed quite gratefully from its stuffy twilight,redolent of sodden canvas and humanity, to the smell of hot wood andleather that pervaded the sun-saturate railway carriage awaiting them inPathankot station.

  With the unhurried deftness of an experienced pilgrim, she set aboutmaking the place cooler, and more habitable; drew up all thewindow-shutters; opened her bedding roll; and taking possession of Lenox,established him, with tender imperiousness, in the least stifling corner,a pillow set lengthways behind him. He leaned against it, and closed hiseyes.

  "Head bad?" she asked a little anxiously. For the concussion headache isno child's play, and ten hours in a doolie might breed neuralgia in acannon-ball.

  "Pretty average. Nothing to trouble about." The assurance was notconvincing: and she gleaned the truth from two deep lines in his forehead.

  "I'm going to make you some tea in a minute," she announced cheerfully,opening her basket, and clamping a travelling spirit-lamp to the woodworkabove the seat. "Real tea. Not the stewed leaves and water we shouldpay six annas for outside! There's half a dozen of soda, three pints ofchampagne, a fowl, and an aspic in the icebox under your seat. But teawould be best now. We'll keep the rest for your dinners."

  He opened his eyes and smiled at her.

  "You've a remarkable talent for spoiling a man!"

  "It's one I'm very proud of," she answered simply: and leaning out of theopen doorway, caught sight of her husband striding down the platform,closely followed by an army of coolies, two bearers, and twopessimistic-looking dogs on chains. "Theo," she called, "do leave thateternal luggage to Amar Singh, and come and be spoilt! We're going tohave tea."

  Before the train jolted out of the station, she had served it to them inlarge cups, an insubstantial biscuit in each saucer: for it is drink, notfood, that a man wants when the thermometer stands at 110 degrees in theshade.

  At Umritsur the train halted for half an hour. The thermometer had notfallen with the sun; and when the faint breeze of their going died down,there seemed to be no air left to breathe.

  Lenox dined regally out of the ice-box: while Desmond and Honor,silencing his protests by flight, carried off iced soda and awhisky-flask to the frowsy, airless refreshment room, where they wrestledundismayed with curried kid, the ubiquitous chicken cutlet, and twoplates of discoloured water,--flavoured with _jharron_,[1]--thatmasqueraded as clear soup. Two quarrelsome Eurasians shared their table.A punkah that may once have been white waggled officiously overhead. Butfor all that the flies were lords of the meal; and enjoyed it far betterthan those who paid for it.

  "Thank God for my good dinner!" Desmond muttered with a wry face as heput down his money. "_You_ must supplement it out of Lenox's rations,old lady. _Hukm hai . . . sumja_?" [2]

  She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. Having won the victory thatmattered, she could afford to be submissive over trifles.

  An hour or so before midnight, they clanked into Lahore station--abig-bastioned building, whose solid masonry breathed fire, as literallyas any dragon of romance. Within was a great darkness, partiallydispelled by hanging oil-lamps; and babel enough to wake the SevenSleepers. The uninitiated arriving at an Indian railway station are aptto imagine that a riot of some sort must be in progress. But it is onlythe third-class passenger, whose name is legion, fighting, tooth andnail, for the foot of space due to every possessor of the precious morselof cardboard tucked into the folds of his belt: because he knows, fromharsh experience, that when the train moves on more than a few will beleft disconsolate, to watch its unwinking eye vanish out of theirken:--bewildered adventurers, for many of whom the "fire-carriage" stillremains a new-fangled god, who feeds on coal and water, and can only bepropitiated by repeated offerings of that wonder-working hieroglyph--thetikkut.

  At Lahore passengers to Dera change into the night mail for Mooltan: andalmost before the train drew up Desmond was out on the platform, pushinghis way, purposefully, through a mass of jostling, shouting, perspiringhumanity:--Sikhs, Punjabi farmers, moneylenders, 'fat and scant ofbreath,' women of all ages, with apathetic babies, in round cap andnecklet, astride upon their hips. In the station-master's office hefound the fateful red envelope awaiting him; and broke the seal with ashaking hand.

  "Crisis over. Condition more hopeful. Will wire Jhung."

  "Thank God!" he muttered, choking down a lump that had risen in histhroat. Then, elbowing his way back to where Honor and Lenox stood guardover a disordered pile of luggage, he thrust the paper into her hand.

  "We'll bring him round between us, you and I," he said, as she looked up;and she nodded contentedly, her eyes deep in his. He could no longerregret having given way to her; and she knew it!

  They were not the only English passengers in the Mooltan train. Two Derasubalterns, who had fled posthaste from Simla, stood smoking outsidetheir carriage:--Hodson, the 'slacker' of the Battery, a small sallowindividual, with heavy-lidded eyes, and a disagreeable mouth; and MajorOlliver's 'sub,' Bobby Nixon, who answered indiscriminately to half adozen names, but was officially registered as The Chicken, a tribute tohis cheerful lack of wisdom, worldly or otherworldly, and to the sparsecrop of 'down' that surmounted an extensive freckled face, and shadowed amouth whose one beauty lay in its readiness to smile capaciously upon theworld at large.

  As Honor and Lenox came towards him, the said mouth screwed itself into alow whistle.

  "Great Scott, Mrs Desmond, . . but this is flagrant heroism! Who'd havedreamt of meeting _you_ here?"

  "A pleasant surprise, I hope," she asked, smiling, as they shook hands.

  "Why, of course it's always good to see you," the boy answered, lookingupon her with frank admiration. "And you bet we're proud to have ourladies facing the music with us. But still . . cholera's cholera; and itlooks like a record year. They've got it hot and strong at Mian Mir.Two of the Norfolks came down the hill with us, swearing like Billy O.Been up less than a fortnight; and there's a masked ball on at the Clubto-morrow. Oh Lord, it's a lively country! Poor old Hodson only got aweek in Simla; and he has fever on him still."

  Lenox glanced quizzically at the man he desired to weed out of hisbeloved Battery by the simple means of making him work.

  "Hard luck," he remarked; a suspicion of irony in his tone. And Hodson,anathematising under his breath India in general, and the Frontier inparticular, strolled off down the platform, head in air. There waslittle love lost between him and a commandant for whom work was thebackbone of life.

  Just then, through th
e open windows of the next carriage, there cameforth a voice of thunder--articulate, unparliamentary thunder: and Lenox,with a touch of friendly authority, drew Honor farther away.

  "That's old Buckstick," Bobby explained genially. "Giving it to his poordevil of a bearer, because he wants to hit out at some one. They say inthe regiment that some fool of a palmist told him to beware of cholera;and I believe the old chap's in a blue funk. Queer thing, funk. Putthat man on an unbroken horse, or in the thick of a hand-to-handscrimmage, and he wouldn't know the meaning of fear. Yet now . . ."

  His dissertation was interrupted by the appearance at the window ofColonel Stanham Buckley of the Punjab Infantry, who mopped a moist baldhead, and inquired picturesquely of a passing official when the blankthis blankety blank train was supposed to start. Then catching sight ofa woman's figure, he vanished, with a final incoherent explosion,slamming up the window-shutter behind him.

  How the devil, he asked himself furiously, should a sane man expectto find an Englishwoman hanging about Lahore station on a murderousnight of July? The idea that she might be travelling to Dera neverentered his head. His own wife, after five years of Frontiervicissitudes,--aggravated by debt, and the tyranny of 'little drinks atmess,'--had developed pronounced views on the duties of motherhood.These had led to a house in Surrey, which, for one reason or another, ithad never yet seemed feasible to give up: and Buckley had consoledhimself after the fashion of his kind, with hard drinking, hard riding,and hard swearing,--the only form of Trinity recognised by a certain typeof man.

  And as he opened his ice-box, and helped himself to a stiff 'nightcap'before turning in, Desmond joined the group outside.

  "Come on, you two," he said, grasping an arm of each, "Dogs and luggage,and carriage all square. We shall be off in a minute. Only half an hourbehind time! See you again at Chichawutni, Nick. Don't lie too flat,and get apoplexy. We can't afford to lose willing men!"

  They met again, all six of them, on the Chichawutni platform, in a dryhot dawn; for they were nearing the desolation of the Sindh Sagar desert,where the monsoon is a negligible quantity. Lenox, who had neither sleptnor smoked all night, looked rather more ragged than usual in the clearlight; but otherwise seemed to be bearing the journey well. 'OldBuckstick,' as he had been christened by irreverent juniors, raised hishat to Honor from a distance; and wondered what the hell women of thatsort were made of.

  Early breakfast over, they set out upon a six hours' tonga drive toJhung; an isolated civil station fifty miles off the line of rail.Tortured India was already awake and astir; and along an interminableroad of fine white dust, covered with straw, they sped at a hand-gallopbetween converging lines of sheesham-trees, with clank and rattle andincessant tooting of horns, scattering the unhurried traffic of the openroad:--a procession of five tongas loaded to the limit of allowance withhuman beings, dogs, saddles, and battered boxes. In all directions theunprofitable land rolled level to the sky-line. Every seven or eightmiles they stopped to change ponies. Every hour the heat and glare grewfiercer; the clangour of wheels and tonga-bar more assertive, till itseemed to beat on bared nerves; and the terrible thirst of the Frontiertook hold upon the dust-filled throats of dog and man alike.

  It is possible to compress a good deal of discomfort into six hours: andthe Dak Bungalow, in its noonday quiet and comparative coolness, seemedan Island of the Blest after the glare and riot of the road. Here theDesmonds were cheered by a reassuring telegram; and here all rested tillafter sundown, when the pitiless tongas claimed them again; and all nightlong they fled across the open desert over a track of straw, through aninterminable darkness strewn with stars.

  Now and again a handful of these, seemingly dropped to earth, heralded achanging station, and a halt for fresh ponies. Here would be brief andblessed respite; a moment to stretch cramped limbs: moving lights thatrevealed shadowy shapes of men and horses: much apostrophising of theProphet, interspersed with questionable jokes and laughter: and the voiceof the pariah, roused from light sleep, or the absorbing pursuit offleas. Here also Colonel Buckley would wake up, and confound creation insmothered expletives, mindful of Honor's presence; and on one occasionHodson was heard confiding to the Chicken his determination to 'get quitof this blasted Frontier' on the first opportunity. Whereat Lenox losthis apathy, and turned upon Desmond, who walked beside him.

  "Listen to that now! By Jove, he shall get his opportunity sooner thanhe thinks for. We can't have young skrimshankers of his kidneypatronising the finest service in India."

  "Get Richardson to give him a taste of the swimming-bath, in his messkit, when the cold weather comes!" Desmond suggested with a laugh. "I'veknown that knock the nonsense out of some of 'em."

  Lenox nodded thoughtfully.

  "I'm not over-partial to that form of argument," said he. "But in thiscase, I believe I should rather enjoy it."

  Then the voice of the driver requested the Heaven-borne to return totheir seats: and they were off again, full clatter, half a dozen pariahsspeeding their progress. Honor, by her own choice, shared the back seatwith her husband in comparative comfort. His enclosing arm shielded her,as far as might be, from the incessant jolting; and from time to time, inutter weariness, her head sank upon his shoulder, and she slept, whilethe two men smoked and talked fitfully in undertones.

  Such primitive journeyings are fast becoming obsolete in the India ofto-day, where the railway stretches its antennae in all directions, andthe horn of the motor has been heard beyond Chaman. Yet, for all theirobvious discomforts, they possessed their own peculiar flavour ofinterest and charm.

  Dawn showed them the Indus at last: a sheet of tarnished silver, fivemiles wide, sprawling over the colourless country, its normal bankssubmerged by the rush of water from the hills: and behind them day sprangout of the east, 'a tyrant with a flaming sword.'

  Through eight blazing hours that sword hung bared above them. For theirferry-boat was a native barge, persuaded rather than propelled in anygiven direction by oars as long as punt poles; and set with one unwieldysail that could neither be tacked nor furled; but which provided them,for a time, with a patch of burning shadow, by no means to be despised.In it they smoked and picnicked, and made merry with cards and dogs, tothe best of their ability; while erratic currents bore them from sandbankto sandbank; each collision involving an interlude of shouting, shoving,coaxing, and upbraiding on the part of four assiduous boatmen; and when,by the mercy of God and the river, they managed to run aground on thefarther side, it was nearing four o'clock in the afternoon.

  Here were more tongas awaiting their prey: and this time the travellershailed them gratefully: for the swollen river had almost invaded thegardens of outlying bungalows; and a short gallop brought them at lastinto the straggling station, whose name literally signifies the Tents ofIshmael. But the day of tents had long since given place to the day ofspacious, square-shouldered bungalows, with pillared verandahs, set inthe midst of rambling compounds, where the ferasch and banana flourishedin dusty luxuriance, while orange, pomegranate, hybiscus, andpoinsettia,--to say nothing of marigolds and roses,--blazed regally inthe blossoming season with scarlet, and crimson gold. A bird's-eye viewof the station itself might have suggested to the imaginative eye a gameof noughts and crosses scratched on a Titanic slate:--a network of widewhite roads, unrelieved by curve or undulation; their rigidity emphasisedby equidistant lines of trees, and whitewashed gate-posts, innocent ofgates.

  Into one of these openings three out of the five tongas finally clatteredand stood still; and a familiar brogue gave them greeting from theverandah.

  "Praise the Powers, ye've got here at last! We'd begun to think youmight be setting up house on a sandbank for the night!"

  "We've had our fill of 'em without that, Frank," Desmond answered as hesprang from his seat.

  For the voice was the voice of Mrs Olliver, a rough-cut Irishwoman, whoseshort reddish curls, and masculinity of speech and manner, cloaked thewoman's heart that glowed deep down in her,--
a jewel crusted with commonclay. Beside her stood Max Richardson, and Colonel Meredith--a big,broad-shouldered man, extraordinarily like his sister in face andtemperament--who cleared the steps like any subaltern, lifted Honor outof the tonga, and kissed her on both cheeks.

  "You've no earthly business to be here, you know," he reprimanded her byway of greeting. "I'll tell Theo what I think of him, when I get himalone!"

  "No, please, John, you mustn't," she entreated in a low tone. "He didhis best to prevent me. But I meant to come . . . and I came!"

  "I thought as much, when I got his wire!" Then, still keeping hold ofher, he shook hands with Desmond. "Mighty glad to get you back, Theo:and to see you looking so fit. You'll find your work cut out, I promiseyou."

  "So much the better. Any cases?"

  "Not yet, thank God. We must steer clear of camp, if the thing can bedone. But the fever's bad enough. They're dropping like flies in thecity, poor devils. Our hospital's crammed; and two 'subs' on thesick-list at well as Wyndham. He's going on all right now; but goodnessknows when he'll be fit for duty."

  "I want to see Mackay about getting him over here as soon as possible.May I borrow Suliman, and ride round at once?"

  "When you've got outside a fair allowance of tea and sandwiches. Not aminute sooner!"

  "Tea? Rather not. But I'd sell my immortal soul for an iced peg!"

  While they talked, Max Richardson had led his friend into the loftyshadowed drawing-room, that, in spite of a thermometer at 96 degrees,struck cool as a grotto after the furnace without: and Frank Olliver,consigning Honor to the largest arm-chair, herself presided at the tray;apologising, in characteristic fashion, for having temporarily 'takenover charge.'

  "But bossing the show's one of me few talents; an' I'm not for wrappingit in a napkin. Geoff swears I took over charge of creation before I'dcut me first tooth! Any way it struck me that perhaps in the hustle ofstarting you'd not thought of sending full instructions; so I just cameover this morning, and made free with your linen cupboard, an' yourbazaar account. For I know how it feels to come back to a dead house atthis time of year.--Lord, there's that Theo man off again; incarnatewhirlwind that he is! He'll get Major Wyndham over here to-morrow, sureas fate; though the good man refused _my_ pressing invitation a week ago.And 'tis the first time one o' me own brother officers has denied me theonly kind o' Woman's Rights this child's ever likely to clamour for!"

  "Hear, hear, Mrs Olliver!" Meredith and Richardson applauded her, as sheheld out both hands for their tea-cups; and Lenox smiled amused approvalfrom the depths of his chair.

  When Desmond returned an hour later, he found Lenox's luggage in theverandah, awaiting removal, and Lenox himself sitting alone in thedrawing-room with Brutus and his pipe. It rested on his knee, held inplace by the finger-tips emerging from his sling; and as Desmond enteredhe was scientifically pressing its contents into place with the ball ofhis thumb.

  Impulsively the other hurried forward, and laid an arresting hand on hisarm.

  "Not that again, surely, old chap," he said, a note of anxiety in hisvoice. "Do you quite realise how many times you have filled it in thelast thirty-six hours?"

  Lenox's fingers closed like a vice upon his treasure.

  "Can't say I've troubled to keep count," he answered in a hard voice."And I'm damned if I can see what right you have to take me to task aboutit."

  "Not a shadow of right," Desmond owned frankly, "Except that I careimmensely what comes to you, and to that plucky wife of yours who hashonoured me with her friendship; and whom I am hoping to welcome here--asMrs Lenox before many months are out."

  The shot took affect. With a listless movement Lenox let his fingersfall apart, and the pipe rolled on to the rug at his feet. Here Brutuslazily investigated it as a possible treasure trove; and after a puzzledsniff or two lifted inquiring ears to his master, who was lookingabsently in another direction.

  Then Desmond stooped, and picked it up.

  "Will you let me empty it, and fill it from my own pouch?" he askedquietly: and Lenox gave silent assent.

  "No doubt I seem to you a contemptible brute enough," he added bitterly,while the transfer of tobaccos was in progress. "And no doubt you're notfar wrong either. But if you could get inside my head for a few hours,you might possibly understand."

  "My dear Lenox, it is just because I understand that I'm keen to do whatlittle I can for you, even at the risk of being damned for officiousness!If your head's giving you trouble, why not take a genuine dose of thestuff last thing; and get a night of solid rest before you start work?That seems to me safer than trifling with poison in the form of tobacco.You know yourself you'd make a square stand against the naked drug. It'sthe little 'nips,' the small capitulations, that do the damage in thelong-run."

  He held out the pipe: and Lenox, clenching his teeth upon it, proceededto set it alight.

  "Say what you please about things in future, Desmond."

  He spoke without removing his eyes from the match he was manipulating."I swear I won't take it amiss again." Then he rose abruptly. "But Imust be off now. I only waited to see you, and--thank you beforeleaving. You've the knack of putting fresh heart into a fellow when hefeels played out."

  Desmond eyed the man thoughtfully for a second before replying. Everyline of him proclaimed utter weariness of soul and body.

  "Anything ready for you over there?" said he.

  "Not that I know of. But Zyarulla will shake things down in no time."

  "All the same, as your luggage is handy, why not stop on here? You'd beuncommonly welcome; and I know Honor would be glad to keep an eye on youfor a while longer."

  The invitation, given on the spur of the moment, took Lenox aback.

  "But, my good chap, . . . you've got Wyndham coming over."

  "Yes. Thank God. To-morrow or next day. No distaste for Paul'scompany, have you?"

  Lenox smiled, and shook his head.

  "Hang it all, Desmond, you know what I mean. You and your wife have donetoo much for me already. There _are_ limits to a man's capacity forsponging on other folks' generosity."

  "Well, if that's your only objection, we'll consider the matter settled!Wyndham goes into my dressing-room; so the boy's nursery is at yourservice. My wife is never so happy as when she has her hands full; andit'll be less trying for you here, than in your own empty bungalow."

  The last words flashed a suspicion into Lenox's mind.

  "Look here, man," he broke out hotly, his eyes searching Desmond's face."Isn't it you yourself who would be glad to keep an eye on me? You'rehalf afraid I shall knock under to this infernal thing if I'm too muchalone. Is that it?"

  Desmond met question and glance four-square.

  "You gave me leave just now not to mince matters, and I take you at yourword," said he. "To acknowledge that living alone may make the fightharder for you is no reflection on your powers of resistance. It issimple fact; and no earthly good can come of disregarding it. In yourcase discretion is the better part of valour.--Now, will you bereasonable, and accept my suggestion in the spirit in which it was made?"

  He held out his hand. Lenox grasped, and wrung it hard.

  "Thanks, old chap," he said. "I'll stay for the present. There's nowithstanding you two."

  That night he excused himself from mess: and long after the house andcompound had fallen asleep, he and Desmond sat together in the _dufta_,with pipes and pegs, and softly snoring dogs at their feet, talkingintermittently of all things in earth and heaven, with the rare unreservebred of tobacco, and the communicative influence of midnight. Talk ofthis kind draws men very close together; and in the course of it Lenoxdiscovered--as others had done before him--that this man who had becomeso intimately linked with the vital issues of his life was no mere goodcomrade, but a dynamic force, challenging and evoking the manhood of hisfriends.

  When they parted Lenox felt more hopeful than he had done since thearrival of Quita's note; and honest sleep hung heavy on his
eyelids.

  "Don't believe you need the dose we spoke of after all," Desmond remarkedon a note of satisfaction.

  "Not a bit of it. Thanks to you, I believe I shall sleep like a top."

  Nor was he disappointed.

  For the first time in fifty-six hours he took his fill of naturaldreamless sleep: and, on waking next morning, the first sight thatgreeted him was a letter from Dalhousie, propped against the milk-jug onhis early tea tray.

  [1] Duster.

  [2] It is an order--you understand!