*CHAPTER III.*
_*HOW THE SEARCH ENDED.*_
Their work was not yet done. There were many narrow paths leading intothe clump, which the wild beasts had made for their own convenience.Some of the grass had been cut down by the wild boar's tusks, and someof it had been trampled under-foot. Mr. Desborough dismounted,determined to penetrate the tangled mass, to see if any vestige of hislittle darling was to be found there.
The major followed him; old Gobur entered by another path.
"Let me go with you," entreated Oliver, as the coolies set down hissister's dandy under a tree, and flung themselves upon the ground torest, waiting until some of the men in the nearest village should answertheir summons, and present themselves according to custom, prepared totake their places.
Oliver had already picked up enough Indi to make his requestintelligible; but forcing his way into the twisted grass was verytrying. There were sudden drops into holes and unexpected scrambles upsteep banks; whilst the twisted stalks, interlaced with most luxuriantwild-flowers, presented an impervious wall on either side, diversifiedby tufts of wild arrowroot and an occasional bramble. Now and then oldGobur paused to point out a porcupine's burrow, or to drag his youngcompanion aside, as a hissing snake wound its green length across thepath; whilst the impudent monkeys chattered and screamed as they swungthemselves high over Oliver's head, rejoicing in the sudden departure oftheir more formidable neighbours the great pig family. Bright andbeautiful birds peeped at him out of their nests, unscared, with thathappy boldness common to all the feathered tribes in India; because noHindu boy would ever dream of hurting or teasing any living thing. Asfor old Gobur, he darted about like a monkey, dragging Oliver along withhim until they reached a sort of grassy tent in the very centre of theclump. It was the wild-hog's lair, which they love to make in the midstof "thatching-grass," as Gobur called it.
The boy went down on his hands and knees and crept inside.
It was a sort of grassy tent which its hoggish owner had made by cuttingdown some of the grass with his teeth. One half he had trampledunder-foot, and the other half he had heaved aloft with his head, as hewalked round and round in a circle, until his grassy cave was complete.
An aspiring porcupine was just disputing with a giant rat which of thetwo had the better right to this deserted mansion, when Oliver poked inhis head. Forthwith the rat, with his twelve-inch length of tailswitching from side to side, made a grab at his hair; and the porcupine,bristling with spears, rushed at him. Oliver received the charge on hisarm, which he hastily extended to save his face.
Gobur pulled him backwards; but the resolute boy refused to cry out,although the blood was streaming from his elbow to his wrist.
Oliver was wofully crestfallen at this unexpected disaster. There wasnothing for it but to retrace his steps.
His silken shirt was torn to shreds, and his hat was left in pawn withthe rat. His knees were bruised, with slipping into holes and crawlingout again.
Old Gobur began to think it wiser to extricate his unknown companionthan to continue a search which he knew to be utterly hopeless. Whenthey got free of the grass at last, it was some small consolation toOliver to find they had penetrated farther into the thicket than any oneelse. Mr. Desborough and the major owned themselves baffled, and werenow trusting to the sagacity of the dogs.
Poor Oliver's appearance attracted Mr. Desborough's attention.
"Who is that boy?" he asked.
"A young stranger who joined in the search and got scratched by asahee," explained the grooms.
Such being the case, Anglo-Indian ideas of hospitality compelled Mr.Desborough to offer him a bath and breakfast if he would return withthem to Noak-holly and have his arm bound up.
The major turned surgeon, and offered to do the job for him on the spot.He had taken to the boy, and wanted to know a little more about him.
One of the syces pinned up a large leaf with thorns, and fetched somewater in it from the nearest well. The major tore his own handkerchiefinto strips, and bound up the lacerated arm with a wet bandage.
Taking the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity at the same time, hequickly ascertained that Oliver St. Faine and his sister Bona had comeout to join an uncle, a deputy-judge, who was to have sent to meet them.They had travelled from Calcutta in a big box, with shutters in thesides, so the boy asserted, with a grimace at the recollection.
"Oh, of course," remarked the major; "that was what we call a_dak-gharri_, our Eastern equivalent to a post-chaise. Why did youleave it?"
"Because we were to leave at the last government bungalow, and take ashort cut across the country to my uncle's; but it seems to be one ofthose short things which grow longer with cutting," answered the boydryly. "There has been a muddle and a mistake. The gentleman who tookcare of us on our journey could come no farther, and some one was tohave met us. But that some one did not come; so he got the pony for me,and hired these fellows to carry my sister, and I believe they have losttheir way."
"Then we will put you in it again. Come on with us to Noak-holly; andwhen I have done all I can in this melancholy business to help poorDesborough, I will take you myself to Judge St. Faine in the cool of theevening," said the major.
Kathleen was watching for her father's return. Her sad eyes grew brightwith excitement and hope as she heard the gate open. She was sitting bythe gardener, in the midst of a heap of roses and carnations which hehad just flung down, on the shady side of the veranda; for India is avery land of flowers. He had brought in his baskets full, as usual, toadorn the rooms, and was sitting cross-legged in his snowy turban,weaving them with his dexterous fingers into wreaths and bouquets ofsurpassing loveliness. But the sweet perfume and the fresh, cool touchof the leaves, which Kathleen loved so well, had lost their charm. Theroses fell from her lap, and she trampled recklessly upon the gloriousazaleas with which he had been trying to divert her.
She sprang into her father's arms. "Horace is better!" she cried. "Hehas slept; he will get well, papa. But have you found Carl?"
Her father pressed her to him and turned his head away as he answered,"We have been searching everywhere. No, darling; we have not found himyet. These people must all have breakfast. There! go to that younglady. In mamma's absence I must leave her to you.--I dare not tell herthe worst," he added in a low aside to the major as he turned towardsthe tent, where the hardest task of all awaited him.
In shy obedience to her father's wishes, Kathleen followed the major tothe gate. As Bona St. Faine was lifted out of her dandy, she toowhispered something about the sincere sympathy of a stranger, and herexceeding reluctance to intrude at such a time.
The major thought it a pretty little speech from a stranger; so heengaged her forthwith to do her best to comfort his little fairyKathleen.
Bona promised readily; and Oliver, who gave no promise, did still more.They took the little girl between them, and would have led her to thehouse; but she hung back, intent upon the coolies, who were bringinghome the dead wolf. She slipped her hand away from Miss St. Faine andran to the gate.
"Fetch her back, Oliver," whispered his sister. "It is dreadful to lether see that brute. You say it has devoured her brother."
But he was too late to prevent it. Kathleen was peeping through theiron-work of the gate.
"It is the wolf," he said gently. "Your father shot it. It will neverfrighten you again. Come and tell us all about it."
"I can't," persisted Kathleen. "Let me look." She laid her hand on theiron. It was so hot to the touch in that burning sunshine it almostblistered her fingers; but she did not heed that. "Did papa shoot thewolf?" she asked, with a painful catch in her breath between each word."Then where is Carl?"
Oliver dare not tell her, for he had heard what her father had said tothe major; and being of a straightforward turn of mind, who naturallyanswered yes or no to every inquiry--"I will tell you" or "I will nottell you"--he was quite at a loss
for a reply, not having the least ideahow to evade a question.
"Why don't you speak?" she asked desperately.
Oliver muttered something, and creaked the gate, so that she could nothear what he said.
Out she flew panting, Oliver after her.
"What could he do that for!" exclaimed his sister, considerablychagrined. "How just like a boy! He always is so stupid. I believe hewanted to have a look at the wolf himself."
The syces had laid the dead animal on the bank which ran round Mr.Desborough's compound, and were standing under the shadow of the gardentrees considering it. They called to the gardener to bring them somefern leaves and bushes to cover the wolf from the sun, until they knewwhether the sahib wished to preserve its skin.
It was a savage-looking brute, young, for its prevailing colour was atawny fawn, with a little gray on its back and inside its legs.
"That is not the horrid dog that ran away with Carl!" exclaimedKathleen. "It was not a buff dog; it was a gray dog, with a greatscratch on its shoulder. I should know it anywhere. I see it now--Ialways see it--stealing out of the bathroom."
The gardener pressed in between and threw his load of fern leaves overit, to prevent her seeing any more of the fierce booraba. Her ownfavourite syce, who drove her out in her little carriage every evening,tried to lead her away. Old Gobur stopped him.
"Let the little beebee [the little lady] look."
"It will only terrify her; and the sahib will be angry," urged the syce.
"Stop!" persisted Gobur, speaking in his soft Indi, which Oliver triedhard to follow; and then the old man explained--"The colour of a wolftells its age: they all turn gray as they grow old. If a gray wolfcarried off the child, it has carried it off alive. We must searchagain."
At this moment Bona St. Faine appeared at the gate, and taking littleKathleen's hand in hers, led her resolutely away, threatening theservants with their master's displeasure for suffering such a child tosee the dead wolf.
"How wrong of you, Oliver!" she said, glancing at her brotherreproachfully.
To avoid her upbraiding, which Oliver felt he deserved, he steppedbehind old Gobur, who was forcing open the wolf's mouth and examiningits teeth. He sprang up excitedly and pointed to the little bits ofmatted hair sticking about them.
"What is that?" he asked triumphantly. "Where did that come from? Thebuffalo hide. The wolves as well as the jackals follow the tiger tofeast on what he leaves, as every hunter knows. The little beebee isright. We must search again."
How Oliver listened! These dark-skinned men, who were chattering roundhim so fast, had lived in the midst of wild beasts all their lives.
One was telling of a wolf which had stolen a baby from its mother's armas she lay sleeping.
The gardener hurried away to find his master. The coolies who hadcarried Bona's dandy joined in the eager discussion; some werecontradicting the old man's assertion, others were asking questions noneof them could answer. Had any one heard the child cry? No, not eventhe coolies in the veranda. Why, they kept on fanning the empty cot!The child had been spirited away in its sleep. Only a clever old wolfcould have done it.
"That scratch on its shoulder--was the blood dropping from it?" askedGobur, almost breathlessly. "Wherever a drop has fallen you will findthe black ants covering it by this time. Run and look."
Up sprang Mr. Desborough's own syce, followed by half-a-dozen others,gesticulating and talking all at once at the top of their voices.
"Stop that row!" exclaimed Mr. Desborough, who was bending over the cotof his other little boy, trying to prepare its mother for the dreaddisclosure.
Out went the major. "Two wolves indeed! Preposterous!"
The syce pointed to the patches of tiny black ants which he had foundalong the veranda and across the grass, as Gobur expected.
"Sahib," he asked suggestively, "is it from the wolf or from the child?"
"From the child," answered the major, examining the rhododendron bushes,where the crushed flowers and broken stalks were thickly covered by thebusy insects.
Both believed they had found the fatal spot to which the wolf hadretreated.
Oliver had gone up to the fountain on the lawn, and was deluging hisbandaged arm.
"Go indoors, my boy, and rest," said the major, as he passed him, "oryou will suffer for it with that arm."
Oliver walked slowly on towards the veranda, examining for himself thelittle black patches that marked the trail of the wolf. He traced itscourse from the rhododendron to the window of the bathroom, then hediscovered a second trail leading from the veranda to the pool.
He pointed it out to the gardener, who was returning.
"Wasn't old Gobur right after all?"
The punkah coolie joined them. He was certain he must have heard thesnap of the wolf's teeth if he were behind that bush. For a wolf, theyboth asserted, bites with a snap, and clashes its teeth with as muchnoise as a steel trap. No; it had carried off the child alive to itslair.
Oliver bounded up the steps of the veranda, and ran into the hall.Kathleen was flitting restlessly from room to room.
"Be comforted, dear!" he exclaimed; "your brother is not killed. We mayfind him yet, alive in the jungle."
Alive in the Jungle: A Story for the Young Page 3
