*CHAPTER XI.*
_*THE FOOTPRINT.*_
"There he is!" said Rattam, waving his hand grandly. "Look at him well.Did you ever see such eyes? He is Tara Ghur, the oldest shikaree, orhunter, among the hills, and he does what few beside himself would dareto do. He goes alone into the forest for days, marking the tracks ofthe game, that he may know which way to lead the hunting-parties. Hewas ready to start when I sent for him."
Oliver looked curiously at the wiry figure before him, so unlike therest of the Rana's servants. His eyes were light blue, with a piercingglance and a flash like burnished steel. His cap and waistcloth were adull greeny brown, that yet approached to yellow in the sunlight. Infact, it was so exactly the same hue as the parched and dying leaves inthe drought of summer, that when he was creeping among the bushes hecould scarcely be distinguished from them. He carried a light bambooover his shoulder, with a small water-pot slung at one end, and a skinof atta, or meal, at the other. This was all the food he took with him.His hunting-knife was in his hand, as if he had been trying its edge,but he stuck it in his belt and lowered his rusty matchlock to do honourto the son of his chief.
"He has the true Tartar eye," continued Rattam, "gifted with a power ofsight that can detect the smallest speck in the distance and recognizeit at once, no matter how far off it is or how queer it looks. He isnever deceived, and we have never known him make a mistake. Now tellhim what you like."
Oliver did not trust much to his own scant stock of Indi. He caught upthe ball and sent it bounding before him. This, as he expected, set offHorace running after it, whilst Aglar called out to his bearer to pickup his "golee."
Down tumbled Horace. Oliver pulled him up, and taking off his hat,showed him to the shikaree. The old man surveyed him curiously.
"Child like this carried off by booraba. Search for any trace of it.Reward sure," said Oliver, asking Rattam to repeat his words for fearold Tara should not understand.
He did so, adding, "Search in the koonds by the ruined temple."
The old man's keen eye glittered as he salaamed to the very ground.
Oliver turned round to the fat boy in his silks and satins, and shookhim warmly by the hand until he made the twining, serpent-shapedbracelets jingle. "We are going to be chums after this," he said.
"Chums!" repeated Rattam; "what are they?"
"Friends, if you like it better," retorted Oliver.
"Friends! ah, that I understand. That is good," replied the youngchieftain, taking Oliver's hand between his own in his Eastern fashion.Happily for Oliver, no little bag of musk was near to drop into it. Hewas perfumed past all endurance already by "that beggar with thescent-bottle."
"Now," cried Oliver, "I should like to be off with the old man. I'mgood for a ten-mile walk any day. What say you? Could we be back againbefore my uncle starts?"
Rattam drew himself up with dignity. "It would hardly become me towalk," he said with emphasis.
Oliver's impatient shrug was cut short by a summons to the hall ofaudience. The deputy was going. It was Rattam's turn to sigh, for hewas as weary of perching on a chaukee, or chair, as Oliver was of thescent-bottle. He managed to draw up one leg unseen by his tutor.
Mrs. Desborough was amused to discover the fabulous powers attributed toher, and soothed the Ranee's disappointment by sketching the threelittle girls as they stood together in the flickering light and shadecast from the fretwork of the balcony.
But now the word passed round that the sahib was going. A breath oflife entered into the five shawl bundles. Rattam's other foot found itsway to the floor. In walked the two stout gentlemen in white with a trayof wreaths. Oliver espied the scent-bottle in the back-ground, andthought about flight. The Rana took up a splendid wreath of weepingjessamine, with its pure white blossoms trailing loosely over hisoutspread arm, and dropped it solemnly over the deputy's head. He, poorman, was doing his utmost to preserve his gravity, and half succeeded.But Mr. Desborough's utterly failed when a superb circlet of white andorange _immortelles_ found its way to his neck. He took refuge in a fitof coughing, which approached strangulation when he caught sight ofHorace's face. The little fellow was just brought in from the gardens,and stared with wide-open eyes, literally struck dumb by his father'sabsurd appearance. For the five by the wall gravely left their chairsand followed the Rana's example, until Mr. Desborough's shirt front waslost to sight beneath the multitude of garlands.
The band was gathering in the porch, and the pompous peons were waiting.
"Good-night, gentlemen," said the deputy, shaking hands all round.
"By your honour's condescension, may your slaves be reserved in health,"replied the five, salaaming to the ground, and they followed him to thetop of the steps, where the Rana was standing.
The tomtoms and trumpets struck up with a sudden blare as the horseswere led forward.
Oliver squeezed Rattam's hand as he whispered his last question, "Whenwill the shikaree get back?"
"I shall send him to you," answered Rattam; and they parted.
Mrs. Desborough and the children were already in their dandies, crossingthe bridge, as the horses cantered out of the castle gate sniffing thecool hill breezes.
"In pity, free me from this rubbish, boy," sighed the deputy, turning tohis nephew; when he beheld ten coolies running behind them, carryingbetween them jars of sweetmeats slung upon bamboos--a parting gift fromthe Rana.
"Uncle," said Oliver in a low voice, "I have something to tell you."
Whilst Mr. Desborough shunted wreath after wreath into his wife's lap,shaking himself after each surrender like a dog emerging from the water,Oliver was explaining to his uncle about Rattam and the shikaree.
Horace was fast asleep, and Kathleen's eyes were blinking, when theyreached the bungalow.
"Cheer up, little woman!" whispered Oliver, as he bade her good-night;"Master Gravity, in his saffron satin, is going to find out what hisfellows have really seen."
"You shall have my bird!" she exclaimed in her rush of gratitude.
"Nonsense, you silly little goose! You must not give away a keepsake.Do you think I am like those dusky beggars on the hill? My hands areempty enough, ready for work, and I mean to keep them so," retortedOliver, stretching them out with intense satisfaction to prove the truthof his words.
He did not see her again, for by daybreak the Desboroughs were all _enroute_ for home, sweet home.
How happy the children were to see the many-gabled roof once more,embowered as usual in an ever-increasing mass of foliage and flowers,and replete with joyous life in every corner! The owl still sat in theentrance of his hole, blinking benevolently at Kathleen and Horace asthey took their first run round the wide, cool veranda hand in hand,just to see if all the old pets were safe. Kites and hoopoes and bluejays were screaming and croaking to their hearts' content.
The ayah called Kathleen to look at her billee, as she called thekitten, which had grown immensely in their absence. Then she lifted upHorace to watch the gitchree, or squirrel, leaping from bough to boughamong the garden trees, and to listen to the cooing of the jangalee, orwood-pigeon.
The dark faces of the gardener and the bhisti appeared at unexpectedcorners, with new treasures they had been saving for the little beebee.
One had tamed a moongus, a cat-like creature as big as a greyhound, andexcellent for rats and mice, and equally good for cockroaches and manyanother insect pest which life in India knows only too much about.
Its soft gray coat and arching back, and all its amusing ways, won asmile from mamma as it ran about the house, sniffing at every new thing,and examining every hole and corner with the greatest curiosity.Finally, it set to work with teeth and claw, and dug itself asubterranean retreat by the door-step, where it could munch its dinnerundisturbed by the liberties of its many neighbours. It was so clean,mamma had not a word to say against it. So with that and Kathleen'smina, who was trusted to leave his cage whe
never he liked, the childrenhad plenty of amusement, and the first few days at home sped rapidlyaway.
One evening, when they were returning from their walk, Kathleen withSailor by her side, and a coolie holding an umbrella over them both,they were hailed by Oliver, who was driving in his uncle's boondee (ahooded gig drawn by two oxen) to the gates of the indigo factory. Along train of native carts, creaking under their load of indigo pulp,were waiting to enter. One ghareewan, or carter, had brought a rumourthat a fair child had been seen by some hunters in the jungle. The talehad passed from lip to lip, until it had reached Mr. Desborough, who waspacing his office floor in unwonted agitation.
Oliver sprang out of the chaise and made his way through the press withmost unusual energy for India. He entered the labyrinth ofstraw-thatched sheds, passed the great crushing-mill, which a party ofhalf-dressed men were treading, and got splashed by the dark-blue streamissuing from it. Never mind; on he pressed, inquiring for the sahib.He was almost deafened by the hissing and sputtering of the steam fromthe huge boiling vat, when he became aware that on all sides the menwere rushing from their work, and pointing to a dark reddish cloud thathad suddenly appeared in the north.
He could not tell in the least what all this uproar could mean, so hetried to edge his way through the crowd of hideous blue figures who weregesticulating and screaming at their loudest. Then they began to snatchup the stones around them, which they poised in their hands as ifprepared to hurl them at the skies. Oliver thought of a riot, and wasthankful to perceive Mr. Desborough himself step out from one of thenumerous sheds and glance hurriedly around. Just then a stick struckOliver on the head. He looked round; a second was thrown at him. Themen had not sent it, for it came from an opposite direction. He glancedupwards; another was hurled at his back. He did not like that at all.In spite of the agitation visible in Mr. Desborough's manner, he beganto laugh as Oliver tried to run from his unseen persecutors, and pointedto the roof of a great shed out of which the busy workers were rushingpell-mell. Oliver looked up, and saw a troop of black-faced monkeys,big fellows three or four feet high, clambering over it. They caughthis eye at last, and then the shower was renewed in earnest. He sawtheir switching tails and grinning teeth. And oh, the chattering andjabbering from five-and-twenty monkeys in a passion was something verytremendous indeed! Oliver gathered up a handful of the sticks whichwere showered around him, and shied them back again.
"Stop, stop, my lad!" shouted Mr. Desborough. "Throwing at monkeys willnot do. Come in here."
Oliver darted into the counting-house, fully believing the riot he hadbeen anticipating among the men was already in full swing among themonkeys.
"They are hunimans, my boy, the most sacred of all the monkey tribe.Had you hurt one of them you might have paid for it with your life.Timid and peaceable as my men appear, they would have mobbed you in amoment," exclaimed Mr. Desborough.
"Peaceable!" repeated Oliver; "why, they are yelling like furies."
"Oh, they are watching the locusts. Can't you see them coming?" repliedMr. Desborough, pointing to the rapidly-moving cloud, which seemedextending itself in every direction, darkening the air as it came.
"Strange," said the boy; "but I have something here for you that isstranger still."
As he was speaking Oliver unpacked a lump of clayey earth, and showed itto him with an elation he could scarcely conceal.
"Look at that, Mr. Desborough. Do you see those marks? What are they?"he demanded breathlessly. "The print of a child's foot," he added, aftera momentary pause. "The most sagacious hunter among the hills dug it uptwo nights ago at the entrance of the koond by the ruined temple. It isproof positive that a wild child is wandering in the jungle. Can it beyour lost little one?"
The father's hand trembled as he held up the lump of earth to thefast-decreasing light.
"Send for Iffley!" he exclaimed.
"He is waiting for you, Mr. Desborough--waiting at my uncle's with thewonderful old man who dug up the footprint. We have gathered the mostexperienced beaters and trackers from the villages round. By the time wereach my uncle's bungalow he will have everything ready to beat thekoond."
Mr. Desborough waited to hear no more. He was already striding acrossthe open space between the sheds towards his home. Oliver hurried afterhim. The sky above them was darkened by a fluttering host of beatingwings. Look which way they would, the air was thick with locusts,appearing like dark-red spots in the increasing gloom, but white assnowflakes where the sunlight still lingered.
The fearful hullaballoo the factory-workers were making to prevent thelocusts settling down was caught up and redoubled by every ghareewan atthe factory gate. The living cloud that now completely overhung theplace was slowly and surely descending.
Up went the shower of stones, forcing it to rise some feet into the airand flutter further.
The men knew well if the locusts were once permitted to settle, not agreen leaf would be left in the village, and the sahib's garden wouldbecome a barren waste before sunrise.
The exceeding singularity of the sight, which held Mrs. Desboroughspell-bound on her veranda, was altogether lost upon her husband, whosaw nothing but his children slowly returning from their evening stroll,like all the rest of the world, gazing upwards. Oliver alone cast awary eye at the monkeys, who, having given the young stranger notice toquit in their most peremptory fashion, were making off again to rob thenearest fruit-shop whilst its owner stood gazing at the wondrous insectarmy hovering in mid-air.
Mr. Desborough snatched his boy from under the ayah's arm, pulled offhis shoes and socks, and bade him stamp his feet with all his might onthe garden bed.
Mrs. Desborough called out in horror, for she thought some one of themyriad insects in earth or air would be sure to dart a fiery sting intothe pretty "pink, five-beaded sole."
Determined to spare her the burning suspense which Mr. Desborough wastelling himself was sure to end in the bitterest disappointment, hewould not let Oliver enter the compound.
"Iffley has sent for me," was all the explanation he volunteered as heseized the gardener's spade, and dug up the clod upon which Horace hadbeen stamping. He dared not tell her more, for he saw too plainly hergrief for the missing little one was sapping her life. Any sudden shockand a spasm at the heart might snatch her from him in a moment.
Alive in the Jungle: A Story for the Young Page 11
