Son of Power

  E-text prepared by Al Haines

  SON OF POWER

  by

  WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT and ZAMIN KI DOST

  Garden City New YorkDoubleday, Page & Company1920Copyright, 1920, byDoubleday, Page & CompanyAll Rights Reserved, Including That of Translationinto Foreign Languages, Including the ScandinavianCopyright, 1919, by the Curtis Publishing Company

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE

  Zamin Ki Dost is a title given to one who lived in India manyyears--from the time when she was little more than a child. The taleof tales would be her own story. Her name is

  WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I THE GOOD GREY NERVE II SON OF POWER III SON OF POWER (_Continued_) IV THE MONKEY GLEN V THE MONKEY GLEN (_Continued_) VI JUNGLE LAUGHTER VII THE HUNTING CHEETAH VIII THE MONSTER KABULI IX THE MONSTER KABULI (_Continued_) X HAND-OF-A-GOD XI ELEPHANT CONCERNS XII BLUE BEAST XIII NEELA DEO, KING OF ALL ELEPHANTS XIV NEELA DEO, KING OF ALL ELEPHANTS (_Continued_) XV THE LAIR XVI FEVER BIRDS

  SON OF POWER

  CHAPTER I

  _The Good Grey Nerve_

  His name was Sanford Hantee, but you will hear that only occasionally,for the boys of the back streets called him Skag, which "got" himsomewhere at once. That was in Chicago. He was eleven years old, whenhe wandered quite alone to Lincoln Park Zoo, and the madness took him.

  A silent madness. It flooded over him like a river. If any one hadnoticed, it would have appeared that Skag's eyes changed. Always hequite contained himself, but his lips stirred to speech even less afterthat. He didn't pretend to go to school the next day; in fact, thespell wasn't broken until nearly a week afterward, when the keeper ofthe Monkey House pointed Skag out to a policeman, saying the boy hadbeen on the grounds the full seven open hours for four straight daysthat he knew of.

  Skag wasn't a liar. He had never "skipped" school before, but the Zoohad him utterly. He was powerless against himself. Some bigger force,represented by a truant officer, was necessary to keep him away fromthose cages. His father got down to business and gave him abeating--much against that good man's heart. (Skag's father was aNorthern European who kept a fruit-store down on Waspen street--amildly-flavoured man and rotund. His mother was a Mediterranean woman,who loved and clung.)

  But Skag went back to the Zoo. For three days more he went, remainedfrom opening to closing time. He seemed to fall into deepabsorptions--before tigers and monkeys especially. He didn't hear whatwent on around him. He did not appear to miss his lunch. You had totouch his shoulder to get his attention. The truant officer did this.It all led dismally to the Reform School from which Skag ran away.

  He was gone three weeks and wouldn't have come back then, except hisheart hurt about his mother. He felt the truth--that she was slowlydying without him. After that for awhile he kept away from theanimals, because his mother loved and clung and cried, when he grewsilently cold with revolt against a life not at all for him, or hotwith hatred against the Reform School. Those were ragged months inwhich a less rubbery spirit might have been maimed, but the mother diedbefore that actually happened. Skag was free--free the same night.

  The father's real relation to him had ended with the beating. It wastoo bad, for there might have been a decent memory to build on. Thefruit-dealer, however, had been badly frightened by the truant-officer(in the uniform of a patrolman), and he was just civilised enough to bea little ashamed that his boy could so far forget the world and allrefined and mild-flavoured things, as to stare through bars at animalsfor seven hours a day. In the process of that beating, hell had openedfor Skag. It was associated with the raw smell of blood and a thin redsteam, a little hotter than blood-heat. It always came when heremembered his father. . . . But his mother meant lilacs. The topdrawer of her dresser had been faintly magic of her. The smell camewhen he remembered her. It was like the first rains in the LakeCountry.

  But that was all put back. Skag was out in the world now, making itexactly to suit himself. He was in charge of himself in many ways. Aglass of water and a sandwich would do for a long time, ifnecessary. . . . The West pulled him. Awhile in the mountains, helived with a prospector; there was a period in the desert when he cameto know lizards; then there were years of the circus, when he was outwith the Cloud Brothers, animal men of the commercial type. Ten queer,hard years for the boy--as hard almost as for the animals.

  Back in Chicago the caged creatures had been kept better--as well asbeasts belonging to the outdoors could be imprisoned, but the CloudBrothers didn't have fine senses like their charges. They tried tomake wild animals live in a place ventilated for men. There was a baddeath-percentage and none of the big cats were in show form, until theClouds began to take Skag's word for the main thing wrong. It wasn'tthe hard life, nor the coops, nor the travel, but the steady day in andday out lack of fresh air. Skag knew what the animals suffered,because it all but murdered him on hot nights. Of course, there aretainted-flesh things like hyenas that live best on foul air, fouleverything, but "white" animals of jungle and forest are high andcleanly beasts. When well and in their prime, even their coats areincapable of most kinds of dirt, because of a natural oily gloss.

  At nineteen, Skag was in charge of the packing, moving and feeding ofall the big cats, including pumas, panthers, leopards. He was in andout of the cages possibly more than was necessary. He learned thatthere are two ways to manage a wild animal--the "rough-neck" way with aclub, and the fancy way with your own equilibrium; all of which comesin more to the point later.

  He was interested at the time, but not really acquainted with thecamels and elephants. He often chatted with Prussak, the Arab, wholoathed camels to the shallow depths of his soul, but got as much outof them as most men could. Skag dreamed of a better way still, evenwith camels. Often on train-trips, at first, he talked with old AlecBinz, whose characteristic task was to chain and unchain the hind legof the old "gunmetal" elephant, Phedra, who bossed her sire and thelittle Cloud herd, as much with the flap of an ear as anythingelse. . . .

  No, old Alec must not be forgotten, nor his sandalwood chest with itslittle rose-jar in the corner, making everything smell so strangelysweet that it hurt. A girl of India had given Alec the jar twentyyears before. The spirit of a real rose-jar never dies; and somethingof the girl's spirit was around it, too, as Alec talked softly. Allthis was unreservedly good to Skag--thrilling as certain few books andthe top drawer that had been his mother's. . . . But something wayback of that, utterly his own deep heart-business, was connected withthe rose-jar. It was breathless like opening a telegram--its firstscent after days or weeks. If you find any meaning to the way Skagexpressed it, you are welcome:

  "It makes you think of things you don't know--"

  "But you will," Alec had once answered.

  The more you knew, the more you favoured that old man of the circuscompany,--little gold ring in his ear and such tales of India!

  It was Alec who led Skag into the fancy way of dealing with animals,but of course the boy was peculiar, inasmuch as he believed it all atonce. Skag never ceased to think of it until it was his; he actuallyput it into practice. Alec might have told a dozen American trainersand have gotten no more than a yawp for his pains. This is one of thethings Alec said:

  "If you can get on top of the menagerie in your own insides,Skagee--the tigers and apes, the serpents and monkeys, in your owninsides--you'll never get in bad with the Cloud Brothers wild animalshow."

  There wasn't a day or night for years that Skag didn't think of thatsaying. It was his secret theme. So far as he could see, it workedout. Of course, he found out many things for himself--one of which wasthat there is a smell about a man who is afraid, that t
he animals getit and become afraid, too. Alec agreed to this, but added that thereis a smell about most men, when they are not afraid.

  For hours they talked together about India--tiger hunts and the bigGrass Jungle country in the Bund el Khand, until Skag couldn't wait anylonger. He had to go to India. He told Alec, who wanted to go along,but couldn't leave old Phedra.

  "I've been with her too long," he said. "She's delicate, Skagee. I'myoung, but she couldn't stand it for me to go. Times are hard for heron the road, and the little herd needs her as she needs me. . . ."

  Skag understood that. In fact, he loved it well. It belonged to hisworld--to be straight with the animals. Gradually as the distanceincreased between them, the memory of old Alec began to smell as sweetas the sandal-wood chest in Skag's nostrils--the chest and the rose-jarthat never could die and the old friend became one identity. . . .

  India didn't excite Skag, who was twenty-five by this time. In fact,some aspects of India were more natural to him than his own country.Many people did a lot of walking and they lived while they walked,instead of pushing forward in a tension to get somewhere. Skagapproved emphatically of the Now. The present moving point was thebest he had at any given time. He thought a man should forget himselfin the Now like the animals.

  Besides they didn't regulate dress in India; in fact, they dressed inso many different ways that a man could wear what he pleased withoutbeing stared at. Skag hated to be stared at above all things. You arebeginning to get a picture of him now--unobtrusive, silent, strong inunderstanding, swift, actually in pain as the point of many eyes,altogether interested in his own unheard-of things.

  Alec told him how to reach the jungle of all jungles, ever old, evernew, ever innocent on the outside, ever deadly within--the Grass Junglecountry around Hattah and Bigawar--the Bund el Khand. The CloudBrothers had paid him well for his years; there was still script in hisclothes for travel, but Skag had a queer relation to money, only usingit when the law required. Not a tight-wad, far from that, though hepreferred to work for a meal than pay for it; much preferred to walk orride than to purchase other people's energy, having much of his own.

  He came at last to a village called Butthighur, near Makrai, north ofthe Mahadeo Mountains in the Central Provinces. On the first day, onthe main road near the rest-house, there passed him on the street, aslim, slightly-stooped and spectacled young white man. The face underthe huge cork helmet, Skag looked at twice, not knowing why altogether;then he followed leisurely to a bungalow, walked up the path to thesteps and knocked. The stranger himself answered, before the servantcould come. He looked Skag over, through spectacles that made his eyesappear insane, at times, and sometimes merely absurd. Finally hequestioned with soft cheer:

  "And what sort of a highbinder are you?"

  Skag answered that he was an American, acquainted with wild animals incaptivity, and that he had come to this place to know wild animals inthe open.

  "But why to me?" the white man asked.

  "It seemed well. I have looked into many faces without asking anyone.There is no chance of working for the native people here. They are toomany, and too poor."

  "You do not talk like an American--"

  "I do not like to talk."

  The white man was puzzled by Skag's careful and exact statements andremarked presently:

  "An American asking for work would say that he knew about everything,instead of just animals in captivity."

  "I have not asked for work before. I can do without it. I like ithere near the forests."

  "You mean the jungles--"

  "I thought jungles were wet."

  "In the wet season."

  "Thank you--"

  The slim one suddenly laughed aloud though not off-key:

  "But I haven't any wild animals in captivity for you--"

  Skag did not mind the mirth. He appreciated the smell of the house.It was like a hot earthen tea-pot that had been well-used.

  "I will come again?" he asked tentatively.

  "Just do that--at the rest-house. I drop in there after dinner--aboutnine."

  That afternoon Skag went into the edge of the jungle. It was a breathof promised land to him. He was almost frightened with the joy ofit--the deep leaf-etched shadows, the separate, almost reverentbird-notes; all spaciousness and age and dignity; leaves strange, drypaths, scents new to his nostrils, but having to do with joys and fearsand restlessness his brain didn't know. Skag was glad deep. He tookoff his boots and then strode in deeper and deeper past the maze ofpaths. He stayed there until the yellow light was out of the sky. Atthe clearing again, he laughed--looked down at the turf and laughed.He had come out to the paths again at the exact point of his entry.This was his first deep breath of the jungle--something his soul hadbeen waiting for.

  At dinner in the village, Skag inquired about the white man. Thenative was serving him a curry with drift-white rice on plantainleaves. After that there was a sweetmeat made of curds of cream andhoney, with the flavour and perfume of some altogether delectableflower. In good time the native replied that the white man's name wasCadman: that he was an American traveller and writer and artist, saidto be almost illustrious; that he had been out recently with a party ofEnglish sportsmen, but found tiger-hunting dull after his many wars andadventures. Also, it was said, that Cadman Sahib had thecoldest-blooded courage a man ever took into the jungle, almost like a_bhakti yogin_ who had altogether conquered fear. Skag bowed insatisfaction. Had he not looked twice at the face under thehelmet--and followed without words?

  "How far do they go into the jungle for tigers?" he asked.

  "An hour's journey, or a day, as it happens. Tigers are everywhere inseason."

  "Within an hour's walk?" Skag asked quietly. The other repeated hiswords in a voice that made Skag think of a grey old man, instead of thefat brown one before him.

  "Within an hour's walk? Ha, Ji! They come to the edge of the villageand slay the goats for food--and the sound cattle--and the children!"

  Skag laughed inwardly, thinking how good it had been in the deepplaces. However, it was now plain that these native folk were afraidof tigers--afraid as of a sickness. He walked out into the street.Though dark, it was still hot, and the breeze brought the dry green ofthe jungle to him and life was altogether quite right.

  That night he met Cadman Sahib. They talked until dawn. Skag washelpless before the other who made him tell all he knew, and much thathad been nicely forgotten. Sometimes in the midst of one story, thegreat traveller would snap over a question about one Skag had alreadytold. Then before he was answered fully, he would say briefly:

  "That's all right--go on!"

  ". . . Behold a phenomenon!" he said at last. "Here is one not a liar,and smells have meanings for him, and he has come, beyond peradventure,to travel with me to the Monkey Forest and the Coldwater Ruins!"

  It had been an altogether wonderful night for Skag. Talking made himvery tired, as if part of him had gone forth; as if, having spoken, hewould be called upon to make good in deeds. But he had not done allthe talking and Cadman Sahib was no less before his eyes in the morninglight--which is much to say for any man.

  These two white men set out alone, facing one of the most dangerous ofall known jungles. The few natives who understood, bade them good-byefor this earth.

  Many stories about Cadman had come to Skag in the three or four days ofpreparation--altogether astonishing adventures of his quest for death,but there was no record of Cadman's choosing a friend, as he had donefor this expedition. Skag never ceased to marvel at the suddensoftenings, so singularly attractive, in Cadman's look when he reallybegan to talk. Sometimes it was like a sudden drop into summer afterprotracted frost, and the lines of the thin weathered face revealed thewhole secret of yearning, something altogether chaste. And that wasonly the beginning. It was all unexpected; that was the charm of thewhole relation. Skag found that Cadman had a real love for India; thathe saw things from a nature full of deli
cate inner surfaces; that hiswhole difficulty was an inability to express himself unless he foundjust the receiving-end to suit. Indian affairs, town and field, aninfinite variety, Cadman discussed penetratingly, but as one who lookedon from the outside.

  "She is like my old Zoo book to me," he said, speaking of India theirfirst night out. "A bit of a lad, I used to sit in my room with thegreat book opened out on a marble table that was cold the year round.There were many pictures. Many, many pictures of all beasts--wood-cutsand copies of paintings and ink-sketchings--ante-camera days, you know.All those pictures are still here--"

  Cadman blew a thin diffusion of smoke from his lungs, and touched thethird button down from the throat of his grey-green shirt.

  "One above all," he added. "It was the frontispiece. All the story ofcreation on one page. Man, beautiful Man in the centre, all thetree-animals on branches around him, the deeps drained off at his feet,many monsters visible or intimated, the air alive with wings--finchesup to condors. That picture sank deep, Skag, so deep that inabsent-minded moments I half expected to find India like that--"

  There were no better hours of life, than these when Cadman Sahib lethimself speak.

  "I haven't found the animals and birds and monsters all packed on onepage," he added, "but highlights here and there in India, so that Ialways come back. I have often caught myself asking what the pull isabout, you know, as I catch myself taking ship for Bombay again. Oh, Isay, my son, and you never got over to the lotus lakes?"

  "Not yet," Skag said softly.

  "There's a night wind there and a tree--I could find it again. I'velain on peacock feathers on a margin there--unwilling to sleep lest Imiss the perfume from over the pools. . . . And the roses of Kashmir,where men of one family must serve forty generations before they getthe secrets; where they press out a ton of petals for a pound ofessential oil! And that's where the big mountains stand by--HighHimalaya herself--incredible colours and vistas--get it for yourself,son."

  It was always the elusive thing that Cadman didn't say, that leftSkag's mind free to build his own pictures. Meanwhile Cadman as acompanion was showing up flawlessly day by day.

  At the end of a long march, after many days out, they smelled the nightcooking-fires from a village. A moment later they passed tiger tracks,and the print of native feet.

  The twilight was thick between them as they hastened on. Cadman Sahibstepped back suddenly, lifting his hand to grasp the other, but notquite soon enough. That instant Skag was flicked out of sight, takeninto the folds of mother-earth and covered--the bleat of a kidpresently identifying the whole mystery.

  Skag fell about twelve feet into the black earth coolness. He wasunhurt, and knew roughly what had happened before he landed. His rushof thoughts: shame for his own carelessness, gladness that Cadman Sahibwas safe above, the meaning of the kid's cry and the tracks they hadseen; this rush was broken by another deluge of earth that all butdrowned the laugh of Cadman. Skag had jerked back against the wall ofearth to avoid being struck by the body of his companion who coughedand laughed again faintly, for his wind was very low.

  "You couldn't ask more of a friend than that, son. I couldn't get youup to me, so I came down with you--"

  Of course, it was an accident. Cadman presently explained that he hadset down his dunnage and crept close on his knees to look into the pitwhen the dry earth caved. Doubtless it was intended to do so, sincethis was a native tiger-trap baited with live meat. But Cadman had notconsidered fully in time. . . . Dust of the dry brown earth settledupon them now; the grey twilight darkened swiftly. The chamber wasabout nine by fifteen feet, hollowed wider at the bottom than the top,and covered with a thin frame of bamboo poles, upon which was spread alayer of leaves and sod. The kid had been tethered to escape thestroke if possible.

  "It's all night for us," Cadman remarked. "They won't look at the trapuntil morning. My packs are above--rifle and blanket--"

  "I have the camera," Skag chuckled.

  Cadman's thin hand came out gropingly.

  "The cigarettes are in the tea-pot," he said in a voice dulled withpain.

  "I have the pistol," Skag added dreamily. Something of the situationhad touched him with joy. If he spoke at such times, it was very dryly.

  "Doubtless you have our bathing-suits," Cadman suggested.

  "And my cigarette-case has--" Skag felt in the dark, "hasone--two--three--"

  "Go on," the other said tensely.

  "Three," said Skag.

  "Let's smoke 'em now. They're calling me already."

  Skag passed him the case, saying; "I'm not ready. I do not care justnow."

  The other puffed dismally.

  "I don't always quite get you, son," he said. "But it's all right whenI do--"

  Skag mused over this. He was hungry and he put the thought away. Hewas athirst and he put that thought away also. The wants came back,but he dealt with them more firmly. The two men talked of appetites ingeneral, and Skag explained that he handled his, just as he had handledthe wild animals in the circus, being straight with them and gainingtheir friendliness.

  "Don't fight them," he said. "Get them on your side and they will pullfor you in a pinch."

  "You talk like a Hindu holy man--"

  "Do they talk like that?" Skag asked quickly. . . . "It was my oldfriend with the circus--who taught me these things. He taught me tomake friends with my own wild animals. It is true that he was manyyears in India. . . ."

  "He was the one that had the ring in his left ear?"

  "Right ear."

  The other laughed. "It's such a novelty to find you are not aliar--with all you know and have been through. I'll stop that nastybusiness of testing you. Hear me, from now on, I'm done!"

  Hours passed; it was after midnight. The waning moon was rising. Theycould tell the light through the trees. Cadman had smoked again, butSkag still expressed an unwillingness.

  "It doesn't want to, now," he said.

  "Oh, it doesn't--"

  "I have persuaded it to think of other things. It is working for me."

  Cadman swore softly, genially. "I never forget anything, son," hewhispered. "Never anything like that."

  "Old Alec said I should never let a day pass without doing something Ididn't want to--or without something I wanted. He said it was betterthan developing muscle."

  "Some brand of calisthenics--that. And he was the old one with therose-jar?"

  Skag's hand lifted toward the other and Cadman's met his.

  There was a wet, meaty growl, indescribably low-pitched--but no chanceeven to shout--only to huddle back together to the farthest corner.The beast had stalked faultlessly and pounced, landing upon the thincross pieces of bamboo, but short of the bait. Down the twelve feet hecame with a tearing hiss of fright and rage. Something like a muffledcrash of pottery, it was, mixed with dull choking explosions. The airof the pit seemed charged with furious power that whipped the leaves toshreds.

  "The pistol, Skag--"

  They were free, so far, from the rending claws. The younger man'sbrain was full of light. Cadman Sahib's voice had never been more calm.

  Skag drew a match, not the gun. He scratched the match and held ithigh in front. They saw the great cowering creature like a fallen ponyin size--but untellably more vivid in line--the chest not more thanseven feet from them, the head held far back, the near front paw liftedagainst them as if to parry a blow.

  Skag changed the match from his right hand to his left. When the flameburned low, he tossed it on the ground, half way between them and thetiger. There was a forward movement of the beast's spine--a littlelower and forward. The lifted paw curved in, but did not touch theground. The last light of the match, as it turned red, seemed brightin the beast's bared mouth. In it all there was the dramatic realityof a dream that questions not.

  "He's badly frightened," Skag said.

  No sound from Cadman Sahib.

  "It's too big for him," Skag went on cal
mly. "He thinks we put overthe whole thing on him. It's too big for him to tackle. Wonder ifhe's got a mate?"

  One big green eye burned now in the pit--steady as a beacon and turnedto them, enfolding them. Cadman Sahib cleared his throat.

  "All right to talk?" he asked huskily.

  "Sure. It will help--"

  He cleared his throat again and inquired in an enticing tone: "Youactually don't mean to use the pistol?"

  "I'm not a crack-shot," Skag said queerly.

  "You might pass it to me. I'm supposed to be--"

  "It is bad light."

  "And then again, you might not," Cadman laughed softly. "I've got you,son--"

  "I will do as you say," Skag said steadily.

  Cadman hiccoughed. "The eye moved," he explained. "There--it did itagain. I got a feeling as if an elevator dropped a flight. What wereyou saying?"

  "That I am here to take orders."

  "I'm taking orders to-night, son. I wouldn't risk your good opinion byshooting your guest--"

  "He is perfect--not more than four or five years--got his full range,but not his weight."

  Skag stopped abruptly, until the other nudged him.

  "Go on--it's like a bench-show--"

  "We called them Bengalis--but that is just the trade-name--"

  "You intimated he might have a lady-friend--do they hunt in couples?"

  The boy didn't answer that. "You've never been in a tiger's cage?" heasked suddenly.

  "I'm telling you not, so you'll excuse my apprehensions about ourlodging--in case Herself appears. The fact is, there isn't room--"

  "She won't come near, if we keep up the voices--"

  "It becomes instantly a bore to talk," Cadman answered.

  Sometime passed before they spoke again. The tiger didn't seem tosettle any; from time to time, they heard the tense concussion, thehissing escape of his snarl. The kid had either escaped or strangledto death.

  "Will he stand for it until morning?" Cadman asked abruptly.

  "He may move a little to rest his legs."

  "And won't he try for the top?"

  "I think not. He has already measured that. He sees in the dark. Heknows there's no good in making a jump."

  "Nothing to jump at--with us here?"

  "We have put it over on him. You have helped greatly."

  "How's all that?"

  "You don't smell afraid--"

  "Ah, thanks."

  Long afterward Cadman's hand came over to Skag's brow and touched itlightly.

  "I was just wondering, son, if you sweat hot or cold."

  There was a pause, before he added:

  "You see, I want to get you, young man. You really like this sort ofnight?"

  "It is India," said Skag.

  Every little while through the dragging hours, Cadman would laughsoftly; and if there had been silence for long, the warning snarl wouldcome back. The breath of it shook the air and the thresh of the tailkept the dust astir in the pit.

  "There is only one more thing I can think of," Cadman said at last.

  The waning moon was now in meridian and blent with daylight. The beastwas still crouched against the wall.

  "Yes?" said Skag.

  "That you should walk over and stroke his head."

  "Oh, no, he is cornered. He would fight."

  "There's really a kind of law about all this--?"

  "Very much a law."

  After an interval Cadman breathed: "I like it. Oh, yes," he addedwearily, "I like it all."

  It was soon after that they heard the voices of natives and a face,looking grey in the dawn, peered down. Cadman spoke in a language thenative understood:

  "Look in the tea-pot and toss down my cigarettes--"

  At this instant the tiger protested a second time. The native vanishedwith the squeak of a fat puppy that falls off a chair on its back. Formoments afterward, they heard him calling and telling others the taleof all his born days. Three quarters of an hour elapsed before thelong pole, thick as a man's arm, was carefully lowered. Skag guidedthe butt to the base of the pit, and fixed it there as far as possiblefrom the tiger. This was delicate. His every movement was maddeninglydeliberate, the danger, of course, being to put the tiger into afighting panic.

  "Now you climb," Skag said.

  "No--"

  "It is better so. I am old at these things. He will not leap at youwhile I am here--"

  "You mean he might leap, as you start to shin up the pole--alone?"

  "No, that will be the second time. It will not infuriate him--thesecond one to climb."

  "I'll gamble with you--who goes first."

  "You said that you were taking orders," Skag said coldly.

  "That's a fact. But this isn't to my relish, son--"

  "We do not need more words."

  Cadman Sahib had reached safety. The natives were around him, feelinghis arms and limbs, stuttering questions. He bade them be silent,caught up his rifle and covered the tiger, while Skag made the tiltedpole, beckoning the rifle back.

  "It's been a hard night for him," he said.

  The two men stood together in the morning light. Cadman's face wasdeeply shaded by the big helmet again, but his eyes bored into theyoung one's as he offered his cigarette-case. Skag took one, lit itcarelessly. Cadman was watching his hands.

  "You've got it, son," he said.

  "Got what?"

  "The good grey nerve. . . . Not a flicker in your hand. I wanted toknow. . . . Say, cheer up--"

  Skag was looking toward the tiger trap.

  "Ah, I see," said Cadman Sahib.

  "The circus is a hard life," Skag said.

  That was a kind of a feast day. . . . At noon the natives had thetiger up in sunlight, caged in bamboo. Skag presently came into astartling kind of joy to hear his friend make an offer to buy thebeast. Negotiations moved slowly, but the thing was done. Thatafternoon the journey toward Coldwater Ruins was continued with eightcarriers, the tiger swung between them. Skag was mystified. Whatcould Cadman mean? What could he do with a tiger at the Ruins or inthe Monkey Forest? The natives apparently had not been told thedestination, but they must know soon. It was all strange. Skag likedit better alone with his friend. Halt was called that afternoon, thesun still in the sky. The two white men walked apart.

  "You get the drift, my son?"

  Skag shook his head.

  "Of course, the natives won't like it; they won't understand. Butwe're sure he isn't a man-eater--"

  Skag's chest heaved.

  "I never knew a more decent tiger--" Cadman went on. "Besides, he's afriend of yours, and not too expensive--"

  "You bought him to--"

  "I bought him for you, son--a tribute to the nerviest white man I everstepped with--"

  That evening a great whine went up from the bearers. It appears thatwhile some were cutting wood, others preparing supper and othersgathering dry grass for beds, the younger white man, who had made magicwith the tiger in the pit, suddenly failed in his powers. The nativeswere sure it was not their fault that the cover had not been securelyfastened. The bearers repeated they were all at work and could find nofault with themselves. They were used to dealing with white men whodid not permit bungling. Their wailing was very loud. . . . To losesuch a tiger was worth more than many natives, some white men wouldsay. . . . But Cadman Sahib was rich. He fumed but little; being ofall white men most miraculously compassionate. . . . Also it was truethe beast, though full grown, was not a man-eater. . . .

  "And to-morrow we shall go on alone--it is much pleasanter," said Skag,after all was still and they lay down together.