Adventure, December 1914 — page 71: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Lancing of the Whale Ali of a man who washed his trousers in a brook and displayed more anatomy than cities would consider legal. “Lent to the Cossacks—they had need of it!” the fellow laugheal. ‘“‘Take that one, bahadur!’’ advised Usbeg Ali, and Dick beckoned to him. “‘Thou!”’ called Dick to another one who grubbed himself a shallow trench in which to lie. ‘‘What buriest thou?” ‘‘My share of the loot!” the fellow an- swered. “Come!” said Dick. ‘‘TI’ll use you.” It took them two hours to pick a hundred and fifty men; but at last they had three fifty-man platoons to take the strain in turn; and then they pushed a living fringe far forward, beyond the low foothills to the hot plain. Dick posted them, though Usbeg Ali went with him to see, and Usbeg Ali listened to the orders that he gave; but the Afghan learned little. “Now for the closest watch that ever army kept!’ commanded Dick. ‘The man caught nodding, dies! The first man to get information wins promotion on the spot! I’m short of good sergeants!” He had learned the trick of managing his Persians. A whip behind, spurs at each flank, and reward held out ahead are good for horse and man—West and East—cultured and uncultured—leader and led; but they are particularly useful south of Alexandria, or east of the Levant. Dick’s earlier qualms—that all good men must have when first called on to be dras- tic—had gone, and though he loved lib- erty more passionately now than ever in his life, he understood that to get general efficiency he must deal ruthlessly with in- dividual offenders. By nature he was just —by training quick—by instinct always wide-eyed, on the watch for what was good and right, and instant to acknowledge it; they had found that out. Above all they had found him that rarest of all rare things in the East, a man of his word; so they believed him when he threatened them, and when he promised them reward they knew it was a real prize that they might strive for with assurance. ‘We will watch as the night-birds watch for mice!”’ they promised. “Two hours!’ said Dick. “Two hours, and then relief for four— then, two hours’ watch again!” When the last fixed-post had been at- 69 tended to, he and Usbeg Ali walked back through gathering gloom to the foot of the over-hanging cliff, where Dick had ordered a grass bed made for himself, raised on four cleft sticks. “T’m going to sleep here,”’ he said, ‘‘where they can find me quickly. I’ve a lucky trick of taking sleep in concentrated doses, by ten minutes at a time—learned it small- boat sailing in the Kyles of Bute.” “A God-given trick, bahadur! Him who gave!”’ “You haven’t slept, to my knowledge, for two nights.” “T am a soldier—!” “And a most uncommon good one, Us- beg Ali! a “Sahib, I “Don’t interrupt! Go up to where the men lie; sleep until dawn!” “Sahib, I “: “It is an order, Usbeg Ali!” So the Afghan went, regretfully—almost resentfully—yet sore-eyed from long wake- fulness; and soon his snores sang second to Andry Macdougal’s rasping salutation of the sleep-god. The whole host was sleep- ing almost before the sun went under, and none but the shadow-lurking outposts saw four horsemen, one by one, go racing past along the plain at chance, uncertain in- tervals. Dick’s orders were for silence and no at- tempt was made to shoot the gallop- ers; three slipped by untouched. So the fourth man, riding within sound of the third’s hoof-thunder, gathered confidence. He rode full pelt. into a trap; they tripped his horse with a pegged rope, and pounced on him to strip him, and whether he broke his neck in falling or they broke it for him they reported him to Dick as dead. When they had torn every strip of clothing from his body they discovered a letter tucked into his sock, and hurried to Dick with it, quarreling while they ran as to who of them had earned reward. Dick— leaping from his bed before they were with- in ten yards of him—promoted all five instantly. Then he struck match after match, and burned his fingers in his eagerness to read the message, chuckling to himself and thank- ing the god of good adventurers because he knew enough Russian to understand the fifty words scrawled on a piece of unofficial paper. Noneed of an interpreter! Noone Praise MICLOOOLK C©