Adventure, December 1914 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

The Lancing of the Whale But before dawn, another messenger had gone off in a different direction; he bore a copy of the Princess’ letter, and the original of her secret map. Stowed with them in the envelope was a sheet, on which the maid had poured her heart out in what she thought was perfect English; and the whole was addressed in a trembling hand to Monsieur MacDoogle, chez Monsieur Rich- ard Anthony. This man, too, had orders to ride, but it did not enter the maid’s head to tell him to kill horses. Instead, she showed him a wad of Russian paper money—gave him the half of it—and promised him the other half should he return with a receipt. “But, who guarantees mer’ asked the man. “If I deliver it, and come back, but you refuse me—what then?” “Did I lie the last time?”’ asked Marie. “Nay. Thou art no ordinary woman!’’ “Would you care to fall foul of both Princess and Dee-k-Anthonee?”’ “Nay! In God’s name!” “Then ride hard—and bring a receipt!” V : USBEG ALI KHAN came, spurring AWG his charger. He had seen a butch- ery or two in Kabul; under Abdur Rahman he had helped attend to the punishment of rebel tribes, and he was not squeamish in the matter of killing prisoners. But he was happy as a child about the captured guns; he was ready to give in to Dick on any point—to subscribe to his most quixotic doctrine—provided only Dick would give him command of the battery. He gave yeoman aid at once. Shrewd cross-examination—tricky, flatter- ing questions that betrayed while they seemed to reassure—quick instinct, and the trick of reading Eastern minds brought out the truth—or most of it. There were three-and-forty of Dick’s horsemen who admitted blood-guilt—three-and-forty who confessed to having killed a prisoner after taking his weapons away. “Line them up!’ commanded Dick. The forty-three, dismounted and de- prived of all their martial gear, were pushed and hustled into one head-hanging line. Plainly, they expected to be shot; but Dick’s next order seemed to lessen that probability without disclosing any other. ‘Line up the Russians facing them!” 6 8I The battery, with its convoy and extra ammunition-wagons had numbered about two hundred and fifty men; for the allow- ance of camp-followers, butchers, cooks and servants had been generous, and there were men with the battery, of the Russian half- political, half-military type, who swelled the total. Not more than a hundred of them, now, including officers, were left to stand in line, two deep, facing Dick’s culprits. They stood trying to seem confident; some laughed; not more than half a dozen of them betrayed anxiety, though a keen ob- server, such as Dick, or Usbeg Ali Khan, or Andry, might have read the truth that underlay their swagger. “Bring up our infantry! Let all our men form a hollow square around the prisoners!”’ Unquestioning now—for he had thrown criticism to the winds, and since the cap- ture of the guns would have believed Dick and obeyed him had he said Hell was to be stormed—Usbeg Ali cantered off. Dick walked to where the Russian major lay, tight tied between six guards. He turned _ him over, felt him, and drew out a fountain- pen from the left breast-pocket of his dusty tunic. ‘“‘Thanks!” he said, walking back again and sitting on the trunnion of a captured gun. He began to write, taking no notice at all of the milling crowd who did their best to form hollow square but had forgotten how. He tore sheet after sheet from a memorandum-book, and though the letter that he wrote was short he tore up many a version of it before he was satisfied. At last Usbeg Ali rode to him, swaggering with all the military manner that he loved, and saluting with a sweep that would have done credit to a South American field-mar- shal. “Your army waits in hollow square, bahadur!”” Dick—silent as usual when his mind was made up—mounted the Russian major’s charger and rode through a gap in the square past Andry who stood by his bright ma- chine-gun like .a statue of Discipline. Andry’s sixty men, who could not under- stand his tongue and whose tongue he could not speak, were none the less the only ones except the Russians who wore much of a military air above their rags; the rest looked what they were—outlaws who were trying to be soldiers. Andry’s men could have been picked out of a million, by the hollows DOOK C©