Argosy, Vol. 122, No. 1 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

THE CARAVAN she agree to go. She was worried about Arthur Rand. His florid face had grown almost purple in the stifling city. He did not sleep well. To reassure her, he protested that he was quite well, and only waiting for an answer to his cables, to join her. At this point, as usual, Miss Rand claimed the girl’s ministrations. Nothing would suit her but they must visit Srinagar, which the guide-books described as “ the Venice of India.” ‘“‘ But we came here on busihess—daddy’s business,” protested Edith. ‘My dear, no one can do business in a -Turkish bath. Least of all your father. He ought to rest in a cooler climate. Why couldn’t they have sent another man?” This disturbed the girl. Rand had spok- en to her glowingly, on the steamer, of what he hoped to do. Now he was silent, and plainly worried. To Edith it seemed as. if the destiny of which they had spoken lightly at the table in Quebec was hurrying her to Kashmir. ; ‘“Why couldn’t we stop at Simla?” she objected. “ We’d be nearer daddy.” ‘“‘ Edith, you are unreasonable. Everyone says Kashmir is the garden of India. We have friends there.” The girl did not- want to leave her father, but both he and Miss Rand were urgent. The days until the arrival at Rawul Pindi passed like an evil-omened dream in the night. The farewell to Arthur Rand at. the compartment of the train—Edith had been strongly moved when she kissed’ him good-by, and the sight of his quiet figure on the platform as the Punjab Mail pulled out stirred her almost to tears—the heat-ridden vistas of cotton fields and flying villages had been a nightmare. Miss Rand was acutely upset by the meals obtained at the stations, and Edith had had to care for her. Not until they had left the train and a hooded carriage had conveyed them to Murree and a sanatorium hotel overlooking the southern plains, .did the girl begin to enjoy herself. There her aunt revived sufficiently to join company with a group of ladies—officers’ wives—who were making the pilgrimage to Kashmir and knew Major Fraser-Carnie. OF THE DEAD, 19 Straightway the nightmare became a wonderful dream. They entered the gates ‘of Kashmir, riding in a two-wheeled native cart that their new friends called a “‘ tonga.” Great mountain passes rose around them; cold winds swept upon them, bearing the scent of pines and blooming flowers. Tur- baned native servants attended them. The narrow .roads—none too smooth—twisted into fresh vistas of overhanging mountain slopes. They moved in the shadow of cliffs. Vines and wild flowers almost touched their hats as they passed by. To Edith it seemed that she had truly entered a paradise. Once within the gate- way of Kashmir, she had been under a spell. She became sleepy, and she was strangely happy. She wanted a horse to ride among the paths that opened into the -post-road. She wanted to climb the frowning summits to the snow that she sometimes saw at their peaks—to run afoot among the ferns. The women smiled at her indulgently. Edith was a beautiful girl. Being married, they talked wisely among themselves, wen- dering how she would fare in the life at Srinagar. While the officers’ wives were agreeable and talkative, they maintained a certain re- straint toward Edith. After all, she was a stranger in their world. Quite plainly she did not belong in Kashmir. And—worst— of all—she was far too attractive to escape the notice of the men. The married women saw that they would suffer by comparison. Edith perhaps realized what was behind their attitude. She kept her own counsel, if she did. For one thing, she was enjoying herself too much to be troubled. An incident on the last stage of the journey, however, increased the respect of her English traveling companions. It was at the Baramula station, where the tonga horses were. changed for the last time. They had dismounted while the native drivers harnessed the fresh beasts. Straightway the women were surrounded by a motley throng that seemed to arise out of the tall grass. A crowd of natives pressed about them, shouting, pushing, bowing. Bearded Afghans elbowed tattered Turkomans aside; slim Paharis gestured frantically beside squat Kashmiri traders; cComiclbooks.com