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Page 19
"How does he get away with it every time?" queried Redmond. "Hasn't any
civilian ever reported him to the old man?"
"Yes! wance--an' 'Father,' th' ould rapparee! he went for me baldheaded
for not reporthin' ut tu."
With a sort of miserable heartiness Slavin cursed awhile at the
recollection. "Toime an' again," he resumed, "have I taken my hands tu
um--pleaded wid um, an' shielded um in many a dhirty scrape, an' ivry
toime sez he, wid his ginthlemin's shmile: 'Burke! will ye thry an'
overlook it, ould man?' . . . Eyah! he's mighty quare. For some rayson
he seems tu hate th' idea av a third man bein' here, tho' th' man' wud
die for me. Divil a man can I kape here, anyway. In fwhat fashion he
puts th' wind up 'him, I do not know; they will not talk, out av pure
kindness av heart an' rispict for meself, I guess. But--a few days here,
an' bingo!--they apply for thransfer. Now ye know ivrythin', bhoy--fwhat
I am up against, an' fwhy I will not 'can' Yorkey. Ye've a face that
begets thrust--do not bethray ut, but thry an' hilp me. Bear wid Yorke
as best ye can--divilmint an' all--for my sake, will yeh?"
Not devoid of a certain simple dignity was the grim, rugged face that
turned appealingly to the younger man's in the light of the moon.
And Redmond, smiling inscrutably into the deep-set, glittering eyes,
answered as simply: "I will, Sergeant!"
He declined an offer. "_Nemoyah_! (No) thanks, I've had enough."
For some unaccountable reason, Slavin smiled also. His huge clamping
right hand crushed George's, while the left described an arc heavenwards.
Came a throaty gurgle, a careless swing of the arm, and--
"Be lay loike a warrior takin' his rist,
Wid his--
"I misrimimber th' tail-ind av ut," sighed Sergeant Slavin, "'Tis toime
we turned in."
In silence they re-entered the detachment. Yorke, minus his moccasins,
fur-coat and red-serge, lay stretched out upon his cot sleeping heavily,
his flushed, reckless, high-bred face pillowed on one outflung arm.
Above him, silent guardians of his rest, his grotesque mixture of prints
gleamed duskily in the lamp-light.
Into Redmond's mind--sunk into a deep oblivion of dreamy, chaotic
thought--came again Slavin's words:
"Shtudy thim picthures, bhoy! an', by an' large ye have th' man himsilf"
Soon, too, he slept; and into his fitful slumbers drifted a ridiculously
disturbing dream. That of actually witnessing the terrible scene of the
long-dead Indian Mutiny hero, Major Hodson, executing with his own hand
the three princes of Oude.
_Inshalla_! it was done--there! there! against the cart, amidst the
gorgeous setting of Indian sunset and gleaming minaret. "Deen! Deen!
Futteh _Mohammed_!" came a dying scream upon the last shot--the smoking
carbine was jerked back to the "recover"--a moment the scarlet-turbaned,
scarlet-sashed English officer gazed with ruthless satisfaction at his
treacherous victims then, turning sharply, faced him.
And lo! to Redmond it seemed that the stern, intolerant,
recklessly-handsome countenance he looked upon bore a striking
resemblance to the face of Yorke.
CHAPTER IV
_Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And--"This to me!" he said,--_
MARMION
Early on the morrow it came to pass that Sergeant Slavin, cooking
breakfast for all hands, heard Yorke's voice uplifted in song, as that
worthy made his leisurely toilet. He shot a slightly bilious glance at
Redmond, who, "Morning Stables" finished, lounged nearby.
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