FullReads

Ten minutes later, as the moon shot the first silver streak above the frowning mountains, a white horse flashed out on the road beyond the camp–a white horse bearing a white-robed rider.

On the edge of the camp one sentry turned to another with wonder on his face.

“That messenger’s journey will be soon over,” he remarked. “An easy target for the black fiends!”

In the mountains a dusky-faced hillman turned glittering, awe-struck eyes upon the flying white figure.

“Behold!” he said. “The Heaven-sent rides to the moonrise even as he foretold. The time draws near.”

And Carlyon, walking back in strange garb to join his own people, muttered to himself as he went: “One woman, at least, is safe!”

IX

A FIGHT IN THE NIGHT

An hour before daybreak the gathering wave broke upon the camp. It was Toby Carey who ran hurriedly in upon the dancers in the club-room when they were about to disperse and briefly announced that there was going to be a fight. He added that Carlyon was at the mess-house, and desired all the men to join him there. The women were to remain at the club, which was already surrounded by a party of Sikhs and Goorkhas. Toby begged them to believe they were in no danger.

“Where is Averil?” cried Mrs. Raymond distractedly.

“Carlyon has already provided for her safety,” Toby assured her, as he raced off again.

Five minutes later Carlyon, issuing rapid orders in the veranda of the mess-house, turned at the grip of a hand on his shoulder, and saw Derrick, behind him, wild-eyed and desperate.

“What have you done with Averil?” the boy said through white lips.

“She is safe at Akbar,” Carlyon briefly replied. Then, as Derrick instantly wheeled, he caught him swiftly by the arm.

“You wait, Dick!” he said. “I have work for you.”

“Let me go!” flashed Derrick fiercely.

But Carlyon maintained his hold. He knew what was in the lad’s mind.

“It can’t be done,” he said. “It would be certain death if you attempted it. We are cut off for the present.”

He interrupted himself to speak to an officer who was awaiting an order then turned again to Derrick.

“I tell you the truth, Dick,” he said, a sudden note of kindliness in his voice. “She is safe. I had the opportunity–for one only. I took it–for her. You can’t follow her. You have forfeited your right to throw away your life. Don’t forget it, boy, ever! You have got to live for her and let the blackguards take the risks.”

He ended with a faint smile, and Derrick fell back abashed, an unwilling admiration struggling with the sullenness of his submission.

Later, at Carlyon’s order, he joined the party that had been detailed to watch over the club-house, the most precious and the safest position in the whole station. He chafed sorely at the inaction, but he repressed his feelings.

Carlyon’s words had touched him in the right place. Though fiercely restless still, his manhood had been stirred, and gradually the strength, the unflinching resolution that had dominated Averil, took the place of his feverish excitement. Derrick, the impulsive and headstrong, became the mainstay as well as the undismayed protector of the women during that night scare of the Frontier.

There was sharp fighting down in the camp. They heard the firing and the shouts; but with the sunrise there came a lull. The women turned white faces to one another and wondered if it could be over.

Presently Derrick entered with the latest news. The tribesmen had been temporarily beaten off, he said, but the hills were full of them. Their own losses during the night amounted to two wounded sepoys. Fighting during the day was not anticipated.

Carlyon, snatching hasty refreshment in a hut near the scene of the hottest fighting, turned grimly to Raymond, his second in command, as gradual quiet descended upon the camp.

“You will see strange things to-night,” he said.

Raymond, whose right wrist had been grazed by a bullet, was trying clumsily to bandage it with his handkerchief.