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As mates they had pulled together so efficiently that the natives had started the interminable process of making a tradition concerning them. These were superb young individuals and not man-eaters, for which reason Hand-of-a-God had not been called out to deliver the natives; also on this account Skag had been interested from the beginning.
He had come into his own considerable awe through what he had seen in the forest with the priests of Hanuman, but things-to-learn stretched away and away before him like range upon range of High Himalaya. Malcolm M'Cord was the best rifle-shot in India. The natives called him Hand-of-a-God. As usual they meant a lot more than a mere decoration.
"As I was saying," Dickson Sahib went on, "if Hand-of-a-God were here, he'd go without asking. Or even if the Rose-pearl's brother Ian were here, he's quick enough. But he plays with situations, rather." "Don't let this situation trouble you, Dickson," said Cadman. There fell a moment of curious silence.
By her, the meanings of all life were sharpened jungle and jungle-beast, monster, saint and man the breath of all life more keen. Hand-of-a-God Skag and Carlin had come back from Poona where five of Carlin's seven brothers had been present at her marriage. There were weeks in Hurda now, while Skag's equipment for jungle work arrived bit by bit.
They were in the shadow of the deep verandah. Once Carlin whispered: "I loved the way he said 'Lad' to you." It was hours afterwards that the shot was heard. . . . Carlin was closer. He felt her shivering. He could not be sure of the words, yet the spirit of them never left his heart: "If I were she and I had found you so upon the lawn I should want Hand-of-a-God to wait for me like that!"
Dickson Sahib was worrying with a match, his face troubled, as he muttered: "Now if Hand-of-a-God " "What is that?" Skag asked quietly, of Cadman. "That," smiled Dickson Sahib, "is a Scotchman. This civil station of Hurda is famous because he lives here. He is an absolutely perfect shot. Years ago he took all the medals and cups at the great shooting tournaments.
She didn't praise or fall into excesses of admiration, but she understood, and the older one gets the dearer that becomes. Carlin didn't advise with Skag whether she should speak of the matter. She merely decided that her old friend, Malcolm M'Cord, Hand-of-a-God, deserved to be told.
So the people of Hurda went out to meet Neela Deo, King of all elephants. When the front of the throng went by his place, Hand-of-a-God enquired of running men from his own gateway. By his side the Gul Moti stood with Son of Power. When they understood, she pushed her chosen of all men through the vine-made arch and he sprang away and ran with the people.
Even Skag, as he glanced into Carlin's face from time to time, forgot that Hand-of-a-God had done it again one more king cobra with a patched |head and a life and death story to be added to the sunny cabinet in the bungalow. . . . Carlin rose to lead them to dinner at last, but Malcolm shook his head. "On you go, you two.
The servant had never seen such a spectacle the Hakima sitting with Hand-of-a-God and Son-of-Power, together on the lawn already wet with dew their knees almost touching. . . . "The like's not been known before, Lad even of a man with a sword," Malcolm M'Cord was saying. "You must have stood up to him two minutes.
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