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Updated: May 8, 2025
M'Cord was one of the big master mechanics especially serving Indian Government in engine building a Scot nearing fifty now. For many years he had answered the cries of the natives for help against the destroyers of human life. Sometimes it was a mugger, sometimes a cobra, a cheetah, often a man-eating tiger that terrorised the countryside.
On the lawn path in that strange lovely wash of light he stood, as the sun sank and the afterglow mounted. This was always Carlin's hour to him the magic moment of the afterglow. In such an hour in the outer paths of the tree jungle, they had spoken life to life. "Malcolm M'Cord is that you, Malcolm?" Her voice was from the playhouse. It was steady but startling. Something cold in it very weary.
All generations after us shall hear of him; but we have looked upon his face!" "Neela Deo, Neela Deo, King of all elephants!" The Lair Carlin appeared to get right again in a few days of quiet after her terrific experience on Mitha Baba. There were a few more wonderful weeks for Skag and herself in the Malcolm M'Cord bungalow in Hurda weeks always remembered.
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.
"We're starting for Hurda to-night, son," he said to Nels. "I've left her a drink or two, and by the time she needs more, she'll be able to get to the river herself." Carlin must have caught the reality of that moment of crisis from Skag's telling the moment when the male tiger might have charged but didn't, because she succeeded in making Malcolm M'Cord see it, too.
Skag pushed him away. Carlin was moaning. "I'm thinking your lad's sound, deerie," M'Cord called to her. "A minute more, to be sure." . . . He kept a trailing hold of Skag's wrist, staring a last minute in his eyes. No break anywhere in the younger man's flesh. The afterglow was thickening. A servant came down the path to call them to dinner.
There was a laugh about it, a sense of self-deprecation; but above all, Skag knew for the sake of the future that he must get himself better in hand against this incredible pull to the place where she was. It seemed quite enough to reach the compound or the grass plot and hear her step. She was not at the gate. He halted. Malcolm M'Cord was expected home this day. He might have come.
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