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Without a word, their thoughts formed the same possibility, as two who have a child that is vaguely threatened. They were deeper in the jungle than they thought. . . . The cordon of native beaters was still a mile away in its nearest arc, but there is never any telling what a pig will do. . . . They turned back, walking together without haste, Nels behind.
Bhanah and Nels had a comfortable lodge to themselves, and there was a tiny summerhouse at the far end of the lawn that had been an ideal of Carlin's when she was small. The playhouse had but one door, which was turned modestly away from the great Highway. It was vined and partly sequestered in garden growths, its threshold to the west.
When he reached them, Nels was still doubled tight over the cheetah's backward-bent body; his grey iron-jaws locked deep in the tawny throat. "Sahib! Sanford Han tee Sahib!" "Hi, Bhanah; this way!" Bhanah came with a rain-coat in his hand. Stooping to examine Nels a moment and rising to glance at the wall, he spoke rapidly: "The Sahib has seen his Great Dane Nels kill a second cheetah in one day.
In front of it a sagging woman with tight-drawn hair, and a baby bedraggled, smeary, glorious-eyed. "Those are the kind of folks I practise among, good share of the time. Nels Erdstrom, fine clean young Svenska. He'll have a corking farm in ten years, but now I operated his wife on a kitchen table, with my driver giving the anesthetic. Look at that scared baby!
"Bhanah, you and Nels will camp with me to-night. This has been the hunting cheetah-day of my life; and Nels is responsible that he didn't get me." "My master is the heart of kindness." While Bhanah was busy, later, Skag laughed: "I'm remembering that you said Nels did it soon. How did he do it?"
They would have pulled up here, but as they approached the dusty figure of the mail carrier of that route came out, and held up a hand. "Hold on, Sim," said he. "I heard at Nels Jensen's place that you had gone down the river. Well, it's time you was gettin' back." Sim Gage smiled with a sense of his own importance as he took the letter, turning it over in his hand. "What's it say, Wid?" said he.
My sixty years ain't nothin'; my early days in the Staked Plains an' on the border with Apaches ain't nothin' to what Nels has seen an' lived through. He's just come to be part of the desert; you might say he's stone an' fire an' silence an' cactus an' force. He's a man, Miss Majesty, a wonderful man. Rough he'll seem to you.
This last remark was addressed to Nels Nelson, who appeared just below them and stood peering up at them through the veranda railing. "I yust vaiting for Meestair Stiles. He tol' me vait for heem here." "Mr. Stiles? Who's he?" "Dere he coomin'." As he spoke G. B. Stiles came through the hotel door and walked gravely up to them.
"It will not be so very easy to leave them, after all." Madeline closed and darkened the window. She struck a light. It was necessary to tell the anxious servants who knocked that she was well and required nothing. A soft step on the walk outside arrested her. Who was there Nels or Nick Steele or Stillwell?
The conversation ran on in this channel during the half hour or more that Nels and his helper spent in getting ready the corn-bread and bacon, but Rodney, although he appeared to be listening closely, did not hear much of it, or gain any great store of information regarding the course he ought to pursue during his prospective ride from Cedar Bluff landing to the city of Springfield.
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