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Updated: June 29, 2025
"No; there are the trees," said Raymond. "It's extraordinary. The whole tank seems to have shifted." The Resident was mopping his bald scalp and lifted his hat to let the gusty wind cool his head. A sudden squall blew the big pith sun-helmet out of his hand. Wargrave caught it in the air and returned it to its owner. "By Jove! it's a regular gale," he said. "I think I know what's happened.
Picking up twigs in their trunks they used them to beat their sides and legs to drive off stinging insects or, snuffing up dust from the ground, blew clouds of it along their bellies for the same purpose. Suddenly the Colonel stopped Badshah and whispered: "There's a sambhur stag, Wargrave. There, to your left in the undergrowth. Have a shot at him."
With as near an approach to frigidity of manner as she could show to a man to whom she was so indebted Noreen replied: "Muriel has left Darjeeling." "Left Darjeeling? Where for? Where has she gone?" he exclaimed in surprise. "To her father." "But why? She wasn't to have left for weeks yet," said Wargrave. Mrs. Dermot looked at him angrily. "Why? Need you ask?
It was obvious to the subaltern that after their five years of married life they were lovers still. Frank looked at them a little enviously. He wondered would it be so with Violet and him after the same lapse of time; for the sight of their happiness sent his thoughts flying to the woman who loved him. "Are you keen on shooting, Wargrave?" said the Colonel.
Wargrave obeyed, remembering Miss Benson's remark on the Political Officer's love of the great animals. Soon unmistakable signs showed that they were on the track of a herd; and presently Frank caught sight of a slate-coloured body in the undergrowth, then another and another.
That night Wargrave slept at a dâk-bungalow near the terminus in a little native town with a small branch-railway connecting it with a main line. Then for four days he travelled across the scorching plains of India, shut up in stuffy carriages with violet-hued glass windows and Venetian wooden shutters meant to exclude the heat and glare.
The animals turned their tails towards the approaching storm and instinctively huddled against their human companions in distress. Wargrave took off his jacket and spread it around Mrs. Norton's head, holding her to him. With a shrill wail the dark storm swept down upon them, and a million sharp particles of sand beat on them, stinging, smothering, choking them.
Colonel Dermont searched the jungle for some distance around but could not find the other jungle-cocks that had answered the dead one's challenge. Looking at his watch he suggested a halt for lunch, which Wargrave, whose back was beginning to ache with fatigue, gladly agreed to.
Early on the following Monday morning Wargrave, dressed in khaki knickerbockers, shirt and puttees, and wearing besides his pith helmet a "spine protector" a quilted cloth pad buttoned to the back as a guard against sunstroke, went down to the Dermots' bungalow.
"Jungle law, Mr. Wargrave," said the girl, laughing "You hit it first, so it's your beast." "You needn't be ashamed of missing it," added the Colonel. "A charging tiger coming full speed at you is not an easy mark. No; the skin is yours; and Muriel has so many that she can spare it."
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