Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Benefit of Doubt 9 isn’t honest discontent that common sense and guts could deal with. It’s something else. The troops are beginning to get it. They’re wondering. Did you notice that policeman? Nothing but his pay between him and anarchy. What’s happening?”’ “God knows,” said Ommony. “Of course, living in your forest “You can learn a lot in a forest.” “Granted. But “This, for instance—goats will keep a forest down. ‘Control the goats, and they do it good; it grows. Turn them loose and they kill it. That’s us. We controlled the goats for a hundred years, and India grew. We were so busy policing goats that we overlooked other things. The forest’s get- ting out of hand.” “T often think we English are the blindest fools that breathe,” said King. “Queer, isn’t it?” Ommony answered. “T’ve puzzled over it. Read a lot—’spe- cially foreign criticism. ‘But the critics don’t help. They only sneer at our faults, as if we weren’t aware of them. The nearest I’ve come to explaining it is that we’re so busy policing goats—jailing robbers—pass- ing cautious laws—cleaning unhealthy places—that we can’t see beyond that. We're near-sighted.” “And where there is no vision—” King suggested. No foresight, yes.” “the people perish. May I die with my boots on!” “Amen!” said Ommony. “Some of us will, some won’t. There’ll be all kinds of us, in all sorts of predicaments when that hour comes. If that brass bullet didn’t let all the steam out of you we’d better put on speed now. We’ve exactly seven minutes.” +Y CHAPTER III “T’ll prove to you there’s not much wrong with Mahommed Babar.” MMONY being official overlord of half-a-million acres of forest — and stream, he and King travelled in a com- partment all to themselves. Characteristic- ally Ommony asked no questions. Their car was cut off, bunted and shunted from one track to another. They smoked, said little and were fed from lukewarm tin cans at intervals by servants who climbed mon- key-fashion along the foot-board for two long days and three longer nights. And at last they left the train at dawn at a station kept by one lone babu, who was station master, telegrapher, freight agent, porter and every other thing. He looked glad to see Ommony and told him the gossip of the line, which was mainly about sudden death, that being Moplah country. A decrepit tonga waited, drawn by two nags not yet quite old enough for pension, — and driven by a man, most of whose prop- erty was on his back (three yards of cotton cloth less wear and tear) and he contented. That tonga was the last link for a while with the life that is smothered under stiff shirts. “Feels good here,” said King, with his knees nearly up to his chin on the back seat, and the early morning flies making patterns on his sleeves and helmet. “This is home,’ ‘Ommony answered, lighting a cigar beside him, with his heels on piled-up luggage on a level with his head. ‘“T hope to die here, if there’s anything in death. Heaven ’ll be a forest. Lots to do; lots of time to do it. By George, it’s going to be hot among the trees!” A rut-worn red earth track began to ribbon out behind them. The forest closed in on either hand, and with it the stifling breath of trees with interwoven smells that are an open book to all the animals and some men. Ommony brushed the flies away with a horsetail switch and wallowed in contentment, while the driver tossed back for his consumption snatches of fact—true - journalism—a bulletin of forest happenings since Ommony went away. “There was a little fire near the place where Govind’s pony broke a leg two sea- sons back. Dhyan Singh took a gang from the village and put it out.” “That shall be remembered.” “Govind has offended all the gods. It is true that his pony’s leg mended, which was wonderful. But the beast was lame, never- theless, and three days back a panther sprang at twilight.” “Which panther?” demanded Ommony. “The black one, sahkib, who slew the old boar in the millet patch beyond the char- coal burner’s. He slew the pomy and ate the throat part ; “That one always did begin at the throat.” “As the sahib says. Govind went to see what might yet be recovered. While he - was gone Govind’s wife ran away with Hir Lal, son of the blacksmith.” cComicbooks (e(0)