Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

“JT warned Govind he would beat that = woman once too often.” “True. I heard the furious names the _sahib called him. Mahommed Babar, seeing the sahib was absent, went after Hir Lal and made him give the woman back. Hir Lal recovers, but there is no skin or comfort = _ on the backs of his thighs and loins.” “Did Mahommed Babar use my riding whip?” “Surely, sahib. How else should he have authority? He took it from its nail in the sahib’s bedroom, daring greatly lest a greater evil happen. And now Mahommed Babar knows not how to mend the broken whip. Nevertheless, Govind has his woman back.” “What else?” ~ “Govind beat her. She is as weary of blows as Hir Lal, who is a great rascal.” “There are others! What else has hap- “Shere Ali has changed his hunting ground. He hunts now near the village and the people fear he will kill cattle. So they send six men when the cows go grazing, and work which needs doing is not done, be- cause, though they bring the cows home too - carly, the six men say they are weary, which is a lie, but who shall prove it?” “Tl interview Shere Ali!’’ “Soon, sahib! Soon! That tiger grows too bold. The wolves have been hunting -over Guznee way of late.” So it went, detail by detail the account of all the little things that, multiplied ad in- _ finitum by the little things of elsewhere, make a world of news. King screwed himself back into his corner and reveled in the only genuine rest, which is anticipation of the good time coming. Every great natural gift includes the con- sciousness of spaces in between events. The music of the spheres is not all noise. There are interludes. Only the men who - understand true time can leap into action at exactly the right moment. THE forest closed in, and in, until ie i they, drove in a golden shaft be- oS tween walis of darkness. The rank, fish after-monsoon smell had begun to yield to the hot-weather tang that gives birth to fire without rhyme or reason and keeps the naked gangs alert. Suddenly the drive curved and opened into a wide clearing - with Ommony’s house in the midst and all Adventure the evidences of a white man’s twenty- year-long vigil in a dark man’s country. An obvious bachelor’s house. The flowers and vegetables stood in straight, alternate rows. Saddles and such things, polished to perfec- tion, rested on brackets on the front veran- da, where three dogs were chained. A boy loosed the dogs as soon as the fonga came in sight, and the next few minutes were a tu- ‘mult punctuated by shouts of: “Down, sir! Down! Get off my chest!” There was the first so-called police dog ever imported into India, an Irish wolf- hound nearly as high at the shoulder as a native pony, and the inevitable, quite iniquitous wire-haired terrier. Then came the servants, observing prec- edence — butler, hamal, dog-boy, dhobie, sweeper, three gardeners—all salaaming with both hands, and Mahommed Babar standing straight as a ramrod ever to the right because he was of the north and a Moslem and would not submit to compari- son with Hindus. He gave the military salute, although he was not in any kind of uniform; and in his left hand, that the world might see he was not afraid, he held the broken riding-whip. Having saluted his master he came to pay homage to King, who promptly shook hands with him. “‘Are you satisfied?’ King asked him. “Surely. There is no such sahib as Ommony bahadur. But for these Hin- dus——” “But for the night it would be all day- time, wouldn’t it!” King answered laugh- ing. “Sahib, speak a word for me.” “Are you out of favor?” King answered. ‘‘What have you done?” “Sahib, 1am a Moslem of the North, and these——” “You must face your own music,” answered. ‘I’m your friend to the gallows’ side, if need be. I can’t save you from your- self.” “The sahid is still my friend?” King nodded. “Enough. I am the sahib’s friend.” King and Ommony went into the shut- tered sitting-room, where several thousand faded books in glass cases provided most of the furniture. But there was a tiger-skin on one wall, three deep wicker armchairs, and a desk crowded with papers under lead weights. Through an open door was a view of Ommony’s iron bed with its legs set in cS King. Gomichoo (E(0)