Adventure, December 1914 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

The Lancing of the Whale lying under trees, for the stretcher-bearers acted independently and, as nearly all Easterns will in matters of that kind, dis- played both pride and courage. “Thought you might care to offer us your services,’ said Dick, riding to where the Russian surgeon helped his last pair of wounded to mount a horse. “T’ve let you have a horse; you could spare us an hour or two, and catch up easily.” “If you want to know which poison to take, I’ll help you,” said the Russian. “But I’d shoot myself if I were you! In any case don’t wait to get made prisoner! I give you that advice in return for the horse! For the rest, you may go to Hell!” “Can you fight with your fists?” asked Dick. The surgeon was a big man—big-boned and heavy-muscled. It would have done Dick good in that minute of his loneliness to have harked back to school-days and ham- mered respect for himself into an enemy, with fists that tingled to begin. Andry was a good friend and Usbeg Ali Khan an- other; but the one was a servant and the other a Mohammedan; equal or true com- rade in its broader sense, he had none, and loneliness of that sort finds unusual expres- sion in men of Dick’s stamp. To be made love to by a woman he despised; to be treat- ed as a demi-god by semi-savages; as an out- cast by oath-breaking Cossack cads—were all three different grades and kinds of loneli- ness. All three kinds had eaten into him. He ached for a fist-fight. But the Russian did not understand—or at least affected not to; probably he did not know, for Russian schoolboys are not brought up by Anglo-Saxon rule. “What do you mean?” he asked; and heeling his horse Dick turned away from him with a sigh. “‘Be off!” he ordered over his shoulder, heading his horse in the direction of the guns that Usbeg Ali exulted over with in- fectious glee. ‘‘Modern guns, bahadur! matic! Non-recoiling—no need to re-aim aftereach shot! A little intricate, the mech- anism, yes—but shooting with such guns is easier to teach! Maneuvering? Ah— that is different, but we have picked our best men; we will try to teach them to man- Nearly auto- euver quickly; they can already ride, and. the teams are good! We are an army, now, bahadur—we have guns!’’ 83 But Dick knew they were very far indeed from being an army yet. He knew that two regiments of infantry were hurrying to overtake these guns he had just captured, and that he must deal with those regiments within a few hours. Almost surely the re- sulting fight would thin his ranks; and yet he was not at all anxious yet for recruits, for undrilled, unseasoned men would make his force unwieldy without adding to its strength. He had cavalry, infantry, and guns; but he lacked a reserve of ammunition for the guns—lacked commissariat, money, knowledge of the Russian plans beyond the little the Princess had told him, and the little more that he had guessed—lacked everything, in fact, that goes as a rule to make an army potent. The Russians had all that he had not. They had even aeroplanes and wireless. He might expect at any time, he thought, to see a dozen aeroplanes circling like kites to mark him down; and he had heard too much from the Princess. about an army- corps all ready to cross over the border not to believe in its existence. He had his plan made; but at that minute he did not quite see how to carry it out; he knew only that he would do his best. Every Anthony had always done his best; and more than a dozen had died doing their fighting best. Was it hardship, he asked himself, if he too must die leading a forlorn hope? Could a man die better? ‘““Get those guns hidden along the ridge!”’ he ordered. ‘‘We can’t take them into the hills, and they’d be useless up there in any case. We'll wait here for those Cossack regiments!” But he was not destined to fight two bat- tles in the same place, for by a stroke of luck, or accident such as only happens when red war has broken loose, one of the gal- lopers sent off at midnight managed to pass without seeing the prisoners who were on their weary way to Astrabad. They were resting in the shade, and he galloped past, five or six miles wide of them. Dick had hidden his six cannon in am- bush; Usbeg Ali Khan and the other Af- ghans were busy teaching their beginners the A, B, C of gun practise; a screen of scouts had been thrown out in four direc- tions; and Dick was busy taking stock of the contents of the captured wagons when the man appeared over the brow of a gentle rise—halted in doubt—and was MICLOOOLK C©