Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 371: what you’re looking at

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

362 which we continued these operations from one locality to another in the neighborhood around the station. True, we bagged innumerable game, both feathered and four footed, but of a kind that was only commonplace for Indian sportsmen. It was therefore with acute disappointment that we gave up on the second day all hope of our quest, and early on the following morn- ing turned our faces homeward, calcu- lating to arrive at Madras that after- noon. Of the party, big Mafor Gallanton of her majesty’s Fusiliers stationed at Madras, seemed the miost disappointed. As was this big hearted fellow’s wont, he vented his chagrin in a great deal of blustering with his deep bass voice and used much expressive language, in a way calculated to impress a stran- ger with the belief that words and not deeds were the major’s strong points. But in this regard Major Gallanton was anomaly and a surprise. Loqua- cious fire eater in times of peace and quiet, in the moment of responsibility or danger, he had no word to utter ex- cept that of incisive command or wise direction—calm, silent and ready for any emergency. About a mile from Madras there was a little bungalow, commanding a view of the sea, which had become a sort of house of public entertainment, pop- ular with the better class of residents as a resort for tiffins and such little excursions as we would call picnics. The surrounding groves and forests had been improved for a short distance until it was a sort of wild park, and on this little point of land was to be had the full benefit of whatever zephyrs might happen to be wafting over the bosom of the torrid Bay of Bengal. The resort lay almost in our path; and, tired and nearly overcome with the heat of our long journey, the sugges- tion to diverge thither for some refresh- ment was welcomed by all and the line of march was therefore diverted. We had hardly entered the grove THE ARGOSY. when a silvery feminine laugh greeted our ears, coming from the direction of the native house. The major, beside whom I was rid- ing, perceptibly started at the sound and glanced at me. I in turn looked inquiringly at him. “Don’t you recognize the voice?” he asked. “No; I can’t say I do,” I answered. “Whose is it? Surely none of mine host Singh’s family have such a sweet thrill.” ‘“T should say not, decidedly!” as- sented the major. “ But I must be wrong, if you don’t recognize it—lI .- thought it for all the world like Miss Bradford’s voice.” I could not help looking quickly and keenly at the major; Miss Bradford was my sister and the major had cer- tainly been very attentive to her during the few months of their acquaintance. If he could recognize her voice in an Indian jungle when her brother failed to do so, there must be something serious on the carpet. I therefore had a peculiar interest in the developments of the next few mo- ments. “Tt is positively cruel of you!” said another and a petulant voice. “ You make 1 allowance for my extremely sensitive organization. But I simply cannot go back over that road ; the mere thought of it is killing! Hark! Don’t you hear something creeping out from the grove?” and there arose a shrill scream which became hysterical as it seemed to diminish, as if the feminine speaker had flown into the cottage. She had doubtless heard us break- ing through the thicket; in an instant the head of our cavalcade came in full view of the place, and there, sitting calmly on a seat before the door under the overhanging boughs, and looking expectantly but undismayed toward us was—my sister. “You here!” I exclaimed, really sur- prised. “And Miss Blithedale, too: I need not ask that,” I said, glancing at GOH GOOO Gigs