Guns of the Gods Part 22

The bottle had only been three parts full. Tom poured out the last of it and set a stone jorum of rum in readiness on the table over against the wall.

"Wish we had hot water handy," he grumbled.

"Which of the elephants are tethered here?" asked d.i.c.k. "That big one that killed a tiger in the arena the other day?"

"Yes. Did you see that? Akbar was scarcely scratched. Quickest thing ever I saw--squealed with rage the minute they turned 'stripes'

loose--chased him to the wall--downed him with a forefoot and crushed him into tiger jelly before you could say British Const.i.tution!"

"I guess that tiger had been kept in a cage too long," said d.i.c.k.

"Don't you believe it. He was fighting fit. But they'd given old Akbar a skinfull of rum, and that turns him into a holy terror. He's quite quiet other times."

d.i.c.k looked at his watch. Tess had been in the palace about three hours, and he was confident she would come away as soon as possible, if for no other reason than to put an end to his anxiety. She was likely to appear at the gate at any minute. At any minute Tom Tripe was likely to attack the jorum, and if present symptoms went for anything, it would not take much of it to make him worse than useless. At present he was growing reminiscent.

"Once old Akbar had a belly-ache and they gave him arrak. They didn't catch him for two days! He pulled up his picket-stake and lit out for the horizon, chasing dogs and hens and monkeys and anything else be could find that annoyed him. Screamed like a locomotive. Horrid sight!"

"Where does this road outside lead to?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Don't lead anywhere. Blind alley. Why?"

"Oh, nothing."

d.i.c.k was examining the wall between the shed they sat in and the stable-place next door. It was much stronger than the mud affair between them and the elephants. Tom Tripe had nearly finished his tumbler-full, and there was madness in the air that night that made a man take awfully long chances.

"Do you suppose a man could lose his way in the dark between here and the palace gate?"

"Not even if he was as drunk as Noah. All he'd have to do 'ud be hold on to the wall and walk forward. The road turns a corner, but the walls are all blind and there's no other way but past the palace. You sit here, though, my boy. No need to try that. Your wife's all right."

"Well, maybe I'd better stay here."

"Sure."

"Do you suppose I could back the dog-cart into the shed where your horse is? I hardly like to leave my horse standing any longer in the open, yet he's better in the shafts in case we want him in a hurry."

"Yes, the door's wide enough."

"Then I'll do it."

"Suit yourself. But take some of that rum before you go outside. The night air's bad for your lungs. Help yourself and pa.s.s the bottle, as the Queen said to the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"All right, I will."

d.i.c.k poured a little on his handkerchief, thrust the handkerchief through the broken pane and waved it violently to spread the smell. It was cheap, immodest stuff, blatant with its own advertis.e.m.e.nt. Then he set the jorum down on the end of the table farthest from the wall, to the best of his judgment out of reach from the window.

"Come along, Tom," he said then. "Help me with the horse."

"What's your hurry? Take a drink first."

"No, let's take one together afterward."

He took Tom by the shoulder and pushed him to his feet.

"The horse might break away. Come on, man, hurry!"

Over his shoulder d.i.c.k could see a long trunk nosing its way gingerly through the broken pane and searching out the source of the alluring smell. He pushed Tripe along in front of him, and together they backed the dog-cart into the stable-place, making a very clumsy business of it for three reasons: Tom Tripe was none too sober: the horse was nearly crazy with fear of the uncanny brutes just beyond the wall; and d.i.c.k was in too much hurry for reasons of his own. However, they got horse and cart in backward, and the door shut before the crash came.

The crash was of a falling mud-brick wall, pushed outward by the shoulders of a pachyderm that wanted alcohol. The beast had had it out of all sorts of containers and knew the trick of emptying the last drop. The jorum was about his usual dose.

About two minutes later, while d.i.c.k and Tom Tripe between them held a horse in intolerable durance between the shafts, and Tom's horse out of sympathy kicked out at random into every shadow he could reach, the door and part of the wall of Tom's shed fell outward into the pitch dark street as Akbar, eleven feet four inches at the shoulder, strode forward conjecturing what worlds were yet to conquer. The other elephants stood motionless at their pickets. A terrified mahout emerged through the debris like a devil from bell's bunkers, calling to his elephant all the endearing epithets he knew, and cursing him alternately. The horses grew calmer and submitted to caresses, like children and all creatures that have intimate contact with strong men; and presently the night grew still.

"D'you suppose that brute swiped my liquor?" wondered Tom Tripe.

"You mind the horses while I look."

But suddenly there was a savage noise of trumpeting up-street, followed by a bark and a yelp of canine terror.

"G.o.d!" swore Tom. "That's Trotters coming to fetch us! Akbar's chasing him back this way! Hang on to the horse like ten men! I'll go see!"

He was outside before d.i.c.k could remonstrate. Between them they had lashed the dog-cart wheels during the first panic, but even so d.i.c.k had his hands full, as the trumpeting drew nearer and the horse went into agonies of senseless fear. It was a fight, nothing less, between thinking man and mere instinctive beast, and eventually d.i.c.k threw him with a trick of the reins about his legs, and knelt on his head to keep him down. By the grace of the powers of unexpectedness neither shafts nor harness broke.

Outside in the darkness Tom Tripe peered through brandied eyes at a great shadow that hunted to and fro a hundred yards away, chasing something that was quite invisible, and making enough noise about it to awake the dead.

"Trotters!" he yelled. "Trotters!"

A moment later a smaller shadow came into view at top speed, panting, chased hotly by the bigger one.

"Trotters! Get back where you came from! Back, d'ye hear me! Back!"

Within ten yards of his master the dog stopped to do his thinking, and the elephant screamed with a sort of hunter's ecstasy as he closed on him with a rush. But thought is swift, and obedience good judgment.

The dog doubled of a sudden between Akbar's legs and the elephant slid on his rump in the futile effort to turn after him--then crashed into the wall opposite Tripe's dismantled shed--cannoned off it with a grunt of sheer disgust--and set off up-street, once more in hot pursuit.

"That brute got my good rum, d.a.m.n him!" said Tom, opening the stable door. "h.e.l.lo! Horse down? Any harm done? Right-oh!

We'll soon have him up again. Better hurry now--Trotters came for us."

Chapter Nine

So many look at the color, So many study design, Some of 'em squint through a microscope To judge if the texture is fine.

A few give a thought to the price of the stuff, Some feel of the heft in the hand, But once in a while there is one who can smile And--appraising the lot--understand.

Look out, When the seemingly sold understand!

All's planned, For the cook of the stew to be canned Out o' hand, When the due to be choused understand!

"It means, the toils are closing in on Gungadhura!"