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  CHAPTER XII

  _Blue Beast_

  Across the river at the military camp, the cavalry outfits werepreparing for a jungle outing. It isn't easy to name the thing theycontemplated. Pig-sticking couldn't be called a quest, yet there are"cracks" at the game, quite the same as at polo or billiards.

  Horse and man carry their lives on the outside, so to speak. The trickof it all is that a man never knows what the tusker will do. You can'teven count on him doing the opposite. And he does it quick. Often hesniffs first, but you don't hear that until after it is done. Men haveheard that sniff as they lay under a horse that was kicking its lifeout; yet the sniff really sounded while they were still in thesaddle--the horse still whole.

  All the words that have to do with this sport are ugly. It's more likea snort than a sniff. . . . You really must see it. A trampled placein the jungle--tusker at bay---a mounted sticker on each side waitingfor the move. The tusker stands still. He looks nowhere, out of eyeslike burning cellars. That is as near as you can come withwords--trapdoors opening into cellars, smoke and flame below.

  At this moment you are like a negative, being exposed. There is filmedamong your enduring pictures thereafter, the raking curving snout,yellow tusks, blue bristling hollows from which the eyes burn. Thelances glint green from the creepers. . . .

  Then the flick of the head that goes with the snort. The boar isn'tthere--lanced doubtless. . . . Yes, the cavalry "cracks" get him forthe most part and then you hear men's laughter and bits of comment andthe strike of a match or two, for very much relished cigarettes. Butnow and then, the scene shifts too quickly and the _other_ rider maysee his friend's mount stand up incredibly gashed--a white horsepossibly--and this _other_ must charge and lance true right now, forthe boar is waiting for the man in the saddle to come down.

  Nobody ever thinks of the boar's part. Queer about that. It's the badrevolting curve that goes with a tusker's snout, in the sag of whichthe eye is set, that puts him out of reach of decent regard. Only twoother curves touch it for malignity--the curve of a hyena's shoulderand the curve of a shark's jaw. Three scavengers that haven't had areal chance. They weren't bred right.

  Among the visitors that came in for the jungle play was Ian Deal, oneof the younger of Carlin's seven brothers; one of the two who hadn'tappeared for her marriage. The other missing brother was in Australia,but Ian Deal had been in India at the time of the ceremony and not thefull-length of India away. Skag had thought about this; Carlin haddoubtless done more than that. Once she had flushed, when someone hadmarked Ian's absence to the point of speaking of it. Before that, Skaghad only heard that Ian was one of the best-loved of all. . . .

  He watched the meeting of the brother and sister. It was at therailway station in Hurda, and Skag couldn't very well get away. Therewas something almost like anguish in the face of the young man as hehastened forward--anguish of devotion that never hoped to expressitself; anguish by no means sure of itself, because it burned with thethought of Carlin being nearer to any man. Ian didn't speak, as hestopped with a rush before his sister. He merely touched her cheek,but his eyes were the eyes of a man whose heart was starving. TheEnglish observe that this jealous affection occasionally exists betweentwins; the Hindus suggest certain mysterious spiritual relations asaccounting for it. . . . Finally Skag realised that Carlin's eyes wereturned to him, something of pity in them and something of appeal.

  It was all very quick then. Skag's hand was out to her brother. Iandidn't see it. Only his right elbow raised the slightest bit; his darkface flushed and paled that second. The stare was refined; it wasn'thate so much as astonishment that any man could ever bring the thingabout to touch Carlin's heart. Back of it all was the matter that IanDeal would have died before confessing--the pain and powerlessness of abrother who loves jealously.

  Few beings of his years would have seen so deep and kept his nerve thatinstant, but Skag had been different since his battle with the cobra.He had decided never to lose his nerve again. This was the first testsince that day. . . . His throat tightened a second, so that he had toclear it. All he knew then was that her brother was striding away,having muttered something about the need to see after unshipping KalaKhan, his Arab mount, which was aboard the train. There was a sort ofshimmer between Skag's eyes and Ian Deal's vanishing legs that madethem seem lifted out of all proportion. Then Carlin caught his arm,carried him forward and to her at the same time, as she whispered:

  "You were perfect, Skag-ji. I never loved you so much as that moment,when poor Ian refused to take your hand--"

  Skag cleared his throat a second time. . . . Carlin had used that nameonly once or twice before; and only in moments of her greater joy inhim. He had been told by Horace Dickson that "ji" used intimately was"nicer" than any English word.

  Something in this experience threw Skag back to the point of the cobraand the last experience with crippling nerves. Of course, it was thethought of Carlin imprisoned in the playhouse that broke him. Startingto run when he first saw the cobra on the threshold, he countedFailure. That burst of speed for ten steps had put the king intofighting mood. Skag had beaten thin in his own mind the possibility ofever committing Failure again. A man must not lose his nerve in thestress of a loved one's peril. One doesn't act so well to bring theevent to a winning. In fact, there is no excuse and no advantage andno decency in losing one's nerve, any time, any place. . . .

  Skag had _known_ things in certain seconds of his duel with the cobra.(Mostly, a man only thinks he knows.) Carlin had stood on thethreshold, not more than fifteen feet away, while he was engaged. Noone had told him at that time, that the man does not live who cancontinue to keep off a fighting cobra from striking home; but Skaglearned in that short interval. He faced not only the fastest thing hehad ever seen move, but it was also the _stillest_. It would come to adead stop before him--stillness compared to which a post or a wall ismere squat inertia. This lifted head and hood was sustained,elate--having the moveless calm one might imagine at the centre of asolar system. Its outline was mysteriously clear. Often thebackground was Carlin's own self. The action took place in the periodof the Indian afterglow, in which one can see better than in brilliantsunlight, a light that breathes soft and delicate effulgences. Thecobra at the point of stillness was like dark dulled jewels againstit--dulled so that the raying of the jewels would not obscure thecontour.

  And once toward the last, as he fought (the inside of his head feelinglike a smear of opened arteries), Skag had seen Carlin over the hood ofthe cobra. She had seemed utterly tall, utterly enfolding; hisrelation to her, one of the inevitables of creation. Nothing couldever happen to take her away for long. Matters which men call life anddeath were mere exigencies of his scheme and hers _together_.

  In a word, it was a breath of the thing he had been yearning for, fromthe moment he first saw her in the monkey glen; the need was the coreof the anguish he had known in the long pursuit of the thief elephant;the thing that must come to a man and a maid who have found each other,if there is to be any equity in the romantic plan at all, unless thetwo are altogether asleep and content in the tight dimensions ofthree-score-and-ten.

  Skag had seen that he could not win; but he had also seen that Carlinwas _there_--there to stay! . . . Something in her--that no fever orpoison or death could take away--something for him! The thing wasvivid to him for moments afterward; it lingered in dimmer outlines forhours; but as the days passed, he could only hold the vital essence ofwhat he had learned that hour.

  Carlin was more to him every day--more dear and intimate in a hundredways; yet always she held the quest of her before him; a constantsuggestion of marvels of reserve; mysteries always unfolding, of nowill or design of hers. It seemed to the two that they were treadingthe paths of a larger design than they could imagine; and Skag was sureit was only the dullness of his faculty and the slowness of his taking,not Carlin's resources of magic, that limited the joy.

  Ian Deal took
up his quarters across the river with the cavalry. Hedid not come to the bungalow.

  "He has always been strange," Carlin said. "In some ways he has beencloser to me than any of the others. Always strange--doing things onetime that showed the tenderest feeling for me and again the harshestresentment. You could not know what he suffered--remaining away whenwe were married. He has always hoped I would stay single. The ideawas like a passion in him. Some of the others have it, but not to thesame degree. . . . You know we have all felt the tragedy over us. Weare different. The English feel it and the natives, too; yet we holdthe respect of both, as no other half-caste line in India. It isbecause of the austerity of our views on one subject--to keep thelineage above reproach as it began. . . . No, Ian will not come here.He has seen his sister. He will make that do--"

  "Why don't you go to him?" Skag asked.

  She turned her head softly.

  "You Americans are amazing."

  "Why?" he laughed.

  "An Englishman or any of my brothers in your place, wouldn't thinkIndia could contain Ian Deal and himself."

  "It wouldn't do any good to fight that sort of feeling," Skag said.

  "Only a man whose courage is proven would dare to say that."

  "If I were on the right side, it would not be my part to leave India."

  Carlin liked this so well that she decided Skag deserved to hear of acertain matter.

  ". . . Ian has something on his side. You see I had almost decided notto marry--almost promised him. He always said he would never marry ifI didn't; that our people would do better forgotten--so much hid sorrowin the heart of us. . . . Something always kept me from making thecovenant with him; yet I have been closer and closer up the years tothe point of giving my life to the natives altogether. . . . That dayin the monkey glen, after the work was done . . . I looked into yourface! . . . You went away and came again. I had heard your voice.The old tiger down by the river had made _you_ forget everything--butyour power"--

  Carlin laughed. The last phrases had been spoken low and rapidly.

  "I didn't forget everything, dear," she went on. "I didn't forgetanything! Everything meant _you_--all else tentative and preparatory.I knew then that the plan was for joy, as soon as we knew enough totake it--"

  On the third morning of the pig-sticking Ian Deal rode by the elephantstockades in Hurda just as the American passed. The hands were longthat held the bridle-rein, the narrowest Skag had ever seen on a man.The boots were narrow like a poster drawing. It was plainly anadvantage for this man to ship his own horse from the south for the fewdays of sport. The black Arab, Kala Khan, seemed built on the sameframe as its rider--speed and power done into delicacy, utter balanceof show and stamina. When the Arab is black, he is a keener black thana man could think. His eyes were fierce, but it was the fierceness offidelity; of that darkness which intimates light; no red burning ofviolence within.

  Ian's face was darker from the saddle; the body superb in its hightension and slender grace. Was this the brother that Roderick Deal,the eldest, had spoken of as being darker than the average native? Yetthe caste-mark was not apparent; the two bloods perfectly blent.

  The depth of Skag's feeling was called to pity as well as admiration.The rift in this Deal's nature was emotional not physical--some madpoetic thing, forever struggling in the tight matrices of a hard-setworld. India was rising clearer to Skag; even certain of her profoundcomplexities. He knew that instant how the fertilising pollen of theWest was needed here, and how the West needed the enfolding spiritualculture which is the breath within the breath of the East. This swiftrealisation had something to do with his own real work. It was filmy,yet memorable--like the first glimpse of one's sealed orders, carriedlong, to be opened at maturity. Also Skag had the dim impulse of athought that he had something for Ian Deal. He meant to speak toCarlin of this at the right time.

  "Pig-sticking no-end," the cavalry officers had promised and they weremaking good.

  That third afternoon Carlin and Skag took Nels out toward the openjungle, which thrust a narrow triangular strip in toward the town. Atintervals they heard shouts, far deeper in. The Great Dane was in hishighest form, after weeks of care and training by Bhanah. He couldwell carry his poise in a walk like this; having his full exercisenight and morning. A marvel thing, like nothing else--this dignity ofNels. . . . The two neared their own magic place--not the monkey glen;that was deeper in the jungle--the place where they had really foundeach other as belonging, in the moment of afterglow.

  "It was wonderful then," he said, "but I think--it is even morewonderful now."

  That was about as much as Sanford Hantee had ever put into a sentence.Carlin looked at him steadily. They were getting past the need ofwords. She saw that he was fulfilling her dream. Their story loomedhigher and more gleaming to him with the days. He had touched thesecret of all--that love is Quest; that love means on and on, means notto stay; love from the first moment, but always lovelier, range onrange. It could only burn continually with higher power and whiterlight, through steady giving to others.

  A woman knows this first, but she must bide her time until the mancatches up; until he enters into the working knowledge that the farthervistas of perfection only open as two pull together with all their artand power; that the intimate and ineffable between man and woman isonly accomplished by their united bestowal to the world.

  They walked long in silence and deeper into the jungle before haltingagain. Nels brushed the man's thigh and stood close. Skag's handdropped and he felt the rising hackles, before his eyes left Carlin's.They heard the Dane's rumble and the world came back to them--theshouting nearer.

  For a moment they stood, a sense of languor stealing between them.Without a word, their thoughts formed the same possibility, as two whohave a child that is vaguely threatened. They were deeper in thejungle than they thought. . . . The cordon of native beaters was stilla mile away in its nearest arc, but there is never any telling what apig will do. . . . They turned back, walking together without haste,Nels behind. They heard the thudding of a mount that runs and swervesand runs again. It was nearer. . . . Their hands touched, but theydid not hasten.

  When Carlin turned to him, Skag saw what he had seen on the cobraday--weariness, but courage perfect. A kind of vague revolt rose inhim, that it should ever be called again to her eyes--more, that itshould come so soon. _He_ was ready, but not for Carlin to enter thevortex again.

  This foreboding they knew, together. Love made them sentient. Notmerely a possibility, but almost a glimpse had come--as if an ominouspresence had stolen in with the languor.

  "Let's hurry, Carlin--"

  She was smiling in a child's delicate way, as their steps quickened.The thrash of the chase was nearer; the jungle was clearing as theymade their way to the border near Hurda. The low rumbling was fromNels. He would stand, turning back an instant, then trot to overtakethem. . . . No question now. One pig at least, was clear of thebeaters, coming this way, someone in chase.

  The great trees were far apart. They were near _their_ place, aftermany minutes. They had caught a glimpse of a mounted man through thetrees--playing his game alone--the pig, but a crash in theundergrowth. . . . There was silence, as if the hunter werelistening--then a cutting squeal, a laugh from the absorbed horseman,and it was all before their eyes!

  The tusker halted at the border of their little clearing. He had justseen them and the dog--more enemies. . . . Hideous bone-rack--long asa pony, tapering to the absurd piggy haunches--head as long as a pony'shead, with a look of decay round the yellow tusks--dripping gash from alance-wound under one ear--standing stock just now, at the end of allflight!

  Nels seemed to slide forward two feet, like a shoved statue. It was apenetrating silence before the voice of Ian Deal:

  "You two--what in God's name--"

  That was all of words.

  His black Arab, Kala Khan, had come to halt twice a lance-length fromthe tusker. Car
lin and Skag and Nels stood half the circle away fromthe man and mount, a little farther from the still beast, the red righteye of which made the central point of the whole tableau.

  Ian looked hunched. He seemed suddenly ungainly--as if all sport likethis were mockery and he had merely been carried on in these lowercurrents for a price. His lance wobbled across his bridle-arm whichwas too rigid, the curb checking the perfect spring of the Arab'saction.

  The tusker was bone-still, with that cocked look which means anythingbut flight. Skag moved a step forward. His knees touched Nels; hisleft hand was stretched back to hold Carlin in her place. There was noword, no sound--and that was the last second of the tableau.

  The tusker broke the picture. Flick of the head, a snort--and hewasn't there. He wasn't on the lance! His side-charge, with no turnwhich the eye could follow, carried him under the point of Ian's thrustin direct drive at the black Arab's belly.

  Kala Khan was standing straight up, yet they heard his scream. Theboar's head seemed on a swivel as he passed beneath. Ian Deal standingin the stirrups swung forward, one arm round his mount's neck, butbadly out of the saddle. . . . The tusker turned to do it again.

  Skag spoke. That was the instant Nels charged. In the same second,the Arab, still on his hind legs, made a teetering plunge back, tododge the second drive of the beast, and Ian Deal fell, head-long onthe far side, his narrow boot locked in the steel stirrup.

  Skag spoke again. It was to Kala Khan this time. Nels' smashing driveat the throat had carried the tusker from under the Arab's feet. Hisrumbling challenge had seemed to take up the scream of the horse; itended in the piercing squeal of the throated boar.

  Skag still talked to Kala Khan, as he moved forward. The Arab stoodbraced, facing him now--the tumbled head-down thing to the left, armssprawled, face turned away. A thousand to one, among the best mounts,would have broken before the second charge and thrashed the hanginghead against the ground.

  Skag's tones were continuous, his empty hand held out. There was nevera glance of his eye to the battle of the Dane and the beast. Four feetfrom his hand was the hanging rein, his eyes to the eyes of the black,his tones steadily lower, never rising, never ceasing. His loosefingers closed upon the bridle rein; his free hand pressed the Arab'scheek.

  He felt Carlin beside him and turned--one of the tremendous moments oflife to find her there. (It was like the last instant of the cobrafight, when he had seen her over the hood--utterly white, utterlytall.) She took the rein from his hand. Her face turned to Nels'struggle--but her eyes pressed shut.

  Skag stepped to Kala Khan's side, lifted the leather fender, slippedthe cinch, and let the light hunting saddle slide over, releasing IanDeal. Then he sprang to Nels, calling as he caught up the fallen lance:

  "Coming, old man--coming to you!"

  Nels on his feet was bent to the task--the tusker sprawling, the piggyhaunches settling flat.

  ". . . So, it's all done, son," the man said softly. "You're the bestof them all to-day."

  He laughed. Nels looked up at him in a bored way, but he still held.Skag went back to Carlin. Ian Deal had partly risen. The American didnot catch his eye, and now Kala Khan stood between them, Carlin stillholding the rein. Skag's hand rested upon the wet trembling withers,where the saddle had covered. There was a blue glisten to themoisture. Skag loved the Arab very hard that moment, and no lessafterward. Kala Khan needed care at once. His wound was long anddeep, from the hock on the inside, up to the stifle-joint.

  Ian Deal was on his feet, the Arab still between him and Skag's eyes.But now her brother drew off, back turned, walking away, his arms andhands fumbling queerly about his head, as he staggered a little.

  "He will come back!" Carlin whispered.

  Nels loosed now, but sat by his game--sat upon his haunches, bringingfirst-aid cleansing to his shoulders and chest, where the pinned tuskerhad worn against him in the battle. . . . All in astonishingly fewseconds--the blue beast still with an isolated kick or two.

  It was as Carlin said. They had scarcely started toward Hurda beforethey saw Ian Deal following. His pace quickened as he neared--hisfirst words queerly shocking:

  "Is he hurt--oh, I say--is the Arab hurt?"

  Skag answered: "A bad cut, but he'll be sound in a week or two."

  "One might ask first, you know. He's rather a fine thing--"

  Carlin seemed paler, as she held her brother with curious eyes. Iandidn't see her. He was slowly taking in Skag, full-length.

  "One might ask, you know," he repeated presently. "One couldn't make agift of a damaged thing. Oh, yes, you're to have him, Hantee. Thingsof Kala Khan's quality gravitate to you--I was thinking of the dog, youknow--"

  Skag shook his head.

  "Don't make it harder for me!" Ian said fiercely. "He belongs toyou--Carlin, too, of course--no resistance of mine left. A man seesdifferently--toes up."

  Carlin pressed Skag's arm.

  The American bowed. Ian Deal straightened.

  "That's better," he breathed. "You'll see to the mount? I'd do it foryou, but I need an hour--in here among the trees, you know,alone. . . . If it isn't quite clear to me, I'll cock one foot up inthe crotch of a tree--until it's straight again. . . . But it's clear,Hantee," he added. "I'm seeing now--the man she sees--or somethinglike!"

  Ian turned toward the deeper growths. . . . They walked in silence.The untellable thing--for Skag alone--lingered in Carlin's eyes, in thepallor of her face. She was the one who spoke:

  "It is terrible--terribly dear, like a blending of two souls in a whiteheat together--those moments at the play-house and now--as you heldKala Khan--"

  "It was not one alone," he answered strangely. "Something from you waswith me--half, with mine."