“Sorry they didn’t plant more trees, old chap,” said Upward. “But then we are here for a longish time, whereas it’s only a few days with you. Come in and have a ‘peg.’ Fleming – how about a ‘peg’?”
“Oh, very much about a ‘peg,’” responded Fleming with alacrity. He had been renewing his acquaintance with Nesta about as volubly as time allowed.
“Well, what khubbur from below?” asked Upward, when they were seated in the large dining tent, discussing the said “pegs.”
“Oh, the usual thing,” said Bracebrydge. “Tribes restless Khelat way – that’s nothing – they always are restless.”
“Ever since you’ve been in the country, old chap?” rejoined Upward, with a dry smile, the point of which lay in the fact that the man who undertook to give an exhaustive and authoritative opinion on the country was absolutely new to it. He was not quartered at Shâlalai, nor anywhere else in Baluchistan; but was up, on furlough, from a hot station in the lower plains.
“There is some talk of disturbance, though,” said Fleming. “Two or three of the Brahui sirdars sent a message to the A.G.G., which was offhand, not to say cheeky. Let them. We’ll soon smash ’em up.”
“You may do,” said Upward. “But there’ll be lively times first. Then there’s all that disaffection in lower India. Things are looking dicky – devilish dicky. I shouldn’t wonder if we saw something before long. I’ve always said so.”
Then they got away from the general question to gup of a more private nature – even station gup.
“When are you coming back to Shâlalai, Miss Cheriton?” said Fleming, in the midst of this.
“I don’t know. I’ve only just left it,” Nesta answered. “Not for a long time, I think.”
“That’s awful hard lines on Shâlalai, Miss Cheriton – ah – ha – ha,” said Bracebrydge, twirling the ends of his moustache, which, waxed out on a level with the line of his mouth, gave him a sort of barber’s block expression, which however, the fair of the above city, and of elsewhere, deemed martial and dashing to a degree. This effect, in their sight, was heightened by a jagged scar extending from the left eye to the lower jaw, suggestive of a sword slash at close quarters, “facing the foe” – and so forth. As a matter of hard fact this honourable wound had been received while heading a storming party upon the quarters of a newly-joined and rather high tempered subaltern, for “hazing” purposes. The latter, anticipating such attentions had locked his door, and on the arrival of the “hazing” party, had given out that the first man to enter the room was going to receive something he wouldn’t like in the least. The door was burst open, and with characteristic gallantry the first man to enter was Bracebrydge, who found the destined victim to be as good as his word, for he received a heavy article of crockery, deftly hurled, full in the face – and he didn’t like it in the least – for it cut him so badly right along the cheek that he had to retire perforce, bleeding hideously. The next day the newly-joined subaltern sent in his papers, saying he had no wish to belong to a service wherein it was necessary to take such measures to defend oneself against the overgrown schoolboy rowdyism of “brother” officers, and subsequently won distinction and the V.C. as a daring and gallant leader of irregular horse in other parts of Her Majesty’s dominions.
“I suppose you fellows will want to give the birds a turn,” said Upward, after tiffin. “We’ll get the ponies and start shooting from about four miles down the valley. I’m afraid they’re beastly wild until we get that far.”
“Don’t know that I feel up to it,” said Fleming. “Beastly fag the ride up this morning. Think I’ll just take it easy here in camp, Upward. You and Bracebrydge can go. It’ll be all the better for yourselves; three guns are sure to have more sport than four.”
Campian, who was in the joke, caught a sly wink from Upward, and mightily enjoyed it. Here was the latter’s prediction being already fulfilled.
“What sort of fellow are you, Fleming?” said Bracebrydge. “What’s the good of coming up here on purpose to shoot, and then hanging up in camp? Now I had thought of not going out. The fact is, I want to fetch a snooze.”
“Oh you don’t want a snooze. You snored for ten hours at a stretch the way up last night,” retorted Fleming. “Now I didn’t, and feel cheap in consequence. You go along now, or you’ll spoil the party. Upward and Mr Campian are both keen on it.”
“Rather. One of you fellows must come,” declared Upward, bent on keeping up the fun. “We might spare one of you, but not both. Three guns we must have, to cover the ground properly.”
“Then Fleming had better go,” said Bracebrydge. “I’m sleepy.”
“No fear, I’m going to remain in camp,” declared Fleming. “I’m sleepy, too.”
“Why don’t you toss for it?” suggested Upward. “Sudden death – the winner to do as he likes.”
The idea took on, and Fleming came out the winner.
“All right, Bracebrydge,” said the latter, jubilant. “I’ll have my snooze while you sacrifice yourself in the cause of others – and sport.”
The latter snarled, but even he drew the line at backing out of his pledge.
Meanwhile Campian, no longer able to restrain a roar, had hurried from the dining tent.
“What’s the joke, now?” called out Nesta, who, with Mrs Upward, was seated beneath the trees.
“Yes, it is a joke.”
“Well, we’re spoiling to hear it; go on.”
“Ssh – ssh! little girls shouldn’t be impatient. The joke is this – Wait. They’re coming,” with a look over his shoulder.
“No. They’re not. Quick quick. What is it?”
“Well, the spectacle of two fellows old enough to know better, who have come all the way up here on purpose to shoot, both keenly competing as to who shall have the privilege of remaining in camp, is comical – to say the least of it.”
“Ah, I don’t believe it – ” said Nesta.
“Not, eh? Well they have even gone so far as to toss for the privilege.”
“And who won?”
“Him they call Fleming. Where are you going to take him for his afternoon stroll, Nessita? I warn you we are going down the valley.”
“Then we will go up it,” laughed the girl. “Yes, I think he is the best fun of the two.”
“A pair of great sillies, both of them,” laughed Mrs Upward.
“Steady. Here comes Fleming. But you won’t see much of him. He is only remaining behind with the express object of having an afternoon snooze. Ta-ta – I’m off.”
Fleming, who was at that moment emerging from the dining tent came over to the two ladies, and throwing himself on the ground, lighted another cheroot and began to talk. He was still talking animatedly when the shooters started.
“I say, Fleming, when are you going to have your snooze?” called out Bracebrydge nastily. “You don’t look so sleepy now as you did – Ar – ha – ha!” The shooters proceeded on the plan laid down, except that Bracebrydge suggested they should leave the ponies much sooner than was at first intended. Then, being in a villainous temper, he shot badly, and wondered what the devil they had come to such an infernally rotten bit of shooting for, and cursed the attendant forest guard, and made a studiously offensive remark or two to Campian, who received the same with the silence of utter contempt. Before they had been at it an hour, he flung down his gun