CHAPTER XXXIII

"_Good-night?. . . .

. . . .

Let us remain together still,

Then it will be GOOD night_."

SHELLEY.

Ben Kelham sat on the ground, with his head resting on the edge of the

wooden couch so that his friend's satin coat touched his cheek.

Save for his hands clenched round his knee there was no sign of the

grief which was well-nigh breaking his heart; which had drawn great

lines across his face and had turned him in one hour from a youth, into

a grave man, with steady, sorrowful grey eyes.

There was no sound as he sat staring in front of him as the light of

the lamp grew dim in the coming light of day, there was no movement

anywhere save for the chequered curtain behind his friend, which

stirred as though blown by the wind of dawn; they seemed to be alone,

quite alone in the desert, these two who had been known as David and

Jonathan in the care-free days on the Hill.

And he turned his head and looked at the wonderful beauty of the calm

face, and in the soft light it seemed that the brown eyes were looking

at him from under half-closed lids, and he stretched out his hand and

laid it on the arms which were folded across the breast in an attitude

of surpassing dignity.

"Carden, old fellow," he said, "wake up!"

As his friend slept on, he spoke more clearly, repeating the line out

of the school-song, which had acted like a charm in those days when

love, and pain, and death had been mere words to them:

"Carden," he called, "Carden, '_it's a quarter to seven, there goes the

bell_!'"

And when there came no answer he turned and buried his head on his arms.

So he sat and kept his vigil with never a thought to the outcome of it

all. Servants there must be somewhere, he knew, but time enough to

explain things when they appeared; time enough to face the world with

the terrible tale; time--oh! a whole long life in which to regret. And

he ached with a great longing to look upon the girl he loved; he longed

passionately to be able to tell her everything before he must tell

others; he threw out his arms in a vain hope that perhaps he could

reach her, and drawing her to him put his head down upon her knees and

tell her of his love for his friend, which had almost equalled his love

for her; his one moment of doubt when a vile hand had linked their

names together; his happiness when the friend he had doubted had lashed

him with words, and told him bluntly to try again.

Then he sat up and turned and looked out into the desert and got to his

feet, but his hand did not go to his hip pocket as he watched something

which came running fleetly through the shadows.

Iouaa and Touaa, the dogs of Billi, were racing home to tell their

master of a surprising adventure which had befallen them, ever so far

out in the desert, where they had gone for an evening stroll before

taking up their posts as sentries outside his tent for the night.

And if only He had not shaken his head when they asked him to go with

them--and He had had his riding-boots on and all---He would have seen

for Himself that there was every excuse in the world for them being out

so late at night.

What matter if they were a disgrace to look upon, with their shaggy

hair matted with sand, and what looked suspiciously like blood? What

if one of Touaa's ears hung limp and Iouaa's tail hung down? The

lioness was dead, and they were coming just as hard as they could pelt

to ask Him to come and see.

They knew exactly what He would say and do when they rushed upon Him.

He would hold up His hand and say, "You disgraceful-looking pair of

disreputable tikes"--He always did--and pull them to Him--Touaa first,

because she was a lady--and would run His hands over them to feel for

bumps, and turn back their ears and lips and look at the pads of their

feet, and give them a good cuff, and lead them off, if they were

scarred with battle, right away to another tent. And there He Himself

would wash their faces and their wounds and brush the sand out of their

coats and--but of course this was a deadly secret--would prize open

their mouths and wash out all the remains of whatever they had been

chewing or chasing with a long-handled ivory finger-nail brush.

Of course He would not do all this to-night because this was a special

occasion, and they knew exactly how to make Him come out of the tent

and send a certain call ringing across so that their friend the

stallion Sooltan would come racing, with native pad and halter,

riderless towards them.

This is how they worked it. First Touaa, because ladies always come

first, would pull his coat and then go out and point in the direction

of the find, growling softly, then give a short yelp and give up her

place to Iouaa, who had just pulled the coat, to come and point and

yelp, whilst she returned, to pull the coat.

It sounds complicated, but it's really as simple as simple and had

never been known to fail.

Of course He would throw something at them and tell them He was coming

because He was sick to death of them and their silly ways; but they

knew better. He was really just as keen as themselves--besides, He

belonged to the desert.

And tonight they would take Him first along the path where they had

chased their own shadows and show Him the very spot where they had

stopped and crouched, belly to ground, as the wind had brought a most

unusual scent to their keen noses; then they would take Him further

along the path and show Him how fast they had gone by the marks of

their pads in the sand; and then--and then! they would show Him the

scene of the great and glorious fight. Why, the field of battle

stretched for yards and yards and yards. And they could show Him the

marks where the wounded lioness had lashed with her tail in rage, and

the very place where they had taken off as they leapt upon her. And He

would really have to take care where He walked, because the place was

in a really terrible state, and He would have to keep his hand on the

halter because horses, even stallions, were most foolishly upset at the

scent of lion.

There was the spot where Touaa had rolled after her side had been

ripped, and the place from which Iouaa had leapt to fasten his fangs in

the lioness's muzzle from which she had dislodged him by rolling on her

back and ripping his chest and throat with the claws of her back paws,

which somehow had savoured of hitting below the belt.

Then they would show him the place where the great tawny beast lay

dead--she was quite dead; you could go and touch her, they had seen to

that--and you could see by the churned-up state of the sand how she had

beaten off attack after attack. And they had leapt again and again to

pull her down, until the great fangs had met in the side of her neck

and worried and gripped until the end.

Whose fangs?--Oh! well, of course ladies have to come first.

And they raced across the desert as the dawn broke, to tell Him of the

great victory they had won for Him; and then, within twenty yards of

the tent they stopped dead, threw up their fine heads, eyes red and

glaring, ruffs standing, and sniffed the mingled scents which came to

them on the wind.

They sniffed the ground at their feet and growled and, belly to the

ground, crept a few yards to their right. The lioness had passed that

way! Would their great victory he not such a big surprise for Him

after all? Had He seen the beast already? And that other scent--a

mixed scent of humans, the humans that were not of the desert! Humans

meant noise. Where were they? Why was there such a strange feeling,

such a strange quietness about the place? Did He sleep so soundly that

He did not hear and whistle them?

They stood quite still, still as though carved, out of stone, looking

at the light which showed dim in the coming dawn, and which, when they

hunted across the desert, had always been to them as a beacon of

happiness.

Then they growled, the deep, unforgiving growl of hate. Somebody was

standing looking at them from inside the tent, and that somebody was

not Him, nor in any way like Him.

Their great faithful hearts, leapt in a strange fear for their master,

and the hair on their backs rose stiff and straight as they moved

slowly forward, side by side.

Up to the entrance they went, growling softly all the while; then with

barks and yelps of joy they leapt inside.

They had seen Him asleep; their hearts were at rest. How could He hear

or whistle them if He lay asleep?

One on each side, tails wagging, eyes gleaming, they stood with

fore-feet upon the couch and bent to sniff Him who was so dear to them.

So they stood for just one uncomprehending moment; then dropped, to the

ground, shivering, as Touaa gave a little whine. Then they walked

slowly round the couch, whining and sniffing as they went, and Touaa

stayed a moment to lick the hand which had so often pulled her silky

ears, and Iouaa rose for an instant upon his hind-legs, and scratched

at his master's boot, as he had so often done when impatient to be up

and away across the desert.

Then, side by side, they crossed to where the man stood watching, with

nails driven into the palms of his hands and tears in his sorrowing

eyes.

Touaa wagged her tail once, Iouaa drove his head fiercely against the

clenched hand, it was their only way of asking what had happened to

make Him sleep so very soundly.

And Ben Kelham bent down and, putting his hand under their mighty jaws,

lifted their heads so that their sorrowful eyes looked into his, and

slowly shook his head. And they turned and walked close against each

other to the outside of the tent, and there they sat upon their

haunches and lifted their heads and howled.

Three times the despairing cry, the Last Post of the faithful friends,

rang out across the plain; then they turned and walked slowly back,

close together, and, separating at the foot, went up to the head of the

couch and sat down upon their haunches one on each side of Him;

immovable; as though carved by grief out of stone.

Ben Kelham, with the one thought of shutting the tragic picture, if

only for a moment, from his eyes; of hiding his grief if only from the

great dogs, blindly pulled back the curtain and stumbled into the

silent room of prayer lit by a silver lamp.

He stood staring down at the water with which his friend had so lately

prepared himself for the hour of prayer; he stooped to pick up the

white handkerchief he had evidently dropped.

And he stood and stared and stared as he turned the little lace-trimmed

square over and over in his hand. It was wringing wet, it smelt

faintly of the perfume the girl he loved had always used; it had her

initials woven in one corner.

"My God!" he whispered, as he looked round the little room; then

crossed to the spot near the curtain where the sand had been disturbed,

and then followed the prints of small feet across the floor to the

further side.

"My God!" he repeated. "I understand." He turned his head and looked

back at the curtain which divided him from his friend. "Carden, old

fellow, I understand what you gave your life to make me understand."

And his heart beat with a great love and a greater gratitude as he

parted the curtain and went out into the desert. He did not once turn

to look back, else might he have seen a speck on the horizon, moving at

the incredible speed with which a camel can race as it slithers across

the sands.