The Jungle Girl. Gordon Casserly
deep wells, by hamlets of palm-thatched mud huts where no one yet stirred, and on to where the high embrasured walls of the city rose above the plain. Under the vaulted arch of the old gateway the ponies clattered, along through the narrow, silent streets of gaily-painted, wooden-balconied houses, at that hour closely shuttered, until the Palace was reached as the rising sun began to flush the sky with rose-pink.
The guard of sepoys at the great gate saluted as the two officers rode into the wide, paved courtyard lined by high, many-windowed buildings. In the centre of it a group of horsemen, nobles of the State or officials of the Palace in gay dresses and bright-coloured puggris, or turbans, with gold or silver-hilted swords hanging from their belts, sat on their restless animals behind the Maharajah, a pleasant-faced, athletic man in a white flannel coat, riding-breeches and long, soft leather boots, mounted on a tall Waler gelding. He was chatting with four or five other officers of the Punjaubis and raised his hand to his forehead as the newcomers rode up and lifted their hats to him.
"Good morning, Your Highness," said Raymond. "I hope we're not late. Let me present Mr. Wargrave of our regiment, who has just returned from England."
With a genial smile the Maharajah leant forward and held out his hand.
"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wargrave," he said, "and very pleased to see you out with us to-day. Are you fond of pigsticking?"
"I've never had the chance of doing any before, Your Highness," replied Frank, shaking his hand. "I'm awfully anxious to try it; but, being a novice, I'm afraid I'll only be in the way."
"I'm sure you won't," said the Maharajah courteously. His command of English was perfect. "Pigsticking is not at all difficult; and I hear that you are a good rider."
He looked at his watch and then, turning in the saddle, addressed another officer of the regiment who was chaffing Raymond for being late:
"Are we all here now, Captain Ross?"
"Yes, sir. These two lazy fellows are the last," replied Ross laughingly.
"Very well, gentlemen, we'll start."
He waved his hand; and at the signal two black-bearded sowars, or soldiers of his cavalry regiment, dashed by him and out through the Palace gates at a hard-gallop, leading the way past the guard, who turned out and presented arms as the Maharajah and the British officers, together with the crowd of nobles, officials and mounted attendants, followed at a smart pace. The city was now waking to life. From their windows the sleepy inhabitants stared at the party, mostly too stupefied at that hour to recognise and salute their ruler. Pot-bellied naked brown babies waddled on to the verandahs to gaze thumb in mouth at the riders. Pariah dogs, nosing at the gutters and rubbish-heaps that scented the air, bolted out of the way of the horses' hoofs.
As the sportsmen passed out of the city gates the sun was rising above the horizon, the terrible Hot Weather sun of India, whose advent ushers in the long hours of gasping, breathless heat. For a mile or so the route lay through fertile gardens and fields. Then suddenly the cultivation ended abruptly on the edge of a sandy desert that, seamed with nullahs, or deep, steep-sided ravines, and dotted with tall clumps of thorny cactus, stretched away to the horizon. The road became a barely discernible track; but the two sowars cantered on, confidently heading for the spot where the fresh horses awaited the party.
Over the sand the riders swept, past a slow-plodding elephant lumbering back to the city with a load of fodder, by groups of tethered camels. Hares started up in alarm and bounded away, grey partridges whirred up and yellow-beaked minas flew off chattering indignantly. The slight morning coolness soon vanished; and Wargrave, soft and somewhat out of condition after his weeks of shipboard life, wiped his streaming face often before the guiding sowars threw up their hands in warning and vanished slowly from sight as their sure-footed horses picked their way down a steep nullah. This was the ravine in which the quarry hid. One after another of the riders followed the leaders down the narrow track, trotted across the sandy, rock-strewn river-bed and climbed up the far side to where the fresh horses and a picturesque mob of wild-looking beaters stood awaiting them.
Among the animals Wargrave noticed a smart grey Arab pony with a side-saddle.
"I see Mrs. Norton intends coming out with us," observed the Maharajah looking at the pony. "We must wait for her."
"It won't be for long, sir," said Raymond, pointing to a rising trail of dust on the track by which they had come. "I'll bet that is she."
All turned to watch the approaching rider draw near, until they could see that it was a lady galloping furiously over the sand.
"By Jove, she can ride!" exclaimed Wargrave admiringly. "I hope she'll see the nullah. She's heading straight for it."
A shouted warning caused her to pull up almost on the brink; and in a few minutes she joined the waiting group. Wargrave looked with interest at her, as she sat on her panting horse talking to the Maharajah and the other officers, who had dismounted.
Mrs. Norton was a decidedly graceful and pretty woman. The rounded curves of her shapely figure were set off to advantage by her riding-costume. Her eyes were especially attractive, greenish-grey eyes fringed by long black lashes under curved dark brows contrasting with the warm auburn tint of the hair that showed under her sunhat. Her complexion was dazzlingly fair. Her mouth was rather large and voluptuous with full red lips and even white teeth. Bewitching dimples played in the pink cheeks. Even from a man like Wargrave, fresh from England and consequently more inclined to be critical of female beauty than were his comrades, who for many months had seen so few white women, Mrs. Norton's good looks could justly claim full meed of admiration and approval.
Accepting Captain Ross's aid she slipped lightly from her saddle to the ground and on foot looked as graceful as she did when mounted. Raymond brought his friend to her and introduced him.
Holding out a small and shapely hand in a dainty leather gauntlet she said in a frank and pleasant manner:
"How do you do, Mr. Wargrave? You are a fortunate person to have been in England so lately. I haven't seen it for nearly three years. Weren't you sorry to leave it?"
"Not in the least, Mrs. Norton. I'd far sooner be doing this," he waved his hand towards the horses and the open desert, "than fooling about Piccadilly and the Park."
"Oh, but don't you miss the gaieties of town, the theatres, the dances? And then the shops and the new fashions—but you're a man, and they'd mean nothing to you."
The Maharajah broke in:
"Mrs. Norton, I think we had better mount. The beaters are going in; and the shikaris (hunters) tell me that the nullah swarms with pig. There are at least half a dozen rideable boar in it."
In pigsticking only well-grown boars are pursued, sows and immature boars being unmolested.
Ross started forward to help Mrs. Norton on to her fresh pony; but Wargrave refused to surrender the advantage of his proximity to her. So it was into his hand she put her small foot in its well-made riding-boot and was swung up by him.
The saddles of the rest of the party had been changed on to the horses that the Maharajah had provided. The beaters streamed down the steep bank into the ravine which some distance away was filled with dense scrub affording good cover for the quarry. Forming line they moved through it with shrill yells, the blare of horns, the beating of tom-toms and a spluttering fire of blank cartridges from old muskets. The riders mounted and, spear in hand, eagerly watched their progress through the jungle. Wargrave found himself beside Mrs. Norton; but, after exchanging a few words, he forgot her presence as, his heart beating fast with a true sportsman's excitement, he strained his eyes for the first sight of a wild boar.
Suddenly, several hundred yards away, he saw a squat, dark animal emerge from the tangled scrub and, climbing up the nullah on their side, stride away over the sand with a peculiar bounding motion that reminded Wargrave of a rocking-horse. All eyes were turned towards the Maharajah, who would decide whether the animal were worthy of pursuit or not. He gazed after it for a few moments,