The Lamp in the Desert, Ethel May Dell [the gingerbread man read aloud .TXT] 📗

"Why, it's Tommy!" he said.
The light smote full upon him now throwing up every detail of a countenance which, though handsome, had begun to show unmistakable signs of coarse and intemperate habits. He laughed as he met the boy's shocked eyes, but the laugh caught in his throat and turned to a strangled oath. Then he began to cough.
"Oh--my God!" said Tommy.
He turned then, horror urging him, and tore back to Ralston, as one pursued by devils. He burst in upon him headlong.
"For heaven's sake, come! That fellow--it's--it's----"
"Who?" said Ralston sharply.
"I don't know!" panted back Tommy. "I'm mad, I think. But come--for goodness' sake--before he bleeds to death!"
Ralston came with a velocity which exceeded even Tommy's wild rush. Tommy marvelled at it later. He had not thought the phlegmatic and slow-moving Ralston had it in him. He himself was left well behind, and when he re-entered the dining-room Ralston was already bending over the huddled figure that sprawled across the table.
"Come and lend a hand!" he ordered. "We must get him on the floor. Poor devil! He's got it pretty straight."
He had not seen the stricken man's face. He was too concerned with the wound to worry about any minor details for the moment.
Tommy helped him to the best of his ability, but he was trembling so much that in a second Ralston swooped scathingly upon his weakness.
"Steady man! Pull yourself together! What on earth's the matter? Never seen a little blood before? If you faint, I'll--I'll kick you! There!"
Tommy pulled himself together forthwith. He had never before submitted to being bullied by Ralston; but he submitted then, for speech was beyond him. They lowered the big frame between them, and at Ralston's command he supported it while the doctor made a swift examination of the injury.
Then, while this was in progress, the wounded man recovered his senses and forced a few husky words. "Hullo,--Ralston! Have they done me in?"
Ralston's eyes went to his face for the first time, shot a momentary glance at Tommy, and returned to the matter in hand.
"Don't talk!" he said.
A few seconds later he got to his feet. "Keep him just as he is! I must go and fetch something. Don't let him speak!"
He was gone with the words, and Tommy, still feeling bewildered and rather sick, knelt in silence and waited for his return.
But almost immediately the husky voice spoke again. "Tommy--that you?"
Tommy felt himself begin to tremble again and put forth all his strength to keep himself in hand. "Don't talk!" he said gruffly.
"I've--got to talk." The words came, forced by angry obstinacy. "It's no--damnation--good. I'm done for--beaten on the straight. And that hell hound Monck--"
"Damn you! Be quiet!" said Tommy in a furious undertone.
"I won't be quiet. I'll have--my turn--such as it is. Where's Stella? Fetch Stella! I've a right to that anyway. She is--my lawful wife!"
"I can't fetch her," said Tommy.
"All right then. You can tell her--from me--that she's been duped--as I was. She's mine--not his. He came--with that cock-and-bull story about--the other woman. But she was dead--I've found out since. She was dead--and he knew it. He faked up the tale--to suit himself. He wanted her--the damn skunk--wanted her--and cheated--cheated--to get her."
He stopped, checked by a terrible gurgle in the throat. Tommy, white with passion, broke fiercely into his gasping silence.
"It's a damned lie! Monck is a white man! He never did--a thing like that!"
And then he too stopped in sheer horror at the devilish hatred that gleamed in the rolling, bloodshot eyes.
A few dreadful seconds passed. Then Ralph Dacre gathered his ebbing life in one last great effort of speech. "She is my wife. I hold the proof. If it hadn't been for this--I'd have taken her from him--to-night. He ruined me--and he robbed me. But I--I'll ruin him now. It's my turn. He is not--her husband, and she--she'll scorn him after this--if I know her. Consoled herself precious soon. Yes, women are like that. But they don't forgive so easily. And she--is not--the forgiving sort--anyway. She'll never forgive him for tricking her--the hound! She'll never forget that the child--her child--is a bastard. And--the Regiment--won't forget either. He's down--and out."
He ceased to speak. Tommy's hands were clenched. If the man had been on his feet, he would have struck him on the mouth. As it was, he could only kneel in impotence and listen to the amazing utterance that fell from the gasping lips.
He felt stunned into passivity. His anger had strangely sunk away, though he regarded the man he supported with such an intensity of loathing that he marvelled at himself for continuing to endure the contact. The astounding revelation had struck him like a blow between the eyes. He felt numb, almost incapable of thought.
He heard Ralston returning and wondered what he could have been doing in that interminable interval. Then, reluctant but horribly fascinated, his look went back to the upturned, dreadful face. The malignancy had gone out of it. The eyes rolled no longer, but gazed with a great fixity at something that seemed to be infinitely far away. As Tommy looked, a terrible rattling breath went through the heavy, inert form. It seemed to rend body and soul asunder. There followed a brief palpitating shudder, and the head on his arm sank sideways. A great stillness fell....
Ralston knelt and freed him from his burden. "Get up!" he said.
Tommy obeyed though he felt more like collapsing. He leaned upon the table and stared while Ralston laid the big frame flat and straight upon the floor.
"Is he dead?" he asked in a whisper, as Ralston stood up.
"Yes," said Ralston.
"It wasn't my fault, was it?" said Tommy uneasily. "I couldn't stop him talking."
"He'd have died anyhow," said Ralston. "It's a wonder he ever got here if he was shot in the jungle as he must have been. That means--probably--that the brutes have started their games to-night. Odd if he should be the first victim!"
Tommy shuddered uncontrollably.
Ralston gripped his arm. "Don't be a fool now! Death is nothing extraordinary, after all. It's an experience we've all got to go through some time or other. It doesn't scare me. It won't you when you're a bit older. As for this fellow, it's about the best thing that could happen for everyone concerned. Just rememer that! Providence works pretty near the surface at times, and this is one of 'em. You won't believe me, I daresay, but I never really felt that Ralph Dacre was dead--until this moment."
He led Tommy from the room with the words. It was not his custom to express himself so freely, but he wanted to get that horror-stricken look out of the boy's eyes. He talked to give him time.
"And now look here!" he said. "You've got to keep your head--for you'll want it. I'll give you something to steady you, and after that you'll be on your own. You must cut back to The Green Bungalow and find Bernard Monck and tell him just what has happened--no one else mind, until you've seen him. He's discreet enough. I'm going round to the Colonel. For if what I think has happened, those devils are ahead of us by twenty-four hours, and we're not ready for 'em. They've probably cut the wires too. When you've done that, you report down at the barracks! Your sister will probably have to be taken there for safety. And there may be some tough work before morning."
These last words of his had a magical effect upon Tommy. His eyes suddenly shone. Ralston had accomplished his purpose. Nevertheless, he took him back to the surgery and made him swallow some _sal volatile_ in spite of protest.
"And now you won't be a fool, will you?" he said at parting. "I should be sorry if you got shot to no purpose. Monck would be sorry too."
"Do you know where he is?" questioned Tommy point-blank.
"Yes." Blunt and uncompromising came Ralston's reply. "But I'm not going to tell you, so don't you worry yourself! You stick to business, Tommy, and for heaven's sake don't go round and make a mush of it!"
"Stick to business yourself!" said Tommy rudely, suddenly awaking to the fact that he was being dictated to; then pulled up, faintly grinning. "Sorry: I didn't mean that. You're a brick. Consider it unsaid! Good-bye!"
He held out his hand to Ralston who took it and thumped him on the back by way of acknowledgment.
"You're growing up," he remarked with approval, as Tommy went his way.


CHAPTER VIII
THE FIERY VORTEX

"There is nothing more to be done," said Peter with mournful eyes upon the baby in the _ayah's_ arms. "Will not my _mem-sahib_ take her rest?"
Stella's eyes also rested upon the tiny wizen face. She knew that Peter spoke truly. There was nothing more to be done. She might send yet again for Major Ralston. But of what avail? He had told her that he could do no more. The little life was slipping swiftly, swiftly, out of her reach. Very soon only the desert emptiness would be left.
"The _mem-sahib_ may trust her _baba_ to Hanani," murmured the _ayah_ behind the enveloping veil. "Hanani loves the _baba_ too."
"Oh, I know," Stella said.
Yet she hung over the _ayah's_ shoulder, for to-night of all nights she somehow felt that she could not tear herself away.
There had been a change during the day--a change so gradual as to be almost imperceptible save to her yearning eyes. She was certain that the baby was weaker. He had cried less, had, she believed, suffered less; and now he lay quite passive in the _ayah's_ arms. Only by the feeble, fluttering breath that came and went so fitfully could she have told that the tiny spark yet lingered in the poor little wasted frame.
Major Ralston had told her earlier in the evening that he might go on in this state for days, but she did not think it probable. She was sure that every hour now brought an infinitesimal difference. She felt that the end was drawing near.
And so a great reluctance to go possessed her, even though she would be within call all night. She had a hungry longing to stay and watch the little unconscious face which would soon be gone from her sight. She wanted to hold each minute of the few hours left.
Very softly Peter came to her side. "My _mem-sahib_ will rest?" he said wistfully.
She looked at him. His faithful eyes besought her like the eyes of a dog. Their dumb adoration somehow made her want to cry.
"If I could only stay to-night, Peter!" she said.
"_Mem-sahib_," he urged very pleadingly, "the _baba_ sleeps now. It may be he will want you to-morrow. And if my _mem-sahib_ has not slept she will be too weary then."
Again she knew that he spoke the truth. There had been times of late when she had been made aware of the fact that her strength was nearing its limit. She knew it would be sheer madness to neglect the warning lest, as Peter suggested, her baby's need of her outlasted her endurance. She must husband all the strength she had.
With a sigh she bent and touched the tiny forehead with her lips. Hanani's hand, long and bony, gently stroked her arm as she did so.
"Old Hanani knows, _mem-sahib_," she whispered under her breath.
The tears she had barely checked a moment before sprang to Stella's eyes. She held the dark hand in silence and was subtly comforted thereby.
Passing through the door that Peter held open for her, she gave him her hand also. He bent very low over it, just as he had bent