The Talking Horse, and Other Tales, F. Anstey [best ebook reader android TXT] 📗

one blow,"' she said, with a mischievous dimple.

'I like the other best,' said the General, unsuspectingly.

Jack and Guy went down to the camp as usual, but for some time they were in very low spirits, in spite of their commander's well-meant efforts to raise them.

'You'll do better next time,' he said kindly.

'But we've told you over and over again how it was!' they would exclaim.

'Yes, I know, I know. It's all right. I'm not complaining: I never expected you to be as cool as I was, your first time.' But even this did not seem to console the army to any large extent; they hunched their shoulders and kicked pebbles about with great apparent interest.

The fact was, they could not help seeing that they had lost their prestige. It was true that their mother and elder sister at least (in spite of the flag) did not seem to treat the past danger with all the seriousness[Pg 205] it deserved. It even struck Jack and Guy sometimes that they were under the delusion that the whole thing had been only a new development of the game. But as the General said: 'Even if that were so, it was kinder not to undeceive them. He certainly was contented to leave them in their error; he knew well enough what he had had to go through—he did not like even now to think of his despair when he found he would have to face the danger all alone.'

He was always making the army writhe by little unintentional reminders of this kind, and they had cruel misgivings that Uncle Lambert, though he was always quite kind and encouraging, did not in his heart believe that their unfortunate absence in the hour of peril was quite an accident on their part.

How they longed for an opportunity of wiping out their disgrace, and how their hearts sank when Tinling, from the depths of his experience, declared it very improbable that the attack would ever again be renewed. In the school-stories, the good boy who refuses to fight when he is kicked, and is sent to Coventry as a coward, always gets a speedy chance to clear his character. Someone (generally the very boy who kicked him) falls into a mill-stream, or a convenient horse runs away, or else a mad but considerate bull comes into the playground—and the good boy is always at hand to dive, or hang on to the bridle and be dragged several yards in the dust, or slowly retreat backwards, throwing down first his hat[Pg 206] and then his coat to amuse and detain the infuriated bull.

But out of stories, unfortunately, as even Jack and Guy dimly perceived, things are not always arranged so satisfactorily. They might have to wait for weeks, perhaps months or years, before Uncle Lambert fell into the fish-pond—and, even if he did, he could probably swim better than they could. Then they were neither of them sure that they could successfully stop a runaway horse, or a maniac bull, without a little more practice than they had had as yet.

However, Fortune was kind, and took pity on them in a most unexpected manner. For one morning, soon after breakfast, when Hazel was practising in the music-room, and Hilary and Cecily feeding their rabbits, Jack came up in a highly-excited state of mind to the verandah where his officer was seated doing nothing in particular. 'General,' he said, with a very creditable salute, 'do come down to the camp at once.'

'Oh, bother!' said the veteran warrior, who had, by the way, shown rather a tendency to rest on his laurels of late.

'No, but it isn't humbug, really,' protested Jack; 'it's something you'll like awfully.'

The General marched down in a very stately manner; it would have been undignified to run, eager as he was to get down to the stockade, thinking it not[Pg 207] unlikely that Lintoft, the carpenter, really had found time to make a cannon for them after all, or, at the very least, that there would be some change in the internal arrangements of the stronghold which it would be his duty as superior officer to criticise, if not condemn.

Now it must be explained here that, during the last two or three days, the outside wall of the fort had been placarded with various bills, all glorying in the recent repulse of the enemy by a single-handed defender, and containing most insulting reflections on the courage of Red Indians as a race; while, in case they might not have enough knowledge of English to understand these taunts, they were accompanied by sketches which were certainly scathing enough to infuriate the least susceptible savage.

To do Clarence justice, they were not due to any elation on his part, but had all been executed by the army in the wild hope that they might thus stir up the foe to a fresh demonstration, when they themselves might recover their lost spurs.

These placards, as Clarence found on reaching the stockade, had been scrawled over with a kind of red and yellow paint so as to be quite illegible.

'Ochre,' said Guy; 'but that's not the best of it, for we found this pinned with an arrow to one of the posts.' And he produced a thin strip of white bark, on which were writing and drawings in crimson. 'They must have done it with their own blood,'[Pg 208] commented Jack, with great gusto; 'but read it—do read it.'

Clarence did not need a second invitation to read the document, which was as follows:—

'Wah Na Sa Pash Boo (Yellow Vulture),

Chief of Black Bogallala Tribe, to the Great White Chief, Tin Lin, Defiance.

'The wigwam of Yellow Vulture wants but one ornament—the scalp of the white chief. Yellow Vulture has seen the taunts calling the red warriors "women with the hearts of deer." He will show the Paleface that the anger of the dusky ones is a big heap-lot terrible. When the sun has set behind the hills, and the stars light their watch-fires, then will Yellow Vulture and his braves be at hand. The scalp of the Paleface shall adorn the tepee of the Red Man.

'Wah-Wah!'

In order that there should be no possible mistake about the intention, the message was supplemented by a rude representation of the process of scalping, evidently the work of a practised hand.

'Didn't I tell you we had something jolly to show you!' exclaimed Jack.

But joy, or some equally powerful emotion, rendered the General incapable of speaking for several moments.

[Pg 209]

ACT THE THIRD WHERE IS THE GENERAL?

It was some little time before Clarence Tinling gave any opinion upon this bloodthirsty document. He turned exceedingly red, and examined it suspiciously on both sides. It seemed as if he did not altogether welcome this second opportunity for distinguishing himself. When he spoke it was with a sort of angry anxiety.

'You think yourselves very clever, I dare say,' he said; 'but you needn't fancy you'll take me in! Come, you had better say so at once—you did this yourselves? It is not half bad—I will say that for it.'

'That we didn't,' cried Guy. 'Why, just look at it, Tinling. Any one could see that it's an Indian's doing. No, it's all right; they really are coming.'

'It's all skittles, I tell you,' said Clarence, still more angrily, though he was paler again now. 'What should Indians come here for?'

'Well, he says why, there,' said Jack, 'and they came the other evening.'

Clarence's colour rose again. 'That's different,' he said; 'I mean, it's not the same tribe.'

'No, these are Black Bogallalas,' said Jack. 'What were the first ones, Tinling?'

'I didn't ask them,' said the General shortly.

'How many braves should you think Wah Na[Pg 210] What's-his-name will bring?' asked Guy. 'As many as came the other evening? How many did come the first time?'

'Do you think I had nothing better to do than count?' he retorted. 'Is there anything else you would like to know?'

'Well, we'll hang out the lantern to-night, and watch how many come inside its rays,' said Jack, with a briskness which displeased his chief.

'You wouldn't be quite so jolly cheerful over it if you knew what it was like!' he grumbled.

'Why not?' said Guy. 'You beat the others easily enough by yourself, and we shall be three this time.'

'Oh, it's all very fine to talk,' retorted the General; 'but we shall see what your mother and uncle say about it. They—they may think we ought not to take any notice of it.'

Jack's eyes opened wide at this. 'Not take any notice of an attack by Black Bogallalas! I don't see how we can very well help noticing it!'

'It all depends on what Mrs. Jolliffe says,' replied the conscientious General. 'I'm only a visitor here, and it wouldn't be the right thing for me to lead you into danger without leave.'

'Well, you weren't so particular the first time the Indians came!' remarked Guy.

'Will you shut up about that first time!' the Commander burst out, in exasperation; 'it's the[Pg 211] second time now—that is, if it isn't all humbug. That's what I mean to find out first—you stay here till I come back, will you?'

Taking the strip of bark with him, he went slowly up to the house. He had an uneasy feeling that the Indian's challenge was genuine enough, but he still hoped to have it pronounced a forgery. This may seem strange indeed to some, considering the courage of which he had already given proof, but I do not wish to make any further mystery, particularly as most of my readers will probably have already guessed the secret of this apparent contrast.

The fact is, then, that Clarence Tinling had the best of reasons for being cool and courageous on the previous occasion. Those Indians were entirely imaginary; he had written the warning himself, and instructed the coachman's boy to throw it over the stockade; the attack on the fort and the brilliant victory were an afterthought.

What had he done it for? That is rather difficult to explain—perhaps he hardly knew himself; he had a vague idea of proving to those disrespectful girls that enemies did exist, and that the protection of an Army was not to be despised.

Then when he found himself alone in the camp, the temptation to carry his invention further was too much for him; and after Jack and Guy and Cecily, and even Uncle Lambert himself, accepted his story without hesitation, and treated him as a hero—why,[Pg 212] it would have looked so silly to explain then, and so he went through with it.

Lying is lying, whatever explanations and excuses may be made respecting it, and I am afraid it must be admitted that Tinling, if he began by a mere harmless device for giving a new turn to the game, ended by telling some very unmistakable lies.

Now he found himself in a most delicate position: what if an attack by Red Indians should really be quite possible? Mr. Lambert Jolliffe had certainly not seemed to see anything incredible in the former visit, and, though Clarence had not a very high opinion of his abilities, he was grown up, and was not likely to be misinformed on such a point as that—at all events, he was the best person to consult just then. As he expected, he found him under the big ilex on his back, with his after-breakfast pipe, no longer alight, between his lips.

'Mr. Jolliffe; I say, Mr. Jolliffe,' began Clarence.

Lambert Jolliffe sat up, and fixed his glass in one drowsy eye. 'Hullo, Sir Garnet—I beg your pardon, Lord Wolseley, I mean. You ought to hear what they're saying at the War Office, I can tell you!'

Praise is sweet, even when we do not deserve it, and Clarence felt a thrill of satisfaction at this somewhat vague tribute.

'I wanted to ask you,' he said, 'should you say that Red Indians were—well, common in England?'

'You have asked me a straightforward question,[Pg 213] and I'll give you a straightforward answer,' was the reply. 'Till quite lately I should say they were absolutely unknown in this country.'

Clarence's face brightened; he felt quite fond of Uncle Lambert, and began to think him a particularly well-informed and entertaining person.

'Yes,' continued Uncle Lambert, thoughtfully, 'I must confess I thought it a little unlikely at first that you should have been annoyed by Red Indians; but, of course, when I remembered the Earl's Court Show, I saw at once that it was quite possible.' Clarence felt a cold qualm. He had, as we already know, seen Buffalo Bill's wonderful show, which, indeed, was responsible for much of his recent military enthusiasm. But till that moment, curiously enough, it had not occurred