Ch. 19: The Head of the District - Page 2

sheepskin coat and added it to the
pile. 'I shall be warm by the fire presently,' said he. Tallantire took
the wasted body of his chief into his arms and held it against his
breast. Perhaps if they kept him very warm Orde might live to see his
wife once more. If only blind Providence would send a three-foot fall in
the river!

'That's better,' said Orde faintly. 'Sorry to be a nuisance, but is--is
there anything to drink?'

They gave him milk and whisky, and Tallantire felt a little warmth
against his own breast. Orde began to mutter.

'It isn't that I mind dying,' he said. 'It's leaving Polly and the
district. Thank God! we have no children. Dick, you know, I'm dipped--
awfully dipped--debts in my first five years' service. It isn't much of
a pension, but enough for her. She has her mother at home. Getting there
is the difficulty. And--and--you see, not being a soldier's wife--'

'We'll arrange the passage home, of course,' said Tallantire quietly.

'It's not nice to think of sending round the hat; but, good Lord! how
many men I lie here and remember that had to do it! Morten's dead--he
was of my year. Shaughnessy is dead, and he had children; I remember he
used to read us their school-letters; what a bore we thought him! Evans
is dead--Kot-Kumharsen killed him! Ricketts of Myndonie is dead--and I'm
going too. "Man that is born of a woman is small potatoes and few in the
hill." That reminds me, Dick; the four Khusru Kheyl villages in our
border want a one-third remittance this spring. That's fair; their crops
are bad. See that they get it, and speak to Ferris about the canal. I
should like to have lived till that was finished; it means so much for
the North-Indus villages--but Ferris is an idle beggar--wake him up.
You'll have charge of the district till my successor comes. I wish they
would appoint you permanently; you know the folk. I suppose it will be
Bullows, though. 'Good man, but too weak for frontier work; and he
doesn't understand the priests. The blind priest at Jagai will bear
watching. You'll find it in my papers,--in the uniform-case, I think.
Call the Khusru Kheyl men up; I'll hold my last public audience. Khoda
Dad Khan!'

The leader of the men sprang to the side of the litter, his companions
following.

'Men, I'm dying,' said Orde quickly, in the vernacular; 'and soon there
will be no more Orde Sahib to twist your tails and prevent you from
raiding cattle.'

'God forbid this thing!' broke out the deep bass chorus. 'The Sahib is
not going to die.'

'Yes, he is; and then he will know whether Mahomed speaks truth, or
Moses. But you must be good men, when I am not here. Such of you as live
in our borders must pay your taxes quietly