But later on I received full enlightenment; and so
did Khem Singh. He fled to those who knew him
in the old days, but many of them were dead and more
were changed, and all knew something of the Wrath of
the Government. He went to the young men, but
the glamour of his name had passed away, and they
were entering native regiments of Government offices,
and Khem Singh could give them neither pension, decorations,
nor influence—nothing but a glorious death
with their backs to the mouth of a gun. He wrote
letters and made promises, and the letters fell into
bad hands, and a wholly insignificant subordinate
officer of Police tracked them down and gained promotion
thereby. Moreover, Khem Singh was old, and anise-seed
brandy was scarce, and he had left his silver cooking-pots
in Fort Amara with his nice warm bedding, and the
gentleman with the gold pince-nez was told by
those who had employed him that Khem Singh as a popular
leader was not worth the money paid.
“Great is the mercy of these fools of English!”
said Khem Singh when the situation was put before
him. “I will go back to Fort Amara of my
own free will and gain honor. Give me good clothes
to return in,”
So, at his own time, Khem Singh knocked at the wicket-gate
of the Fort and walked to the Captain and the Subaltern,
who were nearly grey-headed on account of correspondence
that daily arrived from Simla marked “Private,”
“I have come back, Captain Sahib,” said
Khem Singh, “Put no more guards over me.
It is no good out yonder.”
A week later I saw him for the first time to my knowledge,
and he made as though there were an understanding
between us.
“It was well done, Sahib,” said he, “and
greatly I admired your astuteness in thus boldly facing
the troops when I, whom they would have doubtless
torn to pieces, was with you. Now there is a man
in Fort Ooltagarh whom a bold man could with ease
help to escape. This is the position of the Fort
as I draw it on the sand”—
But I was thinking how I had become Lalun’s
Vizier after all.
THE BROKEN-LINK HANDICAP
While the snaffle holds, or the
long-neck slings,
While the big beam tilts, or the
last bell rings,
While horses are horses to train
and to race.
Then women and wine take a second
place
For me—for
me—
While a
short “ten-three”
Has a field to squander or fence
to face!
_—Song of the. G. R._
There are more ways of running a horse to suit your
book than pulling his head off in the straight.
Some men forget this. Understand clearly that
all racing is rotten—as everything connected
with losing money must be. In India, in addition
to its inherent rottenness, it has the merit of being
two-thirds sham; looking pretty on paper only.
Every one knows every one else far too well for business
purposes. How on earth can you rack and harry
Copyrights
Indian Tales from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
