The Bullyable Girl

Youth's daring courage, manhood's fire

Firm seat and eagle eye

Must he acquire who doth aspire

To see the grey boar die

-Indian Pigsticking Song

Mrs. Norton looked contentedly at her image in the long mirror which reflected a graceful figure in a well-cut grey habit and smart long brown boots, a pretty face and wavy auburn hair under the sun-helmet. Then turning away and picking up her whip she left the dressing-room and, passing the door of her husband's bedroom where he lay still sleeping, descended the broad marble staircase of the Residency to the lofty hall, where an Indian servant in a long red coat hurried to open the door of the dining-room for her.

Almost at that moment a mile away Raymond, the adjutant of the 180th Punjaub Infantry, looked at his watch and called out loudly:

"Hurry up, Wargrave; it's four o'clock and the ponies will be round in ten minutes. And it's a long ride to the Palace."

He was seated at a table on the verandah of the bungalow which he shared with his brother subaltern in the small military cantonment near Rohar, the capital of the Native State of Mandha in the west of India. Dawn had not yet come; and by the light of an oil lamp Raymond was eating a frugal breakfast of tea, toast and fruit, the chota hazri or light meal with which Europeans in the East begin the day. He was dressed in an old shooting-jacket, breeches and boots; and as he ate his eyes turned frequently to a bundle of steel-headed bamboo spears leaning against the wall near him. For he and his companion were going as the guests of the Maharajah of Mandha for a day's pigsticking, as hunting the wild boar is termed in India.

He had finished his meal and lit a cheroot before Wargrave came yawning on to the verandah.

"Sorry for being so lazy, old chap," said the newcomer. "But a year's leave in England gets one out of the habit of early rising."

He pulled up a chair to the table on which his white-clad Mussulman servant, who had come up the front steps of the verandah, laid a tray with his tea and toast. And while he ate Raymond lay back smoking in a long chair and looked almost affectionately at him. They had been friends since their Sandhurst days, and during the past twelve months of his comrade's absence on furlough in Europe the adjutant had sorely missed his cheery companionship. Nor was he the only one in their regiment who had.

Frank Wargrave was almost universally liked by both men and women, and, while unspoilt by popularity, thoroughly deserved it. He was about twenty-six years of age, above medium height, with a lithe and graceful figure which the riding costume that he was wearing well set off. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, with good though irregular features, he was pleasant-faced and attractive rather than handsome. The cheerful, good-tempered manner that he displayed even at that trying early hour was a true indication of a happy and light-hearted disposition that made him as liked by his brother officers as by other men who did not know him so well. In his regiment all the native ranks adored the young sahib, who was always kind and considerate, though just, to them, and looked more closely after their interests than he did his own. For, like most young officers in the Indian Army, he was seldom out of debt; but soldierly hospitality and a hand ever ready to help a friend in want were the causes rather than deliberate extravagance on his own account. Taking life easily and never worrying over his own troubles he was always generous and sympathetic to others, and prompter to take up cudgels on their behalf than on his own. His being a good sportsman and a smart soldier added to his popularity among men; while all women were partial to the pleasant, courteous subaltern whom they felt to have a chivalrous regard and respect for them and who was as polite and attentive to an old lady as he was to the prettiest girl.

While admiring and liking the other sex Wargrave had hitherto been too absorbed in sport and his profession to have ever found time to lose his heart to any particular member of it, while his innate respect for, and high ideal of, womankind had preserved him from unworthy intrigues with those ready to meet him more than half-way. Even in the idleness of the year's furlough in England from which he had returned the previous day he had remained heart-whole; although several charming girls had been ready to share his lot and more than one pretty pirate had sought to make him her prize. But he had been blind to them all; for he was too free from conceit to believe that any woman would concern herself with him unasked. He had dined and danced with maid and young matron in London, ridden with them in the Row and Richmond Park, punted them down backwaters by Goring, Pangbourne and the Cleveden Woods, and flirted harmlessly with them in country houses after days with the Quorn and the Pytchley, and yet come back to India true to his one love, his regiment.

As Raymond watched him the fear of the feminine dangers in England for his friend suddenly pricked; and he blurted out anxiously:

"I say, old chap, you haven't got tangled up with any woman at home, have you? Not got engaged or any silly thing like that, I hope?"

Wargrave laughed.

"No fear, old boy," he replied, pouring out another cup of tea. "Far too hard up to think of such an expensive luxury as a wife. Been too busy, too, to see much of any particular girl."

"You had some decent sport, hadn't you?" asked his friend, with a feeling of relief in his heart.

"Rather. I told you I'd learnt to fly and got my pilot's certificate, for one thing. Good fun, flying. I wish I could afford a 'bus of my own. Then I had some yachting on the Solent and a lot of boating on the Thames. I put in a month in Switzerland, skiing and skating."

"Did you get any hunting?"

"Yes, at my uncle's place near Desford in Leicestershire. He gave me some shooting, too. It was all very well; but I was very envious when the regiment came here and you wrote and told me of the pigsticking you were getting. I've always longed for it. It's great sport, isn't it?"

"The best I know," cried Raymond enthusiastically. "Beats hunting hollow. You're not following a wretched little animal that runs for its life, but a game brute that will turn on you as like as not and make you fight for yours."

"It must be ripping. I do hope we'll have the luck to find plenty of pig to-day."

"Oh, we're sure to. The Maharajah told me yesterday they have marked down a sounder-that is, a herd-of wild pig in a nullah about seven miles the other side of the city, which is two miles away, so we have a ride of nine to the meet."

"That will make it a very hard day for our ponies, won't it?" asked Wargrave anxiously. "Eighteen miles there and back and the runs as well."

"Oh, that's all right. The Maharajah mounts us at the meet. We'll find his horses waiting there for us. Rawboned beasts with mouths like iron, as a rule; but good goers and staunch to pig."

"By Jove! The Maharajah must be a real good chap."

"One of the best," replied Raymond. "He is a man for whom I've the greatest admiration. He rules his State admirably. He commanded his own Imperial Service regiment in the war and did splendidly. He is very good to us here."

"So it seems. From what I gathered at Mess last night he appears to provide all our sport for us."

"Yes; he arranges his shoots and the pigsticking meets for days on which the officers of the regiment are free to go out with him. When we can travel by road he sends his carriages for us, lends us horses and has camels to follow us with lunch, ice and drinks wherever we go."

"What a good fellow he must be!" exclaimed Wargrave. "I am glad we get pigsticking here. I've always longed for it, but never have been anywhere before where there was any, as you know."

"It's lucky for us that the sport here is good; for without it life in Rohar would be too awful to contemplate. It's the last place the Lord made."

"It's the hardest place to reach I've ever known," said Wargrave. "It was a shock to learn that, after forty-eight hours in the train, I had two more days to travel after leaving the railway."

"How did you like that forty miles in a camel train over the salt desert? That made you sit up a bit, eh?"

"It was awful. The heat and the glare off the sand nearly killed me. You say there is no society here?"

"Society? The only Europeans here or in the whole State, besides those of us in the regiment, are the Resident and his wife."

"What is a Resident, exactly?"

"A Political Officer appointed by the Government of India to be a sort of adviser to a rajah and to keep a check on him if he rules his State badly. I shouldn't imagine that our fellow here, Major Norton, would be much good as an adviser to anybody. The only thing he seems to know anything about is insects. He's quite a famous entomologist. Personally he's not a bad sort, but a bit of a bore."

"What's his wife like?"

"Oh, very different. Much younger and fond of gaiety, I think. Not that she can get any here. She's a decidedly pretty woman. I haven't seen much of her; for she has been away most of the time, that the regiment has been here. She has relatives in Calcutta and stays a lot with them."

"I don't blame her," said Wargrave, laughing. "Rohar must be a very deadly place for a young woman. No amusements. No dances. No shops. And the only female society the wives of the Colonel and the Doctor."

"Luckily for Mrs. Norton she is rather keen on sport and is a good rider. You'll probably meet her to-day; for she generally comes out pigsticking with us, though she doesn't carry a spear. I've promised to take her shooting with us the next time we go. Hullo! here are the ponies at last. Are you ready, Frank?"

The two officers rose, as their syces, or native grooms, came up before the bungalow leading two ponies, a Waler and an Arab. Raymond walked over to the bundle of spears and selected one with a leaf-shaped steel head.

"Try this, Frank," he said. "See if it suits you. You don't want too long a spear."

His companion balanced it in his hand.

"Yes, it seems all right. I say, old chap, how does one go for the pig? Do you thrust at him?"

"No; just ride hard at him with the spear pointed and held with stiffened arm. Your impetus will drive the steel well home into him."

Mounting their ponies they started, the syces carrying the spears and following them at a steady run as they trotted down the sandy road leading to the city, where at the Palace they were to meet the Maharajah and the other sportsmen. The sky was paling fast at the coming of the dawn; and they could discern the dozen bungalows and the Regimental Lines, or barracks, comprising the little cantonment, above which towered the dark mass of a rocky hill crowned by the ruined walls of an old native fort. On either side of their route the country was flat and at first barren. But, as they neared the capital, they passed through cultivation and rode by green fields irrigated from 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.