Chapter XVIII: The Dacoit's Head

The search now proceeded with fresh spirit. Taking the spot where lay the tiger's carcase as a centre, the party closely examined every exit from it, but quite fruitlessly. It was tolerably easy to perceive from which side the shot had been fired,--where Denham must have been standing at that moment,--they proceeded first in that direction.

A little breakage among some succulent plants betrayed a slight farther progress there; then this trace ceased wholly. A wall of thick foliage interposed,--a purple flower bedecking it with rare beauty, but it turned them back. A long stalk of _Amherstia_ lay on the ground at a short distance, as if it might have been broken off short in an attempt to mount a tree by its aid, but this clue also failed them.

The glade narrowed at one side to a tiny track, possible to penetrate. They advanced along it in single file, now climbing over fallen tree-trunks all smothered in ferns, then stooping beneath loops and trails of _Dendrobiums_, and a variety of plants, matted together with convolvuli, and tendrils of many kinds.

It opened out upon a blackened vista over which the jungle fire had swept, burning away every trace of animal life; a desolate track of waste and ruin, among such super-abundant life, as was strange to see.

Stranger still to observe a glorious butterfly--a fragile, delicate creature, just emerged from its chrysalis tomb--spreading its painted wings, yet damp from its new birth, in the warmth of the sun as it streamed down upon the scorched grass. It was a living allegory of Life after Death which could not fail to strike every soul.

"It is your friend's 'leyp bya,'" said one of the Burmans. "It must have been out upon a ramble when the fire overtook him in his sleep, and it cannot now find its home again in him."

The charred scrub no longer presented further difficulties in the way of search. It was comparatively easy to penetrate in almost any direction; and the party separated, scattering themselves over the cleared space, and closely examining every rood of ground. Not a sign of man was to be found. Would any such exist after so fierce a flame had swept over it? Could it have been expected?

Mr. Brudenel laid his hand upon Gilchrist's shoulder.

"It is useless, my friend," said he. "The boy has gone, and left no trace. You must bear it like a man. If he yet should have escaped both fire and wild beast, he will be heard of in time. He can find us, but we cannot find him."

"Oh, do not say that I must abandon hope!" cried Gilchrist in agonised tones. "There must be something yet to be done."

"Offer a reward to any Burman who may bring in the smallest trace," suggested Osborn. "Those fellows have their network of connections all over the land. Make it worth their while to bring in anything that they may find. The stock of his rifle might be burnt, but the barrel must be there in some form. So must his hunting-knife, and many little things, as buttons, buckles, and such like, on his clothes. No wild beast could eat up thiccee neither."

"I will give any reward which Mr. Brudenel thinks likely to succeed," cried Gilchrist eagerly.

"Not too fast," remonstrated the police officer. "Offer too liberal a sum, and, should he live, some of our worthy neighbours will murder him for sake of it. Leave that to me, I will manage that."

He had really no hope whatever that Denham lived, but was too kindly at heart to say so in plain words.

"Stay with me awhile, till we feel that we have turned every stone to find the lad," he suggested. "You will have every facility for search with us, and a rest will do yourself no harm after all you have gone through. Your old man will not be fit to move yet, either. Let my wife coddle him up into good health again first, and I can give you some sport the while."

Mr. Gilchrist readily accepted the invitation, for he could not bear the idea of relinquishing all hope of Ralph.

They returned sadly and silently to the station, where every comfort awaited them, but which they could not enjoy from a haunting dread of what Ralph might be suffering in some lonely spot,--perhaps burned and bruised, yet living, and beyond help. The nice dinner choked Mr. Gilchrist, he could not swallow the dainties which Mrs. Brudenel, in the pride of her young housekeeping, had laid before them; sleep forsook his pillow; he had no apparent answer to his prayers; gloom took possession of his soul.

With gentle wile did Mrs. Brudenel try to cheer her visitor, and distract his thoughts from constant brooding over the inevitable.

She succeeded with him better than her husband did, though he was as kind as he knew how to be; but he was accustomed to rougher experiences, and used to losing his comrades by death under many phases. His wife walked in the verandah with her afflicted guest; she told him of Wills' state, which steadily improved. She consulted him as to the garden, which she was anxious to make very beautiful, and how to grow the plants which she admired most, and which were all new to her experience. Gilchrist tried, for sake of her kindness, to take interest in her pleasures, despite his heavy heart.

"I fear," said he to her, "that we give you much trouble, and are sadly in your way."

"Oh no, no! far from that!" cried she eagerly. "You are such pleasant company for my husband, to whom it is such a treat to have English faces about him; and you tell me so nicely how to manage the orchids, of which I am anxious to have a good collection. Yours is just the help I wanted; and if you want any drawings of specimens, I may be of some assistance to you, for I am fond of drawing."

"Fetch some of your pictures, wifey," said Mr. Brudenel. "See, Gilchrist, is not that thing nice, it looks just as if it were growing there. I have ordered a carved frame for it, from a fellow here who does that sort of thing admirably."

"It is indeed an excellent drawing of the specimen," said Gilchrist; "but, excuse me, madam, you have copied the blossom from one plant and the foliage from another."

"I did," said Mrs. Brudenel, surprised. "I only had the flower, which was brought to me cut from its stem, so I put in the leaves from that one which grows in the verandah."

"And that one, which is not yet in bloom, will bear a blossom of white and lemon colour, whereas this is purple streaked."

"Oh, Mr. Gilchrist!" cried she, in pretty dismay, "what can be done? Can I alter it and put it right?"

"It would be best to do so, certainly," said he, unpacking a tin case of his own sketches; which, though less finished than the lady's drawings, were far more accurate as botanical specimens. But among them were some of Ralph's hasty schoolboy productions; one done in a merry mood, when he had contrived to introduce the semblance of a grotesque human face among the convolutions of the plant. Mr. Gilchrist came upon this unexpectedly, in his search for the one which he wanted, and broke down completely over it, as it brought so forcibly before him the boy's laughing eyes and bright expression as he had held it up for inspection, with some harmless nonsense.

Oh, Ralph! Was that smiling face cold and set in death already? Were those pleasant eyes closed for ever, those jocund lips pale and grim? Was that dear brave boy lying scorched and blackened by the jungle flame, or torn limb from limb by the tiger? Had he gone through so much by sea and land, for his fate to remain an unsolved mystery for evermore; a secret--a dreadful haunting secret--only to be divulged on the last day?

Mrs. Brudenel put her kind hand upon Gilchrist's shoulder.

"Do not despair, my friend," said she gently; "do not abandon yourself to despair. God is very good,--very merciful. Perhaps Ralph is safe yet. No sign of him has been found, and had the tiger killed him there surely would have been some. Let us seek for faith."

"I do not know how to have faith, dear lady," groaned Mr. Gilchrist. "There seems no ground for faith."

"Ah, my dear sir," was her innocent reply, "faith would not be faith were there ground for it. It is simple trust in our Father's goodness."

Gilchrist could not reply. He knew that she was right; he knew that she was nearer to God than he; he felt rebuked, though she was far from having intended to administer rebuke,--it did not occur to her that she had done so.

There was silence for a few minutes, then she began again.

"Tell me about Ralph, he must be about the age of my brother Sydney."

"Not seventeen," replied Mr. Gilchrist.

"And what a hero he is! how much bravery he has shown! Sydney would be so envious of him. He is very high-spirited and daring too. He is going to be a soldier,--papa is a soldier, you know."

"Yes, madam?"

"I have heard papa say that the hardest thing soldiers have to do is to _wait_ until they are wanted. When they are charging down upon an enemy, and fighting, they are carried on by the excitement, and forget everything but the work in hand. When they are standing still, doing nothing but keeping steady, and seeing the battle carried on by others on every hand, it is a very hard thing for them to hold themselves in."

"Waiting is always hard," said Mr. Gilchrist, sighing.

"Yes. Papa had to do it the very first time when he was in an engagement. It was in some Indian skirmish with native troops, and papa's company was one held in reserve to pour in fresh when the rebels were tired, and meantime to hold a pass and prevent them from moving round to the rear of the English. I believe," continued she, with a smile, "that I am expressing myself badly, like an ignorant girl, but perhaps you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, madam, your meaning is perfectly clear to me."

"Well, papa found it so hard to stand still, with nothing to do, that he took up a bit of stick and whittled it to keep himself steady. When the call to charge was sounded, he put the half-peeled stick and the handful of chips into his pocket; he never knew why, or even that he had done so, until mamma found them there long afterwards, and asked him why he kept such things. Then the sight of them called up the whole scene to him more plainly than anything else, he said: the dark-faced rebels, with evil looks and angry eyes; the glare and flashing guns and smother of smoke; and the poor creatures shot down before his face, and lying howling and bleeding on the ground, among plunging horses and shouting men; and some lying still who had been so raging just before, and the set determined look upon the Englishmen.

"Mamma has those chips now, put away among her treasures, and shows them to us sometimes on a Sunday evening, when we have been reading the Bible to her, and talking about being resolute, and such things."

"Your story reminds me of the poet's words, 'Those also serve, who only stand and wait,'" said Mr. Gilchrist.

"Yes, does it not," cried she, her sweet face kindling. "I do so like those lines."

Mr. Brudenel here returned from his morning duties, and invited Gilchrist to take a turn in the verandah with him.

"No news yet, I am sorry to say," said he.

Mr. Gilchrist turned to Mrs. Brudenel, "I will try to 'stand and wait,' patiently," said he.

Some excitement was here observed among the natives and servants. A man had arrived, carrying something large and round, tied up in a gaily-coloured handkerchief, which he swung carelessly in his hand as he approached.

The little crowd pressed closely about him, all eagerly talking at once. Some words attracted Mr. Brudenel's ear, that of "dacoit" prominent among them. He rose hastily, and marched down to the excited group.

"Oh," cried Mrs. Brudenel, "perhaps the man has brought news of your friend! let us hasten to hear what he says. What can he have in that handkerchief?"

She rose, and almost ran through the compound; in her eagerness quite outstripping Mr. Gilchrist, who longed, yet dreaded, to hear the news which he felt had come at last.

Mr. Brudenel lifted his hand in warning to his wife, but she did not perceive his caution; nor, in the babble of Burmese tongues, catch his desire that she should not be present.

"What have you there?" asked she in her excitement, airing one of the few phrases of the language which had been so recently taught to her.

Quite proud to be addressed by the English lady, and pleased with himself, his burden, and the news which he had to impart, the Burman untied his bundle with an amiable grin of delight, and out rolled, to the horrified girl's feet, the ghastly, gory, head of a dacoit chief, with its fierce expression set in death upon the parted blackened lips, and in the deep lines around the sunken eyes.

With blanched face, she recoiled in terror; and her husband, hurrying forward, passed his stalwart arm around her for protection, while she hid her face on his breast.

The Burman, meantime, was pouring out a flood of explanations, and the history of his having watched the robber, seen him possessed of English things, followed, tracked him from place to place, and, finally, set upon him in a lonely spot, killed him, searched him, and found upon him--this!--holding up a silver watch.

It was Ralph Denham's watch, Mr. Gilchrist knew it well. Moreover, it had R. D. engraved upon it on the back. It had been a present to him from his mother before he sailed, he valued it extremely, and had it upon him when the _Pelican_ was abandoned, being almost the only thing of value which he had saved. Indeed, it was nearly the only trinket which he had ever possessed.

How it had fallen into the robber's hands could not now be ever known, for the man was dead. Had poor Denham escaped the tiger, been spared from the fire, to fall a prey at last to a fellow-man? Had he been the victim of other perils, and had the dacoit only found the watch in the jungle and appropriated it? Was the fellow even venturing to bring it in for the reward, and could he have told more of the gallant lad's fate? Who could say now?

Mr. Brudenel questioned the Burman closely, seeking confirmation of the story in its every detail of place and time. The man knew nothing of Denham, nor as to how the watch had fallen into the hands of the dacoit, who was one of a band of robbers that was harrying the mountain villages at a little distance. The watch was useless to him evidently. It had run down, and was silent. Either he had not possessed the key, or did not understand how to use it; and he had worn it round his neck as an ornament in a conspicuous manner, which had attracted the Burman's notice.

Mr. Gilchrist paid the offered reward in silence, carried the watch into the house, and, laying it down, broke into a passion of grief which, for a time, admitted of no consolation.