Tarvin dropped back, and ranged his horse beside Kate’s. Carmathan, with whom he was in friendly relation, gave place to him instantly, and rode forward to join the others in advance.

  She lifted her speaking eyes as he drew rein beside her, and begged him silently to save them both the continuance of a hopeless contest; but Tarvin’s jaw was set, and he would not have listened to an angel’s voice.

  ‘I tire you by talking of this thing, Kate. I know it. But I’ve got to talk of it. I’ve got to save you.’

  ‘Don’t try any more, Nick,’ she answered gently. ‘Please don’t. It’s my salvation to go. It is the one thing I want to do. It seems to me sometimes, when I think of it, that it was perhaps the thing I was sent into the world to do. We are all sent into the world to do something, don’t you think so, Nick, even if it’s ever so tiny and humble and no account? I’ve got to do it, Nick. Make it easy for me.’

  ‘I’ll be — hammered if I will! I’ll make it hard. That’s what I’m here for. Every one else yields to that vicious little will of yours. Your father and mother let you do what you like. They don’t begin to know what you are running your precious head into. I can’t replace it. Can you? That makes me positive. It also makes me ugly.’

  Kate laughed.

  ‘It does make you ugly, Nick. But I don’t mind. I think I like it that you should care. If I could stay at home for any one, I’d do it for you. Believe that, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll believe, and thank you into the bargain. But what good will it do me? I don’t want belief. I want you.’

  ‘I know, Nick. I know. But India wants me more — or not me, but what I can do, and what women like me can do. There’s a cry from Macedonia, “Come over and help us!” While I hear that cry I can find no pleasure in any other good. I could be your wife, Nick. That’s easy. But with that in my ears I should be in torture every moment.’

  ‘That’s rough on me,’ suggested Tarvin, glancing ruefully at the cliffs above them.

  ‘Oh no. It has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Yes,’ returned he, shutting his lips, ‘that’s just it.’

  She could not help smiling a little again at his face.

  ‘I will never marry any one else, if it helps you any to know that, Nick,’ she said, with a sudden tenderness in her voice.

  ‘But you won’t marry me?’

  ‘No,’ she said quietly, firmly, simply.

  He meditated this answer a moment in bitterness. They were riding at a walk, and he let the reins drop on his pony’s neck as he said, ‘Oh, well. Don’t matter about me. It isn’t all selfishness, dear. I do want you to stay for my own sake, I want you for my very own, I want you always beside me, I want you — want you; but it isn’t for that I. ask you to stay. It’s because I can’t think of you throwing yourself into the dangers and horrors of that life alone, unprotected, a girl. I can’t think of it and sleep nights. I daren’t think of it. The thing’s monstrous. It’s hideous. It’s absurd. You won’t do it!’

  ‘I must not think of myself,’ she answered in a shaken voice. ‘I must think of them.’

  ‘But I must think of you. And you shan’t bribe me, you shan’t tempt me, to think of any one else. You take it all too hard. Dearest girl,’ he entreated, lowering his voice, ‘are you in charge of the misery of the earth? There is misery elsewhere, too, and pain. Can you stop it? You’ve got to live with the sound of the suffering of millions in your ears all your life, whatever you do. We’re all in for that. We can’t get away from it. We pay that price for daring to be happy for one little second.’

  ‘I know, I know. I’m not trying to save myself. I’m not trying to stifle the sound.’

  ‘No, but you are trying to stop it, and you can’t. It’s like trying to scoop up the ocean with a dipper. You can’t do it. But you can spoil your life in trying; and if you’ve got a scheme by which you can come back and have a spoiled life over again, I know some one who hasn’t. O Kate, I don’t ask anything for myself — or, at least, I only ask everything — but do think of that a moment sometimes when you are putting your arms around the earth, and trying to lift it up in your soft little hands — you are spoiling more lives than your own. Great Scot, Kate, if you are looking for some misery to set right, you needn’t go off this road. Begin on me.’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘I must begin where I see my duty, Nick. I don’t say that I shall make much impression on the dreadful sum of human trouble, and I don’t say it is for every body to do what I’m going to try to do; but it’s right for me. I know that, and that’s all any of us can know. Oh, to be sure that people are a little better — if only a little better — because you have lived,’ she exclaimed, the look of exaltation coming into her eyes; ‘to know that you have lessened by the slightest bit the sorrow and suffering that must go on all the same, would be good. Even you must feel that, Nick,’ she said, gently laying her hand on his arm as they rode.

  Tarvin compressed his lips. ‘Oh yes, I feel it,’ he said desperately.

  ‘But you feel something else. So do I.’

  ‘Then feel it more. Feel it enough to trust yourself to me. I’ll find a future for you. You shall bless everybody with your goodness. Do you think I should like you without it? And you shall begin by blessing me.’

  ‘I can’t! I can’t!’ she cried in distress.

  ‘You can’t do anything else. You must come to me at last. Do you think I could live if I didn’t think that? But I want to save you all that lies between. I don’t want you to be driven into my arms, little girl. I want you to come — and come now.’

  For answer to this she only bowed her head on the sleeve of her riding-habit, and began to cry softly. Nick’s fingers closed on the hand with which she nervously clutched the pommel of her saddle.

  ‘You can’t, dear?’

  The brown head was shaken vehemently. Tarvin ground his teeth.

  ‘All right; don’t mind:’

  He took her yielding hand into his, speaking gently, as he would have spoken to a child in distress. In the silent moment that lengthened between them Tarvin gave it up — not Kate, not his love, not his changeless resolve to have her for his own, but just the question of her going to India. She could go if she liked. There would be two of them.

  When they reached the Hot Springs he took an immediate opportunity to engage the willing Mrs. Mutrie in talk, and to lead her aside, while Sheriff showed the president the water steaming out of the ground, the baths, and the proposed site of a giant hotel. Kate, willing to hide her red eyes from Mrs. Mutrie’s sharp gaze, remained with her father.

  When Tarvin had led the president’s wife to the side of the stream that went plunging down past the Springs to find a tomb at last in the canon below, he stopped short in the shelter of a clump of cottonwoods.

  ‘Do you really want that necklace?’ he asked her abruptly.

  She laughed again, gurglingly, amusedly, this time, with the little air of spectacle which she could not help lending to all she did.

  ‘Want it?’ she repeated. ‘Of course I want it. I want the moon, too.’

  Tarvin laid a silencing hand upon her arm.

  ‘You shall have this,’ he said positively.

  She ceased laughing, and grew almost pale at his earnestness.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘It would please you? You would be glad of it?’ he asked. ‘What would you do to get it?’

  ‘Go back to Omaha on my hands and knees,’ she answered with equal earnestness. ‘Crawl to India.’

  ‘All right,’ returned Tarvin vigorously. ‘That settles it. Listen! I want the Three C.’s to come to Topaz. You want this. Can we trade?’

  ‘But you can never — — ’

  ‘No matter; I’ll attend to my part. Can you do yours?’

  ‘You mean — — ’ she began.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded her companion decisively; ‘I do. Can you fix it?’

  Tarvin, fiercely repressed and controlled, stood before her with clenched teeth, and hands that drove the nails into his palms, awaiting her answer.

  She tilted her fair head on one side with deprecation, and regarded him out of the vanishing angle of one eye provocatively, with a lingering, tantalising look of adequacy.

  ‘I guess what I say to Jim goes,’ she said at last with a dreamy smile.

  ‘Then it’s a bargain?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered.

  ‘Shake hands on it.’

  They joined hands. For a moment they stood confronted, penetrating each other’s eyes.

  ‘You’ll really get it for me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You won’t go back on me?’

  ‘No.’

  He pressed her hand so that she gave a little scream.

  ‘Ouch! You hurt.’

  ‘All right,’ he said hoarsely, as he dropped her hand. ‘It’s a trade. I start for India tomorrow.’

  V

  Now, it is not good for the Christian’s health to hustle the Aryan brown,

  For the Christian riles, and the Aryan smiles, and he weareth the Christian down;

  And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, with the name of the late deceased,

  And the epitaph drear: ‘A fool lies here who tried to hustle the East.’

  — Solo from Libretto of Naulahka.

  Tarvin stood on the platform of the station at Rawut Junction watching the dust cloud that followed the retreating Bombay mail. When it had disappeared, the heated air above the stone ballast began its dance again, and he turned blinking to India.

  It was amazingly simple to come fourteen thousand miles. He had lain still in a ship for a certain time, and then had transferred himself to stretch at full length, in his shirt-sleeves, on the leather-padded bunk of the train which had brought him from Calcutta to Rawut Junction. The journey was long only as it kept him from sight of Kate, and kept him filled with thought of her. But was this what he had come for — the yellow desolation of a Rajputana desert, and the pinched-off perspective of the track? Topaz was cosier when they had got the church, the saloon, the school, and three houses up; the loneliness made him shiver. He saw that they did not mean to do any more of it. It was a desolation which doubled desolateness, because it was left for done. It was final, intended, absolute. The grim solidity of the cut-stone station-house, the solid masonry of the empty platform, the mathematical exactitude of the station name-board looked for no future. No new railroad could help Rawut Junction. It had no ambition. It belonged to the Government. There was no green thing, no curved line, no promise of life that produces, within eyeshot of Rawut Junction. The mauve railroad-creeper on the station had been allowed to die from lack of attention.

  Tarvin was saved from the more positive pangs of home-sickness by a little healthy human rage. A single man, fat, brown, clothed in white gauze, and wearing a black velvet cap on his head, stepped out from the building. This stationmaster and permanent population of Rawut Junction accepted Tarvin as a feature of the landscape: he did not look at him. Tarvin began to sympathise with the South in the war of the rebellion.

  ‘When does the next train leave for Rhatore?’ he asked.

  ‘There is no train,’ returned the man, pausing with precise deliberation between the words. He sent his speech abroad with an air of detachment, irresponsibly, like the phonograph.

  ‘No train? Where’s your time-table? Where’s your railroad guide? Where’s your Pathfinder?’

  ‘No train at all of any kind whatever.’

  ‘Then what the devil are you here for?’

  ‘Sir, I am the stationmaster of this station, and it is prohibited using profane language to employees of this company.’

  ‘Oh, are you? Is it? Well, see here, my friend — you stationmaster of the steep-edge of the Jumping-off-place, if you want to save your life you will tell me how I get to Rhatore — quick!’

  The man was silent.

  ‘Well, what do I do, anyway?’ shouted the West.

  ‘What do I know?’ answered the East.

  Tarvin stared at the brown being in white, beginning at his patent-leather shoes, surmounted by open-work socks, out of which the calf of his leg bulged, and ending with the velvet smokingcap on his head. The passionless regard of the Oriental, borrowed from the purple hills behind his station, made him wonder for one profane, faithless, and spiritless moment whether Topaz and Kate were worth all they were costing.

  ‘Ticket, please,’ said the baboo.

  The gloom darkened. This thing was here to take tickets, and would do it though men loved, and fought, and despaired and died at his feet.

  ‘See here,’ cried Tarvin, ‘you shiny-toed fraud; you agate-eyed pillar of alabaster — — ’ But he did not go on; speech failed in a shout of rage and despair. The desert swallowed all impartially; and the baboo, turning with awful quiet, drifted through the door of the station-house, and locked it behind him.

  Tarvin whistled persuasively at the door with uplifted eyebrows, jingling an American quarter against a rupee in his pocket. The window of the ticket-office opened a little way, and the baboo showed an inch of impassive face.

  ‘Speaking now in offeshal capacity, your honour can getting to Rhatore viâ country bullock-cart.’

  ‘Find me the bullock-cart,’ said Tarvin.

  ‘Your honour granting commission on transaction?’

  ‘Cert!’ It was the tone that conveyed the idea to the head under the smoking-cap.

  The window was dropped. Afterward, but not too immediately afterward, a long-drawn howl made itself heard — the howl of a weary warlock invoking a dilatory ghost.

  ‘O Moti! Moti! O-oh!’

  ‘Ah, there, Moti!’ murmured Tarvin, as he vaulted over the low stone wall, gripsack in hand, and stepped out through the ticket wicket into Rajputana. His habitual gaiety and confidence had returned with the prospect of motion.

  Between himself and a purple circle of hills lay fifteen miles of profitless, rolling ground, jagged with laterite rocks, and studded with unthrifty trees — all given up to drought and dust, and all colourless as the sun-bleached locks of a child of the prairies. Very far away to the right the silver gleam of a salt lake showed, and a formless blue haze of heavier forest. Sombre, desolate, oppressive, withering under a brazen sun, it smote him with its likeness to his own prairies, and with its home-sick unlikeness.

  Apparently out of a crack in the earth — in fact, as he presently perceived, out of a spot where two waves of plain folded in upon each other and contained a village — came a pillar of dust, the heart of which was a bullock-cart. The distant whine of the wheels sharpened, as it drew near, to the fullbodied shriek that Tarvin knew when they put the brakes suddenly on a freight coming into Topaz on the down grade. But this was in no sense a freight. The wheels were sections of tree butts — square for the most part. Four unbarked poles bounded the corners of a flat body; the sides were made of netted rope of cocoa-nut fibre. Two bullocks, a little larger than Newfoundlands, smaller than Alderneys, drew a vehicle which might have contained the half of a horse’s load.

  The cart drew up at the station, and the bullocks, after contemplating Tarvin for a moment, lay down. Tarvin seated himself on his gripsack, rested his shaggy head in his hands, and expended himself in mirth.

  ‘Sail in,’ he instructed the baboo; ‘make your bargain. I’m in no hurry.’

  Then began a scene of declamation and riot, to which a quarrel in a Leadville gambling saloon was a poor matter. The impassiveness of the stationmaster deserted him like a wind-blown garment. He harangued, gesticulated, and cursed; and the driver, naked except for a blue loin-cloth, was nothing behind him. They pointed at Tarvin; they seemed to be arguing over his birth and ancestry; for all he knew they were appraising his weight. When they seemed to be on the brink of an amicable solution, the question re-opened itself, and they went back to the beginning, and reclassified him and the journey.

  Tarvin applauded both parties, sicking one on the other impartially for the first ten minutes. Then he besought them to stop, and when they would not he discovered that it was hot, and swore at them.

  The driver had for the moment exhausted himself, when the baboo turned suddenly on Tarvin, and, clutching him by the arm, cried, almost shouting, ‘All arrange, sir! all arrange! This man most uneducated man, sir. You giving me the money, I arrange everything.’

  Swift as thought, the driver had caught his other arm, and was imploring him in a strange tongue not to listen to his opponent. As Tarvin stepped back they followed him with uplifted hands of entreaty and representation, the stationmaster forgetting his English, and the driver his respect for the white man. Tarvin, eluding them both, pitched his gripsack into the bullock-cart, bounded in himself, and shouted the one Indian word he knew. It happened, fortunately, to be the word that moves all India, ‘Challo!’ which, being interpreted, is ‘Go on!’

  So, leaving strife and desolation behind him, rode out into the desert of Rajputana Nicholas Tarvin of Topaz, Colorado.

  VI

  In the State of Kot–Kumharsen, where the wild dacoits abound,

  And the Thakurs live in castles on the hills,

  Where the bunnia and bunjara in alternate streaks are found,

  And the Rajah cannot liquidate his bills;

  Where the agent Sahib Bahadur shoots the blackbuck for his larder,

  From the tonga which he uses as machân,

  ‘Twas a white man from the west, came expressly to

  investigate the natural wealth of Hindustan.