A SHORT STORY.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 990, 3 December 1910, Page 10

A SHORT STORY.

; .THE FATAL TIGER SKIN. j All who know Lahore will know the gate which the mixed and moving population, of Northorn India call by a number of different names. Most of these, . however, mean, the. same thing, which is ; Tho Witch's Gate. At least, so it used' ( to be; and probably tho name has not , changed in the ancient city of a land t which ever remains the same. It is not . in the line of the main thoroughfares, • and not so very long ago it was unsafe ; to venture iii its vicinity after sunset— ; that is to say, if you wore alone and un- ■ armed. Here in the daytime beggars of , all descriptions gathered, sellers of anything for money, maimed, halt amibhjid " people, and people of utterly abandoned character. -'I'hey squatted in eliauy " places, habited in more or less artistic '» rags-rand_ iar gone in dirt most oi tliem. , let to visit tlie quarter of tho Witch's 1 Gate was not entirely repulsive. 'Xhe i bazaar, however noisy and dusty, must j ever bo interesting to anyone who loves 3 to watch humanity running its' course. The Uate was not exactly a bazaar, but it was much of the samo 1 .sort of essence. | Tho best-known fipiro of the congregation that lounged and jabbered round tlio - spot all day was one wlio was neither ; noisy nor dirty nor deformed, yet was i respectfully regarded in tho. throng, who . might be-supposed to resent her presence. , She told fortunes, and made eyes at ocI casionnlly passing young British officers 1 and civil servants, even as her mother, ; or reputed mother, a detestable old hag, ' had done before her. The great Sahib 1 who journeys periodically across from Bombay, curling his white moustache, and then retires south -again, 6eeming ■ the while to ponder deep problems—the • great bahib could tell you about the old hag, her mother—that is, if he so dej sired, which ho might not. The old .ivitoh, and a witch indeed sho seemed; • is dead, and they say that she who sits there now, in the same spot on . the same stool, is her daughter. Those who take i much trouble to think of the matter are disinclined to beiievo it. Henry Bcntley, 1 of course, heard the tale with the numeri ous usual others of tho old Lahore, and > when he had seen. tho girl once or twice , he did not believe it either. However, tho young Englishmen oi tho district ' held little communion enough with the ' witch, for, whether she were tho daughter or not of tho old hag, sho was ner successor and- heiress, in lame and fact. And the great Sahib above-mentioned could tell you why the, former one's name is detested by many Englishmen. The day., when' this 6tory. begins had developed into , a warm altcrnoon about a fortnight from the beginning of Harry t Bentley's furlough. Ho was 'going home, 3 and everv other .'young officer in the Forr estry Department of the - district was r jealous of his good timo coming. He had j been in the Civil' Service for seven years. Hoi? he entered it his companions could ' never quite discover, though probably, since Bentley's people were comfortably 5 rich, inlluenco helped him much. As far as mere braius went ho was as capable as most of his profession.; otherwise, ■ ho had no qualifications whatever. His - ' character was utterly . hollow; ' ho • had 1 few of tho manly attributes; he prayed 1 regularly, according to his lights, that :l ho would never have to manage a crisis. . Outwardly, except for a curious dodging expression • of the eyes; he looked brava 3 and' upstanding enough. p • { On this, particular afternoon ho had nothing much to : do, and was ' saunter- ' ing about in tho sun, unconsciously mov- _ ing in the direction of tho Witch's Gate. Sho who sat. there watched him from the ' distance approaching, and set about 1 weaving the'invisible spell which should draw him to converso with her. Sho • seemed to do it, you would have said, r by gazing intently into' a black brilliant- - ly-polishcd. stone which sho kept hidden t in tho folds of 'tho light drapery that - covered her bosom. Whether that was 1. the art or not, it is : impossible to say 5 for-certain; she. alono could know that. Even tho other,; -frequenters of the j Witch's Gate,"\vlid, daily'surrounded her, j could not have named her formula. At j all events, Bentl'ey, having said to him- -, self that tho. sun was warm, and regarded lazily' the contents of a nativo J saddlers' window, and noticed the weaJ tlier again, and' then kicked a wandeifd ing dog out, of his way, moved oyer to t tho Witch's seat.' Tho . assemblage of y ragamuffins looked upon him with unn disguised dislike, and called ■ to him as t he passed with undisguised solicitation, t Of . these, as-is right, ho took, not tho [. least heed. • t , "The Sahib is going away," said the a fortune-teller, looking as if sho had expected ho would visit her. j "You are qaito right, my beauty, I " am," he said, with tho air of a Parisino ilaneur. "The Sahib is going over tho sea." J "Thank heaTen for it, too.' By th< ■" way, who is your informant, my dear?' ; n "I .know by that which tells me'alsc 0 that .tho Sahib has a fortune." 1- Bontley smiled indulgently, yet as if h< wero not quite sure of his surroundd ings . ■ ' .. "Will the Sahib have mo to tell him his fortune?" r Now, it' was a peculiar trait in Bentley's character that he was superstitioui —almost timorously superstitious. Hi liked to read signs of how ho would far< beforo he undertook each most triflinj venture. Ha always said, when charged that lie did not believe fortune-tellers 01 such cattle, and perhaps in his workinj ii mind he did . not, but somo subtle sub consciousness in him never forgot theii . injunctions. So he said„to the girl, in terested in spite of himself: L " "What do you know about' tio fa ' turei" 6 "Nothing, Sahib, but I can read it Givo mo your hand." ;- "Yes, I know, and then you want al d my money, or you hound these beggar; ;e on to me, or something of that sort, ; i. suppose." ;e "Does the Sahib think that is mj s way?" d Sho said it with such curions calm i, that Bentley turned and looked into he: face. He told himself that. sho was f pretty little thing, .and, after till, La hore was hot a savage place. "You're. not a bad-lookihg little beg gaT," he said; "and you'ro devilish art tul, which. usually goes with the othe: 1 thing, I believe. Well, let's hear it." The fortune-teller smiled ' ovc-r hi palm, and scrutiniscd it in complefc silence - for a couple- of minutes. The] ; sho left liis hand, sat bock m hor seat s and iooked out into the street, waiting "Can't yon see anything, eh?" sail Bentley. "Indeed, I can see something very im portant to the Sahib." _ "Oh, of course," said Bentley, hur riedly diving the scrutinised band inb his pocket. Ho looked up and down th iond each way, as though .some brothe: officer might, have been watching him and then slipped some coins into th girl's hand. ; 'Another rupee, and it will bo snffi cient." . Ho gavo it to her. "Hurry up," hsaid. "Tho Sahib likes tiger shooting?" th' girl asked him. "No, tiib Sahib docs not," said 'Bent ley. curtly. "Ouh, then that is strange," said th ' girl. "Givo mo your hand again Sahib." "Yes,. it is there, it is written there . . . And yon cn to tho land acros c " the sea soon. Sahib? . . . Wlil yoi n return to Lahore. Sahib?" - "No. I don't think so: I am near! I- suro I shall stay in England," sail ■d Bentley, moro attentively. He almos g forgot, for tho moment, in his suddenl; aroused interest, that he was talking t< a chit of a native girl at tho Witch' Gate. "Then it must bo soon, sooner than 1 ] s thought. It is written that tho Sahib wil rp bo killed by a tiger." 1 Eent-ky pulled his hand away quickly "Don't talk rot!" he said, sharply. r 9 "The Sahib ne"d not swa-air at me,' said the girl. "That is what his hani n- savs." lie Bentley cursed hor and her race wit! so fervour." He was thoroughly angry, with II- out quite knowing why. Ho remcmberec of that an appointment with Sander n son for tiffin, and hurried away. ' The fortune-teller looked after him will a smile. "One would think when ho j: it aneered that ho is like all tho othe: f- Sahibs," she said, half aloud. ,'s ... . it Sanderson's first words to Bentley wero .'l've cot some news for yon, old man.

you'll t>e able to go home with a trail of ( glory." - , " : "What are you talking about? i "Tigers to everybody but you. We're 1 going on a tiger hunt with Jolinstono and i Burnard and Jock Henderson up the Aui- < ritsar line. I Bentley looked at him for a moment as ( if he were dreaming. Then ho smiled in ( ' an idiotic, helpless sort of way.. "Whose jubilee is it?" ho asked. "Is J > it a durbar, or what?" I i "No. It's just a scheme of' the [■ Guv'nor's," said Sanderson, lying back in : , the lounge and enjoying his friend's mys- ■ l terr"l wish- you would condescend to ex- ' t plain yourself, Sanderson. Tiger hunt! ' What the devil do you mean?" "It's all arranged by tho Guv'nor. You ' ought to know his little ways by this time, Bentley. It ain't altogether a tiger. We have to do some business with ■ . old Akub. You may remember the little 1 difficulty about the fort a few years ago ?" 1 "Yes; well ?" .. ■ ' 1 T "Well, he's been playing some more 3 I'm-the-king-of-the-castle' games in his 1 sweet way. We are going to use some I ihoral suasion with hiiu. Johnstone and 3 the others join us near Pathankot." t "Oh, a sort of army! Tribal war, I 3 suppose? where does the tiger come , in?" i "My. dear boy, you don't seem • to be 3 pleased. The tiger is really a secondary matter, can't you understand? He's been . ravaging > and causing a reign- of terror 3 —or so we hear—nice and handy to Akub, r and the Guv'nor wishes us to go up of--5 ficially and restore confidence. Then . . 3 "But half a dozen of us to kill a tiger? - .- "It's rather spoiling the glory, isn't s it? But you mo, our dear friend Akub , may be in any of several different places, , and it is most important that the mis--3 sion should be swift. We have some very l pretty documentary evidence about our , old friend. There's not going to be any ; horrid blood-letting about it. Akub does 3 not know anything yet . . . o£ our comi ing, I mean. We've got to catch him - by .'surpriso; steal upon him in our moci casins with our famous' oatlike tread, ; snare • him in our wary toils, grapple s with him, cunning against " a A eoft-footed collie approached, a "Tiger! Just think of it! Ifs the a bigg-sst been seen foT years. Bating up whole families. Think of the dear littlo - women and children. . . . er, I mean—: 1 oh! you know! It's going to be the e 'sport of our lives. . . . Whatever is the '» matter, man ?" 1 t "Oh, nothing," replied Bentley. "Sun, 8 I suppose. I'm all right." The coolio had departed from where r they were sitting. "Are you drunk, or ij ill, or what, old man?" said Sanderson. 1 "It's the chanco of our careers bsre. 6 Fancy bringing in old Akub with his tail down! It is worth selling your soul for. Half: the fellows here are mad fo a go. It will be the sweetest joy!" y Bentley still looked as if he had just been transported to tho moon or some other place where events happen, over's quickly. . , d "Well, it's all Dutch to me," he said. »: "Is it Pathans, or tigers, or what? You " seem to be somewhat' mixed." '■ Sanderson stared at him. ■ "I'm afraid y you don't appreciate your good luck, my -S boy. Item 1: Akub. 'We've got to lay hold of his maraudin' heels and tie 'em }> together. It .will want some neat cuttingis out work. Item 2: Tiger. Also roaming <j on his unlawful occasions, and the vilo lagers mad with funk. We shall have to L t lay him by the heels, too. Anybody curious about our little excursion, will be told S carefullyabout the tiger. He's really a only a side-show. Now, eay" how glafl and grateful you are," ho concluded, d clapping Bentley on the shoulder. "When do we start?" was the letter's only reply. . 3. "Dawn, to-morrpw. Catch special train o at Amritsar. Mind you come round to it the teeth with your old dragon-slayer, d Bring your elephant, too, if you like; >o only be at the station at. four. And hang ij the alarm clock alongside your ear—l t- know what you're like. I'm wiring up to n Burnard to have some beaters all ready and informed; it will help to keep up ■5 appearances. So long, old man, and good y hunting to us. See you to-morrow." t. When Sanderson left him, Bentley said ie just what he thought.of it all. He curscd i'. the fortune-teller, ho. cursed, the Govern-* ■t ment, he cursed, the Service, ho cursed l- everything. Ho left-the tea-hous9 with s- a firm conviction that he was going to his 0 death, and that ho would never see Engl- land again. He spent most'of that night f- wondering what it would feel'like to be :o chewed alive by a tiger. The alarm clock >f went off next morning beforo he had slept i- a wink, and he arose and threw the innois cent thing, which, was only doing its a. duty, to the other; end of tho room. As 10 he dressed .himself he becamo awaro that ho was in a pitiable state of nerves. He ie equipped himself for the mission against s- Akub and the in. furious bad temper, angry with himself for -being 1 such a fool as to go when everything la warned him not to -go. . At tho railway station he found Sanderson apparently at the height of happiness and behaving ie like a schoolboy., He could not trust >" himself to say much to Sanderson, just so then. They bought some newspapers and climbed into the. railway carriage. As io the train started, Sanderson, reading' d- from his paper, said: "I see the tiger has killed another m man. We're on the road to fame, my boy, that's plain." t- Bentley, hidden by his paper, made no reply. He stared at the print without Io reading it. A reaction was setting in re with him. . Ho asked himself for the 3g hundredth time why he had consulted that girl at the Witch's Gate. And for Dr the hundredth timo his, mind, working 3g along the same groove, resolved that tho b. fault lay not there; that was really his ; r salvation, or was meant to bo. It nad n_ b3en ordained, he told himself, that bforo he ran his head into tho lion's a _ mouth, or the tiger's mouth, he should be warned. He had been warnod, and [(;_ now ho was deliberately throwing tlio warning to the winds. "Killed by a jU tiger," she said. And ho was just going rs home, too, for good probably. If he saw j this expedition out there would be no going homo for him. "Killed by a ly tiger \" _ He had been warned.. So his mind wont on, mechanically m revolving in a groove. Round and round er it churned, slowly but unceasingly, the a subject it could not dismiss. Bentley was in a bad wav. Suddenly. ho became conscious that Sanderson was staring at, him silently and steadily. As he turned slightly, and '" caught Sanderson's look; Bentley. seemed to feel all his self-control ooze out of ... him. "Look hore, Bentley, what the devil's the matter with you? Have you done a ' murder, or are you having a fit, or what?" " 'j>: "Oh, it's all rteht . . . • Sanderson. ... I'm all right. . I . . " "I'm sorry if I spoko like a. brute, Bentley, old chap," said Sanderson, bending over him. "I did not know you were broken up like this. Tell us about it. Hero, havo a drop of this?" ™ Bentley made an effort to hold himself together, and then blurted out his I"» fears, like a man giving in to sea-sick-ness. He told his story of tho fortunoteller and laid his entire heart bare. "You see, Sanderson," ho said, in conelusion, "there's a girl at home, and all ■f 0 that, and the old people. You know what you would do yourself." bo When Bentley had finished Sanderson badly wanted to laugh. "My dear fellt- low, I know perfectly well what 1 should do. I should take a whisky, two whisho kies,. several whiskies. and ask my gods to turn it into good blood inside me. Braco yourself up, man. It's the Service, the Flag! What did you ever iss come out hero for? Here, drink tho ou whole flaskful; come into action drink if you like, it would help to deceive old ']>' Alcub, anyway. What's the good of talkid ing about tho girl at homo and the old ist people like that? You're on King's Ser--ly vice; do you realise that? What do you to suppose they would advise you to do if l'fr you could ask them? Just because a fool of a girl in a Hindu gutter took I some of your money and gave you a bit ill of her nqnsense, you've turned like this! I would not- have believed it." ■ y. Bentley, however, was not to be braced to tho occasion. "It's all very well for ," you to talk like that, Sanderson," ho id said. "Put yourself in mv place. It's a warning, I tell you." His voice was th miserably broken up. 1>- Thero was silence between tho two for °d several minutes.' Sanderson looked out : r- of tho window and read a milestono as : they rumbled on towards Amritsar. l .' l "Feeling any better,' Bentley?" jp No answer. "Well, you don't look it, anyway. . I'm your senior, ain't I?" e: "Y6s." . ili "Eifiht, Then jou will leayo the train ,

■ " ' V -. ". : at Amritsar and-go (south—south, as ever. ; you'Tikev ,Uo" to youf sailing port. You're • luvaliueil Uiouie; "'mvuuueu away ' trom here, anyway. I'll taue all responsibility, lor it. D'ye see? Jduruard and the other fellows, will see it out with me." '. Jieiiti'ey S! 'rnado a leeble protest.: He could not take the implied, reproach without protest of soilie sort', 'lsut Sanderson waved it aside. At Amritsar ho shook hands with him, and bado him a plain, good-bye'. "iou might write from home when you get there, and let's know you're sale, he said. tiiinie hours later the other.threo of tho expedition-, against' Akub and the, tiger mec him at the • arranged place. "Huilo! . old i. man," said. Burnard. "Come up, alone, have you ?" • "i'es.' \ . .. "Hentley's coming on after then,- i»: he?" r, • "No. BqntleyVnot coming." "Nothing wrong, I hope," said 'Henderson. - -' "Invalided south," said Sanderson, abruptly. - ' "ies, I don't think, Sandy!" taid Johnsione, loqking Vat - hjm squarely. " 'Xain't in accordance with your admirauie dispatch telegraphed, yesterday, my boy. U uat's gone wrong ?"'_; "±tes invalided south, 1 lell'you. I invalided him lrom Amritsar. Me waa pretty had in'the train-this morning, nad was quito - uniit to 'coine." There was a pause. ' ; "■J, happened lo go to school with Bentley, said J ohnstoue in '.a distant , tone. ■ l have seen him ,onco since, lor about ■ live minutes., I should say,;ha has hot changed much." . • ■ - v n ou keep your school V reminiscences, till you re a great .man, Johnny dear; then you- can puolish 'eim Meanwhile, there's the—tiger huut!" • •. The tiger hunt was- entirely, successful ■ m overy way.- live days later tour bun- 1 ters came uown the hills in great spirits, uud with two tjger skins. Sanderson haa since received an. eminently satislactory . and appreciative letter lrom "the "Guvnor," commenting upon the skiliul manner in which Akub was induced- to perceive the wisdom' of undergoing, under proper supervision, a short rest-cure .in ' the lower latitudes. : Johnstone, gurnard, and Henderson also have similar, testimonials. The story, however, now;.leav€3 them. - ■ " 'About three months subsequently* Sanderson, received the following letter from Bentley:— • • "Dear" Sanderson,—l am willing to ask you whether you spread any story about my being .'invalided' -before .that -tiger hunt. I know I did not show- up -.very well, but you know just how the cise was, and how' 1 1 lelt about it. J hope you fellows got back all right. -But what-jI. want to say is: Somehow the yarn has got over here that 1 funked a-special vice, which, of couise, li. not. true. . I suppose I did funk the tiger-part of it; but I'm not the only superstitious. man in.the world. 1 can't yet see'that flying . against the plain'warmng is any. evidence of funk, or anything hut insanity Anyway, the yarn has got about the club here, ai>d it is not pleaswt for me. If . you car get a tiger skin over, there I'd like to li.we it tor a mat in my- place. Then I'll have some of- those fellows' to dinner, and let 'em seo it,*.which: may correct theiv views. Don t think Die- & miserable coward. I'm not . that,, really, I suppose you know I'm. oyer. here, for, good. The old tlai wants me to stay and look after tho estates " down 'in . Surrey, and it will be good enough, for my lifetime, anyway. Warwick Square will find mo for a bit.' Got me a skin if you can, old man, for auld lang sy.ne, and I'll remit to you. Let me- • wlien you come home.—Yours sincerely, Harry Bentley." ' n } ■** "I suppose the : chap's sane, said. Sanderson to himself when he had read it. "He is a curious mixture, mostly old woman. ■He doesn't seem, much ashamed of himself. Why doesn't he-ga and buy a skin in Oxford Street?" In due course Sanderson . replied . to Bentley, and sent a tiger-skin. "Ifs- one oi the beasts fe shot up Akub's way," ho explained. "1 thought you would like :to, havo it. The mission went off'in great style, aud wo brought old Akub back inside .the traces. The tiger shoot was' just' the 'finishing touch. Tho beast was not so very big after all; he was evidently semo special brand. .- He killed about- 20 villagers altogether, :as far .as wo could ' make out, and preferred, thein to cattle, evidently.. I made no mention of your connection with tho , affair. On tho other hand, I had considerable difficulty in making the other' fellows believe you were not goiLg to turn up. Whenever I have heard any rumours against your character here—and I have heard things once or twice—l have dons my best toVdenv them. After, all, you were not entii'ely blameless. I -could not prevent the other chaps asking ques" tions.". ■ . < Bentley had the skin made into-a floormat and put it in his smoking room. He had friends in to see it without ostentation, and the Tumours seem to have died; down. 0 » 0 • . •-*» It was about a year after he had come, back from . India. Bentley had'returned. ' home from the > theatre . late',at night, Williams, his man, was waiting for him, "Anything you . are wanting me for, sir?" "Nothing more: to-night, . Williams, Good, night!". '' : '.- Bentley toyed with the whisky '.decanter as he lay back in the arm-chair.- He lazily poured himself out a drink. Then he rose and crossed the room to the side-board for the water-jug. He noticed tho date on a newspaper that, lay-there. "Lord!" ho ejaculated. "A year.-.ago yesterday since-1, left India. I wonderhow that girl at the Witch's Gate._ .. He was returning to his chair with' the water. as he said tho words half aloud. They were the last he uttered in his life. His sentence was broken by his tripping over the tiger-skin mat that ! lay on "the floor before tho inantelpiece. Bentley fell heavily, . and ' his temple struck and was pierced by the sharp corner of-the ornamental fender placed ' round the grate. When Williams entered the room next morning his master's body was stiff and cold.—"Pall Mall."