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George Meredith - "The Amazing Marriage, Complete"

Georg Ebers - "The Story of My Life, Volume 2."

Nathaniel Hawthorne - "The Vision of the Fountain (From Twice Told Tales)"

Gilbert Parker - "The World For Sale, Volume 2."

Guns of the Gods

T >> Talbot Mundy >> Guns of the Gods




But it was Patali afterward, between boasting and confession, who
explained that Dick was Gungadhura's real objective after all. He
preferred vengeance on the American even to a settled account with
Yasmini. He must have found the treasure by accident after crawling
into the unsealed crack in the wall to wait there against Dick's coming.

"The money must stay here, and be removed little by little," said Utirupa.

"First of all Blaine sahib's share of it!" Yasmini added. "Who shall
count it? Who!"

"Never mind the money now," Tess answered. "Dick's alive! When
did you first know you'd found the treasure, Dick?"

"Not until the day that Gungadhura found me closing up the fault, and
asked me to dig at the other place. The princess told me I was on the
trail of it that night that you went with her by camel; but I didn't know I'd
found it till the day that Gungadhura came."

"How did you know where it was?" Tess asked, and Yasmini laughed.

"A hundred guarded it. I looked for a hundred pipal trees, and found
them--near the River Palace. But they were not changed once a month.
I looked from there, and saw another hundred pipal trees--here, below
this fort--exactly a hundred. But neither were they changed once a month.
Then I counted the garrison of the fort--exactly a hundred, all told.
Then I knew. Then I remembered that 'who looks for gold finds gold,'
and saw your husband digging for it. It seemed to me that the vein of
gold he was following should lead to the treasure, so I pulled strings
until Samson blundered, trying to trick us. And now we have the treasure,
and the English do not know. And I am maharanee, as they do know,
and shall know still better before I have finished! But what are we to
do with Gungadhura's body? It shall not lie here to rot; it must have
a decent burial."

Very late that night, Tom Tripe moved the guards about on the bastions,
contriving that the road below should not be overlooked by any one.
The moon had gone down, so that it was difficult to see ten paces.
He produced an ekka from somewhere--one of those two-wheeled
carts drawn by one insignificant pony that do most of the unpretentious
work of India; and he and Ismail, the Afridi gateman, drove off into the
darkness with a covered load.

Early next morning Gungadhura's body was found in the great hole that
Samson's men had blasted in the River Palace grounds, and it was
supposed that a jackal had mangled his body after death.

(That was what gave rise to the story that the English got the treasure
after all, and that Gungadhura, enraged and mortified at finding it gone,
had committed suicide in the great hole it was taken from. They call
the great dead pipal tree that is the only one left now of the hundred,
Gungadhura's gibbet; and there is quite a number, even of English
people, who believe that the Indian Government got the money. But
I say no, because Yasmini told me otherwise. And if it were true that t
he English really got the money, what did they do with it and why was
Samson removed shortly afterward to a much less desirable post?
Any one could see how Utirupa prospered, and he never raised the
taxes half a mill.

Samson had his very shrewd suspicions, one of which was that that
damned American with his smart little wife had scored off him in some way.
But he went to his new post, at about the same time that the Blaines left
for other parts, with some of the sting removed from his hurt feelings.
For he took Blaine's rifle with him--a good one; and the horse and dog-cart,
and a riding pony--more than a liberal return for payment of a three-
thousand rupee bet. Pretty decent of Blaine on the whole, he thought.
No fuss. No argument. Simply a short note of farewell, and a request
that he would "find the horses a home and a use for the other things."
Not bad. Not a bad fellow after all.





Chapter Twenty-Five




L'envoi

Down rings the curtain on a tale of love and mystery,
Clash of guile and anger and the consequence it bore;
The adventurers and kings
Disappear into the wings.
The puppet play is over and the pieces go in store.

Back, get ye back again to shop and ship and factory,
Mine and mill and foundry where the iron yokes are made;
Ye have trod a distant track
With a queen on camel-back,
Now hie and hew a broadway for your emperors of trade!

Go, get ye gone again to streets of strife reechoing -
Clangor of the crossings where the tides of trouble meet;
For a while on fancy's wing
Ye have heard the nautch-girls sing,
But a Great White Way awaits you where the Klax-on-horns repeat.

Back, bend the back again to commonplace and drudgery,
Beat the shares of vision into swords of dull routine,
Take the trolley and the train
To suburban hives again,
For ye wake in little runnels where the floods of thought have been.

Speed, noise, efficiency! Have flights of fancy rested you?
A while we set time's finger back, and was the labor vain?
If so we whiled your leisure
And the puppets gave you pleasure,
Then say the word, good people, and we'll set the stage again.


And that is the whole story

Smoking a cigarette lazily on Utirupa's palace roof, Yasmini reached
for Tess's hand.

"Come nearer. See--take this. It is the value, and more, of the percentage
of the silver that your husband would not take."

She clasped a diamond necklace around Tess's neck, and watched
it gleam and sparkle in the refracted sunlight.

"Don't you love it? Aren't they perfect? And now--you've a great big
draft of money, so I suppose you're both off to America, and good-by
to me forever?"

"For a long time."

"But why such a long time? You must come again soon. Come next year.
You and I love each other. You teach me things I did not know, and
you never irritate me. I love you. You must come back next year!"

Tess shook her head.

"But why?"

"They say the climate isn't good for them until they're eighteen at least--
some say twenty."

"Oh! Oh, I envy you! What will you call him? It will be a boy--it is sure
to be a boy!"

"Richard will be one name, after my husband."

"And the other? You must name him after me in some way. You can
not call a boy Yasmini. Would Utirupa sound too strange in America?"

"Rupert would sound better."

"Good! He shall be Rupert, and I will send a gift to him!"

(That accounts for the initials R. R. B. on a certain young man's trunk
at Yale, and for the imported pedigree horse he rides during vacation--
the third one, by the way, of a succession he has received from India.)

And that is the whole story, as Yasmini told it to me in the wonderful
old palace at Buhl, years afterward, when Utirupa was dead, and the
English Government had sent her into forced seclusion for a while--to
repent of her manifold political sins, as they thought--and to start new
enterprises as it happened. She had not seen Theresa Blaine again,
she told me, although they always corresponded; and she assured
me over and over again, calling the painted figures of the old gods
on the walls to witness, that but for Theresa Blaine's companionship
and affection at the right moment, she would never have had the courage
to do what she did, even though the guns of the gods were there
to help her.


The End

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