The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1911-08-24
The BRONZISgp
HFST,T, ~ -
ByLOUIS JOSEPH VANCE !
AUTHOR OF "THE BRASS BOWL" ETC. II
Oll ILLUSTRATIONS BY D&NY VMA[uIGnS -

in the compound The troopers were
squabbling amongst themselves; he
was able to make this much out IN
spite Of the fact that the sepoys. re-
cruited exclusively from the native
population of Khandawar, spoke a pa
tots Of Hindi so corrupt that even an
expert In Oriental languages would
experience difficulty in trying to inter-
pref 1t. Amber did not weary himself
with the task. but presently lifted up
his voice and demanded silence, deslr-
ing to be informed II his sleep was
to be continually broken by the bick-
| erings OF sons of mothers without
noses. There followed instantaneous
silence, broken by chuckle and an
applausive "Shabash!" and nothing
moro.
Amber snuggled down again upon
his pillow and soothed himself with
the feel of the pistol that his fingers
grasped beneath the clothes.
FOOTBALLS and hushed voices in the
bungalow were responsible for the
next interruption. Amber came to
with q start and found himself sitting
up on the edge OF the charpoy. with
dreamy impression that two people
had been standing over him and had
Just left the room. escaping by way
IF the khansamah's quarters. He
rubbed the sleep from his eyes and
went out to demonstrate vigorously
with the khansamah. The latter
naturally professed complete ignor-
ance of the visitation and dwelt with
such insislence upon the plausibility
OF dreams that Amber lost patience
and kicked him grievously, so that he
complained with a loud voice and cast
himself at the sahib's feet, declaring
that he was but as the dust beneath
them and that Amber was his father
and mother and the light of the Uni
verse besides.
Somewhat notified and rejecting,
at the same time, that this was all but
part Of the game, to be expected by
those who patronize resthouses OF the
beaten roads of travel the Virginian
returned to his charpoy and immedi-
ately lapsed into a singularly disQuiet-
ing dream. He was strolling
by the border Of the lake when coot
swan in and hailed him in English;
and when he stopped to look the coot
lifted an A. d. T. messenger boys
cap and pleaded with him TO sign his
name in a little black book promising
that If he did so, it would be free TO
doff its disguise and be LabertOuche
again. So Amber signed Pink Satin"
in the book and the coot stood up and
said: I'm not Labertouche at all, but
Ram Nath, and Ram Nath is only an
other name for Har Dyal Rutton, and
besides you had better come away at
once for the Eye thou dost wear upon
they finger never sleeps and It's only
paste Token anyway" Hearing
which, Amber caught the coot by the
leg and found that he had grasped the
arm Of Salig Singh, whose eyes were
both monstrous emeralds without any
whites whatever. And Salig Singh
tapped him on the shoulder and began
20 say over and over again In a whis-
per
But here Amber another time found
himself wideawake and sitting up, his
left hand gripping the wrist of ma
tive and his right holding his pistol
steadily leveled at the natives breast.
While the voice he heard was real and
no Pigment of dreamrmused imagi
nation; for the man was whispering
earnestly and repeatedly:
Hasten, hazor, for the night doth
wane and the hour is at hand"
What deviltry's this?" Amber de-
manded sharply. with a threatening
gesture.
But the native neither attempted to
free himself nor to evade the pistols
mouth. Have patience, hazor," he
begged earnestly, and make no dis
turbance. 1t Is late and the sepoys
sleep; II you will be circumspect and
are not afraid"
Who are you?"
Il was to say. I come from you
| know whom hazoor."
That all?"
In the matter of certain photo
graph, hazoor."
by thunder" Labertouche's name
was on Amber's lips, but he repressed
1t. Wait a Bit He gulped down the
last dregs Of sleep. Let me think
| and-see"
rms last was an afterthought AS
1t came to him he dropped the pistol
by his side and felt for matches In
the pocket of his coat, which hung
over the back OF beside chair. Find,
ing one, he struck 1t nolselessly and,
as the tiny flame broadened, drew his
captive nearer.
III was rat, mean, wicked face that
stood out against the darkness: an
ochre-tinted face with wide loose
Tipped mouth and protruding eyes that
bNnked nervously into his. But he had
never seen 1t before
Who are you?" He cast away the
match as It's fame died and snatched
up his weapon
Il was to say"
Il heard that once. What's your
Nance"
"Dulla Dad, hazoor"
And who are you FROM"
"Hazoor, was not TO say"
Il think you'd BETTER suggested
Amber, with grim significance.
Il am the hazoor's slave | dare no,
say"
Now look here"