King of the Khyber Rifles | Page 2

the scramble's over.
Something good's sure to be overlooked."
"White feather? Laziness? Dark Horse?" the major wondered. Then he
hurried away to write telegrams, because a belief thrives in the early
days of any war that influence can make or break a man's chances. In
the other room where the telegraph blanks were littered in confusion all
about the floor, he ran into a crony whose chief sore point was
Athelstan King, loathing him as some men loathe pickles or sardines,
for no real reason whatever, except that they are what they are.
"Saw you talking to King," he said.
"Yes. Can't make him out. Rum fellow!"
"Rum? Huh! Trouble is he's seventh of his family in succession to
serve in India. She has seeped into him and pickled his heritage. He's a
believer in Kismet crossed on to Opportunity. Not sure he doesn't pray
to Allah on the sly! Hopeless case."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite!"
So they all sent telegrams and forgot King who sat and smoked and
read about surgery; and before he had nearly finished one box of
cheroots a general at Peshawur wiped a bald red skull and sent him an
urgent telegram.

"Come at once!" it said simply.
King was at Lahore, but miles don't matter when the dogs of war are
loosed. The right man goes to the right place at the exact right time
then, and the fool goes to the wall. In that one respect war is better than
some kinds of peace.
In the train on the way to Peshawur he did not talk any more volubly,
and a fellow traveler, studying him from the opposite corner of the
stifling compartment, catalogued him as "quite an ordinary man." But
he was of the Public Works Department, which is sorrowfully
underpaid and wears emotions on its sleeve for policy's sake, believing
of course that all the rest of the world should do the same.
"Don't you think we're bound in honor to go to Belgium's aid?" he
asked. "Can you see any way out of it?"
"Haven't looked for one," said King.
"But don't you think--"
"No," said King. "I hardly ever think. I'm in the army, don't you know,
and don't have to. What's the use of doing somebody else's work?"
"Rotter!" thought the P.W.D. man, almost aloud; but King was not
troubled by any further forced conversation. Consequently he reached
Peshawur comfortable, in spite of the heat. And his genial manner of
saluting the full-general who met him with a dog-cart at Peshawur
station was something scandalous. "Is he a lunatic or a relative or
royalty?" the P.W.D. man wondered. Full-generals, particularly in the
early days of war, do not drive to the station to meet captains very often;
yet King climbed into the dog-cart unexcitedly, after keeping the
general waiting while he checked a trunk!
The general cracked his whip without any other comment than a smile.
A blood mare tore sparks out of the macadam, and a dusty military road
began to ribbon out between the wheels. Sentries in unexpected places
announced themselves with a ring of shaken steel as their rifles came to

the "present," which courtesies the general noticed with a raised whip.
Then a fox-terrier resumed his chase of squirrels between the planted
shade-trees, and Peshawur became normal, shimmering in light and
heat reflected from the "Hills."
(The P.W.D. man, who would have giggled if a general mentioned him
by name, walked because no conveyance could be hired. judgment was
in the wind.)
On the dog-cart's high front seat, staring straight ahead of him between
the horse's ears, King listened. The general did nearly all the talking.
"The North's the danger."
King grunted with the lids half-lowered over full dark eyes. He did not
look especially handsome in that attitude. Some men swear he looks
like a Roman, and others liken him to a gargoyle, all of them choosing
to ignore the smile that can transform his whole face instantly.
"We're denuding India of troops--not keeping back more than a mere
handful to hold the tribes in check."
King nodded. There has never been peace along the northwest border.
It did not need vision to foresee trouble from that quarter. In fact it
must have been partly on the strength of some of King's reports that the
general was planning now.
"That was a very small handful of Sikhs you named as likely to give
trouble. Did you do that job thoroughly?"
King grunted.
"Well--Delhi's chock-full of spies, all listening to stories made in
Germany for them to take back to the 'Hills' with 'em. The tribes'll
know presently how many men we're sending oversea. There've been
rumors about Khinjan by the hundred lately. They're cooking
something. Can you imagine 'em keeping quiet now?"

"That depends, sir. Yes,