Kim

'It is always soldiers when thou and I go out alone together. But I

have never seen the white soldiers.'

'They do no harm except when they are drunk. Keep behind this tree.'

They stepped behind the thick trunks in the cool dark of the

mango-tope. Two little figures halted; the other two came forward

uncertainly. They were the advance-party of a regiment on the march,

sent out, as usual, to mark the camp. They bore five-foot sticks with

fluttering flags, and called to each other as they spread over the flat

earth.

At last they entered the mango-grove, walking heavily.

'It's here or hereabouts--officers' tents under the trees, I take it,

an' the rest of us can stay outside. Have they marked out for the

baggage-wagons behind?'

They cried again to their comrades in the distance, and the rough

answer came back faint and mellowed.

'Shove the flag in here, then,' said one.

'What do they prepare?' said the lama, wonderstruck. 'This is a great

and terrible world. What is the device on the flag?'

A soldier thrust a stave within a few feet of them, grunted

discontentedly, pulled it up again, conferred with his companion, who

looked up and down the shaded cave of greenery, and returned it.

Kim stared with all his eyes, his breath coming short and sharp between

his teeth. The soldiers stamped off into the sunshine.

'O Holy One!' he gasped. 'My horoscope! The drawing in the dust by

the priest at Umballa! Remember what he said. First come

two--ferashes--to make all things ready--in a dark place, as it is

always at the beginning of a vision.'

'But this is not vision,' said the lama. 'It is the world's Illusion,

and no more.'

'And after them comes the Bull--the Red Bull on the green field. Look!

It is he!'

He pointed to the flag that was snap snapping in the evening breeze not

ten feet away. It was no more than an ordinary camp marking-flag; but

the regiment, always punctilious in matters of millinery, had charged

it with the regimental device, the Red Bull, which is the crest of the

Mavericks--the great Red Bull on a background of Irish green.

'I see, and now I remember.' said the lama. 'Certainly it is thy

Bull. Certainly, also, the two men came to make all ready.'

'They are soldiers--white soldiers. What said the priest? "The sign

over against the Bull is the sign of War and armed men." Holy One,

this thing touches my Search.'

'True. It is true.' The lama stared fixedly at the device that flamed

like a ruby in the dusk. 'The priest at Umballa said that thine was

the sign of War.'

'What is to do now?'

'Wait. Let us wait.'

'Even now the darkness clears,' said Kim. It was only natural that the

descending sun should at last strike through the tree-trunks, across

the grove, filling it with mealy gold light for a few minutes; but to

Kim it was the crown of the Umballa Brahmin's prophecy.

'Hark!' said the lama. 'One beats a drum--far off!'

At first the sound, carrying diluted through the still air, resembled

the beating of an artery in the head. Soon a sharpness was added.

'Ah! The music,' Kim explained. He knew the sound of a regimental

band, but it amazed the lama.

At the far end of the plain a heavy, dusty column crawled in sight.

Then the wind brought the tune:

We crave your condescension

To tell you what we know

Of marching in the Mulligan Guards

To Sligo Port below!

Here broke in the shrill-tongued fifes:

We shouldered arms,

We marched--we marched away.

From Phoenix Park

We marched to Dublin Bay.

The drums and the fifes,

Oh, sweetly they did play,

As we marched--marched--marched--with the

Mulligan Guards!

It was the band of the Mavericks playing the regiment to camp; for the

men were route-marching with their baggage. The rippling column swung

into the level--carts behind it divided left and right, ran about like

an ant-hill, and ...

'But this is sorcery!' said the lama.

The plain dotted itself with tents that seemed to rise, all spread,

from the carts. Another rush of men invaded the grove, pitched a huge

tent in silence, ran up yet eight or nine more by the side of it,

unearthed cooking-pots, pans, and bundles, which were taken possession

of by a crowd of native servants; and behold the mango-tope turned into

an orderly town as they watched!

'Let us go,' said the lama, sinking back afraid, as the fires twinkled

and white officers with jingling swords stalked into the Mess-tent.

'Stand back in the shadow. No one can see beyond the light of a fire,'

said Kim, his eyes still on the flag. He had never before watched the

routine of a seasoned regiment pitching camp in thirty minutes.

'Look! look! look!' clucked the lama. 'Yonder comes a priest.' It

was Bennett, the Church of England Chaplain of the regiment, limping in

dusty black. One of his flock had made some rude remarks about the

Chaplain's mettle; and to abash him Bennett had marched step by step

with the men that day. The black dress, gold cross on the watch-chain,

the hairless face, and the soft, black wideawake hat would have marked

him as a holy man anywhere in all India. He dropped into a camp-chair

by the door of the Mess-tent and slid off his boots. Three or four

officers gathered round him, laughing and joking over his exploit.

'The talk of white men is wholly lacking in dignity,' said the lama,

who judged only by tone. 'But I considered the countenance of that

priest and I think he is learned. Is it likely that he will understand

our talk? I would talk to him of my Search.'

'Never speak to a white man till he is fed,' said Kim, quoting a

well-known proverb. 'They will eat now, and--and I do not think they

are good to beg from. Let us go back to the resting-place. After we

have eaten we will come again. It certainly was a Red Bull--my Red

Bull.'

They were both noticeably absent-minded when the old lady's retinue set

their meal before them; so none broke their reserve, for it is not

lucky to annoy guests.

'Now,' said Kim, picking his teeth, 'we will return to that place; but

thou, O Holy One, must wait a little way off, because thy feet are

heavier than mine and I am anxious to see more of that Red Bull.'

'But how canst thou understand the talk? Walk slowly. The road is

dark,' the lama replied uneasily.

Kim put the question aside. 'I marked a place near to the trees,' said

he, 'where thou canst sit till I call. Nay,' as the lama made some

sort of protest, 'remember this is my Search--the Search for my Red

Bull. The sign in the Stars was not for thee. I know a little of the

customs of white soldiers, and I always desire to see some new things.'

'What dost thou not know of this world?' The lama squatted obediently

in a little hollow of the ground not a hundred yards from the hump of

the mango-trees dark against the star-powdered sky.

'Stay till I call.' Kim flitted into the dusk. He knew that in all

probability there would be sentries round the camp, and smiled to

himself as he heard the thick boots of one. A boy who can dodge over

the roofs of Lahore city on a moonlight night, using every little patch

and corner of darkness to discomfit his pursuer, is not likely to be

checked by a line of well-trained soldiers. He paid them the

compliment of crawling between a couple, and, running and halting,

crouching and dropping flat, worked his way toward the lighted

Mess-tent where, close pressed behind the mango-tree, he waited till