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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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Adventure, September 1915, with "Forty Dollars a Foot"
"HOLY" JIM HOLLY leaned luxuriously against a tree with his hands folded behind his head and smiled out with perfect satisfaction at the glorious view, while his big barrel-shaped chest took in sundry cubic yards at a breath of cool pine-scented Himalayan air.
"Where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile," he quoted dreamily, inspired doubtless by the preparations for grim war which were taking place in the glade before him.
A straggly line of E.P. tents had already been erected to the accompaniment of much noise. Before them stood a weird assortment of Martini-Henry carbines, Lee-Metfords, and even old .500 Sniders, leaning drunkenly against one another in threes.
A yet stranger assortment of Hindus, with a fine disregard for the conventions, were inserting themselves into uniforms which didn't fit, and which might have been Tenth Dogras, or Seventy-second Punjabis, or both. A couple of white men, officers, rushed about and tore their hair and shouted the five words of Hindustani abuse which they collectively knew.
Everybody was upset and excited—except Holly, who wrinkled his freckled nose yet higher and smiled at the landscape with perfect contentment. Presently another white man emerged from a somewhat more elaborate tent, bearing in his arms a complicated mechanism which explained the whole extraordinary proceeding, a tripod and camera, all heavily brass-bound and fitted with sundry cranks and levers.
It was an "outside set" of the British Indian Film Company, who dealt, so said the posters, in "topical, historical, and educational films of the highest grade."
Holly was emphatically not of the "B.I.'s." He belonged to the "Motioscope," a despised foreign concern from New York. Which perhaps explains why one of the officer-men, the biggest of them, presently made a hostile sortie from his own camp.
"I say," he began.
Holly was by this time earnestly watching the thin blue smoke-rings from his pipe circle up and break against the leaves overhead. He was too intent to reply.
"I say! Mr. Fitzgerald doesn't want you hanging about this camp."
"Hospitable man," murmured Holly through a cloud of smoke without looking down.
His good humor aggravated the biggest of the officer-men.
"Well, you'd better get out!" he snapped belligerently.
Holly squinted down at him sideways. He blew three more rings with careful accuracy before replying cheerfully, while he still watched them ascending one through the other.
"M-hm? Well, I don't see anything in sight to occasion such a hurry."
Holly's unconcern was infuriating—and he stood not more than five feet and eight inches. Which, coupled with the fact that he was apparently off his guard, again explains, perhaps, why the biggest of the officer-men was misguided into rushing at him.
Then Holly laughed out loud. He suddenly sprang into strenuous life, like a sleeping puma when a bullet splashes on the rock above it. While one hand transferred the pipe to his pocket, a massively muscled arm flashed from behind his head and encircled the other's neck. Then the officer-man felt an excruciating wrench at his chin, another at his back, and a third at his knee; felt himself whirl through the air; and the next bewildered observation he was able to make was of stag-moss within two inches of his face, while an arm and toehold held him helpless, and an extremely solid knee rested in the small of his back.
"That's a Japanese trick," Holly's voice rose pleasantly above him. "Jiu-jitsu. You really ought to learn some before you aim to destroy anybody again."
Then the biggest of the officer-men was lifted and pushed carefully and resistlessly into a tangle of bougainvillea creeper, the curved thorns of which hold to one's clothes like millions of fish-hooks.
"And now," continued the voice with contemplative enjoyment, "since I don't feel up to fighting your whole camp this morning, I shall go home."
The officer-man, helpless and homicidal, heard the footsteps receding, and shortly after, more footsteps approaching hurriedly, those of his own people, who had to bring their knives into play to extricate him.
Holly was just topping the next ridge when they finished. He turned and waved to them with friendly insult.
"Yes, you'd better hurry," called one of the men, like the discreetly valiant schoolboy who shouts from down the block, "before Mr. Fitzgerald comes back. He'll square you; he's just waiting for a chance."
"So I've heard," called Holly. "That's why I'm running away." And he strode to the home bungalow, smiling out at the whole world on that beautiful morning with the most engaging friendliness.
HE BROKE into the living-room, whistling sibilantly through his teeth; and then hushed abruptly at the door in reverent admiration. Crandal, traveling director of the Motioscope, was perched on the end of a table like a gaunt adjutant stork, and was soaring in one of his most artistic flights of oratory concerning one Fitzgerald, his personal attributes, his probable descent, and his certain destination. Crandal flapped his arms and craned his neck, while he proved once again his claim to true rhetorical genius; and this in spite of the fact that his elocution was considerably hampered by the presence in the room of a lady.
Miss Helen Redfern, star, sat by the window with an unconscious frown, indicative of recent annoyance, puckering her most adorable profile, while the sunlight diffused squirrel-red through her fluffy masses of hair.
Holly tiptoed reverently in, like a latecomer at church, and softly took a seat that he might the better appreciate both the discourse and the perfect silhouette at the window.
"Said you'd stand a much better chance with his company, did he?" declaimed Crandal. "The bloated Bactrian! Said he was making better film, huh? And you told him our last jungle-book series was valued at forty dollars a foot in New York? Good for you, girl! And what d'you think that bag-bellied conger said, Jim? Said if any bloomin' Yankee could show him film at forty dollars a foot, he'd jolly well let him kick him; and no blasted foreigner had ever done that yet. Offered her a hundred piking dollars to go with him. Thought he was raising her. What d'you think of that, Jim? Crandal snorted explosively, and re-executed his whole impromptu with masterly variations.
Holly still grinned In wide appreciation; but the tough cane-chair creaked under the pressure of his wide hands, on which the knuckles suddenly showed white.
"So-o?" he purred. "Trying to steal our Squirrel, was he? Holy Jemima! If I'd known that, I'd have waited at his camp and broken his foreign record for him."
The subject of Crandal's eloquence was a big and beetle-browed giant who often cast himself for the roles of the film detective, or the lumber-camp hero; yet it never occurred to Crandal to doubt Holly's ability.
"Yes," the girl broke in. "And when I refused him point blank, he turned nasty and boasted that he would put us, and particularly you, Jim, out of business. You might think you were clever, cutting in on the Indian films; but he'd jolly well put a spoke in your bally wheel." Her drawling imitation was perfect.
"Some day," remarked Holly with finality, "I shall commit a European atrocity on that pachyderm. Some day soon."
Crandal unfolded himself like a foot-rule and got down from his perch in sections. He was appeased. Holy Holly's immutable word had gone forth—and Holly weighed about two and a half pounds to the lineal inch, all oil-tempered springs and tan-leather finish.
But the matter of Fitzgerald was only a part of the cloud that darkened the director's horizon. His company was encamped at Rangpo in Sikkhim, twenty miles from the Tibetan border, and he was now waiting for the return of Tracy, leading man, who had gone to interview his Honor, the political officer in charge of Tibetan affairs. The great annual ceremony of the much-talked-of but little-known devil dance of Tongtsa Jong was due, and Crandal had already mapped out an elaborate scenario to fit in.
One of Crandal's most successful exploits, which was making his films such a sensation in New York, was his trick of building dramatic scenarios around weird and unusual native ceremonies. He spent money on these which made the New York management weep; but they were always pacified by the resulting film, which was amazing—when he could overcome the appalling difficulties in the way of getting it.
He had written in this case to the "Political" to obtain what he had thought would be a purely formal sanction, and had been surprised to receive in reply a curt letter of refusal. Since the "Political" just at present was one of those amazing blunders of the Indian Government, a Bengali official acting temporarily during the absence on short leave of his superior, it seemed probable that there might be some misunderstanding. And Tracy had accordingly been sent to call on him officially, with his best clothes and most engaging manner, to try and straighten the thing out.
Presently the door opened and Tracy came in, a heroically handsome figure, as was befitting to a film idol.
"Well?" demanded Crandal eagerly.
Tracy laid his silk hat and gray gloves carefully on the table.
"Nothing doing, Chief!"
"What?" gasped Crandal. "D'you mean to say he meant what he wrote? What reason did he give?"
"Well, he was very up-stage at first; but I flattered the gink about his responsible position, and he finally confided to me that after the Younghusband expedition the Indian Government was tied up with all sorts of cast-iron treaties with Russia and China about the inviolability of Tibet, and they could allow no private individuals or commercial enterprises to go in at all. Said the Forbidden Land was more forbidden now than it ever had been."
Crandal lifted his hands to Heaven and prayed for fitting speech.
"Great gosh!" he raved. "This prehistoric government-thing is my jinx. It's never failed yet. I go into the desert to photograph a sand-flea and somebody waves regulation number eight thousand and three at me. I hide myself in the middle of the jungle, and a man in uniform shows me Penal Code, para. six million. I move into the desolate mountain-tops, and a coon with a diplomatic ribbon on his chest says, 'Es ist verboten!'
"Couldn't you move him any? Couldn't you reason with the primeval ape?"
Tracy shook his head.
"He was adamant. Said the thing was quite impossible."
"Perish the cannibal fish! What the—" Crandal restrained himself and took a long breath, possibly to count a hundred before he committed himself.
"Impossible?" he said at length more calmly. "Weil, then it's up to you, Holly!"
"Holy Gemini!" snorted Holly. "Can I hypnotize the whole fossilized Government and unwind five million miles of red tape?"
"See here, Jim," Crandal insisted coaxingly. "We've just got to have that devil dance. It's unique. And my scenario'll have the five-centers back home hopping like they'd found an ant's nest. It'll be the best yet. Go ahead and think up something to sidestep the impossible. You're here to do miracles anyway."
Holly was about to disclaim all responsibility in the matter, when he became aware that the girl was watching him expectantly. He stood in perplexity and ran his fingers characteristically through his hair, till he looked like a tawny porcupine. Finally he grunted like the same beast rooting for yams and muttered, "Inshallah!" and strode from the room.
And the council of war broke up forthwith in perfect contentment. When Holly grunted in the ultimate depths of disgust and called on a heathen god, things presently began to occur.
IT WAS late in the afternoon when he came back, sizzling with energy, and pensively serious for once. "Got to hustle and get out of here, Chief," he announced.
"Great gosh! What's up now? Get out, why? Where to?" wailed Crandal.
"To Tongtsa-Jong, of course. To make devil-dance film. Where'd you think?" said Holly coolly.
Crandal whopped like a schoolboy. "Oh, Holy Saint Holly! How did you fix it?"
"I haven't fixed it. But I'm going to, somehow. Listen! Here's what the little birds say: It seems that dear Fitz is most carnivorously annoyed at me, for many though insufficient reasons; and at you for bringing a company to breathe this air, which, being an Anglo-Indian, he has a vested interest in. So he's already been inserting his threatened spoke. He's been to see the political babu with just the right line of goods for an Oriental, and the babu has sold him the permission to get this devil-dance picture. Gone partners on it, in fact. Fitz hands over three thousand dollars and the coon puts in his influence to help him and block us. So it all works around to the same old combination. We're up against the official proposition once again."
Holly grinned happily at the thought. Government officials were his hereditary enemies, and he had waged a lone-handed war against them for many years—greatly to the detriment of the officials.
"Now here's how it works out," he continued. "Being a case of black and white, these two slick guys don't trust each other for two cents. Fitz gives him fifteen hundred down and fifteen hundred as soon as he's got the picture. The babu can't be on hand all the time; but he'll show up on the ground and collect before Fitz can make a get-away. In return he furnishes a permit for Fitz's crowd and instructs the British guard at Chumbi that a Government survey party is going through. Some con game, hey? Now your Uncle Jim.is going to divert this cunnin' li'l' permit; and the survey party's going to be you. But you'll have to be ready to hand him over fifteen hundred dollars in ten-rupee notes—no checks or big money for the wily Aryan."
"By gosh! It will be worth it!" enthused Crandal. "And that picture will be dirt cheap at the price. Jim, you're a gem!"
"Uh-huh," grunted Holly indifferently. "Now I've got to hustle and have an inspiration about getting that festive permit, and how to delay, kidnap, or destroy Fitz and his crowd. I'll join you again somehow, somewhere, sometime. So-long!"
He strode out, running his fingers through his hair and whistling in minor discords. And Crandal proceeded without a further care in his soul to begin getting his ponies and porters and other paraphernalia together for a start with sunrise into the Forbidden Land.
THE desired inspiration came to Holly, and with it the luck which so often attends those who are taking daring chances—or is it the readiness to snatch at chance when it comes, which itself constitutes what the other fellows so often call luck?
As the sun was dipping behind the towering tiers of everlasting snow—which are due north; but it does, all the same—and tinting them ivory and pale rose and amber, a sturdy Gurkha orderly left the political residence with a "peon book" thrust through his belt and swaggered through the little settlement. At the very fringe of the B.I. camp Holly suddenly appeared and walked unconcernedly to meet him.
"From the babu sahib? Budmash, you have delayed at the liquor-shop. I have waited these two hours."
"Nay, sahib, I have but half an hour back received the letter."
"Choop! Enough. Give it to me."
Holly took the missive and scrawled a swift hieroglyphic in the receipt column of the book.
"It is well. Convey my salaams to the babu sahib."
Ten minutes later the precious permit was in Crandal's hands.
Later again, when it was already dark, Fitzgerald of the B.I.'s stamped ponderously up and down in his camp and cursed vindictively the dilatoriness of all natives. And then, when he was just about to send a messenger up to the residence, another orderly, gorgeously turbaned and fiercely bewhiskered, came up with a note, and having delivered it, squatted down on his heels,
"There is no answer," he said simply. "It is an order that I remain." The note was a hasty scrawl. It ran:
My dear Mr. Fitzgerald:
On second thoughts I am sending you one of my orderlies, who will personally conduct you. He speaks English, and will make all arrangements. I am notifying the frontier guard. Yours, etc.,
Dass-Mehba.
Fitzgerald turned eagerly to the man. "When do we start?" he demanded impatiently.
The man's English shortly disclosed itself to be a series of stepping-stones of the smaller words bridging the uncertain distance between the large ones, which were all in the vernacular.
"Tomora I making bandobast for pony, sahib. Next day early fujjur starting. You need pony, four, for sahibs; Khutcher, mule, three, for pack instrument. Saices, bearers, all things I make bandobast, give sahib account."
However, the man appeared very capable and decided about his arrangements, and Fitzgerald was thankful to have somebody who knew the country to take the burden off his hands. The man proved most efficient. He collected the cavalcade, with the necessary attendants, all in one day, exactly as he had promised, which was an unprecedented feat for a native; and early on the following morning, "plenty fujjur," as he had promised, he awoke the sahibs and insisted on a start.
"Must travel twenty kos today. Sleep dak-bungaloo, over Tibet border. Plenty climb."
His last laconic statement was right. The road wound steeply up through dense, dripping forests where wonderful orchids, which would have driven a collector crazy, hung where they could be picked without dismounting. Always up, clinging to the side of tremendous precipices, the depths of which were mercifully hidden by the thick white mist.
The members of the company started by being ravished at the scenery and exhilarated by the cool mountain air; and then, as nature's panorama stretched on for mile after steep mile, the monotony of scenic loveliness began to pall, and they began to get saddle-chafed from the unaccustomed angle at which they had to sit, or rather cling.
They began to clamor for some lunch. But their guide insisted that it was necessary to keep on and reach the rest-house before darkness came on and made that dangerous road altogether impossible. He himself appeared to be tireless, and with the saices and bearers, hillmen all, climbed up the almost perpendicular short-cuts like so many monkeys and lounged, easily waiting for the horses to catch up, along the winding road./p>
Fitzgerald and his companions were almost dead with gripping on to their saddles to keep from slipping backward over their horses' tails, by the time they crawled stiffly off at that thrice-blessed rest-house, which nestled in a sheltered hollow on the bleak summit of that tremendous ridge to keep from being swept off into space by the howling, biting winds, like everything else for the last two thousand feet except cold rock and frozen brown earth.
"Plenty climb. Eighteen thousan' feet," said the guide with satisfaction, as if he were responsible for the magnificent view.
On one side, the side they had come up, was a sea of opaque, billowing mist, out of which stuck little green islands of mountain-tops; and on the other, in sharp contrast, was a startlingly clear view of a great bowllike valley, the valley of Chumbi, Tibet.
But the wretched travelers were not in any fit frame of mind to discuss Himalayan phenomena. They sat in blistered torment and cursed their guide with their five words of Hindustani and a vast collective store of soulful English. And the guide, with Oriental apathy, said only:
"Tomora fujjur we go Chumbi; plenty early fujjur. Tomora long march."
The next morning he awoke them relentlessly at a perfectly criminal hour, and when they crawled out of the rest-house, sore and querulous, they found him supervising the careful loading of the pack-mules, so that no photographic apparatus should be visible; after which he personally attended to the roping of the packs, tying cunning knots which even the mule dorabis did not understand. Finally he was satisfied; and a new torture commenced for the unhappy B.I.'s, the torture of holding back on the steep down-grade.
Presently the guide left the so-called road, which, however, was a paved and paradisiacal highway in comparison with the goat-track which he now followed. Yet not a pack slipped, so cunning had been the tying of the expert. Not so the riders, however. They were so weak in the legs with convulsive gripping of unaccustomed saddles that each time a horse stumbled one of them fell off, like the white knight in "Alice."
The orderly with a mask-like face explained that the Government road went straight through the valley to Chumbi, and was guarded by the British fort, while the track, which was unfrequented and little known, skirted high up along the edge of the bowl and was guarded by a small detachment of Punjabis who, he said, were more amenable to the babu sahib's instructions.
When they came to this outpost, however, in the late evening, something seemed to be wrong. A long-winded argument ensued, which the white men, though they could not understand a word of it, could plainly see was unsatisfactory.
"What's the matter?" demanded Fitzgerald.
"He say, there is no order."
Fitzgerald was perplexed. He was also sore physically and harassed mentally. Which was quite sufficient for him to lose his control and break into a bellowing torrent of curses and threats. The orderly shrugged his shoulders and leaned sullenly against one of the tired mules.
And then suddenly something gave way, and in some miraculous manner the whole pack slipped to the ground—and the wrapping opened, and the contents scattered loose over the road. Not a knot in the carefully tied rope had held.
The soldiers pounced upon the goods with astonishment, and a further noisy discussion took place. They were not very clear in their minds what the articles were; but they were certainly not surveying instruments as the frenzied manager claimed.
This needed investigation. The Subahdar in charge explained that the party would have to be detained till the matter could be brought before their officer, who had gone to Chumbi—and Chumbi was now two days' journey distant, a whole day back to the main road, and another day on from there; four days before any sort of answer could be brought; and by that time the devil-dance ceremony would be over. The orderly shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"What's it all about? What does he say?" demanded the now raving manager of the British Indian Film Company.
"He say, you prisoner. Keep in jail. Take before officer."
"But my God! When? Where? We've got to hurry!"
"God he knows," lied the orderly glibly. "Maybe to Lhassa; take one mont, two mont." With which cheering information he shrugged again and moved off down the path.
"Hey there," shouted the Subahdar. "Where goest thou?"
"I have business," said the orderly calmly. "I go."
"There is no order."
"Nevertheless I go."
"Fetch the insolent dog back," commanded the Subahdar. "Swiftly now!" he added as the man went unconcernedly on.
Two troopers ran after him and quickly came up, one on either side, to take hold of him. Then suddenly the slouching orderly moved like a snake. One of the troopers received an elbow smashed hard into the pit of his stomach, and the same circled around and up and took the other under the chin. The orderly made a great leap, far down the steep bank. And all that was left when the others raced up, were two groaning men on the ground and a low chuckle of laughter far down the hillside.
Two evenings later an exhausted man, dressed as an orderly, lurched into the old monastery at Tongtsa-Jong, which on few-and-far-between occasions did duty for a rest-house, and saluted military fashion before Crandal, who was already established there.
Crandal looked at him closely.
"Not this time, Jim," he laughed. "I've got used to your little dramatic surprises; though if I hadn't seen you do it before I wouldn't have believed it was you. Bully for you, boy! We got through Chumbi like a bird. They never let out a squeal. How about Fitz?"
"Left him tangled up on the old trail. We've got four days. How did the Red Squirrel stand the journey?"
"Fine! She's got sand, has the Squirrel. Four days you say? Good! The devil dance is day after tomorrow; and I've got my camp all staked out for some outside sets tomorrow; got about a hundred Tibetan supes, too, for the proper atmosphere; we can fake the rest afterward. Jim, this is going to be a record. But say, you look tired. Want anything to drink?"
"I want about ten pounds of something to eat," said Holly. "And ten hours' sleep."
THE next day was a strenuous one for everybody. Crandal's scenario required some intricate setting. Since suspense, we are told, constitutes a prolific source of punch, and there is no suspense so thrilling to the nickelodeon fiends as the uneven course of true love, Tracy, as a Lama of the higher circle, was called upon to commit the indiscretion of falling in love with the Squirrel, who portrayed the impossibly lovely daughter of a ruffianly mountain chief, a situation which gave scope for much complicated intrigue and many heroics.
Tracy was strong on heroic stuff. The uncertainty of Holly's presence had saved him from being cast for a part in the story, for which he was inexpressibly thankful; but he had his hands more than full trying to hammer into the densely stupid Tibetan supes what was required of them—even with the aid of an interpreter who had managed to persuade Crandal that he could "speak Tibetan Sar, all same Bhutia talk."
The heavy-eyed herd stared owlishly at the little dressing-tents, and they regarded Herman's dark-room tent, with its little red window, fearfully, as some mysterious house of Jhandi, and surged together like frightened cattle when the camera's eye swung around to them and Herman turned his clicking crank. It reminded them of a machine gun—and they knew all about machine guns from the Younghusband mission.
But they could shout like bulls and rush together in bearish scrimmages. Fierce howls do not sound on a screen; but they registered well, and the scrimmages could be used to glorious effect in the scenes where the martyred Squirrel was kidnaped and rescued and kidnaped again.
It was after one of these that she came to the director, faint and nauseated.
"Mr. Crandal," she began, "I'm not hysterical or finnicky, am I? I don't mind being pulled about and rolled on; and I've never complained before, but this is positively the worst stunt you've ever given me. Those men are—they—"
Tracy joined them, his nose wrinkling offendedly, and supplied the description over which the Squirrel hesitated.
"I know what you want to say," he barked rebelliously. "They're filthy. They stink across all eternity. You know I'm strong for standing by the company for the sake of a good picture, Crandal, but this is outside of the limit. I don't believe any of those animals has washed or changed his clothes in a year."
"Wash?" Holly derided the idea. "Let me tell you that Tibetans don't ever wash; the climate isn't conducive to hygiene. But they compromise by getting themselves searched every now and then. However, you've got no call to kick, Tracy. Listen to what happened to your Uncle Jim for the sake of this picture. Two nights ago was pretty cold, wasn't it? A darn sight too cold for any fresh-air siesta, without even a blanket. Well, where d'you think I passed the night? In a Tibetan hut, hermetically sealed. No, I didn't sleep."
Thus was rebellion averted. After that nobody could complain.
In the afternoon the confusion was still further complicated by the arrival of a stout, little, dark man, who immediately made one think of coconut-oil, or some other greasy cooking medium. He seemed confused at first by the unrecognizable make-ups, and addressed himself first to Holly, as the only apparent white man in sight. The latter took stock of him with disapproval; he was not prepossessed in favor of officials at the best of times.
"Wrong call," he grunted. "That ruffianly-looking kazi over there is the manager."
The dark man almost paled, and hurried to Crandal.
"But—but where—where is Mr. Fitzgerald?"
"He had a slight accident," explained Crandal glibly. "Fell off his horse and broke a couple of legs and a few ribs and things. He was unable to come."
"But—but I had an arrangement with him to—"
It was clear that the man's agitation was not on Fitzgerald's personal account.
"Yes, that's all right, Mr. Dass-Mehra," Crandal soothed him. "I have the money with me, right here."
The relief in the fat face was ludicrous.
"Oah, I see. You are his manager, yes? That is all right then. I just came to see if he had brought—that is to say, if you had any trouble passing Chumbi. No? That is all right. I am verree pleased to have been of assistance." The babu rubbed his hands together and showed all his teeth. "You will excuse me now, yes? I will now go to the dak-bungaloo for a little tiffin, and—This is your leading lady? Oah my, what a most charming picture." He looked at her in nauseating admiration; and then suddenly remembered to sweep off his hat in a dumpy bow. "Er—you will excuse me now, yess? Er, I will come back later."
"Unwholesome little spider, ain't he?" Holly appraised sourly. "See him look at the Squirrel? Isn't he hot for the shekels, though!" Then a flash of his customary humor came into his face. "Holy Gee! I'd like to see him hop, if he knew just how much assistance he's been to the Motioscopes. Hope de doesn't carry out his threat of coming back."
But the babu disappointed him. He came back with a positively gushing affability and contrived to establish unfriendly relations with the rest of the camp with celerity and despatch. He walked all over the white canvas screen on the ground and muddied it up, to the unspeakable rage of Herman, who cherished everything appertaining to his art as sacred. Then he harassed Crandal with useless questions.
But Holly jealously noticed that he only required information when the Squirrel was being instructed in her part. Then he scuttled back to Herman, and narrowly escaped with his life for butting into the dark-room tent while the latter was developing out a test-piece of eighteen inches or so from the tail of a reel of film to see whether the exposure had been correct.
He apologized for his error; but there was a vindictiveness behind his ready smile which even Herman noticed. He was a little subdued, however, and went slinking off behind the other tents. Here he suddenly stopped. Sounds indicated occupancy of one of them. A voracious look came into his eyes, and he tiptoed nearer. There was an opening in the lacing, but it was at least five feet six inches from the ground. He looked around cautiously, and then strained himself over a large stone and placed it beneath the slit.
Then out of the silence behind him, a hand that felt like a steel gauntlet descended on the back of his neck. Another hooked itself into his belt and he was carried fifty yards before he was set down with a jolt and spun round to look into Holly's narrow slits of eyes thrust down on a level with his own.
"Animal!" growled Holly. "That was the lady's dressing-tent."
The babu backed away with a sudden fear of death before him; and then, when he found that he was not instantly slain, his courage, or rather the effrontery which he carefully nurtured in its stead, came back to him. He jumped flabbily up and down and insisted that he had been insulted in a thin scream which brought Crandal hurrying to the scene.
"You dirty little ground-spider," said Holly very slowly. "If I catch you crawling 'round there again I'll twist all your legs off."
The babu frothed at the mouth and raved incoherently about the honor of a high Government official in a way which would have made Crandal laugh if it had not been for a recollection of the man's capacity and power for obstruction. He soothed matters down as well as he might, and finally succeeded in effecting some sort of a patchy truce. But the babu was not easily mollified, and stamped off with querulous outbreaks of chatter like an angry marmoset.
Crandal looked after him with a troubled frown.
"Guess you did quite right, Jim," he said ruefully. "But that bulbous baccillus is going to make trouble, big trouble."
Holly grunted; and then, at the thought, his anger vanished and he straightened out his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair and grinned.
THE episode ended the day's work and the series of "outsides." There remained only the great devil dance on the morrow. Herman hugged his boxes and prayed all night to a celluloid god for a steady light. He did not care so much how bright it was as long as it did not vary with passing clouds. Crandal was even more enthusiastic about this greatest of all films and woke all his people up disgracefully early to repair to the scene, though Herman was the only one he really needed, and nothing was due to happen till the afternoon, anyhow. Crowds of Lamas were already collected around the great artificial flat where the ceremony was to take place.
"Gosh, what a mob of 'em!" marveled Crandal.
"Huh, there are more Lamas than people in Tibet," Holly informed him. "But they have to wash during their initiation ceremony," he added irrelevantly.
Suddenly a great drum boomed with startling reverberation from one side of the circle. It was answered about a minute later by another from the opposite side. And then another from another quarter; and others took it up at lessening intervals till several hundred seemed to be combining to produce a continuous thunder that rose and fell in wonderfully timed waves to the accompaniment of a low, droning chant.
This was kept up without, ceasing for the rest of the day. And the incessant quiver in the air became most irritating to the white men's ears; to all, that is to say, except Holly and the Squirrel, who seemed to be too much absorbed about something to take notice.
Presently the political officer in charge of Tibetan affairs arrived to grace the scene, accompanied by his full escort of twenty-five Gurkhas. He returned Crandal's greeting sulkily and took his seat in his appointed place without further conversation. But Crandal was not left to grieve for very long. A commotion was apparent at one side, and a venerable and richly dressed old gentleman entered, accompanied by about fifty Lamas of the Gold Seal.
"That's the Teshi Lama," whispered Holly. "This is unusual luck. Better let Herman reel off a strip on him—and then it's going to begin."
The Teshi was much gratified and a little frightened at the honor.
No sooner was this over when the drums rose to a booming roar, and a group of Lamas got up in fantastic masks, representing all the fiends and mythological beasts that primitive minds could imagine, broke through the circle from all sides and commenced a wild dance, which consisted of trying to annihilate one another. They fought as they imagined that devils might fight in Hades.
"This'll go on all day," Holly told Herman. "Take your time and cover only the best bits."
But the caperings and whirlings were so extraordinary that Herman soon filled a reel and went off to develop out his test-strip.
"How'd she run?" asked Crandal.
"Perfect!" beamed Herman.
Another company of Lamas made up in pairs as animals in papier-mâché masks and skins which would have made a stage property-man swear with envy, now entered and chased the devils off, and indulged in a dance of allegorical meaning, imitating the natural actions of the animals they represented with wonderful accuracy. Later the devils came back and a tremendous battle raged between them. Herman settled down more steadily now and got some short strips which put him into ecstasy.
After several hours of amazing performance, Crandal thought that he had enough to electrify New York and asked Herman how he stood with his film.
"Just about fifty feet left, Chief. The best I ever took."
"Well, I guess that'll do. I feel like some dinner," said Crandal.
From the other side of the circle the babu saw his preparations for departure and immediately came hurrying around.
"You have finished, Mr. Crandal?" he began with suspicious silkiness. "And now —as per arrangement, yess?" he grinned ingratiatingly.
"Wonder what mischief he's got at the back of that?" thought Holly, as Crandal carefully counted out an endless procession of ten-rupee notes. He was not left wondering long.
"And that is all right," the high Government official said, as he concealed the thick roll about his person without visibly increasing the flabby surface anywhere. "Now I will ask of you, my dear Mr. Crandal, just fifteen hundred rupees—er, bonus to cover the unpleasantness and insult which I have been subjected to."
Crandal staggered. Holly was the first to recover himself.
"Holy Pete!" he gasped. "It's a hold-up. Why you two cents of dog-meat, I'll bust you open and take the whole blame lot back."
"Oah, you are verree valiant, I know," grinned the babu, with the certainty of power behind him. "But what can you do against my whole armed escort? I can have you all arrested, and—" here he grinned with demoniac cunning— "and furthermore confiscate all your films. It is much better to pay."
The thing had been craftily planned, and the bodyguard was very evidently waiting for instructions. It was hopeless. Crandal, like a mother, was willing to save his precious film at any cost. Nothing else mattered. He restrained the frenzied Holly from falling upon the man and reached into a seemingly inexhaustible wallet. Then suddenly Holly kicked him quietly on the ankle.
"How do we know you won't grab the film anyhow, before we can get out of your jurisdiction?"
"Oah, you can do what you like with your film afterward. You can give them to a runner and start him off for the border immediately, from this verree place."
Holly pretended to consider, though it was just what he had angled for the babu to suggest.
"Very well then, you write out a pass for him to get through Chumbi without hin-drance. Right here, you boggle-eyed tree-sloth. I wouldn't trust you "
"It is verree easy to increase the bonus for insult," the babu reminded him viciously.
Crandal hastily took him by the arm and besought him to control himself. Holly seemed to be having a struggle.
"All right then," he grumbled. "You fix it with him. If I stay any longer I'll split him in halves."
With that Holly walked away and joined Herman, who never left his machine when strange mobs were around.
Crandal with reluctant precision counted out fifteen hundred rupees more to the leering babu. That made just two thousand dollars in all. The film was certainly worth far more than that; but it was the robbery that ate into his soul.
"Take him away," called Holly when it was over. "Gimme the pass, and I'll help Herman with the reels and start our best marathon champ before that pirate makes another grab."
THE babu grinned triumphantly and allowed himself to be led off. He proceeded, feeling very pleased with himself, to the rest-house; and there, though he had just left a scene of strife, he found an upheaval that drove the other out of his mind in comparison.
A huge man had just arrived and was raging up and down the floor like a rogue elephant, alone and on the verge of madness. He snatched up the bewildered babu and shook him into hiccoughing exhaustion.
"Swindle me, you miserable little nigger, would you!" he shouted at last when he had slammed him down.
"Who? What? Mr. Fitzgerald—I thought that you had broken your arms and things—they told me "
"Broken, you fool! Do I feel broken? Who told you? Who's they?"
"Why, your manager who came and took the pictures for you!"
"Pictures! Arr-r-gh! Who took pictures?"
At this juncture Crandal entered. The babu pointed weakly at him. Fitzgerald opened his mouth in a husky bellow; and then something caught in his throat and he choked and sat down more soberly, breathing stertorously. But he glared hell and death.
The babu explained long-windedly, with circumstance and detail to exonerate himself.
Crandal perked his lean head on one side as each accusation was brought home and nodded cheerfully, like a winning gamecock. Fitzgerald's rage began to climb again. His breathing was better. He rose heavily and advanced growling upon Crandal, who never flinched.
A diversion was caused by Holly, who came in whistling happily through his teeth. He took in the situation in a second and his grin widened.
"'Lo, Fitz!" he shouted cordially. "Got here at last? That bloomin' spoke you had ready to slip into our bally wheel kinder tripped you up, didn't it? What d'you think of my own patent pack-knots?"
Fitzgerald turned from Crandal and looked at Holly with bulging eyes.
"That man—that is the man who has done it all!" shrilled the babu. "That is the one to thrash. For me too—please."
Then Fitzgerald understood and rushed at Holly, berserk.
Some stocky pugilist has achieved distinction by saying, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall." Fitzgerald's whirling arms violently smote nothing. His impetus carried him forward and he felt three powerful concussions in the rear, which added just the necessary velocity to his own momentum to hurtle him stunned and breathless over a low table into a corner of the room, where he lay and slowly began to realize that he had been severely kicked.
Holly turned quietly to the babu.
"So, my little scorpion," he said pleasantly, as he twined his fingers into the paralyzed Aryan's collar, "you would urge your betters to thrash me, huh? I will therefore give myself the pleasure of slapping you." And he did, most scientifically.
Crandal finally succeeded in restraining him, horrified.
"Our film!" he gasped. "He'll grab it."
Holly grinned reassuringly.
"Chief, the bulge is with me. What d'you think I made that virtuous indignation play out on the field just now for? Just you take a front seat and watch this chameleon change color."
He addressed the babu again with soothing softness.
"And now Babuji, we'll talk a little business." He produced a short strip of film from his pocket, still wet. "Do you know what this is, Babuji? It's a test-strip from the last of a reel. If you look closely you will see that it represents a toad-shaped high Government1 official taking graft in ten-rupee notes. I have just fifty feet of that film, already on its way to the border by a fast runner with a personal pass signed by the acting political officer in charge of Tibetan affairs. Just the scene of that last fifteen-hundred-rupee hold-up, Babuji. You shouldn't have been such an extortionate snake."
The babu saw, and he shook in Holly's grasp. His whole career, past service and prospect of pension, could be blasted by that damnatory film.
"I'll sell you that film," said Holly with biting clearness, "for just two thousand dollars spot cash, in ten-rupee notes. You'll get the film as soon as I can mail it to you. Is it a trade?"
The babu never hesitated an instant.
"Many thanks, Babuji," said Holly with exaggerated politeness, and he suddenly let go the prisoner's collar, so that he dropped to the floor inert, like a spineless jelly-fish.
Holly turned to the still dazed Fitzgerald.
"And that, by the way, my dear Fitz, if you care to work it out, comes to just forty dollars a foot. I, as you have observed before, am a bally foreigner; and—you've been kicked already."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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