formed its work of castigation; and
while Saxham scored repentance upon the hide of his blacker brother,
holding him writhing, shouting, and bellowing at the full stretch of one
muscular arm, as he plied the other he kept a foot on Rasu the Sweeper, so
as to have him handy when his turn came. Meanwhile, the Oriental, with
tears and lamentable howlings, wound about the doctor's leg, a vocal worm,
deprecating tyranny.

"Your Honour is my father and mother. Let the hand of justice refrain from
excoriating the person of the unfortunate, wreaking double vengeance upon
the hubshi, who is but fuel for Hell, like all his accursed race, and
full explanation shall be made."

He was jerked upward by the scruff, as, smarting, blubbering Africa
retired to the shadow of the waggons.

"Well, what have you got to say?"

The bellow of the town batteries, with the clack--clack--clack! of the
Hotchkiss that had been removed from the armoured train and mounted on the
North Fort, reduced the tirade to pantomime.

"This is a bad, a very bad, place for the son of my mother." The lean
brown right hand swept upwards to the thick canopy of white smoke that the
shifting breeze rolled back from the Cemetery Earthworks. "The food of
coarse grain is diet for camels, and the water stinks very greatly.
Moreover, it is better for thy slave to die amongst defilements than to
carry buckets and be chased by devils in iron pots thirsting for the blood
of men. Aie--aie!"

One of the enemy's Maxim-Nordenfelts had loosed off a group of the
gaily-painted little shells. With the reduplicated rattle of the
detonation, they passed over the laager, bursting as they went, sending
their fan-shaped showers of splinters broadcast. Slatternly women and
scared children bolted for their burrows. Rasu the Sweeper dived
frantically between the fore and hind wheels of a waggon, praying to all
the gods of the low-caste to ward off those wicked little bits of rending
metal....

"Anyone hurt?" called Saxham.

"No one, I think," called back the strong sweet voice of the
Mother-Superior, who had come out of a hovel, where she was tending some
sick. There was a glint in her deep eyes as she regarded Saxham's thorough
handiwork that told her approval of castigation well deserved. Then:

"Maharaj! Oh, Maharaj! Succour in calamity! Aid for the dying! Hai, hai,
behold how I bleed!"

The red-turbaned martyr rolled in the unclean litter, elevating a
stick-like brown leg, i