Boolba.

CHAPTER XIX

THE END OF BOOLBA

Cherry Bim, the last of the party to enter the room, made a dash for the
door, and came face to face with the levelled rifle held in the hands of
a soldier who had evidently been waiting the summons of Boolba's shout.
Behind him were three other men. Cherry dropped to the ground as the
man's rifle went off, shooting as he fell, and the man tumbled down.
Scrambling to his feet, he burst through the doorway like a human cannon
ball, but not even his nimble guns could save him this time. The hall
was full of soldiers, and they bore him down by sheer weight.

They dragged him into the refectory, bleeding, and the diversion at any
rate had had one good effect. Only Boolba was there, roaring and raging,
groping a swift way round the walls, one hand searching, the other
guiding.

"Where are they?" he bellowed. "Come to me, my little beauty. Hay! I
will burn alive. Where are they?"

"Little Commissary," said the leader of the soldiers, "she is not here.
They did not pass out."

"Search, search!" shouted Boolba, striking at the man. "Search, you
pig!"

"We have the other boorjoo," stammered the man.

"Search!" yelled Boolba. "There is a door near the fire--is it open?"

The door lay in the shadow, and the man ran to look.

"It is open, comrade," he said.

"After them, after them!"

Boolba howled the words, and in terror they left their prisoner and
flocked out of the door. Cherry stood in the centre of the room, his
hands strapped behind his back, his shirt half ripped from his body, and
looked up into the big blinded face which came peering towards him as
though, by an effort of will, it could glimpse his enemy.

"You are there?"

Boolba's hands passed lightly over the gun-man's face, fell upon his
shoulders, slipped down the arm.

"Is this the thief? Yes, yes; this is the thief. What is he doing?"

He turned, not knowing that the soldiers had left him alone, and again
his hands passed lightly over Cherry's face.

"This is good," he said, as he felt the bands on the wrists.
"To-morrow, little brother, you will be dead."

He might have spared himself his exercise and his reproaches, because to
Cherry Bim's untutored ear his reviling was a mere jabber of meaningless
words. Cherry was looking round to find something sharp enough on which
to cut the strap which bound him, but there was nothing that looked like
a knife in the room. He knew he had a minute, an