an
extra thousand years of Hell or whatever it was that unhappy mortals
got as a continuation of the joys of this gay world? Could he possibly
induce the vultures to carry him home--if he pledged himself to feed
them and support their progeny? They could each have a house in the
compound. It would pay them far better than eating him now. Did they
understand Pushtoo or was it Persian? Certainly not Hindustani and
Urdu. People who came shooting alone in the desert and mountains,
where vultures abounded, should learn to talk Vulture and pass the
Higher Standard in that tongue. But even if they understood him they
might be unwilling to serve a coward. _Was_ he a coward? Anyhow he lay
glued with his own blood to the spot he would never leave--unless the
vultures could be bribed. Useless to hope anything of the jackals. He
had hunted too many foxes to begin now to ask favours. Besides they
could only drag, and he had been dragged once by a horse. Quite enough
for one lifetime. But he had never injured a vulture. Pity he had no
copy of Grimm or Anderson with him--they contained much useful
information about talking foxes, obliging birds, and other matters
germane to the occasion. If he could only get them to apply it, a
working-party of vultures and jackals certainly had the strength to
transport him a considerable distance--alternately carrying and
dragging him. The big bird, stalking nearer, was probably the
_macuddam_ or foreman. Would it be at all possible for vultures to
bring water? He would be very willing to offer his right hand in
return for a little water. The bird would be welcome to eat it off his
body if it would give him a drink first. Did not ravens bring meat to
the prophet Elijah? Intelligent and obliging birds. Probably cooked
it, too. But water was more difficult to carry, if easier to procure.

How close they were coming and how they watched with their horrible
eyes--and pretended not to watch!...

Oh, the awful, unspeakable agony! Why was he alive again? Was his
chest full of terribly rusty machinery that would go on when it ought
to stop for want of oil?... If pain is punishment for sin, as placid
stall-fed Holy Bill held (never having suffered any), then Damocles de
Warrenne must have been the prince of sinners. Oh God! a little drop
of water! Rivers of it flowing not many miles away!

Monsoons of it falling recently! A water-bottle full a few yards
distant--and he must die for want of a drop ... Wha