and his
constables would guard the loaded grain-cars, also picking up people,
and would drop them at a camp a hundred miles south. Scott--Hawkins
was very glad to see Scott again--would that same hour take charge of a
convoy of bullock-carts, and would go south, feeding as he went, to yet
another famine-camp, where he would leave his starving--there would
be no lack of starving on the route--and wait for orders by telegraph.
Generally, Scott was in all small things to act as he thought best.

William bit her under lip. There was no one in the wide world like her
one brother, but Martyn's orders gave him no discretion.

She came out on the platform, masked with dust from head to foot, a
horse-shoe wrinkle on her forehead, put here by much thinking during the
past week, but as self-possessed as ever. Mrs. Jim--who should have been
Lady Jim but that no one remembered the title--took possession of her
with a little gasp.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she almost sobbed. "You oughtn't to, of
course, but there--there isn't another woman in the place, and we must
help each other, you know; and we've all the wretched people and the
little babies they are selling."

"I've seen some," said William.

"Isn't it ghastly? I've bought twenty; they're in our camp; but won't
you have something to eat first? We've more than ten people can do here;
and I've got a horse for you. Oh, I'm so glad you've come, dear. You're
a Punjabi, too, you know."

"Steady, Lizzie," said Hawkins, over his shoulder. "We'll look after
you, Miss Martyn. 'Sorry I can't ask you to breakfast, Martyn. You'll
have to eat as you go. Leave two of your men to help Scott. These
poor devils can't stand up to load carts. Saunders" (this to the
engine-driver, who was half asleep in the cab), "back down and get those
empties away. You've 'line clear' to Anundrapillay; they'll give you
orders north of that. Scott, load up your carts from that B. P. P.
truck, and be off as soon as you can. The Eurasian in the pink shirt is
your interpreter and guide. You'll find an apothecary of sorts tied to
the yoke of the second wagon. He's been trying to bolt; you'll have to
look after him. Lizzie, drive Miss Martyn to camp, and tell them to send
the red horse down here for me."

Scott, with Faiz Ullah and two policemen, was already busied with
the carts, backing them up to the truck and unbolting the sideboards
quietly, while the others pitched in the bags of millet and wheat.