Guns of the Gods | Page 6

the owners of other voices piped up at once from the
shadow, all together, croaking out of tune:
"Bhig mangi shahebi! Bhig mangi shahebi!" (Alms! Alms!)
"I can see wild swans," said Theresa. "Come and look--five--six--seven
of them, flying northward, oh, ever so high up!"
"Put some clothes on, Tess!"
"I'm plenty warm."
"Maybe. But there's some skate looking at you from the garden. What's
the matter with your kimono?"
However the dawn wind was delicious, and the night-gown more
decent than some of the affairs they label frocks. Besides, the East is
used to more or less nakedness and thinks no evil of it, as women learn
quicker than men.

"All right--in a minute."
"I'll bet there's a speculator charging 'em admission at the gate,"
grumbled Dick Blaine, coming to stand beside her in pajamas. "Sure
you're right, Tess; those are swans, and that's a dawn worth seeing."
He had the deep voice that the East attributes to manliness, and the
muscular mold that never came of armchair criticism. She looked like a
child beside him, though he was agile, athletic, wiry, not enormous.
"Sahib!" resumed the voices. "Sahib! Protector of the poor!" They
whined out of darkness still, but the shadow was shortening.
"Better feed 'em, Tess. A man's starved down mighty near the knuckle
if he'll wake up this early to beg."
"Nonsense. Those are three regular bums who look on us as their
preserve. They enjoy the morning as much as we do. Begging's their
way of telling people howdy."
"Somebody pays them to come," he grumbled, helping her into a pale
blue kimono.
Tess laughed. "Sure! But it pays us too. They keep other bums away. I
talk to them sometimes."
"In English?"
"I don't think they know any. I'm learning their language."
It was his turn to laugh. "I knew a man once who learned the gipsy bolo
on a bet. Before he'd half got it you couldn't shoo tramps off his
door-step with a gun. After a time he grew to like it--flattered him, I
suppose, but decent folk forgot to ask him to their corn-roasts. Careful,
Tess, or Sialpore'll drop us from its dinner lists."
"Don't you believe it! They're crazy to learn American from me, and to
hear your cowpuncher talk. We're social lions. I think they like us as
much as we like them. Don't make that face, Dick, one maverick isn't a
whole herd, and you can't afford to quarrel with the commissioner."
He chose to change the subject.
"What are your bums' names?" he asked.
"Funny names. Bimbu, Umra and Pinga. Now you can see them, look,
the shadow's gone. Bimbu is the one with no front teeth, Umra has only
one eye, and Pinga winks automatically. Wait till you see Pinga smile.
It's diagonal instead of horizontal. Must have hurt his mouth in an
accident."
"Probably he and Bimbu fought and found the biting tough. Speaking

of dogs, strikes me we ought to keep a good big fierce one," be added
suggestively.
"No, no, Dick; there's no danger. Besides, there's Chamu."
"The bums could make short work of that parasite."
"I'm safe enough. Tom Tripe usually looks in at least once a day when
you're gone."
"Tom's a good fellow, but once a day--. A hundred things might happen.
I'd better speak to Tom Tripe about those three bums--he'll shift them!"
"Don't, Dick! I tell you they keep others away. Look, here comes
Chamu with the chota hazri."
Clad in an enormous turban and clean white linen from head to foot, a
stout Hindu appeared, superintending a tall meek underling who carried
the customary "little breakfast" of the country--fruit, biscuits and the
inevitable tea that haunts all British byways. As soon as the underling
had spread a cloth and arranged the cups and plates Chamu nudged him
into the background and stood to receive praise undivided. The salaams
done with and his own dismissal achieved with proper dignity, Chamu
drove the hamal away in front of him, and cuffed him the minute they
were out of sight. There was a noise of repeated blows from around the
corner.
"A big dog might serve better after all," mused Tess. "Chamu beats the
servants, and takes commissions, even from the beggars."
"How do you know?"
"They told me."
"Um, Bing and Ping would better keep away. There's no obligation to
camp here."
"Only, if we fired Chamu I suppose the maharajah would be offended.
He made such a great point of sending us a faithful servant."
"True. Gungadhura Singh is a suspicious rajah. He suspects me anyway.
I screwed better terms out of him than the miller got from Bob White,
and now whenever he sees me off the job he suspects me of chicanery.
If we fired Chamu he'd think