King of the Khyber Rifles

King of the Khyber Rifles

The Project Gutenberg EBook of King--of the Khyber Rifles, by Talbot
Mundy (#7 in our series by Talbot Mundy)
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Title: King--of the Khyber Rifles
Author: Talbot Mundy
Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6066] [Yes, we are more than one

year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on November 1,
2002]
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THE KHYBER RIFLES ***

Digital transcription by M.R.J.
King--of the Khyber Rifles A romance of adventure By Talbot Mundy

Chapter I

Suckled were we in a school unkind On suddenly snatched deduction
And ever ahead of you (never behind!) Over the border our tracks
you'll find, Wherever some idiot feels inclined To scatter the seeds of
ruction.
For eyes we be, of Empire, we! Skinned and Puckered and quick to see
And nobody guesses how wise we be. Unwilling to advertise we be.
But, hot on the trail of ties, we be The pullers of roots of ruction!
--Son of the Indian Secret Service
The men who govern India--more power to them and her!--are few.
Those who stand in their way and pretend to help them with a flood of
words are a host. And from the host goes up an endless cry that India is
the home of thugs, and of three hundred million hungry ones.

The men who know--and Athelstan King might claim to know a little--
answer that she is the original home of chivalry and the modern
mistress of as many decent, gallant, native gentlemen as ever graced a
page of history.
The charge has seen the light in print that India--well-spring of plague
and sudden death and money-lenders--has sold her soul to twenty
succeeding conquerors in turn. Athelstan King and a hundred like him
whom India has picked from British stock and taught, can answer truly
that she has won it back again from each by very purity of purpose.
So when the world war broke the world was destined to be surprised on
India's account. The Red Sea, full of racing transports crowded with
dark-skinned gentlemen, whose one prayer was that the war might not
be over before they should have struck a blow for Britain, was the
Indian army's answer to the press.
The rest of India paid its taxes and contributed and muzzled itself and
set to work to make supplies. For they understand in India, almost as
nowhere else, the meaning of such old-fashioned words as gratitude
and honor; and of such platitudes as, "Give and it shall be given unto
you."
More than one nation was deeply shocked by India's answer to
"practises" that had extended over years. But there were men in India
who learned to love India long ago with that love that casts out fear,
who knew exactly what was going to happen and could therefore afford
to wait for orders instead of running round in rings.
Athelstan King, for instance, nothing yet but a captain unattached, sat
in meagerly furnished quarters with his heels on a table. He is not a
doctor, yet he read a book on surgery, and when he went over to the
club he carried the book under his arm and continued to read it there.
He is considered a rotten conversationalist, and he did nothing at the
club to improve his reputation.
"Man alive--get a move on!" gasped a wondering senior, accepting a
cigar. Nobody knows where he gets those long, strong, black cheroots,

and nobody ever refuses one.
"Thanks--got a book to read," said King.
"You ass! Wake up and grab the best thing in sight, as a stepping stone
to something better! Wake up and worry!"
King grinned. You have to when you don't agree with a senior officer,
for the army is like a school in many more ways than one.
"Help yourself, sir! I'll take the job that's left when