The Broken Road | Page 9

A. E. W. Mason

"There are many whom we could more easily have spared. Of course
the thing will go on. That's certain," he said, nodding his head. A cold
satisfaction shone in his eyes. "But Linforth was part of the Thing."
He passed the second letter to Dewes, who read it; and for a while both
men remained thoughtful and, as it seemed, unaware for the moment of
the Diwan's presence. There was this difference, however. Luffe was
thinking of "the Thing"; Dewes was pondering on the grim little
tragedy which these letters revealed, and thanking Heaven in all
simplicity of heart that there was no woman waiting in fear because of
him and trembling at sight of each telegraph boy she met upon the road.
The grim little tragedy was not altogether uncommon upon the Indian
frontier, but it gained vividness from the brevity of the letters which
related it. The first one, that in the woman's hand, written from a house
under the Downs of Sussex, told of the birth of a boy in words at once
sacred and simple. They were written for the eyes of one man, and
Major Dewes had a feeling that his own, however respectfully, violated
their sanctity. The second letter was an unfinished one written by the

husband to the wife from his tent amongst the rabble of Abdulla
Mahommed. Linforth clearly understood that this was the last letter he
would write. "I am sitting writing this by the light of a candle. The tent
door is open. In front of me I can see the great snow-mountains. All the
ugliness of the lower shale slopes is hidden. By such a moonlight, my
dear, may you always look back upon my memory. For it is over, Sybil.
They are waiting until I fall asleep. I have been warned of it. But I shall
fall asleep to-night. I have kept awake for two nights. I am very tired."
He had fallen asleep even before the letter was completed. There was a
message for the boy and a wish:
"May he meet a woman like you, my dear, when his time comes, and
love her as I love you," and again came the phrase, "I am very tired." It
spoke of the boy's school, and continued: "Whether he will come out
here it is too early to think about. But the road will not be finished--and
I wonder. If he wants to, let him! We Linforths belong to the road," and
for the third time the phrase recurred, "I am very tired," and upon the
phrase the letter broke off.
Dewes could imagine Linforth falling forward with his head upon his
hands, his eyes heavy with sleep, while from without the tent the
patient Chiltis watched until he slept.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
"They cast a noose over his head," replied the Diwan, "dragged him
from the tent and stabbed him."
Dewes nodded and turned to Luffe.
"These letters and things must go home to his wife. It's hard on her,
with a boy only a few months old."
"A boy?" said Luffe, rousing himself from his thoughts. "Oh! there's a
boy? I had not noticed that. I wonder how far the road will have gone
when he comes out." There was no doubt in Luffe's mind, at all events,
as to the boy's destiny. He turned to the Diwan.

"Tell Wafadar Nazim that I will open the gates of this fort and march
down to British territory after he has made submission," he said.
The Diwan smiled in a melancholy way. He had done his best, but the
British were, of course, all mad. He bowed himself out of the room and
stalked through the alleys to the gates.
"Wafadar Nazim must be very sure of victory," said Luffe. "He would
hardly have given us that unfinished letter had he a fear we should
escape him in the end."
"He could not read what was written," said Dewes.
"But he could fear what was written," replied Luffe.
As he walked across the courtyard he heard the crack of a rifle. The
sound came from across the river. The truce was over, the siege was
already renewed.
CHAPTER IV
LUFFE LOOKS FORWARD
It was the mine underneath the North Tower which brought the career
of Luffe to an end. The garrison, indeed, had lived in fear of this peril
ever since the siege began. But inasmuch as no attempt to mine had
been made during the first month, the fear had grown dim. It was
revived during the fifth week. The officers were at mess at nine o'clock
in the evening, when a havildar of Sikhs burst into the courtyard with
the news that the sound of a pick could be heard from the chamber of
the
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