"Leave the shoes and socks for a day or two—that is my advice," laughed the deputy as he rode away, splashing through the flood that still surrounded the compound.
The horse which had been found for Oliver was tired with its day's hard work, and would not keep pace with his uncle's and Bona's. As he lagged behind he heard a cow lowing in the moonlight. He thought of the Thibetan when he saw the horned head drinking at the stream which drained the road. He rode up to it, looking for the scarlet necklet she had described.
There it was, embroidered all over with tiny shells in a most fanciful pattern. Laughing heartily to think of so much ingenuity being wasted on a cow, he drove it before him into the gates of Runnangore, glad to have recovered one of the scattered herd for their luckless owner. He was sure that Mr. Desborough would look after her; but he meant to take her a new blanket all the same.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE CONCLUSION.
The sunrise found Old Gray Legs roaming through the koond in search of his missing mate, whilst the half-grown wolflings sat howling by the korinda bush until the sun was high. The time for sleep had come. They laid themselves down, but not to rest. The most adventurous of them all had his ear on the ground listening. It heard Old Gray Legs give tongue as he found himself at last on the track of his mate. Out they all rushed, scattering themselves over bush and boulder to join him. They were scenting the ground as they ran, and one of them alighted on the path which Carl had taken with his furry protector. Once on the scent of his lost playfellow, the keen young wolf pursued him through all its windings to the pit, which it had just light enough to avoid, then up to the heights, and back to the very gate of Mr. Desborough's compound, where it lay crouching among the ferns.
The native servants were at their usual work. Bene Madho was returning from the bazaar, with one or two of the coolies carrying home his purchases. The dandy-bearers, who went into the patches of jungle to cut grass for the horses every day, were coming back with their bundles on their heads. The Thibetan was with them. She had gone out hoping to see something of her straying cattle. Oliver, too, had risen early. He wanted to tell her to come over to Runnangore and claim her cow. In spite of her rags and her losses she was a rich woman. She had only to sell a few of her beads to buy a new herd. Bona would gladly become their purchaser, so he made this a reason for presenting himself at the gate of Noak-holly by five o'clock in the morning. He did not expect to see either Mr. or Mrs. Desborough at such an hour, but he thought he might inquire of the servants how the night had gone.
In truth, it had gone queerly enough behind the nursery purdah, where both father and mother had been working at their precious little savage with sponge, soap, and towel. The cutting of his hair was terrible, and, worse than all, the cutting of his nails, which had grown into veritable claws. The poor wee child, so long a stranger to bath or hair-brush, hated both. If his father had not been there to hold him, it would not have been possible to wash him clean from Tara's bird-lime. Painful as the tedious process must have been, he was singularly obedient. He seemed to like nothing so well as coiling himself round on his mother's lap. But to get him to sleep was an impossibility. Oh how his father longed for the lulling influences of the water-shed on the hills! Carl was continually racing after the toads and spiders, making all sorts of strange noises, feeling his way about the darkened room, and howling at each unfamiliar sound. But morning dawned, and he began to yawn and blink in the growing light. Suddenly he gave one of his frog-like leaps, parting the chintz curtains of the purdah with his head, and peeping into the veranda. Mr. Desborough was nodding; but mamma was close beside her boy, wondering what he would do next. The servants were all astir, and the gate was locked, so she let him take his first look round by daylight.
Another bound and he was over the veranda railing into the garden, where he coiled himself round in the middle of a bed of mignonnette, and settled for sleep at last.
"Better not disturb him," thought Mrs. Desborough. "After so many months in the woods he could not sleep indoors."