The procession creaked past Hawkins's camp - three stained tents under a clump of dead trees, behind them the famine-shed, where a crowd of hopeless ones tossed their arms around the cooking-kettles.
"'Wish to Heaven William had kept out of it," said Scott to himself, after a glance. "We'll have cholera, sure as a gun, when the Rains break."
But William seemed to have taken kindly to the operations of the Famine Code, which, when famine is declared, supersede the workings of the ordinary law. Scott saw her, the centre of a mob of weeping women, in a calico riding-habit, and a blue-grey felt hat with a gold puggaree.
"I want fifty rupees, please. I forgot to ask Jack before he went away. Can you lend it me? It's for condensed-milk for the babies," said she.
Scott took the money from his belt, and handed it over without a word. "For goodness sake, take care of yourself," he said.
"Oh, I shall be all right. We ought to get the milk in two days. By the way, the orders are, I was to tell you, that you're to take one of Sir Jim's horses.There's a grey Cabuli here that I thought would be just your style, so I've said you'd take him. Was that right?"
"That's awfully good of you. We can't either of us talk much about style, I am afraid."
Scott was in a weather-stained drill shooting-kit, very white at the seams and a little frayed at the wrists. William regarded him thoughtfully, from his pith helmet to his greased ankle-boots. "You look very nice, I think. Are you sure you've everything you'll need - quinine, chlorodyne, and so on?"
"'Think so," said Scott, patting three or four of his shooting-pockets as he mounted and rode alongside his convoy.
"Good-bye," he cried.