Presently he came out and found me leaving cards on the Mess.
There was no one else in the ante-room.
He said: “The Boy has gone out shooting. DOES a man shoot [missing] with a revolver and a writing-case?”
I said: “Nonsense, Major!” for I saw what was in his mind.
He said: “Nonsense or nonsense, I'm going to the Canal now—at once. I don't feel easy.”
Then he thought for a minute, and said: “Can you lie?”
“You know best,” I answered. “It's my profession.”
“Very well,” said the Major; “you must come out with me now—at once—in an ekka to the Canal to shoot black-buck. Go and put on shikar-kit—quick—and drive here with a gun.”
The Major was a masterful man; and I knew that he would not give orders for nothing. So I obeyed, and on return found the Major packed up in an ekka—gun-cases and food slung below—all ready for a shooting-trip.
He dismissed the driver and drove himself. We jogged along quietly while in the station; but as soon as we got to the dusty road across the plains, he made that pony fly. A country-bred can do nearly anything at a pinch. We covered the thirty miles in under three hours, but the poor brute was nearly dead.