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    Way of an Eagle
    By E.M. DELL




    The Way of an Eagle


    By E.M. DELL

    1911




    CONTENTS



    PART I


    CHAPTER

    I.--THE TRUST

    II.--A SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER

    III.--THE VICTIM OF TREACHERY

    IV.--DESOLATION

    V.--THE DEVIL IN THE WILDERNESS

    VI.--WHEN STRONG MEN FAIL

    VII.--THE COMING OF AN ARMY



    PART II


    VIII.--COMRADES

    IX.--THE SCHOOL OF SORROW

    X.--THE EAGLE SWOOPS

    XI.--THE FIRST FLIGHT

    XII.--THE MESSAGE

    XIII.--THE VOICE OF A FRIEND

    XIV.--THE POISON OF ADDERS

    XV.--THE SUMMONS

    XVI.--THE ORDEAL



    PART III


    XVII.--An Old Friend

    XVIII.--The Explanation

    XIX.--A Hero Worshipper

    XX.--News from the East

    XXI.--A Harbour of Refuge

    XXII.--An Old Story

    XXIII.--The Sleep Called Death

    XXIV.--The Creed of a Fighter

    XXV.--A Scented Letter

    XXVI.--The Eternal Flame

    XXVII.--The Eagle Caged

    XXVIII.--The Lion's Skin

    XXIX.--Old Friends Meet

    XXX.--An Offer of Friendship

    XXXI.--The Eagle Hovers



    PART IV


    XXXII.--The Face in the Storm

    XXXIII.--The Lifting of the Mask

    XXXIV.--At the Gate of Death

    XXXV.--The Armistice

    XXXVI.--The Eagle Strikes

    XXXVII. THE PENALTY FOR SENTIMENT

    XXXVIII. THE WATCHER OF THE CLIFF

    XXXIX. BY SINGLE COMBAT

    XL. THE WOMAN'S CHOICE

    XLI. THE EAGLE'S PREY

    XLII. THE HARDEST FIGHT OF ALL

    XLIII. REQUIESCAT

    XLIV. LOVE'S PRISONER



    PART V


    XLV. THE VISION

    XLVI. THE HEART OF A MAN

    XLVII. IN THE NAME OF FRIENDSHIP

    XLVIII. THE HEALING OF THE BREACH

    XLIX. THE LOWERING OF THE FLAG

    L. EREBUS

    LI. THE BIRD OF PARADISE

    LII. A WOMAN'S OFFERING

    LIII. THE LAST SKIRMISH

    LIV. SURRENDER

    LV. OMNIA VINCIT AMOR

    LVI. THE EAGLE SOARS




    "There be three things which are too wonderful
    for me, yea, four which I know not:

    The way of an eagle in the air;
    the way of a serpent upon a rock;
    the way of a ship in the midst of the sea;
    and the way of a man with a maid."

    Proverbs xxx, 18-19.




    THE WAY OF AN EAGLE




    PART I




    CHAPTER I

    THE TRUST


    The long clatter of an irregular volley of musketry rattled warningly
    from the naked mountain ridges; over a great grey shoulder of rock
    the sun sank in a splendid opal glow; from very near at hand came the
    clatter of tin cups and the sound of a subdued British laugh. And in
    the room of the Brigadier-General a man lifted his head from his hands
    and stared upwards with unseeing, fixed eyes.

    There was an impotent, crushed look about him as of one nearing the
    end of his strength. The lips under the heavy grey moustache moved a
    little as though they formed soundless words. He drew his breath once
    or twice sharply through his teeth. Finally, with a curious groping
    movement he reached out and struck a small hand-gong on the table in
    front of him.

    The door slid open instantly and an Indian soldier stood in the
    opening. The Brigadier stared full at him for several seconds as if he
    saw nothing, his lips still moving secretly, silently. Then suddenly,
    with a stiff gesture, he spoke.

    "Ask the major sahib and the two captain sahibs to come to me here."

    The Indian saluted and vanished like a swift-moving shadow.

    The Brigadier sank back into his chair, his head drooped forward, his
    hands clenched. There was tragedy, hopeless and absolute, in every
    line of him.

    There came the careless clatter of spurred heels and loosely-slung
    swords in the passage outside of the half-closed door, the sound of a
    stumble, a short ejaculation, and again a smothered laugh.

    "Confound you Grange! Why can't you keep your feet to yourself, you
    ungainly Triton, and give us poor minnows a chance?"

    The Brigadier sat upright with a jerk. It was growing rapidly dark.

    "Come in, all of you," he said. "I have something to say. As well to
    shut the door, Ratcliffe, though it is not a council of war."

    "There being nothing left to discuss, sir," returned the voice that
    had laughed. "It is just a simple case of sitting tight now till
    Bassett comes round the corner."

    The Brigadier glanced up at the speaker and caught the last glow of
    the fading sunset reflected on his face. It was a clean-shaven face
    that should have possessed a fair skin, but by reason of unfavourable
    circumstances it was burnt to a deep yellow-brown. The features were
    pinched and wrinkled--they might have belonged to a very old man; but
    the eyes that smiled down into the Brigadier's were shrewd, bright,
    monkey-like. They expressed a cheeriness almost grotesque. The two men
    whom he had followed into the room stood silent among the shadows. The
    gloom was such as could be felt.

    Suddenly, in short, painful tones the Brigadier began to speak.

    "Sit down," he said. "I have sent for you to ask one among you to
    undertake for me a certain service which must be accomplished, but
    which I--" he paused and again audibly caught his breath between his
    teeth--"which I--am unable to execute for myself."

    An instant's silence followed the halting speech. Then the young
    officer who stood against the door stepped briskly forward.

    "What's the job, sir? I'll wager my evening skilly I carry it
    through."

    One of the men in the shadows moved, and spoke in a repressive tone.
    "Shut up, Nick! This is no mess-room joke."

    Nick made a sharp, half-contemptuous gesture. "A joke only ceases
    to be a joke when there is no one left to laugh, sir," he said. "We
    haven't come to that at present."

    He stood in front of the Brigadier for a moment--an insignificant
    figure but for the perpetual suggestion of simmering activity that
    pervaded him; then stepped behind the commanding officer's chair, and
    there took up his stand without further words.

    The Brigadier paid no attention to him. His mind was fixed upon one
    subject only. Moreover, no one ever took Nick Ratcliffe seriously. It
    seemed a moral impossibility.

    "It is quite plain to me," he said heavily at length, "that the time
    has come to face the situation. I do not speak for the discouragement
    of you brave fellows. I know that I can rely upon each one of you to
    do your duty to the utmost. But we are bound to look at things as they
    are, and so prepare for the inevitable. I for one am firmly convinced
    that General Bassett cannot possibly reach us in time."

    He paused, but no one spoke. The man behind him was leaning forward,
    listening intently.

    He went on with an effort. "We are a mere handful. We have dwindled
    to four white men among a host of dark. Relief is not even within a
    remote distance of us, and we are already bordering upon starvation.
    We may hold out for three days more. And then"--his breath came
    suddenly short, but he forced himself to continue--"I have to think of
    my child. She will be in your hands. I know you will all defend her to
    the last ounce of your strength; but which of you"--a terrible gasping
    checked his utterance for many labouring seconds; he put his hand over
    his eyes--"which of you," he whispered at last, his words barely
    audible, "will have the strength to--shoot her before your own last
    moment comes?"

    The question quivered through the quiet room as if wrung from the
    twitching lips by sheer torture. It went out in silence--a dreadful,
    lasting silence in which the souls of men, stripped naked of human
    convention, stood confronting the first primaeval instinct of human
    chivalry.

    It continued through many terrible seconds--that silence, and through
    it no one moved, no one seemed to breathe. It was as if a spell
    had been cast upon the handful of Englishmen gathered there in the
    deepening darkness.

    The Brigadier sat bowed and motionless at the table, his head sunk in
    his hands.

    Suddenly there was a quiet movement behind him, and the spell was
    broken. Ratcliffe stepped deliberately forward and spoke.

    "General," he said quietly, "if you will put your daughter in my care,
    I swear to you, so help me God, that no harm of any sort shall touch
    her."

    There was no hint of emotion in his voice, albeit the words were
    strong; but it had a curious effect upon those who heard it. The
    Brigadier raised his head sharply, and peered at him; and the other
    two officers started as men suddenly stumbling at an unexpected
    obstacle in a familiar road.

    One of them, Major Marshall, spoke, briefly and irritably, with a
    touch of contempt. His nerves were on edge in that atmosphere of
    despair.

    "You, Nick!" he said. "You are about the least reliable man in
    the garrison. You can't be trusted to take even reasonable care of
    yourself. Heaven only knows how it is you weren't killed long ago. It
    was thanks to no discretion on your part. You don't know the meaning
    of the word."

    Nick did not answer, did not so much as seem to hear. He was standing
    before the Brigadier. His eyes gleamed in his alert face--two weird
    pin-points of light.

    "She will be safe with me," he said, in a tone that held not the
    smallest shade of uncertainty.

    But the Brigadier did not speak. He still searched young Ratcliffe's
    face as a man who views through field-glasses a region distant and
    unexplored.

    After a moment the officer who had remained silent throughout came
    forward a step and spoke. He was a magnificent man with the physique
    of a Hercules. He had remained on his feet, impassive but observant,
    from the moment of his entrance. His voice had that soft quality
    peculiar to some big men.

    "I am ready to sell my life for Miss Roscoe's safety, sir," he said.

    Nick Ratcliffe jerked his shoulders expressively, but said nothing. He
    was waiting for the General to speak. As the latter rose slowly, with
    evident effort, from his chair, he thrust out a hand, as if almost
    instinctively offering help to one in sore need.

    General Roscoe grasped it and spoke at last. He had regained his
    self-command. "Let me understand you, Ratcliffe," he said. "You
    suggest that I should place my daughter in your charge. But I must
    know first how far you are prepared to go to ensure her safety."

    He was answered instantly, with an unflinching promptitude he had
    scarcely expected.

    "I am prepared to go to the uttermost limit, sir," said Nicholas
    Ratcliffe, his fingers closing like springs upon the hand that gripped
    his, "if there is a limit. That is to say, I am ready to go through
    hell for her. I am a straight shot, a cool shot, a dead shot. Will you
    trust me?"

    His voice throbbed with sudden feeling. General Roscoe was watching
    him closely. "Can I trust you, Nick?" he said.

    There was an instant's silence, and the two men in the background
    were aware that something passed between them--a look or a rapid
    sign--which they did not witness. Then reckless and debonair came
    Nick's voice.

    "I don't know, sir. But if I am untrustworthy, may I die to-night!"

    General Roscoe laid his free hand upon the young man's shoulder.

    "Is it so, Nick?" he said, and uttered a heavy sigh. "Well--so be it
    then. I trust you."

    "That settles it, sir," said Nick cheerily. "The job is mine."

    He turned round with a certain arrogance of bearing, and walked to the
    door. But there he stopped, looking back through the darkness at the
    dim figures he had left.

    "Perhaps you will tell Miss Roscoe that you have appointed me
    deputy-governor," he said. "And tell her not to be frightened, sir.
    Say I'm not such a bogey as I look, and that she will be perfectly
    safe with me." His tone was half-serious, half-jocular. He wrenched
    open the door not waiting for a reply.

    "I must go back to the guns," he said, and the next moment was gone,
    striding carelessly down the passage, and whistling a music-hall
    ballad as he went.




    CHAPTER II

    A SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER


    In the centre of the little frontier fort there was a room which one
    and all of its defenders regarded as sacred. It was an insignificant
    chamber, narrow as a prison cell and almost as bare; but it was the
    safest place in the fort. In it General Roscoe's daughter--the only
    white woman in the garrison--had dwelt safely since the beginning of
    that dreadful siege.

    Strictly forbidden by her father to stir from her refuge without
    his express permission, she had dragged out the long days in close
    captivity, living in the midst of nerve-shattering tumult but taking
    no part therein. She was little more than a child, and accustomed
    to render implicit obedience to the father she idolised, or she had
    scarcely been persuaded to submit to this rigorous seclusion. It would
    perhaps have been better for her physically and even mentally to
    have gone out and seen the horrors which were being daily enacted all
    around her. She had at first pleaded for at least a limited freedom,
    urging that she might take her part in caring for the wounded. But her
    father had refused this request with such decision that she had never
    repeated it. And so she had seen nothing while hearing much, lying
    through

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