The Star of India
Copyright© 2026 by Edward S. Ellis
Chapter 22: The Ghoojurs.
Meanwhile Harkins and Avery were in need of a counselor, guide and friend.
The first, as will be recalled, dropped from the limbs of the tree, where he had taken refuge when the runaway elephant caused the howdah to be scraped from his huge back.
The first act of the sportsman, after reaching the ground, was to take a look at the demolished structure lying at the side of the road.
“Howdy?” he exclaimed, with a laugh; “considered purely as a howdah you are now of little account. I had hard work to keep my rifle all through this flurry, but I believe it hasn’t received one half the bruises that I have. Is that you, doctor?”
The surgeon came forward and the two shook hands, glad enough that the adventure had come to such a fortunate ending for themselves, though the main purpose for which it was undertaken had miscarried.
“We can’t get back to the bungalow too soon,” said Harkins; “the night is pretty well gone, and there seem to be plenty of the natives no matter in what direction we turn.”
“Yes, and there are some of them coming this way,” remarked the doctor, as they started southward.
“There are only two horsemen, and we needn’t turn aside for them.”
The natives came along at an easy gallop, and neither halted nor slackened their speed, as they identified one of the Europeans at least, through the dust raised by the animals.
They had not gone far, however, when they suddenly wheeled and let fly with a couple of carbines at the young men. The bullets passed close, and the astounded Harkins, instantly bringing his gun to his shoulder, returned the shot. He missed, probably confused by the dust and his own excitement.
The ruffians galloped off, but there was little doubt that they would return. The fugitives decided to keep to the highway a little longer, and despite the extreme heat, moved at the fastest possible walk. The strong moonlight was of great help, but they were alarmed by the sound of firing, which they feared meant an attack upon the bungalow. The sight of a crowd swarming around a carriage in the road told the awful story. The wretches were so absorbed in their scramble for plunder, that they paid no attention to the two figures, which, leaving the road, made a wide detour beyond them.
Coming back to the highway once more, they pressed on with the same haste, and in due time reached the bungalow, whose low thatched roof they recognized while yet some distance away.
They quickly found that no one was in or near it.
“I don’t know whether this is a bad omen or not,” said Avery, whose solicitude was distressing.
“I hope it means that they have withdrawn to a safe place,” remarked the more hopeful Harkins.
“That may be, but how are we to find out?”
“We shall have to depend on Luchman to open communication, for it is out of our power to do it ourselves.”
“Here is another of the dogs; be ready for him, Harkins, and shoot first.”
“I guess I won’t be in a hurry,” laughed the other, who, suspecting from the first the identity of the stranger, now saw that it was Luchman himself, that native rightly believing that his friends would do their best to reach the bungalow where they had parted from the others.
A minute or two was enough for each party to reach an understanding.
There was no time to lose. Day was breaking, and the mutineers and budmashes were growing altogether too numerous for comfort. The guide, therefore, quickly led the way back to the jungle, which, dark as it was, was easily threaded by him.
His companions kept close behind, and they had not gone far before their leader stopped.
“I think this is the spot, sahib,” he said in a voice which despite its gentleness showed a marked tremor.
“I don’t see how you can know, when everything is so indistinct. Helloa, friends! Where are you?”
Guarded as was the call of Avery, it was loud enough to be heard by any one within a radius of a hundred feet, but the listening ears caught no response.
“Call again, sahib.”
Avery did as requested, but with no more result than before.
“They have moved further into the jungle,” suggested Harkins. “Let’s follow them.”
Luchman did not speak, but in the same stealthy fashion advanced fully two hundred yards, stopping several times and emitting a peculiar whistling sound, which any member of the missionary’s family would have been quick to recognize had it been heard. Both Avery and Harkins also signaled and called so often that there could be only one reason for the failure of reply: their friends were beyond hearing.
“They are gone, sahib,” said Luchman, “and I have no means of finding where they are.”
He explained that the last words of the missionary when they parted on the edge of the jungle included his pledge that they would not leave the spot, unless compelled to do so by the approach of danger. As he had gone away, there could be no doubt therefore of the reason for such a step.
“But why should they have gone so far,” asked Harkins, “when the jungle is dense and dark enough to afford all the concealment they could need? Had the wretches approached, our friends would have had to pick their way only a short distance when they would be as invisible as if in the very heart of the jungle.”
“It looks as if they had overestimated the danger. Luchman, isn’t this long night almost ended?”
By way of answer he pointed to the east, where the light of the rising sun was beginning to show itself. Darkness was fleeing from the earth.
“I am glad of that,” said the distressed surgeon.
“And why?” asked Harkins.
“Our eyes will be of more service; Luchman will find out something about the family, for they must have left signs in the jungle that will give some clew.”
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