The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [443]
Ash rose unsteadily, and stood for a moment or two with closed eyes, striving for control. Then he stooped to remove bit and headband and loosen the girth so that Dagobaz might be more comfortable. Untying the water-bottle from its fastening, he emptied the luke-warm contents on the ground and taking it to the pool, refilled it with cool water.
He had forgotten his own needs, but he knew that Dagobaz had been lured to disaster by thirst, and that at least should be assuaged. The black horse was dazed and in pain, and very weary, but he took the water gratefully, and when the flask was empty, Ash handed it over his shoulder to be refilled without looking round or realizing that it was not Bukta but Anjuli who stood beside him and filled it again and again.
Bukta was keeping an anxious eye on the fast-fading light, and when he saw that Dagobaz would take no more, he came forward and said: ‘Leave this to me, Sahib. He will feel nothing, I promise you. Put the Rani-Sahiba on my pony and go on a little way.’
Ash turned his head and said harshly: ‘There is no need. If I can shoot a young woman I knew well, I can surely do the same for my horse.’
He took out the revolver, but Bukta stretched out a hand for it and said gravely: ‘No, Sahib. It is better that I should do this.’
Ash stared back at him for a long moment, and then he sighed deeply and said: ‘Yes, you are right. But you will have to do it while I am here, for if I go away he will try to get up and follow me.’
Bukta nodded, and Ash relinquished the revolver and knelt to gentle Dagobaz's weary head and whisper loving words in his ear. Dagobaz nuzzled him and whickered softly in reply, and when the shot came he jerked once. And that was all.
‘Come,’ said Bukta shortly. ‘It is time we left. Do we take the saddle and bridle?’
‘No. Leave them.’ Ash got to his feet as slowly and stiffly as though he had been an old, old man, and reeling to the pool, sank down by the edge to plunge his face into the water and gulp it down in great mouthfuls like a parched animal, drenching his head and neck and washing away the dust and the tears and the dear, familiar smell of Dagobaz. His thirst quenched he arose, dripping, and shook the water out of his hair and eyes. Anjuli was already seated on the pony, and Bukta turned without a word and set off up the steep hillside in the gathering dusk.
Ash's foot touched something and he looked down and saw the empty water-bottle – and would have left it, because after this he would never be able to drink from it again without remembering all the fleetness and beauty and strength that had once been Dagobaz. But there would be no more water until they reached the spring among the trees, and that was many miles distant. Juli would be thirsty before then. He picked up the bottle and refilled it, and slinging it over his shoulder, followed after the others without looking back to where Dagobaz slept his last sleep among the shadows.
By the time they reached the ridge the stars were out, but Bukta hurried them on and only stopped at last when Anjuli fell asleep in the saddle and would have toppled out of it if they had not happened to be on a level stretch of ground. Even then he had insisted that they camp for the night among a number of large boulders that formed a rough circle in the centre of a wide fall of shale, though it had not been a particularly comfortable spot or one that was easy to reach.
‘But you will be able to sleep in safety here,’ said Bukta, ‘and with no need to keep watch, for not even a snake could approach without setting these stones aslide and rousing you with the clatter.’
He had coaxed the pony across the treacherous, shifting surface, and having tethered it on a grassy slope on the far side of the shale, returned to clear away the larger stones and loose debris from between the boulders to make a sleeping place for Anjuli. That being done, he had produced food for them all: chuppattis that he had