But there was one rope which was
the master rope. He could see that rope. If he could pull it once, it
was absolutely and mathematically certain that the disordered fleet
would reassemble itself in the backwater behind the guard-tower. But
why, he wondered, was Peroo clinging so desperately to his waist as he
hastened down the bank? It was necessary to put the Lascar aside, gently
and slowly, because it was necessary to save the boats, and, further,
to demonstrate the extreme ease of the problem that looked so difficult.
And then--but it was of no conceivable importance--a wire-rope raced
through his hand, burning it, the high bank disappeared, and with it
all the slowly dispersing factors of the problem. He was sitting in the
rainy darkness--sitting in a boat that spun like a top, and Peroo was
standing over him.
"I had forgotten," said the Lascar, slowly, "that to those fasting and
unused, the opium is worse than any wine. Those who die in Gunga go to
the Gods. Still, I have no desire to present myself before such great
ones. Can the Sahib swim?"
"What need? He can fly--fly as swiftly as the wind," was the thick
answer.
"He is mad!" muttered Peroo, under his breath. "And he threw me aside
like a bundle of dung-cakes. Well, he will not know his death.
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