He knew now
the exact distance he had to travel, for his gift had always been an
infallible instinct for the lie of a countryside. The sun was still
high in the heavens; with any luck he should be at Nazri by six o'clock.
He was still sore with wounded pride. That Marker should have divined
his weakness and left open to him a task in which he might rest with a
cheap satisfaction was bitter to his vanity. The candour of his mind
made him grant its truth, but his new-born confidence was sadly
dissipated. And he felt, too, the futility of his efforts. That one
man alone in this precipitous wilderness should hope to wake the Border
seemed a mere nightmare of presumption. But it was possible, he said to
himself. Time only was needed. If he could wake Bardur and the north,
and the forts on the passes, there would be delay enough to wake India.
If George were at Nazri there would be two for the task; if not, there
would be one at least willing and able.
It was characteristic of the man that the invasion was bounded for him
by Nazri and Bardur. He had no ears for ultimate issues and the ruin of
an empire. Another's fancy would have been busy on the future; Lewis
saw only that pass at Nazri and the telegraph-hut beyond. He must get
there and wake the Border; then the world might look after itself. As
he ran, half-stumbling, along the stony hillside he was hard at work
recounting to himself the frontier defences.
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