He vaguely heard her cry out, vaguely saw Chantel rise above the lantern
and slash down at him with the lowdah's pole. The bamboo struck him,
heavy but glancing, on the head. He staggered, lost his footing, and
fell into the mud, where, as though his choice had already overtaken
him, he lay without thought or emotion, watching the dim light float off
into the darkness.
By and by it was gone. From somewhere in another direction came a sharp,
continual, crackling fusillade, like the snapping of dry bamboo-joints
in a fire. The unstirring night grew heavier with the smell of burnt
gunpowder. But Rudolph, sitting in the mud, felt only that his eyes were
dry and leaden in their sockets, that there was a drumming in his ears,
and that if heat and weariness thus made an end of him, he need no
longer watch the oppressive multitude of stars, or hear the monotony of
flowing water.
Something stirred in the dry grass above him. Without turning, he heard
a man scramble down the bank; without looking up, he felt some one pause
and stoop close. When at last, in profound apathy, he raised his eyes,
he saw against the starlight the hat, head, and shoulders of a coolie.
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