Summary

The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier

There Ganda Singh the dafadar and his old comrade Nagdu were seated, gazing into the glow, with their rifles across their knees.
"Hai! Ennicott Sahib is truly a very great man," said Nagdu. "We were there in the little house, with our guns on the wall, looking up the road, when there came a soft voice behind us. 'Twas like cold water trickling down my back, O Ganda. And when I turned and saw the huzur's two eyes like little bits of blue steel, I felt my soul shrivel up inside me: that is true, old friend.
Source: Gutenberg

The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier

Just beyond the fire lay the still form of a man. Holding his breath, Lawrence bent down, and looked upon the face of his uncle, asleep.
Though his footsteps had been silent, the fact of his presence seemed to penetrate the consciousness of the sleeping man. He opened his eyes.
"Ah, Lawrence," he said, "what is this I hear about great guns?"
Lawrence could not speak. He clasped his uncle's hand, and felt with a kind of surprise that it was warm as his own.
"Poor old boy! I expect you've had a bad time," Mr. Appleton went on.
Source: Gutenberg

The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-west Frontier

For a few moments nothing was heard but the gurgling rush of the river; then with startling suddenness the three watchers were aware that men were scrambling up the slope. They sprang up. Dark shapes were dimly outlined beyond the rocks. The Pathans fired, aiming as it were at shadows. Their shots did not check the rush. In another moment, clubbing their rifles, Lawrence and they were raining blows upon a swarm of figures that seemed to spring out of the black depths beneath them.
Source: Gutenberg

Get perspective with Kwize: daily news enlightened by great literature