



Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Franks and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.










THE WINDS OF THE WORLD

By TALBOT MUNDY




THE WINDS OF THE WORLD


  Ever the Winds of the World fare forth
    (Oh, listen ye! Ah, listen ye!),
  East and West, and South and North,
  Shuttles weaving back and forth
    Amid the warp! (Oh, listen ye!)
  Can sightless touch--can vision keen
  Hunt where the Winds of the World have been
  And searching, learn what rumors mean?
    (Nay, ye who are wise! Nay, listen ye!)
  When tracks are crossed and scent is stale,
  'Tis fools who shout--the fast who fail!
    But wise men harken-Listen ye!

YASMINI'S SONG.




CHAPTER I


A watery July sun was hurrying toward a Punjab sky-line, as if weary of
squandering his strength on men who did not mind, and resentful of the
unexplainable--a rainy-weather field-day. The cold steel and khaki of
native Indian cavalry at attention gleamed motionless between British
infantry and two batteries of horse artillery. The only noticeable
sound was the voice of a general officer, that rose and fell explaining
and asserting pride in his command, but saying nothing as to the why of
exercises in the mud. Nor did he mention why the censorship was in full
force. He did not say a word of Germany, or Belgium.

In front of the third squadron from the right, Risaldar-Major Ranjoor
Singh sat his charger like a big bronze statue. He would have stooped
to see his right spur better, that shone in spite of mud, for though he
has