India 2001 books

Luckily he fell upon a heap of stones,
and not into the mud, but he decided for all that to walk for a bit.
Every now and then one came across traces of the construction of a great
road--white new stone embankments that started out of nothing, and went
to nowhere, and Mike confessed that he had lost the path once more--
"When I come out of dat confounded mod!"
After a hustle across country we found the road, and wished that we had
not, for it was a Turkish track in its most belligerent form.
At last we reached the top and rested awhile. Mike showed us his
revolver.
"He good revolver," he said. "De las' man I shoot he killin' a vooman. I
come. He run away. I tell 'im to stop, but he no stop, so I shoot 'im
leg. 'E try to 'it me wi' a gon."
The man got fourteen years.
We pushed on again, and on the road picked up an overcoat, which later
we were able to restore to its owner, a Turk, who was going to
Nickshitch to buy sugar and salt for Plevlie.
Bits of the big white road appeared and reappeared with insistence.


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