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Herbert Strang
The Old Man of the Mountain
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951923The Old Man of the Mountainhttps://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-old-man-of-the-mountain-1/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1254402/db0f0e60-dd4e-45d2-b48a-8a22788d6f8f.jpg?v=638337716424500000117130MXNLibrary of AlexandriaInStock/Ebooks/948317The Old Man of the Mountain117130https://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-old-man-of-the-mountain-1/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/1254402/db0f0e60-dd4e-45d2-b48a-8a22788d6f8f.jpg?v=638337716424500000InStockMXN99999DIEbook20259781465548320_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_<p>Jolly good curry! said Bob Jackson, looking up over his spoon. What do you say, Mac? Ay, responded Alan Mackenzie, in a drawl. He was a man of few words. Your Hamid is certainly a treasure of a cook, Jackson went on. Has he done you yet, Dick? Probably, but I havent found him out, so it doesnt matter, answered Dick Forrester, the third of the party. It shows you! What? asked Mackenzie, who always required statements in full. Why, you owl, that its sometimes better to rely on your instincts than on the advice of kind busybodies. When I came through Calcutta, everybody advised me to wait till I got up country before engaging a man, told me the casuals of the Calcutta hotels were sharks ready to prey on any griffin, and so on. But I came across Hamid, liked the look of him---- Youve a rummy taste in looks, interposed Jackson, with a laugh. What with his crooked nose and his one eye, he cant pass for a beauty. And thats a fact, said Mackenzie, solemnly. Well, anyway, I took him on, and thats three years ago, and Ive had no reason to regret it. Hes a champion cook, at any rate, said Jackson. He is that, added Mackenzie, with emphasis. At this moment the man in question entered with the next course, and further discussion of his qualities was impossible. The three young fellows were taking their evening meal in a tent pitched near the bank of a stream some twenty miles north of Dibrugarh on the Brahmaputra. They were almost the same age, Mackenzie, the eldest, having recently completed his twenty-first year. Three years before, they had met as strangers on the deck of the liner conveying them to Calcutta, and had struck up one of those shipboard friendships which seldom last. In their case it was otherwise. All three were learning tea-planting in Assam, and, as the gardens on which they were severally engaged were many miles apart, their opportunities of foregathering were not very frequent. But they met as often as they could for sport in the form of snipe-shooting, boar-hunting, and other avocations that diversify the monotony of a planters life, and they had become good comrades, knit one to another closely by the bonds of mutual trust and knowledge. Three months leave was now due to each of them. Forrester intended to go home: the others had arranged to make an extended tour in Northern India, and see Delhi, Lahore, and other cities of old renown. But it happened that, a few days before they were to start, they heard that a tiger had been doing mischief in a village some thirty miles from their stations. Fired by the news, they got permission from their managers to make a dash for the scene. Elephants were out of the question. They made the journey on foot, with four coolies to carry the baggage, Forresters bearer, Hamid Gul--the man whom he had picked up in Calcutta, and who added to his many accomplishments a considerable skill in cooking--and a veteran shikari named Sher Jang, whose services they had often employed in their sporting expeditions. Sher Jang, with the aid of local talent, tracked the animal to its haunt in the jungle; after a few crowded moments it fell to the white mens guns; and its skin, already stripped from the carcase by the deft shikari, now lay stretched on the sward near the tent. Excuse, sahib! said Hamid Gul, as he passed behind his masters chair after handing round the cutlets. He had been so long accustomed to use English of a sort with globe-trotters that he seldom spoke Hindustani with his master, like the average native servant.</p>(*_*)9781465548320_<p>Jolly good curry! said Bob Jackson, looking up over his spoon. "What do you say, Mac?" "Ay," responded Alan Mackenzie, in a drawl. He was a man of few words. "Your Hamid is certainly a treasure of a cook," Jackson went on. "Has he done you yet, Dick?" "Probably, but I havent found him out, so it doesnt matter," answered Dick Forrester, the third of the party. "It shows you!" "What?" asked Mackenzie, who always required statements in full. "Why, you owl, that its sometimes better to rely on your instincts than on the advice of kind busybodies. When I came through Calcutta, everybody advised me to wait till I got up country before engaging a man, told me the casuals of the Calcutta hotels were sharks ready to prey on any griffin, and so on. But I came across Hamid, liked the look of him----" "Youve a rummy taste in looks," interposed Jackson, with a laugh. "What with his crooked nose and his one eye, he cant pass for a beauty." "And thats a fact," said Mackenzie, solemnly. "Well, anyway, I took him on, and thats three years ago, and Ive had no reason to regret it." "Hes a champion cook, at any rate," said Jackson. "He is that," added Mackenzie, with emphasis. At this moment the man in question entered with the next course, and further discussion of his qualities was impossible. The three young fellows were taking their evening meal in a tent pitched near the bank of a stream some twenty miles north of Dibrugarh on the Brahmaputra. They were almost the same age, Mackenzie, the eldest, having recently completed his twenty-first year. Three years before, they had met as strangers on the deck of the liner conveying them to Calcutta, and had struck up one of those shipboard friendships which seldom last. In their case it was otherwise. All three were learning tea-planting in Assam, and, as the "gardens" on which they were severally engaged were many miles apart, their opportunities of foregathering were not very frequent. But they met as often as they could for sport in the form of snipe-shooting, boar-hunting, and other avocations that diversify the monotony of a planters life, and they had become good comrades, knit one to another closely by the bonds of mutual trust and knowledge. Three months leave was now due to each of them. Forrester intended to go home: the others had arranged to make an extended tour in Northern India, and see Delhi, Lahore, and other cities of old renown. But it happened that, a few days before they were to start, they heard that a tiger had been doing mischief in a village some thirty miles from their stations. Fired by the news, they got permission from their managers to make a dash for the scene. Elephants were out of the question. They made the journey on foot, with four coolies to carry the baggage, Forresters bearer, Hamid Gul--the man whom he had picked up in Calcutta, and who added to his many accomplishments a considerable skill in cooking--and a veteran shikari named Sher Jang, whose services they had often employed in their sporting expeditions. Sher Jang, with the aid of local talent, tracked the animal to its haunt in the jungle; after a few crowded moments it fell to the white mens guns; and its skin, already stripped from the carcase by the deft shikari, now lay stretched on the sward near the tent. "Excuse, sahib!" said Hamid Gul, as he passed behind his masters chair after handing round the cutlets. He had been so long accustomed to use English of a sort with globe-trotters that he seldom spoke Hindustani with his master, like the average native servant.</p>...9781465548320_Library of Alexandrialibro_electonico_abbc6735-2735-35ae-9b96-ef9d6dd81731_9781465548320;9781465548320_9781465548320Herbert StrangInglésMéxicohttps://getbook.kobo.com/koboid-prod-public/markmoxford-epub-fe58197a-be7b-4473-9403-3f6f937b688b.epub2025-09-28T00:00:00+00:00Library of Alexandria