What could I do?  Or rather—­for the question had narrowed to that—­how could I kill him?

And as the sun struck upon my eyes at dawn, an idea struck upon my mind.

I would leave it to Fate and if Fate willed it so, Burker should die.

If Burker stood behind my charger, Fate sat with down-turned thumb.

I would not seek the opportunity—­but, by God, I would take it if it offered.

If it did not, I would go to Burker and say to him quietly:  “Burker, you must leave this station at once and never see or communicate with my wife in any way.  Otherwise I have to kill you, Burker—­to execute you, you understand.” ...

A native syce from the Artillery lines led my charger into the little compound of my tiny bungalow.

Having buckled on my belt I went out, patted him, and gave him a lump of sugar.  He nuzzled me for more, and, as he did so, I placed my hand on his back, behind the saddle, and pressed.  He lashed out wildly.

I then trotted across the maidan[54] to the Volunteer Headquarters and parade-ground.

  [54] Plain; level tract of ground.

Several gentlemen of the Mounted Infantry were waiting about, some standing by their horses, some getting bandoliers, belts, and rifles, some cantering their horses round the ground.

Sergeant Burker strode out of the Orderly Boom.

“Morning, Smith,” said he.  “How’s the Missus?”

I looked him in the eye and made no reply.

He laughed, as jeering, evil, and caddish a laugh as I have ever heard.  I almost forgot my purpose and had actually turned toward the armoury for a rifle and cartridge when I remembered and controlled my rage.

If I shot him, then and there, I must go to the scaffold or to jail forthwith, and Dolores must inevitably go to a worse fate.  Had I been sure that she could have kept straight, Burker would have been shot, then and there.

“Fall in,” he shouted, but did not mount his horse.

The gentlemen assembled with their horses and faced him in line, dismounted, I in front of the centre of the troop.  How clearly I can see every feature and detail of that morning’s scene, and hear every word and sound.

“Tell off by sections,” commanded Burker.

“One, two, three, four—­one, two, three, four....”

There were exactly six sections.

“Flanks of sections, proof.”

“Section leaders, proof.”

“Centre man, proof.”

“Prepare to mount.”

“Mount.”

“Sections right.”

“Sections left.”

The last two words were the last words Burker ever spoke.  Passing on foot along the line of mounted men, to inspect saddlery, accoutrements, and the adjustment of rifle-buckets and slings, he halted immediately behind me, where I sat on my charger in front of the centre of the troop.

I could not have placed him more exactly with my own hands. Fate sat with down-pointing thumb.