The Sirdar's Oath Part 14

A high ridge rose between them and the camp. This they were the while ascending by a rough road leading to the kotal by which it was crossed.

Now, from the other side of this, there boomed forth a long, low, rattling thunder roll.

"Hallo! The storm is a great deal nearer than I thought," he exclaimed, looking up. "We must hurry on, Miss Clive. I don't want you to get caught in the thick of it."

No time for confidences was this, he decided. All women were afraid of thunder and lightning, though all would not admit it. What, then, would be the use of consulting this one on a delicate and highly unpleasant matter what time her thoughts would be running on how quickly at the earliest they could reach the camp?

Another peal rolled forth, dull and distant, tailing off into a sort of staccato rapping rattle.

"Well, these mountains do give out the most extraordinary thing in echoes I ever struck," he said. "Or else that's about the strangest peal of thunder I ever heard."

A clinking sound behind caused both to turn. Mehrab Khan, who, with the other sowar, had been some way behind, was galloping to overtake them, and that at a pace which is hardly put on in ascending such an acclivity unless under weighty necessity. But even before he could come up with them, the dark figure of a horseman appeared on the kotal above, and came flying down the rough and stony road. They made him out to be another of the Levy Sowars.

The pace was too great, or the rider too weak. He was flung off, almost at their very feet--a terrible sight, covered with blood and dust. With a word to Hilda Clive to wait where she was, Raynier and Mehrab Khan went forward to examine the man.

They were only just in time. He could gasp forth a few words, and then fell back dead. Raynier's voice was very serious as he returned to the girl.

"We cannot go back to camp now, Miss Clive," he said. "We must travel the other way. But keep up your courage--you have plenty of it--and we will bring you through all safe."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"A LAND OF SURPRISES."

"Raynier may be a smart chap, and a smart official, and all that, but he doesn't know this country a little hang. He oughtn't to get wandering about all alone as he does. It isn't safe--and--it isn't _pukka_!"

And Haslam, having delivered himself of the above opinion, drained his "peg" and yelled for his bearer to bring him another.

"But he isn't all by himself," objected Tarleton. "He's got Miss Clive with him, and two Levy Sowars."

"Oh, as to the first, that of course," returned the Forest Officer, looking knowing, "he generally has. Think that'll be a _bundobust_, Tarleton?"

"I don't know--and don't care. It's no concern of mine."

"Don't care what?" said Mrs Tarleton, joining the two, who, seated in long chairs and clad in easy attire, were indulging in "pegs" and cheroots.

"We were talking about Raynier, Mrs Tarleton," said Haslam. "We agreed he oughtn't to go and look up a man like Sarbaland Khan attended by only two Levy Sowars."

"And Miss Clive, Haslam said," appended Tarleton.

"It isn't _pukka_, you know," repeated Haslam, "nor is it altogether safe."

"Mercy on us, Mr Haslam! Why, he'd never go taking Hilda anywhere that's dangerous, surely? Besides, the country's quite quiet now, and the people friendly."

"Yes. Still, you never know exactly what may happen next. This is a land of surprises. I don't trust these _soors_ any further than I can see them, and however friendly it may suit them to be for the moment they hate us like poison underneath it all."

"Why, you quite frighten me," said Mrs Tarleton, anxiously. "I wish they'd come back. It's getting late too. Oh, what if anything should happen!"

"Something is going to happen, and that before long," growled Tarleton, looking up, "and that'll be a thunderstorm. Phew! how close it is. I must have another 'peg.'" And he, too, shouted for his bearer.

It was even as he had said, close--close and brooding. The sun was getting low, but the blue of the sky on the northern side had merged indefinably into a leaden, vaporous opacity which was gradually and insidiously creeping upward to the zenith. Against this, the peaks stood up, black and bizarre, and here and there, caught by a fitful wind puff, a trail of red dust would stream outward from the summit of a ridge, to lose itself in midair, or perchance to mingle with one of the column-like "dust-devils" which rose gyrating from the plain. Something was bound to come of it--an earthquake, a tornado, or a thunderstorm-- probably the latter, for a m.u.f.fled boom in the direction of the advancing blackness now became audible.

"We're going to get it," said Haslam, looking upward. "I only hope it isn't a blow--we don't want the tents suddenly whirled away over our heads. Rather not."

"I wish those two were back," repeated Mrs Tarleton, looking out over the forbidding waste, now more forbidding than ever. "I have a presentiment something is going to happen. Do you think these Levy Sowars are reliable, Mr Haslam?"

"I say, Mrs Tarleton, I believe Miss Clive has been infecting you with her forecasts and clairvoyance and all that sort of thing. I don't know about the Catch-'em-alive-ohs being reliable--but I don't believe they could hit a town-hall unless they were put inside it and all the doors locked. Even then they'd miss it by the windows."

"Well, but--surely they must be some good or they wouldn't be enlisted,"

objected Tarleton.

"I remember trying a chap once. There was an old door stuck on end about sixty yards off. I got him to take three shots at it with his Martini, and he missed it clean twice, the third time just knocking a chip off one of the top corners."

"Well, but you can't judge them all by one," objected Tarleton.

"Hallo. Here comes somebody," cried Haslam.

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Mrs Tarleton. Then, disappointedly, "It isn't them at all. It's some horrid natives. It's not in the right direction, either."

Down amid the spa.r.s.e vegetation, below the camp on the more open side, the troop horses and baggage camels were grazing, and here it was that a group of figures appeared, surrounding a central one who was mounted on a fine camel. It could be seen that all were armed to the teeth, having Lee-Metfords and Martinis, over and above the inevitable curved sword, but there was nothing unusual in this. It was a national custom among these wild northern tribes.

The group had come to a halt just outside the camp. Haslam sent down one of his forest guards to inquire who was there, and what could be done for them. But it might have been seen that the section of the camp occupied by the Levy Sowars was the scene of some little excitement.

The occupants had turned out to a man, and were gazing attentively at the new arrivals.

Soon Haslam's envoy returned to say that a Sirdar of the Gularzai was anxious to salaam to Raynier Sahib, but, as the latter was absent, perhaps the jungle wallah Sahib would confer with him instead. No, the Sirdar could not rest at their camp. He was journeying on a matter of family and religious importance, and must push on immediately. But he had a communication of official import to make. Perhaps the jungle wallah Sahib would hear it in the absence of the Government's representative, and transmit it.

"Here's a 'dik,'" [bother--perplexity--nuisance] grumbled Haslam. "I don't want to be 'dikked' with Raynier's official affairs. As if I hadn't enough of my own. Wonder what he wants--and who he is. Well, here goes." And gulping down the remainder of his "peg" he strolled down towards the group, doing so, moreover, with a leisureliness of gait that was rather put on, being designed to impress the Sirdar with a sense of his condescension in thus going to him at all.

The man on the camel did not dismount, nor did he cause the beast to kneel. This, again, aroused Haslam's resentment. What business had a native to remain seated, and talk down to him, so to say? Not only that, but the man on the camel returned his salaam somewhat coldly and haughtily--and the salute of his followers was equally curt. Haslam began to feel downright angry.

"Where is the _Sirkar_ Sahib?" began the chief--his voice taking additional haughtiness, coming down, as it did, from his rather lofty eminence.

"You have been told. He is away," returned the Forest Officer no less curtly, and speaking in Hindustani.

"Where?"

Haslam did not answer immediately. He stared. He was boiling with rage. To be addressed in this way, and in such a tone. Moreover, he thought to detect an evil grin on the faces of the hook-nosed, turbaned savages standing around, who seemed to be fingering their rifles in a manner that was unpleasantly suggestive.

"Are you the jungle wallah?" went on the man on the camel.

"The jungle wallah _Sahib_" blared forth Haslam, white with fury. But what was the use? and then he remembered that he had not even his revolver upon him. He had thrown it down upon his camp bed, and there it was. And an unarmed man is a demoralised man.

The chief laughed evilly and spat.

"Well, jungle wallah _Sahib_," he said. "I asked--Where is the _Sirkar_ wallah _Sahib_? I am not accustomed to repeat a question twice."

"Oh, you are not, your Mightiness, and lord of all the world," answered Haslam, adopting the other's sneering tone. "Salaam to you then, for you are far too great a king for me to talk with," and he turned to go.