The Sirdar's Oath Part 7

Now Tarleton broached a subject which an hour or two earlier would have been unwelcome to the other in the last degree. Raynier was going on a camping expedition very shortly--together with Haslam, the Forest Officer--and Tarleton was anxious to join it.

"There's precious little to shoot," was the answer, "though one might do a clamber after markhor. But it would give Miss Clive the very opportunity she was wanting."

"Eh? How?" said Tarleton.

"Why she'd see something of the country, and incidentally of the people."

This was putting matters in a new light to Tarleton. He had not proposed to include his womenkind in the scheme. But now both his wife and their guest declared the prospect a delightful one, and as there was no valid reason against it, Tarleton, for a wonder, consented.

It was midnight when Raynier bade his entertainers good-bye, and as he bowled along the smooth high road he found himself wondering again--and this time over two things. One was that he had spent an uncommonly pleasant evening at Tarleton's; the other that he should actually have welcomed the prospect of Tarleton's society for a matter of a couple of weeks or so, on the projected camping expedition. Well, as to the latter he need not see much of Tarleton.

His bicycle ran smoothly, and, absorbed in his thoughts, he was nearly pa.s.sing his own compound, when--what was that? A cry--a little distance further on--and it expressed terror. Pa.s.sing his own gate he whirled straight on, and in a moment, there in the middle of the road lay a human form. But before he could dismount, another sound caught his ear.

Without giving the man who lay there another thought he started in pursuit.

The stripe of the road lay before him in the darkness, dim yet clearly defined. At the side of it, under the high tamarisk hedge, he made out two figures. Peremptorily, and in Hindustani, he called upon them to halt. They obeyed. But so far from such compliance affording Raynier any satisfaction, he felt at that moment that he would give a great deal to see them get through the hedge somehow, and disappear from his sight for ever. In a flash he realised that he had embarked on a very dangerous and foolhardy undertaking, as he recognised that a brace of tall, savage, mountain desperadoes were waiting to receive him, he being totally unarmed, and the road as lonely at that hour of the night as any wild peak he could see looming dimly against the stars around.

A bicycle, moreover, is a desperately bad steed to fight on, but knowing this he realised at the same time that it is an excellent one to run away on, given a clear road ahead. But would they allow him such? No, they would not.

It was all done in a flash. Raynier saw the two figures, in half-bent, crouching att.i.tude, glide suddenly into the middle of the road--and he knew that each held a long knife. There was no time to stop. He saw his bicycle strike one of them full in the chest, as he put it at him at full speed--then became conscious that he himself was whirling through the air to land with a crash beneath the tamarisk hedge. He saw the other of them coming towards him knife in hand; saw in a moment the s.h.a.ggy tresses, and the savage eyes glaring beneath the great turban, and then--there crashed forth a couple of shots, seemingly over his head.

His a.s.sailant had disappeared. At the moment he realised the position.

The occurrence had taken place just in front of the Forest Officer's compound, and the Forest Officer being a very great sportsman, his bungalow was a miniature a.r.s.enal of weapons of all sorts. Moreover, he was a man of experience and quick wit. He too had heard the expiring yell of the murdered man, and had come forth to investigate, armed with a large and business-like revolver which he well knew how to use. In this instance, however, the darkness, and some fear of hitting the wrong man, had spoiled his shots. But of either at whom they were directed there remained no sign. Both had made themselves scarce.

"What's all the bobbery about?" sang out this friend in need, descrying the doubled-up figure under the hedge. "Who is it?"

"Me--Raynier."

"The devil! Not hurt, are you?"

"Someone up the road is--that's why I was chevying those 'budmashes.'

Come along up there and we'll investigate."

The Forest Officer shouted l.u.s.tily to his servants to bring a lantern, and they, aroused by the shots, were not long in doing so. Raynier picked himself up, somewhat gingerly.

"I say--you did get a toss," said the other. "Not hurt, eh?"

"N-no. I think not. Shaken up a bit--like a tonic bottle."

Strange to say the bicycle had received little or no damage either.

"These Pathans are tough," said the Forest Officer. "Fancy being able to clear out after a collision like that."

They reached the spot where the dead man was lying. A shout or two from Raynier brought out his own people, with more lanterns. It was not a nice sight to gaze upon at midnight--the ghastly fear and agony stamped upon the dead face, and the great pool of blood still welling forth afresh as they turned the body over. Raynier could not help contrasting it in his mind with the scene he had just left hardly more than a quarter of an hour ago.

"I seem to know the face too," he said, in a puzzled way. "Who is he, Kaur Singh? Do you know?"

"_Ha, Huzoor_. It is the trading man whom your Highness allowed to travel on the skirt of your protection when we had been visiting Mus.h.i.+m Khan."

But the rascal took very good care to say nothing about having turned him away from the gate that very night. The man was dead, and therefore he himself was safe. But the offender was happily ignorant of the fateful consequences that rebuff was destined to entail upon his master, upon others--and, perchance, upon himself.

For what they gazed upon here was but a beginning. It was the mark of Murad Afzul.

CHAPTER NINE.

A LEGACY OF VENGEANCE.

The Nawab Mahomed Mus.h.i.+m Khan, commonly known as Mus.h.i.+m Khan, Chief of the Gularzai, was seated beneath the shade of an apricot tope, discussing affairs of state with his brother and vizier, Kuhandil Khan.

The hour of prayer was just over, yet here and there a group of belated wors.h.i.+ppers was still engaged in the prescribed ceremonial, bowing down, low and oft, in the direction of the Holy City, while others were wending their way towards the gate in the long low mud wall behind which stood the village. Here and there, too, knelt camels, in process of being loaded for a journey, eternally snarling and roaring, as is the way of those cross-grained, hideous, but essentially useful animals, and flocks of black goats and of fat-tailed Persian sheep moved lazily off to their browsing grounds attended by tall, s.h.a.ggy herdsmen armed with their long-barrelled, sickle-stocked guns--and accompanied by great savage dogs, a match for wolf or panther, and far more dangerous than either to any human being not well armed, who should incur their hostility. Even as Raynier had set forth, there was not anything here of the jewelled gorgeousness and architectural splendour popularly a.s.sociated with the conventional Nawab, yet it was Mus.h.i.+m Khan's princ.i.p.al and favourite place of abode.

It lay in a basin-like hollow. Overhead and around, a grim array of chaotic peaks towered to a considerable height--the slopes lined with cliffs, and strewn with tumbled rocks, representing a vastness of area which the unaccustomed eye took some time to appreciate. Through this valley a small river flowed, having for its outlet a narrow, cliff-hung pa.s.s, which was, in fact, the princ.i.p.al access to the great natural amphitheatre.

In describing the chief's personal appearance Raynier had not exaggerated. Mus.h.i.+m Khan was unquestionably a fine-looking man. Tall and straight, his powerful frame was well set off by the flowing whiteness of his garments, and the symmetrical folds of his snowy turban made an effective framework to the strong and dignified face. It was a finer face than those possessed by most of his countrymen, being somewhat fuller, and, though regular of feature, yet had not that hawk-like and predatory expression engendered by the lean and exaggeratedly aquiline cast of profile of the rest. His full beard and the two long tresses hanging low down on either side of his broad chest were jet black, but in view of the custom of dyeing such his age would be hard to determine approximately. His brother, the Sirdar Kuhandil Khan, was scarcely his inferior in appearance--in fact, there was so strong a family likeness between them that they might easily have been mistaken for each other.

"I know not why we should join in this _jihad_," the chief was saying, "nor do I know who is this Hadji Haroun who is stirring it up. He comes from the Orakzai, and he had better return to them in peace."

"That had he," agreed the other. "And yet, wherever he goes unrest remains behind him on his path. It seems that he of Kabul has too many _mullahs_, and when such become troublesome he sends them forth to stir up unrest among such as need them not."

"And our people are being inflamed by unrest, brother?"

"Are they not?" answered Kuhandil Khan. "Murad Afzul is here among them again, and it seems that he is drawing all men with him."

"Murad Afzul?" and the chief's brows darkened. "Murad Afzul! I have a mind to make an end of that robber. To what purpose should we allow such as he to draw us into war with the Feringhi? And what should come of such war? Will our land grow fat beneath it or our people increase?"

"It would not be good to make an end of him at this moment," said the vizier. "His following is large and powerful, and our people are ever turbulent. For long has he been teaching them to cast eyes upon Mazaran, whose garrison is weak, and where there is much plunder."

"Then Murad Afzul is chief of the Gularzai," said Mus.h.i.+m Khan, bitterly.

"Well, we shall see, for I will order him to take his possessions and depart."

"The omen is favourable," said the vizier, lifting his eyes. "Lo--here he comes?"

Two men were approaching--one tall and of middle age, the other of medium height and old. These drew near and salaamed, yet without the obsequious servility customary on approaching the presence of the more despotic Eastern ruler; for these mountain chiefs ruled more by patriarchal prestige than despotic power. Mus.h.i.+m Khan gave them peace, and they seated themselves.

With the taller and younger of the two we are already acquainted. The other was lean and wrinkled, with fierce eyes staring restlessly out from beneath s.h.a.ggy brows. He had also a trick of clenching and unclenching his claw-like fingers as though gripping something, and this, together with his bony, hawk-like countenance and rolling eyes, gave him an indescribably cruel, not to say demoniacal, aspect.

"Peace to the chief of the Gularzai," began this man, in a nasal grating snuffle. "Peace to him whom the Feringhi hath created a Nawab, for men say he loves peace."

"And on you peace, who have beheld the tomb of the Prophet," returned Mus.h.i.+m Khan, in deep tones, for he was not pleased to behold this stranger, this interfering _mullah_, who stirred up strife whichever way he went, and was, in fact, engaged in preaching _jihad_ throughout the mountain tribes.

The _mullah_, Hadji Haroun, was possessed of a very evil gift of eloquence, evil because invariably turned towards the stirring up of strife, and the sowing of plot and intrigue. For long he spoke, unfolding his plan, the design of which was to involve the Gularzai in common with other of the mountain tribes in an aggressive war with the Indian Government. An insignificant military expedition was then on foot against an insignificant unit of these, and here was a grand opportunity to a.s.sert themselves, and enjoy some sport in the shape of the slaughter of infidels, which would be pleasing to Allah at the same time--and the seizing of considerable loot, which would be pleasing to themselves. The opportunity was here. The Feringhi were unsuspicious that any hostility could be in existence against them, for had not the _Sirkar_ just created Mus.h.i.+m Khan a Nawab. The town of Mazaran simply lay in the hand of the Gularzai, and could be taken without a blow, captured by a clever surprise.

What tribe or combination of tribes had ever prevailed in the end when pitted against the _Sirkar_? No--not in the end, but which of them was any the worse? Soldiers were sent. There was a fight or two, and peace was made. Then things were just as they had been before. The Gularzai would soon become as women, and forget what battle was, if they sat still much longer.

To all of this the chief listened gravely. He distrusted the speaker, and wholly disapproved of the plan, for he had already been sounded on the matter, and that not once. Murad Afzul spat from time to time, nodding his evil head in approval as he gloated in antic.i.p.ation over the delights in store--of the bazaar in Mazaran running with blood, and the camel loads of choice loot which should find their way to his mountain retreat. Oh, there were merry times ahead.