Oh, a broken blade, And an empty bag, And a sodden kit, And a foundered nag, And a whimpering wind Are more or less Ground for a gentleman's distress. Yet the blade will cut, (He should swing with a will!) And the emptiest bag He may readiest fill; And the nag will trot If the man has a mind, So the kit he may dry In the whimpering wind. Shades of a gallant past--confess! How many fights were won with less?
"I think I envy you!" said Courtenay.
They were seated in Courtenay's tent, face to face across the low table,with guttering lights between and Ismail outside the tent handing platesand things to Courtenay's servant inside.
"You're about the first who has admitted it," said King.
Not far from them a herd of pack-camels grunted and bubbled after theevening meal. The evening breeze brought the smoke of dung fires downto them, and an Afghan--one of the little crowd of traders who had comedown with the camels three hours ago--sang a wailing song about hislady-love. Overhead the sky was like black velvet, pierced with silverholes.
"You see, you can't call our end of this business war--it's sport,"said Courtenay. "Two battalions of Khyber Rifles, hired to hold the Passagainst their own relations. Against them a couple of hundred thousandtribesmen, very hungry for loot, armed with up-to-date rifles, thanksto Russia yesterday and Germany to-day, and all perfectly well awarethat a world war is in progress. That's sport, you know--not the 'imageand likeness of war' that Jorrocks called it, but the real red root. Andyou've got a mystery thrown in to give it piquancy. I haven't found outyet how Yasmini got up the Pass without my knowledge. I thought it was atrick. Didn't believe she'd gone. Yet all my mer swear they know shehas gone, and not one of them will own to having seen her go! What d'youthink of that?"
"Tell you later," said King, "when I've been in the 'Hills' a while."
"What d'you suppose I'm going to say, eh? Shall I enter in my diary thata chit came down the Pass from a woman who never went up it? Or shall Isay she went up while I was looking the other way?"
"Help yourself!" laughed King.
"Laugh on! I envy you! I f the worst comes to the worst, you'll havehad the best end of it. If you fail up there in the 'Hills' you'll getscoughed and be done with you. You'll at least have had a show. All weshall know of your failure will be the arrival of the flood! We'll beswamped ingloriously--shot, skinned alive and crucified without a chanceof doing anything but wait for it! You're in luck--you can move aboutand keep off the fidgets!"
For a while, as he ate Courtenay's broiled quail, King did not answer.But the merry smile had left his eyes and he seemed for once to beletting his mind dwell on conditions as they concerned himself.
"How many men have you at the fort?" he asked at last.
"Two hundred. Why?"
"All natives?"
"To a man."
"Like 'em?"
"What's the use of talking?" answered Courtenay. "You know what it meanswhen men of an alien race stand up to you and grin when they salute.They're my own."
King nodded. "Die with you, eh?"
"To the last man," said Courtenay quietly with that conviction that canonly be arrived at in one way, and that not the easiest.
"I'd die alone," said King. "It'll be lonely in the 'Hills.' Got anymore quail?"
And that was all he ever did say on that subject, then or at any othertime.
"Here's to her!" laughed Courtenay at last, rising and holding up hisglass. "We can't explain her, so let's drink to her! No heel-taps!Here's to Rewa Gunga's mistress, Yasmini!"
"May she show good hunting!" answered King, draining his glass; and itwas his first that day. "If it weren't for that note of hers that camedown the Pass, and for one or two other things, I'd almost believe hera myth--one of those supposititious people who are supposed to expresssome ideal or other. Not an hallucination, you understand--nor exactlyan embodied spirit, either. Perhaps the spirit of a problem. Let y bethe Khyber district, z the tribes, and x the spirit of the rumpus. Findx. Get me?"
"Not exactly. Got quinine in your kit, by the way?"
"Plenty, thanks."
"What shall you do first after you get up the Pass? Call on your brotherat Ali Masjid? He's likely to know a lot by the time you get there."
"Not sure," said King. "May and may not. I'd like to see him. Haven'tseen the old chap in a donkey's age. How is he?"
"Well two days ago," said Courtenay. "What's your general plan?"
"Hunt!" said King. "Hunt for x and report. Hunt for the spirit of thecoming ruction and try to scrag it! Live in the open when I can, sleepwith the lice when it rains or snows, eat dead goat and bad bread, Iexpect; scratch myself when I'm not looking, and take a tub at the firstopportunity. When you see me on my way back, have a bath made ready forme, will you--and keep to windward!"
"Certainly!" said Courtenay. "What's the Rangar going to do with thatmare of his? Suppose he'll leave her at Ali Masjid? He'll have to leaveher somewhere on the way. She'll get stolen. Gad! That's the brightestnotion yet! I'll make a point of buying her from the first horse-thiefwho comes traipsing down the Pass!"
"Here's wishing you luck!" said King. "It's time to go, sir."
He rose, and Courtenay walked with him to where his party waited in thedark, chilled by the cold wind whistling down the Khyber. Rewa Gungasat, mounted, at their head, and close to him his personal servant rodeanother horse. Behind them were the mules, and then in a cluster, eachwith a load of some sort on his head, were the thirty prisoners, andIsmail took charge of them officiously. Darya Khan, the man who hadbrought the letter down the Pass, kept close to Ismail.
"Are you armed?" King asked, as soon as he could see the whites of theRangar's eyes through the gloom.
"You jolly well bet I am!" the Rangar laughed.
King mounted, and Courtenay shook hands; then he went to Rewa Gunga'sside and shook hands with him, too.
"Good-by!" called King.
"Good-by and good luck!"
"Forward! March!" King ordered, and the little procession started.
"Oh, men of the 'Hills,' ye look like ghosts--like graveyard ghosts!"jeered Courtenay, as they all filed past him. "Ye look like dead men,going to be judged!"
Nobody answered. They strode behind the horses, with the swift silentstrides of men who are going home to the "Hills"; but even they, born inthe "Hills"' and knowing them as a wolf-pack knows its hunting-ground,were awed by the gloom of Khyber-mouth ahead. King's voice was the firstto break the silence, and he did not speak until Courtenay was out ofear-shot. Then:
"Men of the 'Hills'!" he called. "Kuch dar nahin hai!"
"Nahin hai! Hah!" shouted Ismail. "So speaks a man! Hear that, yemountain folk! He says, 'There is no such thing as fear!'"
In his place in the lead, King whistled softly to himself; but he drewan automatic pistol from its place beneath his armpit and transferred itto a readier position.
Fear or no fear, Khyber-mouth is haunted after dark by the men whoseblood-feuds are too reeking raw to let them dare go home and for whomthe British hangman very likely waits a mile or two farther south. It isone of the few places in the world where a pistol is better than a thickstick.
Boulder, crag and loose rock faded into gloom behind; in front on bothhands ragged hillsides were beginning to close in; and the wind, whosehome is in Allah's refuse heap, whistled as it searched busily amongthe black ravines. Then presently the shadow of the thousand-foot-highKhyber walls began to cover them, and King drew rein to count them alland let them close up. To have let them straggle after that point wouldbe tantamount to murder probably.
"Ride last!" he ordered Rewa Gunga. "You've got the only other pistol,haven't you?"
Darya Khan, who had brought the letter, had a rifle; so King gave him aroving commission on the right flank.
They moved on again after five minutes, in the same deep silence,looking like ghosts in search of somebody to ferry them across the Styx.Only the glow of King's
cheroot, and the lesser, quicker fire of RewaGunga's cigarette, betrayed humanity, except that once or twice King'shorse would put a foot wrong and be spoken to.
"Hold up!"
But from five or ten yards away that might have been a new note in thegaining wind or even nothing.
After a while King's cheroot went out, and he threw it away. A littlelater Rewa Gunga threw away his cigarette. After that, the veriestfive-year-old among the Zakka Khels, watching sleepless over the rim ofsome stone watch-tower, could have taken oath that the Khyber's unburieddead were prowling in search of empty graves. Probably their uncannysilence was their best protection but Rewa Gunga chose to break itafter a time.
"King sahib!" he called softly, repeating it louder and more loudlyuntil King heard him. "Slowly! Not so fast!"
"Why?"
King did not check speed by a fraction, but the Rangar legged his mareinto a canter and forced him to pull out to the left of the track andmake room.
"Because, sahib, there are men among those boulders, and to go toofast is to make them think you are afraid! To seem afraid is to inviteattack! Can we defend ourselves, with three firearms between us? Look!What was that?"
They were at the point where the road begins to lead up-hill, westward,leaving the bed of a ravine and ascending to join the highway builtby British engineers. Below, to left and right, was pit-mouth gloom,shadows amid shadows, full of eerie whisperings, and King felt the shorthair on his neck begin to rise.
So he urged his horse forward, because what Rewa Gunga said is true.There is only one surer key to trouble in the Khyber than to seemafraid--and that is to be afraid. And to have sat his horse therelistening to the Rangar's whisperings and trying to see through shadowswould have been to invite fear, of the sort that grows into panic.
The Rangar followed him, close up, and both horse and mare sensedexcitement. The mare's steel shoes sent up a shower of sparks, and Kingturned to rebuke the Rangar. Yet he did not speak. Never, in all theyears he had known India and the borderland beyond, had he seen eyes sosuggestive of a tiger's in the dark! Yet they were not the same color asa tiger's, nor the same size, nor the same shape!
"Look, sahib!"
"Look at what?"
"Look!"
After a second or two he caught a glimpse of bluish flame that flashedsuddenly and died again, somewhere below to the right. Then all at oncethe flame burned brighter and steadier and began to move and to grow.
"Halt!" King thundered; and his voice was as sharp and unexpected as apistol-crack. This was something tangible, that a man could tackle--aperfect antidote for nerves.
The blue light continued on a zigzag course, as if a man were runningamong boulders with an unusual sort of torch; and as there was no answerKing drew his pistol, took about thirty seconds' aim and fired. He firedstraight at the blue light.
It vanished instantly, into measureless black silence.
"Now you've jolly well done it, haven't you!"' the Rangar laughed in hisear. "That was her blue light--Yasmini's!"
It was a minute before King answered, for both animals were all butfrantic with their sense of their riders' state of mind; it neededhorsemanship to get them back under control.
"How do you know whose light it was?" King demanded, when the horse andmare were head to head again.
"It was prearranged. She promised me a signal at the point where I am toleave the track!"
"Where's that guide?" demanded King; and Darya Khan came forward out ofthe night, with his rifle cocked and ready.
"Did she not say Khinjan is the destination?"'
"Aye!" the fellow answered.
"I know the way to Khinjan. That is not it. Get down there and find outwhat that light was. Shout back what you find!"
The man obeyed instantly and sprang down into darkness. But King hadhardly given the order when shame told him he had sent a native on anerrand he had no liking for himself.
"Come back!" he shouted. "I'll go."
But the man had gone, slipping noiselessly in the dark from rock torock.
So King drove both spurs home, and set his unwilling horse to scramblingdownward at an angle he could not guess, into blackness he could feel,trusting the animal to find a footing where his own eyes could make outnothing.
To his disgust he heard the Rangar follow immediately. To his evengreater disgust the black mare overtook him. And even then, with his ownmount stumbling and nearly pitching him headforemost at each lurch, hewas forced to admire the mare's goatlike agility, for she descended intothe gorge in running leaps, never setting a wrong foot. When he and hishorse reached the bottom at last he found the Rangar waiting for him.
"This way, sahib!"
The next he knew sparks from the black mare's heels were kicking up infront of him, and a wild ride had begun such as he had never yet dreamedof. There was no catching up, for the black mare could gallop two tohis horse's one; but he set his teeth and followed into solid night,trusting ear, eye, guesswork and the God of Secret Service men who lovesthe reckless.
Once in a minute or so he would see a spark, or a shower of them, wherethe mare took a turn in a hurry. Once in every two or three minutes hecaught sight for a second of the same blue siren light that had startedthe race. He suspected that there were many torches placed at intervals.It could not be one man running. More than once it occurred to him todraw and shoot, but that thought died into the darkness whence it came.Never once while he rode did he forget to admire the Rangar's courage orthe black mare's speed.
His own horse developed a speed and stamina he had not suspected, andprobably the Rangar did not dare extend the mare to her limit in thedark; at all events, for ten, perhaps fifteen, minutes of breathlessgalloping he almost made a race of it, keeping the Rangar, either withinsight or sound.
But then the mare swerved suddenly behind a boulder and was gone. Hespurred round the same great rock a minute later, and was faced by ablank wall of shale that brought his horse up all standing. It ledsteep up for a thousand feet to the sky-line. There was not so much as agoat-track to show in which direction the mare had gone, nor a sound ofany kind to guide him.
He dismounted and stumbled about on foot for about ten minutes with hiseyes two feet from the earth, trying to find some trace of hoof. Then helistened, with his ear to the ground. There was no result.
He knew better than to shout, for that would sound like a cry ofdistress, and there is no mercy whatever in the "Hills" for lostwanderers, or for men who seem lost. He had not a doubt there weremen with long jezails lurking not far away, to say nothing of thoseresponsible for the blue torchlight.
After some thought be mounted and began to hunt the way back,remembering turns and twists with a gift for direction that nativesmight well have envied him. He found his way back to the foot of theroad at a trot, where ninety-nine men out of almost any hundred wouldhave been lost hopelessly; and close to the road he overtook Darya Khan,hugging his rifle and staring about like a scorpion at bay.
"Did you expect that blue light, and this galloping away?" he asked.
"Nay, sahib; I knew nothing of it! I was told to lead the way toKhinjan."
"Come on, then!"
He set his horse at the boulder-strewn slope and had to dismount to leadhim at the end of half a minute. At the end of a minute both he and themessenger were hauling at the reins and the horse had grown frantic fromfear of falling backward. He shouted for help, and Ismail and anotherman came leaping down, looking like the devils of the rocks, to lendtheir strength. Ismail tightened his long girdle and stung the other twowith whiplash words, so that Darya Khan overcame prejudice to the pointof stowing his rifle between some rocks and lending a hand. Then it tookall four of them fifteen minutes to heave and haul the struggling animalto the level road above.
There, with eyes long grown used to the dark, King stared about him,recovering his breath and feeling in his pockets for a fresh cheroot andmatches. He struck a match and watched it to be sure his hand did notshake before he spoke,
because one of Cocker's rules is that a man mustcommand himself before trying it on others.
"Where are the others?" he asked, when he was certain of himself.
"Gone!" boomed Ismail, still panting, for he had heaved and dragged morestoutly than had all the rest together.
King took a dozen pulls at the cheroot and stared about again. In themiddle of the road stood his second horse, and three mules with hisbaggage, including the unmarked medicine chest. Close to them werethree men, making the party now only six all told, including Darya Khan,himself and Ismail.
"Gone whither?" he asked.
"Whither?"
Ismail's voice was eloquent of shocked surprise.
"They followed! Was it then thy baggage on the other mules? Were theythy men? They led the mules and went!"
"Who ordered them?"
"Allah! Need the night be ordered to follow the Day?"
"Who told them whither to go?"
"Who told the moon where the night was?" Ismail answered.
"And thou?"
"I am thy man! She bade me be thy man!"
"And these?"
"Try them!"
King bethought him of his wrist, that was heavy with the weight of goldon it. He drew back his sleeve and held it up.
"May God be with thee!" boomed all five men at once, and the Khybernight gave back their voices, like the echoing of a well.
King took his reins and mounted.
"What now?" asked Ismail, picking up the leather bag that he regarded ashis own particular charge.
"Forward!" said King. "Come along!"
He began to set a fairly fast pace, Ismail leading the spare horse andthe others towing the mules along. Except for King, who was modern andout of the picture, they looked like Old Testament patriarchs, hurryingout of Egypt, as depicted in the illustrated Bibles of a generationago--all leaning forward--each man carrying a staff--and none looking tothe right or left.
After a time the moon rose and looked at them from over a distant ridgethat was thousands of feet higher than the ragged fringe of Khyber wall.The little mangy jackals threw up their heads to howl at it; and afterthat there was pale light diffused along the track, and they couldsee so well that King set a faster pace, and they breathed hard in theeffort to keep up. He did not draw rein until it was nearly time forthe Pass to begin narrowing and humping upward to the narrow gut at AliMasjid. But then he halted suddenly. The jackals had ceased howling, andthe very spirit of the Khyber seemed to hold its breath and listen.
In that shuddersome ravine unusual sounds will rattle along sometimesfrom wall to wall and gully to gully, multiplying as they go, untilnight grows full of thunder. So it was now that they heard a staccatocannonade--not very loud yet, but so quick, so pulsating, so filling tothe ears that he could judge nothing about the sound at all, except thatwhatever caused it must be round a corner out of sight.
At first, for a few minutes King suspected it was Rewa Gunga's mare,galloping over hard rock away ahead of him. Then he knew it was a horseapproaching. After that he became nearly sure he was mistaken altogetherand that the drums were being beaten at a village--until he rememberedthere was no village near enough and no drums in any case.
It was the behavior of the horse he rode, and of the led one and themules, that announced at last beyond all question that a horse wascoming down the Khyber in a hurry. One of the mules brayed until thewhole gorge echoed with the insult, and a man hit him hard on the noseto silence him.
King legged his horse into the shadow of a great rock. And aftershepherding the men and mules into another shadow, Ismail came and heldhis stirrup, with the leather bag in the other hand. The bag fascinatedhim, because he did not know what was in it, and it was plain that hemeant to cling to it until death or King should put an end to curiosity.
King drew his pistol. Ismail drew in his breath with a hissing sound, asif he and not King were the marksman. King notched the foresight againstthe corner of a crag, at a height that ought to be an inch or two abovean oncoming horse's ears, and Ismail nodded sagely. Whoever now shouldgallop round that rock would be obliged to cross the line of fire. Suchare the vagaries of the Khyber's night echoes that it was a long fiveminutes yet before a man appeared at last, riding like the night wind,on a horse that seemed to be very nearly on his last legs. The beast wasgoing wildly, sobbing, with straggled ears.
Instead of speaking, King spurred out of the shadow and blocked theoncoming horseman's way, making his own horse meet the other shoulder tobreast, knocking most of the remaining wind out of him. At risk of hisown life, Ismail seized the man's reins. The sparks flew, and therewas a growled oath; but the long and the short of it was that the ridersquinted uncomfortably down the barrel of King's repeating pistol.
"Give an account of yourself!" commanded King.
The man did not answer. He was a jezailchi of the KhyberRifles--hook-nosed as an osprey--black-bearded--with white teethglistening out of a gap in the darkness of his lower face. And he wasarmed with a British government rifle, although that is no criterionin that borderland of professional thieves where many a man has offeredhimself for enlistment with a stolen government rifle in his grasp.
The waler he rode was an officer's charger. The poor brute sobbed andheaved and sweated in his tracks as his rightful owner surely had nevermade him do.
"Whither?" King demanded.
"Jamrud!"
The jezailchi growled the one-word answer with one eye on King, but theother eye still squinted down the pistol barrel warily.
"Have you a letter?"
The man did not answer.
"You may speak to me. I am of your regiment. I am Captain King."
"That is a lie, and a poor one!" the fellow answered. "But a very littlewhile ago I spoke with King sahib in Ali Masjid Fort, and he is nocappitin, he is leftnant. Therefore thou art a liar twice over--nay,three times! Thou art no officer of Khyber Rifles! I am a jezailchi, andI know them all!"
"None the less," said King, "I am an officer of the Khyber Rifles, newlyappointed. I asked you, have you a letter?"
"Aye!"
"Let me see it."
"Nay!"
"I order you!"
"Nay! I am a true man! I will eat the letter rather!"
"Tell me who wrote it, then."
But the fellow shook his head, still eying the pistol as if it were asnake about to strike.
"I have eaten the salt!" he said. "May dogs eat me if I break faith! Whoart thou, to ask me to break faith? An arrficer? That must be a lie!The letter is from him who wrote it, to whom I bear it--and that is myanswer if I die this minute!"
King let his reins fall and raised his left wrist until the moonlightglinted on the gold of his bracelet under the jezailchi's very eyes.
"May God be with thee!" said the man at once.
"From whom is your letter, and to whom?" asked King, wondering what themen in the clubs at home would say if they knew that a woman's braceletcould outweigh authority on British sod; for the Khyber Pass is as muchBritish as the air is an eagle's or Korea Japanese, or Panama UnitedStates American, and the Khyber jezailchis are paid to help keep it so.
"From the karnal sahib (colonel) at Landi Kotal, whose horse I ride,"said the jezailchi slowly, "to the arrficer at Jamrud. To King sahib,the arrficer at Ali Masjid I bore a letter also, and left it as Ipassed."
"Had they no spare horse at Ali Masjid? That beast is foundered."
"There are two horses there, and both lame. The man who thou sayest isthy brother is heavy on horses."
King nodded. "What is in the letter?" he asked.
"Nay! Have I eyes that can see through paper?"
"Thou hast ears that can listen!" answered King.
"In the letter that I left at Ali Masjid there is news of the lashkarthat is gathering in the 'Hills,' above Ali Masjid and beyond Khinjan.King sahib is ordered to be awake and wary."
"And to lame no more horses jumping them over rocks!"
"Nay, the karnal sahib sa
id he is to ride after no more jackals with aspear!"
"Same old game!" said King to himself. "What knowest thou of the lashkarthat is gathering?"
"I? Oh, a little. An uncle of mine, and three half-brothers, and abrother are of its number! One came at night to tempt me to join--butI have eaten the salt. It was I who first warned our karnal sahib. Now,let me by!"
"Nay, wait!" ordered King. But he lowered his pistol point.
To hold up a despatch rider was about as irregular as any proceedingcould be; but it was within his province to find out how far the Khyberjezailchis could be trusted and within his power more than to make upthe lost time. So that the irregularity did not trouble him much.
"Does this other letter tell of the lashkar, too?"
"Am I God, that I should know? But of what else should the karnal sahibwrite?"
"What is the object of the rising?" King asked him next; and the manthrew his head back to laugh like a wolf. Laughter, at night in theKhyber, is an insult. Ismail chattered into his beard; but King satstill.
"Object? What but to force the Khyber and burst through into India andloot? What but to plunder, now that English backs are turned the otherway?"
"Who said their backs are turned?" demanded King.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ho! Hear him!"
The Khyber echoed the mockery away and away into the distance.
"Their backs are this way and their faces that! The kites know it! Thevultures know it! The little jackals know it! The little butchas inthe valley villages all know it! Ask the rocks, and the grass--the verywater running from the 'Hills'! They all know that the English fight forlife!"
"And the Khyber jezailchis? What of them?" King asked.
"They know it better than any!"
"And?"
"They make ready, even as I."
"For what?"
"For what Allah shall decide! We ate the salt, we jezailchis. We chose,and we ate of our own free will. We have been paid the price we named,in silver and rifles and clothing. The arrficers the sirkar sent us aremen of faith who have made no trouble with our women. What, then, shouldthe Khyber jezailchis do? For a little while there will be fighting--or,if we be very brave and our arrficers skillful, and Allah would fain seesport, then for a longer while. Then we shall be overridden. Then theKhyber will be a roaring river of men pouring into India, as my father'sfather told me it has often been! India shall bleed in these days--butthere will be fighting in the Khyber first!"
"And what of her? Of Yasmini?" King asked.
"Thou wearest that--and askest what of her? Nay--tell!"
"Should she order the jezailchis to be false to the salt--?"
"Such a question!"
The man clucked into his beard and began to fidget in the saddle.King gave him another view of the bracelet, and again he found a civilanswer.
"We of the Rifles have her leave to be loyal to the salt, for, said she,otherwise how could we be true men; and she loves no liars. From thefirst, when she first won our hearts in the 'Hills,' she gave us of theRifles leave to be true men first and her servants afterward! We maylove her--as we do!--and yet fight against her, if so Allah wills--andshe will yet love us!"
"Where is she?" King asked him suddenly, and the man began to laughagain.
"Let me by!" he shouted truculently. "Who am I to sit a horse and gossipin the Khyber? Let me by, I say!"
"I will let you by when you have told me where she is!"
"Then I die here, and very likely thou, too!" the man answered, bringinghis rifle to the port in front of him so quickly that he almost had Kingat a disadvantage. As it was, King was quick enough to balance mattersby covering him with the pistol again. The horses sensed excitement andbegan to stir. With a laugh the jezailchi let the rifle fall across hislap, and at that King put the pistol out of sight.
"Fool!" hissed Ismail in his ear; but King knows the "Hills" better insome ways than the savages who live in them; they, for instance, neverseem able to judge whether there will be a fight presently or not.
"Why won't you tell me where she is?" he asked in his friendliest voice,and that would wheedle secrets from the Sphynx.
"Her secrets are her own, and may Allah help her guard them! I will tearmy tongue out first!"
"Enviable woman!" murmured King. "Pass, friend!" he ordered, reiningaside. "Take my spare horse and leave me that weary one, so you willrecover the lost time and more into the bargain."
The man changed horses gladly, saying nothing. When he had shifted thesaddle and mounted, he began to ride off with a great air, not so muchas deigning to scowl at Ismail. But he had not ridden a dozen paces whenhe sat round in the saddle and drew rein.
"Sahib!" he called. "Sahib!"
King waited. He had waited for this very thing and could afford to waita minute longer.
"Hast thou--is there--does the sahib--I have not tasted--"
He made a sign with his hand that men recognize in pretty nearly everyland under the sun.
"So-ho!" laughed King, patting his hip pocket, from which the cap of asilver-topped flask had been protruding ever since he put the pistol outof sight. "So our copper's hot, eh?"
"May Allah do more to me if my throat is not lined with the fires ofEblis!"
"But the Kalamullah!" King objected. "What saith the Prophet?"
"The Prophet forbade the faithful to drink wine," said the jezailchi."He said nothing about whiskey, that I ever heard!"
"Mine is brandy," said King.
"May Allah bless the sahib's sons and grandsons to the seventhgeneration! May Allah--"
"Tell me about Yasmini first! Where is she?"
"Nay!"
King tapped the flask in his pocket.
"Nay! My throat is dry, but it shalt parch! I know not! As to where sheis, I know not!"
"Remember, and I will give you the whole of it!"
He drew the flask out of his pocket and rode a little way toward theman.
"None can overhear. Tell me now."
"Nay, sahib! I am silent!"
"Have you passed her on your way?"
The man shook his head--shook it until the whites of his eyes were astreak in the middle of his dark face; and when a Hillman is as vehementas that he is surely lying.
King set the flask to his own lips and drank a few drops.
"Salaam, sahib!" said the jezaitchi, wheeling his horse to ride away.
King let him ride twenty paces before calling to him to halt.
"Come back!" he ordered, and rode part of the way to meet him.
"I but tried thee, friend!" he said, holding out the flask.
"Allah then preserve me from a second test!"
The jezailchi seized the flask, clapped it to his lips and drained it tothe last drop while King sat still in the moonlight and smiled at him.
"God grant the giver peace!" he prayed, handing the flask back. Thekindly East possesses no word for "Thank you." Then he wheeled the horsein a sudden eddy, as polo ponies turn on the Indian plains, and rodeaway down the wind as if the Pass were full of devils in pursuit of him.
King watched him out of sight and then listened until the hoof-beatsdied away and the Pass grew still again.
"The jezailchis'll stand!" he said, lighting a new cheroot. "Good menand good luck to 'em!"
Then he rode back to his own men.
"Where starts the trail to Khinjan?" he asked; not that he had forgottenit, but to learn who knew.
"This side of Ali Masjid!" they answered all together.
"Two miles this side. More than a mile from here," said Ismail. "Whatnext? Shall we camp here? Here is fuel and a little water. Give theword--"
"Nay-forward!" ordered King.
"Forward?" growled Ismail. "With this man it is ever 'forward!' Is thereneither rest nor fear? Has she bewitched him? Hai! Ye lazy ones! Ho!Sons of sloth! Urge the mules faster! Beat the led horse!"
So in weird wan moonlight, King led them forward, straight up thenarrowing gorge, between cliffs that seemed to f
ray the very bosom ofthe sky. He smoked a cigar and stared at the view, as if he were offto the mountains for a month's sport with dependable shikarris whom heknew. Nobody could have looked at him and guessed he was not enjoyinghimself.
"That man," mumbled Ismail behind him, "is not as other sahibs I haveknown. He is a man, this one! He will do unexpected things!"
"Forward!" King called to them, thinking they were grumbling. "Forward,men of the 'Hills'!"
Chapter VII