The Ruby Sword: A Romance of Baluchistan

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE FOREST CAMP.

  The following morning broke bright and clear, and save that there was acoolness in the air, and the bed of the _tangi_ which had poured forthits black volume of roaring destruction the night before was wet andwashed out--no trace of the wild whirl of the elements would now bevisible.

  Campian awoke, feeling fairly restored, though as he opened his eyesafter his sound and heavy sleep he could hardly recall where he was, orwhat had happened--nor in fact, did he particularly care whether hecould recall it or not. This frame of mind lasted for some time, thenhis faculties began to reassert themselves. The events of the previousnight came back to him--the long, wearisome journey, the exhaustedsteed, the sudden onslaught of the Ghazis, the pursuit--then that lastdesperate effort for life--the rolling flood, the jezail shot, and--oblivion. Now a thought struck him. Where was he? In a tent. Butwhose tent? Was he a captive in the hands of his recent assailants?Hardly. This was not the sort of treatment he would have met at theirhands, even if the unmistakably European aspect of all the fittings andtent furniture did not speak for themselves. And at that moment, asthough to dispel all further grounds of conjecture, the purdah was movedaside and somebody stole softly in. Campian closed his eyes, surveyingthis unexpected visitant through the lids. Then he opened them.

  "That you, Upward, or am I dreaming?"

  "It's me right enough, old chap. How are you feeling--eh? A bit buzzystill? How's the head?"

  "Just as you put it--a bit buzzy. But I say, where are we?"

  "In camp, at Chirria Bach."

  "So? And where the devil might Chirria Bach be? I was bound forGushki. Thought you were there."

  "Didn't you get my letter at Shalalai, saying we were going into camp?"said Upward.

  "Not any. I got one--There was nothing about camp in it--It told me tocome on to Gushki. But I fell in with two Johnnies there who were goingon a chikor shoot, and wanted me to cut in--I did--hence concluded tofind my way here across country instead of by the usual route. I'm fondof that sort of thing, you know."

  "Where are your things--and how is it you are all alone? This isn't thecountry to ride around in like that--all alone--I can tell you."

  "So I've discovered." And then he narrated the events of the previousday's journey up to the time of his falling unconscious in the riverbed.

  "Well you've had a devilish narrow squeak, old chap," pronounced Upward,when he had done. "Do you know, if it hadn't been for old Bhallu Khan,my head forest guard, hearing your gee scrambling through the nullah,you would never have been seen again. We heard the first shot. Itseemed fishy, but it was no use bothering about it, because it was onthe other side of the water. Then the _tangi_ coming down kicked upsuch a row that we couldn't hear ourselves speak, let alone hear theother shot. You were more than half in the water when we found you,and--I've been down to the place this morning--and the water has beenover more than twice your own length from where you were lying when wehauled you out. Lucky old Bhallu Khan heard the racket--eh?"

  "Rather. But, I say, Upward, I shot one of those brigands. Likely tobe trouble raised over that?"

  Upward looked grave. "You never can tell," he said. "You see, in acase of that sort, the Government has a say in the matter. Don't giveaway anything about the shooting to anybody for the present, and we'llthink over what is best to be done--or not done--Perhaps you only wingedyour man."

  "I hope so, if it will save any further bother. But, it's a dashed coolthing assailing a peaceable traveller in that way. There's no sort ofwar on here?"

  "No, but the fact of your being alone and unarmed--unarmed, at least, sofar as they could see--was a temptation to those devils. They hate uslike poison since we took over the country and prevented them--or triedto prevent them--from cutting each other's throats, so they are notlikely to let slip an opportunity of cutting ours instead."

  "And after that first shot, practically I was unarmed, thanks to theswindling rascality of the British huckster in guaranteeing ammunitionthat jammed in the pistol. No more co-operative stores for me, thanks."

  Now again the purdah was lifted, and the bearer appeared, bringing intea and toast. Salaaming to Campian, he told his master that the_mem-sahib_ would like to see him for a moment Upward, responding to thecall, promptly received a lecture for not merely allowing, but activelyinducing, the patient to talk too much. It could not be good for onejust recovering from a shock to the head to talk--especially on excitingtopics--and so on--and so on.

  Meanwhile in another tent Nesta Cheriton and the two younger girls werediscussing the somewhat tragic arrival of the expected guest. To theformer, however, his personality appealed more than the somewhatstartling manner of his arrival.

  "But what is he like, Lily?" she was saying--not quite for the firsttime.

  "Oh! I told you before," snapped Lily, waxing impatient, and buryingher nose in a book--She was wont to be petulant when disturbed in themidst of an absorbing tale.

  "He's rather fun," replied Hazel. "He isn't young, though. He's not asold as father--still he isn't young."

  "I expect he's quite an old fogey," said Lily. "I don't want to talkabout him any more," which reply moved Hazel to cackle elfishly, whilecutting weird capers expressive of the vein mischievous.

  "Rather. He's quite an old fogey. Isn't he, Lily?"

  "I wish you'd shut up," snapped that young person. "Can't you see Iwant to read?"

  But later on, viz about tiffin time, Campian being recovered enough toput in an appearance, Nesta found good and sufficient reasons for thereversal of her former verdict. As Hazel had said, the new arrival wasnot young; yet her own term, "quite an old fogey," in no sense applied.And the reversal of her said verdict took this form: "He'll do."

  This indeed, in its not very occult meaning, might have held good werethe stranger even less qualified for her approval than she decided at aglance he was--for they had been quite a fortnight in camp, and on anymale--save Upward, middle-aged and _range_, Nesta Cheriton's veryattractive blue eyes had not rested during precisely that period. Andsuch deficiency had to her already come to spell boredom.

  In Shalalai the British army of all branches of the service had been ather feet, and this for obvious reasons. She was young, attractivebeyond the ordinary, and a new importation. Now the femininecounterpart of the British army as represented in Shalalai, though insome cases young, was unattractive wellnigh without exception.Furthermore, it was by no means new--wherefore Nesta had things all herown way; for Shalalai, for social and every other purpose, _was_ theBritish army--Upward and the agent to the governor-general being nearlythe only civilians in the place. So in Shalalai Nesta was happy, forthe British army, having as usual when not in active service, nothingparticular to do, swarmed around her in multifold adoration.

  "Last time we saw each other we hardly reckoned to meet in such tragicfashion, did we, Mrs Upward?" said Campian, as they sat down to tiffin."I only hope I haven't drawn down the ire of a vast and vendettanourishing tribe upon your peaceful camp."

  "Oh, we're not nervous. The people who attacked you belong in allprobability right the other end of the country," she answered, easily.

  "I sent over to Gushki to let the political agent know about it," saidUpward. "Likely they'll send back a brace of Levy sowars to have alook round. Not that that'll do any good, for these darned`catch-'em-alive-ohs' are all tarred with the same brush. They'reraised in the same country, you see."

  "Seems to me a right casual section this same country," said Campian."You are all never tired of laying down what entirely unreliablevillains these border tribes are, yet you simply put yourselves at theirmercy. I'll be bound to say, for instance, that there's no such thingas a watch kept over this camp at night, or any other."

  "No, there isn't Tinkles here, though, would pretty soon let us know ifany one came too close."

  "Yes, but not until they were on you. Say four or five like those whota
ckled me--or even more--made up their minds to come for you somenight, what then? Why, they'd be in the tents hacking you to bitsbefore you had time to move a finger."

  "Ghazis don't go to work that way, Campian. They come for you in theopen, and never break out with the premeditation a rush upon a campwould involve."

  "I've often thought the same," struck in Nesta. "I get quite nervoussometimes, lying awake at night. Every sound outside makes me start.Fancy nothing between you and all that may be in that horrible darkness,but a strip of canvas. And the light seems to make it worse. I cannever shake off the idea that I can be seen."

  "Why don't you put out the light then, Miss Cheriton?"

  "Because I'm more frightened still to be in the dark. Ah now--you'relaughing at me"--she broke off, in a pretty gesture of protest.

  The stranger was contemplating her narrowly, without seeming to. Goodspecimen of her type was his decision, but these fair haired, blue-eyedgirls, though pretty enough as pictures, have seldom any depth. Selfconscious at every turn, though not aware of it, or, at any rate ofshowing that she was. Pretty? Oh, yes, no mistake about that--knowswhat suits her, too.

  Whether this diagnosis was entirely accurate remains to be seen--thatits latter part was, a glance at Nesta left no doubt. She was attiredin white and light blue, which matched admirably her eyes and goldenhair, and she looked wonderfully attractive. The suspicion of sunbrownwhich darkened her complexion had the effect of setting off the vividwhiteness of her even teeth when she smiled. And then her whole facewould light up.

  "What would you like to do this afternoon, old chap?" said Upward, astiffin over, the bearer placed the cheroot box on the table. "Don'tfeel up to going after chikor, I suppose?"

  "Well, I don't know. I think I do. But I left my shot gun down atChotiali with my other things."

  "You'd much better sit still and keep yourself quiet for the rest of theday, Mr Campian," warned Mrs Upward. "A nasty fall on the head isn'ta thing to be trifled with, especially in hot climates. I've seen toomuch of that sort of thing in my time."

  But the warning was overruled. Campian declared himself sufficientlyrecovered, provided there was no hard climbing to be done. Tiffin hadset him up entirely.

  "Do just as you like, old chap," said Upward. "You can use my gun. Idon't care about chikor. They are the rottenest form of game bird Iknow. Won't rise, for one thing."

  "Let's all go," suggested Lily. "We can keep behind. And we shall seehow many misses Mr Campian makes," she added, with her naturalcheekiness.

  "It's hardly fair," objected the proposed victim--"I, the only gunner,too--Why, all this `gallery' is bound to get on my nerves."

  "Never mind--you can put it down to your fall, if you do miss a lot,"suggested Nesta.

  "Well, we'd better start soon, and not go too far either, for Ishouldn't wonder if this evening turned out as bad as last," saidUpward, rising from table. "Khola--Call Bhallu Khan."

  The bearer replied that he was in front of the tent.

  "So this is the man whose sharp hearing was the saving of my life?" saidCampian, as the head forester extended his salaam to him--And he put outhis hand.

  The forester, a middle-aged Pathan of the Kakar tribe, was a finespecimen of his race. He looked picturesque enough in his white loosegarments, his head crowned with the "Kulla," or conical cap, round whichwas wound a snowy turban. He had eyes and teeth which a woman mighthave envied, and as he grasped the hand extended to him, the expressionof his face was pleasing and attractive in the extreme.

  "By Jove, Upward, this man is as different a type to the ruffians whocame for me last night as the proverbial chalk and cheese simile,"remarked Campian, as they started for the shooting place. "They werehook-nosed scoundrels with long hair and the expression of the devil,whereas this chap looks as if he couldn't hurt a fly. He has an awfullygood face."

  "Oh, he has. Still, with Mohamedans you never can be absolutelycertain. Any question of fanaticism or semi-religious war, and they'reall alike. We've had too many instances of that."

  "Oh, come now, Ernest. You mustn't class good old Bhallu Khan with thatsort of native," struck in his wife. "If there was any sort of rising Ibelieve he'd stand by us with his life."

  "I believe so too. Still, as I say, with Mohamedans you can never tell.Look, Campian, this is where we found you last night. Here's where youwere lying, and here's where the water came up to during the night."

  Campian looked somewhat grave as he contemplated the jagged edge ofsticks and straws which demarcated the water-line, and remembered thatawful advancing wave bellowing down upon him.

  "Yes--It was a near thing," he said--"a very near thing."

  But a word from the forester dispelled all such weighty reflections, andthat word was "Chikor!"

  In and out among the grass and stones the birds were running--_running_.The more they were shouted at the more they ran. At last several ofthem rose. It was a long shot, but down came one.

  This was repeated again and again. All the shots were long shots, andthere were as many misses as birds. There were plenty of birds, butthey persistently forebore to rise.

  "Now you see why I'm not keen on chikor shooting, old chap," saidUpward, as after a couple of hours this sport was voted hardly worthwhile. And subsequently Bhallu Khan expressed the opinion to his masterthat the strange sahib did not seem much of a shikari. He might havemade quite a heavy bag--there were the birds, right under his feet, buthe would not shoot--he would wait for them to rise--and they invariablyrose much too far off to fire at with any chance of bringing them down.