The Sirdar's Oath: A Tale of the North-West Frontier

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  THE MARK OF MURAD AFZUL.

  Raynier was wondering over several things. He was wondering how anyoneliving could stand Tarleton for life--as his wife did; how anyone couldstand him for a week, or two or three--as his guest was doing; or fortwo or three hours--as he himself was trying to do. Then, constantlyobserving Hilda Clive--opposite him, for they were a party of four--hewas wondering how it was that she had held out so little attraction tohim hitherto. For nearly three weeks they had been pent up together inthe close proximity of shipboard--yet he had hardly been aware of herexistence. While he was looking after her at Bombay, she had seemedmore attractive, but not much. Yet now, meeting her again andunexpectedly, he was conscious of this or that subtle trait whichinterested him.

  Still, why had he not discovered it before? Time, opportunity--all hadbeen favourable. He supposed it was that the recollection of CynthiaDaintree had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and that he had beenpassing through a misogynistic stage accordingly.

  "I don't believe these `budmashes' are as quiet as they seem," Tarletonwas saying. "Or if they are, it's because they are hatching devilment.I've been longer among them than you have, Raynier, and Mushim Khanisn't the sort to turn into a lamb all of a sudden, as he seems to havedone lately."

  They were talking over Raynier's visit to the Nawab, and Tarleton, asusual, was contradictious.

  "What is the Nawab like, Mr Raynier?" said Hilda Clive.

  "Rather a fine-looking man--in fact, very."

  "And is his palace very splendid?"

  Raynier stared.

  "Very splendid?" he repeated--"Oh, I see! The idea is quite a naturalone. But, as a matter of fact, he hasn't got any `palace' at all. Helives in a mud-walled village."

  "No. Not really?"

  "Miss Clive thinks he ought to wear a crown and go about blazing withjewels," said Tarleton.

  "Well, that isn't an inexcusable mistake," rejoined Raynier,"considering the ideas people generally associate with his title. Yousee, Miss Clive, the Gularzai are almost savages--fine savages, butstill savages--something akin to our ideas of the desert Arab."

  "Well, they can't help that, can they?" struck in Tarleton, apparentlyfor no earthly reason, unless that nobody had dreamed of saying theycould.

  "I should like to see something of these people in their own homes,"said the girl. "They must be rather interesting. I admire these I seewalking about the station. It is a fine type of face. Are theyGularzai, Mr Raynier?"

  "Fine type of face!" cut in Tarleton. "Why, they're the mostvillainous-looking scoundrels unhung. Any one of them would cut yourthroat for eight annas."

  "A good many are Gularzai, Miss Clive," answered Raynier. "But allthese mountain tribes are very much alike in appearance."

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

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

  "Eh? How?" said Tarleton.

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

  This was putting matters in a new light to Tarleton. He had notproposed to include his womenkind in the scheme. But now both his wifeand their guest declared the prospect a delightful one, and as there wasno valid reason against it, Tarleton, for a wonder, consented.

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

  His bicycle ran smoothly, and, absorbed in his thoughts, he was nearlypassing his own compound, when--what was that? A cry--a little distancefurther on--and it expressed terror. Passing his own gate he whirledstraight on, and in a moment, there in the middle of the road lay ahuman form. But before he could dismount, another sound caught his ear.Without giving the man who lay there another thought he started inpursuit.

  The stripe of the road lay before him in the darkness, dim yet clearlydefined. At the side of it, under the high tamarisk hedge, he made outtwo figures. Peremptorily, and in Hindustani, he called upon them tohalt. They obeyed. But so far from such compliance affording Raynierany satisfaction, he felt at that moment that he would give a great dealto see them get through the hedge somehow, and disappear from his sightfor ever. In a flash he realised that he had embarked on a verydangerous and foolhardy undertaking, as he recognised that a brace oftall, savage, mountain desperadoes were waiting to receive him, he beingtotally unarmed, and the road as lonely at that hour of the night as anywild peak he could see looming dimly against the stars around.

  A bicycle, moreover, is a desperately bad steed to fight on, but knowingthis he realised at the same time that it is an excellent one to runaway 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 attitude, glide suddenly into the middle of the road--and heknew that each held a long knife. There was no time to stop. He sawhis bicycle strike one of them full in the chest, as he put it at him atfull speed--then became conscious that he himself was whirling throughthe air to land with a crash beneath the tamarisk hedge. He saw theother of them coming towards him knife in hand; saw in a moment theshaggy tresses, and the savage eyes glaring beneath the great turban,and then--there crashed forth a couple of shots, seemingly over hishead.

  His assailant had disappeared. At the moment he realised the position.The occurrence had taken place just in front of the Forest Officer'scompound, and the Forest Officer being a very great sportsman, hisbungalow was a miniature arsenal of weapons of all sorts. Moreover, hewas a man of experience and quick wit. He too had heard the expiringyell of the murdered man, and had come forth to investigate, armed witha large and business-like revolver which he well knew how to use. Inthis instance, however, the darkness, and some fear of hitting the wrongman, had spoiled his shots. But of either at whom they were directedthere remained no sign. Both had made themselves scarce.

  "What's all the bobbery about?" sang out this friend in need, descryingthe 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 lustily to his servants to bring a lantern,and they, aroused by the shots, were not long in doing so. Raynierpicked 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 ableto clear out after a collision like that."

  They reached the spot where the dead man was lying. A shout or two fromRaynier brought out his own people, with more lanterns. It was not anice sight to gaze upon at midnight--the ghastly fear and agony stampedupon the dead face, and the great pool of blood still welling forthafresh as they turned the body over. Raynier could not help contrastingit in his mind with the scene he had just left hardly more than aquarter 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 Hi
ghness allowed totravel on the skirt of your protection when we had been visiting MushimKhan."

  But the rascal took very good care to say nothing about having turnedhim away from the gate that very night. The man was dead, and thereforehe himself was safe. But the offender was happily ignorant of thefateful 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 ofMurad Afzul.