CHAPTER THE SIXTH
In the Nets
The capture of Minghal's village gave such an accession of strength toRahmut Khan that he was soon emboldened to plan an expedition of greaterimportance than any he had undertaken before. He heard that the chief ofa small hill village had refused to pay the Government revenue, and thatSir John Lawrence, the Commissioner in Peshawar, would shortly dispatcha force to the village to enforce the payment. The community being asmall one, it was not likely that the British force would be numerous;and Rahmut conceived the idea of laying an ambush for it on its returnand running off with the revenue. He had a motive beyond that of themere acquisition of wealth. He felt that a successful attack on aBritish force would greatly enhance his prestige, and strengthen hishold on the allegiance of his new clansmen.
The project was talked over in council, and the only man who ventured tooppose it was old Ahsan the gate-keeper, who, since his defence of thetower, had enjoyed a much higher consideration with the chief. Ahsanwarned Rahmut against measuring his strength with the British. It wasone thing to make an occasional raid on the frontier stations for thepurpose of stealing horses, and quite another to attack a properlyequipped force. But his warning fell on deaf ears, and no one morevehemently opposed him than the chief's nephew Dilasah, who, sincerecovering from the wound he had received in the attack on the village,had professed repentance and left nothing undone to win his uncle'sfavour. The old man, being of a frank and unsuspicious disposition,freely pardoned Dilasah for his former ill-behaviour and his dealingswith Minghal, and was greatly delighted one day when the man told himthat he gave up all pretensions to the chiefship and admitted Ahmed'sclaims. Dilasah had a certain reputation for shrewdness and bravery, andhis voice, being unhesitatingly in favour of the scheme Rahmut proposed,outweighed what was regarded as the more timorous counsel of Ahsan.
The expedition having been decided on, Rahmut sent Dilasah himself toPeshawar in the disguise of a pedlar, to discover what he could of thecomposition of the British force and the date of its setting out.Meanwhile he was troubled by the request that Ahmed had made to beallowed to join the expedition. The boy had shown himself brave andresourceful; and Rahmut felt that if he took arms against his countrymenthe last link would be removed between him and them. On the other hand,he did not fail to see that the expedition would be a dangerous one, andthough he believed that he could carry it through successfully, he wasanxious to keep Ahmed out of harm's way, and especially to run no riskof his falling into English hands. If Ahmed should be taken prisoner,the old chief feared lest the contact with Englishmen should awaken racefeelings now dormant, and the boy be lost to him. So, after muchhesitation and much pleading on the part of Ahmed, the old chief toldhim kindly enough that he was not to accompany him, but to be left incharge of the village during his absence.
Ahmed was deeply disappointed. Rahmut gave him no reasons for hisdecision; he was a wise old man; reasons could be combated and overcome.When Ahmed asked Ahsan why his father was so loath to let him try hismanhood, Ahsan confessed that he did not know, which was true and yetuntrue; for, though the chief had not told him, Ahsan had made a shrewdguess.
"Rahmut does not wish it ever to be said of you, 'He takes off hisclothes before he reaches the water,'" said Ahsan, quoting a proverbagainst precipitancy. "Why fear?" he went on. "'Milk even in good timebecomes curds.' He who has patience wins. It will come to you in goodtime to lead men and do great things."
"I hate your proverbs," said Ahmed; "they have no comfort in them. Willmy father never see that I am grown up?"
"Thou wouldst not fight against thy own countrymen, Ahmed-ji?"
"Why not? Sherdil fights against his countrymen, why not I? And they aremy countrymen no longer; my countrymen are here. What have I to do withthese strangers who come lording it over the free people of the hills?"
"Hush, Ahmed-ji!" said the old man. "Children cry to their parents. Tospeak ill of the Feringhis is to speak ill of yourself. Let be, my son;what a man desires he will gain if it be God's will."
And Ahmed, being a sensible boy, did not nurse his disappointment. Butperhaps the old chief would have changed his mind had he known that hisrefusal had only made the boy more eager to see the white men of whomSherdil had told him so much.
Dilasah presently returned from his journey to Peshawar. His informationwas that the expedition was to start in a week's time, and to consist ofa single troop of Sikh horsemen under the command of one sahib. He hadlearnt the route it was to follow; it would pass within three days'march of Shagpur. Rahmut praised him, and did not inquire how he hadmade these discoveries; but Ahsan put the question bluntly when thechief called his council together and told them what he had learnt.
"It was the talk of the bazar," said Dilasah, looking astonished.
"Then it cannot be true," said Ahsan. "Would the Feringhis let theirpurpose be known? Are there not hundreds who would carry the news to LalJan, the chief, and warn him, so that he had time to get away into thehills? If it was the talk of the bazar, 'tis very certain that thingswill be otherwise."
Dilasah appeared for a moment to be taken aback. Ahsan was certainlyright, and the older members of the council showed their agreement withhis reasoning. But Dilasah, after a hesitation so brief as to bescarcely noticeable, said with a disdainful smile--
"The ass does not know how to laugh. Is Ahsan the only man of knowledgeand understanding? The knowing bird is not caught in the snare, and I,Dilasah, am not a fledgeling. The expedition was in truth the talk ofthe bazar, but I did not swallow what was said there. How should thetruth be known? I sought out in Peshawar a holy fakir whom I know. Hehates the infidel Feringhis, and he has means of finding out theirplans, most marvellous. The talk of the bazar and the truth were asdifferent as fire and water; and what I have told is not the bazar-talk,but the truth as I learnt it from the fakir."
"Then, if he hates the Feringhis, will he not warn Lal Jan, and so LalJan will fly to the hills with his treasure, and the Feringhis will getnothing, so that when our people fall upon them their bags will beempty?"
"Not so," said Dilasah, in answer to this further question of Ahsan. "Heis no friend to Lal Jan; Lal Jan is, indeed, a thorn in his quilt; hewill gain double delight from the spoiling, first of Lal Jan, andafterwards of the Feringhis. But why talk thus? If Ahsan, who is old andtoothless, thinks himself so clever, let him go to Peshawar and learnthe truth of things. As for me, I have done the chief's bidding; it isfor him to command."
And with the air of one who had been deeply offended, Dilasah left thecouncil.
After he had gone, Rahmut asked Ahsan why he threw doubt on the accuracyof the information; and when the old man confessed that he had no reasonsave a distrust of Dilasah, the chief was angry. Dilasah could have noobject in bringing false information, for he was to accompany the chiefin the proposed raid, and would suffer equally with the rest if itshould fail. It was decided in the end to accept his report as accurate,and preparations for the expedition were hurried on.
A few days later, Rahmut Khan left the village at the head of eightymen--the pick of his own and of Minghal's warriors. Ahmed, left behindwith a score of fighting men to defend the village, watched his father'sdeparture with envy. How he longed that the place at the chief's righthand had been bestowed on him instead of on Dilasah! But it was uselessto repine; he could only swallow his disappointment and hope that duringhis father's absence something might happen to give him an opportunityfor active work.
Rahmut could scarcely be expected to return before a fortnight. TheBritish force would take some time in the work assigned to it, and thechief's plan was to ambush it on its return journey, when in possessionof the revenue it had been sent to collect. Ahmed went every day to thetop of the tower to scan the surrounding country, but saw nothing toattract his attention. Life went on in the village from day to day asusual, the fighting men spending most of the time in playing games ofchance, the workers toiling for an hour or two and idling the rest.Ahmed was of
too active a disposition to remain idle. He practisedswordsmanship with one or two of the men, went hunting in the hillsbehind the village with some of the youths, and induced some of the bestriders to join him in the game of nazabaze, in which he proved himselfeasily first.
And then one day, the fifteenth since his father's departure, he sawfrom his look-out on the tower a band of horsemen approaching. There wasgreat excitement in the village when he told them the news; nobody hadany doubt that the chief was returning successful, and all excitedlyspeculated on the amount of booty he had taken. Ahmed watched theapproach of the horsemen as eagerly as any one. At first a mere blot onthe sky, sometimes disappearing behind a copse or in a valley, the bandgradually became more distinct and definite, and after two hours he wasable to assure himself that it did indeed consist of his father's men.
But it seemed somewhat diminished, and when, an hour later, it had comeso near that he could distinguish the individuals composing it, hesuddenly caught Ahsan by the arm and cried--
"Where is my father? I do not see him; do you?"
"Your eyes are better than mine, Ahmed-ji," replied the old man."Without doubt your father is there in the midst, and you will see himby and by."
But after a few more minutes Ahmed cried again--
"He is not there. I do not see his red turban or his white beard. I seeDilasah, but not my father."
And then, feeling no little alarm at the chief's absence, he ran down tothe foot of the tower, mounted his horse, and galloped out to meet theadvancing band.
"Where is my father, Dilasah?" he cried, while he was still somedistance away.
"Hai! hai! he is not here," replied the man, with a gloomy look.
"But where is he? He is not dead?"
"No, truly he is not dead, praise to Allah! Not one of us is killed,Ahmed; but my honoured uncle, with some few more, is a prisoner withthose pigs of English, woe is me!"
"A prisoner! Then he failed?"
"We failed, all of us. We came to the place which we had appointed forour ambush, and there we waited three days, and on the third day we sawthe accursed Feringhi and his men coming down the defile towards us.Then we split up into three bands, as we had arranged, and my reverenduncle went with one band to one side, and I with my band to the otherside, Rajab going with the third to the end of the defile to cut off theenemy when they should seek to escape."
"And what then?"
"Woe is me! From our post high up in the rocks we could see the chiefwith his band creeping on foot round on the other side of the defile,and there on a sudden men seemed to spring out of the earth; my honoureduncle had walked into a trap without doubt set for him by those accursedsons of dogs. In an instant he was surrounded, and what could he do withhis few men against twice the number of Sikhs? There was no time even tofight, for the Sikhs were armed with the short guns that fire quickly,and the white-faced Feringhi called in a loud voice to the chief toyield or he would be a dead man. What could he do? And so he was madeprisoner with all his band."
"And you--did you nothing to help him?"
"Nay, how could I tell that Sikhs were not coming on my side also toencompass me?"
"You ran away?"
"What could I do? If we had fired a shot we should have betrayedourselves to the enemy, and we were not strong enough to fight them whenthe chief and his party were gone. And there was danger that Rajab, whowas at the end of the defile behind us and had not seen what hadbefallen the chief, might fire and so be discovered also; and it seemedbest to join him, so that our company should be stronger in case theenemy attacked us."
A youth of Pathan blood would without doubt have burst forth into shrillcursing and reviling; there would have been a fierce war of words, andby and by perhaps a knife-thrust. But Ahmed never displayed anger in thePathan way; in this he was often a puzzle to the people of Shagpur. Hesaid not a word now in answer to Dilasah. The lines of his face hadhardened; his lips were pressed tight together; a strange look had comeinto his grey eyes. He rode at a quick foot-pace beside Dilasah back tothe village, listening to the man's repetition of the story of thecapture. He listened to it again in the village, where Dilasah told itin the street, and the people made great lamentation with cries andgroans. And then, when the horsemen had dismounted and gone to theirhomes, he accompanied Ahsan to his little hut, and asked the old manwhat he thought of the things that had happened.
"Dilasah is a coward--that is sure," said Ahsan. "Did we not know it? Hefled away as a lark flies at the first throw. A man fights; a dog turnstail. 'Tis an evil fate has befallen the master, and this village ofShagpur also."
"Is Dilasah's story true, think you?" asked Ahmed.
"Without doubt it is true. A lie has no legs. Did not all the men hearwhat he said? He would not say what is false in the hearing of them all,for they would put him to shame."
"And what will become of my father?"
"Hai! that Allah knows, Ahmed-ji. Jan Larrens is a stern man, they say,and swift to punish. The Feringhis have many ways of punishing.Sometimes they slay with a rope; sometimes they make a man pay muchmoney; sometimes they hold him prisoner. Who can tell what they will dowith the master!"
"And we cannot help him, can we, Ahsan?"
"Ahuh! 'tis impossible. Peshawar is a strong city: once and twice I havebeen there in my youth--before the Feringhis came. Jan Larrens is thegovernor now; he has many soldiers, both Feringhis and true believerswho take their pay, like Sherdil, son of Assad. It would be like a manbeating his head against the rocks to go there and try to release themaster by force. And to buy his freedom is alike impossible. In the olddays we might have sent presents to the jailer, or to the governor ofthe prison, or to the governor of the city, and if the presents wererich enough the gates of the prison would open. But that is all changedsince the servants of Jan Kumpani came. Strange are the ways of theFeringhis! Their eyes do not shut when one offers to put rupees in theirpalms; nay, I heard of a young Feringhi at Lahore, who, when Kunwar Khanspoke of giving him a great sum if he would buy Kunwar's mildewed grainfor the soldiers--this young Feringhi doubled his fist and smote Kunwarin the face, and he fell backward, showing the soles of his feet. Trulythe Feringhis are a strange folk."
"Well then, Ahsan, there is but one thing to do. I shall be chief now,and I will get more and more men about me until we are strong enough tomake an attack on the prison and bring my father out. He has broken intotheir places with a few men and taken their horses; why should not Iwith a great company break into their prison and bring forth a man?"
Ahsan shook his head.
"You can climb the mulberry-tree, but not the thorny acacia," he said;"that is foolish talk. And you forget Dilasah."
"What of Dilasah?"
"Hai! He will make himself chief now, Ahmed-ji; and listen, let me speakin your ear. Did I not distrust Dilasah? Did I not doubt him when hespoke of the talk of the bazar?"
"What do you mean? Why do you speak in whispers? Tell me, Ahsan."
"Hush! Traitors have long ears." Then, bending forward until his lipsalmost touched the ears of Ahmed, he said: "Do we know that Dilasah didnot make ready this trap for the master?"
Ahmed started. This suspicion had not occurred to him. But rememberingDilasah's long association with Minghal, the man of wiles, and hissudden change of attitude towards his uncle, he saw that Ahsan'ssuggestion might be well founded. Who stood to gain so much from RahmutKhan's disappearance as Dilasah? He coveted the chiefship; he had beenconsumed with anger when Rahmut adopted Ahmed as his heir; nothing wasmore likely than that he should seize such an opportunity of getting ridof the old chief, and so open the way to his ambition.
"Then it will be a fight between Dilasah and me," said the boy, settinghis teeth.
"Hai! That is again foolishness," replied the old man. "What can you do,Ahmed-ji? Dilasah is a grown man, cunning as a leopard. He will speaksoft words to the people, and when he tells them 'tis a choice betweenhim and you, and you a Feringhi, think you they will respect the desiresof
the master when he is far away? Many love you, some are indifferent,some are envious; but when Dilasah has said his say, and made hispromises, and got the mullah on his side--as he will do with presents ofsheep and tobacco--think you that even those who love you will offendAllah and risk the pains of Gehenna for you? There is talk even now thatthe Feringhis wish to make us all Christians. Dilasah and the mullahwill persuade the folk that you, if you become their chief, will turnthem from the true belief. I am an old man, Ahmed-ji, but though I havea white beard and toothless gums I can yet see a cloud in the sky."
Ahmed frowned. He had not foreseen these difficulties. He repeated theKoran and said the prayers the mullah had taught him; in nothing did hefall short of the observances required of good Mohammedans. In the earlydays of his life in Shagpur, when he went tearfully to bed, he hadrepeated the little prayers learnt at his mother's knee; but in the longyears since then, during which he had heard no word of English spokenaround him, these English prayers had slipped from him. It was absurd tosuppose that when he became chief he would try to turn the people to areligion of which he knew nothing. He could not but think that Ahsan'sfears were groundless, and when next day Dilasah met him with a franksmile, and, after a word of commiseration of the unhappy fate of RahmutKhan, addressed him with apparent cordiality as the new chief, he ran totell Ahsan that he was quite mistaken.
There was sorrow in the village at the loss of Rahmut Khan. The peoplewere proud of him, and with shrill cries called down maledictions on theFeringhis. But no one spoke of attempting anything on his behalf;Ahsan's views on that matter were shared by them all. Dilasah led theway in professions of loyalty to Ahmed, much to the wonderment of theold gate-keeper. Ahsan watched him narrowly. He did not believe in hissincerity, and yet could see no object in his feigning a loyalty he didnot feel. And it was not until some days had passed that a light flashedupon him. Though Dilasah agreed with the rest of the men that it wasimpossible to rescue the old chief, he said that it was surely desirablethat an attempt should be made to discover his fate. And at that, Assad,the father of Sherdil, offered to make the journey to Peshawar toinquire.
"Who better than I?" he said. "Sherdil, my son, is a great man among theFeringhis; it is a good thing that I, his father, should visit him andsee with my own eyes the greatness that has come to him. Without doubthe will be in Peshawar or some place near at hand; it will be easy forme to find him, and he will assuredly know what has become of ourmaster. I will go to Peshawar, and bring back news of the chief, andalso, I doubt not, some manifest tokens of the estimation in which myson is held."
This offer he made to Ahmed in the presence of Dilasah, and the latterstrongly urged its acceptance. Accordingly, two days after the return ofthe luckless expedition, Assad set off disguised as a mendicant, toescape all danger of being snapped up by a hostile tribe if he wentotherwise. And shrewd old Ahsan now saw through the conduct of Dilasah.The man would not feel safe until he knew for certain that Rahmut Khanwas permanently out of the way. If there was the least chance of thechief's return--whether by escape, or by payment of a fine, for Dilasahwas very hazy as to what his punishment would be--it behooved him to gocarefully. Shagpur would never side with him against its rightful chief;and if Rahmut should come back and find that he had tried to oust Ahmed,he knew that he could expect no mercy from his kinsman. He was thusbiding his time, thought Ahsan, until Rahmut's fate was known withcertainty, and then he would show his hand.
"You must be ready for flight when Assad comes back," said thegate-keeper to Ahmed.
"Why should I flee?" asked the boy.
"Because if you do not it will befall you as it befell Sundar Khan. Hehad a rival in the succession to his father, even as you have, andGulam, the rival, offered to put the matter before a council of theclansmen and abide by their choice. The choice fell upon Sundar Khan,whereupon Gulam made a great feast to celebrate the happy end of thedispute, to which came Sundar Khan and many of his friends. And when thepipe of peace was passing round after the feast, Gulam slipped awaysecretly to the door and lighted a match, and even as he himself ran forhis life, Sundar Khan and all his friends were blown up into the air. SoGulam made himself chief, and so also will Dilasah if he learns thatRahmut Khan is put out of the way."
This advice was distasteful to Ahmed, and for some days he refused toconsider it. Dilasah was still very pleasant; made no assumption ofauthority; said once, with a mournful shake of the head, that Ahmedwould soon be chief in reality, for Rahmut, being old, could not longsurvive imprisonment. But a day or two after he said something whichrecalled the story Ahsan had told, and Ahmed for the first time began tothink that his life might indeed be in danger.
"'Tis to be feared we shall never see Rahmut Khan again, Ahmed-ji," saidDilasah, "and when Assad returns with the news of what has befallen him,and we have no longer hope, we must put away our sorrow and make a feastto hail thee as chief. Dost thou approve, Ahmed-ji?"
Ahmed looked at the fat, smiling face with the cunning little eyes, andin the light of what Ahsan had said saw villainy there.
"It will be well, Dilasah," he said. "We will have a feast, and Rahmut'swomen and my sisters shall make us sweetmeats with their own hands. Thatwill be a great day, Dilasah."
And Dilasah smiled and rubbed his hands, and Ahmed went off to tellAhsan. There was no longer any doubt that Rahmut's nephew meditatedmischief, but Ahmed was still disinclined to take flight. He was popularwith the younger men, and suggested to Ahsan that they might form aparty in opposition to Dilasah and forestall him.
"Hai!" said Ahsan. "Crows home in the nests of hawks. It is vain,Ahmed-ji. I have seen Dilasah many times in converse with the mullah; heis cunning as a fox. Thou wilt be safe only by flight. My counsel tothee is to have thy good horse Ruksh ready, and when Assad returns withthe bad news--for my heart tells me it will be bad--ride out that verynight."
"And whither should I ride, Ahsan? This is my home. I have nowhere togo."
"Make thyself known to the Feringhis, Ahmed-ji. Maybe thou hast kinsmenamong them."
"'Tis folly, Ahsan. Who would believe me? I cannot speak the Feringhispeech, save one or two words that come back to me sometimes. I knownothing of the Feringhis' ways; I do not know the name of my truefather. Dost thou remember it, old friend?"
"Nay, I have often sought for it in my mind, but it is gone. Rahmutknows it, and Minghal also, but it is clean gone from me."
"Then how could I prove to the Feringhis that I am one of them? No, Ilike it not; and furthermore, Rahmut lies in prison, and I begin tobelieve that it is even as thou sayest--that Dilasah betrayed him. Is itnot my duty by some means to bring Rahmut back and deal with Dilasah ashe deserves?"
"Hai! foolish talk again. Think of what I say, Ahmed-ji; the time is notlong; Assad will soon be back, and then if thou art not gone, Dilasahwill seek thy life and take it."
Ahmed was impressed by the warnings of Ahsan, still more when he foundthat the old gate-keeper's views were shared by Rahmut Khan's family.Since Minghal's raid these ladies, with their children and servants,like Ahmed himself, had remained in the tower, and the chief's usualhouse had been unoccupied. Dilasah had been given the house in which hehad lived before his breach with his uncle years before. On the dayafter Ahsan had spoken so seriously, when Ahmed paid his usual visit ofrespect to Rahmut's principal wife, Meriem, the lady strongly urged himnot to go about the village alone.
"That evil man Dilasah hates thee," she said. "Gather some of the youngmen who love Rahmut and thee, Ahmed-ji, and have them always about theewhen thou goest into the streets."
Ahmed thought the advice worth taking, but the position irked him. Theconstraint was unendurable after his customary life of freedom, and hefelt that it must be ended one way or another. The obvious way--thenatural way to a Pathan--was to meet Dilasah with his own weapons andkill him at the first opportunity. But Dilasah's party was stronger thanhis own, and supposing his enemy were out of the way, the prejudiceagainst him as one of Feringhi birth would render his
position stillvery insecure. The death of Dilasah would probably result in a feudbetween his faction and Ahmed's. No one could say how such a strifewould end, but certainly it would in no way help towards the restorationof Rahmut Khan to his village, the object Ahmed had most at heart. Theboy concluded that he had better leave the village and go to Peshawar,to see whether some means might not be found of freeing the old chief.It was a debt he owed to the man who had saved his life and loved him sowell. Ahsan might talk of the difficulties, but Ahsan was an old man;old men often saw difficulties where young men could see none. Ahsanwould not have crept to the shed and blown up Minghal's powder; Ahsanwould not have taken part in Sherdil's daring stratagem againstMinghal's village; yet both of these hazardous enterprises had beensuccessful. Ahsan might talk as he pleased: certainly this was whatAhmed would do.
But Ahsan, when the new plan was put to him, did not speak of thedifficulties. He applauded the boy's decision, and even begged him tocarry it out at once, without waiting for Assad's return. Ahmed wouldnot consent to this. Assad's news might have some bearing on his futurecourse of action. Besides, before he left the village he wished to knowwhether their suspicions of Dilasah were well founded. If they were, hewould have two aims in life: to bring back Rahmut Khan, and to punishDilasah.
It was three weeks before Assad returned. He came in one day weary andfootsore, and in great depression of spirits.
"Hai! Sherdil was ever a liar," he said dolefully, when amid a circle ofthe chief men of the village he made his report to Ahmed. "He a greatman with the sahibs, forsooth! Why, he is but a servant, and doesfoolishness. I found him not in Peshawar; weary as I was, I had to gotwo days' journey to Mardan in the north-east. And what did I see there?Two score of men standing in line beneath the walls, and a Feringhi witha boy's face calling out strange words to them, and as he spoke thesemen lifted their right feet all together, and held them in the air as agoose does, and then let them fall to the ground again, and up cametheir left feet, all together, and so they marched, very slowly. Andthen they stopped, and moved their feet up and down without walking;'twas the most foolish thing I ever saw. And then at another word fromthe Feringhi dog they lifted their guns--short guns for babies, not likeour jazails--and held them straight before their noses, and at anotherword they let them down again and crossed their hands over them, and sostood without motion, as quiet and still as if they had been trees. AndI called to Sherdil, and bade him come and greet his father; but heneither looked at me nor said a word, not daring to make a movementexcept at the bidding of the Feringhi boy. And afterwards, when theFeringhi made a hissing between his teeth--'Dissmisss!' was the word ofthe foolish one--Sherdil came to me and asked me with great violence whyI had tried to get him punished, for it seems that if he had walked outof the line, or lifted a hand, or spoken a word save at the bidding ofthe Feringhi, he would have suffered grievous stripes, or have receivedno sheep's flesh to eat. Cursed be the dogs of Feringhis! That is whatthey make of the free-men of the hills."
"But what of my father?" asked Ahmed, to whom this description ofEuropean drill was not interesting.
"Thy father? Hai! He is shut up for five years."
He was interrupted by shrill cries from the men around. Ahmed, stealinga glance at Dilasah, saw his eyes flash with satisfaction.
"Yes, for five years he is to lie in the Feringhis' prison. That is thejudgment of Jan Larrens. And Sherdil, my wretched son, said that it washis just deserts and the due reward of foolishness. Hai! if I had knownwhat I know now, I would have cut off Sherdil's right hand sooner thanlet him go back to do goose-step and other things unworthy of a Pathan.And when I told him what I thought, he laughed at me with greatlaughter, and said, 'Go back, foolish one, or verily I will tell LumsdenSahib of thee, and ere thou knowest thou wilt be doing goose-step too.Lumsden Sahib will have thee.' And I shook the dust off my feet anddeparted; and my heart is sore vexed, for I thought my son was a greatman, and would do me honour in my old age."
There was much shaking of heads at this exposure of Sherdil'sboastfulness, and much sympathy expressed for Assad. But the man was anignorant fellow, a dyer by trade, who had seldom left the village, andAhmed felt sure that he had in some way been mistaken.
Assad's news about Rahmut Khan did but confirm his resolution to leavethe village. He was on the point of mentioning it to Dilasah when thatplausible man himself came to him, all smiles and geniality.
"Salaam, Ahmed," he said. "'Tis to be feared we shall never see ourchief Rahmut Khan again. He is an old man; the prison will kill him. Noman can strive against fate, and it is not meet that we sorrow overmuchfor what cannot be altered. Therefore am I come to bid thee to a feast,Ahmed-ji, at which we will hail thee as chief and be merry."
"But I cannot be chief while my father lives."
"True, but what matters it? Thou wilt be chief in his absence, it iswhat he himself would wish; and if by Allah's mercy he does not die inthe Feringhis' prison, but comes back to us, he will rejoice that weheld a feast in thy honour. This feast will be to-morrow, Ahmed-ji, andI have already ordered the finest sheep to be killed."
Ahmed had no reasonable excuse for declining the invitation, and Dilasahwent away well pleased.
But later in the day there came to Ahmed an old Hindu scribe who hadsettled in the village years before. In all considerable Pathan villagesthere were a few men of Hindu race--low-caste men, who plied pettytrades among the Mohammedans in the hope of making money. This man hadbeen protected once by Ahmed against the rabble of the village when hehad unwittingly given them offence. He came to the tower as soon as itwas dark, and being admitted to Ahmed's room, said--
"Hazur, I come to warn you. I remember the kindness wherewith you savedyour servant when he was in peril of his life, and it is meet and rightto show gratitude. Besides, our lord and master Rahmut Khan will rewardme when he returns, as he assuredly will do. But that is a littlematter. I may be dead before that time comes, and even without a rewardI would do much for you, hazur. And now what I say is this: go not tothe feast to which Dilasah has bid you. I have spoken it."
"But why, Dinga Ghosh?"
"To-day," said the man, dropping his voice, "when I was sitting at mywriting behind my lattice, I heard two of Dilasah's friends talkingtogether. Without doubt they supposed me asleep, and indeed it was veryhot, and I should have been asleep but for some good jin that held myeyelids. The men talked, and spoke of the morrow's feast, at which theywould be guests, and one said that it would be a merry feast, and whenit was ended no man would be in doubt as to who was chief of Shagpur.And both chuckled at this, and shortly after went away, and peepingthrough my lattice I beheld them that they were minions of Dilasah. Forthis reason have I come to warn you; without doubt mischief isintended."
"I thank thee, Dinga Ghosh," said Ahmed, "and be sure that my fatherwill reward thee when he comes back."
"Salaam, hazur," said the Hindu, and went away as secretly as he hadcome.
Ahmed had no longer any doubt that he must go; Shagpur was no longersafe for him. He had no scruples about leaving his father's household;Dilasah would never dare to molest them, in face of public opinion.There was nothing to detain him. But, as he had told Ahsan, he wouldnever slink out of the place furtively like a dog in fear of a whipping.No doubt if he pleased he might slip down over the wall in the night. Hewould not use that way, but go openly and in broad daylight through thegate.
Next morning, therefore, he told the chief's family of his resolve.
"It is wise, Ahmed-ji," said Meriem; "but we are loath to lose thee. Yetit is the part of a good son to do what may be done for his father, andwe shall love thee the more if thou bringest back our lord in safety.But I fear lest Dilasah will not let thee go."
"Wah! He will be glad to be rid of me," said Ahmed.
"Not so. Does he wish our lord Rahmut to return? Will he feel safe if helive in fear that thou mayst return one day, perhaps after many years,and become in very truth lord of Shagpur? Nay, Dilasah would fain killthe
e while thou art yet a boy; it will not be so easy when thou art aman."
"Nevertheless, O pearl, I will go, and Dilasah shall not stay me."
He bade farewell to the ladies and their daughters, left them, and wentimmediately to saddle his horse. A Pathan starting on a journey needsbut little equipment; his horse, his weapons, a trifle of money, awallet of food--with these he is ready. A few minutes after he left thewomen he rode boldly from the courtyard towards the gate. He wassurprised to find it closed, and in charge of a new gate-keeper.
"Where is Ahsan?" he demanded sharply.
The man replied that Ahsan being sick, he had been sent to take hisplace. Ahmed immediately grasped the situation. This was Dilasah's firstmove; he meant to make sure that his invited guest and victim should notescape him. Luckily Dilasah's house was at the other side of thevillage; Ahmed felt that he had perhaps a few moments to spare.
"Open the gate," he said to the new gate-keeper.
The man hesitated; clearly he had his orders. Instantly Ahmed's knifeflashed before his eyes. There was no escape for him, with Ahmed abovehim. Haltingly he moved towards the gate, trying to gain time. PerhapsDilasah or some of his friends would arrive before Ahmed had passedthrough. There were men and children in the street, and Ahmed heard themcalling to one another; no doubt, unless they were in the secret, theywere surprised at seeing the young chief leaving the village on the veryday of the feast. The news would soon fly through the place.
"Quick!" cried Ahmed to the gate-keeper, "or you are a dead man."
The man cringed, and drew the bolts. Ahmed, his knife in one hand, leantforward and with the other pulled open the massive structure, whichcreaked on its hinges. Seizing the opportunity, the man slipped asideand ran up the street shouting for assistance. Ahmed walked his horsequietly through the gateway. He heard cries behind him; it would take aminute or two for horsemen to saddle up, mount, and follow, and therewere few horses within fifty miles that could match his Ruksh inspeed--the arab he had trained to come at his call, and to kneel down ata word. Some one might shoot at him from the wall, but he must take hischance of that; he disdained to run while he was yet in sight. He turnedhis horse towards a hill a quarter of a mile away, and did not set himto a trot until he had rounded the shoulder and the village was hid fromhim. Then he rode on for half-a-mile until he gained a spot whence thewalls again came into view. Turning his head, he saw a dozen horsemenpouring through the gate. It was time to be off. With a touch upon hisflank and a word in his ear the horse broke into a gallop. Even with aheavier burden than his master the arab could outpace any horse in thevillage, and under Ahmed's light weight he would, barring accidents,easily distance the pursuers.
Ahmed had purposely chosen a track that wound along at the base of thehills, for the undulations of the country would baffle the pursuers, whocould not press on at their utmost speed for fear of a fall. Every nowand then he had to pull in his horse to avoid a stumble, and his careenabled the enemy for a mile or two to keep him in sight. They could notcircumvent him, for he knew every foot of the hills, and could turn offin any direction at need, with perfect confidence in his ability toelude them. They were bound to follow in his tracks. So for some timethe chase continued, the distance between pursuers and pursued scarcelyvarying. At length Ahmed, feeling that the hills had served their turnin tiring the horses of Dilasah and his troop, swept down into the plainand gave Ruksh his head. The gallant animal flew on at a bounding pace.In half-an-hour the pursuers were hopelessly distanced. Coming to apoint from which he could see a long stretch of level ground behind him,Ahmed pulled up, turned in his saddle, and narrowly scanned the courseof his flight. There in the far distance were his pursuers, but ridingthe other way. They had given up the chase.
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