by Talbot Mundy
When the last evil jest has been made, and the rest Of the ink of hypocrisy spilt, When the awfully right have elected to fight Lest their own should discover their guilt; When the door has been shut on the "if" and the "but" And it's up to the men with the guns, On their knees in that day let diplomatists pray For forgiveness from prodigal sons.
Instead of the mullah, growling texts out of a Quran on his lap, theOrakzai Pathan sat and sunned himself in the cave mouth, emittingworldlier wisdom unadulterated with divinity. As King went toward himto see to whom he spoke he grinned and pointed with his thumb, and Kinglooked down on some sick and wounded men who sat in a crowd together onthe ramp, ten feet or so below the cave.
They seemed stout soldierly fellows. Men of another type were being keptat a distance by dint of argument and threats. Away in the distance wasMuhammad Anim with his broad back turned to the cave, in altercationwith a dozen other mullahs. For the time he was out of the reckoning.
"Some of these are wounded," the Pathan explained. "Some have sores.Some have the belly ache. Then again, some are sick of words, hot andcold by day and night. All have served in the army. All have medals.All are deserters, some for one reason, some for another and some for noreason at all. Bull-with-a-beard looks the other way. Speak thou to themabout the pardon that is offered!"
So King went down among them, taking some of the tools of his supposedtrade with him and trying to crowd down the triumph that would well up.The seed he had sown had multiplied by fifty in a night. He wanted toshout, as men once did before the walls of Jericho.
A man bared a sword cut. He bent over him, and if the mullah had turnedto look there would have been no ground for suspicion. So in a voicejust loud enough to reach them all, he repeated what he had told thePathan the day before.
"But who art thou?" asked one of them suspiciously. Perhaps there hadbeen a shade too much cocksureness in the hakim's voice, but he actedfaultlessly when he answered. Voice, accent, mannerism, guilty pride,were each perfect.
"Political offender. My brother yonder in the cave mouth"--(The Pathansmirked. He liked the imputation)--"suggested I seek pardon, too.He thinks if I persuade many to apply for pardon then the sirkar mayforgive me for service rendered."
The Pathan's smirk grew to a grin. He liked grandly to have the notionfathered on himself; and his complacency of course was suggestive of thehakim's trustworthiness. But the East is ever cautious.
"Some say thou art a very great liar," remarked a man with half a nose.
"Nay," answered King. "Liar I may be, but I am one against many. Whichof you would dare stand alone and lie to all the others? Nay, sahibs, Iam a political offender, not a soldier!"
They all laughed at that and seizing the moment when they were in apliant mood the Orakzai Pathan proceeded to bring proposals to a head.
"Are we agreed?" he asked. "Or have we waggled our beards all night longin vain? Take him with us, say I. Then, if pardons are refused us he atleast will gain nothing by it. We can plunge our knives in him first,whatever else happens."
"Aye!"
That was reasonable and they approved in chorus. Possibility of pardonand reinstatement, though only heard of at second hand, had broughtunity into being. And unity brought eagerness.
"Let us start to-night!" urged one man, and nobody hung back.
"Aye! Aye! Aye!" they chorused. And eagerness, as always in the "Hills,"brought wilder counsel in its wake.
"Who dare stab Bull-with-a-beard? He has sought blood and has let blood.Let him drink his own."
"Aye!"
"Nay! He is too well guarded."
"Not he!"
"Let us stab him and take his head with us; there well may be a price onit."
They took a vote on it and were agreed; but that did not suit King atall, whatever Muhammad Anim's personal deserts might be. To let him bestabbed would be to leave Yasmini without a check on her of any kind,and then might India defend herself! Yet to leave the mullah and Yasminiboth at large would be almost equally dangerous, for they might form analliance. There must be some other way, and he set out to gain time.
"Nay, nay, sahibs!" he urged. "Nay, nay!"
"Why not?"
"Sahibs, I have wife and children in Lahore. Same are most dear to meand I to them. I find it expedient to make great effort for my pardon.Ye are but fifty. Ye are less than fifty. Nay, let us gather a hundredmen."
"Who shall find a hundred?" somebody demanded, and there was a chorus ofdenial. "We be all in this camp who ate the salt."
It was plain, though, that his daring to hold out only gave them themore confidence in him.
"But Khinjan," he objected. The crimes of the Khinjan men were not tothe point. Time had to be gained.
"Aye," they agreed. "There be many in Khinjan!" Mere mention of theplace made them regard Orakzai Pathan and hakim with new respect, ashaving right of entry through the forbidden gate.
"Then I have it!" the Pathan announced at once, for he was awake toopportunity. "Many of you can hardly march. Rest ye here and let thehakim treat your belly aches. Bull-with-a-beard bade me wait here for aletter that must go to Khinjan to-day. Good. I will take his letter.And in Khinjan I will spread news about pardons. It is likely there arefifty there who will dare follow me back, and then we shall march downthe Khyber like a full company of the old days! Who says that is not agood plan?"
There were several who said it was not, but they happened to havenothing the matter with them and could have marched at once. The restwere of the other way of thinking and agreed in asserting that Khinjanmen were a higher caste of extra-ultra murderers whose presencedoubtless would bring good luck to the venture. These prevailed afterconsiderable argument.
Strangely enough, none of them deemed the proposition beneath Khinjanmen's consideration. Pardon and leave to march again behind Britishofficers loomed bigger in their eyes than the green banner of theProphet, which could only lead to more outrageous outlawry. They knewKhinjan men were flesh and blood--humans with hearts--as well as they.But caution had a voice yet.
"She will catch thee in Khinjan Caves," suggested the man with part ofhis nose missing. "She will have thee flayed alive!"
"Take note then, I bequeath all the women in the world to thee! Be thouheir to my whole nose, too, and a blessing!" laughed the Pathan, andthe butt of the jest spat savagely. In the "Hills" there is only oneexplanation given as to how one lost his nose, and they all laughed likehyenas until the mullah Muhammad Anim came rolling and striding back.
By that time King had got busy with his lancet, but the mullah calledhim off and drove the crowd away to a distance; then he drove King intothe cave in front of him, his mouth working as if he were biting bits ofvengeance off for future use.
"Write thy letter, thou! Write thy letter! Here is paper. There is apen--take it! Sit! Yonder is ink--ttutt--ttutt!--Write, now, write!"
King sat at a box and waited, as if to take dictation, but the mullah,tugging at his beard, grew furious.
"Write thine own letter! Invent thine own argument! Persuade her, or diein a new way! I will invent a new way for thee!"
So King began to write, in Urdu, for reasons of his own. He had spokenonce or twice in Urdu to the mullah and had received no answer. At theend of ten minutes he handed up what he had written, and Muhammad Animmade as if to read it, trying to seem deliberate, and contriving to lookirresolute. It was a fair guess that he hated to admit ignorance of thescholars' language.
"Are there any alterations you suggest?" King asked him.
"Nay, what care I what the words are? If she be not persuaded, the worsefor thee!"
He held it out, and as he took it King contrived to tear it; he alsocontrived to seem ashamed of his own clumsiness.
"I will copy it out again," he said.
The mullah swore at him, and conceiving that some extra show ofauthority was needful, growled out:
"Remember all I said. Set down she must surrender Khinjan Caves or Isw
ear by Allah I will have thee tortured with fire and thorns--and her,too, when the time comes!"
Now he had said that, or something very like it, in the first letter.There was no doubt left that the Mullah was trying to hide ignorance,as men of that fanatic ambitious mold so often will at the expense ofbetter judgment. If fanatics were all-wise, it would be a poor world forthe rest.
"Very well," King said quietly. And with great pretense of copying theother letter out on fresh paper he now wrote what he wished to say,taking so long about it (for he had to weigh each word), that the mullahstrode up and down the cave swearing and kicking things over.
"Greeting,"' he wrote, "to the most beautiful and very wise Princess Yasmini, in her palace in the Caves in Khinjan, from her servant Kurram Khan the hakim, in the camp of the mullah Muhammad Anim, a night's march distant in the hills.
"The mullah Muhammad Anim makes his stand and demands now surrender to himself of Khinjan Caves; and of all his ammunition. Further, he demands full control of you and of me and of all your men. He is ready to fight for his demands and already--as you must well know--he has considerable following in Khinjan Caves. He has at least as many men as you have, and he has four thousand more here.
"He threatens as a preliminary to blockade Khinjan Caves, unless the answer to this prove favorable, letting none enter, but calling his own men out to join him. This would suit the Indian government, because while the 'Hills' fight among themselves they can not raid India, and while he blockades Khinjan Caves there will be time to move against him.
"Knowing that he dares begin and can accomplish what he threatens, I am sorry; because I know it is said how many services you have rendered of old to the government I serve. We who serve one raj are One--one to remember--one to forget--one to help each other in good time.
"I have not been idle. Some of Muhammad Anim's men are already mine. With them I can return to India, taking information with me that will serve my government. My men are eager to be off.
"It may be that vengeance against me would seem sweeter to you than return to your former allegiance. In that case, Princess, you only need betray me to the mullah, and be sure my death would leave nothing to be desired by the spectators. At present he does not suspect me.
"Be assured, however, that not to betray me to him is to leave me free to serve my government and well able to do so.
"I invite you to return to India with me, bearing news that the mullah Muhammad Anim and his men are bottled in Khinjan Caves, and to plan with me to that end.
"If you will, then write an answer to Muhammad Anim, not in Urdu, but in a language he can understand; seem to surrender to him. But to me send a verbal message, either by the bearer of this or by some trustier messenger.
"India can profit yet by your service if you will. And in that case I pledge my word to direct the government's attention only to your good service in the matter. It is not yet too late to choose. It is not impertinent in me to urge you.
"Nor can I say how gladly I would subscribe myself your grateful and loyal servant."
The mullah pounced on the finished letter, pretended to read it, andwatched him seal it up, smudging the hot wax with his own great gnarledthumb. Then he shouted for the Orakzai Pathan, who came striding in, allgrins and swagger.
"There--take it! Make speed!" he ordered, and with his rifle at the"ready" and the letter tucked inside his shirt, the Pathan favored Kingwith a farewell grin and obeyed.
"Get out!" the mullah snarled then immediately. "See to the sick. Tellthem I sent thee. Bid them be grateful!"
King went. He recognized the almost madness that constituted themullah's driving power. It is contagious, that madness, until itdestroys itself. It had made several thousand men follow him and believein him, but it had once given Yasmini a chance to fool him and defeathim, and now it gave King his chance. He let the mullah think himselfobeyed implicitly.
He became the busiest man in all the "Hills." While the mullah gloweredover the camp from the cave mouth or fulminated from the Quran or foughtwith other mullahs with words for weapons and abuse for argument, hebandaged and lanced and poulticed and physicked until his head swam withweariness.
The sick swarmed so around him that he had to have a body-guard to keepthem at bay; so he chose twenty of the least sick from among those whohad talked with him after sunrise.
And because each of those men had friends, and it is only human to wishone's friend in the same boat, especially when the sea, so to speak, isrough, the progress through the camp became a current of missionary zealand the virtues of the Anglo-Indian raj were better spoken of than the"Hills" had heard for years.
Not that there was any effort made to convert the camp en masse. Farfrom it. But the likely few were pounced on and were told of a chance toenlist for a bounty in India. And what with winter not so far ahead, andwhat with experience of former fighting against the British army, thechoosing was none so difficult. From the day when the lad first feelssoft down upon his face until the old man's beard turns white and histeeth shake out, the Hillman would rather fight than eat; but he prefersto fight on the winning side if he may, and he likes good treatment.
Before if was dark that night there were thirty men sworn to holdtheir tongues and to wait for the word to hurry down the Khyber for thepurpose of enlisting in some British-Indian regiment. Some even beganto urge the hakim not to wait for the Orakzai Pathan, but to start withwhat he had.
"Shall I leave my brother in the lurch?" the hakim asked them; andthough they murmured, they thought better of him for it.
Well for him that he had plenty of Epsom salts in his kit, for in the"Hills" physic should taste evil and show very quick results to bebelieved in. He found a dozen diseases of which he did not so much asknow the name, but half of the sufferers swore they were cured after thefirst dose. They would have dubbed him faquir and have foisted him to apillar of holiness had he cared to let them.
Muhammad Anim slept most of the day, like a great animal that scorns tolive by rule. But at evening he came to the cave mouth and fulminatedsuch a sermon as set the whole camp to roaring. He showed his powerthen. The jihad he preached would have tempted dead men from theirgraves to come and share the plunder, and the curses he called down oncowards and laggards and unbelievers were enough to have frightened thedead away again.
In twenty minutes he had undone all King's missionary work. And thenin ten more, feeling his power and their response, and being at heart afool as all rogues are, he built it up again.
He began to make promises too definite. He wanted Khinjan Caves. More,he needed them. So he promised them they should all be free of KhinjanCaves within a day or two, to come and go and live there at theirpleasure. He promised them they should leave their wives and childrenand belongings safe in the Caves while they themselves went down toplunder India. He overlooked the fact that Khinjan Caves for centurieshad been a secret to be spoken of in whispers, and that prospect of itsviolation came to them as a shock.
Half of them did not believe him. Such a thing was impossible, and if hewere lying as to one point, why not as to all the others, too?
And the army veterans, who had been converted by King's talk of pardons,and almost reconverted by the sermon, shook their heads at the talk oftaking Khinjan. Why waste time trying to do what never had been done,with her to reckon against, when a place in the sun was waiting for themdown in India, to say nothing of the hope of pardons and clean livingfor a while? They shook their heads and combed their beards and eyed oneanother sidewise in a way the "Hills" understand.
That night, while the mullah glowered over the camp like a great oldowl, with leaping f
irelight reflected in his eyes, the thousands underthe skin tents argued, so that the night was all noise. But King slept.
All of another day and part of another night he toiled among the sick,wondering when a message would come back. It was nearly midnight whenhe bandaged his last patient and came out into the starlight to bend hisback straight and yawn and pick his way reeling with weariness back tothe mullah's cave. He had given his bag of medicines and implements toa man to carry ahead of him and had gone perhaps ten paces into the darkwhen a strong hand gripped him by the wrist.
"Hush!" said a voice that seemed familiar.
He turned swiftly and looked straight into the eyes of the Rangar RewaGunga!
"How did you get here?" he asked in English.
"Any fool could learn the password into this camp! Come over here,sahib. I bring word from her."
The ground was criss-crossed like a man's palm by the shadows oftent-ropes. The Rangar led him to where the tents were forty feet apartand none was likely to overhear them. There he turned like a flash.
"She sends you this!" he hissed.
In that same instant King was fighting for his life.
In another second they were down together among the tent-pegs, Kingholding the Rangar's wrist with both hands and struggling to breakit, and the Rangar striving for another stroke. The dagger he heldhad missed King's ribs by so little that his skin yet tingled from itstouch. It was a dagger with bronze blade and a gold hilt--her dagger. Itwas her perfume in the air.
They rolled over and over, breathing hard. King wanted to think beforehe gave an alarm, and he could not think with that scent in his nostrilsand creeping into his lungs. Even in the stress of fighting be wonderedhow the Rangar's clothes and turban had come to be drenched in it. Headmitted to himself afterward that it was nothing else than jealousythat suggested to him to make the Rangar prisoner and hand him over tothe mullah.
That would have been a ridiculous thing to do, for it would have forcedhis own betrayal to the mullah. But as if the Rangar had read hismind he suddenly redoubled his efforts and King, weary to the point ofsickness, had to redouble his own or die. Perhaps the jealousy helpedput venom in his effort, for his strength came back to him as a madman'sdoes. The Rangar gave a moan and let the knife fall.
And because jealousy is poison King did the wrong thing then. Hepounced on the knife instead of on the Rangar. He could have questionedhim--knelt on him and perhaps forced explanations from him. But with asudden swift effort like a snake's the Rangar freed himself and wasup and gone before King could struggle to his feet--gone like a shadowamong shadows.
King got up and felt himself all over, for they had fought on stonyground and he was bruised. But bruises faded into nothing, and wearinessas well, as his mind began to dwell on the new complication to hisproblem.
It was plain that the moment he had returned from his message to theKhyber the Rangar had been sent on this new murderous mission. IfYasmini had told the truth a letter had gone into India describing him,King, as a traitor, and from her point of view that might be supposed tocut the very ground away from under his feet.
Then why so much trouble to have him killed? Either Rewa Gunga had nevertaken the first letter, or--and this seemed more probable--Yashiini hadnever believed the letter would be treated seriously by the authorities,and had only sent it in the hope of fooling him and undermining hisdetermination. In that case, especially supposing her to have receivedhis ultimatum on the mullah's behalf before sending Rewa Gunga with thedagger, she must consider him at least dangerous. Could she be afraid?If so her game was lost already!
Perhaps she saw her own peril. Perhaps she contemplated--gosh! what acontingency!--perhaps she contemplated bolting into India with a storyof her own, and leaving the mullah to his own devices! In such a case,before going she would very likely try to have the one man stabbed whocould give her away most completely. In fact, would she dare escape intoIndia and leave himself alive behind her?
He rather thought she would dare do anything. And that thought broughtreassurance. She would dare, and being what she was she almost surelywould seek vengeance on the mullah before doing anything else.
Then why the dagger for himself? She must believe him in league with themullah against her. She might believe that with him out of the way themullah would prove an easier prey for her. And that belief might bejustifiable, but as an explanation it failed to satisfy.
There was an alternative, the very thought of which made him fearfullyuneasy, and yet brought a thrill with it. In all eastern lands, lovescorned takes to the dagger. He had half believed her when she swore sheloved him! The man who could imagine himself loved by Yasmini and not bethrilled to his core would be inhuman, whatever reason and caution andcaste and creed might whisper in imagination's wake.
Reeling from fatigue (he felt like a man who had been racked, for theRangar's strength was nearly unbelievable), he started toward where themullah sat glowering in the cave mouth. He found the man who had carriedhis bag asleep at the foot of the ramp, and taking the bag away fromhim, let him lie there. And it took him five minutes to drag his hurtweary bones up the ramp, for the fight had taken more out of him than hehad guessed at first.
The mullah glared at him but let him by without a word. It was by thefire at the back of the cave, where he stooped to dip water from themullah's enormous crock that the next disturbing factor came to light.He kicked a brand into the fire and the flame leaped. Its light shoneon a yard and a half of exquisitely fine hair, like spun gold, thatcaressed his shoulder and descended down one arm. One thread of hairthat conjured up a million thoughts, and in a second upset everyargument!
If Rewa Gunga had been near enough to her and intimate enough with hernot only to become scented with her unmistakable perfume but even to gether hair on his person, then gone was all imagination of her love forhimself! Then she had lied from first to last! Then she had tried tomake him love her that she might use him, and finding she had failed,she had sent her true love with the dagger to make an end!
In a moment he imagined a whole picture, as it might have been in acrystal, of himself trapped and made to don the Roman's armor and forcedto pose to the savage 'Hills'--or fooled into posing to them--as herlover, while Rewa Gunga lurked behind the scenes and waited for theharvest in the end. And what kind of harvest?
And what kind of man must Rewa Gunga be who could lightly let go allthe prejudices of the East and submit to what only the West has enduredhitherto with any complacency--a "tertium quid"?
Yet what a fool he, King, had been not to appreciate at once that RewaGunga must be her lover. Why should he not be? Were they not alike ascousins? And the East does not love its contrary, but its complement,being older in love than the West, and wiser in its ways in all but thematerial. He had been blind. He had overlooked the obvious--that fromfirst to last her plan had been to set herself and this Rewa Gunga onthe throne of India!
He washed and went through the mummery of muslim prayers for thewatchful mullah's sake, and climbed on to his bed. But sleep seemed outof the question. He lay and tossed for an hour, his mind as busy as aterrier in hay. And when he did fall asleep at last it was so todream and mutter that the mullah came and shook him and preached hima half-hour sermon against the mortal sins that rob men of peacefulslumber by giving them a foretaste of the hell to come.
All that seemed kinder and more refreshing than King's own thoughts hadbeen, for when the mullah had done at last and had gone striding back tothe cave mouth, he really did fall sound asleep, and it was after dawnwhen he awoke. The mullah's voice, not untuneful was rousing all thevalley echoes in the call to prayer.
Allah is Almighty! Allah is Almighty! I declare there is no God but Allah! I declare Muhammad is his prophet! Hie ye to prayer! Hie ye to salvation! Prayer is better than sleep! Prayer is better than sleep! There is no God but Allah!
And while King knelt behind the mullah and the whole camp faced Mecca i
nforehead-in-the-dust abasement there came a strange procession down themidst--not strange to the "Hills," where such sights are common, butstrange to that camp and hour. Somebody rose and struck them, and theyknelt like the rest; but when prayer was over and cooking had begun andthe camp became a place of savory smell, they came on again--seven blindmen.
They were weary, ragged, lean--seven very tatter-demalions--and thefront man led them, tapping the ground with a long stick. The othersclung to him in line, one behind the other. He was the only clean-shavenone, and he was the tallest. He looked as if he had not been blind solong, for his physical health was better. All seven men yelled at theutmost of their lungs, but he yelled the loudest.
"Oh, the hakim--the good hakim!" they wailed. "Where is the famoushakim? We be blind men--blind we be--blind--blind! Oh, pity us! Is anykismet worse than ours? Oh, show us to the hakim! Show us the way tohim! Lead us to him! Oh, the famous, great, good hakim who can healmen's eyes!"
The mullah looked down on them like a vulture waiting to see them die,and seeing they did not die, turned his back and went into his cave.Close to the ramp they stopped, and the front man, cocking his head toone side as only birds and the newly blind do, gave voice again in nasalsingsong.
"Will none tell me where is the great, good, wise hakim Kurram Khan?"
"I am he," said King, and he stepped down toward him, calling to anassistant to come and bring him water and a sponge. The blind man's facelooked strangely familiar, though it was partly disguised by some gummystuff stuck all about the eyes. Taking it in both hands be tilted theeyes to the light and opened one eye with his thumb. There was nothingwhatever the matter with it. He opened the other.
"Rub me an ointment on!" the man urged him, and he stared at the faceagain.
"Ismail!" he said. "You?"
"Aye! Father of cleverness! Make play of healing my eyes!"
So King dipped a sponge in water and sent back for his bag and made agreat show of rubbing on ointment. In a minute Ismail, looking almostlike a young man without his great beard, was dancing like a lunaticwith both fists in the air, and yelling as if wasps had stung him.
"Aieee--aieee--aieee!" he yelled. "I see again! I see! My eyes havelight in them! Allah! Oh, Allah heap riches on the great wise hakfim whocan heal men's eyes! Allah reward him richly, for I am a beggar and haveno goods!"
The other six blind men came struggling to be next, and while Kingrubbed ointment on their eyes and saw that there was nothing there hecould cure the whole camp began to surge toward him to see the miracle,and his chosen body-guard rushed up to drive them back.
"Find your way down the Khyber and ask for the Wilayti dakitar. He willfinish the cure."
The six blind men, half-resentful, half-believing, turned away, mainlybecause Ismail drove them with words and blows. And as they went a tallAfridi came striding down the camp with a letter for the mullah held outin a cleft stick in front of him.
"Her answer!" said Ismail with a wicked grin.
"What is her word? Where is the Orakzai Pathan?"
But Ismail laughed and would not answer him. It seemed to King that hescented climax. So did his near-fifty and their thirty friends. He choseto take the arrival of the blind men as a hint from Providence and to"go it blind" on the strength of what he had hoped might happen. Also hechose in that instant to force the mullah's hand, on the principle thathurried buffaloes will blunder.
"To Khinjan!" he shouted to the nearest man. "The mullah will march onKhinjan!"
They murmured and wondered and backed away from him to give him room.Ismail watched him with dropped jaw and wild eye.
"Spread it through the camp that we march on Khinjan! Shout it! Bid themstrike the tents!"
Somebody behind took up the shout and it went across the camp in leaps,as men toss a ball. There was a surge toward the tents, but King calledto his deserters and they clustered back to him. He had to cement theirallegiance now or fail altogether, and he would not be able to do it byordinary argument or by pleading; he had to fire their imagination. Andhe did.
"She is on our side!" That was a sheer guess. "She has kept our man andsent another as hostage for him in token of good faith! Listen! Ye sawthis man's eyes healed. Let that be a token! Be ye the men with neweyes! Give it out! Claim the title and be true to it and see me guideyou down the Khyber in good time like a regiment, many more than ahundred strong!"
They jumped at the idea. The "Hills"--the whole East, for thatmatter--are ever ready to form a new sect or join a new band or anew blood-feud. Witness the Nikalseyns, who worship a long-since deadEnglishman.
"We see!" yelled one of them.
"We see!" they chorused, and the idea took charge. From that minute theywere a new band, with a war-cry of their own.
"To Khinjan!" they howled, scattering through the camp, and the mullahcame out to glare at them and tug his beard and wonder what possessedthem.
"To Khinjan!" they roared at him. "Lead us to Khinjan!"
"To Khinjan, then!" he thundered, throwing up both arms in a sort ofdouble apostolic blessing, and then motioning as if he threw them thereins and leave to gallop. They roared back at him like the sea underthe whip of a gaining wind. And Ismail disappeared among them, leavingKing alone. Then the mullah's eyes fell on King and he beckoned him.
King went up with an effort, for he ached yet from his struggle of thenight before. Up there by the ashes of the fire the mullah showed him aletter he had crumpled in his fist. There were only a few lines, writtenin Arabic, which all mullahs are supposed to be able to read, and theywere signed with a strange scrawl that might have meant anything. Butthe paper smelt strongly of her perfume.
"Come, then. Bring all your men, and I will let you and them enterKhinjan Caves. We will strike a bargain in the Cavern of Earth's Drink."
That was all, but the fire in the mullah's eyes showed that he thoughtit was enough. He did not doubt that once he should have his extra fourthousand in the caves Khinjan would be his; and he said so.
"Khinjan is mine!" he growled. "India is mine!"
And King did not answer him. He did not believe Yasmini would be foolenough to trust herself in any bargain with Muhammad Anim. Yet he couldsee no alternative as yet. He could only be still and be glad he had setthe camp moving and so had forced the mullah's hand.
"The old fatalist would have suspected her answer otherwise!" he toldhimself, for he knew that he himself suspected it.
While he and the mullah watched the tents began to fall and the womenlabored to roll them. The men began firing their rifles, and within thehour enough ammunition had been squandered to have fought a good-sizedskirmish; but the mullah did not mind, for he had Khinjan Caves in view,and none knew better than he what vast store of cartridges and dynamitewas piled in there. He let them waste.
Watching his opportunity, King slipped down the ramp and into the crowd,while the mullah was busy with personal belongings in the cave. Kingleft his own belongings to the fates, or to any thief who should careto steal them. He was safe from the mullah in the midst of his nearlyeighty men, who half believed him a sending from the skies.
"We see! we see!" they yelled and danced around him.
Before ever the mullah gave an order they got under way and startedclimbing the steep valley wall. The mullah on his brown mule thrustforward, trying to get in the lead, and King and his men hung back, tokeep at a distance from him. It was when the mullah had reached the topof the slope and was not far from being in the lead that Ismail appearedagain, leading King's horse, that he had found in possession of anotherman. That did not look like enmity or treachery. King mounted andthanked him. Ismail wiped his knife, that had blood on it, and stuckhis tongue through his teeth, which did not look quite like treacheryeither. Yet the Afridi could not be got to say a word.
Two or three miles along the top of the escarpment the mullah sent backword that he wanted the hakim to be beside him. Doubtless he had lookedback and had seen King on the horse, head and shoulders above theb
aggage.
But King's men treated the messenger to open scorn and sent him packing.
"Bid the mullah hunt himself another hakim! Be thou his hakim! Stay, wewill give thee a lesson in how to use a knife!"
The man ran, lest they carry out their threat, for men joke grimly inthe "Hills."
Ismail came and held King's stirrup, striding beside him with the easyHillman gait.
"Art thou my man at last?" King asked him, but Ismail laughed and shookhis head.
"I am her man."
"Where is she?" King asked.
"Nay, who am I that I should know?"
"But she sent thee?"
"Aye, she sent me."
"To what purpose?"'
"To her purpose!" the Afridi answered, and King could not get anotherword out of him. He fell behind.
But out of the corner of his eye, and once or twice by looking backdeliberately, King saw that Ismail was taking the members of his newband one by one and whispering to them. What he said was a mystery, butas they talked each man looked at King. And the more they talked thebetter pleased they seemed. And as the day wore on the more deferentialthey grew. By midday if King wanted to dismount there were three atleast to hold his stirrup and ten to help him mount again.
Chapter XVIII
