The Heath Hover Mystery

by Bertram Mitford

his own amusement--and then a short, wholly mirthful laugh escapedhim as he remembered how he had gone down to help Nashby over theunravelling of the Heath Hover mystery. Heavens, how that worthy ruralpolice inspector would have stared could he have so much as guessed atwhat that real unravelling would lead up to! But the situation waschanged now, for in such unravelling Nashby was clean counted out. He,the unraveller, was wholly in the interest of the other side.

  Far out over the plain a wolf howled, and was answered by another.Something in the sound brought back that of the owls hooting in thePlane woods, and "Broceliande," and the contrast to the presentsurroundings came out sharply defined. Why their adventures of thatvery day seemed to make the other remote and commonplace--though therewas one element about it which reflected the very reverse ofcommonplace. Even his well regulated system seemed to stir uneasily atthe thought, and stretched upon his charpoy here at midnight in one ofthe wildest tracts of wilderness in the world, Helston Varne felt as ifsleep would never visit him again.

  The wolves howled, this time nearer. He could hear the half alarmedsnort of one or two of the picketted horses, and a restless camelindulge in its characteristic, swearing snarl. He got up and mixedhimself another peg, lit a fresh cheroot, then lay down again, staringat the tent roof and thinking--thinking back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  A STARTLER FOR HELSTON VARNE.

  High up amid the soaring pinnacles of the craggy world Helston Varne andhis shikari were worming their way in stealthy silence, now round acorner where every hand and foothold had to be carefully tested beforetrusted, now along a rock ledge whose crannies alone supplied both--oragain along a steep slope of scaly slag, hardly less slippery than ice.But on either or any of these delectable samples of _terra firma_ asingle slip would carry the same result--an abrupt descent of hundredsof feet, with not an unbroken bone on arrival at the bottom. Itrequired an iron nerve, and the perfection of muscular, and generallyphysical, condition. Furthermore, having regard to the object of itsundertaking, it must be accomplished in the most perfect silence. Andall this for the sake of shooting a wild goat--or at any rate making asporting attempt at the achievement of that feat! For this particularpoint was one of the best places for markhor in the whole range.

  Like master like man. The shikari, Hussein Khan, was a hardmountaineer, all muscle and keenness. He was a Pathan of the Kakhartribe and had an immense respect for his master, primarily because thelatter was his equal in both these attributes, and also for anotherreason which may or may not appear.

  The time was the middle of the forenoon. They should have arrived atthis point earlier, but the climb had proved more difficult anddangerous than either had anticipated, and both were sufficientlyexperienced to know that it was one that no amount of keenness wouldenable them to rush. But for hours they had clambered thus, and now,mere specks against the brown, craggy mountain side, they paused for ablow; for you cannot take a steady aim when winded after real hardexertion. Incidentally to one of them the pause was due to anothermotive, for Hussein Khan was a true believer, and was not this the hourof prayer? So cramped on the ledge, with barely enough space for theprescribed prostrations, the follower of the Prophet, his face turned inthe direction of the Holy City--as to which he was able to judge by thehang of the sun, and that with marvellous accuracy--having put off hisshoes and spread his _chudda_--went to work at the same, as entirelyabsorbed from the world as though kneeling on the even flooring of somecool, dim mosque. The "infidel" meanwhile, took the opportunity of abite from a sandwich and a pull at his flask.

  But the creed of Islam is a very work-a-day one, so the shikari'sdevotions did not take long, a few minutes at the outside. He roseagain, rested in body and satisfied in conscience, and the pair resumedtheir way. A very short bout of additional clambering, and they lookedout from among a jumble of pinnacles and crags upon the world beyond andbeneath.

  Beyond, a grand crescent of rock terrace and crag, akin to that on whichthey lay. On the one hand a great peak, towering skyward, a roll ofdark juniper forest in waves around its base, then a marvellousformation of dome-like rock surface all interseamed with dark fissures,like the crevasses on a glacier, and beneath, nearer still, a valleybottom, through which a mountain torrent coursed. But between this andthemselves, sloping down from the foot of the ragged cliff immediatelybelow where they lay, was an open, grassy strip. Helston brought therifle to his shoulder.

  Too late. Four markhor were bounding and scampering away, as though fordear life. They had been browsing on this open slope, just where thestalkers had expected to find them.

  "Don't shoot, _Hazur_," whispered the shikari. "It would only panicthem, and lose us our chance of getting round them, for I think theywill not go very far."

  Helston recognised the force of this advice, and forebore to risk along, flying shot. Yet the result of hours of toil was vanishing fromsight at the rate of many miles per hour.

  "It is written," he answered. "Yet, I think, Hussein Khan, the ram thatled those three was the father of all markhor in these mountains, fornever did I see a larger one, nor even so large a one. Assuredly theeye of Shaitan is upon our luck to-day."

  "Who may say, _Hazur_? Yonder, perhaps, he is."

  The man's face broadened in a whimsical smile, displaying magnificentwhite teeth. Helston followed his glance. A splendid eagle, black asjet, was soaring in majestic circles over the valley. It alone, set inthe surroundings, formed a sight that it was almost worth their toil andtrouble to obtain, he thought.

  "Shaitan or not, Hussein Khan," he answered, "that is not enough tofrighten four full grown markhor, especially with such a leader as thatram, for he is the king of all markhor I have ever seen. And now--what?"

  But the other made no reply. He gave a peremptory sign for silence, thewhile he himself was listening intently. Instinctively Helston followedhis example, and crouched lower still upon the slab of rock whereto hehad wormed himself, to obtain, as he thought, a most effective shot.But his nerves tingled and his blood fired up. The shikari, with hisfine sense of hearing, had detected the sound of other markhorapproaching. That was it. He would get his chance after all.

  His faculties of hearing stretched to their utmost tension he listened.Most men would have been conscious of a tingling of the nerves, but thenerves of Helston Varne were as hard and as well in hand as those of thePathan shikari himself. Yet he would soon have reason to congratulatehimself that they were so.

  Now the rattle of a dislodged stone came to his hearing, then a sound ofhoof-strokes, but to that practised sense of hearing it conveyed nopresage of the approach of mountain game. With the recollection of thesniping episode fresh in his memory, he appreciated his attendant'semphatic injunction for silence, for caution. In this wild and shaggyland, the hand of everybody was against the intruder, the infidel. Andas he gazed, the turbaned heads of a band of horsemen came into viewabove the rocks below.

  They were advancing up the valley. They were as yet too distant fordetail. Helston made a move to get out his powerful binocular. ButHussein Khan laid a warning hand upon his arm.

  "Leave that, _Hazur_," he breathed. "Those who go yonder have eyes--like those of the eagle we sighted just now. One glint of the sun uponthe glasses, and--"

  The gap was significant. Knowing the state of the country and thetemper of its people, Helston could supply it very well. And, indeed,his sight was not less keen than that of his shikari. He lay still andwatched with interested expectation.

  The band was now defiling into full view, but still advancing, head on;he could not quite distinguish the figures apart; but that they were allarmed he could see plainly. Some had rifles, others the nativesickle-stocked _jezail_, and all wore the universal fulwar, hung by abroad sabretasche from the right shoulder.

  "Who--what are they?" he whispered.

  "Gularzai," breathed Hussein Khan, in reply. "See, at the head ridesthe Sirdar, Allah-din Khan."

  With somethi
ng of a start of interest Helston recognised the man named.Now, mounted on a fine horse, looking very warrior-like and martial atthe head of his wild band, was the man with whom he had tossed for rightof way in the _tangi_ but a week or two since. And then--he sawsomething else, and the sight sent all the blood back to his heart.

  He stared, then stared again. No. It could not be.

  The band, amounting to some score of horsemen, was nearly abreast ofthem now, riding at a foot's pace, as indeed the rocky nature of theground demanded. But in the midst of it rode two figures which belongedcertainly not to the Gularzai, or to any known tribe or race within ourIndian possessions. They were unmistakably Europeans and representedboth sexes. And then Helston Varne got the surprise of his life.Indeed, he began to wonder whether he were dreaming or delirious, forthere--now immediately beneath him, in the midst of this wild band ofpredatory mountaineers rode