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

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  CONCERNING THE OCCULT.

  "How would it be to move camp to-morrow?" Tarleton was saying. "We'vebeen here long enough, and there's nothing to shoot, or next to nothing.What do you think, Raynier?"

  "No great hurry, is there? It's breezy and picturesque here, and hasits advantages. What do _you_ think, Haslam?"

  "I'm with Tarleton," said the Forest Officer. "All our fellows aregrumbling. They say it's an unlucky place."

  It was the evening after the somewhat eventful ride just recorded, andthey were all assembled within the large tent which was used as a commondining-room. Dinner was over and cheroots were being discussed.

  "Yes. My Babu was telling me something of the kind only to-day,"rejoined Raynier, tranquilly. "By the way, Haslam, how is it all thiswhile we've never been through that _tangi_? You know, the one you weretelling me the yarn about?"

  Haslam stared.

  "Well, you know, old chap--I--I told you the yarn, didn't I? Well, thatexplains it."

  "But you don't really mean to say you believe in such arranttomfoolery?"

  "I don't know about believing in it. But--well, it's best to be on thesafe side."

  "Goodness gracious, I should think so," struck in Mrs Tarleton. "Why, Iwouldn't go into that place if anyone were to offer me a millionpounds."

  "Well, I wish they'd offer it to me, that's all," said Raynier. "For Imean to go through it to-morrow, gratis. Who'll volunteer? What do yousay, Miss Clive?"

  "I'll go, with pleasure," was the answer.

  It will be seen that these two had kept their former experience tothemselves, and this they had done by mutual agreement, mainly to getsome fun out of the rest of the party, and it was to this object Raynierwas now leading up. The head which both had seen watching them they hadsince accounted for by optical delusion, even as the startling soundshad been accounted for by perfectly natural causes.

  Mrs Tarleton gave a cry of genuine consternation.

  "Hilda, you must not go," she implored. "Oh, Mr Raynier, don't takeher--if only as a favour to me."

  "But I'm not in the least superstitious, Mrs Tarleton," said the girl,looking up from the work she was engaged upon. "In fact, I like todemonstrate the absurdity of these childish beliefs. Why, I can hardlycount the number of times I've got up first of thirteen from table."

  "Well, there must be something in these ideas, I suppose, or else theywouldn't be so universally accepted," cut in Tarleton.

  "No? Then of course the world has only lately become round, seeing thatfor ages it was `universally accepted' as flat," said Raynier.

  "Ah, but that's quite a different thing."

  Then Haslam told a weird and wonderful story or two illustrating thestrange power of native prophecy, which interested Hilda, and Tarletonwould cap such with the coincidence type of anecdote, such as the firstof thirteen at table--and at these she laughed.

  "None of those instances come anywhere near carrying conviction," shesaid. "Now, remember. In good time I will supply you with just such aninstance to the contrary. No; I won't tell you anything about it now.But you'll see at the right time."

  "I believe Miss Clive means to go into the _tangi_," said Haslam.

  "No, I don't," Hilda answered. "I won't go into it now. I don't wantto frighten all you poor creatures."

  They laughed, rather weakly it must be owned--all but Raynier, that is,for he was in the know, and was enjoying the situation immensely. Howwell she looked when she was animated and her face lighted up likethat--was what he was thinking as he sat watching her. Somebody touchedon the subject of clairvoyance. In a moment Hilda's manner changed.She became grave, almost earnest.

  "Hullo!" cried Tarleton. "We've got hold of something at last that MissClive does believe in."

  "To a certain extent, yes."

  "I remember going to a _seance_ once," said Mrs Tarleton. "There was adreadful woman going into trances, and pointing out people's deadrelations standing behind their chairs. She described them, and allsorts of things. It made me feel quite creepy."

  "Yes, but how many times was she wide of the mark for every time shemade a good shot?" said Raynier.

  "Hardly once. It is quite wonderful."

  "There's nothing in that sort of clairvoyance; it's sheer quackery,"said Hilda, speaking in a decisive, authoritative tone that astonishedher hearers.

  "I should think so," said Raynier. "Whatever may be the state orlocality of the dead, it is not to be supposed that they would beempowered, or would even wish, to appear in London, to enable a cad in asecond-hand dress-suit to take up so much a head in gate money, nor afemale fraud either, for the matter of that."

  "Well, but I don't see why they shouldn't," cut in Tarleton,characteristically.

  "No! It doesn't strike you as improbable?" said Hilda, with a pityinglook.

  "Why should they be quacks?" persisted Tarleton. "Why shouldn't therebe anything in what they do?"

  "I don't know why there shouldn't be, I only know there isn't," shereplied. "Why, the gift--for clairvoyance is a gift--is so rare that itis hardly surprising its very existence is disbelieved in. I know it--at least, I mean--er--anybody can reason out the matter for themselves."

  The concluding words were lame and stammering, and the change from thefirmness and decision of tone which had marked her utterances hitherto,as though she had suddenly found herself out in saying too much, couldnot but strike her hearers as strange, to say the least of it. ToRaynier it suggested a new idea, which indeed came to him with a sort ofmental start. But he came to the rescue.

  "Its existence is undoubted, though as rare as Miss Clive says. Why,that feeling that comes to us sometimes of having done or said somegiven thing before, or found ourselves in some given place, is a sort ofan approach to the art, or gift, or whatever you like to call it."

  "Oh, I don't know what that is," said Mrs Tarleton. "Thank goodnessthat sort of thing doesn't come my way. But we've been talking aboutcreepy things all the evening. I'm sure I shall dream. Ugh!" with ashiver. "What is it like outside?"

  It was time to separate for the night, but they lingered a whilechatting in front of the tent. There was a very wildness of desolationin this sudden transition from light to darkness. All within the campwas silent, and away beyond, the loom of the hills was just discernible,black against the stars. The ghostly cry of a night bird echoed fromthe craggy height which overhung the camp, and far away over the plain amost weird and melancholy howling was borne upon the night wind.

  "That's a wolf--or wolves," said Haslam, his _shikari_ instinctsmetaphorically pricking up his ears. "Aren't you afraid, Miss Clive?There's nothing between you and them but a strip of canvas, all nightthrough."

  Hilda laughed.

  "Afraid?" she repeated. "Why, this is positively delightful. It issuch a contrast. Inside the tents--why, we might be in Mazaran, or evenin London. Outside--the very ideal of savage wildness. Afraid? Why,I'm positively revelling in it. I like to hear that. Hark! There itis again. I'd like to see those wolves close--to watch them prowlingfor prey and doubling back and signalling to each other--if only I couldget near enough to observe them without scaring them."

  "My goodness, child! Why, they'd eat you," said Mrs Tarleton.

  "Not they." And Hilda laughed again.

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  "I say, old chap," said Haslam, later, as Raynier lounged into his tentfor another "peg" and a final smoke, "that's a strange sort of girl theTarletons have picked up. Who is she? Do you know?"

  "No more than you do."

  "Well, there's something dashed uncanny about her. The way she talks--there's something sort of creepy about it. Eh? And did you ever seesuch eyes as she's got? Eh?"

  "N-no, I don't think I ever did," answered Raynier, slowly and betweenpuffs, but in no wise with the same meaning as Haslam had in his mind.

  "I say, she'd ma
ke a rum sort of a wife for most fellows, with those rumuncanny ideas of hers. Eh?" And then the speaker stopped rather short,remembering, all of a sudden, that Raynier and the object of his remarkshad been getting a bit thick of late. But, then, Raynier was rather aqueer chap himself, he reflected. Anyway, he felt a trifle embarrassed,as though he had been putting his foot in it.

  "I daresay," answered Raynier, equably. "`Most fellows' are like shot--assorted into sizes, and might safely be numbered in the same way." Atbottom, however, the remark jarred upon him, and set him wondering forthe fiftieth time what insidious fascination the strange personality ofHilda Clive was beginning to set up within his innermost being, and thatsuch was the case he was only beginning to admit, hugging to himself thevery secrecy of the thought, and the subtle stimulus it afforded. Yet,what did it all mean? He was not in love with Hilda Clive, but somestrange fascination radiated from her. It might be uncanny--as Haslamhad said--yet he liked it--nor would he have bartered it for the artlessadvances of conventional attractions, and of such he was not withoutexperience, for natural and unassuming as he constitutionally was, thePolitical Agent of Mazaran, on the right side of forty, was something ofa _parti_, by reason of his position and its emoluments; and when, addedto this, he who filled the one and enjoyed the other was in the prime ofphysical health and strength, why, then, so much the more eligible didthat _parti_ become.

  Haslam the while had turned in, and was yawning profusely--in fact,could hardly give a coherent answer to any question or remark, whereforeRaynier adjourned to his own tent. But not the slightest inclinationwas on him to follow Haslam's example. He felt extraordinarily wideawake, wherefore he got out a camp-chair, and, having extinguished thelamp within his tent, lit another cheroot and sat there to enjoy thebeauty of the night and think.

  It was very still. What little wind there had been had droppedcompletely. A glow had begun to suffuse the velvety darkness of thestar-gemmed sky, and, widening, the black loom of a rocky ridge awaybeyond the plain became clearly defined, then a rim of fire, and lo!--abroad moon soared majestically upward.

  It was beautiful. The white tents lay like blocks of marble in itslight, which silvered over the plain and the scant foliage of a fewscattered junipers. The crunch, crunch of ruminating camels, and thestamp and snort of a horse, alone broke the stillness, save for thelong-drawn howl still heard from time to time over the wilderness afar,where wolves prowled. Dark peaks, in softened outline, stood clearagainst the sky.

  His thoughts ran back to the time of his furlough, to England and whathad transpired there. Again and again he congratulated himself that hewas free from that bond; how on earth he could ever have entered into itseemed more incomprehensible than ever. And what a long while ago itseemed, and--

  What was this? A figure moving in the moonlight, a figure clothed inwhite draperies. In a brief flash the solution of a midnight marauder--the first of others--occurred to him, and his hand went to his pistolpocket--this time not empty. But he quickly withdrew it. For as thefigure glided swiftly among the tents he knew it--knew it for that ofHilda Clive.

  Heavens! What was she doing, what was she bent upon, just as she hadrisen from bed like this? She was walking, erect and rather swiftly,and now in a straight line; stepping forward, looking neither to theright nor to the left, yet there was something about the gait that wasnot usual, a something as though she was walking unconsciously. And--she had left the tents behind her now, and was walking swiftly andstraight for the open country. He gazed for a moment, dumbfounded,after the receding form, then, rising, started to follow.