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

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  A VISIT--AND ITS SEQUEL.

  Sarbaland Khan's village was similar in every particular to that of thegreater potentate which we have already seen. Many eyes were watchingthe approach of the party of four from the loop-holed mud walls, and theglances directed at them as they entered the central courtyard, if notuniformly expressive of good will, were visibly so of curiosity. Forthese wild beings, to whom raids and forays and blood feuds were as thevery salt of existence, now beheld a strange sight--that of a man and awoman--Feringhi infidels--with no other protection than a couple of LevySowars, entering their village, quietly, fearlessly, unconcernedly, asthough in their own town at Mazaran, and the man was of importance, forhe represented the _Sirkar_ at Mazaran; yet here he walked alone intotheir midst, and to all appearances unarmed. Ya, Allah! but theseFeringhi were a mad race--mad and incomprehensible. So pondered thesewild mountaineers, salaaming gravely, as they peered at the strangersfrom beneath their shaggy brows.

  The chief received them courteously, inviting them at once into hishouse. Sarbaland Khan was a tall man with a fine presence and dignifiedmanner, and was clad in snowy white from head to foot. But theappointments of his dwelling were plain in the extreme--the onlyornaments being a curious lamp or two, and a beautifully decoratedsword, which last, together with a couple of good magazine rifles, hungon the wall. Three or four of his relatives helped to entertain them,and Hilda Clive was vastly impressed with their natural dignity--indeed,she could hardly believe they were of the same race as the shaggy,scowling savages who had so lately threatened them. Tea was brought in,served after the Russian method, and preserved fruits, and then sheasked if she could visit the chief's wives.

  "I can do more than even you can, you see, Mr Raynier," she said gaily,as permission having been given, she rose to follow the veiled figurewho was summoned to guide her. "So now for the mysteries of the harem."

  Raynier's talk with the chief was purely non-official, this being amerely friendly visit. He was asked about his predecessor, whom thesepeople seemed to have held in some estimation--and then they talkedabout _shikar_. There were plenty of markhor in the mountains aroundhis village, declared Sarbaland Khan, and if Raynier Sahib would like tocome and stalk some, he would certainly find some sport. Then he sentfor some fine heads that had been recently shot to show his guest, andpresently these two, the up-to-date Englishman and the mountainchieftain, having got upon this one grand topic in common, set todiscussing this branch of sport as animatedly as though fellow-membersof an English house party. In the midst of which discussion Hilda Clivereturned.

  So strange are the writings in the book of Fate. At that very moment ahorseman was spurring--his objective the village of Sarbaland Khan. Nogreat time would it take him to reach it either, and did he do so withthe message he bore while this friendly conversation was in progress,why, then, Herbert Raynier would never leave Sarbaland Khan's villagealive.

  Yet now they took leave of each other with great cordiality--Raynierexpressing the hope of welcoming the Sirdar at the _jirga_, or assemblyof all the chief's and maliks, to be held shortly at Mazaran; and sothey fared forth.

  "You have given me a most delightfully interesting experience, MrRaynier," said Hilda Clive, as they rode campward. "And I admire thechief's taste. Two of his wives were very pretty, indeed, one quitebeautiful."

  "How many has he got?"

  "Only three. I expected he would have had about thirty."

  Raynier laughed.

  "They're only allowed four apiece by the Koran," he said. "But Ibelieve they find ways of driving a coach-and-six through thatenactment. Fine fellow Sarbaland Khan, isn't he?"

  "Very. Why, he's a perfect gentleman. Really he's quite asplendid-looking man."

  "Many of these people answer to that description, that's why they are sointeresting. Tarleton describes them as `niggers.' But then theBritish are first-rate at misnomers."

  "I should think so. But how well you talk to them, Mr Raynier. Is it adifficult language to learn. Anything like Hindustani, for instance?"

  "No. There's a lot of Persian in it. I went in for learning Pushtusome years ago, thinking it might come in useful--and it has. By theway, a strange thing happened in London not long before I came back. Ican't help thinking that the man belonged to one of these tribes--but Inever saw him again, nor yet the stick I armed him with."

  Then he proceeded to tell her about the incident of the Oriental in thecrowd on Mafeking night, and the part he and others had borne in hisrescue. Hilda listened, keenly interested.

  "And you never got back the stick?" she said.

  "No, never. I was going to say--worse luck--but it wasn't. On thecontrary, it was the only `lucky' part of the whole business."

  The dry, satirical tone did not escape his listener's abnormally acuteperceptions. But the recollection seemed to revive the abstraction ofthought which had characterised him when they had first set out, andwhich the incidents of their expedition had gone far to dispel. Now itall seemed to return. This, too, did not escape her, and she wasstriving to piece the two circumstances together. But as yet allconnectedness failed.

  They were returning by a somewhat different route, and were alreadyabout half-way to the camp. The sun was sinking, and the barren andrugged surface of rock and stunted vegetation was taking on a softertinge as the westering glow toned down its asperities. But there was afeel in the air as of impending change, and the wind, which had dieddown altogether, now began to rise in fitful puffs, raising thin spiralcolumns like dust waterspouts, which whirled along at intervals on theplain around.

  "Is there going to be a storm?" said Hilda.

  "Yes. But not before we are in camp again."

  He subsided into silence. It was possible that the strangeoppressiveness in the atmosphere affected him, to the exaggeration ofthat which was on his mind, to wit the very disagreeable burden of thenews he had just received. Or it may have been that the certainty wasbrought home to him that a month ago it would not have affected him toany appreciable extent. The unpleasantness, the scandal, would havebeen just the same, but, somehow, it would have mattered little then.Now it did. But why?

  What was to be done? was his ever-present thought. It was simplyabominable that he should be pursued in this way. Had the woman nosense of shame? Evidently not. He had heard of ships going down at seawith all on board; was he tempted to feel that this was clearly too gooda piece of luck--seen from his point of view--to happen to the one whichcomprised among its passengers Cynthia Daintree?

  What was to be done? He looked at his companion. Should he frankly putthe case to her? She was like no other woman he had ever known forclear insight into and ready grasp of the main facts or probabilities ofany given question--at least, so he had found reason to decide duringtheir somewhat short acquaintance--which, somehow or other, did not seemshort. She could not be more than five or six and twenty at theoutside, and yet the knowledge of human nature and capacity for theanalysis of human motives she displayed was simply wonderful. He couldput it to her as the case of a third party, or simply a case in theabstract, such as they had often debated and threshed out together, andthen he laughed at himself in bitter contempt. Where were the qualitieswith which he had just been endowing her, that she could fail for onesingle instant to see through so miserable a device? He must put it toher frankly or not at all; and somehow Hilda Clive was the last personin the world to whom he desired to put it at all.

  She, for her part, riding beside him, perforce in silence, was thinkingof him and his unwonted taciturnity. Some trouble had come upon him--that was certain, and she connected it with the arrival of the mail.Could she but induce him to confide in her? Yet, why should he? Shedid not know. Still, she wanted him to; for a strange indefinableinstinct moved her to the conviction that she could help him. Duringtheir acquaintance she had learnt to hold him in high esteem. Sheadmired him, too, for his unassuming nature, the more so
that she wasable to gauge the real depth of quiet power that lay beneath it. Shehad noted the ease of his intercourse with these wild and turbulent, butinteresting people--for this visit to Sarbaland Khan's village was notthe first time she had been among them in Raynier's company--and notingit, knew that it bore testimony to the estimation in which he was heldby them; for these sons of the desert and mountain, in common with allbarbarians, are quick readers of character, and have no respect for thatwhich is weak. And yet, could she have divined what was troubling himthen it would have assumed such trivial proportions to her mind, sosimple a solution, as to make her laugh outright. And she knew a greatdeal more about him than he did about her; indeed, the news she hadreceived that morning, and which had somewhat elated her, mainlyconcerned him.

  "What abstruse problem is weighing on your mind, Mr Raynier? Do youknow that since we left the chief's village you have hardly spoken aword. And we are almost home again."

  He started.

  "I beg your pardon. How very remiss of me. Well, I was thinking ofsomething. As a matter of fact, it's something that's worrying me morethan a little."

  "You had bad news?"

  "Yes. And yet hardly in the sense of what people understand by badnews. But it was something of an extremely vexatious and worryingnature, and likely to cause me no end of unpleasantness."

  "I'm so sorry," she said, in a tone which invited further confidence.It decided him. He would tell her.

  A high ridge rose between them and the camp. This they were the whileascending by a rough road leading to the kotal by which it was crossed.Now, from the other side of this, there boomed forth a long, low,rattling thunder roll.

  "Hallo! The storm is a great deal nearer than I thought," he exclaimed,looking up. "We must hurry on, Miss Clive. I don't want you to getcaught in the thick of it."

  No time for confidences was this, he decided. All women were afraid ofthunder and lightning, though all would not admit it. What, then, wouldbe the use of consulting this one on a delicate and highly unpleasantmatter what time her thoughts would be running on how quickly at theearliest they could reach the camp?

  Another peal rolled forth, dull and distant, tailing off into a sort ofstaccato rapping rattle.

  "Well, these mountains do give out the most extraordinary thing inechoes I ever struck," he said. "Or else that's about the strangestpeal of thunder I ever heard."

  A clinking sound behind caused both to turn. Mehrab Khan, who, with theother sowar, had been some way behind, was galloping to overtake them,and that at a pace which is hardly put on in ascending such an acclivityunless under weighty necessity. But even before he could come up withthem, the dark figure of a horseman appeared on the kotal above, andcame flying down the rough and stony road. They made him out to beanother of the Levy Sowars.

  The pace was too great, or the rider too weak. He was flung off, almostat their very feet--a terrible sight, covered with blood and dust. Witha word to Hilda Clive to wait where she was, Raynier and Mehrab Khanwent forward to examine the man.

  They were only just in time. He could gasp forth a few words, and thenfell back dead. Raynier's voice was very serious as he returned to thegirl.

  "We cannot go back to camp now, Miss Clive," he said. "We must travelthe other way. But keep up your courage--you have plenty of it--and wewill bring you through all safe."