CHAPTER SIX.
OF THE RUBY SWORD.
Not without reasons of his own had Campian made such careful and minuteinquiries as to the traditions and legends of the strange, wild countryin which his lot was temporarily cast, and the key to those reasons wassupplied in a closely-written sheet of paper which he was intentlystudying on the morning after the above conversation. It was, in fact,a letter.
Not for the first or second time was he studying this. It had reachedhim just after his arrival in the country, and the writer thereof washis father.
The latter had been a great traveller in his younger days, and wasbrimful of Eastern experience; full too, of reminiscence, looking backto perilous years passed among fierce, fanatical races, every day ofwhich represented just so many hours of carrying his life in his hand.Now he was spending the evening of life in peace and quiet. This wasthe passage which Campian was now studying:
"It came to me quite as a surprise to hear you were in Afghanistan; hadI known you thought of going, there are a few things we might havetalked over together. I don't suppose the country is much changed.Oriental countries never do change, any more than their people.
"You remember that affair we have often talked about, when I saved thelife of the Durani emir, Dost Hussain, and the story of the hiding ofthe ruby sword. It--together with the remainder of the treasure--wasburied in a cave in a long narrow valley called Kachin, running almostdue east and west. The mountain on the north side is pierced by a veryremarkable _tangi_, the walls of which, could they be closed, would fitlike the teeth of a steel trap. I never saw the place myself, but DostHussain often used to tell me about it when he promised me half of theburied valuables. I was not particular to go into the subject with himin those days, for I had a strong repugnance to the idea of being paidfor saving a man's life; indeed I used to tell him repeatedly I did notneed so costly a gift. But he would not hear of my objections,declaring that when he was able to return for his property half of itshould be mine, and I fully believe he would have kept his word, for hewas a splendid fellow--more like an Arab that an Asiatic. But DostHussain was killed by the Brahuis, and, so far as I was concerned, thesecret of the hidden valuables died with him. The only man I know ofwho shared it was his brother, the Syyed Ain Asraf, but he is probablydead, or, at any rate must have recovered it long ago. The sword alonewould have been of immense value. I saw it once. Both hilt andscabbard were encrusted with splendid rubies and other stones, butmostly rubies--and there were other valuables.
"It occurs to me that all this must have been hidden somewhere aboutwhere you are now, and, if so, you might make a few inquiries. I wouldlike to know whether the sword was ever found or not. Find out if AinAsraf is still alive. If so, he must be very old now. It would beinteresting to me to hear how that affair ended, and would give anadditional object to your travels..." Then the letter went on to touchupon other matters, and concluded.
As we have said, it was not the first time Campian had pondered overthese words, but every time he did so something in them seemed to strikehim in a fresh light. Well he remembered hearing his father tell thestory by word of mouth, but at such time it had interested him _as_ astory and no more. Now, however, that he was in the very scene of itsenactment, it seemed to gain tenfold interest. What if this buriedtreasure had never been recovered, had lain hidden all these years. Theaffair dated back to the forties. Afghanistan his father had calledit--but this was Afghanistan then. In those days it owned allegiance tothe Amir of Kabul.
A long, narrow valley running almost due east and west! There were manysuch valleys. And the _tangi_? Why the very _tangi_ at whose mouththeir camp was pitched was the only one cleaving the mountain range onthe northern side, and its configuration was exactly that of the onedescribed in his father's letter. He could not resist a thrill of thepulses. What if this splendid treasure were in reality right under hishand--if he only knew where to lay his hand upon it? There came therub. The mountain sides here and there were simply honeycombed withcaves. To strike the right one without some clue would be a forlornquest indeed; and he could talk neither Baluch nor Hindustani. The verywildness of the possibility availed to quell any rising excitement towhich he might have felt inclined upon the subject; besides, was itlikely that this treasure--probably of double value, both on account ofits own worth, and constituting a sort of heirloom--would have beenallowed to lie buried for forty years or so, and eventually have beenforgotten? Somebody or other must have known its hiding place. No; anypossibility to the contrary must be simply chimerical.
Just then the "chik" was lifted, and Upward's head appeared within thetent.
"Can I come in, old chap? Look here, we are all going on a littleexpedition, so you roll out and come along. There's a bit of newenclosed forest I want to look at and report on, so we are going to makea picnic of it. There's a high _kotal_ between cliffs, which gives onea splendid view; then we can go down into the valley, and home againround another way, through a fine _tangi_ which is well worth seeing."
"I'm right on, Upward. I'll roll out. Do you mind sending Khola inwith the bath?"
"That's it. We are going to have breakfast a little earlier, and startimmediately afterwards. Will that suit you?"
"To a hair!"
The start was duly made, and Lily and Hazel found immense fun inwatching the efforts of the two knights of the sabre to secure theprivilege of riding beside Nesta, with the result that, as neither wouldgive way, the path, when it began to narrow, became inconvenientlycrowded. The girl was looking very pretty in a light blouse and habitskirt; her blue eyes dancing with mischievous mirth over therecollection of the wild rush they had made to assist her to mount; andhow she, having accorded that privilege to Fleming, the other hadpromptly taken advantage of it by manoeuvring his steed to the side ofhers, thus, for the time being, effectually "riding out" the muchdisgusted Fleming.
"What's the real name of this place, Upward?" said Campian, when theywere fairly under way.
"Chirria Bach," said Lily. "We told you before. It was named afteryou."
"Not of thee did I humbly crave information, mine angelic Lil. I recordthe fact more in sorrow than in anger," he answered.
"It's called that on the Government maps," said Upward. "I think it hasanother name--Kachin, I believe they call it--don't they, Bhallu Khan?"
"_Ha, Huzoor_, Kachin," assented the forester, who was riding justbehind.
"Is it the whole district, or only just this valley?" went on Campian.
"Only just this valley," translated Upward, who had put the question tothe old Pathan.
"Strange now--that I should be here, isn't it? I've heard my fatherspeak of this place. You know he was out here a lot--years ago--Isuppose there isn't another of the same name, is there?"
"He says, nowhere near this part of the country," said Upward, renderingBhallu Khan's reply. "But what made your father mention this place inparticular? Was he in any row here?"
"Perhaps he `missed birds' here, too," cut in the irrepressible Lily."I know. It was named after him--not you."
"That's it. Of course it was. Now, I never thought of that before,"assented Campian, with a stare of mock amazement. "I believe, however,Upward, that as a matter of fact, he remembered the rather remarkableformation of that _tangi_ behind the camp."
Then he dropped out of the conversation, and thought over what he hadjust heard. Truly this thing was becoming interesting. He had locatedthe very place. There could be no mistake about that. He had been onthe point of asking if Bhallu Khan had heard the story of the flight ofthe Durani chief, or of Syyed Ain Asraf, but decided to let that alonefor the present.
"Who is that bounder, Campian?" Bracebrydge was saying. "Does anyoneknow?"
"He isn't a `bounder,'" returned Nesta shortly. "He's awfully nice."
"Oh, awfully nice--ah--ha--ha--ha!" sneered Bracebrydge, with hisvacuous laugh. "Very sorry. Didn't know he was such a friend ofyours."
"But he is."
"Pity he goes about looking such a slouch then, isn't it?"
"It would be--if he did. But then everybody doesn't see the sense ofknocking about among rocks and stones got up as if he was just turnedout of a band box, Major Bracebrydge," she returned, quite angrily.
"Oh. Sorry I spoke--ah--ha--ha!" he retorted, recognising a shaftlevelled at his own immaculate turnout. Fleming came to the rescue.
"Don't know what's wrong with this fellow, Miss Cheriton. He's been socrusty the last day or two. He ought to be invalided. Bracebrydge, oldman, buck up."
A couple of hours of easy riding, and the whole party gained the_kotal_, to which we heard Upward make reference, and his eulogy of theview afforded therefrom was in no sense undeserved. Right in front theground fell abruptly, well nigh precipitously, to a great depth; and inthe valley, or basin beneath, here and there a plot of flat land undercultivation stood out green among the rolling furrows of grey rock andsombre vegetation. Opposite rose a mighty mass of mountain, piled uptier upon tier of great cliffs, and beyond this, far away to the left, alofty range dark with juniper, swept round to meet the heights whichshut in the amphitheatre from that side. Down into this the bridle pathover the _kotal_ wound, looking like a mere crack in a wall. A greatcrag towered right overhead, its jutting pinnacles and ledges standingdefiantly forth against the sky.
"Not a bad spot for a picnic, is it?" said Upward complacently, as,having dismounted, they stood taking in the view.
"By Jove, no," said Fleming. "Phew! what an idea of depth it conveys,looking right down into that hole. Look Miss Cheriton. There are somepeople moving down there. They seem about as big as flies."
"How big are flies? I always thought flies were small?" cut in Lily,the irrepressible.
"Not always. Depends upon the fly," murmured Campian.
"Well, I shall have to leave you people for a while," said Upward."There's a new plantation up the hill I want to look at. Sha'n't bemore than an hour, and we can have tiffin then. It's quite early yet."
"I'll go with you, Upward," said Campian. And the two started, attendedby Bhallu Khan, mounted on his wiry Baluch pony.
"I'm getting deadly sick of that fellow Bracebrydge," began Upward. "Iwish to heaven he'd clear. He always wants to boss the whole show as ifit belonged to him. Did you hear him trying to dictate where we were topitch the tiffin camp?"
"Yes."
"He always does that sort of thing, or tries to be funny at somebodyelse's expense. I'm getting jolly sick of it."
He was still more sick of it, when, on returning, he found thatBracebrydge had carried his point, and actually had caused a removal ofthe said site. However, Upward was of an easy going disposition, thoughaddicted to occasional fidgety fits, so he came to the conclusion thatit couldn't be helped now, and didn't really matter after all, and thetiffin was plenteous and good, and the soda water well cooled. So theyfed, and chatted, and had a good time generally.
"I say, Upward. Can't someone throw a few bottles at that brute?"remarked Bracebrydge, as, cheroots having been lit, the male elementstretched at full length on the ground, was lazily puffing at the same."He'll crack the drum of one's blessed ears directly, the howlinglunatic."
The noise complained of was a soft, melancholy, wailing sound, somethingbetween a flute and a concertina, and it proceeded from one of theforest guard, who was tootling into some instrument of native make.
"Does it _dik_ you, old chap?" replied Upward good naturedly. "I canshut him up, but we rather like it. Bulbul Khan swears he invented thatinstrument himself, and is immensely proud of it. We look upon him asour Court minstrel of sorts. He's always tuning up when we go outanywhere. Never without his pipes."
"What did you say the _soor's_ name was?" growled Bracebrydge.
"Bulbul Khan. That's my name for him," laughed Upward. "His realname's Babul Han, but I christened him Bulbul Khan, because he's alwaysmaking melody. Not bad, eh?"
"Oh yes--beastly funny--Ah--ha--ha--ha!" sneered Bracebrydge.
Now the trampling of horse hoofs arrested the attention of the party,and about a dozen mounted Baluchis, riding at a foot's pace, emergedfrom the juniper forest. They made a picturesque group enough in theirwhite flowing garments and great turbans.
"Why, who can these be?" said Nesta, gazing upon the new arrivals withsome interest. "Who are they, Mrs Upward?"
"I'll ask Bhallu Khan." Then--"He says it is a sirdar of the Marris,who has been up to Gushki to see the Political Agent, and is on his wayhome."
"So?" said Campian, interested. "Wonder if he'd stop and have a talk.Upward, roll up, old man. I want you to interview this very big swell."
"We don't want to be `dikked' by a lot of niggers," grunted Bracebrydge,in an audible aside.
The cavalcade had halted some threescore yards away, and one of the mennow came forward to ask if the "jungle-wallah sahib" was there, becausethe Sirdar Yar Hussain Khan would be glad to have a talk with him on anofficial matter.
"Yar Hussain Khan?" repeated Upward, choking back a yawn. "I say,Campian, you'd better take a good look at this fellow. He's no end of abig chief among the Marris, though he's really of Afghan descent. Comealong with me and meet him." Then, turning to the Baluchi, he gave thenecessary answer.
All the party were armed with the inevitable tulwar--four of theirnumber, who were in immediate attendance on the chief, with Martinirifles as well. These, however, they laid down, as, having dismounted,they advanced to meet Upward.
The sirdar himself was a man of stately presence, standing over sixfeet. His strong, handsome face, with its flowing black beard, was wellset off by the great turban wound round a blue _kulla_, whose conicalpeak was just visible above the snowy folds. Two jetty tresses of longhair fell over his broad chest, almost to the hem of a rich vest of bluevelvet embroidered with gold; the only colour which relieved his whitegarments. Campian, for his part, as he returned the other's handshake,and noted the free, full fearlessness of the glance which met his,decided that here indeed was a noble specimen of an Oriental chieftain.
The subject of the latter's official talk with Upward was of no especialimportance, relating merely to certain grazing rights in dispute betweena section of his tribesmen and the Government. Then he accepted aninvitation to sit down and smoke a cigarette. But with the remainder ofthe party he did not offer to shake hands, acknowledging their presenceby a dignified salute.
Upward, talking in Hindustani, brought round the conversation to matterssemi-political. "Was there anything in the rumours that had got about,that the tribes were becoming restless all over the country?"
"The tribes always had been restless," was Yar Hussain's reply. "TheEnglish had taken over the country not so very long ago. Was it likelythat the people could change their nature all at once? The Englishsahibs found sport in stalking markhor or tiger shooting or in otherforms of _shikar_. The Baluchis found it in raiding. It was their formof _shikar_."
Campian, who perforce had to await Upward's interpretation, had beencarefully observing their visitors, and noted that one among the chiefsattendants was gazing at him with a most malevolent stare. This mannever took his glance off him, and when their eyes met that glancebecame truly fiendish.
"That's a first-class explanation, and a candid one," was the comment hemade on Upward's rendering. "Tell him I hope they won't take any morepotshots at me when I'm wandering about alone--like they did that nightI arrived at your camp, Upward. Tell him I rather like the look ofthem, and wish I could talk, so I could go in and out among them."
A slight smile came over the dignified gravity of the sirdar's featuresas this was interpreted to him, and he replied.
"He says," translated Upward, "he will be very pleased if at any timeyou should visit his village. The shooting at you he knows nothingabout, but is sure it could not have been done by any of his people."
Campian, looking up, again met the hostile glance above mentione
d. Theman, who was seated a little behind his chief, was regarding him with atruly fiendish scowl, and noting it he decided upon two things--that YarHussain was a very fine fellow indeed, but that if he had any morefollowers of the stamp of this malignant savage, it were better forhimself or any other infidel who desired to live out his length of daysto pause ere accepting this cordially worded invitation. Then, after afew more interchanges of civilities, the sirdar and his followers roseto take their leave.
Now the diabolical scowl wherewith that particular Baluchi had greetedhim, Campian at first set down to the natural hatred of a more thanordinarily fanatical Moslem for the infidel and the invader. But as theother drew nearer, spitting forth low envenomed curses, he half expectedthe Ghazi mania would prove too much for the man, even in the presenceof his chief, and his hand instinctively moved behind him to his pistolpocket. The fellow however, seemed to think better of it.
"Fine specimen, that sirdar, isn't he?" said Upward, as they watched theparty defiling down the steep hill path into the valley beneath.
"He is. By the way, did you notice the infernal scowl that hook-nosedbrigand of his turned on for my benefit all the time you were talking?"
"I thought he wasn't looking at you very amiably when they went away.He can see you're a stranger, I suppose, and some of these fanaticaldevils hate a stranger."
"There was more in it than that, Upward. Did you happen to notice hewalked with a slight limp?"
"No; I hardly--er yes, by the way, now I think of it, I did."
"Well, what if he should turn out to be the very identical cuss I wingedthat night?"
"Phew!" whistled Upward. "But then, Bhallu Khan says they were Brahuis.These are Marris."
"There may have been both among them. What is the sirdar's name,again?"
"Yar Hussain Khan."
"Yes. Well, Sirdar Yar Hussain Khan seems a very nice fellow, and Ishould much like to see him again; but probably I sha'n't, for thesimple reason that I don't in the least want ever to behold thatparticularly abominable follower of his again."
But he little thought under what circumstances he was destined to beholdboth again.
The Ruby Sword: A Romance of Baluchistan Page 6
