The Ruby Sword: A Romance of Baluchistan

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  HARD TERMS.

  Meanwhile those in the waiting room were doing all they could to makegood their position, and that was not much. Their first attempt atforcing an entrance having failed, the four Marris had rushed amongtheir countrymen who had firearms, striving to bring them against thedoor in force, or rake the room with a volley through the window, buttheir attention at the time was taken up with other matters, whichafforded the beleaguered ones a brief respite.

  "Non-combatants up here," said Campian, pointing to the ladder and thetrap door which has been mentioned. "Isn't that the order, Colonel?"

  "Yes, certainly. Up you go, Vivien."

  But Vivien refused to stir.

  "I can do something at close quarters, too," she said, drawing herrevolver.

  "Give it to me. I've not got mine with me. Now--go upstairs."

  "I may be of use here. Here's the pistol, though," handing it over.

  "Will you obey orders, Viv? What sort of a soldier's niece are you?"

  "Do go," said Campian, looking at her. "Well, I will, then."

  As she ascended the iron ladder Campian followed her up, under pretextof aiding her. In reality he managed so he should serve to screen herfrom any shot that might be fired, for the ladder was in full view ofthe window.

  "I know why you came up behind me," she whispered as she gained theloft. "It was to shield me in case they fired."

  Then, before he had time to begin his descent, she bent her head andkissed him, full on the lips.

  Not a word did he speak as he went down that ladder again. The bloodthrilled and tingled through his frame. Not all the fury of fanaticismwhich spurred the Ghazis on to mania could surpass the exaltation offearlessness which was upon him as he tried to treasure up the warmsweetness of that kiss--and after five years!

  "Campian, confound it! We have only a dozen shots among us," growledthe Colonel. "What an ass I am to go about without a pistol."

  "We can do a lot with a dozen shots. And Der' Ali has his tulwar."

  Der' Ali was the Colonel's bearer, who had been within at the time ofthe onslaught. He had been a trooper in his master's old regiment, andthey had seen service together on more than one occasion. What hadbecome of the two syces and the forest guard, who were outside, they didnot then know, for then the whole volume of the savage fanatics camesurging up to the door. In their frenzy they fired wild shots at thesolid iron plates.

  "Tell them, Der' Ali," growled Colonel Jermyn, in Hindustani, "that theyhad better clear out and leave us alone. The _Sirkar_ will hang everyman Jack of their tribe if they interfere with us. And the first man inhere we'll shoot dead; and the rest of them to follow."

  The bearer, who understood Baluchi well, rendered this, not minimisingthe resource and resolution of those within as he did so. A wild yellgreeted his words. Then one, more frenzied or enterprising than therest, pushed his rifle through the window, and the smashing of glassmingled with the report as he blazed into the room. But those withinwere up to that move. The window being on a line with the door, theyhad only to flatten themselves against the wall, and the bullet smashedharmless.

  Then there was a rush on the window. Two men crashed through, badly cutby the glass. Before they could recover themselves they were shot dead.Even Campian's wretched stores revolver did its work on this occasion.That halted the rest--for the moment.

  Only for the moment. By a rapid movement, crawling beneath the level ofthe window sill, several managed to discharge their rifles well into theroom. Narrowly the bullets missed the defenders.

  "Look here. This is getting hot," growled the Colonel. "Let's givethem one more volley and go into the loft. There one of us can hold theplace for ever against the crowd."

  Campian had his doubts about the strategical wisdom of this. However,just then there was another rush through the window, and this time hisrevolver jammed. Outside were thirty furious Ghazis, urging each otheron with wild fanatical yells. If they two were cut down what of Vivien?That decided him. She could hold that trap door against the crowd.

  "All right, Colonel. Up you go. I and Der' Ali will hold the window."

  "You and Der' Ali be damned," growled the staunch old veteran. "Obeyorders, sir."

  "No, no. You forget I'm only a civilian, and not under orders. And--you must be with Vivien."

  No time was this for conventionalities, but even then the old manremembered the evening of the earthquake. "Well, I'll cover yourretreat from the ladder," he said, and up he went.

  Campian, by a wrench, brought the cylinder of his weapon round. Then,sighting the head of a Ghazi thrust prominently forward, he let go. Itwas a miss, but a near one. Under cover of it both he and the bearergained the loft. A strange silence reigned. The assailants seemed tohave drawn off.

  It was a breathing space, and surely these needed it. The excitementand energetic action brought a relapse. So sudden was the change from aquiet ordinary leave taking to this hell of combat and bloodshed, thatit told upon the nerves more than upon the physical resources. Then,too, they could sum up their position. Here they were beyond allpossibility of relief. It was only three o'clock in the afternoon. Notrain would be due at Mehriab until eleven the next morning. Meanwhilethese bloodthirsty barbarians would stick at nothing to reach theirvictims. These were cut off from human aid as entirely, to all intentsand purposes, as though thousands of miles within the interior of Africainstead of in the heart of a theoretically peaceful country, over whichwaved the British flag.

  "If only the telegraph clerk had been able to send a wire," said theColonel. "But even if the poor devil wasn't cut down at the start, he'dhave been in too big a scare to be able to put his dots and dashestogether."

  Suddenly, with an appalling clatter, two or three logs were hurledthrough the window on to the floor of the waiting room below. Then somemore, followed by a splash of liquid and a tin can. But the throwersdid not show.

  "By the Lord, they are going to try burning us out," said Campian, in alow tone, watching the while for an enemy to show himself.

  Then came more logs. They were old sleepers which had been piled upbeside the line, and were as dry as lucifer matches. On to them came agreat heap of tattered paper--the return forms and books found in thestation offices. The assailants could load up a great pyre thus withoutincurring the slightest risk to themselves--could set it alight, too.That was what came of the British way of doing things--a heavilyarmoured and loop-holed door, and, alongside of it, an open and entirelyunprotected window. Truly Upward had been right when he conjectured theRussians would have had a different way. No nation under the sun ismore wedded to shortsightedness and red tape than that which istraditionally supposed to rule the waves.

  Now indeed a feeling of blank despair came into the hearts of at anyrate two out of the four as they watched these preparations. Vivien,fortunately, could not see them, for with splendid patience she satquite still, and refrained from hampering her defenders, even withuseless questions. The reek of paraffin rose up strong and sickening.The assailants had flung another can of it upon the pile ofcombustibles. All this they could do without exposing themselves in theleast.

  "Heavens I are we to be roasted or smoked in a hole?" growled theColonel. "Cannot we cut our way through?"

  Campian said nothing. His thoughts were too bitter. He had some beliefthat these barbarians would not harm Vivien. But death had never beenless welcome than at that moment.

  "Could we not propose terms to them, Colonel? Offer a big ransom, say?"

  "Nothing like trying. Der' Ali, ask the _budmashes_ how many rupeesthey want to clear out and leave us alone."

  The bearer, who spoke Baluchi well, did as he was told. The reply camesharp and decided. "Not any."

  "Try again, Der' Ali. Tell the fools they'll be none the better forkilling us, and we'll promise to do nothing towards having them caught.In fact, promise them anything."

  Then
Der' Ali, who was no fool, put the offer before them in its mosttempting light. Everyone knew the Colonel Sahib. His word had neverbeen broken, why should it be this time? The rupees would make themrich men for life, and would be paid with all secrecy. A Moslemhimself, Der' Ali quoted the Koran voluminously. It was not forthemselves that they feared death, it was on account of the mem-sahib,for if they were slain what would become of her? And what said the HolyKoran? "If ye be kind towards women, and fear to wrong them, God iswell acquainted with what ye do."

  For a time there was silence. The suspense of the beleaguered ones wasterrible. Then the reply came.

  "If the Colonel Sahib would give his promise to pay over the sum of fivethousand rupees to an accredited messenger at a certain spot in eightdays' time he and the mem-sahib and their servant should be spared. Butthe other sahib must come down and deliver himself into their hands."

  "That's all right," said Campian cheerfully, when this had beenrendered. "They want me as a hostage. Things are looking up. Whenthey finger the rhino they'll turn me adrift again, and meanwhile Ishall see something of the inner life of the wily Baluch."

  "Tell them we'll double the sum if they let all four of us go," said theColonel.

  Der' Ali put this, but the reply of the leader was again prompt anddecided. It was in the negative. The other sahib must come and deliverhimself into their hands.

  "The question is, can we trust them?" said the Colonel. "Will they keepto their conditions in any case? Once we are out of this we are attheir mercy."

  "Are we less so here?" said Campian. "A match put to that nice littlepile and we shall be smoked or roasted in no time. No. Strike whilethe iron's hot, say I. Der' Ali, make them swear by all that they holdsacred to keep faith with us, and then I'll come down."

  "Who is your leader, brothers?" called out the bearer.

  "I, Ihalil Mohammed Khan," returned the same deep voice that had beforespoken.

  Then Der' Ali put to him the most binding oath he could call to mind,and Ihalil accepted it without hesitation. He bound himself by all thevirtues of the Prophet, by the Koran, and by the holy Caaba, faithfullyto observe the conditions he had laid down--in short, he almost sworetoo much.

  "Say we accept, Der' Ali. I'm coming down."

  "God bless you, my boy," said the Colonel, as he wrung the other's handin farewell. "If it was only ourselves, I'd say let's all hangtogether. But for Vivien's sake. There, good-bye."

  "Rather--so long, we'll say," was the cheerful reply. "I'll show upagain in a few days."

  Vivien said nothing. A silent pressure of the hands was the extent towhich she could trust herself.

  For all his assumed cheerfulness it was a critical moment for Campian,as once more he stood upon the floor of the waiting room, and, stumblingover the heaped-up combustibles, stepped outside into the full glare ofdaylight. His nerves were at their highest tension. The chances thathe would be cut to pieces or not the moment he showed his face wereabout even. As in a flash, that question as to whether he was everafraid of anything darted through his mind. At that moment he wasconscious of feeling most horribly and unheroically afraid.

  No one would have thought it to look at him, though--certainly not thoseinto whose midst he now stepped.

  "Salaam, brothers!" he said in Hindustani, with a glance at the ring ofshaggy scowling faces which hemmed him in.

  The salute was sullenly returned, and then Ihalil, beckoning him tofollow, led the way down the platform, surrounded by the whole party.They passed the body of the murdered policeman and that of thestationmaster, and at these some of the barbarians turned to spit, withmuttered curses; and the platform, smeared and splattered with blood,was like the floor of a slaughter-house. Even the dirty white garmentsof the murderers were splashed with it.

  Out through the gate at the end of the platform they went. Heavens, wasthe whole thing a dream--a nightmare? Why, it was less than an hour agothey had entered that gate all so light hearted and unthinking. Heremembered the _badinage_ he had been exchanging with Nesta as theypassed in through it--and more than one reference as to meeting inShalalai in a week or two. Now--who could say whether he would meetanybody again--in a week or two or ever? And then his sight fell uponthat which caused him well nigh to give up hope.

  In the shade before the station master's private quarters, a man wassquatting--a wild, fierce-looking Baluchi. Before him the whole partynow halted, treating him as with the deference due to a leader. But oneglance at the grim, cruel face and eagle beak, and shaggy knotted brows,sufficed. In him Campian recognised the man who had scowled sodemoniacally upon him in the retinue of the Marri sirdar--the man he hadwounded and lamed for life when set upon by the Ghazis in the Kachinvalley. And this man was no other than the celebrated outlaw Umar Khan,and now, he was his prisoner.

  And at that very moment it occurred to those left behind in the loftthat any sort of stipulation as to the said prisoner being returnedunharmed on the payment of the sum agreed upon had been entirely leftout of the covenant.