Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  “But people come over here sometimes.”

  “Yes, from the south, or by Afghanistan.”

  “Not always. What about the Korabaut Pass into Chitral? Ianoff and the Cossacks came through it.”

  “That’s true,” said the man, as if in deep thought. “I had forgotten, but the band was small and the thing was a real adventure.”

  “And then you have Gromchevtsky. He brought his people right down through the Pamirs.”

  For a second the man’s laughing ease deserted him. He leaned his head forward and peered keenly into Lewis’s face. Then, as if to cover his discomposure, he fell into the extreme of bluff amusement. The exaggeration was plain to both his hearers.

  “Oh yes, there was poor old Gromchevtsky. But then you know he was what you call ‘daft,’ and one never knew how much to believe. He had hatred of the English on the brain, and he went about the northern valleys making all sorts of wild promises on the part of the Tsar. A great Russian army was soon to come down from the hills and restore the valleys to their former owners. And then, after he had talked all this nonsense, and actually managed to create some small excitement among the tribesmen, the good fellow disappeared. No man knows where he went. The odd thing is that I believe he has never been heard of again in Russia to this day. Of course his mission, as he loved to call it, was perfectly unauthorized, and the man himself was a creature of farce. He probably came either by the Khyber or the Korabaut Pass, possibly even by the ordinary caravan-route from Yarkand, but felt it necessary for his mission’s sake to pretend he had found some way through the rock barrier. I am afraid I cannot allow him to be taken seriously.”

  Lewis yawned and reached out his hand for the cigars. “In any case it is merely a question of speculative interest. We shall not fall just yet, though you think so badly of us.”

  “You will not fall just yet,” said Marker slowly, “but that is not your fault. You British have sold your souls for something less than the conventional mess of pottage. You are ruled in the first place by money-bags, and the faddists whom they support to blind your eyes. If I were a young man in your country with my future to make, do you know what I would do? I would slave in the Stock Exchange. I would spend my days and nights in the pursuit of fortune, and, by heaven, I would get it. Then I would rule the market and break, crush, quietly and ruthlessly, the whole gang of Jew speculators and vulgarians who would corrupt a great country. Money is power with you, and I should attain it, and use it to crush the leeches who suck our blood.”

  “Good man,” said George, laughing. “That’s my way of thinking. Never heard it better put.”

  “I have felt the same,” said Lewis. “When I read of ‘rings’ and ‘corners’ and ‘trusts’ and the misery and vulgarity of it all, I have often wished to have a try myself, and see whether average brains and clean blood could not beat these fellows on their own ground.”

  “Then why did you not?” asked Marker. “You were rich enough to make a proper beginning.”

  “I expect I was too slack. I wanted to try the thing, but there was so much that was repulsive that I never quite got the length of trying. Besides, I have a bad habit of seeing both sides of a question. The ordinary arguments seemed to me weak, and it was too much fag to work out an attitude for oneself.”

  Marker looked sharply at Lewis, and George for a moment saw and contrasted the two faces. Lewis’s keen, kindly, humorous, cultured, with strong lines ending weakly, a face over-bred, brave and finical; the other’s sharp, eager, with the hungry wolf-like air of ambition, every line graven in steel, and the whole transfused, as it were, by the fire of the eyes into the living presentment of human vigour.

  It was the eternal contrast of qualities, and for a moment in George’s mind there rose a delight that two such goodly pieces of manhood should have found a meeting-ground.

  “I think, you know, that we are not quite so bad as you make out,” said Lewis quietly. “To an outsider we must appear on the brink of incapacity, but then it is not the first time we have produced that impression. You will still find men who in all their spiritual sickness have kept something of that restless, hard-bitten northern energy, and that fierce hunger for righteousness, which is hard to fight with. Scores of people, who can see no truth in the world and are sick with doubt and introspection and all the latter-day devils, have yet something of pride and honour in their souls which will make them show well at the last. If we are going to fall our end will not be quite inglorious.”

  Marker laughed and rose. “I am afraid I must leave you now. I have to see my servant, for I am off to-morrow. This has been a delightful meeting. I propose that we drink to its speedy repetition.”

  They drank, clinking glasses in continental fashion, and the host shook hands and departed.

  “Good chap,” was George’s comment. “Put us up to a wrinkle or two, and seemed pretty sound in his politics. I wish I could get him to come and stop with me at home. Do you think we shall run across him again?”

  Lewis was looking at the fast vanishing lights of the town. “I should think it highly probable,” he said.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE TACTICS OF A CHIEF

  There is another quarter in Bardur besides the English one. Down by the stream side there are narrow streets built on the scarp of the rock, hovels with deep rock cellars, and a wonderful amount of cubic space beneath the brushwood thatch. There the trader from Yarkand who has contraband wares to dispose of may hold a safe market. And if you were to go at nightfall into this quarter, where the foot of the Kashmir policeman rarely penetrates, you might find shaggy tribesmen who have been all their lives outlaws, walking unmolested to visit their friends, and certain Jewish gentlemen, members of the great family who have conquered the world, engaged in the pursuit of their unlawful calling.

  Marker speedily left the broader streets of the European quarter, and plunged down a steep alley which led to the stream. Half way down there was a lane to the left in the line of hovels, and, after stopping a moment to consider, he entered this. It was narrow and dark, but smelt cleanly enough of the dry granite sand. There were little dark apertures in the huts, which might have been either doors or windows, and at one of these he stopped, lit a match, and examined it closely. The result was satisfactory; for the man, who had hitherto been crouching, straightened himself up and knocked. The door opened instantaneously, and he bowed his tall head to enter a narrow passage. This brought him into a miniature courtyard, about thirty feet across, above which gleamed a patch of violet sky, sown with stars. Below a door on the right a light shone, and this he pushed open, and entered a little room.

  The place was richly furnished, with low couches and Persian tables, and on the floor a bright matting. The short, square-set man sitting smoking on the divan we have already met at a certain village in the mountains. Fazir Khan, descendant of Abraham, and father and chief of the Bada-Mawidi, has a nervous eye and an uneasy face to-night, for it is a hard thing for a mountaineer, an inhabitant of great spaces, to sit with composure in a trap-like room in the citadel of a foe who has many acts of rape and murder to avenge on his body. To do Fazir Khan justice he strove to conceal his restlessness under the usual impassive calm of his race. He turned his head slightly as Marker entered, nodded gravely over the bowl of his pipe, and pointed to the seat at the far end of the divan.

  “It is a dark night,” he said. “I heard you stumbling on the causeway before you entered. And I have many miles to cover before dawn.”

  Marker nodded. “Then you must make haste, my friend. You must be in the hills by daybreak, for I have some errands I want you to do for me. I have to-night been dining with two strangers, who have come up from the south.”

  The chief’s eyes sparkled. “Do they suspect?”

  “Nothing in particular, everything in general. They are English. One was here before and got far up into your mountains. He wrote a clever book when he returned, which made people think. They say their errand is sport, and
it may be. On the other hand I have a doubt. One has not the air of the common sportsman. He thinks too much, and his eyes have a haggard look. It is possible that they are in their Government’s services and have come to reconnoitre.”

  “Then we are lost,” said Fazir Khan sourly. “It was always a fool’s plan, at the mercy of any wandering Englishman.”

  “Not so,” said Marker. “Nothing is lost, and nothing will be lost. But I fear these two men. They do not bluster and talk at random like the others. They are so very quiet that they may mean danger.”

  “They must remain here,” said the chief. “Give me the word, and I will send one of my men to hough their horses and, if need be, cripple themselves.”

  Marker laughed. “You are an honest fool, Fazir Khan. That sort of thing is past now. We live in the wrong times and places for it. We cannot keep them here, but we must send them on a goose-chase. Do you understand?”

  “I understand nothing. I am a simple man and my ways are simple, and not as yours.”

  “Then attend to my words, my friend. Our expedition must be changed and made two days sooner. That will give these two Englishmen three days only to checkmate it. Besides, they are ignorant, and to-morrow is lost to them, for they go to a ball at the Logan woman’s. Still, I fear them with two days to work in. If they go north, they are clever and suspicious, and they may see or fancy enough to wreck our plans. They may have the way barred, and we know how little would bar the way.”

  “Ten resolute men,” said the chief. “Nay, I myself, with my two sons, would hold a force at bay there.”

  “If that is true, how much need is there to be wary beforehand! Since we cannot prevent these men from meddling, we can give them rope to meddle in small matters. Let us assume that they have been sent out by their Government. They are the common make of Englishmen, worshipping a god which they call their honour. They will do their duty if they can find it out. Now there is but one plan, to create a duty for them which will take them out of the way.”

  The chief was listening with half-closed eyes. He saw new trouble for himself and was not cheerful.

  “Do you know how many men Holm has with him at the Forza camp?”

  “A score and a half. Some of my people passed that way yesterday, when the soldiers were parading.”

  “And there are two more camps?

  “There are two beyond the Nazri Pass, on the fringe of the Doorab hills. We call the places Khautmi-sa and Khautmi-bana, but the English have their own names for them.”

  Marker nodded.

  “I know the places. They are Gurkha camps. The officers are called Mitchinson and St. John. They will give us little trouble. But the Forza garrison is too near the pass for safety, and yet far enough away for my plans.” And for a moment the man’s eyes were abstracted, as if in deep thought.

  “I have another thing to tell of the Forza camp,” the chief interrupted. “The captain, the man whom they call Holm, is sick, so sick that he cannot remain there. He went out shooting and came too near to dangerous places, so a bullet of one of my people’s guns found his leg. He will be coming to Bardur to-morrow. Is it your wish that he be prevented?

  “Let him come,” said Marker. “He will suit my purpose. Now I will tell you your task, Fazir Khan, for it is time that you took the road. You will take a hundred of the Bada-Mawidi and put them in the rocks round the Forza camp. Let them fire a few shots but do no great damage, lest this man Holm dare not leave. If I know the man at all, he will only hurry the quicker when he hears word of trouble, for he has no stomach for danger, if he can get out of it creditably. So he will come down here to-morrow with a tale of the Bada-Mawidi in arms, and find no men in the place to speak of, except these two strangers. I will have already warned them of this intended rising, and if, as I believe, they serve the Government, they will let no grass grow below their feet till they get to Forza. Then on the day after let your tribesmen attack the place, not so as to take it, but so as to make a good show of fight and keep the garrison employed. This will keep these young men quiet; they will think that all rumours they may have heard culminate in this rising of yours, and they will be content, and satisfied that they have done their duty. Then, the day after, while they are idling at Forza, we will slip through the passes, and after that there will be no need for ruses.”

  The chief rose and pulled himself up to his full height. “After that,” he said, “there will be work for men. God! We shall harry the valleys as our forefathers harried them, and we shall suck the juicy plains dry. You will give us a free hand, my lord?”

  “Your hand shall be free enough,” said Marker.

  “But see that every word of my bidding is done. We fail utterly unless all is secret and swift. It is the lion attacking the village. If he crosses the trap gate safely he may ravage at his pleasure, but there is first the trap to cross. And now it is your time to leave.”

  The mountaineer tightened his girdle, and exchanged his slippers for deer-hide boots. He bowed gravely to the other and slipped out into the darkness of the court. Marker drew forth some plans and writing materials from his great-coat pocket and spread them before him on the table. It was a thing he had done a hundred times within the last week, and as he made his calculations again and traced his route anew, his action showed the tinge of nervousness to which the strongest natures at times must yield. Then he wrote a letter, and yawning deeply, he shut up the place and returned to Galetti’s.

  CHAPTER 25

  MRS. LOGAN’S BALL

  When Lewis had finished breakfast next morning, and was sitting idly on the verandah watching the busy life of the bazaar at his feet, a letter was brought him by a hotel servant. “It was left for you by Marker Sahib, when he went away this morning. He sent his compliments to the sahibs and regretted that he had to leave too early to speak with them, but he left this note.” Lewis broke the envelope and read:

  DEAR MR. HAYSTOUN,

  When I was thinking over our conversation last night, chance put a piece of information in my way which you may think fit to use. You know that I am more intimate than most people with the hill tribes. Well, let this be the guarantee of my news, but do not ask how I got it, for I cannot betray friends. Some of these, the Bada-Mawidi to wit, are meditating mischief. The Forza camp, which I think you have visited — a place some twenty miles off — is too near those villages to be safe. So to-morrow at latest they have planned to make a general attack upon it, and, unless the garrison were prepared, I should fear for the result, for they are the most cunning scoundrels in the world. What puzzles me is how they have ever screwed up the courage for such a move, for lately they were very much in fear of the Government. It appears as if they looked for backing from over the frontier. You will say that this proves your theory; but to me it merely seems as if some maniac of the Gromchevtsky type had got among them. In any case I wish something could be done. My duties take me away at once, and in a very different direction, but perhaps you could find some means of putting the camp on their guard. I should be sorry to hear of a tragedy; also I should be sorry to see the Bada-Mawidi get into trouble. They are foolish blackguards, but amusing.

  Yours most sincerely,

  ARTHUR MARKER.

  Lewis read the strange letter several times through, then passed it to George. George read it with difficulty, not being accustomed to a flowing frontier hand. “Jolly decent of him, I call it,” was his remark.

  “I would give a lot to know what to make of it. The man is playing some game, but what the deuce it is I can’t fathom.”

  “I suppose we had better get up to that Forza place as soon as we can.”

  “I think not,” said Lewis.

  “The man’s honest, surely?

  “But he is also clever. Remember who he is. He may wish to get us out of the way. I don’t suppose that he can possibly fear us, but he may want the coast clear from suspicious spectators. Besides, I don’t see the good of Forza. It is not the part of the hills I want to explo
re. There can be no frontier danger there, and at the worst there can be nothing more than a little tribal disturbance. Now what on earth would Russia gain by moving the tribes there, except as a blind?”

  “Still, you know, the man admits all that in his letter. And if the people up there are going to be in trouble we ought to go and give them notice.”

  “I’ll take an hour to think over it, and then I’ll go and see Thwaite. He was to be back this morning.”

  Lewis spread the letter before him. It was a simple, friendly note, giving him a chance of doing a good turn to friends. His clear course was to lay it before Thwaite and shift the responsibility for action to his shoulders. But he felt all the while that this letter had a personal application which he could not conceal. It would have been as easy for Marker to send the note to Thwaite, whom he had long known. But he had chosen to warn him privately. It might be a ruse, but he had no glimpse of the meaning. Or, again, it might be a piece of pure friendliness, a chance of unofficial adventure given by one wanderer to another. He puzzled it out, lamenting that he was so deep in the dark, and cursing his indecision. Another man would have made up his mind long ago; it was a ruse, therefore let it be neglected and remain in Bardur with open eyes; it was good faith and a good chance, therefore let him go at once. But to Lewis the possibilities seemed endless, and he could find no solution save the old one of the waverer, to wait for further light.

  He found Thwaite at breakfast, just returned from his travels.

  “Hullo, Haystoun. I heard you were here. Awfully glad to see you. Sit down, won’t you, and have some breakfast.” The officer was a long man, with a thin, long face, a reddish moustache, and small, blue eyes.