by Talbot Mundy
“Oh, sportmen all!” he laughed. “This day goes well!”
“Thank God you’re here!” said Monty. “Now we can talk.”
“That Will — what is his name? — Will Yerkees is a wonderful fighter!” said Kagig, snapping his fingers and making the joints crack.
“He accuses you of that complaint,” said I.
“Me? No. I am only enthusiast. The road behind Beirut Dagh is rough and narrow. The Turks had hard work, and less reason for eagerness than we. So we overcame them. They have fallen back to where they were at dawn, and they are discouraged” — he made his finger-joints crack again— “discouraged! The women feel very confident. The men feet exactly as the women do! The Turks are preparing to bivouac where they lie. They will attack no more to-day — I know them!”
“Listen, Kagig!” Monty drew us all together with a gesture of both hands. “These Turks are too many for us, if we give them time. Our ammunition won’t last, for one thing. We must induce Mahmoud to attack to-night — coax him up this castle road, and catch him in a trap. It can be done. It must be done!”
“I know the right man to send to the Turk to tell him things!” Kagig answered slowly with relish.
“That is my business!” growled Rustum Khan, but Kagig laughed at him.
“No Turk would believe a word you say — not one leetle word!” he said, snapping his fingers. “You are a good fighter. I saw your charge from the castle tower; it was very good. But I will send an Armenian on this errand. Go on, Lord Monty; I know the proper man.”
“That’s about the long and short of it,” said Monty. “If we can induce Mahmoud to attack to-night, we’ve a fair chance of hitting him so hard that he’ll withdraw and let us alone. Otherwise—”
Kagig’s finger-joints cracked harder than ever as his quick mind reviewed the possibilities.
“Have you any idea what can have happened to Miss Vanderman?” I asked him.
“Miss Vanderman? No? What? Tell me!”
He seemed astonished, and I told him slowly, lest he miss one grain of the enormity of Maga’s crime. But instead of appearing distressed he shook his bands delightedly and rattled off a very volley of cracking knuckles.
“That is the idea! We have Mahmoud caught! I know Mahmoud! I know him! The man I shall choose shall tell Mahmoud that Gloria Vanderman — the beautiful American young lady, who is outlawed because of her fighting on behalf of Armenians — who — who could not possibly be claimed by the American consul, on account of being outlawed — is in the castle to-night and can be taken if he only will act quickly! Oh, how his eyes will glitter! That Mahmoud — he buys women all the time! A young — beautiful — athletic American girl — Mahmoud will sacrifice three thousand men to capture her!”
Monty ground his teeth. Fred turned his back, and filled his pipe.
Rustum Khan brushed his black beard upward with both hands.
“Suppose you go now and try to find Miss Vanderman,” said Monty rather grimly to me. “If you find her, hide her out of harm’s way and communicate with Will!”
So Fred helped me on the horse and I rode back to the castle, where I explained the details of the fighting below to the defenders, and then rode on down to Zeitoon by the other road. It was wearing along into the afternoon, and I had no idea which way to take to look for Gloria; but I did have a notion that Maga Jhaere might be looking out for me. There was a chance that she might have been in earnest in persuading me to elope, and that if I rode alone she might show herself — she or else Gloria’s captors.
Failing signs of Maga Jhaere or her men, I proposed to ride behind Beirut Dagh in search of Will, and to get his quick Yankee wit employed on the situation.
So, instead of crossing the bridge into Zeitoon I guided my horse around the base of the mountain, riding slowly so as to ease the pain in my foot and to give plenty of opportunity to any one lying in wait to waylay me.
It happened I guessed rightly. The track swung sharp to the left after a while, and passed up-hill through a gorge between two cliffs into wilder country than any I had yet seen in Armenia. From the top of the cliff on the right-hand side a pebble was dropped and struck the horse — then another — then a third one. I thought it best to take no notice of that, although the horse made fuss enough.
The third pebble was followed by a shrill whistle, which I also decided to ignore, and continued to ride on toward where a clump of scrawny bushes marked the opening out of a narrow valley. I heard the bushes rustle as I drew near them, and was not surprised to see Maga emerge, looking hot, impatient and angry, although not less beautiful on that account.
“Fool!” she began on me. “Why you wait so long? Another half-hour and it is too late altogether! Come now! Leave the horse. Come quick!”
Wondering what important difference half an hour should make, it occurred to me that Will was probably impatient long ago at receiving no news of Gloria. If I judged Will rightly, he would be on his way to look for her.
“Come quick!” commanded Maga.
“I can’t climb that cliff,” said I. “I’ve hurt my foot.”
“I help you. Come!”
She stepped up close beside me to help me down, but that instant it seemed to me that I heard more than one horse approaching.
“Quick!” she commanded, for she heard them, too, and held out her arms to help me. “Quick! I have two men to help you walk!”
I could have reached my pistol, but so could she have reached hers, and her hand and eye were quicker than forked lightning. Besides, to shoot her would have been of doubtful benefit until Gloria’s whereabouts were first ascertained. She put an arm round me to pull me from the saddle, and that settled it. I fell on her with all my weight, throwing her backward into the bushes, and kicking the horse in the ribs with my uninjured foot. The horse took fright as I intended, and went galloping off in the direction of the approaching sounds.
I had not wrestled since I was a boy at school, and then never with such a spitting puzzle of live wires as Maga proved herself. I had the advantage of weight, but I had told her of my injured foot, and she worked like a she-devil to damage it further, fighting at the same time with left and right wrist alternately to reach pistol and knife.
I let go one wrist, snatched the pistol out of her bosom and threw it far away. But with the free and she reached her knife, and landed with it into my ribs. The pain of the stab sickened me; but the knowledge that she had landed fooled her into relaxing her hold in order to jump clear. So I got hold of both wrists again, and we rolled over and over among the bushes, she trying like an eel to wriggle away, and I doing my utmost to crush the strength out of her. We were interrupted by Will’s voice, and by Will’s strong arms dragging us apart.
“Catch her!” I panted. “Hold her! Don’t let her go!”
“Never fear!” he laughed.
“Her men have kidnapped Gloria! Tie her hands!”
Will had two men with him, one of whom was leading my runaway horse.
They gazed open-eyed while Will tied Maga’s wrists behind her back.
“Kagig — what will he say?” one of them objected, but Will laughed.
“What you do with me?” demanded Maga.
“Take you to Kagig, of course. Where’s Miss Vanderman?”
Then suddenly Maga’s whole appearance changed. The defiance vanished, leaving her as if by magic supple again, subtle, suppliant, conjuring back to memory the nights when she had danced and sung. The fire departed from her eyes and they became wet jewels of humility with soft love lights glowing in their depths.
“You do not want that woman!” she said slowly, smiling at Will. “You give ‘er to this fool!” She glanced at my bleeding ribs, as if the blood were evidence of folly. “You take me, Will Yerkees! Then I teach you all things — all about people — all about land, and love, and animals, and water, and the air — I teach you all!”
She paused a moment, watching his face, judging the effect of words. He stood waiting wi
th a look of puzzled distress that betrayed regret for her tied wrists, but accepted the necessity. Perhaps she mistook the chivalrous distress for tenderness.
“I ‘ave tried to make that man Kagig king! I ‘ave tried, and tried! But ‘e is no good! If ‘e ‘ad obeyed me, I would ‘ave made ‘im king of all Armenia! But ‘e is as good as dead already, because Mahmoud the Turk is come to finish ‘im — so!” She spat conclusively. “So now I make you king instead of ‘im! You let that Gloria Vanderman go to this fool, an’ I show you ‘ow to make all Armenians follow you an’ overthrow the Turks, an’ conquer, an’ you be king!”
Will laughed. “Better stick to Kagig! I’m going to take you to him!”
“You take me to ‘im?”
She flashed again, swift as a snake to illustrate resentment.
“Yes.”
“Then I tell ‘im things about you, an’ ‘e believe me!”
“Let’s bargain,” laughed Will. “Show me Miss Vanderman, alive and well, and—”
“Steady the Buffs!” I warned him. “Gloria’s not far away. There were pebbles dropped on my horse. There may be a cave above this cliff — or something of the sort.”
Will nodded. “ — and I won’t tell Kagig you made love to me!” he continued.
“Poof! Pah! Kagig, ‘e know that long ago!”
Will turned to his two men and bade them tie the horses to a bush.
“How are the ribs?” he asked me.
“Nothing serious,” said I.
“Do you think you can watch her if I tie her feet?”
“She’s slippery and strong! Better tie her to a tree as well!”
So between them Will and the two men trussed her up like a chicken ready for the market, making her bound ankles fast to the roots of a bush. Then he led the two men up the cliff-side, and Maga lay glaring at me as if she hoped hate could set me on fire, while I made shift to stanch my wound.
But she changed her tactics almost before Will was out of sight beyond a boulder, beginning to scream the same words over and over in the gipsy tongue and struggling to free her feet until I thought the thongs would either burst or strip the flesh from her.
The screams were answered by a shout from up above. Then I heard Will shout, and some one fired a pistol. There came a clatter of loose stones, and I got to my feet to be ready for action — not that my hurts would have let me accomplish much.
A second later I saw three of Gregor Jhaere’s gipsies scurrying along the cliff-side, turning at intervals to fire pistols at some one in pursuit. So I joined in the fray with my Colt repeater, and flattered myself I did not do so badly. The first two shots produced no other effect than to bring the runaways to a halt. The next three shots brought all three men tumbling head over heels down the cliff-side, rolling and sliding and scattering the stones.
One fell near Maga’s feet and lay there writhing. The other two came to a standstill in a hideous heap beside me, and I stooped to see if I could recognize them.
What happened after that was almost too quick for the senses to take in. One of the gipsies came suddenly to life and seized me by the neck. The other grasped my feet, and as I fell I saw the third man slash loose Maga’s thongs and help her up.
My two assailants rolled me over on my back, and while one held me the other aimed blows at my head with the butt of his empty pistol. Once he hit me, and it felt like an explosion. Twice by a miracle I dodged the blows, growing weaker, though, and hopeless. He aimed a fourth blow, taking his time about it and making sure of his aim, and I waited in the nearest approach to fatalistic calm I ever experienced.
In a strange abstraction, in which every movement seemed to be slowed down into unbelievable leisureliness, I saw the butt of the pistol begin to approach my eye — near — nearer. Then suddenly I heard a woman scream, and a shot ring out.
Instead of the pistol butt the gipsy’s brains splashed on my face, and the man collapsed on top of me. Next I realized that Gloria Vanderman was wiping my face with a cloth of some kind, holding a hot pistol in her other hand, while Will was standing laughing over me, and Maga Jhaere with the other gipsy had disappeared altogether.
“Did you shoot Maga?” I mumbled.
“No,” Will laughed. “I’d hate to shoot a woman who’d offered to make me king! She ought to be hung, though, for a horse-thief! She and that other gipsy got away with the mounts! Never mind — there are four of us to carry you, if Gloria lends a hand!”
But I have no notion how they carried me. All I remember is recovering consciousness that evening in the castle, to discover myself copiously bandaged, and painfully stiff, but not so much of an invalid after all.
Chapter Twenty-one “Those who survive this night shall have brave memories!”
FRAGMENT
Oh, fear and hate shall have their spate
(For both of the twain are one)
And lust and greed devour the seed
That else had growth begun.
Fiercely the flow of death shall go
And short the good man’s shrift!
All hell’s awake full toll to take,
And passions hour is swift.
But there be cracks in evil’s tracks
Where seed shall safe abide,
And living rocks shall breast the shocks
Of overflowing tide.
Castle and wall and keep shall fall,
Prophet and plan shall fail,
And they shall thank nor wit nor rank
Who in the end prevail.
Looking back after this lapse of time there seems little difference between the disordered dreams of unconsciousness and the actual waking turmoil of that night. At first as I came slowly to my senses there seemed only a sea of voices all about me, and a constant thumping, as of falling weights.
There were great pine torches set in the rusty old rings on the wall, and by their fitful light I saw that I lay on a cot in the castle keep. Monty, Fred, Will, Kagig and Rustum Khan were conversing at a table. Gloria sat on an up-ended pine log near me. A dozen Armenians, including the “elders” who had disagreed with Kagig, stood arguing rather noisily near the door.
“What is the thumping?” I asked, and Gloria hurried to the cot-side. But I managed to sit up, and after she had given me a drink I found that my foot was still the most injured part of me. It was swollen unbelievably, whereas my bandaged head felt little the worse for wear, and the knife-wound did not hurt much.
“They’re bringing in wood,” she answered.
“Why all that quantity?”
The thumping was continuous, not unlike the noise good stevedores make when loading against time.
“To burn the castle!”
At that moment Rustum Khan left the table, and seeing me sitting up strode over.
“Good-by, sahib!” he said, reaching out for my hand.
“The lord sahib has given me a post of honor and I go to hold it.
Those who survive this night shall have brave memories!”
I got to my feet to shake hands with him, and I think he appreciated the courtesy, for his stern eyes softened for a moment. He saluted Gloria rather perfunctorily as became his attitude toward women, and strode away to a point half-way between the door and Monty. There he turned, facing the table.
“Lord sahib bahadur!” he said sonorously.
Monty got up and stood facing him.
“Salaam!”
“Salaam, Rustum Khan!” Monty answered, returning the salute, and the others got to their feet in a hurry, and stood at attention.
Then the Rajput faced about and went striding through the doorless opening into the black night — the last I was destined to see of him alive.
“May we all prove as faithful and brave as that man!” said Monty, sitting down again, and Kagig cracked his knuckles.
Gloria and I went over and sat at the table, and seeing me in a state to understand things Monty gave me a precis of the situation.
“We’re making a great bea
con of this castle,” he said. “Three hundred men and women are piling in the felled logs and trees and down-wood — everything that will burn. We shall need light on the scene. Rustum Khan has gone to hold the clay ramp and make sure the Turks turn up this castle road. Fred is to hold the corner; we’ve fortified the Zeitoon side of the road, and Fred and his men are to make sure the Turks don’t spread out through the trees. Kagig, Will and I, with twenty-five very carefully picked men for each of us, wait for the Turks at the bottom of the road and put up a feint of resistance. Our business will be to make it look as little like a trap and as much like a desperate defense as possible. We hope to make it seem we’re caught napping and fighting in the last ditch.”
“Last ditch is true enough!” Fred commented cheerfully. Fred was obviously in his best humor, faced by a situation that needed no cynicism to discolor it — full of fight and perfectly contented.
“Practically all of the rest of the men and women who are not watching the enemy on the other side of Beirut Dagh,” Monty went on, “are hidden, or will be hidden in the timber on either side of the road. We’re hoping to God they’ll have sense enough to keep silent until the beacon is lighted. You’re to light the beacon, since you’re recovering so finely — you and Miss Vanderman.”
“Yes, but when?” said I.
“When the bugles blow. We’ve got six bugles—”
“Only two of them are cornets and one’s a trombone,” Fred put in.
“And when they all sound together, then set the castle alight and kill any one you see who isn’t an Armenian!”
“Or us!” said Fred. “You’re asked not to kill one of us!”
“As a matter of fact,” said Monty, “I rather expect to be near you by that time, because we don’t want to give the signal until as many Turks as possible are caught in the road like rats. At the signal we dose the road at both ends; Rustum Khan and Fred from the bottom end, and we at the top.”
“Most of the murder,” Fred explained cheerfully, “will be done by the women hidden in the trees on either flank. As long as they don’t shoot across the road and kill one another it’ll be a picnic!”
