by Harold Lamb
"A gift, bimbashi." He did not speak Turkish as well as Gurka who had learned it in childhood, and he was just able to follow the talk.
Ismail grunted and touched the antelope, showing that he accepted it, before signing to a man to take it away. But he did not invite the Cossacks to eat with him. Koum, in withdrawing, spoke casually to Gurka.
"It's bad. Tell him to order his men out of our place."
"Are thy men dogs, O my Bey," asked Gurka coolly, "to prowl in our tent? Send them away!"
Again the leader of the caravan smiled. He shouted in a dialect that the Cossacks did not know. But Koum, watching the men behind the rug, saw them lean forward expectantly.
"What now?" Gurka asked him.
"Tell him to take his horses away from the grazing ground below our tent. That belongs to us."
A third time Ismail Bey assented courteously. He said that the Cossack's horses were weary, and he would yield them the good grass. When he shouted his command, the Turkomans who had been at the Cossack tent moved off reluctantly to drive their beasts from the grass.
Turning their backs on the Bey and his followers, Gurka and Koum circled the white felt pavilion, scenting as they did so a faint odor of incense and perfume. Leisurely they descended the slope of the Kurgan, and Kourm retrieved his cherished bagpipe from the ground, inspecting it anxiously. Gurka saw that their saddle bags had been turned out and many articles were missing.
"To the devil with them," Koum observed. "They are jackals, hunting in a pack. After we've taken off the saddles and roped out the horses, they'll fill our hides with lead and take everything. The best thing is to ride off swiftly now. If they follow, it may be we can keep them off until dark."
"Agreed." Gurka nodded.
He did not know the hunter's reasons for flight, but he felt that Ismail's men would make bad bedfellows. Down here within stone's throw of the mounds they could be picked off at any moment by the Turkomans—af-ter they had separated from the valuable horses.
A glance at the sky showed him that they had two hours or more of daylight left. In the field below them the Turkomans were moving sluggishly among the horses, like men who were only awaiting a signal to cease their efforts. He picked up his grazing rope and stretched himself, yawning. The Russians had been mad to post two men here—
"Now!" whispered Koum.
As one man, the two Cossacks jerked the reins back over the heads of the startled horses, leaped into the saddles, and plied their whips. The fast ponies sped down the slope, as a clamor of voices arose from the Kurgan.
Kourn swerved to the left, to avoid the men in the field and to shift the direction of their flight.
"Not together—pull away you fool!"
Gurka swerved aside, to separate from his comrade, just as a scattered volley roared from the Kurgan. Heavy lead bullets whined over their heads. But men riding downhill make a poor target, and the Cossacks, bent beside the straining necks of their horses, only feared that the beasts would be hit.
"May they burn, the fiends!" Koum screamed.
Moving toward him, Gurka cried out to him, to know where he was hit. He had heard the thud of a bullet striking something solid.
"The sons of dog-born dogs! Only look!"
Koum raised his arm, his face dark with rage. In his hand dangled the bag-pipe, a bullet hole through the leather sack. Gurka laughed.
But in a moment he began to reflect. A glance over his shoulder assured him that a half dozen Turkomans on rangy horses were starting from the Kurgan in pursuit—proof, if any were needed, that they had meant to kill the Cossacks. They were nearly half a mile behind, and Gurka knew that his fast horse would keep him ahead until darkness. But Koum's mount, carrying a greater weight, was dark with sweat and laboring already to hold the pace.
The open steppe offered no hiding; it would be useless to try turning into the shallow gullies or bare hillocks. Koum was heading straight to the south, still muttering over his damaged treasure.
"Hi, Koum—time to change," Gurka called out.
Drawing into a trot, the two Cossacks swung out of the saddles, and hurriedly changed ponies. Leaping to the horses' backs, they settled themselves in the saddles and found the stirrups, using their whips again. Gurka, the better rider as well as the lighter weight, devoted all his attention to nursing the brown pony along. Allowing Koum to pick the way, he kept his eyes on the ground, until the big Cossack called to him.
"Hi, Gurka—look at them."
Glancing over his shoulder, Gurka was surprised to see that the Turkomans had come up halfway in the last twenty minutes. Their lean, shaggy ponies covered the ground with a tireless gallop. The riders had taken their muskets in their hands, and Gurka could make out faces and beards distinctly.
"Go on," he said between his teeth. "This clod of a horse holds you back."
Koum shook his head.
"Nay, Gurka. Only look yonder. There's a height where we can hold them off."
The height was a line of rocky knolls with green brush showing above them. Gurka did not think that one musket would keep the tribesmen off for long, but his tired mount would have a chance to breathe and what else was there to do? Koum had been heading for the knolls, so that the Turkomans were strung out in a long tangent behind them.
Whipping their horses, the Cossacks galloped toward the highest point of the rise and started up the slope, only to find that the tired horses could not force their way to the top of the hard clay bank. Swearing roundly, Koum slid from the saddle and poured powder from his flask into the pan of the flintlock. The Turkomans, who had closed in rapidly, were within easy shot. They did not hang back to shoot, but raced forward to get within short range.
Koum fired quickly, bringing down a horse without harming the rider. Swiftly he reloaded, while Gurka drew his sword.
"Ghar—ghar—ghar!" the Turkomans shouted, swinging their guns over their heads.
And then the Cossacks heard a strange snapping and whistling in the air. Invisible birds seemed to dart down from the crest of the knoll. Feathers sprang into sight, quivering in the ground. One of the tribesmen yelled, clutching his leg—the ragged turban of another dropped off.
One after the other, the Turkomans fired, above the heads of the Cossacks. They turned their horses and darted off, plying their whips, the dismounted man jumping up behind one of his companions.
Gurka looked at the summit above him. Over the dry grass rose huge ungainly hats, high felt crowns with wide flapping brims. Under the hats dark faces appeared, and leather-bound arms clutching bows.
"Hi kunak!" Koum called out. "They are Tartars, brother," he added to Gurka.
The Tartars stood up, short stocky figures in long sheepskin coats, talking excitedly. When Koum put aside his musket, they helped the two Cossacks with their horses to the summit. In the grassy ravine behind the ridge stood round felt tents, with herds of fat sheep and ponies and a throng of the nomads, men, women and children, watching the event on the height.
The Tartars had been gathered around the dinner kettles before the skirmish with the caravan men, and now they went back to their food, kneeling on the ground and thrusting their hands into the thick broth, to seize bits of mutton or rice. They paid no attention to the Cossacks, and Gurka wondered if he had got away from wolves to fall into a lair of panthers. These nomads were hiding in the ravine—they had brought in all their herds, and a rider passing by the hillocks would have seen no sign of them. The smoke from the embers drifted into the haze of dust stirred up by the breeze. It was the sunset hour and the red murk of the day cast only a faint light into the depression.
But Koum had no misgivings.
"They won't bite. Eh, they are Kara Kalpaks—Black Hats—cattle raisers. I've stayed in their tents during a blizzard." He was trying to repair the damage to his bagpipe by cutting two short wooden pegs to fit in the bullet holes. When the pegs were in he inflated the bag and tried a few notes. The unmelodious wail that came forth caused the Black Hats to
turn in startled concern, while the nearest cows lifted their heads. A man came over and argued angrily, until Koum put down the pipe.
"Well, you see it won't sound right," he sighed. "They say it will stampede the herd. They say if we want food we must come before it is all eaten."
The Tartar led them into the largest of the round tents, where a huge candle burned in dense smoke. Behind the fire on a rug covered bench sat a fat man in a khalat of horsehide painted red. This was Tavka Khan, master of the little horde, and he waited patiently until the Cossacks had eaten. Then Koum washed his hands in a basin brought by a young woman and asked for wine.
Tavka Khan shook his head. He had no wine, being, he explained, a true Moslem, but he had kumiss—fermented mare's milk. And he opened wide his watery eyes when the big Cossack downed bowl after bowl of the heady drink.
Since Gurka could not understand their talk, Koum enlightened him from time to time between bowls.
"The khan is angry because we led Ismail's jackals here. He turned aside from the road yesterday because he heard that Ismail's caravan was coming after him. He says Ismail is a black-boned robber."
"The Bey has his own caravan to guard," responded Gurka. "These men must be afraid."
"Not so. They are fighting men, but they do not raid and they have few muskets. They plunder the Russian merchants along the river, of course. But Ismail—"
Koum asked the old Tartar a question and listened with growing interest to his emphatic answer.
"Only think, Gurka! Ismail's a fox—a steppe fox. This is what he does. He brings a rich trade from Bokhara to sell to the Russians. Then at Sarai or along the Volga he lays in a few things to take back. But here, on the eastern road, he attacks the westbound caravans, killing every one. Aye, he takes their camels and goods. He wiped out a Tartar caravan at the river crossing last Spring, where we found the bones. That is why these Black Hats keep out of his path."
"He's going west now, not east."
"Aye, but they think he would drive off their cattle to sell at Sara-chikof—only two marches away . . . Devil take him—he's the raider! He's the one who has been eating up the caravans."
Gurka thought of the sixty warriors at the Kurgan, with fast horses and many muskets. Few merchants could afford, or handle, such a guard. And the Chinese camelmen would tell no tales.
"Why doesn't Tavka Khan tell this to the Russian officers!" he asked.
The Tartar made hot response, his eyes flashing as he clawed at his thin red beard.
"He says," Koum interpreted, "he has no witnesses to the slaying, and the Bey trades with the Russian generals. Besides, the Russians don't set foot over the river. They claim this grazing land of Tavka's—make him pay a head tax and send Cossacks to collect it. But they don't protect him.
They protect Ismail, so Tavka loots their ships when he can to get money to pay the tax."
"What kind of man is the Bey?"
"He's a dog—not a good Moslem. Wears pigs' tusks and eats unlawful meat. He's not a Tartar, not a Turkoman—but the tribes fear him because he slays like a mad dog."
"He speaks Turki like a man from the east."
"God knows. But we're well out of his hands."
"Nay—" Gurka smiled—"we are going back to the Kurgan tonight."
In the act of handing his bowl to the woman to be filled again, Koum turned his head.
"What's that you say?"
Gurka had passed an unpleasant afternoon. He did not relish being chased like a wandering horse, and now he saw an opportunity to strike a blow himself.
"Don't you see, Koum? We can go back with these Tartars and rush the Turkomans. They will not look for an attack."
For a moment Koum considered and shook his head.
"Nay, brother. There will be a moon—a half-moon on the steppe. And those sons of dogs have too many guns."
"Too many for the day. At night a gun is no good. The light will be strong enough for the Tartars to use their bows. If they don't shirk, it can be done. And then we'll open up that treasure of the Bey's. I'd like to get my hand in it."
Slowly Koum sipped at the bowl. He also had a score to settle with the men who had damaged his beloved bagpipe. By now he had drunk enough kumiss to look at matters with the eye of an opportunist.
"Well," he muttered, "glory to God, why not try?"
Visibly excited, Tavka Khan listened to his urging, without being won to consent.
"Ai Barba," he responded. "No, uncle, who has ever attacked Turkoman raiders? They are wolves with long teeth. If they came against us, aye— then we would fight."
"Some day they will come, O my khan." Koum's mellow voice was deep with feeling. "And then, by Allah, they will pick their time and leave all of you without graves, for the jackals to bury in their bellies. Even thy moon-faced women, and young sons, tender as saplings. How much better it would be to lead thy men against them now and take their camels, their horses and that rich treasure concealed in the white tent?"
After filling and lighting his clay pipe he handed it to the khan, who took it and drew upon it until his lungs must have been filled with smoke. Nor did he let out the smoke, except as it filtered after moments from his nose and ears. No true Tartar would waste the precious smoke.
"Aye, true it is," he muttered, "that the one-eyed wolf guards something of great price, concealed from other eyes. By day he carries it in camel hampers, and at every halting he places it within the white tent. He takes it to the Russians. No one else has seen it, except his men of Cathay."
"O my khan, he said himself it was more than gold. Think of six camels loaded with more-than-gold. Yah Allah—what a thing! And consider moreover that this captain of Cossacks, my kunak, will be at thy side to tell thee of stratagems. Once he held the baton of command in a great battle of the Franks in which forty thousand died."
The bleared eyes of the old Tartar studied the spare figure and lean face of the Cossack Gurka. The Black Hats had their affrays with the Cossack posts, and each stole horses from the other, and held the other in respect. In a storm, or upon purely friendly visits, each welcomed the other. Tavka Khan perceived in Gurka the quality of a man who knew how to command. But he himself was old and heavy; he could not see very well and he liked to sit in the smoke of the tent fire.
"Ai, tzee! He is a khan, as thou sayest; yet I—"
Koum saw that it was time to use his final argument.
"Listen, now. When a dog is mad doth not Allah shorten his days, so that death comes upon him suddenly."
"Aye, so."
"Well, now—this night—it hath happened that Allah sealed the seal of death upon the life of that dog Ismail Bey, the ill-born. It is certain. For he sleeps with his men in the place of the doomed. He eats and he scatters his filth upon the Kurgan itself, above the mounds and the grave of the holy one."
Tavka Khan clutched at his beard.
"Is this true?"
"By Allah, his carpet is spread against the tomb. Allah will aid thy hand in his punishment."
Fumbling in his girdle, the Tartar drew out a case of pearl shell shaped like a half-moon. Inserting his thumb and forefinger, he helped himself to snuff and passed the case to Koum who did likewise.
"I am young again," cried Tavka. "Tonight I will ride against Ismail Bey!"
He was as good as his word. In fact, influenced perhaps by the copious drafts of kumiss, Tavka became so convinced of the righteousness of his cause that he would take no more than fifty men and the Cossacks—explaining that these fifty were his best men and the others must remain to guard the horde, in case the fifty should be killed. Gurka approved this, saying that in a night attack it was better to have a compact body of experienced fighters than a throng.
They started about midnight, to reach the Kurgan when the moon was low. Although they pushed on at a fast trot, Gurka heard no clinking of stirrups or rattling of bow cases. The Tartars seemed to be black shadows floating through the haze of moonlight. The ponies' hoofs struck soundlessly
into the sandy ground.
Tavka sang quietly to himself something about the blood of brave men in a vase of gold, and fair women carried off on the saddles of raiders. He sang the charms of the women in detail, until he reined in and beckoned to Koum.
"It is time," he said, "for the Kosaki bimbashi to tell us the plan he has made."
"Gurka," the big Cossack interpreted, "they want you to tell them how to attack the Turkomans."
Already Gurka had pondered this, going over in his mind the site of the Kurgan and the disposition of the warriors with it. Obviously he must count heavily upon surprise, because Ismail's men once aroused and armed could hold the mounds even in that treacherous light against an inferior force.
"Will these fellows fight foot to foot with Ismail's?" he asked.
"Nay," Koum laughed, "but they will ride their horses through the Turkomans. They will not leave the saddle. Wounds will not stop them, yet if they are beaten in the first attack it will be hard to bring them forward again."
Gurka nodded—he had suspected as much. The riders of the horde all carried the weapons of horsemen, short bows and small, curved sabers, and many had lances with tufts of horsehair.
"Tell Tavka Khan," he responded, "that most of the Bey's horses are below the Kurgan on this side. There will be some guards out with them, and probably a watcher on the Kurgan. The camels with the Chinese are on the other side, near the road. The Turkomans will be sleeping within the mounds. We will not rush on together. You, Koum, will go forward on this side, drive in the horse guards and stampede the horses—then circle the mounds, making an outcry and shooting. You will have six men."
"And what—"
"The rest will follow the khan, and I will take them in a circle beyond sight of the Kurgan—you must hold back until we do this—to the road. When you make your onset, the Turkomans in the Kurgan will wake and run to that side. They will not see us come in at first, and we ought to be on their backs before they can hold us off with musketry. Meanwhile, your circle will bring you in among the camels—start them up, make a tumult, then join us."
