by Harold Lamb
"Are you drunk!"
"How should I be drunk? There's not a cupful in the camp. Nay, this is a tamasha—a festival. The Black Hats won't come in because these girls belong to us. Look at this one—" He pointed to the veiled dancer, whose dark eyes regarded the tall Hungarian anxiously. "Not every Cossack, even in the old days, had a troupe of singers like this. Hai, yartak bish yabir, tzee Kosaki khoudsarma—Ho, young women, here is your Cossack master." And he waved the pipe at Gurka.
"Chapir—chapir, choulbim bir Agha!" One of the slaves cried, going down on her knees and pressing her head to the carpet. "Be seated, be seated, we are your Excellency's slaves!"
The experienced dancers recognized the bearing of an officer, and the fairest of them tried to catch his attention by revealing graceful arms.
"See how they take to you, the lambs!" Koum grinned. "Ask them to make a feast of sugared fruit and rice—they have their own food in those packs."
"Enough of this," cried Gurka, his handsome face reddening. "We'll eat with the khan. And tomorrow you and I will leave the Kurgan and start back to your hut."
"Well, as you like. It's your mission."
The Cossacks, however, did not forsake their post the next day. Before noon animal herds appeared in the south with riders, and reports of muskets were heard. The newcomers proved to be Tavka's horde, retreating from the ravine, harried by a score of mounted Turkomans. They came in to the Kurgan with all their animals and laden camels, and they explained that they had been afraid to remain longer at the other camp because the tribesmen were appearing in greater numbers.
Tavka Khan summoned the two Cossacks. He told them that he had stayed at the Kurgan to rest his men and horses, but especially to keep the surviving raiders from water. Holding the well at the Kurgan, and the spring in the southern ravine, he had counted on forcing the Turkomans to ride off to the nearest water, and leave him free to withdraw in safety with his herds.
Now, instead of going away, Ismail's surviving men had lingered, and had somehow got more horses and powder. They held the spring, which would supply them with water, and they could follow his trail, driving off animals and shooting down men with their muskets.
"Hai, Barba," he complained, "I do not know where to turn my head."
"Thou art heavy with sleep and fat." Koum laughed. "Thy hands are burdened with spoil."
"Nay," responded Tavka moodily, "Misfortune will overtake us, because we defiled the Kurgan with blood. Who can avert his fate?"
He was as moody and uncertain as he had been joyful the night before last. To reassure him the Cossacks led a band of the younger Tartars out toward the raiders. When they drew near the brush-covered hillocks scattered shots greeted them, and when they circled the position they were fired on again from some rocks. The Black Hats could not use their arrows and would not rush the muskets.
Drawing off, Koum pointed out to Gurka a fresh band of riders—black specks coming up fast under rolling dust. Ismail's men were being reinforced. When the Cossacks drew off, several tribesmen rode after them boldly for a final shot. Evidently the Turkomans meant to stay within reach of the rich prize at the Kurgan, and without doubt they expected allies to come on the scene before long from some distant aul or some caravan that had left their camels in camp to hurry to the scene of the fighting. How the tidings had spread over that barren plain was a mystery; but whispers traveled from river to river, and from well to well.
"Like that," Koum pointed over his head. On motionless wings, scrawny vultures were wheeling around the Kurgan.
With a fight in prospect, the Cossacks would not leave their ally. And as Tavka would not think of abandoning either his spoils or his own herds, they must make off at once. They might hold the Kurgan for days, but more raiders would come up continually and in the end not one of the horde might escape.
That afternoon Tavka talked it over with the Cossacks and agreed that their best way out was to head west, toward the river. It would be a two days' march, with the cattle, and this meant a dry camp the first night— but they would be moving away from the raiders, and the Turkomans would not carry the fight beyond the Russian posts.
"Today we ride," Koum repeated, "and tomorrow we carry the saddle. That's how it always is."
A little after midnight the sheep and cattle were sent off along the trail with a group of boys and young men to guide them. Three hours later the camels were loaded and started with the Chinese and the Moslem girls, who had been placed in their accustomed hampers. Water skins were filled and loaded on the same camels. With them went the Tartar women and children on their camel train, guarded by a troop of horsemen.
An hour before the first light the main body of fighting men, some hundred strong, mounted and abandoned the Kurgan, taking Ismail with them. When the Bey found that he was heading toward the west, he laughed harshly and cursed his captors.
"The vultures will tear the flesh from thy bones, O Tavka Khan," he cried, "but first, before thy death, I will take off thy skin to make a mat." And he said again that he would wipe his feet each day on the mat.
By midmorning they had caught up with the cattle and the camels. After that they could go forward only at a foot pace, and at noon they had to halt to let the sheep graze and lie down. They went on in drifting dust, harried along by a chill wind. And they saw that the Turkomans were following.
Bands of riders appeared on either flank, without attempting to close in, so that the Cossacks could only guess at their numbers. Beyond doubt they were waiting for others to arrive before opening fire on the horde.
Overhead the vultures circled tirelessly, until a lame sheep or a sick cow fell behind the herds, when they swept down to hover over the doomed animals and come to the ground, to wait until they dropped.
"Their death will be easier than thine," Ismail taunted the khan, who said not a word. Encumbered by his women and all his possessions, Tavka could not muster any spirit, and his men, although they displayed no emotion, shared his gloom.
Already the animals were lagging, and it was thirty hours' march to water.
"Well," Koum retorted, "thou wilt not see it, Ismail."
The pock-marked face of the captive chieftain wrinkled savagely, and he spat into the sand.
"My eyes see what is hidden to thee," he said, strangely.
Before long the Cossacks learned what Ismail had in his mind. Early in the afternoon a single rider appeared on the trail ahead of them. He came up at a rapid trot, without hesitation, and they made out by his coat and military saddle that he was a Cossack. Passing through the herds, and gazing curiously at the camel train, he sought Koum and Gurka.
"I've come out to warn you high flying eagles," he said, dropping his rein and swinging his leg over the saddle horn. He explained that he was Ostap, a registered Cossack, at the river post. "Tell me, what kind of brandy have you been licking up?"
"As God lives," Koum declared, "we've had well water."
"Then what are you doing? Night before last a Turkoman came in carrying the Bey's bone necklace. He swore by the Koran that you had fetched Tartars and ambushed the caravan. Aye, he said you tortured Ismail and seized all his young wives." Ostap glanced around. "Where are they?"
"Why didn't you throw the Turkoman into the river?" demanded Koum.
"How could we? He brought military tidings and asked for the gen-eral—besides, he had a token from the Bey. We escorted him in to the Russian officers." Ostap rubbed his chin, smiling. "It was like kicking a hive. Such a scurrying about and scolding. Ismail's His Excellency's pet— at least they've been asking for him every day. Why did you do it? Did you get many weapons—good scimitars? Any gold?"
Koum started to make a hot retort, and instead began to reflect. Meanwhile the soldier Ostap scrutinized the motley array about him curiously.
"You've got Ismail's camels," he remarked. "But the devil himself couldn't squeeze out of your fix. You'll be given a hundred lashes each to begin with, and then you'll sit on your buttocks in t
he pen.
"But Ismail's the raider," grumbled Koum, "we were sent—"
"One dog barks at another. Where's your proof?"
"Look behind you," said Gurka briefly.
Turning in his saddle, the Cossack from the cordon looked at first casually, then with interest, at the bands of sheepskin-clad riders scattered along the horizon.
"That's bad," he grunted. "They'll overtake you."
"They're hanging back—waiting for more men."
Spitting out the seeds he had been chewing, Ostap reflected.
"Aye, for the men from the northern aul." He explained that this Turkoman village, about a day's ride from the Kurgan, mustered more than a hundred riders, who often visited the Kurgan. "That's why we could not hold a station out there."
"Did General Lermontoff know that?" demanded Gurka.
"We told him, often."
"Then why did he send two men to the Kurgan?"
Ostap shook his head.
"Don't know. He wanted to, that's all. But if you complain, he'll hang you."
The Cossacks were interrupted by scattered shots from the pursuers; and to keep the Turkomans at a distance, they took some of the best muskets and rode from the point in the rear. At this matching of long-range shots Koum could more than hold his own.
But after sunset the raiders drew in closer and wounded several horses. At moonrise they disappeared, except for a single fire lighted upon a distant knoll. The Cossacks knew better than to make a sally out to this fire, which had been placed there either to tempt them or to guide the tribesmen coming in from the aul.
They took turns at watching with the Tartars until early morning, when Koum and Ostap heard shouts and haphazard shooting near the fire. When nothing further happened they returned to the horde and roused Gurka, who was sleeping near his horse.
Ostap believed that the expected reinforcement had reached Ismail's men and had been greeted by shouts and gunfire and that the attack would come before long. The horde had covered half the distance to the river, but the animals were tired and would move slowly the next day; they could never reach the Russian lines.
"After the first light," he went on, "we can't get away; but now there is still time. We can ride off and they will not see us."
Gurka shook his head.
"No," he said. "Tavka's men saved our hides—we'll stay with them. But you go."
For a moment Ostap considered, frowning.
"If I had not seen those devils skin a captured wolf and turn him loose, I would stay. Don't tempt God, brothers—come away!"
When the two refused, he put up his pipe and led his horse out into the haze of moonlight. They watched him circle the camp and head toward the river. After he had gone Koum got out the bagpipe and tried to make harmony come from the damaged sack, until Tavka Khan appeared beside them, saying that he had taken the chance of starting off the herds and camels but that all the men must go with them this time. A grunting and lowing and a trampling of horses testified that the beasts had to be clubbed and driven to take to the road again.
The Cossacks could see the dark figures of children running after truant sheep. A little girl passed, leading a pony upon which an old woman sat, rocking and moaning to herself. Tavka Khan pretended to take no heed of this, but the sorrow of his people, revealed in the dim light, tore at his heart, and he spoke with the calm of a stoic.
"Is there no plan, O Kosaki bimbashi, by which thou canst save my horde?"
Reluctantly Gurka shook his head.
They could not take cover in this treeless plain, without water and adequate arms. If they scattered under the cloak of darkness, they would be tracked down the next day.
"Only one," Koum answered gravely. "Take the horses and ride swiftly ahead to the river."
"Hai, there are not ponies enough for the young children and the old people. Besides, without our herds and tents, we could not live through this coming Winter."
Koum closed and strapped his saddle bag and stood up, stretching his long arms.
"Eh, Tavka Khan, it is written that each man's grave is dug in its appointed place. We will go and find out."
When they moved off to guard the herds, howls resounded from the distance, echoed by mocking laughs. Then the flare of a torch came out of the haze behind them. The light swung in circles, and presently Gurka saw that a horseman carried it. He had no weapon except the knives in his girdle and no others followed him.
"Aman!" he cried. "Aman."
He was an old Turkoman, a greasy cloth wrapped round his long hair, and he did not draw rein until he was within spear's length of Tavka Khan. "Peace—I will not harm ye, who will soon be dead," he shouted, swinging the torch to keep it alight. "Nay, I bring a message. Release Ismail
Bey—set him on a horse and loose him, and ye will not feel the knives of torture. If Ismail Bey is slain, the jackals will howl and turn away when they see your bodies. We have sworn it on the Koran."
Tavka Khan shook his head, snarling.
"I trust the jackals more than any word of thine. As for Ismail, his hour is at hand."
"Is that thy word?"
"Aye, so."
The messenger wheeled his horse, flung his dying torch at them, and darted away into the murk. Tavka Khan fell into heavy silence, knowing that while the tribesmen might try to save Ismail, nothing would keep them from massacring the Tartars.
After sunrise no one thought of escape. They moved at a walk beside the stumbling herds. Young girls and boys, mounted on cows, gazed fearfully about them. Only the camels, striding along under their burdens, seemed indifferent to thirst or weariness or the peril on their flanks.
The Turkomans, twice as numerous as the day before, and certain now of their prey, trotted forward in several bands, keeping just beyond range of Koum's musket. The morning passed, and they delayed their attack to mock the men of the horde who were heading toward a line of hillocks where trees showed green on the skyline. This height would offer some protection—perhaps water.
But the Turkomans had seen it, and just before the advance riders of the horde came within galloping distance of the broken ground, the bands of raiders moved forward and closed in ahead of the laboring horde. Cut off from the hillocks, Tavka could do nothing but form his beasts and men in a circle and make ready for the final struggle. As he did so the tribesmen began to shoot; a herder fell from his saddle, and a camel began to moan and jump about. The cattle surged ominously, their horns clashing together. Tavka Khan shouted, knowing that they would stampede in another moment.
"We must ride at the dogs!"
"Wait!" exclaimed Gurka, catching his rein and pointing.
The reports of the muskets ceased, and all the men, Tartars and Turkomans, looked toward the line of hillocks. From that line horsemen were emerging.
They came at a shaking trot and they tossed about in the saddles strangely; they wore gray uniforms faced with red, and they carried muskets slung on their backs. One of them held a flag, and another a sword pressed against his shoulder.
"Urusse!" grunted Tavka.
"Russian mounted infantry," added Gurka.
The first troop was followed by a cavalcade of officers—the sharp eyes of the Cossacks noticed the thoroughbred horses and the glittering points of braid--with their equerries and servants. Some of the servants were heydukes dressed as Turks and Circassians. Then, rumbling through the dust, came a field gun with its caisson and cart. Last appeared wagons piled with tents, escorted by a dozen Cossacks.
"It's a general," shouted Koum. "No one else travels like that in the steppe. Look, brothers, he has a cannon." Suddenly he grinned. "Devil take me but he's come after his girls."
The arrival of the small Russian column nearly balanced the numbers on either side. The precious quarter of an hour in which they could have launched an attack upon the Tartar caravan was wasted by the Turkomans who feared that greater forces might be hidden behind the hillocks. They scented a trap and drew off swiftly to the sides, a
nd paused, uncertain whether to charge or retreat.
Then a solitary Cossack galloped from the Russian column toward the horde, and Gurka, recognizing Ostap, went swiftly to meet him.
"I found His Excellency," explained Ostap, "camped back there five versts away. He did not know the tribes were fighting. I told him a few Turkomans were attacking a caravan—we heard the shots—"
"What is he doing?"
"Ekh, he's looking at the Turkomans. He's just had his breakfast—"
"Tell him to fire the cannon. They will run from a cannon."
"Now, brother, how can I tell him to do anything?"
Gurka glanced impatiently over his shoulder at the restless masses of tribesmen, and put spurs to his horse. He shot toward the Russians, who had halted in some disorder, and sprang from the saddle before His Excellency. Lermontoff, seated in an open carriage lined with yellow silk, lifted a plump finger to acknowledge the Cossack's salute.
"May I be the first to congratulate your Excellency," cried Gurka, "now that you have arrived in time to save the caravan. Tavka Khan places himself under your protection. Will your Excellency begin the battle by cannon fire, or by a charge?"
Lermontoff chewed his mustache and looked about him, frowning. He had not expected to see such masses of the nomads, and he was uncertain as to what to do. Seeing his frown, the officers of his staff preserved a discreet silence.
"Send them a ball or two," the general remarked to an elderly colonel, who was brushing up his drooping mustache and fingering his sword.
"Does your Excellency," inquired that officer bending down respectfully, "give the order to fire the cannon?"
"Certainly," snapped Lermontoff.
The colonel drew himself up and shouted to a captain of the staff, who turned and galloped off with his pelisse flapping behind him. A moment later the clumsy gun was wheeled forward, swung into position, and the horses led away. The charge and ball were rammed down, and a cannoneer, squatting on the tail, sighted carefully—then rose to ask a question. The staff captain hesitated and came back to the carriage, saluting.
