The House of the Falcon

by Harold Lamb

  "What, dear?" he asked, without shifting his position."

  "Not that, Donovan Khan," the girl exclaimed. "That is not why I brought you here.''

  "Righto!" he murmured cheerily. "But it will help, you know——"

  "No—not that" She crouched beside him, her face close to his. "Don't you see? We can do more than that!"

  A ragged volley came out of the gloom, two hundred yards across the plateau. Under cover of the swirling smoke that rose over the ground, they saw groups of Sayaks advancing. Behind the parapet the waiting cohorts held their fire, as Monsey, running back and forth, swore at them angrily. The Englishman knew that when an answering volley came from the Kurgan it must do deadly execution among the attackers, who, besides the disadvantage of numbers and inferior arms, had the glare of the pine torches in their eyes.

  "We must warn the Sayaks, Donovan Khan."

  His eye fixed on Monsey, he did not grasp at first the full significance of her words. She shook him impatiently. "Call to Iskander. Or it will be too late."

  "Too late? Ah!"

  The instant Donovan understood her purpose, its whole meaning was clear to the mind of the soldier. Laying down his weapon he took the girl's hand in his and studied her anxiously.

  "Hurry!" she whispered.

  "You do not know it all, Edith. Our warning might check the Sayak attack, but it would bring all these beggars of Monsey's on us, at the tower. It would cut us off. Our only chance is a surprise sally—and we would be throwing that chance away——"

  "I understand."

  "During the fighting, if we keep silence, we might slip away, Edith, I will not throw aside your chance."

  Her eyes held him. He could see every shade of expression in her eager face by the glare below. And he saw no fear—only pride and urgent need.

  "Donovan Khan, you told me that the Sayaks would continue to storm the Kurgan until they are utterly cut to pieces." She did not wait for his answer. "We can save the lives of a hundred men. And then Yakka Arik——"

  Edith sighed. "I am thinking of the women of Yakka Arik.

  "We can save them, Donovan Khan, perhaps. Now, hurry." The girl gave him a little push as a second volley—harmless as the first—came from the scattered muskets of the oncoming natives. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter—you and I. We will have each other; they can't change that, now, can they?"

  Donovan had seen men, before now, fling their bodies into the face of death. It was something of a miracle to him, this settled purpose of the girl at his side. He rose, with a laugh that had much gladness in it.

  "By Jove! You are playing the game, Edith."

  Donovan, once convinced, was a man of action. He cupped his hands to his mouth and faced the gloom of the plateau in which he could now make out the Sayaks not a hundred yards away.

  "Iskander, son of Tahir!" His shout rang out clearly over the bustle below and the confused sounds from the near-by natives. "Go back!"

  He had spoken in Turki. Men stared up from the courtyard at the tower in astonishment. Hands were withdrawn from rifles. Monsey seemed turned to a graven image of attention. Donovan continued in English.

  "Iskander, Donovan Khan is speaking. A trap has been set. Twice your numbers are in the Kurgan with magazine rifles."

  Crack-crack! Monsey's revolver spat at the tower summit, the bullets thudding into the beams overhead. Edith fancied that the Sayaks had halted. Donovan paid no attention to the shots.

  "'Ware the ditch!" he shouted, in the silence that now held the castle. "It is dug out and staked, in front of you. Monsey has prepared for you. Go back"!

  A pause, in which Edith strained her ears. Then came Iskander's answering hail out of the dark:

  "Dono-van Khan, I hear."

  In response to a command the girl could not distinguish, the forms of the Sayaks began to melt back into the rocks and trees. As if to confirm the warning, a heavy volley burst from the wall of the castle—too late now to do serious harm. Confused firing was kept up by Monsey's men, who seemed to have been startled by the voice from the tower and were emptying their weapons across the plateau. Faintly, Edith heard the Arab's second hail.

  "I hear . . . and will not forget . . ."

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE VOICE OF MAHMOUD

  As Donovan had anticipated, and as might have been expected, the first rush of Monsey's men toward the hold and the ladder leading to the tower was without result except for certain casualties among the attackers.

  Aravang, standing over the aperture in the floor through which the ladder led, was armed only with a short wooden pole. But with this weapon—which, indeed, the kul favored over others—he sent the first two or three who ventured up the ladder back with broken heads.

  Donovan, climbing alertly down the stairs from above, seconded his effort with the clip of cartridges in the Mauser rifle—five shots that drove the attackers back, dragging their wounded, from the ladder and the lower room.

  "Ah, that was well. Excellency!" grunted the burly native, leaning on his staff. The reflected light from the courtyard served to disclose the two men and the woman to each other dimly.

  "It was but the beginning," responded the Englishman in Aravang's tongue. "We must hold the tower now. This is the only entrance."

  He paused to count the cartridges in the bandoleer. Two or three dozen rounds, at the most. The six chambers of the revolver were filled, but extra ammunition was lacking. Aravang, experienced in such warfare, was almost indifferent.

  "We may meet another peril, Excellency."

  "They may try to climb the outside of the tower?"

  Aravang shook his head.

  "It may be, Dono-van Khan. But this peril is otherwise."

  Edith spoke then and Donovan did not learn what alternative the native had in mind.

  "That was splendid," she cried. "Aren't we quite safe in these stone walls—of the tower? If only we can keep them away until my father comes——"

  "Our position, Edith," he smiled, "is excellent. Aravang, alone, could hold this floor, at a pinch. And, if you will be good enough to mount the stairs for a flight and watch from the embrasures, we can checkmate any attempt to put ladders against the tower itself." He added, however, to himself: "Of course, we are without food or water, or necessary ammunition, and Major Fraser-Carnie is at least twelve hours' ride from this place——"

  "Indeed," Edith reproved him, "I won't think of going upstairs without you. I think you are trying to send me away!"

  She pouted and Donovan shook his head guiltily. A new outbreak of firing from the plateau, however, took him halfway up the stairs at her side, to one of the arrow slits in the stone wall, giving on the courtyard.

  Hence they obtained a glimpse of an unexpected development resulting from the withdrawal of the Sayaks. Bundles of small pine branches bound together and soaked in part with kerosene—even that poor brand of liquid brought by camelback from China to Kashgar—when once ignited are not easily extinguished. As a consequence, the flares of Monsey were still blazing and crackling away above the courtyard, shedding a bloodlike flood of illumination over the natives who were struggling to haul down the poles supporting the flares and extinguish them. The men worked hastily, with one eye on the tower.

  Donovan looked for Abbas and Monsey; but the masters of the Kurgan were keeping well without the range of fire from the summit. Meanwhile the horses had fallen into a semi-panic at the blazing masses near their backs and were tugging at their halters, while some Tartars struggled to secure them. This light had given opportunity to Iskander to organize a sniping fire from the branches of trees on the further side of the plateau.

  "Oh, do you think it will hurt these—these Alamans and the rest?" inquired Edith interestedly. She felt impelled to call attention to the brief advantage which her strategy had secured for the Sayaks. "Surely these horrid men are worried by our being in the tower and by this shooting——"

  Donovan, intent on the panorama of the fight, unconsc
iously dropped his mask of cheerfulness.

  "Hardly, I think, Edith. That long-range fire has little effect. And when the flares are out, the horses will soon quiet down; then we won't be able to see anything that happens."

  The girl was struck by the abrupt moodiness of his words, understanding, however, that it was on her account and not his own that the Englishman was troubled. Shyly, she nestled her hand in his, which closed on it firmly.

  Realizing that his enemies would soon be in darkness, Donovan jerked his rifle to pick off some while he could still see to do so, Then he sighed. Cartridges were too few for such a maneuver. He must save his fire for defense of the tower. Edith noticed his act, and promptly questioned him.

  "It would be unnecessary bloodshed," he parried, not wishing to explain the true reason.

  Donovan was silent. He drew her close to his side, his arm around the slender shoulder that pressed near him. Edith's hair was against his cheek, and he felt her warm breath on his throat.

  The girl clung to him trustfully, her faith strong that the man she loved would do what was best, under all circumstances.

  They watched the flares splutter into smoky gloom as the Tartars pulled down the poles. With this, the shooting from the tree tops dwindled perforce. The horses ceased their plunging, and an unnatural quiet settled upon the castle.

  Once Donovan caught up his rifle and took a snap shot at a figure that explored the base of the tower from the summit of the hold. The form sank to the stone flooring and presently crawled away.

  Again there was a brief clamor as the men below tried to take the tower ladder by surprise, and Aravang came into action. Donovan did not even think this important enough to go down the stairs, well knowing the advantages of position possessed by their burly friend. Presently this new tumult also ceased, and they knew that Aravang was still master of the stair.

  The smoke currents eddied away from the courtyard. The new moon brightened, casting a luminous half light upon the plateau, the walls of the Kurgan——a light that blurred all outlines and was more treacherous than helpful.

  Edith and Donovan watched it from the shelter of the dismantled beams on the tower top. The girl snuggled close to him.

  "I don't like this—this silence," she whispered.

  "Oh, it's quite to be expected, Edith. Monsey is checkmated for a moment. Our side had a good inning. His men probably are disturbed by the failure of their plans and our appearance in the tower. These natives are superstitious. They must have been startled by my voice——"

  "Please, you are just trying to say nice things. That is what I tried to tell you a little while ago."

  Donovan, however, had been reasoning aloud. His mind was alert. He was disappointed by the complete withdrawal of the Sayaks—as the quiet of the plateau seemed to hint. What was Monsey doing? He knew the Russian would not leave them unmolested in the tower.

  If scaling ladders were being prepared, he would have heard some noise. And if his enemies did not plan to rush the tower summit from without, what were their intentions? To wait for daylight?

  It was not likely, Donovan thought.

  Dawn would give an advantage to Monsey, for the defenders of the tower would then be visible. On the other hand, delay would bring Major Fraser-Carnie and Arthur Rand nearer to Yakka Arik. No, Monsey would hardly wait.

  Edith did not try to think. She was resting against Donovan, thankful for the interval of peace with him at her side. The peril of the Kurgan seemed to draw further off.

  "Dearest, this is our hour of peace," she heard him say. "God—it will be short. Brave heart that you are!"

  His fingers trembled, touching the soft masses of her hair. She looked up, reading the secret of the steadfast eyes that were close to hers in the darkness.

  Sheer triumph thrilled the girl. He loved her. Donovan Khan loved her. No matter how short their hour of happiness, they would be together.

  Bitterness was in the heart of the man. He had brought the woman he loved to suffering and the shadow of death.

  "Sweetheart of mine, did you really say you would —be my wife? Then I didn't dream it, did I?" His arm tightened around her and his lips brushed her closed eyes. He heard a soft, quivering laugh.

  "Donovan Khan, you haven't said yet that you love me?"

  "Love you— you, Edith? Why, I've done nothing else but that since you came to Yakka Arik. Didn't you know ?"

  "But I wanted to hear you say it. Now everything's all right."

  "It must be so for you, Edith. This nightmare will end; you'll sail to England with me, won't you, darling? There's a jolly curate, my uncle—a garden that was made for you——" something choked the man's words.

  "England is so far. There is an army chaplain at— at——"

  Edith's voice failed, and Donovan closed her lips with a fierce kiss.

  "Sreenugger, you darling!" He tried to look into the face that was pressed tightly against his shoulder, and, failing, he murmured inarticulately into her ear, his arm straining her to him.

  And so did these two voice their love that was to Edith the most splendid gift of this other world of the hills.

  At a sound from below Donovan moved cautiously to the edge of the parapet. Edith heard Monsey speak, from the shadows that clung to the stone shelters of the courtyard.

  "A truce, Donovan," he called. "Will you hold your fire, while we talk terms?"

  The man in the tower considered.

  "If your men stay where they are—yes," he announced, keeping well behind the stone breastwork. "No trickery, mind you!"

  "Granted." The girl heard Monsey laugh. He spoke like one who held the situation well in hand. "May I compliment you on the trick you played us—warning off your Sayak friends? It was too bad, though, to give your secret away. You will do well to accept my terms."

  "I was going to propose some of my own."

  "No use, Mr. Donovan Khan."

  "I'm afraid not. The Sayaks have marked you for their own," Donovan shifted guilefully into Turki, for the benefit of such of Monsey's men as might be within hearing.

  Edith caught an oath from the courtyard below. Then the Russian responded something she could not understand. She leaned back against the timbers, waiting. Into her eyes crept the glimmer of countless stars. The heavens were afire, and in the clear mountain air the jeweled radiance of the sky seemed very close to the wearied girl.

  The murmur of the men's voices went on, and her eyes closed through sheer drowsiness. She had not slept for nearly forty-eight hours. It was Donovan's return that roused her from her stupor.

  He spoke grimly.

  "I must tell you this, Edith. Monsey's men are piling timbers and firewood under the entrance hole of the tower—throwing the stuff in from the door. He says that he will burn us out, if we don't surrender."

  "Oh!" Edith sat up with sudden dread. "He wouldn't do that!"

  Donovan did not answer at once. "He would, dear, to save his own skin. I wonder if it's come to that? Somehow, I don't think so. Of course, if I were alone here he'd jolly well start a bonfire at once——"

  "Then we won't surrender, not a bit. And I'll stay right here, so there will be no bonfire, as you say," she responded promptly. She knew Monsey better than to ask—although she wanted to—whether Donovan could be released, unhurt, if she gave herself up. She dreaded parting with Donovan, even for a moment.

  "You must think of yourself a little——" he protested.

  "I am. And I don't want you to talk to him any more."

  This ended the conference. Donovan reflected that the danger of fire was the one that must have occurred to Aravang. The Englishman and Aravang could not prevent the piling up of wood. A large blaze started under the entrance to the tower would soon catch in the ruins of the staircase and the tower itself would serve as a chimney for the draft. Nevertheless, he fancied that this was Monsey's last card.

  With Donovan's arm around her once more, the girl subsided into the drowsiness she was powerless to f
ight. She tried vainly to keep her eyes open.

  In this state of half-wakefulness, the whole aspect of her plight lost its reality. What were the tower, the Kurgan, Monsey, but a bad dream, like the one in Srinagar? Only Donovan was real. She rested her cheek against his arm.

  Dull sounds from the rooms below failed to disturb her as they did the man. He did not relish hearing an incendiary pyre prepared. But he was powerless to do anything save watch from the tower top.

  His arm tightened about the woman. She was his. Nothing must take her away from him now——

  Presently he shook her gently into consciousness.

  "Listen," he said quietly.

  A sound from the plateau had reached his keen ears. He could not identify it. Edith hearkened.

  "Why, it's camels," she said at once. "I ought to know their coughing by now. But what in the world are camels doing around here?"

  "I fancy you're right." He rose and stepped to the parapet. Something was moving in front of the Kurgan. He strained his eyes through the haze of moonlight. Some shapes, clumsy and grotesque, were taking semblance.

  The girl was not sure she was not still dreaming— except for Donovan's aroused interest. Camels! Why, that was absurd. Unless a wandering herd had strayed there——

  "They are coming here," whispered Donovan.

  She could hear the tinkle of rusty bells now, and the protesting cough of the beasts—even the muffled calls of the drivers, still veiled in the haze. Shadows were passing over the ground.

  The thought came to her that here was aid; but at once she reflected that her father's party must be mounted on horses. The only camels in these mountain passes were those of Yakka Arik.

  "It's a caravan," muttered Donovan. "Now, what does that mean?"

  Already Edith was conscious that movement was afoot in the Kurgan below them. Men were running to the wall. The clink of metal echoed faintly.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE SAYAK FURY

  Edith was fully awake, but exhausted by her long vigil and the events of the last hours. It was hard for her to grasp all that came upon the heels of the caravan.