The Ruby Sword Part 9

"What did you say the _soor's_ name was?" growled Bracebrydge.

"Bulbul Khan. That's my name for him," laughed Upward. "His real name's Babul Han, but I christened him Bulbul Khan, because he's always making melody. Not bad, eh?"

"Oh yes--beastly funny--Ah--ha--ha--ha!" sneered Bracebrydge.

Now the trampling of horse hoofs arrested the attention of the party, and about a dozen mounted Baluchis, riding at a foot's pace, emerged from the juniper forest. They made a picturesque group enough in their white flowing garments and great turbans.

"Why, who can these be?" said Nesta, gazing upon the new arrivals with some interest. "Who are they, Mrs Upward?"

"I'll ask Bhallu Khan." Then--"He says it is a sirdar of the Marris, who has been up to Gushki to see the Political Agent, and is on his way home."

"So?" said Campian, interested. "Wonder if he'd stop and have a talk.

Upward, roll up, old man. I want you to interview this very big swell."

"We don't want to be 'dikked' by a lot of n.i.g.g.e.rs," grunted Bracebrydge, in an audible aside.

The cavalcade had halted some threescore yards away, and one of the men now came forward to ask if the "jungle-wallah sahib" was there, because the Sirdar Yar Hussain Khan would be glad to have a talk with him on an official matter.

"Yar Hussain Khan?" repeated Upward, choking back a yawn. "I say, Campian, you'd better take a good look at this fellow. He's no end of a big chief among the Marris, though he's really of Afghan descent. Come along with me and meet him." Then, turning to the Baluchi, he gave the necessary answer.

All the party were armed with the inevitable tulwar--four of their number, who were in immediate attendance on the chief, with Martini rifles as well. These, however, they laid down, as, having dismounted, they advanced to meet Upward.

The sirdar himself was a man of stately presence, standing over six feet. His strong, handsome face, with its flowing black beard, was well set off by the great turban wound round a blue _kulla_, whose conical peak was just visible above the snowy folds. Two jetty tresses of long hair fell over his broad chest, almost to the hem of a rich vest of blue velvet embroidered with gold; the only colour which relieved his white garments. Campian, for his part, as he returned the other's handshake, and noted the free, full fearlessness of the glance which met his, decided that here indeed was a n.o.ble specimen of an Oriental chieftain.

The subject of the latter's official talk with Upward was of no especial importance, relating merely to certain grazing rights in dispute between a section of his tribesmen and the Government. Then he accepted an invitation to sit down and smoke a cigarette. But with the remainder of the party he did not offer to shake hands, acknowledging their presence by a dignified salute.

Upward, talking in Hindustani, brought round the conversation to matters semi-political. "Was there anything in the rumours that had got about, that the tribes were becoming restless all over the country?"

"The tribes always had been restless," was Yar Hussain's reply. "The English had taken over the country not so very long ago. Was it likely that the people could change their nature all at once? The English sahibs found sport in stalking markhor or tiger shooting or in other forms of _s.h.i.+kar_. The Baluchis found it in raiding. It was their form of _s.h.i.+kar_."

Campian, who perforce had to await Upward's interpretation, had been carefully observing their visitors, and noted that one among the chiefs attendants was gazing at him with a most malevolent stare. This man never took his glance off him, and when their eyes met that glance became truly fiendish.

"That's a first-cla.s.s explanation, and a candid one," was the comment he made on Upward's rendering. "Tell him I hope they won't take any more potshots at me when I'm wandering about alone--like they did that night I arrived at your camp, Upward. Tell him I rather like the look of them, and wish I could talk, so I could go in and out among them."

A slight smile came over the dignified gravity of the sirdar's features as this was interpreted to him, and he replied.

"He says," translated Upward, "he will be very pleased if at any time you should visit his village. The shooting at you he knows nothing about, but is sure it could not have been done by any of his people."

Campian, looking up, again met the hostile glance above mentioned. The man, who was seated a little behind his chief, was regarding him with a truly fiendish scowl, and noting it he decided upon two things--that Yar Hussain was a very fine fellow indeed, but that if he had any more followers of the stamp of this malignant savage, it were better for himself or any other infidel who desired to live out his length of days to pause ere accepting this cordially worded invitation. Then, after a few more interchanges of civilities, the sirdar and his followers rose to take their leave.

Now the diabolical scowl wherewith that particular Baluchi had greeted him, Campian at first set down to the natural hatred of a more than ordinarily fanatical Moslem for the infidel and the invader. But as the other drew nearer, spitting forth low envenomed curses, he half expected the Ghazi mania would prove too much for the man, even in the presence of his chief, and his hand instinctively moved behind him to his pistol pocket. The fellow however, seemed to think better of it.

"Fine specimen, that sirdar, isn't he?" said Upward, as they watched the party defiling down the steep hill path into the valley beneath.

"He is. By the way, did you notice the infernal scowl that hook-nosed brigand of his turned on for my benefit all the time you were talking?"

"I thought he wasn't looking at you very amiably when they went away.

He can see you're a stranger, I suppose, and some of these fanatical devils hate a stranger."

"There was more in it than that, Upward. Did you happen to notice he walked with a slight limp?"

"No; I hardly--er yes, by the way, now I think of it, I did."

"Well, what if he should turn out to be the very identical cuss I winged that night?"

"Phew!" whistled Upward. "But then, Bhallu Khan says they were Brahuis.

These are Marris."

"There may have been both among them. What is the sirdar's name, again?"

"Yar Hussain Khan."

"Yes. Well, Sirdar Yar Hussain Khan seems a very nice fellow, and I should much like to see him again; but probably I sha'n't, for the simple reason that I don't in the least want ever to behold that particularly abominable follower of his again."

But he little thought under what circ.u.mstances he was destined to behold both again.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE TANGI.

"It's a thundering mistake allowing these fellows to wander all over the country armed, like that," said Upward, commenting on their late visitors, while preparations were being made for a start. "They are never safe while they carry about those beastly tulwars. A fellow may take it into his head to cut you down at any moment. If he has nothing to do it with he can't; if he has he will. Government ought to put the Arms Act into force."

"Then there'd be a row," suggested Campian.

"Let there be. Anything rather than this constant simmering. Not a week pa.s.ses but some poor devil gets stuck when he least expects it--in broad daylight, too--on a railway station platform, or in the bazaar, or anywhere. For my part, I never like to have any of these fellows walking close behind me."

"No, I don't want either of you. I've had enough of you both for to-day. I'm going to ride with Mr Campian now. I want to talk to him a little."

Thus Nesta Cheriton's clear voice, which of course carried far enough to be heard by the favoured one, as she intended it should. The pair of discomfited warriors twirled their moustaches with mortification, but their way of accepting the situation was characteristic, for while Fleming laughed good-humouredly, if a trifle ruefully, Bracebrydge's tone was nasty and sneering, as he replied:

"Variety is charming, they say, Miss Cheriton. Good thing for some of us we are not all alike--ah--ha--ha!"

"I quite agree with you there," tranquilly remarked Campian, at whom this profoundly original observation was levelled. Then he a.s.sisted Nesta to mount.

The path down from the _kotal_ was steep and narrow, and the party was obliged to travel single file. Finally it widened out as they gained the more level valley bottom. Here were patches of cultivation, and scattered among the rocks and stones was a flock of black goats, herded by a wild looking native clad in a weather-beaten sheepskin mantle, and armed with a long _jezail_ with a sickle shaped stock. Two wolfish curs growled at the pa.s.sers by, while their master uttered a sulky "salaam."

A blue reek of smoke rose from in front of a misshapen black tent, consisting of little more than a hide stretched upon four poles, beneath whose shelter squatted a couple of frowsy, copper-faced women. Two or three more smoke wreaths rising at intervals from the mountain side, and the distant bark of a dog, betokened the vicinity of other wandering herdsmen.

"I never seem to see anything of you now," said the girl suddenly, during a pause in the conversation, which up till then had been upon the subject of the surrounding and its influences.

"Really? That sounds odd, for I have been under the impression that we are looking at each other during the greater portion of every day, and notably when we sit opposite each other at the not very wide, but pre-eminently festive board."

"Don't be annoying. You know what I mean."

"That we don't go out chikor shooting together any more. You may remember I foretold just such a possibility on the last occasion of our joint indulgence in that pastime."

"Well but--why don't we?"