Caravans By Night Part 32

Evening was pouring its dusky glamour over the world, and the far, misty ranges of the China frontier had purpled when Trent left the train at Myitkyina, the terminus of the Burma Railway. He caught a glimpse of Kerth hurrying away in the twilight as he despatched Tambusami to the P.

W. D. Inspection Bungalow to see if quarters were available there; and, after numerous inquiries, took himself into the bazaar, to the shop of Da-yak, the Tibetan.

The latter proved to be a languid person with a blue _lungyi_ twisted about his hips. He inspected Trent with narrow, inky-black eyes, and led him into a back-room that stank of the hundred nameless odors of the bazaar. There he glanced lazily, indifferently, at the coral symbol that the Englishman showed him.

"We expected you yesterday, _Tajen_," he announced indolently, in atrocious English; and Trent wondered who the "we" included. "I am instructed to tell you to go to the Inspection Bungalow and wait. I will call for you later in the evening; in an hour, perhaps."

Which concluded the interview.

Trent decided immediately that Da-yak, the Tibetan, was of no consequence, merely a mouthpiece.

He returned to the station, where he had arranged to meet Tambusami.

There he waited for at least fifteen minutes. The native was in a high state of excitement when he finally arrived.

"Guru Singh is here, O Presence!" he reported. "I saw him down by the river. He was in a boat, going upstream. I cried out to him and called him a liar and a thief, and he told me I was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d! The swine! He knew well I could not get my hands on him!"

"And you let him get away?" Trent demanded.

"What could I do, Presence? There was a Gurkha nearby, but I knew the Presence did not want the police to interfere with his business. Think you I would have let him go after he called me _that_, could I have prevented it?"

Trent wasn't so sure; but he only said:

"Very well. What about quarters?"

"All is arranged at the bungalow, Presence."

Thinking of what Tambusami had told him, Trent left the station, the native at his heels. He wondered. Did Guru Singh's presence mean that the woman of the cobra-bracelet was in Myitkyina?

2

Just about the time Trent reached the P. W. D. Bungalow, a street-juggler with a scar across one cheek and a drooping eyelid made his way through the main road of the bazaar. His good eye was very active--as was the other, for that matter, although less visible to pa.s.sers-by--and he swung along with his head c.o.c.ked at a rakish angle, pack slung over his shoulder, flas.h.i.+ng smiles at the copper-skinned Kachin and Maru girls.

Singling out a shop where boiled frogs, sweetmeats and confectionery were displayed to the mercy of insects, he approached, and, after purchasing a delectable morsel cooked in _ghee_ (which he deposited in his pocket instead of his stomach), he announced to the spare Burman who lounged in the doorway:

"I go to Bhamo to-morrow, O vender of sweets, and I must take my brother a present. Canst thou suggest what it shall be?" Then, before the other could answer, he went on: "I might buy an umbrella--or, better still, a turban-cloth."

The Burman came out of his la.s.situde enough to say that he sold very beautiful turban-cloth, and much cheaper than any other merchant in the bazaar.

"I want a nice one," he of the drooping eyelid a.s.serted; "a white one, spotted like a cheetah, or perhaps yellow."

The shopkeeper had none such as he described, he said, but he had some fine cloth of red hue that came from a shop in Sule PaG.o.da Street, in distant Rangoon.

"Ah!" exclaimed the juggler. "I have been to Rangoon. It is a great city. Let me see the cloth of red."

In the course of bargaining, he said:

"Tell me, O wise one, is there in the bazaar a merchant who bears the name of Da-yak?"

The Burman grunted that there was and waved his hand toward a lighted doorway not far away. "There!"

"Ah!" exclaimed the juggler again. And he added, by way of explanation, that at Waingmaw, whence he had come, a friend warned him against buying at the shop of Da-yak, who was a cheat.

"All Tibetans are cheats," was the Burman's comment.

"Has he been here long, robbing you of your trade?" the juggler pursued.

"Oh, not very long," was the languid answer; "since about the time of the casting of the bell in the paG.o.da last year. But his shop is not half so nice as mine. He is a dirty wild-man." Then: "Didst thou say, O traveller, that thou wouldst take the turban cloth for six rupees and two annas?"

"Nay, I am a poor man. For five rupees, O generous one."

At length the turban-cloth was purchased, for five rupees, and the juggler moved on. In front of the shop of Da-yak he paused, looked about tentatively, then strode to a spot just outside the door. There he unslung his pack. From a basket he produced a bra.s.s pot with a thin neck. Squatting, back to the wall, he brought forth a flute and began to play.

At first the music attracted only children. But before many minutes girls and men joined the circle about the juggler, and, as the group enlarged, a sinuous black body rose from the bra.s.s pot; rose and dropped back, like a geyser; rose again and slithered to the ground where it curled its tail into an O, and, with head lifted, lolled to the delirious piping.

"A-ie!" sighed the onlookers with approval--and drew back a step.

Presently a head was thrust out of the doorway of Da-yak's shop--as the juggler did not fail to observe--and, following the head, its owner. He squatted and indifferently watched the proceedings.

After the cobra had danced, the juggler performed many feats of magic, to the delight of the simple hill-people. When his repertory was exhausted, the audience moved on and he found himself alone with the squatting Tibetan merchant.

"I am a stranger here, O brother," announced the juggler, pouring the coins from his bowl into his hands and s.h.i.+fting them from one palm to the other with a musical _clink-clink_. "Canst thou tell me where I will find a bed for to-night?"

In the dim light the juggler studied Da-yak's features--thin lips, high, thin cheeks, and mere slits for eyes.

"Thou canst find a bed of gra.s.s under any tree," was his reply, covertly watching the coins.

"Nay! Am I an animal that I should lie upon the ground when I sleep?

Hast thou no room? I am a story-teller and for a bed I will tell thee a tale that thou hast never heard before!"

"Nay, juggler, I have no time for stories."

"Then thy children?"

"I have none."

"Perhaps thy wife?"

"Nor have I a wife, either."

The juggler grunted. "Art thou a celibate that thou hast no wife?" He leaned closer, peering into the Tibetan's face. "Indeed, O merchant, thy face is like that of a lama I knew in Simla!"

Da-yak's slitty little eyes opened wider, showing small, bleary pupils.

"What is it to thee, O scarred one, if I have a wife or not?"

To himself the juggler admitted that it meant more than a little, but to the Tibetan he said: "Scarred indeed, and afflicted of an eye! Seest thou this?"--touching the scar. "It is a mark left by a Dugpa's knife--in Tibet. I was headman for a Burra Sahib who traveled from Sikkhim, which is a far country which thou hast never heard of, to the holy city of Lha.s.sa. From thence we went down, across many mountains, into Hkamti Long and the Kachin country. At Fort Hertz we followed the mule-road. That was many years ago."