The Sirdar's Oath Part 19

They had halted. He was in a large open courtyard, surrounded by the doors of dwellings built apparently into high walls, except on the further side, which was const.i.tuted by a solid cliff face, towering up high overhead. This he took in at a glance, but what was more to the point, the place was full of armed men, and there in the midst was Mus.h.i.+m Khan.

The Nawab and his brother had just dismounted from horseback, and a follower was leading away their steeds, fine animals showing blood and muscle in every movement. In spite of the rough and undignified treatment of which he had just been a victim Raynier was mindful of the dignity of his high office, and his att.i.tude and tone were not lacking in this when, having waited for the buzz which greeted his appearance to subside, he gave the chief's the salaam.

To his surprise and inward dismay, neither replied. They stood contemplating him in stern and hostile silence. He felt utterly nonplussed, especially having regard to the good treatment and hospitality which had been extended to him hitherto. Ah! the _mullah_ of course. That was it. He had been stirring up their fanatical animosity, and once touch that you never know where you are with an Oriental. There was the old villain over there, glaring at him with his beady eyes.

"There has been a mistake, Nawab Sahib," began Raynier, perfectly cool and collected.

"Yon holy man declares I spoke against the Prophet and his tomb, but it is not so. You who know me are aware I am not one to do any such thing.

The _mullah_ is quite mistaken."

But the stern hostility on the countenances of the chiefs relaxed not one atom--that upon those of their followers deepened, and mutterings of hate rumbled forth from the rows of grim and s.h.a.ggy faces which encompa.s.sed him. Sinewy fingers instinctively tightened round sword hilts and rifle locks. Raynier went on,--

"Believers, although of another creed, we are all the children of one Father, for such is the teaching of the Prophet as revealed to him and set forth in the Holy Koran. And I have seen enough of the followers of the Prophet to respect their faith, and never have I uttered word against that faith--no, not even now. But yon _mullah_ cursed me and named me dog--me, the representative of the _Sirkar_. Should I accept that meekly, think you?"

But all the reply that this drew was a deeper and renewed execration.

"What of Allahyar Khan?" hissed the _mullah_ at the chief's side. "What of the Sirdar Allahyar Khan?"

The effect upon the Nawab was as that of a sting. Yet he spoke coldly, as though striving to suppress the rage that consumed him.

"Answer me, Raynier Sahib. Was General Raynier Sahib, who commanded troops at the time of the great rising thy father?"

"Surely, Nawab Sahib. But that is a long past and forgotten misfortune.

Why revive it?"

"And he commanded the troops that came to Grampur after it had been reconquered?"

It was impossible but that Raynier's natural perceptions, let alone his experience of Orientals, should have failed to convince him that here, and not in any tale told by the _mullah_, lay the secret of Mus.h.i.+m Khan's changed att.i.tude towards him. Some of their people had been killed at that time, was the solution, and this rascally _mullah_ had stirred up the recollection. He knew how the blood feud can be tossed on from generation to generation among these mountain tribes. Still, there was only one answer possible.

"I believe he did, Nawab Sahib," he answered. "But why rake up these dead and buried tales of strife?"

"Dead and buried!" yelled Hadji Haroun, clasping and unclasping his claws. "Ya Mahomed! hear him. Dead and buried! What of Allahyar Khan--what of the dog who sent him defiled to his death, the father of this dog standing here?"

Then for the first time Raynier realised the imminence of his peril, for he saw that no common incident in the fortune of war lay behind this.

The n.o.ble expression of the Nawab's countenance had disappeared, giving way to one of hate and cruelty, and the same held good of that of his brother, Kuhandil Khan. A roar of execration arose from the close ranks of the Gularzai, and tulwars were drawn, and flashed in the sun. Mus.h.i.+m Khan turned, and in an undertone gave directions to some of those nearest to him. These advanced upon Raynier.

"There is no need to lay hands upon me, Chief of the Gularzai," he cried in a firm tone. "I am in your power, you who have professed friends.h.i.+p for me. Say what your will is."

But Mus.h.i.+m Khan answered no word. Raynier was seized and violently dragged away, a roar of execration and hate going up from the gathering, and, rising above it, he could distinguish the high, venomous tones of the _mullah_, shrilling forth,--

"The blood of Allahyar Khan! The blood of Allahyar Khan! Now will it be avenged. Ya Mahomed! Now! Now!"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

LEFT ALONE.

We must now go back a little.

Standing there on the mountain side, enveloped in the thick mist, nothing visible but a few yards of wet ground, Hilda Clive felt as though she were turned into stone.

How far had she come? how retrace her steps? It occurred to her that she had better not move until she had thoroughly made up her mind which direction to take. To this end she lifted up her voice in a loud, clear call. No answer.

Again she lifted up her voice, and on the principle that a person will more readily catch his own name than any other word she called to her companion by his. Still no answer.

She tried another plan. She thought of every kind of call that she could sound on the highest of notes, so as to produce the most carrying effects. All useless. Still, no answer.

Should she move, or would not her best plan be to remain exactly where she was? The mist might lift, and then she could find her way back, whereas if she began wandering about she might lose her bearings entirely. She knew she was in a mountain cloud, and such lift as suddenly as they come down. On the other hand, they are apt to hang about the slopes for days. And as though to emphasise this side of the question the dark folds seemed to close in around her darker and darker.

She tried her voice again, this time turning to every point of the compa.s.s as she sent forth her clear, high-pitched calls. Then her heart seemed to hammer within her as though it would burst. She heard an answer.

Faint and far away it sounded, coming from a little above her.

Impulsively she took a few steps in that direction then called again.

The answer came this time louder and more distinct.

Poor Hilda! She could have sunk to the ground with sheer heart sickness and despair as she stood there listening. The answer was the mere echo of her own voice. She tried it again and again to make sure of this, and then two or three tears forced themselves from her eyes, and a sob escaped her. It was too terrible, too heart-breaking altogether.

No. It was clearly of no use standing still; besides, she felt the cold and damp. She must move if only to keep off the deadly s.h.i.+vers which were creeping upon her. But in what direction? And as though the bewildering effect of the mist was not enough she remembered that in trying to catch the horse she had been drawn to describe a complete circle, and that three times: in fact the perverse brute had done for her exactly what is done for the blindfolded one in blind man's buff, when he or she is started upon his or her quest, and with exactly the same effect.

Darker it grew. Night was coming on, and far down in the valley beneath a wolf howled--then another and another. Hilda remembered how they had listened to the cry of the ravening beasts there in the lighted security of the camp, could almost have smiled to herself as she pictured Mrs Tarleton, or any other woman of her acquaintance, here, in her own plight, with the certainty before her of a night in the awful loneliness of these savage mountain solitudes, surrounded, for all she could tell, by prowling beasts of prey. That such would hardly do less than simply expire she firmly believed, and in truth the situation was fraught with every terrifying and exhausting element even for her.

Yet Hilda Clive thought but little of herself in the matter. What would become of her companion, left alone on the wet hill side--ill, fainting, fever-stricken? and this was the idea that caused her to raise her hand to her head and press her brows hard as though to control the working of the busy brain within the limits of coherency.

What should she do, and how do it? Again and again all sorts of expedients would suggest themselves. She would walk a given distance in each direction--not down, for she had been descending slightly in her pursuit of the horse--then retrace her steps, and try another. She would walk all night if necessary--but she would find him. And then, with a terrible heart sinking, two considerations occurred to her--one that she might pa.s.s him within a few yards in the darkness and mist, the other that she herself was beginning to feel faint with fatigue and hunger. No matter. If will power could carry anyone through, it should her.

Then an idea came to her--swept in upon her mind like a lighthouse flash in the gloom; for it seemed just the idea she had been groping after.

The quarter of the wind!

It had blown upon her right ear she remembered during her pursuit of the horse--yet rather from behind. She remembered it because of an escaped tress of hair which had played about her cheek. Now by getting it upon her left ear from in front, and keeping it there, she would be able to retrace her steps. Thrilling with renewed thankfulness and hope she started to put this plan into immediate execution.

But alas! for poor Hilda. There was now no wind at all, or but faint breaths of it, and these she thought to perceive were coming from any and every direction. Then she remembered that in following the horse the rise of the slope was on her right. By keeping it on her left she might find her way. Anything rather than remain inactive.

It was quite dark now, but the cloud showed no disposition to lift.

Stumbling onward, every now and then lifting her voice in a call, Hilda pressed on, with a determination and endurance well-nigh superhuman.

Twice she fell, bruising herself among the stones, then up and on again.

He would die if he were not found, would die, fever-stricken, helpless, alone. Die! The word seemed ringing in her brain, and then--and then-- what was this? She was beginning to go _downhill_.

Downhill! That could not be. She had kept steadily upward, and yet, without swerving in the least from the course she had been following, she was plainly and unmistakably walking downhill, and this fact once established, the significance of the situation became clear. She was hopelessly and entirely out of her reckoning, and had no more idea as to where she had left Herbert Raynier than she had as to where she herself now stood. And then nature a.s.serted itself over mind. Overwhelmed with despair and hunger and exhaustion poor Hilda sank to the ground in a faint that was more than half slumber.

When she awoke the mist had entirely disappeared, and the sun was well up in the blue sky. A shadow was between it and her, and she started somewhat as her eyes rested on a dark face, crowned by a voluminous turban. A man was bending over her, a man clothed in the loose garments of the Gularzai, and armed with a sword and rifle, and the startled look gave place to one of intense relief as she recognised Mehrab Khan.

"Where is the _Huzoor_?" was her first question in the best Hindustani she could command. Then Mehrab Khan proceeded to explain the situation, partly by signs, partly in Hindustani, of which latter Hilda understood a good deal more than she could talk. The _Huzoor_ had been found by a party of Gularzai, lying ill upon the mountain side. They had not harmed him, but had carried him away--probably to the Nawab's village; which intimation filled poor Hilda with unspeakable relief and thankfulness. For Herbert Raynier had the highest opinion of Mus.h.i.+m Khan and his brother. He had often talked to her about them, and promised she should see them on the occasion of the next _jirga_ at Mazaran. If he was the Nawab's prisoner, he was safe, she decided. But if Mehrab Khan knew otherwise, his Oriental inscrutability did not betray the fact.

The Baluchi was reproachful, however, that they had left their hiding-place before his return, and he managed to convey to his hearer that he had got in with some people whom it had been impossible to leave at his own convenience without exciting suspicion. When he had found the place deserted he had followed on their track, but the cloud had baffled him, even as it had them. He had found the runaway steed, and now his plan was to take the Miss Sahib into Mazaran at once. The way was clear just now and they ought to take advantage of it.

Refreshed with some food, which Mehrab Khan produced, Hilda felt almost light-hearted. And then, going back over her wanderings now in the clear sunny daylight, she saw that, though the direction taken was not so greatly at fault, she had ascended much too high, and had gained a kotal over which she was pa.s.sing into another valley, when she had detected the declivity of the ground.

Mazaran made a great deal of Hilda Clive when she returned safe and sound. What an experience she had had, and that poor Mr Raynier, gushed the feminine side of Mazaran. Well, he would soon be back among them again. Mus.h.i.+m Khan had too much to lose to incur deposition, if not destruction, by allowing harm to happen to so important a representative of the Government as the Political Agent, p.r.o.nounced Mazaran, and especially Colonel Polwarth C.O., who was not in a position to weaken the garrison by a single man, it being none too strong as it was.