THE RANSOM.
One of the Ghoojurs who left the main party in quest of the cooking
kit came back, but his companion was a stranger. The one who did not
return knew the whole scheme of Wana Affghar. He was the chieftain's
trusted lieutenant, and he went away to carry out a certain agreement
that he had made with his leader, in spite of the unceasing
watchfulness of Luchman the guide.
Wana was obsequious to his brother, as he called his guest, to the
extent even of offering him his pony to ride, but Luchman's sense of
propriety would not allow him to accept the kindness. They talked
freely, the brigand expressing his belief that British rule in India
was ended forever. The Mogul Empire that had been proclaimed a few
days before at Delhi would last as long as the sun and stars. The
miscreant tried to proselyte the guide to his view of the question,
though in the mutiny of 1857 the Ghoojurs were bushwhackers, caring
little which cause triumphed, so that it gave them opportunity to
gather loot.
Wana Affghar seemed to go beyond his pledge. He had promised to take
them two miles from the temple, but he never stopped in the march
until he had gone fully double that distance. He was too cunning to
call attention to the same, and it need not be said that Luchman held
his peace.
They finally halted near a grove of mango trees of large size, whose
shadows were heavy enough to hide the company from any others that
might pass by. They were near the stream which wound by the temple,
where the fugitives were doubtless waiting and wondering whether
their deliverance was to be made complete.
The halting place was a good one for resting. They were removed from
all huts, houses and highways, and did not seem likely to attract
notice from any wanderers through the neighborhood. The Ghoojurs
lolled upon the ground, smoking their hookahs, and, as the night
advanced, several of them started a large fire. Wana Affghar sat
somewhat apart, with Luchman upon the ground close to him. Though
the chieftain could not repress his restlessness, the guide was as
unmoved as if stretched on his charpoy a thousand miles from all
danger.
There was no chronometer in that company of ruffians, but all could
note with reasonable accuracy the passage of time. Just before the
turn of night, Luchman carefully counted the ruffians. There were
precisely fourteen, exclusive of the leader--the exact force that had
withdrawn from the vicinity of the temple.
And yet, despite this fact, a misgiving took shape in the mind of
Luchman that Wana Affghar, after all, would try to play him false.
This dread, however, was founded rather upon his vivid recollection
of the clever manner in which the chieftain had dogged him during the
past year or so than upon any possible scheme that presented itself
to the suspicious native.
"_The turn of night has come._"
It was Wana Affghar who spoke the words in a sepulchral voice, while
he was the embodiment of suppressed emotion.
Just then the two were seated near the fire, the others dawdling
about as though unaware of any important transaction pending.
"Yes," quietly replied Luchman as he began calmly passing his fingers
through his turban.
Could it be possible that the daring native had walked into the camp
of the Ghoojurs bearing that priceless gem about his person? Wana
Affghar stared at him dumfounded and almost speechless, and yet,
while he was staring, Luchman drew the piece of brown paper from the
folds of his head gear, just as he did on the previous occasions
described, and took the gem from within.
"There!" he exclaimed, "the bargain is finished!"
As the gem fell into the trembling, outstretched palm, the Ghoojur
chieftain fixed his eyes upon it like a bird charmed by a serpent.
He sat motionless and rigid as iron, life itself held in suspense.
At last the Star of India was his!
There it lay in his hand, luminous, flaming, variegated in its
reflection of the firelight, wonderful, peerless, marvelous. This
was the gem for which princes, kings, queens and emperors had fought,
and that had caused the death of multitudes in the centuries that
were gone.
Here it was--his at last!
Could it be real, or was it another of those tantalizing dreams that
had haunted his slumbers for years, until the longing to possess the
Star of India became the ruling passion of his life?
Tremulously and in fear he gently closed his fingers, fearful that
they would shut upon vacancy, as they had done so many times in the
past. But no; there was the round, cold gem, as big as a robin's
egg, heavy and substantial--not shadowy, but real.
By and by the spell began to lift, and Wana Affghar became himself
again--crafty, cruel, perfidious as Satan himself.
With his gaze still riveted on the diamond, as he slowly opened and
closed his hand, he said:
"It is the will of Allah that the Star of India shall be mine, and I
accept it bismillah (by the will of God); but the infidel deserves
only death. The Feringhees that profaned the temple are prisoners,
for, despite the cunning of the dog, Luchman, Ramsurun Duss remained
with some of the faithful, and has prevented their flight. Their
eyes shall not see the rising of tomorrow's sun, nor shall you,
infidel dog, go hence; he who allows Luchman to escape shall lose his
head!"
As Wana Affghar emitted the last exclamation in a loud voice, he
flung off the spell that had held him motionless, raised his eyes
from the sinewy hand that closed fiercely about the gun, and circled
it above his head, as a signal for his ruffians to fall upon Luchman
and hew him to pieces.
But _dekhna_! Luchman was not there!