ASIATIC HONOR.
Luchman the guide was expecting treachery, and he therefore took no
chances.
Observing the fixedness of the chieftain's gaze and the spell that
held his senses captive, he felt that it was an appropriate time for
him to leave. The majority of the Ghoojurs were some yards distant,
and they were not likely to interfere, when they had noticed the
consideration he received from their leader.
As noiselessly as an Apache he rose to his feet, and, without
attracting attention, moved back among the trees until beyond sight
of them all. So it came about that, when Wana Affghar spoke the
words, Luchman was too far off to hear them.
The latter started toward the river, in the hope of finding his
friends with the least possible delay, but before going far he paused.
"Wana Affghar offered me his horse to ride; I will borrow him for the
elder lady."
The project was a good one, but its success was not worth the risk
involved. He resolved, however, to secure the tough little pony.
It will be recalled that there was but the one animal with the
Ghoojurs, and that belonged to the leader himself. Luchman noticed,
while in camp, that it was tethered a short distance away, where
there was a slight growth of grass. If the animal was still there,
he was confident of getting him without difficulty.
Guided by the twinkling light of the camp fire, he approached the
spot by a circuitous route. The ground was favorable, and he
stealthily crawled through the high jungle grass, which shut him from
sight so long as he was flat on the ground. His chief fear was that
when the pony saw him, it would utter a whinny or neigh that would
warn the Ghoojurs that an enemy was in camp.
He was within twenty feet or so of the animal, when it did the very
thing he dreaded. It neighed, and Luchman, who was in the act of
rising to his feet, lay down again, until he could learn whether the
outcry had attracted the notice of the brigands.
It did not seem to have done so, and, while he was peering through
the gloom, he discovered that one of the Ghoojurs was with the steed.
Luchman could not understand why he should be there, but the fellow
patted his haunches, and spoke soothingly to the animal. A closer
view showed the guide that the man was a syce, whose business it was
to look after his master's horse.
Finding everything right, the syce moved back in the direction of the
camp. The course which he took led him so close to where Luchman
crouched that discovery seemed inevitable. The guide silently drew
his pistol and awaited him.
But the Ghoojur was not looking for interlopers, and, striding back
to camp, he lit his hookah and joined the rest of the smokers, never
dreaming by what a narrow chance he took his life with him.
The coast was now clear, and the couchant native in the jungle grass
rose upright with a quickness that would have startled the bravest
man. Then, without pause or hesitation, he walked to the steed,
which probably took him for the syce who had just left, for he merely
raised his head, and then resumed grazing.
A rope around his neck was fastened to a stake, a rod or so distant,
so that he had all the pasturage needed.
Without stopping to untie the thong, Luchman cut it with his knife,
and the pony was at his disposal. Wana Affghar sported a large
saddle, which he must have stolen. A minute later Luchman had
mounted, and turned the head of the steed away.
The guide had reached a point where it may be said he would have been
justified in dismissing all thought of the Ghoojurs, when he checked
the animal.
"I have stolen him," he muttered with a feeling akin to dismay, "and
though Wana Affghar is my enemy, I have no right to do this thing."
He was holding audience with his conscience.
It did not last long. He wheeled about, rode back, refastened the
horse to the stake, and started off again in a much happier frame of
mind, since he carried the approval of the inward monitor with him.
During this little by play the Ghoojurs had made search for the
native whose death Wana Affghar had commanded, but he was safely
beyond their reach, even while still in the vicinity of the camp fire.
Looking up in the moonlit sky, Luchman gave fervent thanks to his
Heavenly Father for His protection and care.
"They are far on their way to Kurnal," was his thought of his loved
friends; "they have had more than four hours' start; they have walked
fast, though the night is very warm. They must be almost a dozen
miles on the road; I shall have to hasten, for the distance is long,
but I hope to reach them by sunrise."
Less than an hour was occupied in passing the four miles which
brought him back to the ruined temple, where he parted with his
friends when he went forth to ransom them.
"Can anything have happened to them?" he asked himself, drawing near
and conscious of the same vague uneasiness that had troubled him more
than once since he saw them.
When he left Ghoojur camp, it was with no thought of stopping at the
ruins, but now when they loomed up in the moonlight the desire to
enter was irresistible. He strode across the plain until he stood in
front of the shaded entrance, through which he, Dr. Avery and Harkins
had fled in such hot haste before the pursuing Ghoojurs. The silence
of death rested upon them, and the hot air did not rustle a leaf.
"They have gone," reflected Luchman, walking slowly through the
arched way; "that which resistance could not do has been done by the
Star of India. They have been led out of the valley of death and
Heaven will deliver them from further trouble."
His soft footstep gave out a faint echo as he walked toward the
interior. A few seconds took him to the larger apartment, where most
of the time had been spent by the besieged. The interior was dark,
and he guided himself by the sense of feeling.
He pronounced the names of the missionary and Dr. Avery, but there
was no answer, as he did not expect there would be. However, as he
carried a small box of lucifer matches, brought all the way from
Calcutta, he struck one and held it above his head.
The apartment was empty, the prostrate idol lying where it had been
overturned by the visitors. There was hardly a sign that the place
had been trodden by human feet for a hundred years.
By the aid of the flickering light, Luchman looked at the door
opening into the other room--the tomb of George Harkins.
Should he enter that?
Not often did Luchman waver, for he was quick to make up his mind on
any matter; but he now hesitated.
Finally he pushed the door aside and struck another match, which he
also raised above his head and peered into the breathless darkness,
waiting for the tiny flame to illuminate the interior.
Then with a horrified gasp he recoiled.
"Wana Affghar has betrayed us all!"
Only the dead body of poor Harkins was there, and that had been
plundered by the Ghoojurs.
It was true: Wana Affghar had played them false.