"The tent is cut, my lord," cried Salaman, as I awoke the next morning.
"Fasten it up," I said sharply. "No, no, not close it. Open it so that
I can get air. The tent is too hot."
He looked at me searchingly, and I made an effort to throw him off the
scent by effrontery.
"Well," I said, "do you hear me? Quick, or get somebody else."
He turned sharply and went for help while I congratulated myself on my
power there. For it seemed that in most things I really only had to
order to be implicitly obeyed.
Then, as the tent was pinned open, I wondered whether they would suspect
_me_, and whether the rajah would come that day, not fearing his coming
much, for I felt that I had help now at hand.
The doctor came, and looked quite pleased at my condition. He said it
was a sign that his management of my "terrible" wound, as he called it
now, had been excellent. He little thought of how great an impetus to
my recovery the coming of the dirty old fakir had been. For as soon as
the learned doctor had gone, I went back into my tent, so that I might
indulge in something that had now grown quite strange--that is to say,
as soon as I was quite out of sight, I indulged in a good hearty laugh,
and then revelled in the thought that however bad some of the Hindus
might be, here was one as faithful to his master as man could wish, and
risking his life to come to my help.
Then I laughed again, as I recalled the scene when the ragged-looking
old saint had reviled and cursed and spat at me, thinking, too, of how
wonderfully he had carried out the disguise, and what pain he must have
suffered from his wounds.
Then I began to think more seriously of Dost's risk, for if he were
discovered it would mean instant death at the hands of the rajah's men.
"He'll come to-night," I thought, and I waited patiently. But the night
had nearly passed as I sat watching by the opening cut in my tent,
before my heart began to beat, and I felt that he was near, for there
was a low rustling sound, a short distance off, beneath the great tree.
"Poor old Dost!" I said to myself; "he is a brave, true fellow;" and
then it was on my lips to say in a whisper, "Quick! this way," when I
turned cold, for there was a low muttering, and I awoke to the fact that
Salaman was talking to some one away there in the darkness.
Acting on the impulse of the moment, I said aloud, "What's that? Who's
there?"
"It is I, my lord," came in Salaman's voice.
"Is there anything wrong?" I said hastily, vexed with myself now for
speaking.
"No, my lord;" he would call me my lord; "but I dared not leave the new
opening to the tent unwatched. There might be serpents or a leopard or
tiger prowling near."
"Poor Dost!" I said to myself, and I might have added, "poor me!" for
mine seemed to be a very pitiable case, and after a minute or two's
thought, I called to Salaman, who came at once to the freshly cut
opening.
"It is cooler to-night," I said sharply, as I turned now upon my couch,
to which I had crept silently. "Fasten up the place."
"Yes, my lord," he said eagerly, and summoning his people, he soon had
the hole closed up.
"It does not matter," I said to myself, "a sharp knife would soon make
another way out or in."
I felt that it was of no use to expect Dost that night, or rather early
morning, and so I went to sleep, awaking fairly refreshed and ready to
turn my thoughts to the invention of a plan to get into conversation
with Dost.
But try as I would, no ideas came, and the day had nearly gone by, when,
as I sat beneath my canopy tree where the divan had been formed,
expecting at any moment to hear the trampling of horses heralding the
coming of the rajah, to my astonishment I saw Dost coming across the
opening, straight for where I sat.
He was stalking toward me slowly, and using a stout bamboo, about six
feet long, to support his steps, while in his left hand he carried a
bowl formed of a gourd, and this he tapped against his stick at every
stride, while he went on half shouting, half singing, a kind of chant,
and turning his head, and swaying it from side to side.
"How well he acts his part," I thought, but I shivered at his daring, as
I saw Salaman come from behind my tent watching him, and following
closely as he saw the fakir making for where I was seated.
"He will be found out," I thought, but directly after it struck me that
Salaman was coming for my protection, and I sat watching the progress of
the scene.
Dost came on mumbling and shouting his wild song, thumping down his
staff and swaying his body from side to side while Salaman followed
close up now; but, in his character of fakir, Dost ignored his presence
entirely, and came on till he was not above a couple of yards from where
I sat. Here he stopped short, scowling at me fiercely for some time
before raising his staff and waving it in the air, as he burst forth
into a fierce tirade against the English usurpers of the land, and me in
particular, while I sat as if on my guard, but keeping a keener watch on
Salaman, whose face was a study, I could not catch a tenth of what Dost
said, far it was delivered in a peculiar way in a low, muttering tone
for a long sentence, whose last two or three words he shouted, bringing
down his staff with a bang, and then beginning again; but I found there
was a great deal of repetition and comparison of my relatives to pigs
and pariah dogs, and there were threats of what he would do, I think, to
my great-great-grandfather if ever he came into his hands.
But he did not come a step nearer, only grew fiercer in his final
utterances; and at last Salaman stepped forward, just as I was trying
hard to keep from laughing, and plucked the supposed fakir by the
garment.
Dost swung round and raised his staff threateningly, as if to strike,
but contented himself with waving my attendant away, and turned and went
on with his abuse.
"Let him be, Salaman," I said quietly. "I'm not afraid of the old
fellow. He will not hurt me."
"I do not think his curses will hurt, my lord," he replied, "but he
might strike."
"He had better not," I said sharply, in Hindustani, as if for the fakir
to hear. "If he does, holy man or no, I'll knock him over. I'm growing
stronger now."
Salaman came close behind me, and whispered, "No, no, my lord, don't
strike him; push him away, he is very old and mad; but he must not be
hurt."
At that moment Dost began in a very low voice and went on, with his
declamation growing louder, till it was a roar, when he suddenly ceased,
and dropped down on the ground with his legs under him in the position
of an Indian idol, and, with his chin upon his breast, sat there
perfectly silent, and as if in rapt contemplation.
Salaman seemed puzzled, and Dost looked like a statue that had been very
much knocked about.
"What shall I do, my lord?" he whispered. "I do not like to touch him;
he would begin to curse again."
"Then pray don't touch him," I said testily. "He will go to sleep now;
he is tired."
"It is not sleep," whispered Salaman. "He goes into a state that may
last for hours or days. Will my lord come to his tent?"
"No," I said emphatically; "if I move, perhaps it will set him off
again. Let him stay and curse the rajah when he comes."
"I pray he may not," said Salaman hurriedly; "his highness is soon
angry. But, no: he would not curse him."
"Never mind," I said; "get me a melon. I am thirsty."
Salaman glanced at the motionless figure with its head bent down, and
then hurried away to obey my command.
Dost did not stir, but sat there staring hard at the ground, and I saw
his ears twitch. Then, in a quick whisper, he said--
"I could not come near your tent. Watched, sahib. Was obliged to do
this. Turn your head away, and do not look at me, but hiss, hiss, like
a snake, when you see him coming."
"Yes," I said, as I threw myself sidewise on the pillows. "Tell me what
you propose doing."
"Going away to-day to find the captain, and tell him all. He may come
to your help at once. If he does not, it is because the country is full
of enemies."
"Can't you take me with you, Dost?"
"No, sahib, you are growing stronger, but you could not sit a horse for
long enough yet, and you have not strength enough to fight and defend us
both. I am not a fighting man."
Hiss!
Salaman was on his way back with a silver dish, on which lay a melon and
knife, while one of the bearers carried a plate and sugar.
The former glanced at Dost, as he paused, and then placed the melon
before me.
"It is beautifully ripe, my lord," he said, "and will quench your
thirst."