"Monty is the one best bet!" he said. And his eyes were generous
and level, as a man's who tells the whole truth.
Chapter Fourteen
"Rajput, I shall hang you if you make more trouble!"
"LO, THIS IS THE MAN--"
(Psalm 52)
Choose, ye forefathers of to-morrow, choose!
These easy ways there be
Uncluttered by the wrongs each other bears,
And warmly we shall walk who can not see
How thin some other fellow's garment wears,
Nor need to notice whose.
Choose, ye stock-owners in to-morrow, choose!
The road these others tread
Is littered deep with jetsam and the bones
Of their dishonored dead.
What altruism for defeat atones?
Have ye not much to lose?
Choose, ye inheritors of ages, choose!
What owe ye to the past?
The burly men who Magna Charta wrung
From tyranny entrenched would stand aghast
To see the ripples from that stone they flung,
They, too, had selfish views.
Choose, ye investors in the future, choose!
Ye need pick cautious odds;
To-morrow's fruit is seeded down to-day,
And unwise purpose like the unknown gods
Tempts on a wasteful way.
"Ware well what guide ye use!
We went and bivouacked by the brawling Jihun under a roof of thatch,
whose walls were represented by more or less upright wooden posts
and debris; for Kagig would not permit anything to stand even for
an hour that Turks could come and fortify. None of us believed that
the repulse of that handful of Kurdish plunderers and the capture
of a Turkish colonel would be the end of hostilities--rather the
beginning.
Kagig, when Gloria asked him what he proposed to do with Rustum Khan's
prisoner, smiled cynically and ordered him searched by two of the
Zeitoonli standing guard. Rustum Khan was standing just out of low
ear-shot absorbed in contemplation of the lie of the country. I
noticed that Fred began to look nervous, but he did not say anything.
Will was too busy fussing with Gloria's wound, making a new bandage
for it and going through the quite unnecessary motions of keeping
up her spirits, to observe any other phenomena. An Armenian woman
named Anna, who had attached herself to Gloria because, she said,
her husband and children had been killed and she might as well serve
as weep, sat watching the two of them with quiet amusement.
The Turk offered no further objection than a shrug of his fatalist
shoulders and a muttered remark about Ermenie and bandits. Even
when the mountaineers laughed at the chink of stolen money in all
his pockets he did not exhibit a trace of shame. They shook him,
and pawed him, and poured out gold in little heaps on the ground
(out of the magnanimity of his official heart he had doubtless left
all silver coin for his hamidieh to pouch); but Kagig only had eyes
for the papers they pulled out of his inner pocket and tossed away.
He pounced on them.
"Hah!" he laughed. "There! Did I tell you? These are his
orders--signed by a governor's secretary--countersigned by the governor
himself--to 'set forth with his troops and rescue Armenians in the
Zeitoon district.' Rescue them! Have you seen? Did you observe
his noble rescue work? Here--see the orders for yourselves! Observe
how the Stamboulis propose to prove their innocence after the event!"
Since they were written in Turkish they were of no conceivable use
to any one but Fred and Rustum Khan. Fred glanced over them, and
shouted to Rustum Khan to come and look. That was a mistake, for
it called the Rajput's attention to what had been happening to his
prisoner. He came striding toward us with his black beard bristling
and eyes blazing with anger.
"Who searched him?" he demanded.
"He was searched by my order," Kagig answered in the calm level voice
that in a man of such spirit was prophetic of explosion.
"Who gave thee leave to order him searched, Armenian?"
"I left you his money," Kagig answered with biting scorn, pointing
to the little heaps of gold coin on the ground.
I had no means of knowing what peaks of friction had already been
attained between the two, and it was not likely that I should instantly
choose sides against the man who within the hour had saved my life
at peril of his own. But Will saw matters in another light, and
Fred began humming through his nose. Will left Gloria and walked
straight up to Rustum Khan. He had managed to shave himself with
cold Jihun water and some laundry soap, and his clean jaw suggested
standards set up and sworn to since ever they gave the name of Yankee
to men possessed by certain high ideals.
"Kagig needs no leave from any one to order prisoners searched!"
he said, shaping each word distinctly.
Rustum Khan spluttered, and kicked at a heap of coin.
"Perhaps you have bargained for your share of all loot? I have heard
that in America men--"
'Rajput!" said Kagig, looking down on him from slightly higher ground,
"I will hang you if you make more trouble!"
At that I interfered. I was not the only one in Rustum Khan's debt;
it was likely his brilliant effort at the critical moment had saved
our whole fighting line. Besides, I saw the Turk grinning to himself
with satisfaction at the rift in our good will.
"Suppose we refer this dispute to Monty," I proposed, reasoning that
if it should ever get as far as Monty, tempers would have died away
meanwhile. Not that Monty could not have handled the problem, tempers
and all.
"I refer no points of honor," growled the Rajput. "I have been
insulted."
"Rot!" exclaimed Fred, getting to his feet. When his usually neat
beard has not been trimmed for a day or two he looks more truculent
than he really is. "I've been listening. The insolence was on the
other side."
"Do you deny Kagig's right to question prisoners?" I asked, thinking
I saw a way out of the mess.
"Can I not question him?" Rustum Khan turned on me with a gesture
that made it clear he held me to no friendship on account of
service rendered.
He strode toward his prisoner, with heaven knows what notion in his
head, but Fred interposed himself. The likeliest thing at that moment
was a blow by one or the other that would have banished any chance
of a returning reign of reason. Rustum Khan turned his back to the
Turk and thrust out his chest toward Fred as if daring him to strike.
Even the kites seemed to expect bloodshed and circled nearer.
It was Gloria who cut the Gordian knot. It was her unwounded hand,
not Fred's, that touched the Rangar's breast.
"Rustum Khan," she said, "I think better of you than to believe you
would take advantage of our ignorance. You're a soldier. We are
only civilians trying to help a tortured nation. We know nothing
of Rajput customs. Won't you go to Lord Montdidier and tell him
about it, and ask him to decide? We'll all obey Monty, you know."
Rustum Khan looked down at her bandaged wrist, and then into violet
eyes that were not in the least degree afraid of him but only looking
diligently for the honor he so boasted.
"Who can refuse a beautiful young woman?" he said, beginning to melt.
But he refused to meet her eyes again, or even to acknowledge
our existence.
"I give you the prisoner!" He made her a motion of arrogant extravagance
with his right hand as if performing the act of transfer. Then he
turned on his heel with a little simultaneous mock salute, and striding
to his bay mare, mounted and rode away.
Kagig took over the prisoner at once without comment and began to
question him under a tree twenty yards away, paying no attention
to the riflemen who matched one another, laughing, for the plundered
money. We four went back to the shelter of the thatch roof, for the
plan was to remain behind with the company of Zeitoonli whom Kagig
had placed carefully at vantage points, and give stragglers a chance
to save themselves before we resumed the journey to Zeitoon.
Naturally enough, Rustum Khan and his fiery unreason was the subject
we discussed, and Fred laid law down as to how he should be dealt
with whenever the chance should come to bring him to book. But Rustum
Khan was a bagatelle compared to what was coming, if we had only
known it. While we talked I saw Gregor Jhaere, the attaman of gipsies,
ride down the track on a brown mule and dismount within ten yards
of Kagig. He hobbled his mule, and went and sat close by Kagig and
the Turk, engaging in a three-cornered talk with them. Kagig seemed
to have expected him, for there was no sign of greeting or surprise.
There was nothing disturbing about Gregor's arrival on the scene;
he was evidently helping Kagig to cross-examine the Turk and check
up facts. Within their limits gipsies are about the best spies
obtainable because of their ability to take advantage of credulity
and their own immeasurable unbelief in protest or appearances. It
was the individual who followed Gregor at a distance, and dismounted
from a gray stallion quite a long way off in order not to draw attention
to herself, who made my blood turn cold. I caught sight of Maga Jhaere
first because the others had their backs toward her. Then the expression
of my face brought Fred to his feet. By that time Magi had vanished
out of view unaware that any one had seen her, creeping like a
pantheress from rock to rock.
"What's the matter?" Fred demanded, sitting down again, ill-tempered
with himself for being startled.
"Maga Jhaere!"
"How exciting!" said Gloria. "I'm crazy to meet her."
But Will looked less excited and more anxious than I had ever seen
him, and we all three laughed.
"All right!" he said. "I tell you it's no joke. That woman believes
she's got her hooks in."
We tried to go on talking naturally, but lapsed into uncomfortable
silence as the minutes dragged by and no Maga put in her appearance.
Fred began humming through his nose again in that ridiculous way
that he thinks seems unconcerned, but that makes his best friends
yearn to smite him hip and thigh.
"I guess you were mistaken," Will said at last, spreading out his
shoulders with relief at the mere suggestion. But I was facing the
direction of Zeitoon, as he was not, and again the expression of
my face betrayed the facts.
There were two large stones leaning together, with a small triangular
gap between them, less than thirty feet from where we sat. In that
gap I could see a pair of eyes, and nothing else. They had almost
exactly the expression of a panther's that is stalking, not its quarry,
but its mortal foe. In spite of having seen Maga approaching, I
would have believed them an animal's eyes, only that from experience
I knew an animal's eyes betray fear and anger without reason, whereas
these blazed with the desperate reasoning that holds fear in contempt.
Panthers can hate, be afraid, sweep fear aside with anger, and plan
painstakingly for murderous attack; but it is only behind human
eyes that one may recognize the murder--purpose based on argument.
"I see her," I said. "I suspect she's got a pistol, and--"
I had not known until that moment that the short hair was standing
up the back of my head, but I felt it go down with a creepy cold
chill as I spoke. Then once more it rose. Knowing she was seen
and recognized, Maga got to her feet and stood on the larger of the
two stones, looking down on us. Her hands were on her hips, and
I could see no weapon, but her lips moved in voiceless imprecation.
"Are you Maga Jhaere?" asked Gloria, first of us all to recover some
measure of self-command.
Maga nodded. She was barefooted, clothed only in bodice and leather
jacket and a rather short ochre-colored skirt that blew in the gaining
wind and showed the outline of her lithe young figure. Her long
black hair billowed and galloped in the wind behind her.
"I am Maga Jhaere," she said slowly, addressing Gloria. "Who
are you?"
"My name is Gloria Vanderman."
"And that man beside you--who is he?"
Gloria did not answer. Will looked more embarrassed than the devil
caught in daylight, and Fred recovered his mental equilibrium
sufficiently to chuckle.
"Is he your husband?"
"No."
"Then what you want with 'im?"
No one said a word. Only, Fred made a movement with his hand behind
him that Maga noticed and spurned with a toss of her chin.
"You coming to Zeitoon?"
Gloria nodded. Glancing over toward Kagig I saw that he was aware
of Maga and was watching her out of the corner of his eye while he
talked with Gregor and the Turk. They were both getting angry with
the Turk and using gestures suggestive of impending agony by way
of emphasis. The Turk was growing fidgety.
Maga spread her arms out as if she were embracing all the universe
and called it hers.
"Then--if you ar-re coming to Zeitoon--you choose first a 'usband.
There are--many 'usbands. Some 'ave lost a wife--some 'ave sick
wife--some not yet never 'ad no wife. Plenty Armenians--also two
other men there--but you let that one--Will--alone! Choose a
'usband--marry,'im--then you come to Zeitoon! If you come without
a 'usband--I will keel you--do you understand?"
"Now then, America!" grinned Fred in a stage aside that Maga could
hear as clearly as if it had been intended for her. "Let's see the
eagle scream for liberty!"
"Eagle scream?" said Maga, almost screaming herself. "What you know
about eagles? You ol' fool! That man Will is thinking you ar-re
'is frien'. You ar-re not 'is frien'! Let 'im come with me, an'
I will show 'im what ar-re eagles--what is freedom--what is
knowledge--what is life! I know. You ol' fool, you not know! You
ol' fool, you marry that woman--then you can bring 'er to Zeitoon an'
she is safe! Otherwise--"
She reached in the bosom of her blouse and drew out, not the
mother-o'-pearl-plated pistol that I feared, but a knife with an
eighteen-inch blade of glittering steel. Instantly Fred covered
her with his own repeater, but she laughed in his face.
"You ol' fool, you ar-re afraid to shoot me!"
If she meant that Fred would feel squeamish about shooting before
she hurled the knife, then she was certainly right. But she knew
better than to make one preliminary motion. And Kagig knew better
than to permit further pleasantries. I saw him whisper to Gregor,
and the gipsy attaman started on hands and knees to creep round behind
her. But Maga's eyes were practised like those of all other wild
creatures in detecting movement behind her as well as in front.
She spat, and gave vent to a final ultimatum.
"You 'ave 'eard. I said--you let that man Will Yerr-kees alone!
An' don't you dare come to Zeitoon without a 'usband!"
Then she turned and dodged Gregor, and ran for her gray stallion--mounted
the savage brute with a leap from six feet away, and rode like the
wind toward the gut of the pass that shut off Zeitoon from our view.
A minute later a shell from a small-bore cannon screamed overhead,
and burst a hundred yards beyond us on a sheet of rock.
"Not bad for a ranging shot!" said Fred, suddenly as self-possessed
as if the world never held such a thing as an untamed woman.
"Observe, you sportmen all!" Kagig exclaimed, getting to his feet.
"The Turkish nobility are proceeding to rescue poor Armenians. Behold,
their charity comes even from the cannon's mouth! It is time to
go now, lest it overtake us! No cannon can come in sight of Zeitoon.
Follow me."
With his usual sudden oblivion of everything but the main objective
Kagig mounted and rode away, followed by Gregor in charge of the
prisoner, and by a squadron or so of mounted Zeitoonli who attempted
no formation but came cantering as each detachment realized that
their leader was on the move. We found ourselves last, without an
armed man between us and the enemy, although without a doubt there
were still dozens of fugitive poor wretches who had not had the
courage or perhaps the strength to overtake us yet.
Kagig had had the forethought to leave comparatively fresh mules
for us to ride, and there was not any particular reason for hurry.
Will went ahead, with Gloria and Anna beside him on one mule--Gloria
laughing him out of countenance because of his nervousness on her
account, but he insistent on the danger in case of repeated gun-fire.
Fred rode slowly beside me in the rear, for we still hoped to encourage
a few stray fugitives to come out of their hiding holes and follow
us to safety.
A second cannon shot, not nearly so well aimed as the first had been,
went screaming over toward our left and landed without bursting among
low bushes. A third and a fourth followed it, and the last one did
explode. That was plainly too much for some one who had dodged into
hiding when the second shot fell; we saw him come rushing out from
cover like a lunatic, unconscious of direction and only intent on
shielding the top of his head with his hands.
"Is the poor devil hurt?" I said, wondering. But Fred broke into
a roar of laughter; and he is not a heartless man--merely gifted
more than usual with the hunter's eye that recognizes sex and species
of birds and animals at long range. I can see farther than Fred
can, but at recognizing details swiftly I am a blind bat compared
to him.
"The martyred biped!" he laughed. "Peter Measel by the God
of happenings!"
We rode over toward him, and Peter it was, running with his eyes
shut. He screamed when we stopped him, and sobbed instead of talking
when we pulled him in between our mules and offered him two stirrup
leathers to hold. He seemed to think that standing between the mules
would protect him from the artillery fire, and as we were not in
any hurry we took advantage of that delusion to let him recover a
modicum of nerve.
And the moment that began to happen he was the same sweet Peter Measel
with the same assurance of every other body's wickedness and his
own divinity, only with something new in his young life to add poignancy.
"What were you doing there?" demanded Fred, as we got him to towing
along between us at last.
"I was looking for her."
"For whom?"
"For Maga Jhaere."
Fred allowed his ribs to shake in silent laughter that annoyed the
mule, and we had to catch Measel all over again because the beast's
crude objections filled the martyred biped full of the desire to run.
"Somebody must save that girl!" he panted. "And who else can do
it? Who else is there?"
"There's only you!" Fred agreed, choking down his mirth.
"I'm glad you agree with me. At least you have that much blessedness,
Mr. Fred. D'you know that girl was willing to be a murderess? Yes!
She tried to murder Rustum Khan. Rustum Khan ought to be hanged,
for he is a villain--a black villain! But she must not have blood
on her hands--no, no!"
"Why didn't she murder him?" demanded Fred. "Qualms at the last moment?"
"No. I'm sorry to say no. She has no God-likeness yet. But that
will come. She will repent. I shall see to that. It was I who
prevented her, and she all but murdered me! She would have murdered
me, but Kagig held her wrist; and to punish her he gave an order
that I should preach to her morning, afternoon, and evening--three
times a day. So I had my opportunity. There was a guard of gipsy
women set to see that she obeyed."
"Continue," said Fred. "What happened?"
"She broke away, and came down to see the fighting."
"Why did you follow her? Weren't you afraid?"
"Oh, Mr. Fred, if you only knew! Yet I felt impelled to find her.
I could not trust her out of sight."
"Why not? She seems fairly well able to look after herself."
"Oh, I can not allow wickedness. I must make it to cease! It entered
my head that she intended to find Kagig!"
"Well? Why not?"
"Oh, Mr. Fred--tell me! You may know--you perhaps as well as any
one, for you are such an ungodly man! What are her relations with
Kagig? Does he--is he--is there wickedness between them?"
"Dashed if I know. She's a gipsy. He's a fine half-savage. Why
should it concern you?"
"Oh, I could not endure it! It would break my heart to believe it!"
"Then why think about it?"
"How can I help it? I love her! Oh, I love her, Mr. Fred! I never
loved a woman in all my life before. It would break my heart if
she were to be betrayed into open sin by Kagig! Oh, what shall I
do? What shall I do? I love her! What shall I do?"
"Do?" said Fred, looking forward in imagination to new worlds of
humor, "why--make love, if you love her! Make hot love and strong!"
"Will you help me, Mr. Fred?" the biped stammered. "You see, she's
rather wild--a little unconventional--and I've never made love even
to a sempstress. Will you help me?"
"Certainly!" Fred chuckled. "Certainly. I'll guarantee to marry
her to you if you'll dig up the courage. Have you a ring?"
Peter Measel produced a near-gold ring with a smirk almost of
recklessness, a plain gold ring whose worn appearance called to mind
the finger taken from a dead Kurd's cartridge pouch. It may be that
Measel bought it, but neither Fred nor I spoke to him again, for
half an hour.
Chapter Fifteen
"Scenery to burst the heart!"