HOW TIME MOVES
Meantime Lal Singh was hurrying on a racing camel toward the railway,
toward Simla, more than a thousand miles away. He was happy. Here was
the long delayed opportunity for the hand of the British Raj: a captive
white woman. What better excuse was needed? There would be armed Sikhs
and Gurhas and Tommies near Rawal Pindi. Ai! how time moved, how fate
twisted! How the finest built castle in schemes came clattering down!
At the very moment when he had secretly worked upon the king to throw
himself into the protecting arms of the British Raj--assassinated! The
council? Umballa? Some outsider, made mad by oppression? The egg of
Brahma was strangely hatched--this curious old world!
Ahmed remained hidden in the bazaars, to await the ordeals. Nothing
should harm his mistress; he was ready now and at all times to lay down
his life for her; in this the British Raj came second. He had sent a
courier to Bruce Sahib's bungalow, but the man had returned to report
that it was still unoccupied.
And while he bit his nails in futile wrath and smoked till his tongue
grew bitter, some miles away there was much confusion in the jungle by
the water. Tents were being set up, native bearers and coolies were
running to and fro, building fires, carrying water, hobbling the pack
elephants. Wandering in and out of this animated scene was a young man,
clean shaven, deeply tanned, with blue eyes which were direct, small
pupiled, yet kindly. Presently he called to one of the head men.
"Ali, you might send three or four men on to the bungalow to clean up
things. We shall make it tomorrow. It's but two hours' ride, but
there's no hurry; and besides there's a herd of elephants behind us
somewhere. They've come up far for this time of year."
"Any news worth while?"
"Yes, Sahib."
Ali made a gesture; it signified a great many things.
"Bruce Sahib will not believe."
"Believe what?" said Bruce, emptying his pipe against his heel.
"There is a white queen in the city."
"What? What bally nonsense is this?"
"It is only what I've been told, Sahib. Hare Sahib is dead."
Bruce let his pipe slip through his fingers. "Hare? Good lord!"
"Yes, Sahib. But that is not all. It seems the king went mad after we
went to Africa. You remember how Hare Sahib saved him from the leopard?
Well, he made Hare Sahib his heir. He had that right; the law of the
childless king has always read so in Allaha. The white queen is Hare
Sahib's daughter."
Bruce leaned against a tent pole. "Am I dreaming or are you?" he gasped.
"It is what they tell me, Sahib. I know it not as a fact."
"The king dead, Hare dead, and his daughter on the throne! How did she
get here? And what the devil is a chap to do?" Bruce stooped and
recovered his pipe and swore softly. "Ali, if this is true, then it's
some devil work; and I'll wager my shooting eye that that sleek scoundrel
Umballa, as they call him, is at the bottom of it. A white woman, good
old Hare's daughter. I'll look into this. It's the nineteenth century,
Ali, and white women are not made rulers over the brown, not of their own
free will. Find out all you can and report to me," and Bruce dismissed
his servant and fell to pacing before his tent.
The native who had spread this astounding news in Bruce's camp was
already hastening back to the city, some fourteen miles away. He had
been a bheestee (water carrier) to the house of Ramabai up to the young
banker's incarceration. To him, then, he carried the news that a white
hunter had arrived outside the city--"Bruce Sahib has returned!"
Ramabai lost no time in taking this news to Kathlyn.
"Ramabai, I have saved your life; save mine. Go at once to him and tell
him that I am a prisoner but am called a queen; tell him I am Colonel
Hare's daughter, she who traveled with him on the same ship from Hongkong
to Singapore. Go! Tell him all, the death of my father and Umballa's
treachery. Hasten!"
Bruce was eating his simple evening meal when Ramabai arrived.
"Bruce Sahib?"
"Yes. Your face is familiar."
"You have been twice to my bank. I am Ramabai."
"I remember. But what are you doing here?"
"I have come for aid, Sahib, aid for a young woman, white like yourself."
"Then it is true? Go ahead and let me have all the facts. She is Hare
Sahib's daughter; Ali told me that. Precious rigmarole of some sort.
The facts!"
"She is also the young lady who traveled in the same boat from Hongkong
to Singapore." Ramabai paused to see the effect of this information.
Bruce lowered his fork slowly. The din about him dwindled away into
nothing. He was again leaning over the rail, watching the
phosphorescence trail away, a shoulder barely touching his: one of the
few women who had ever stirred him after the first glance. In God's
name, why hadn't she said something? Why hadn't she told him she was
Colonel Hare's daughter? How was he to know? (For Hare, queerly enough,
had never shown his young friend the photographs of his daughters.)
Perhaps he had been at fault; he, too, had scarcely stirred from his
shell. And where was that scoundrel Rao?
"I shall enter the city as soon as I can settle my bungalow. This rather
knocks me out."
"No, Sahib; don't wait: come back with me!" Quickly he outlined the
desperate straits in which Kathlyn stood. "To-morrow may be too late."
"Ali!" called Bruce, rising.
"Yes, Sahib."
"The Pasha. No questions. Give him water. Use the hunting howdah.
Both guns and plenty of cartridges. That's all." The young man ran into
his sleeping tent and presently came forth with a pair of ugly looking
Colts; for this was before the days of the convenient automatics. "All
aboard, Ramabai!" Bruce laughed; the sound was as hard and metallic as
the click of the cartridge belt as he slung it round his waist; but it
was music to Ramabai's ears. "Trust me. There shan't be any ordeals;
not so you would notice it. . . . Great God! A white woman, one of my
kind! . . . All right, Ali; quick work. Thanks!"
"There will be many pitfalls, Sahib," said Ramabai.
"Indeed!"
"I have some influence with the populace, but Umballa has the army, paid
for. The priests and the council are back of him. And, after all, the
priests are most to be feared. They can always sway the people through
fear."
Bruce laughed again. "Either Kathlyn Hare will be free to-morrow or
Umballa and the council meat for the jackals . . . or I shall be," he
added, in afterthought. "Now, do not speak till I speak. I wish to
think, for I've got to act quickly; I can't make any mistakes when I get
there."
Far away a brown figure in clout and drab turban watched the young man.
When he saw the elephant with the hunting howdah he knew that he had the
information for which his master had detailed him to follow, night and
day, the young banker Ramabai. The white hunter was coming hot-foot to
the city. He turned and ran. Running was his business; he was as
tireless as a camel and could run twenty and thirty miles at a stretch.
The soles of his feet were as tough as elephant's hide. Thus he reached
the city an hour before Bruce and Ramabai.
When Bruce and the native banker arrived at the gate coolies stood about
with torches. Suddenly beyond the gate half a regiment drew up. The
officer in charge raised his hand warningly.
"The white hunter is Bruce Sahib?"
"Yes." Bruce spoke the dialects with passable fluency.
"Good. The Sahib will be pleased to dismount."
"I am on my way to the palace."
"That is impossible, Sahib." At a sign from the officer the troopers
extended their guns at half aim. It was a necessary precaution. These
white sahibs were generally a mad people and were quick to shoot.
"Please dismount, Sahib. It is the orders."
Bruce's mahout, who was a Rajput Mohammedan, turned his head to learn
what his master had to say. Bruce, pale under his tan, nodded. The
mahout reached down with his silver tipped goad and touched the elephant
on the knee. The big brute slowly and ponderously kneeled. Bruce
stepped out of the howdah, followed by Ramabai, who saw that in some
unaccountable manner they had been betrayed. He was sick at heart.
Two troopers stepped forward and took possession of the rifles which were
slung on each side of the howdah. Bruce accepted the situation
philosophically; argument or protest was futile. Next they took away his
cartridge belt. He trembled for a moment with apprehension, but the
troopers did not search him further; and he thanked God for the wisdom
which had made him strap his revolvers under his armpits.
"What now?" he demanded.
"The Sahib will be given his guns and ammunition the hour he starts back
to camp."
"And in the meantime?"
"The Sahib is free to come and go about the city so long as he does not
approach the palace. If he is found in the vicinity of the zenana he
will be arrested and imprisoned."
"This is all very high-handed."
"Sahib, there is no British Raj here. The orders of the regent and the
council are final. Submit."
"Very well."
"Ramabai!"
Ramabai stepped forward. By a kind of clairvoyance he saw what was
coming.
"Ramabai, the orders are that you shall retire to your house and remain
there till further orders."
"I am the queen's body-guard."
"Ai! Well said! But I do not take my orders from the queen--yet. Obey.
The Sahib may accompany you if he wishes; there are no orders against
that. The Sahib's elephant will be lodged in the royal stables; the
mahout will see that he is fed and watered."
"We have been betrayed," said Ramabai. "I know not how."
"You were followed. A moment," said Bruce, turning to the officer. "I
have a servant by the name of Rao. I believe he acted as bearer to the
young lady at the palace. What has become of him?"
The officer smiled and shook his head.
"Rao is a prisoner, then," thought the young man. "That black scoundrel
Umballa is at least thorough." Aloud he said: "We shall go at once to
your house, Ramabai."
And all through the night they planned and planned, but not knowing where
the first ordeal was to take place, nor the hour, they found themselves
going round in a circle, getting nowhere. To a man of action like Bruce
it was maddening. He walked out of the house into the garden and back
again at least a dozen times, always to find Ramabai with his head held
despairingly in his hands. Another time Bruce opened the door to the
street; two troopers squatted on each side of the threshold. Umballa was
in earnest. The rear gate was also guarded. How to get Ramabai out,
that was the problem.
He slept a little before dawn, and was aroused by voices below. He
listened.
"I am Jawahir Lal, the water carrier. Each day at dawn I water the
garden of Ramabai to pay a debt."
Bruce looked toward Ramabai, who slept the sleep of the profoundly
wearied. A bheestee, perhaps a messenger.
"Go around to the rear gate, which can be opened," said the trooper.
Bruce went to the window overlooking the garden. He saw the water
carrier enter through the bamboo gate, heard the water slosh about
jerkily as the bheestee emptied his goatskin. He watched the man
curiously; saw him drop the skin and tiptoe toward the house, glance to
right and left alertly. Then he disappeared. Presently at the head of
the stairs Bruce heard a whisper--"Ramabai!"
"Who is it?" Bruce whispered in the dialect.
"Ahmed."
Ahmed. Who was Ahmed?
Bruce shook Ramabai. "Ahmed is here. Who is he?" he asked softly.
"Ahmed?" drowsily. Then, wide awake enough: "Ahmed? He was Hare Sahib's
head animal man. Where is he?"
"Hush! Not so loud. Come up, Ahmed; I am Bruce. Let us speak in
English."
"Good!" Ahmed came into the chamber. "To see Bruce Sahib is good.
To-morrow my master's daughter is to be carried into the jungle. The
Mem-sahib is to be tied inside a tiger trap, bait for the cat. That is
the first ordeal."
"Shaitan!" murmured Ramabai.
"Go on, Ahmed."
"The cage will be set near the old peepul tree, not far from the south
gate. Now, you, Sahib, and you, Ramabai, must hide somewhere near. It
is the law that if she escapes the ordeal from unexpected sources she is
free, at least till the second ordeal. I know not what that is at
present or when it is to take place. The troops will be there, and the
populace, the council, the priest and Umballa. I shall have two swift
camels near the clump of bamboo. I may not be there, but some one will.
She must be hurried off before the confusion dies away. Must, Sahib.
There must be no second ordeal."
"But how am I to get out of here?" asked Ramabai. "Guards all about, and
doubtless bidden to shoot if I stir!"
"Tch! Tch!" clicked Ahmed. He unwound his dirty turban and slipped out
of the ragged shirtlike frock. "These and the water skin below. A
bheestee entered, a bheestee goes out. What is simpler than that? It is
not light enough for the soldiers to notice. There is food and water
here. Trust me to elude those bhang-guzzlers outside. Am I a ryot, a
farmer, to twist naught but bullocks' tails?"
"Ahmed," said Bruce, holding out his hand, "you're a man."
"Thanks, Sahib," dryly. "But hasten! At dawn to-morrow, or late
to-night, Ramabai returns with a full water skin. The Mem-sahib must at
least stand the ordeal of terror, for she is guarded too well. Yet, if
they were not going to bind her, I should not worry. She has animal
magic in her eye, in her voice. I have seen wild beasts grow still when
she spoke. Who knows? Now, I sleep."
Bruce and Ramabai had no difficulty in passing the guards. The white
hunter was free to come and go, and the sleepy soldiers saw the water
skin which Ramabai threw carelessly over his head. They sat down against
the wall again and replenished the dung fire. Bruce and Ramabai wisely
made a wide detour to the peepul tree, which they climbed, disturbing the
apes and the parrakeets.
Somewhere near eight o'clock they heard the creaking of wheels and a
murmur of voices. Shortly into their range of vision drew a pair of
bullocks, pulling a tiger trap toward the clearing. This cage was of
stout wood with iron bars. The rear of the cage was solid; the front had
a falling door. The whole structure rested upon low wheels, and there
was a drop platform which rested upon the ground. An iron ring was
attached to the rear wall, and to this was generally tied a kid, the
bleating of which lured the tiger for which the trap was laid. The
moment the brute touched the bait the falling door slid down, imprisoning
the prowler.
When Bruce saw this damnable thing he understood, and he shook with
horror and voiceless rage. He caught Ramabai by the arm so savagely that
a low cry came from the brown man's lips.
"Patience, Sahib!" he warned. "Without you what will the Mem-sahib do?
They will tie her in that and liberate a tiger. The rest lies with you,
Sahib."
"Ramabai, as God hears me, some one shall pay for this! . . . The
nineteenth century, and I am wide awake! I may not be able to kill the
brute with these revolvers, but I'll stop him, even if I have to use my
bare hands. . . . Kathlyn Hare!"
"Hush!" again warned Ramabai, hugging his perch.
Later by half an hour Bruce witnessed a spectacle such as few white men,
happily for their reason, are permitted to see. Kathlyn, in her royal
robes (for ordeals of this character were ceremonials), a necklace of
wonderful emeralds about her throat, stepped from her palanquin and stood
waiting. From other vehicles and conveyances stepped Umballa, the
council and the yellow robed priests. Troops also appeared, and behind
them the eager expectant populace. They were to be amused. There were
many of them, however, who hoped that a miracle would happen.
"Ramabai," whispered Bruce, "she is as beautiful as a dream. If I had
only known! Well, there's going to be a miracle. See how straight she
stands; not a sign of fear in her face. There's a woman . . . a woman
for me!" he added under his breath.
He saw the bejeweled turban of Umballa bend toward the girl, and it was
hard to resist taking a pot at the man. Kathlyn shook her head.
Thereupon she was led to the trap, her hands bound and the rope round her
waist attached securely to the ring.
Ah, they talked about it that night in the surging bazaars, in the
palace, wherever two persons came together: how the white hunter had
appeared from nowhere, rushed toward the trap as the tiger approached,
entered and dropped the door, blazed away at the beast, who turned tail
and limped off into the jungle. Ai! It was a sight for eyes. They
could laugh behind Umballa's back, the gutter born, the iron heeled
upstart; they could riddle (confidentially) the council with rude jests.
The law was the law; and none, not even the priests in their shaven polls
and yellow robes, might slip beyond the law as it read. The first ordeal
was over. Nor, as the law read, could they lay hands upon this brave
young man. Ai! it was good. Umballa must look elsewhere for his chief
wife; the Mem-sahib would not adorn his zenana. It was more than good,
for now there would be a second ordeal; more amusement, perhaps another
miracle. True, they had taken away the pistols of the white Sahib, but
he had his hands.
"Thank you," Kathlyn had said. "Somehow I knew you would come." And
what she had seen in his eyes had made her tremble visibly for the first
time that day.
She was conducted back to the palace. The populace howled and cheered
about her palanquin to the very gates. Not in many a big rain had they
had such excitement.
The fury in Umballa's heart might have disquieted Bruce had he known of
its existence.
Kathlyn, arriving in her chamber, flung herself down upon her cushions
and lay there like one dead, nor would she be comforted by the worshiping
Pundita. Bruce had saved her this time, but it was not possible that he
could repeat the feat.
Having convinced Umballa and the council that she would not marry her
persecutor, the council announced to the populace that on the next fete
day the queen would confront the lions in the elephant arena. What could
one man do against such odds? Lions brought from the far Nubian deserts,
fierce, untamable.
That night there was a conference between Bruce, Ahmed and Ramabai.
"They have taken my guns away, and God knows I can't do the impossible.
Where the devil were your camels, Ahmed?"
"Umballa has his spies, Ramabai," said Ahmed, smiling, as he got into his
bheestee rags, which Ramabai had surrendered willingly enough: "Ramabai,
thou conspirator, what about the powder mines you and your friends hid
when the late king signified that he was inclined toward British
protectorate? Eh? What about the republic thou hadst dreams of? Poor
fool! It is in our blood to be ruled by kings, oppressed; we should not
know what to do with absolute freedom. There! Fear not. Why should I
betray thee? The mines. The arena is of wood."
"But there will be many of my friends there," said the bewildered
Ramabai. Who was this strange man who seemed to know everything?
"Put the mines in the center of the arena. What we want is merely terror
and confusion. Pouf! Bang! There's your miracle. And a little one
under the royal pavilion. And Umballa and the council sleep in Shaitan's
arms. Welcome, my lambs!" And Ahmed laughed noiselessly.
"By the lord!" gasped Bruce. "But the fuses? No, no, Ahmed; it can not
be done."
"In the house of my friend Lal Singh there is a cellar full of strange
magic--magic with copper wires that spit blue fires. Eh, Sahib? You and
I know; we have traveled."
"Batteries, here, in this wilderness?"
"Even so. To you, Ramabai, the powder; to me, the spitting wires; to
you, Bruce Sahib, patience. Umballa shall yet wear raw the soles of his
feet in the treadmill. He shall grind the poor man's corn. I know what
I know. Now I must be off. I shall return to-morrow night and you,
Ramabai, shall gather together your fellow conspirators (who would blow
up the palace!) and bring the mines to the arena."
And while Kathlyn gazed through the marble lattice at the bright stars
another gazed at the sunny heavens in a far country, a sprite of a girl
with dark tearful eyes. Father gone, sister gone; silence.
But a few yards away from Kathlyn a man plucked at his chains, praying to
God that he might not lose his reason. With the finished cruelty of the
East, Umballa had not visited Colonel Hare again. There is nothing like
suspense to squeeze hope and courage from the heart of man.
* * * * * *
On the night before the ordeal men moved cautiously about the elephant
arena. It was only after much persuasion and argument could Bruce hold
the men. At the testing of Lal Singh's wires and batteries they had
started to fly. This was devil's fire.
At the end of the arena, in a box which Bruce was to occupy, by order of
the council (where they proposed to keep an eye upon Umballa and to wring
his heart), the key to the wires was laid. This box was directly over a
wooden canopy where the mahouts loafed between fights. Back of this
canopy was a door which led outside. Through this Bruce proposed to lead
Kathlyn during the confusion created by the explosion. They had carried
off the keeper (who was also guardian of the arena), and the key to this
door reposed in Bruce's pocket.
On the day of the ordeal only the bedridden remained at home. The
temples, the palaces, the bazaars, all were deserted as thoroughly as if
the black wings of the plague had swept through the city. Even the crows
and the kites were there, the one chattering; the other soaring high
above.
Ramabai was forced to sit with the council, much to his terror. After
much pleading the council was prevailed upon to permit him to sit with
Bruce. A cordon of soldiers was accordingly detailed to surround Bruce's
box at the rear.
When Kathlyn arrived she was placed under the canopy: another bit of
kindly attention on the part of Umballa to twist the white man's heart.
But nothing could have happened more to the satisfaction of Bruce.
"Kathlyn Hare," he called out softly in Spanish, "do you hear and
understand me?"
"Yes," she replied in the same tongue. "Do nothing desperate. Don't
throw away your life. I have a sister in America. Will you tell her?"
"Listen. Under no circumstances leave the canopy. The lions come from
the other side. We are not only going to rescue but save you. Attend me
carefully. Behind you is a door. There will be an explosion in the
center of the arena. There was to be another under our friend Umballa,
but the battery was old. Press over toward that door. I have the key."
"Ah, Mr. Bruce!"
"Kathlyn, my name is John."
"The lions, the lions!" howled the populace.
It seemed to Bruce that he had been suddenly flung back into antiquity
and that Nero sat yonder, squinting through his polished emerald. The
great, tawny African brutes blinked and turned their shaggy heads this
way and that, uneasily. Kathlyn stood very still. How, how could they
save her? At length the lions espied her, attracted by the white of her
robe. One bounded forward, growling. The others immediately started in
pursuit.
Suddenly the center of the arena opened and a tremendous roar followed.
A low wail of terror ran round the arena. Surely this Mem-sahib had all
the gods with her. A great crevice had opened up between Kathlyn and the
lions, one of which lay dead. Then came the rush toward the exits, a mad
frantic rush. Not even Umballa, who knew that not the gods, but man had
contrived this havoc, not even Umballa waited, but fled, beating down all
those who blocked his path.
Bruce and Ramabai dropped over the railing to Kathlyn's side. But the
key upon which their escape depended would not unlock the door.