A more wretched night than that passed by the fugitives--two of them, at
any rate--it would be hard to imagine. The wind blew piercingly cold at
that altitude; the juniper wood, which at its best is about the worst
fuel in the world, would not burn, but made up for the deficiency in the
fabrication of abundant smoke. There was no way of baking or doing
anything with the frugal aliment which Mehrab Khan had so unexpectedly
produced, and so generously withal, for he might easily have kept it for
himself. Wherefore it had to be consumed in the form of a raw paste
mixed with rain water, and even this, both men, the European and the
Oriental--whose creed ignorant people imagine to teach that women have
no souls--refused to touch until Hilda insisted, and then they made a
pretence.
Towards dawn, but while it was yet dark, Mehrab Khan sallied forth to
obtain provisions somehow or other, and, haply, intelligence, leaving
the most stringent injunctions that on no account short of actual
discovery were they to move from their hiding-place. Shortly after
sunrise he returned with both. A kid was slung behind his saddle, and a
bag of grain in front, but he did not think it necessary to state that
the owner, having been injudicious enough to refuse to give or sell
either, and further, to manifest suspicion on the subject of himself, he
had incontinently slain the said owner, and borne away the spoil--a feat
which, to his wild Baluchi nature, represented an adequate commingling
of business with pleasure, but which he knew that these Feringhis would
regard in another light. The latter noticed, however, that he no longer
wore his khaki, but was attired in the loose garments and turban of the
Gularzai, and this he explained was for reasons of safety.
The intelligence which he had gleaned was partly satisfactory to them,
and partly the reverse. Murad Afzul had surprised the camp, but the
sahibs had not been injured, although carried away as prisoners. The
Gularzai had raised the standard of the Prophet and joined in the
_jihad_--the Nawab Mahomed Mushim Khan being one of its most earnest and
enthusiastic supporters. Sarbaland Khan, too, had joined, and the Nawab
had appointed Murad Afzul one of his principal leaders. In brief, the
whole country was up in arms, and a large force had been sent to
surprise and overpower Mazaran.
"Well, that's cheering sort of _kubbur_ at any rate," said Raynier, as
he translated the burden of this communication to his companion. "One
thing, it's possible we are better off here than we would be in Mazaran,
for the garrison there is no great shakes, and Polwarth the biggest ass
that was ever given command even of a box of tin soldiers."
Polwarth, it may be observed incidentally, was the commanding officer at
Mazaran, and he and the new Political Agent did not love each other.
There was one item of news which Mehrab Khan had not thought necessary
to disclose to his superior, and this was that the Nawab had issued
orders to secure Raynier Sahib alive and at all costs, but alive. Great
reward was promised to whoever should accomplish this, and bring him
unharmed to Mushim Khan, but should any slay him the reward should be
death. But he who should deliver him up alive, the reward would make
him a man of consequence for the rest of his days. And this was within
the Baluchi's power to earn.
"How is it you still cleave to us, Mehrab Khan?" Raynier said half
bitterly, half affectionately. "All your fellow tribesmen and fellow
believers are up against us. Why are you not with them?"
The man smiled. No well-simulated horror did he affect, for he felt
none. The question struck him as practically and nakedly natural. Nor
did he break into vehement protestations of fidelity, and so forth. He
merely replied,--
"It is written, _Huzoor_."