OH, duck and run--the hornets come!
Oh, jungli! Clear the way!
The nest's ahum--the hornets come!
The sharp-stinged, harp-winged hornets come!
Nay, jungli! When the hornets come,
It isn't well to stay!
ALWA ordered ten men down into the bowels of the rock itself, where
great wheels with a chain attached to them were forced round to lift the
gate. Next he stationed a signaller with a cord in either hand, above
the parapet, to notify the men below exactly when to set the simple
machinery in motion. His eight clattered out from the stables on the far
side of the rock, and his own charger was brought to him, saddled.
Then, in a second, it was evident why Raputs do not rule in Rajputana.
“I ride too with my men!” declared Mahommed Gunga.
“Nay! This is my affair--my private quarrel with Jaimihr!”
Mahommed Gunga turned to Ali Partab, who had been a shadow to him ever
since he came.
“Turn out my five, and bring my charger!” he commanded.
“No, I say!” Alwa had his hand already on his sabre hilt. “There is room
for eight and no more. Four following four abreast, and one ahead
to lead them. I and my men know how to do this. I and my men have a
personal dispute with Jaimihr. Stay thou here!”
Mahommed Gunga's five and Ali Partab came clattering out so fast as
to lead to the suspicion that their horses had been already saddled.
Mahommed Gunga mounted.
“Lead on, cousin!” he exclaimed. “I will follow thy lead, but I come!”
Then Alwa did what a native nearly always will do. He turned to a man
not of his own race, whom he believed he could trust to be impartial.
“Sahib--have I no rights in my own house?”
“Certainly you have,” said Cunningham, who was wondering more than
anything what weird, wild trick these horsemen meant to play. No man in
his senses would have dared to ride a horse at more than foot-pace down
the path. Was there another path? he wondered. At least, if eight men
were about to charge into eight hundred, it would be best to keep his
good friend Mahommed Gunga out of it, he decided.
“Risaldar!” The veteran was always most amenable to reason when
addressed by his military title. “Who of us two is senior--thou or I?”
“By Allah, not I, sahib! I am thy servant!”
“I accept your service, and I order you to stay with your men up here
with me!”
Mahommed Gunga saluted and dismounted, and his six followed suit,
looking as disappointed as children just deprived of a vacation. Alwa
wheeled his horse in front of Cunningham and saluted too.
“For that service, sahib, I am thy friend!” he muttered. “That was right
and reasonable, and a judgement quickly given! Thy friend, bahadur!” He
spoke low on purpose, but Mahommed Gunga heard him, caught Cunningham's
eye, and grinned. He saw a way to save his face, at all events.
“That was a trick well turned, sahib!” he whispered, as Alwa moved away.
“Alwa will listen in future when Cunnigan-bahadur speaks!”
“Go down and tell Jaimihr that I come in person!” ordered Alwa, and the
man dropped down the cliff side for the third time; they could hear his
voice, high-pitched, resounding off the rock, and they caught a faint
murmur of the answer. Below, Jaimihr could be seen waiting patiently,
checking his restive war-horse with a long-cheeked bit, and waiting,
ready to ride under the gate the moment it was opened. Rosemary McClean
came over; she and Cunningham and the missionary leaned together over
the battlement and watched.
“We might do some execution with rifles from here,” Cunningham
suggested; “I believe I'll send for mine.” But Mahommed Gunga overheard
him.
“Nay, sahib! No shooting will be necessary. Watch!”
There was a clatter of hoofs, and they all looked up in time to see the
tails of the last four chargers disappearing round the corner, downward.
They had gone--full pelt--down a path that a man might hesitate to take!
From where they stood, there was an archer's view of every inch of the
only rock-hewn road that led from the gate to the summit of the cliff;
an enemy who had burst the gate in would have had to climb in the teeth
of a searching hail of missiles, with little chance of shooting back.
They could see the gate itself, and Jaimihr on the other side.
And, swooping--shooting--sliding down the trail like a storm-loosed
avalanche, they could see the nine go, led by Alwa. No living creature
could have looked away!
Below, entirely unconscious of the coming shock, the mounted sepoys
waited behind Jaimihr in four long, straight lines. Jaimihr himself,
with a heavy-hilted cimeter held upward at the “carry,” was about four
charger lengths beyond the iron screen, ready to spur through. Close by
him were a dozen, waiting to ram a big beam in and hold up the gate
when it had opened. And, full-tilt down the gorge, flash-tipped like
a thunderbolt, gray-turbaned, reckless, whirling death ripped down on
them.
They caught sound of the hammering hoofs too late. Two gongs boomed in
the rock. The windlass creaked. Five seconds too late Jaimihr gathered
up his reins, spurred, wheeled, and shouted to the men behind him.
The great gate rose, like the jaws of a hungry monster, and
the nine--streaking too fast down far too steep a slide to stop
themselves--burst straight out under it and struck, as a wind blast
smites a poppy-field.
Jaimihr was borne backward--carried off his horse. Alwa and the first
four rode him down, and crashed through the four-deep line beyond; the
second four pounced on him, gathered him, and followed. Before the lines
could form again the whole nine wheeled--as a wind-eddy spins on its own
axis--and burst through back again, the horses racing neck and neck, and
the sabres cutting down a swath to screech and swear and gurgle in among
the trampled garden stuff.
They came back in a line, all eight abreast, Alwa leading only by a
length. At the opening, four horses--two on either side--slid, rump to
the ground, until their noses touched the rock. Alwa and four dashed
through and under; the rest recovered, spun on their haunches, and
followed. The gongs boomed again down in the belly of the rock, and the
gate clanged shut.
“That was good,” said Mahommed Gunga quietly. “Now, watch again!”
Almost before the words had left his lips, a hail of lead barked out
from twenty vantage-points, and the smoke showed where some forty men
were squinting down steel barrels, shooting as rapidly and as rottenly
as natives of India usually do. They did little execution; but before
Alwa and his eight had climbed up the steep track to the summit, patting
their horses' necks and reviling Jaimihr as they came, the cavalry below
had scampered out of range, leaving their dead and wounded where they
lay.
“How is that for a start, sahib?” demanded Mahommed Gunga exultantly,
as two men deposited the dishevelled Jaimihr on his feet, and the Prince
glared around him like a man awaking from a dream. “How is that for a
beginning?”
“As bad as could be!” answered Cunningham. “It was well
executed--bold--clever--anything you like, Mahommed Gunga, but--if I'd
been asked I'd have sooner made the devil prisoner! Jaimihr is no use at
all to us in here. Outside, he'd be veritable godsend!”