There is war to the North should I risk and ride forth,
And a fight to the South, too, I'm thinking;
There is war in the East, and one battle at least
In the West between eating and drinking.
I'm allowed to rejoice in an excellent choice
Of plans for a soldier of mettle,
For all of them mean bloody war and rapine.
So--on which should a gentleman settle?
WITH his muscles strained and twisted (for his Rangar capturers had
dragged him none too gently) and with his jewelled pugree all awry,
Jaimihr did not lack dignity. He held his chin high, although he gazed
at the bubbling spring thirstily; and, thirsty though he must have been,
he asked no favors.
One of Alwa's men brought him a brass dipper full of water, after
washing it out first thoroughly and ostentatiously. But Jaimihr smiled.
His caste forbade. He waved away the offering much as Caesar may have
waved aside a crown, with an air of condescending mightiness too proud
to know contempt.
“Go, help thyself!” growled Alwa; and Jaimihr walked to the spring
without haste, knelt down, and dipped up water with his hand.
“Now to a cell with him!” commanded Alwa, before the Prince had time
to slake a more than ordinary thirst. Jaimihr stood upright as four men
closed in on him, and looked straight in the eyes of every one in turn.
Rosemary McClean stepped back, to hide herself behind Cunningham's broad
shoulders, but Jaimihr saw her and his proud smile broadened to a laugh
of sheer amusement. He let his captors wait for him while he stared
straight at her, sparing her no fragment of embarrassment.
“I slew a man once to save thee, sahiba!” he mocked. “Why slink away?
Have I ever been thy enemy?”
Then he folded his arms and walked off between his guards, without even
an acknowledgment of Alwa's or any other man's existence on the earth.
Alwa spat as he wiped blood from his long sabre. He imagined he was
doing the necessary dirty work out of Miss McClean's sight; but, except
hospital nurses, there are few women who can see dry blood removed from
steel without a qualm; she had looked at Alwa to escape Jaimihr's gaze;
now she looked at Jaimihr's back to avoid the sight of what Alwa was
seeing fit to do. And with all the woman in her she pitied the prisoner,
who had said no less than truth when he claimed to have killed a man for
her.
She knew that he would have killed a thousand men for her with equal
generosity and equal disregard of what she thought was right, and she
did not doubt that he would think himself both justified and worthy of
renown for doing it. She could have begged his release that minute,
had she thought for an instant that Alwa would consent, and but for
Cunningham. She had grown aware of Cunningham's gray eyes, staring
straight at her--summing her up--reading her. And she became conscious
of the fact that she had met a man whose leave she would like to ask
before deciding to act.
The mental acknowledgment brought relief for a few seconds. She was
tired. The woman in here went out to the man in Cunningham, and she
welcomed a protector. Then the Scots blood raced to the assistance of
the woman, and she bridled instantly. Who, then, was this chance-met
jackanapes, that she should lean on him or look to him for guidance?
The rebellion that had made her disobey her father back in Howrah
City--the spirit that had kept her in Howrah City and had given Jaimihr
back cool stare for stare--rallied her to resist--to ridicule--to rival
Cunningham's pretensions. He saw her flush beneath his gaze, and turned
away to where Mahommed Gunga watched from the parapet.
The leaders of Jaimihr's calvary were arguing. They could be seen
gathered together out of rifle-shot but in full view of Alwa's rock, and
from their gestures they seemed to be considering the feasibility of an
attack.
But it needed no warrior--it needed less even than ordinary
intelligence--to know that as few as forty men could hold that fastness
against two thousand. Eight hundred would have no chance against it.
Even two thousand would need engineers, and ordnance, as well as plans.
Presently half of the little army rode away, back toward Howrah City,
and the other half proceeded to bivouac where they could watch the
iron-shuttered entrance and cut off the little garrison from all
communication or assistance.
“We might as well resume our conference,” suggested Alwa, with the
courtly air of a man just arisen from a chair. No one who had not seen
him ride would have dreamed that he was fresh from snatching a prisoner
at the bottom of a neck-breaking defile. Cunningham nodded acquiescence
and followed him, turning to stare again at Miss McClean before he
strode away with long, even strides that had a reassuring effect on any
one who watched him. She bridled again, and blushed. But she experienced
the weird sensation of being read right through before Mahommed Gunga
contrived adroitly to step into the line of view and so let Cunningham's
attention fix itself on something else. The Risaldar had made up his
mind that love was inopportune just then; and he was a man who left no
stone unturned--no point unwatched--when he had sensed a danger. This
might be danger and it might not be; so he watched. Cunningham was
conscious of the sudden interruption of a train of thought, but he was
not conscious of deliberate interference.
“That very young man is an old man,” said Duncan McClean, wiping his
spectacles as he walked beside his daughter to the deep veranda where
their chairs were side by side. “He is a grown man. He has come to man's
estate. Look at the set of that pair of shoulders. Mark his strength!”
“I expect any one of those Rajputs is physically stronger,” answered
Rosemary, in no mood to praise any one.
“I was thinking of the strength of character he expresses rather than of
his actual muscles,” said McClean.
“Bismillah!” Alwa was swearing behind the thick teak door that closed
behind him and Cunningham and Mahommed Gunga. “We have made a good
beginning! With the wolf in a trap, what has the goat to dread? Howrah
may chuckle himself to sleep! And I--I, too, by the beard of God's
prophet!--I, too, may laugh, for, with Jaimihr under lock and key, what
need is there to ride to the aid of a Hindoo Rajah? I am free again!”
“Alwa-sahib!”
Cunningham had fixed him with those calm gray eyes of his, and Mahommed
Gunga sat down on the nearest bench contented. He could wait for what
was coming now. He recognized the blossoming of the plant that he had
nursed through its growth so long.
“I listen,” answered Alwa.
“I represent the British Government. I am the only servant of the
Company within reach. Do you realize that?”
“Yes, sahib.”
“I have no orders which entitle me to deal with any crisis such as this.
But, when my orders were given me, no such crisis was contemplated.
Therefore, on behalf of the Company, I assume full authority until such
time as some one senior to me turns up to relieve me. Is all that clear
to you?”
“Yes, sahib.”
Mahommed Gunga went through considerable pantomime of being angry with a
fly. He found it necessary to conceal emotion in some way or other. Alwa
sat motionless and stared straight back at Cunningham.
“I understand, sahib,” he repeated.
“You are talking to me, then, on that understanding?”
“Most certainly, huzoor.”
“You can raise two thousand men?”
“Perhaps.”
“Say fifteen hundred?”
“Surely fifteen hundred. Not a sabre less.”
“All horsed and armed?”
“Surely, bahadur. Of what use would be a rabble? I was speaking in terms
of men able to fight, as one soldier to another.”
“Will you raise those men?”
“Of a truth, I must, sahib!” Alwa laughed. “Jaimihr's thousands will be
in no mind to lie leaderless and let Howrah ride rough-shod over them!
They know his charity of old! They will be here to claim their Prince
within a day or two, and without my fifteen hundred how would I stand?
Surely, bahadur, I will raise my fifteen hundred.”
“Very well. Now I will make you a proposal. On behalf of the Company I
offer you and your men pay at the rate paid to all irregular cavalry on
a war basis. In return, I demand your allegiance.”
“To whom, sahib? To you or to the Company?”
“To the Company, of course.”
“Nay! Not I! For the son of Cunnigan-bahadur I would slit the throats of
half Asia, and then of nine-tenths of the other half! But by the breath
of God--by my spurs and this sabre here--I have had enough of pledging!
I swore allegiance to Howrah. Being nearly free of that pledge by
Allah's sending, shall I plunge into another, like a frightened bird
fluttering from snare to snare? Nay, nay, bahadur! For thyself, for thy
father's sake, ask any favor. It is granted. But thy Company may stew in
the grease of its own cartridges for ought I care!”
Cunningham stood up and bowed very slightly--very stiffly--very
punctiliously. Mahommed Gunga leaped to his feet, and came to attention
with a military clatter. Alwa stared, inclining his head a trifle in
recognition of the bow, but evidently taken by surprise.
“Then, good-by, Alwa-sahib.”
Cunningham stretched out a hand.
“I am much obliged to you for your hospitality, and regret exceedingly
that I cannot avail myself of it further, either for myself or
for Mahommed Gunga or for Mr. and Miss McClean. As the Company's
representative, they, of course, look to me for orders and protection,
and I shall take them away at once. As things are, we can only be a
source of embarrassment to you.”
“But--sahib--huzoor--it is impossible. You have seen the cavalry below.
How can you--how could you get away?”
“Unless I am your prisoner I shall certainly leave this place at once.
The only other condition on which I will stay here is that you pledge
your allegiance to the Company and take my orders.”
“Sahib, this is--why--huzoor--”
Alwa looked over to Mahommed Gunga and raised his eyebrows eloquently.
“I obey him! I go with him!” growled Mahommed Gunga.
“Sahib, I would like time to think this over.”
“How much time? I thought you quick-witted when you made Jaimihr
prisoner. Has that small success undermined your power of decision? I
know my mind. Mahommed Gunga knows his, Alwa-sahib.”
“I ask an hour. There are many points I must consider. There is the
prisoner for one thing.”
“You can hand him over to the custody of the first British column we
can get in touch with, Alwa-sahib. That will relieve you of further
responsibility to Howrah and will insure a fair trial of any issue there
may be between yourself and Jaimihr.”
Alwa scowled. No Rajput likes the thought of litigation where affairs
of honor are concerned. He felt he would prefer to keep Jaimihr prisoner
for the present.
“Also, sahib”--fresh facets of the situation kept appearing to him as he
sparred for time--“with Jaimihr in a cage I can drive a bargain with his
brother. While I keep him in the cage, Howrah must respect my wishes for
fear lest otherwise I loose Jaimihr to be a thorn in his side anew. If I
hand him to the British, Howrah will know that he is safe and altogether
out of harm's way; then he will recall what he may choose to consider
insolence of mine; and then--”
“Oh, well--consider it!” said Cunningham, saluting him and making for
the door, close followed by Mahommed Gunga. The two went out and it
left Alwa to stride up and down alone--to wrestle between desire and
circumspection--to weigh uncomfortable fact with fact--and to curse his
wits that could not settle on the wisest and most creditable course.
They turned into another chamber of the tunnelled rock, and there until
long after the hour of law allowed to Alwa they discussed the situation
too.
“The point was well taken, sahib,” said Mahommed Gunga, “but he should
have been handled rather less abruptly.”
“Eh?”
“Rather less abruptly, sahib.”
“Oh! Well--if his mind isn't clear as to which side he'll fight on, I
don't want him, and that's all!” said Cunningham. And Mahommed Gunga
bitted his impatience fiercely, praying the one God he believed in to
touch the right scale of the two. Later, Cunningham strode out to pace
the courtyard in the dark, and the Rajput followed him.