Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: NURLA BAI ASCENDS. See page 405]
THE AIR PATROL
_A STORY
OF THE NORTH-WEST FRONTIER_
BY
HERBERT STRANG
_ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CUNEO_
LONDON
HENRY FROWDE
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
1913
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E.,
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
PREFACE
It needs no gift of prophecy to foretell that in the not distant future
the fate of empires will be decided neither on land nor on the sea, but
in the air. We have already reached a stage in the evolution of the
aeroplane and airship at which a slight superiority in aircraft may turn
the scale in battle. Our imperial destinies may hinge upon the early or
later recognition of the importance of a large, well-equipped, and
well-manned aerial fleet.
In _The Air Scout_ I endeavoured to illustrate the part which an
air-service may play in a combined naval and military campaign. The
scene of the present story is laid among the vast mountain ranges of
Northern India, where the issue of a great war may depend upon the
aerial equipment of the opposing armies.
Some two thousand years ago a handful of devoted Greeks held the narrow
pass of Thermopylae against the myriad host of Xerxes, in the noble
effort to save their country from the Persian yoke. The following pages
tell the story of a new--and a more fortunate--Thermopylae, an episode
in a great struggle for the mastery of India. I am among those who
believe that the spirit which animated the Spartan heroes of old burns
in our British youth to-day. Only opportunity and a great occasion are
needed to evoke it to glorious use.
HERBERT STRANG.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY
CHAPTER THE FIRST
THE RUINED REST-HOUSE
CHAPTER THE SECOND
BEYOND THE PALE
CHAPTER THE THIRD
MR. APPLETON'S MINE
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
THE AEROPLANE ARRIVES
CHAPTER THE FIFTH
THE LIGHT IN THE GALLERY
CHAPTER THE SIXTH
NURLA BAI DISAPPEARS
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH
NURLA AT BAY
CHAPTER THE EIGHTH
THE EDGE OF THE STORM
CHAPTER THE NINTH
A FLIGHT BY NIGHT
CHAPTER THE TENTH
A FATEFUL DISCOVERY
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
THE FIGHT AT THE BRIDGE
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH
A SKIRMISH ON THE BANK
CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH
THE REVOLT OF THE KALMUCK MINERS
CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH
RALLYING THE PATHANS
CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH
NURLA BAI SLIPS THE NOOSE
CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH
NO THOROUGHFARE
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
A CRY IN THE NIGHT
CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH
THE TOWER IN THE HILLS
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH
STALKED
CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH
A FRIEND IN NEED
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST
THE FRONTIER HOUSE
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND
DITTA LAL INTERPRETS
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD
CAPTURING A GUN
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH
A CHECK
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH
THE FIGHT AT THE BEND
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH
THE DEATH TRAP
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH
AD INFIMOS
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH
THE LAST FIGHT
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH
REUNION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
NURLA BAI ASCENDS (see page 405) . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
THE AMBUSH AT THE REST-HOUSE
THE ATTACK IN THE GALLERY
A CHECK IN THE PURSUIT
RECONNOITRING IN THE AEROPLANE
GUR BUKSH DEFENDS THE MINE
THE KALMUCKS MAKE A PRISONER
LAWRENCE DROPS A BOMB
INTRODUCTORY
A summer afternoon was dwindling to night over a wild solitude among the
borderlands of Northern India. The sun had already left the deep
spacious valley, wherein, as the light waned, the greens changed to
browns, the browns deepened to black, and the broad silver band that
denoted a stream flowing along the bottom was dulled to the hue of lead.
On the west, the harsh and rugged features of the mountains, towering to
incalculable heights, were softened by the increasing shade; while the
snowy summits, flushed by the declining rays, were scarcely
distinguishable from the roseate clouds. Away to the east, where the
sunlight still lingered, the huge mountain barrier showed every
gradation of tone, from the greenish-black of the pine forest at the
foot, through varieties of purple and grey, to the mingled pink and gold
of the topmost crests. Every knob and fissure on the scarred face was
defined and accentuated, until, as the curtain of shadow stole gradually
higher, outlines were blurred, and the warm tints faded into drabs and
greys.
Along the front of the mountains on the west there was a road--a track,
rather, which might have seemed to the fancy to be desperately clinging
to the rugged surface, lest it were hurled into the precipitous valley
beneath. It followed every jut and indentation of the rock, here
broadening, narrowing there until it was no more than a shelf; with
twists and bends so abrupt and frequent that it would have been hard to
find a stretch of fifty yards that could have been called straight.
Three horsemen were riding slowly northward along this mountain road,
picking their way heedfully over its inequalities, edging nearer to the
wall of rock on their left hand as they came to spots where a false step
would have carried them into the abyss. To a distant observer it would
have appeared as though they were moving without support on the very
face of the mountain. They wore European garments, and the briefest
inspection of their features would have sufficed to tell that they were
Englishmen. Behind them, at some little distance, rode eight or ten
bearded men of swarthy hue, whose turbans, tunics, and long boots
proclaimed them as sowars of a regiment of Border cavalry. Still
farther behind, in a long straggling line, came a caravan of laden
mules, each in charge of a half-naked Astori. The tail of this singular
procession, perhaps a mile behind the head, consisted of two native
troopers like those who preceded them.
It was now nearly dark. Presently the three Englishmen halted, and the
eldest of them, turning in his saddle, addressed a few words in Urdu to
the dafadar of the sowars behind. The riders, English and native alike,
dismounted, and led their horses up a slight ascent to the left, halting
again when they reached a stretch of level ground which the leader had
marked as a suitable camping place. A thin rill trickled musically down
at the edge of this convenient plateau, forming a small quagmire in its
passage across the track, and plunging over the brink to merge in the
broader stream, now obliterated by the night, hundreds of feet below.
The three Englishmen tethered their horses to some young pines that
bounded the level space, then sat themselves upon a neighbouring rock,
lit their pipes, and looked on in silence as the dusky troopers removed
their saddle-bags and stood in patient expectancy.
By and by the head of the mule train appeared along the winding track.
They came up one by one, and now the evening stillness was broken as the
muleteers stripped their loads from the weary beasts, and with shrill
and voluble chatter spread about the impedimenta of the camp. Quickly a
tent was pitched, cooking pots were set up; and the Englishmen felt that
comfortable glow which envelops travellers at the near prospect of
supper after a long and toilsome march. The meal was almost ready when
the end of the caravan arrived, and the two rearmost sowars rejoined
their comrades, with no other sound than a guttural grunt of
satisfaction.
The Englishmen were eating their food, too hungry and fatigued to talk,
when one of them, looking southward along the track, suddenly pointed to
a figure approaching on foot, scarcely discernible in the fast-gathering
darkness. On this lonely road, which they had ridden the whole day long
without meeting a single human being, the appearance of the stranger had
for them something of the curious interest which one passing ship has
for another in the ocean solitudes. They watched the figure as it grew
more distinct--a tall gaunt man, naked save for a strip of cloth about
his loins, long hair flowing wild over his shoulders, no staff in his
hand, neither pack nor wallet upon his back. There was something weird
and fascinating about this solitary figure, as it stalked on rapidly
with long even stride, the head turning neither to left nor right. The
newly-pitched camp was fully in his view, but the pedestrian gave it no
heed. He came below it on the track, but neither altered his pace nor
looked up when one of the muleteers shouted a salutation. Even when the
eldest of the Englishmen, in the tone of one accustomed to be obeyed,
challenged him sharply in the native tongue, and demanded whither he was
going, the man did not turn his head or slacken speed, but merely lifted
his lean right arm and pointed ahead, where the path disappeared in the
gloom.
"What is your business?" asked the Englishman again.
And the reply came faintly back from the man, who had already passed by,
and spoke without checking his step.
"I AM A SHARPENER OF SWORDS!"
And he vanished into the night.
CHAPTER THE FIRST
THE RUINED REST-HOUSE
The travellers proceeded with their meal almost in silence.
The two younger men had felt subdued and chastened ever since they had
left Rawal Pindi, some days before. Major Endicott was too good a
fellow to insist on the disapproval with which he regarded their
company, but they were conscious of being on sufferance, which was the
more irksome because of the whole-hearted admiration they were ready to
lavish upon him. His mission was a delicate one,--one which, to any but
a political officer of the frontier, would have appeared not a little
hazardous; and he felt that it was gratuitously complicated by the
journey of two young civilians through so wild a region at this
particular time. A tribe in one of the valleys west of the mountain
road, some three days' march from the spot on which the travellers were
now encamped, had been giving trouble of late. It had always been
troublesome. Only once had it been visited by a white man, Major
Endicott himself; yet, accompanied by no more than a dozen troopers, he
was venturing alone among these wild hill-men, to demand the payment of
a fine in expiation of a recent raid upon their neighbours, and security
for their future good behaviour. The alternative was an expedition in
force, and Major Endicott had preferred to take whatever personal risks
a visit might involve, rather than recommend a hill campaign, with all
its difficulties and its heavy cost in money and men.
But he did not relish the accidental responsibility cast upon him by the
presence of these two young Englishmen, little more than lads, who had
no concern in his business, and were indeed strangers to the country.
He regarded it as a very unfortunate coincidence that they arrived in
Rawal Pindi at the moment of his setting out, and that the road they
proposed to follow in their further journey northward would be for
several days the same as his own. They were travelling at their own
risk; it was no part of his duty to safeguard them; but he could do no
less than suggest that they should accompany him over so much of the
road as was common to their party and his. Privately he wished them at
Halifax.
His attitude was after all more political than personal. Great changes
had recently occurred in the politics of Central Asia. The fall of the
Manchu dynasty and the establishment of a Republic in China had resulted
in the secession of the princes of Mongolia. They had first placed
themselves under the protection of Russia, only to find that they had
exchanged King Log for King Stork. Russia had sufficiently recovered
from the staggering effects of the Japanese war to recommence her
forward movement in Asia, which for long had seemed as gradual and as
irresistible as the encroachment of the tide upon a sandy beach. The
Mongols soon came to loggerheads with their adopted protector, and were
beginning to experience the same process of assimilation that had in
previous generations been the fate of Bokhara and Western Turkestan. A
sudden conflagration in which Russia became involved in Europe, together
with the rise to power of a prince of exceptional ambition and capacity,
gave the Mongols an opportunity of striking for complete independence,
of which they were not slow to take advantage. The advance of a Russian
army of 20,000 men was checked near Urga for want of supplies from the
north. With an Austro-German army threatening Moscow and St. Petersburg,
the Russian government recalled the greater part of their Eastern
forces, leaving the Mongolian expedition to extricate itself as best it
could. It might still have proved equal to the strain but for a
Mussulman rising, which, after long smouldering, now broke into flame in
the conquered Khanates eastward of the Caspian. The revolt spread with
the rapidity of a prairie fire from Khiva to Tashkend, paralysing any
efforts that might have been made to relieve the army destined for
Mongolia. A raid of many thousands of Tartars who cut the railway at
Irkutsk turned the check into a retreat. The first sign of wavering
brought against the Russians every man who possessed a pony and a rifle
from the Great Wall of China to the Altai mountains. Under this
pressure the retreat became a rout, and the rout a slaughter. Within a
year Mongolia became the most powerful of the Central Asian States, and
with the guns and equipment of the annihilated Russian army as a
nucleus, the Mongol Napoleon set about building up a new empire
extending from the shrunken frontiers of the Chinese Republic to the
shores of the Caspian. Five years had sufficed to transform the
political aspect of Central Asia. Russia, exhausted by a three years'
struggle with her western neighbours, was powerless to stem the flood of
Mongol conquest. For the moment the tide had apparently spent itself on
the eastern border of Asiatic Turkey, and the mountain chain dividing
Persia. There had been a lull for more than a year, during which the
world wondered with no little apprehension what would happen next. Some
thought that the Mongol prince who had inspired this recrudescence of
the Tartar spirit might now be content to consolidate his empire.
Others looked for a new movement still more stupendous, for there were
not wanting many in Europe who trembled at the name of Ubacha Khan as
their forefathers in bygone centuries had trembled at the names of
Genghis Khan and Timur.
Little wonder, then, that Major Endicott was perturbed at the thought of
two young Englishmen journeying to the fringe of the vast territory in
the breasts of whose peoples were stirring aspirations after a greatness
which their forefathers had enjoyed, and which was celebrated in stories
handed down by long tradition, and in songs that were still sung at
village festivals and country fairs.
Robert and Lawrence Appleton, aged nineteen and eighteen respectively,
were the sons of the retired lieutenant-governor of an Indian
presidency. The elder had just entered Sandhurst, the younger was on
the point of competing for a scholarship at Oxford, when the sudden
death of their father put a summary check upon their careers. He had
enjoyed a good pension, but his investments having proved unfortunate,
when his pension died with him they found themselves almost without
means. The army for Robert, the Indian Civil Service for Lawrence, were
now equally out of the question, and they saw themselves faced with no
brighter prospects than clerkships or junior masterships presented, when
a letter from their uncle Harry in Asia came like a ray of sunlight in
the gloom.
Their uncle had been something of a rolling stone. He had left home
when a mere youth, and for many years his family had wholly lost sight
of him. Gossip said that he had made and lost several fortunes in
remote parts of the globe before he finally "struck oil," literally as
well as figuratively, in Mexico. One day he turned up unexpectedly at
the headquarters of his brother, the lieutenant-governor, told him that
he had "made his pile" and retired from business, and now wanted to
amuse himself. Sir George did what he could for him, but Harry soon
wearied of the mild excitements of Indian social life, had his fill of
tiger shooting and pig-sticking, and looked about for some other means
of employing his time.
Happening to learn that it was a difficult matter to get permission to
cross the north-west frontier, with characteristic obstinacy he set his
mind on overcoming official reluctance. It was a period of some
restlessness among the frontier tribes; and the government of India,
never very willing to grant permits to non-official travellers, however
good their credentials, refused his application, although his brother's
influence was employed in his behalf. This was enough for a man of
Harry Appleton's adventurous temperament and independent spirit.
Resolving to crack the nut himself, he suddenly left India, disappeared
for many months, and then emerged, to the no small embarrassment of the
Russians, on the border at Wakhan. He had slipped across the Persian
frontier, and before the Russians were aware of his presence, was
half-way to the Pamirs. Then he had disappeared for a time into Afghan
territory, exploring districts in which it was believed that no other
white man had ever set foot, and, much to the wonderment of his friends,
coming out alive. When he was again heard of, he had entered British
territory far up in the Chitral country, laden with shooting trophies in
the shape of many heads of ibex and _Ovis poli_, the large long-horned
sheep characteristic of the hill country. His intention was to return
to civilisation by way of Gilgit and Kashmir, but he was held up for a
time at Gilgit while telegrams passed between the local officials and
the government at Simla. There had always been something a little
ridiculous, perhaps, in the government's barring the Gilgit road against
the use to which roads are commonly and suitably put--travel and trade.
The government had only two courses open to them: to turn him back over
the Pamirs under escort, or to allow him to pass. It was the latter
alternative which they wisely adopted.
Pluming himself not a little on his victory over red tape, as he
considered it, Harry Appleton returned to London and remained there for
two or three years, interesting himself in all sorts of fantastic
schemes which were alike in two respects: they cost much money, and they
failed. His friends learnt by and by without surprise that he had lost
the greater part of his Mexican fortune, and when they heard that he had
suddenly left London again, to retrieve his fortunes by mining in the
Hindu Kush, they regarded it as only one more of "poor old Harry's"
crack-brained adventures, and wondered what would be the end of it all.
It was consequently a cause of some wonder when, after his brother's
death, he invited his nephews to join him in the mountain wilds,
promising them a fair income to begin with, and possible wealth later
on. Why on earth a man should have gone to the Hindu Kush to mine for
copper, which could only be brought to market over hundreds of miles of
difficult and dangerous country, was a question that puzzled even those
who were prepared for almost any sign of insanity in "poor old Harry."
These were the circumstances which had made the two Appletons travelling
companions of Major Endicott in this eventful summer.
So far the journey had been without incident. The caravan marched from
dawn to dark every day, and the two Appletons found even the rugged
majesty of the mountains pall upon them. The pleasantest hours were
those spent in camp, when the heat and burden of the day were past. In
social circles Major Endicott was regarded as something of a stick;
ladies said he had "no conversation"; but in the silent evenings about
the camp fire the lads hung upon his lips as he related, in slow
sentences, punctuated by puffs from his pipe, some of the incidents of
his career. They conceived an admiration not far short of hero-worship
for this quiet soldier, who knew so much, and had done so much, though
his own achievements were never the prime subject of his discourse.
To relieve the monotony of the journey, the two lads sometimes ventured
to stray from the track, knowing that the speed of their sturdy hill
ponies would enable them soon to catch up the rest of the slow-moving
caravan. For these divagations the opportunities were few, unless they
should turn themselves into mountaineers, and scale on foot the
precipices on either side. But now and then there was a break in the
hills to right or left, where a small mountain stream joined the larger
river that flowed through the valley, above which the road pursued its
winding course. The Major had warned them not to wander far on these
occasions, and his warnings became more peremptory as they approached
the quarter in which he feared that trouble might be brewing. But
high-spirited youth is impatient of control, and the two lads were
inclined to make light of the sober caution of their elder.
Two days after they had encamped on the mountain side, as already
related, they were tempted to try what appeared to be a kind of track
leading up into the hills to the east. Taking advantage of a momentary
preoccupation of Major Endicott with the sowars, they turned their
ponies into this track, and began to scramble up. The gradient was
steep, and the path rose higher and higher above the road they had left,
but for some distance did not greatly diverge from it. At times they
could see it winding away northward beneath them, although it was
concealed from them for long stretches by the contour of the ground, and
was sometimes difficult to distinguish from the hillside itself.
The track appeared to lead nowhere, and after following it toilsomely
for nearly an hour, they began to think it was time to return.
"I hate going back the same way," said Lawrence. "Can't we manage to
cut straight down, Bob?"
"Rather risky, don't you think?" replied his brother. "This track goes
up and up; there's no path down that I can see, and we don't want to
risk our ponies' knees. We could do it on foot."
"Well, look here; we ought to be able to get a good view of the ground
between us and the road from that rock yonder. Just hold the ponies,
will you, while I go and take a squint?"
He slipped from the saddle, placed the bridle in Bob's hand, and
scrambled up the side of a high rock jutting out from the path. As he
expected, when he reached the top he found the country beneath clearly
mapped out. He could follow the course of the road for some distance in
each direction, except where it was hidden by crags and promontories.
At the moment the caravan was out of sight. Between him and the road
the ground was much broken, showing many narrow seams, and falling away
at places into sheer precipices. It was evident that any attempt to
descend here on horseback was bound to end in disaster.
As he cast his eye northward, he suddenly became aware of a group of
motionless figures about a mile away, between him and the road. Impelled
by some instinct of caution, perhaps acquired during his training in the
school cadets, he moved stealthily behind a jutting spur of the rock,
and examined the group through his field-glass. He counted fourteen
hill-men on horseback. There was no movement among them, and their
attitude, with their heads towards the road, suggested patient
expectation. They were too far away for him to determine accurately the
configuration of the ground, but it appeared to him that they were
gathered in a slight hollow about a quarter of a mile east of the road.
And as he moved his glass over the intervening space, he caught sight of
a small building which had hitherto escaped his notice, so like was it
in colour to the rocky ground surrounding it. In general shape it
reminded him of the little wayside shelters which, called dak bungalows
in India, were known beyond the borders as rest-houses. But this
building was apparently fallen into disuse. It was roofless, and much
of the stonework of the walls was broken away.
[Illustration: THE AMBUSH AT THE REST HOUSE]
While Lawrence was still examining the ruins and the group behind, he
heard the rapid clatter of a horse's hoofs on the hard rock below. At
first he could not see the horseman, who, however, presently emerged
into view from behind a shoulder of rock to his right, and discovered
himself as a hill-man galloping northward. Having come abreast of the
rest-house, he wheeled to the right, quitted the road, and made straight
for the hollow in which the group of fourteen was waiting. On joining
them, he appeared to give them a message; they closed about him, and
after a brief consultation they all dismounted, tethered their horses to
some stunted trees at the edge of the hollow, and then moved quickly
towards the rest-house. All except one entered the ruins; the one went
a little distance from them, and took up a position behind a rock from
which presumably he could look up the road. It was as if he was waiting
to signal some one's approach.
The observer now shut his glass, clambered down from the rock, and
hurried back to his companion.
"Well?" said Bob. "You've been long enough."
"Don't speak so loud. Every sound carries in these hills."
In a whisper he went on to tell what he had seen.
"Looks fishy, eh?" said Bob. "We must warn the Major. Can we do it in
time?"
"Come on," said Lawrence shortly.
He remounted, and the two began to make their way back along the path,
slowly at first, lest they should be heard, but more rapidly as they
increased their distance from the rest-house. They had not ridden far
when they caught sight, through a gap in the rocks, of a portion of the
caravan. They were still a long way from the spot where the hill-track
left the road; the head of the caravan would have drawn much nearer to
the rest-house before they could overtake it, if they kept on their
present course. To give warning by a shout would but alarm the hill-men.
They could save time only by hazarding a direct descent. Turning
sharply off the track, they began to scramble down the hillside,
trusting themselves to their sure-footed ponies. In their excitement
they gave no thought to the risks they ran, and only became partially
aware of them when, reaching the road, they were met by Major Endicott,
who had for some minutes been watching their venturesome feat with
growing wrath and indignation.
"You young fools!" he cried. "Of all the idiotic, asinine, torn-fool
tricks I ever saw----"
"But, sir----" Lawrence interrupted.
"I thank my stars I shall soon be rid of you," the Major went on
unheeding; "you'll take no warning, listen to no advice, and will either
break your necks or be potted by hill-men before I get quit of you."
"Really, sir, it's no joke," said Bob as soon as he could get a word in.
"There's a nice little crowd ahead waiting to get an easy shot at you."
"_What's_ this?" demanded the Major.
"Oh, I just happened to spy a gang of armed hill-men sneaking into a
half-ruined rest-house a mile or so ahead," said Lawrence. "We came
down to warn you; it's a pity we didn't think of our necks."
"Just describe them to me, will you?" said Major Endicott, now the cool,
alert soldier again.
"I couldn't see them very well, but they seemed all alike, big fellows
with black beards, dressed in dark-brown, with skin hats of some sort.
I counted fifteen altogether. One is on the look-out, the rest are
hiding in the ruins."
"You didn't see a larger body anywhere, nor single scouts in the hills?"
"Neither."
"And how far ahead?"
"Well, about a mile as the crow flies from where I caught sight of them;
we've come back a mile or more, and what with the windings of the road,
I should say they're something over two miles away."
The Major had halted; the sowars sat their horses motionless a few yards
behind; the mule-train was still straggling on far in the rear. The
march was now resumed, Major Endicott pondering in silence the news
brought him. He had no doubt that the men whom the lads had seen
belonged to the tribe he was on his way to visit. His coming was almost
certainly known to them, for news spreads through the hills almost as
quickly as if it were flashed by telegraph. The fact that the
ambuscade--such it clearly was--was so small seemed to show that the
tribe as a whole was not in arms; but, as the Major well knew, many a
frontier war had been precipitated by a few hot-heads, who had forced
the hand of their community by some impetuous action. He foresaw
trouble, but he was not the man to be diverted from his purpose by such
a difficulty as this. Having set out to pacify the tribe, he meant to
complete his journey; but obviously the news brought him was not to be
disregarded.
He decided that he must see for himself the nature of the ambuscade, but
it was necessary to act in such a way as to awaken no suspicion among
the tribesmen, if, as was possible, there were watchers on the hillside.
Ordering the sowars to continue their march slowly, the Major rode back
with the Appletons and his native orderly until he reached the first
mules of the caravan. In obedience to his command, one of the muleteers
loosed the girths of the animal he led, and let the baggage it carried
slip down a gentle slope at the roadside. This brought the caravan to a
halt, and the wondering Astoris were instructed to go very leisurely
about the work of recovering and restrapping the load. Then with
Lawrence and the orderly he galloped back to the spot where the
hill-track branched from the road, and turning into this, hastened on
until he reached the rock whence the lad had made his observations.
There taking a swift glance at the rest-house below, he came to a sudden
resolution.
"If anything happens to me," he said to Lawrence, "ride back as fast as
you can, and make the best of your way up the road with the caravan
until you reach the nearest fort."
"But what are you going to do, sir?" asked Lawrence rather anxiously.
The Major did not reply, but spoke a few words in Urdu to the orderly.
Then, leaving his horse with the two, he began to clamber down rapidly,
yet with caution, in the direction of the rest-house. His course was
tortuous, as much to avoid obstacles as to escape observation from the
ruins, or by the man on the look-out close at hand. Every now and then
he vanished from sight, and Lawrence watched nervously for his
reappearance. He could not guess the Major's intentions, and it seemed
to him that, foolhardy as his own exploit had been in riding down the
hillside, the soldier's action in approaching alone the scene of the
ambush was stark madness. When, after a long interval during which the
Major had been lost to view, he suddenly emerged within a few yards of
the rest-house, Lawrence caught his breath. Probably the situation was
far more trying to him who watched than to the man who was apparently
taking his life in his hand.
The Major was drawing near to the ruined building by a path somewhat
northward of the spot from which the hill-men had entered it. Lawrence
saw at once that his approach was covered from them, and from the
watcher on the south side, by what remained of the north wall of the
building. Tingling with curiosity and apprehension mingled, he beheld
the tall soldierly figure move swiftly towards the gap which had once
been the doorway, enter, and disappear.
"Good heavens! what is he about?" he thought.
He looked round at the orderly, but the man's dusky face was devoid of
any expression; only his eyes gleamed as they stared fixedly at the
opening by which the Major had entered.
To Lawrence the minutes seemed to lengthen into hours. He saw the
look-out, a moment or two after the Major's disappearance, turn round
suddenly, and hasten into the building. For some time nothing happened.
There was neither sight nor sound to indicate that the building was
anything more than what it seemed--an unoccupied and deserted ruin.
Lawrence became more and more nervous. Major Endicott was not the man
to utter a warning lightly; he had clearly anticipated a possible
danger; and the tension became distressing as the lad waited and waited,
expecting every moment to hear a shot, or a cry of fierce anger or
savage exultation.
"What is he doing?" he asked of the orderly.
The man simply murmured "Sahib!" deprecatingly, without turning his eyes
from the rest-house.
The suspense was becoming unendurable when suddenly, after what was
perhaps ten minutes, but seemed as many hours, the Major's tall form
reappeared in the broken doorway. The orderly's impassivity gave way
for the first time; he uttered a single grunt of satisfaction. Lawrence
felt unutterably relieved, yet puzzled, for by the Major's side stood
one of the hill-men, and as they came out into the open they were
followed by all the rest; he counted them as they filed out; the number
was fifteen in all.
The Major signalled with his hand, and the two watchers, guessing at his
meaning, rode on a little way until they came to the spot where he had
begun his descent. Dismounting, and leading the horses carefully, they
picked their way, the orderly leading, down the steep and rugged
hillside. When they came to the foot, and joined the party, the Major
turned to the man who had come first out of the ruins with him, and with
a slight smile addressed him in a strange tongue. The man drew himself
up, clicked his heels together, and saluted Lawrence in military style,
murmuring:
"Salaam, sahib."
Then the whole party mounted their horses, and made their way at a
walking pace up the road towards the caravan.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
BEYOND THE PALE
Of all the strange scenes which the Appletons had witnessed since their
arrival in India, none was more surprising than the immediate sequel of
the ambuscade. The hill-men rode in high good-temper behind their
intended victims; and when they met the sowars, their leader exchanged
laughing greetings with the dafadar, and the two parties became one.
For the rest of that day they marched together, and at fall of night
they formed a common encampment, the troopers acting as hosts towards
the hill-men, and exerting themselves to entertain them.
To the Appletons it was all very mysterious. Lawrence had put a question
or two to Major Endicott as they marched; but finding him strangely
uncommunicative, deferred further enquiry to the hour after supper, when
he was most often in the mood to talk. Even then the young fellows'
curiosity was rather piqued than satisfied.
"That man Nagdu, the leader of the hill-men, was a sergeant of yours,
you say, sir?" said Lawrence.
"Yes, years ago he was a dafadar in my troop."
"But he was laying an ambush for you!"
"He is paid by the government to guard the road."
"Oh!"
"Didn't know it was you, perhaps, until he saw you," suggested Bob.
"He _was_ rather surprised to see me," said the Major, and a slow smile
gathered upon his face, and passed.
"My heart was in my mouth when I saw you go alone into the rest-house,"
said Lawrence. "And I couldn't get a word out of your man."
"Pretty close, isn't he?" said the Major. "But look here, my lads, I
called you a couple of young fools a while ago. I take that back, for
without you I shouldn't have had the opportunity of enjoying the
surprise of Nagdu and his crew. All the same, you _were_ fools, you
know," he added reflectively.
While this conversation was proceeding beneath the extended flap of the
tent, another, of quite a different tenor, was going on at the nearest
camp fire, fifty yards away. There Ganda Singh the dafadar and his old
comrade Nagdu were seated, gazing into the glow, with their rifles
across their knees.
"Hai! Ennicott Sahib is truly a very great man," said Nagdu. "We were
there in the little house, with our guns on the wall, looking up the
road, when there came a soft voice behind us. 'Twas like cold water
trickling down my back, O Ganda. And when I turned and saw the huzur's
two eyes like little bits of blue steel, I felt my soul shrivel up
inside me: that is true, old friend. 'You are keeping good watch upon
the road, Nagdu,' said he, and I shivered, and my voice was like a
woman's when I said my salaam."
"Keeping watch upon the road!" repeated the dafadar with a sly look at
the other. "Do you know, Nagdu, if any harm had come to the sahib-ji I
would have put a bullet there, and there."
He touched the man's neck and breast.
"Hai! what harm could come to the huzur?" said Nagdu protestingly. "He
is heaven-born, and knows. 'Keeping good watch upon the road,' he said,
and when I stammered out my 'Salaam, sahib,' he went on: 'It is well.
There are rascals about. I go to hold a talk with your people on that
very matter, and 'tis good luck I met you, for you can take me to your
village.' And I said the huzur's face was like the sun shining upon the
hills, for by that time my soul was come to me again, and after a little
talk we came out. Hai! Truly is Ennicott Sahib a very great man."
"Ay, he knows the heart of you hill-men. You have a little heart,
Nagdu; the huzur's is a very great one. His word is a sword."
"And his eyes are like fires that burn. Is there anything he does not
know? He did not see us go into the little house: we were quiet as mice
in the corn; yet he knew we were there----"
"Keeping watch on the road," said Ganda Singh with a low chuckle. "You
are indeed a mouse, Nagdu; would you measure yourself against a lion?"
Nagdu protested that he had no such thought, and then turned the
conversation into an easier channel.
Next day on the march Lawrence Appleton found an opportunity of having a
little private talk with Ganda Singh, who knew just enough English to
make himself understood. Lawrence asked point-blank whether the
hill-men had been lying in wait for the party, intending to fire upon
them from their ambush. The dafadar neither denied nor affirmed, but
contented himself with retailing the substance of what Nagdu had told
him. Putting two and two together, the Appletons arrived at a very fair
estimate of what had actually taken place. They realised that the
hill-men, who would have shot down the Major without ruth if they had
been unseen behind a wall, had been completely cowed when he appeared
alone in their midst. Nagdu was a bold fellow, and had proved his
mettle in many a border fray; but the habit of discipline and the
impression made upon him by the Englishman's dominant personality had
acted like a cold douche upon his purpose. It was the victory of a
stronger nature over a weaker; and the lads formed a new idea of the
Major's personal influence, and the unerring instinct with which he had
probed the character of the natives.
That day the caravan came to the parting of the ways. Major Endicott's
road struck off westward among the hills; the Appletons had still
several days' northward march before them. The lads, if they had
consulted their own tastes, would very willingly have gone with the
Major; but they knew it was out of the question. They thanked him
warmly for allowing them to accompany him so far.
"That's all right," said he. "Look me up if you ever come south. By
the way, I've told off three sowars to see you to the frontier: there I
dare say your uncle will meet you."
"But you can't spare them, sir," said Bob. "You've few enough all told."
"We aren't a fighting force, my boy. If it comes to a scrap we shan't
stand the ghost of a chance, and the fewer there are of us the better.
Keep to the track. My salaams to your uncle. Good-bye!"
The Appletons watched the Major and his party until the sowars who
brought up the rear were out of sight: then they turned their faces once
more to the north, feeling somewhat depressed. Their own portion of the
caravan consisted of only five or six mules, whose loads were for the
most part goods for their uncle. For two days they climbed higher into
the rugged mountains that encompassed them on every side. In the
day-time it was hot, though the heights were crowned with snow: but the
nights were bitterly cold; icy blasts swept through the gorges, causing
the lads to desert even their camp fires for the snugger blankets. They
could not help wondering, with a certain misgiving, what the winter in
these heights was like, if such wintry conditions could exist in the
summer.
On the morning of the third day after leaving Major Endicott they were
met at the British frontier by two stalwart and well-mounted Sikhs, who
had been sent by their uncle to conduct them over the remaining stages
of their journey; and the Major's three sowars returned to overtake
their master. That night they had only just got into camp when they
experienced for the first time the full rigours of a mountain storm.
Dense clouds rolled down from the heights, enveloping them in a
drenching icy mist. A cutting wind sprang up, and soon a hurricane of
sleet and snow burst upon them, with lightning and thunder, and other
rumblings which, as they learnt from their guides, were caused by
avalanches and landslips among the mountains. All next day they were
storm-bound, remaining rolled up in their blankets in the tent, and
feeling more low-spirited than ever. On the following morning, however,
the sun rose in a cloudless sky, and they set off again through a narrow
pass dangerous at any time, but doubly dangerous now that the track was
almost obliterated by snow-drifts. They felt a pang of commiseration
for the scantily clad coolies who trudged along barefoot in snow and
slush by their mules; but the men were cheerful, laughing and singing as
they marched, and the Appletons envied their hardiness and vigour.
Leaving the Pamirs on their right, they threaded their way through the
mountains towards what had once been the Russo-Afghan frontier. Slowly,
steadily they marched on for three days, the track leading gradually
downwards. Then one morning, soon after they had left camp, they saw in
the far distance two horsemen riding slowly towards them.
"The huzur, sahib!" said one of the guides.
The lads lifted their glasses, and were then able to discern that the
one of the two riders who wore a grey suit and a solah helmet was their
uncle himself. They hastened on in front of their party, and in a
quarter of an hour uncle and nephews met.
"How do?" cried Harry Appleton, gripping them in turn by the hand.
"You've grown since I saw you last: I should hardly have known you."
"You look the same as ever," said Bob.
"Wait till you see me with my hat off. Hair doesn't grow on brains,
they say. But I'm glad to see you, boys: you are looking uncommonly fit
too. Have you had a pleasant journey?"
"Pretty good, bar a snowstorm. Major Endicott came with us best part of
the way. He's gone to interview a troublesome tribe. He sent his
salaams to you, Uncle."
"Much obliged to him. He thinks I'm mad, you know. Don't look it, do
I?"
The boys laughed. Their uncle was a sturdy man, rather under middle
height, hard and muscular, his brown face half covered with a thick
moustache and beard turning slightly grey. His blue eyes were bright
and piercing, with an expression of alertness and humour. He certainly
did not look mad.
"Your caravan is rather smaller than I expected to see," he went on, as
the mules came straggling up.
"Their loads are mostly your stuff," said Lawrence. "We've only brought
a couple of bags apiece."
"Very sensible of you. I was afraid you might bring out a lot of
rubbish, and wished I'd sent you a caution. But I needn't have worried,
evidently."
"Well, there are one or two things coming after us," said Bob, with a
shade of misgiving. "We sent them ahead by slow steamer, and as they
hadn't arrived when we reached Bombay, we thought we'd better come on."
"Humph!" their uncle grunted. "It'll be a month before my next
consignment comes up, so it's to be hoped you're not in a hurry for your
stuff. I suppose there's not much of it. What is it?"
"There's my cricket-bag, and a couple of tennis rackets, and a set of
golfing sticks," said Lawrence.
"You didn't happen to bring turf too, I suppose?" said their uncle with
twinkling eyes. "The ground hereabout is all bunkers. Anything else
useful?"
"There's my aeroplane," said Bob.
"Your what?"
"A monoplane. I was going into the flying corps, you know, if--
"Yes, yes," interrupted Mr. Appleton. "It must have been very
disappointing, my boy, but you must cheer up. But an aeroplane!"
"It's very light and portable--perhaps a couple of mule loads at the
most."
"I wasn't thinking of the mules," replied his uncle dryly. "An
aeroplane in these hills will be just about as useful as a Dreadnought
in a millpond. You didn't realise that the Hindu Kush is not exactly
like the South Downs. Well, it can't be helped now. Anything else?"
"Nothing of any importance," said Bob, feeling a little dashed. He had
looked forward to many hours of flying in his spare time, and it was
rather dispiriting to find that the expense of shipping his aeroplane
was to be wasted.
"Well, we'll get on," said Mr. Appleton. "With good luck we shall reach
the mine before dark. You won't be sorry, I expect, to spend the night
under a roof again."
They rode on, the track running generally to the north-north-west.
About an hour after they started, their uncle pointed to a narrow cleft
in the hills on their left hand.
"You see that path?" he said. "It runs into Afghan country. About six
months after I started operations the mine was raided by a horde of
ruffians who came that way."
"I say!" cried Bob. "What happened?"
"Luckily I had been put on my guard against an attack from that quarter
by one of my Pathan miners. I had twelve hours' grace, and when the
raiders arrived they found they'd got a tougher nut to crack than they
expected. They only made one serious rush. We beat 'em off, and they
moved some distance up the valley, sniped us for a day or two, and then
cleared out. We've had no trouble of that sort since, though they've
played highwaymen once or twice with my caravans, and in one case got a
certain amount of loot. Among other things they collared a boiler that
I was bringing up at huge expense from India. I don't suppose they knew
what it was, but for the sake of the metal they tried to carry it
through the difficult pass into their own valley. But it proved too
cumbersome, as you might expect, and they had to leave it. I found it
some time afterwards when shooting in the pass, at the bottom of a deep
nullah, where it had rolled from the track above. It took me nearly a
fortnight to recover it and bring it home, but I was glad to get it at
the price."
"Things aren't all beer and skittles, then," said Bob.
"Oh, there's a little excitement sometimes, but we are well placed, as
you will see, and I fancy nothing short of a regular train of artillery
could do us much damage."
What the boys heard from Mr. Appleton during that march whetted their
curiosity to get their first view of his mine, but they were
disappointed, for twilight fell while they were still some distance from
it. In the gathering dusk they saw a number of distant lights, which
their uncle explained were the camp fires of the miners. The red glow,
growing larger as they proceeded, lent a romantic touch to the night.
The fires were somewhat below them; and, viewed from the high ground
from which they were approaching, the settlement appeared to be situated
in a huge cleft between two steep mountain barriers. They could just
see, swirling along the bottom, a torrential stream, which their uncle
told them was unusually high just now, being swollen in summer by the
melted snow from the mountains. It was, he said, a tributary to one of
the headwaters of the Oxus.
They had just arrived at the outskirts of the settlement when the
silence of the evening was suddenly broken by a great hubbub, and they
saw a number of dark figures hurrying towards one of the camp fires. In
a moment the open space was filled with a shouting swaying crowd; but
before the boys had time to realise what was happening, or even to ask a
question, their uncle urged his tired horse towards the scene, and
dashing into the midst of the crowd, scattered the men to right and
left. When the boys galloped up behind him, they found him sternly
questioning one or two of the men in their own tongue. They returned
sullen answers, whereupon he addressed them in tones of rebuke,
concluding with a sharp word of command at which they turned away
towards a number of huts ranged in rows beyond the camp fires.
"What is it all about, Uncle?" asked Lawrence.
"We'll see in the morning. It's too late now. Slip off your horses;
I'll call a fellow to take charge of them."
A man came up in answer to his call, and led the horses towards the
stables beyond the huts. Then Mr. Appleton gave a loud hail, and led his
nephews to the left.