among the men drilling the rock. After a moment's hesitation, they
dropped their tools and scampered at the top of their speed towards the
mine. They had barely crossed the bridge, and this had only been raised
a few feet from its platform, when there came swiftly round the bend a
string of horsemen, galloping two abreast. Gur Buksh was at his post by
the machine-gun. In a few moments it was rattling its shot in a rapid
stream towards the enemy, and at the same time the Sikhs opened fire
with their rifles. A number of the enemy were seen to fall, either upon
the track or over the brink into the river, and the horses of the men
immediately behind them stumbled over the prone bodies and in one or two
cases threw their riders. There were a few moments of confusion. The
quiet of the night was broken by cries and groans and the rattle and
hiss of shots. Then the stream of horsemen suddenly stopped. Shouts
were heard from beyond the bend, but no more of the enemy appearing, Bob
ordered his men to cease fire.
Everybody in the mine compound had been so intent on what was happening
within the area illuminated by the bonfire that only Bob himself and one
or two more had noticed that several of the enemy had got past the
critical point before fire was opened. They were now in darkness, but
the clatter of their horses' hoofs could be heard on the track just
beyond the quarters lately occupied by the Pathans. At this sound Bob
had much difficulty in preventing his men from blazing away at random at
the cliff opposite. To allow it would be merely to waste ammunition, for
the enemy were quite invisible; so he peremptorily ordered them to
desist after two or three shots had been fired. When quietness was
restored, he heard the horsemen retreating up the valley, and soon the
sound of their movements died away.
"Lucky we didn't go to bed after all," said Bob to Lawrence. "Is that
wire ready?"
"Yes, but the rock isn't drilled yet, is it?"
"We'll soon finish that. The track must be blocked at once, or we may
have this going on all night."
He called the miners up, and ordered them to go back to their work.
"Mashallah, sahib, but it is not safe, we shall all be killed," one of
them ventured to say.
"Nonsense. They won't come on again."
"But some have got past, sahib. They will come back and shoot us."
"They won't venture within the light of the bonfire, and if they do the
Sikhs will shoot them down. Come on: I'll go with you. Give me the
dynamite, Lawrence. Fazl, you take the end of the wire. Now then, a
few minutes' more work, and we'll tumble a mountain of rock on to the
track, and be able to sleep soundly for the rest of the night."
His confident bearing, and the example of his personal leadership,
inspired the men with courage. The bridge was again lowered; Bob passed
over with Fazl and the miners; Lawrence, Gur Buksh and the Sikhs posted
themselves between the bridge head and the southern extremity of the
compound to guard against any attack on the part of the men who had gone
up the track. They could not number more than a dozen or so at the most,
and Bob felt sure that after what had occurred they would not be very
ready to approach the spot that had proved so fatal to their comrades.
He ordered the men to move very quietly. On reaching the place where
they had flung down their tools, he bade them wait a little. From round
the bend came the sound of voices, apparently some distance away. The
enemy had not withdrawn altogether: would they have the courage to come
on again? The machine-gun was no protection to the working-party, for
it could not fire without great risk of hitting them. Bob sent one of
the men back to fetch three of the Sikhs; their rifles might at any rate
suffice to check a rush long enough for the miners to retreat to the
bridge.
As soon as the Sikhs arrived, he ordered the men to resume their
drilling, for which the bonfire gave sufficient light. The first sounds
attracted the attention of the enemy. They raised their voices, and
Bob, grasping his revolver, told the Sikhs to level their rifles and
fire if he gave the word. All were concealed from the enemy by the
shoulder of the cliff. The work went on without interference from the
enemy beyond, but presently shots began to patter on the rocks from the
rifles of those who had passed up the valley. The bonfire was now an
inconvenience, and the danger was greater to Bob and the Sikhs, who
stood erect, than to the miners stretched on the ground. But it was a
risk that must be endured, and Bob spoke a cheery word to the men at his
side, and urged the miners to hurry on with their work. Unknown to him,
at the first shot Lawrence had led the other Sikhs across the bridge and
posted them on the track, to repel the Kalmucks if they should venture
nearer to get a better aim.
In a quarter of an hour the drilling was finished. Bob sent the miners
back, and himself laid the charge of dynamite. Then he inserted the
wire, and retreated with Fazl and the Sikhs.
"Good man!" he said to Lawrence when he reached the bridge. "It's all
done. We've only to make the contact."
"Nobody hit?" asked Lawrence anxiously.
"Never a man. I think we'd have done better. Now let's get back. In
five minutes we'll have a little earthquake."
They crossed into the compound, the bridge was raised, and Bob sent Fazl
into the shed where the battery was kept, to complete the electric
circuit. The firing had ceased. Nothing was to be heard but the
rushing water. In a few minutes there was a dull, sullen rumble; the
ground quivered, and immediately afterwards a terrific crash which
echoed and re-echoed along the valley. The bonfire was suddenly
obliterated as by an extinguisher.
"Another trick to us!" said Bob gleefully. "And now I think we can go to
sleep with an easy mind. They won't get past till they've moved a
thousand cartloads of rubbish."
"What about those fellows who got past?"
"We can leave Gur Buksh to deal with them. They can't get into the
compound; if they did they'd never get out again. I shouldn't wonder if
they're wishing they hadn't been in quite such a hurry. Now, my boy,
bed: neither you nor I will need any rocking to-night. It's barely
eight o'clock: we ought to get a good twelve hours, and I can do with it
all."
They felt a strange pang as they passed through their uncle's room. It
was the first time they had entered it since the fatal morning when they
set out so cheerfully with him in pursuit of Nurla Bai. Neither spoke of
him; his loss touched them now with a poignancy of feeling that would
not endure expression. Bob closed the door quietly, as if a sleeper lay
within; and both undressed in silence.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
A CRY IN THE NIGHT
"What say you, friend?--how will this matter end?"
Chunda Beg seated himself on the wall, against which the havildar was
leaning, peering out into the darkness. His rifle lay across his arms.
"Hai, Chunda, is that you?" replied Gur Buksh, in a low tone. "I
thought you were snoring on your charpoy. 'Tis a chill night."
"I slept indeed a little--forty winks, as the sahibs say; then I rose
and came out to seek wisdom of thee, O experienced one. How will this
matter end, I ask?"
"Who can tell!" said the havildar with a shrug. "The gods know; I know
not."
"You do not know; of course I did not suppose you a soothsayer, a man of
double sight, though there are such; I have seen them, and heard them
foretell things that most certainly came to pass. But they were fakirs,
haggard of cheek and eye, and dirty--mashallah! how dirty! What I meant,
friend, was that you, being a man of war, and wise in many things,
should enlighten my simplicity, and say what is the blossom and fruit of
your meditations on these strange happenings."
Gur Buksh did not turn his head, but gazed steadily out across the
stream. On each side one of his men was patrolling the wall; the rest
of the Sikhs were sleeping under blankets on the ground a few yards
away, ready to spring up at a whisper.
"The Bengali says we shall all be cut into little pieces," Chunda Beg
went on. "He will make good carving, being very plump."
"The Bengali is the son and grandson of asses," grunted Gur Buksh. "He
reads books!"
"The sahibs read books too," suggested the khansaman.
"That is different. They read the wisdom of their own people; the
Bengali reads, and imagines he becomes one of them, and talks
foolishness."
"That is true. Yet in this case perhaps it is not foolishness. There
are many hungry beasts lurking down the track yonder."
"Hyenas!"
"Twenty thousand of them, says Fazl."
"Flat-nosed Kafirs; what are they to us?"
"That is true; they are of very little account. Still, there is a great
number of them, and--correct me if I am wrong, havildar--a hundred
hyenas are perhaps a match for one lion."
"Look you, khansaman, we have to make every man here believe that he is
a lion. I do not deny that we are in a strait place, but what is that?
I have been in strait places before. Hai! was I not one of the thirty
with a young sahib in the hills, and did we not defend a post against a
monstrous rabble of Khels, and drive them off, and strike such fear into
the dogs that they slunk away and troubled us no more?"
The havildar's eyes gleamed as he recalled that fight.
"And are our young sahibs even as that one?" said the khansaman. "The
huzur--may he sleep well!--was a good man, but these two striplings are
very young."
"Hai! but they have red blood in their veins. They are of the race of
the Sirkar: they will never yield. Think you of what they have done in
these last days. Are they not quick and ready? Are not their eyes keen
and their minds swift? They fear nothing, and overlook nothing. Fyz
Ali told me how the chota sahib rode back to help him when he was alone
and beset by the Kalmucks, and the chota sahib is no man of war. Of a
truth, the sahibs know not what fear is. And Bob Sahib carried food to
the Pathans up the river; he thinks of their welfare, and they love him.
What is to come we know not, but be sure there will be very great doings
here."
"Hark, havildar! What is that?"
Chunda Beg sprang off the wall, and bent over it with the havildar,
straining his eyes into the darkness. A faint cry reached them from the
other side of the ravine. They listened in silence, waiting for a
repetition of the sound. In a few seconds they heard it again.
"A trick of the Kalmucks maybe!" murmured Gur Buksh. "Get you swiftly
to the house, khansaman, and rouse the sahib. Say nothing but that I
wish to speak with him."
The khansaman hurried away. Passing noiselessly into the boys' bedroom,
he touched Bob on the shoulder and gave his message. Bob was awake in an
instant.
"Tell him I'm coming," he said.
He slipped on his dressing-gown and boots quietly, so as not to disturb
Lawrence, and followed the man across the compound. As he reached the
havildar's side, the cry was repeated again.
"What are the sahib's orders?" said Gur Buksh.
"Did you hear what he said?" asked Bob.
"No, sahib; it was like the cry of a man for help."
"Are the Kalmucks playing a trick on us? Have you heard anything of
them?"
"Nothing, sahib."
"Let down the bridge. We had better see."
"The sahib will without doubt take lamps?"
"Yes, and your men."
The Sikhs had already been awakened. In a few minutes four of them
accompanied Bob across the bridge, the first carrying a candle lamp.
The far side of the bridge rested on a platform constructed on a rock in
mid-stream. The rock was connected with the farther bank by a short
bridge supported on timbers and resembling a rough wooden jetty. Gur
Buksh had said that the cry seemed to have come from the end of the
bridge, and Bob searched for some time up and down the track for a few
yards in each direction, listening again for the sound. It was not
repeated. He proceeded to range the space once occupied by the Pathans'
huts, but made no discovery. Puzzled, and still half suspecting that
the cry had been a ruse to decoy him from the mine, he returned to the
bridge, and was about to cross, when the man who held the lamp uttered a
sudden exclamation.
"Behold, sahib; here he is!"
He pointed to a man lying across one of the girders sustaining the
platform. Only his head could be seen. Bob knelt down and stooped
over, asking the Sikh to lower the lamp. He saw a bearded, turbaned man
in uniform, with arms and legs twined about the girder.
"He is unconscious," he said. "Lift him up and bring him into the
compound."
The Sikhs had some difficulty in raising the man, who, in spite of his
unconsciousness, clung tenaciously to the beam. But they got him up at
last, and carried him across the bridge and up to the house. Bob waited
to see the bridge lowered again, then hurried back.
"Cold water, khansaman," he said as he entered.
The man brought a mug of water, which he set down on the table. Bob
wondered why he did not himself hold it to the stranger's lips, until he
guessed that caste was probably the obstacle. He himself gave the man
drink, and looked at him with curiosity, which became recognition as he
opened his eyes. It was Ganda Singh, the dafadar of the sowars who had
accompanied Major Endicott on his mission months before.
"Salaam, sahib," said the man faintly, when he saw that Bob had
recognized him.
"Feel better now?" said Bob.
Ganda Singh had closed his eyes again. Bob noticed that he was very pale
and haggard, as one exhausted after a long march.
"Just get one of the Sikhs to prepare him some food, khansaman," he
said. "I suppose you won't do it yourself?"
"He is a Sikh, sahib."
"Well, cut away to one of his own race, then. He's fit for nothing at
present."
He considered whether he should wake Lawrence, but decided to let him
sleep on until the man was able to explain his presence. He himself was
absolutely unconscious of any feeling of fatigue. Ganda Singh's
surprising appearance filled him with overmastering excitement.
Reviving after some hot lentil soup had been poured between his lips,
the dafadar raised himself slightly from the couch on which he had been
laid. Bob noticed a twinge of pain as he moved his arm.
"Wounded?" he said.
"A shot in the shoulder, sahib--very little."
"As you came down the track?"
"No, sahib; before."
He fumbled in his belt, and produced a small piece of paper, folded.
This he handed to Bob, who opened it, and read, scrawled on a leaf torn
from a pocket-book, the following lines--
"_Get back to India at once. Whole country ablaze.--H. Endicott._"
"Where is Endicott Sahib?" he asked quickly.
"In the hills towards the Afghan country, sahib."
"Near where we left him? He has not been there all this time?"
"No, sahib; Endicott Sahib went back to Rawal Pindi, and came again."
"And he is well?"
"In body, sahib, wherein I rejoice; but very sick in mind."
"Tell me all about it; slowly, don't distress yourself. Here, let me
strip off your coat, gently, and see what's wrong. Wait a little,
though; I must fetch Lawrence Sahib."
Loth as he was to disturb his brother's rest, he felt instinctively that
the news brought by Ganda Singh was to affect their destinies vitally.
"Wake up, old chap," he said to Lawrence, prodding him. "Slip on your
dressing-gown and come into the dining-room."
"Are they attacking?" asked Lawrence sleepily.
"No. Major Endicott has sent Ganda Singh with a message, telling us to
clear out. I'm afraid things are looking very serious. Come on!"
Lawrence waited only to plunge his head into a basin of cold water, then
followed his brother into the dining-room.
"Salaam, sahib," said Ganda Singh with a smile of friendliness. Like
everybody else he had a warm feeling towards the chota sahib.
"Now, dafadar, tell us all about it; take your time."
He bathed and bound up the wounded arm while Ganda Singh talked.
The story told by him filled the boys' cup of anxiety and dismay. He
related how Major Endicott, after pacifying the unruly tribe to which
Nagdu belonged, had returned slowly to headquarters, visiting on the way
several other tribes within his allotted portion of the borderlands.
But he had soon been called away again by news of another outbreak,
among the very people whom he had just reduced to quietness. Once more
he set off, attended as before by his official escort of twelve
troopers. This time he had woefully failed to repress their turbulence,
which, indeed, swelled into active hostility. One day, attacked by
overwhelming numbers, he had been forced to flee for his life. Before
the little party got away, it had lost several in killed and wounded,
and the Major, refusing to leave the wounded to the tender mercies of
the enemy, had lost his chance of making good his escape. He was headed
off, and galloped for refuge to a half-ruined hill-tower some little
distance west of his route, where he had been since besieged by the
tribesmen.
On the second day of the investment he had scribbled the chit in his
pocket-book, torn out the leaf, and given it to the dafadar with orders
to leave the tower by night and make all speed to Mr. Appleton's mine.
Ganda Singh had crept out and stolen away to the rear, but his movements
were detected, and he had run the gauntlet of a fusillade. One shot had
taken effect, but the wound was slight, and he had pressed on, eluded
the enemy's pickets, and after a long round gained the road that led
ultimately to the mine. He had carried very little food with him, and
was almost exhausted, rather by fatigue than by loss of blood, when,
about two miles from the mine, he stumbled upon a small bivouac of ten
or a dozen men. Luckily he had heard their horses stamping and champing
their bits while still at some distance from them, and was careful to
approach them warily. Having no means of telling whether they were
friends or foes, he decided to slip past them quietly in the darkness.
He could barely drag himself over the last mile, and on reaching the
platform, being thoroughly worn out, he stumbled, and only saved himself
from falling into the river by clutching at the girder as he fell.
"How long have you been marching?" asked Bob.
"Three days, sahib."
"And how far have you come?"
"Thirty kos,[#] sahib. It was bad marching, but I came as fast as I
could."
[#] About forty-five miles.
"It was good of Endicott Sahib to send you, but why? We are far away
from the disturbances on the Afghan border."
"Ah yes, sahib, but there is talk of great doings towards the
north-west. They say in the bazaars that the Mongols have made friends
with the Afghans, and offered to share the plunder with them when they
make their raid into the Punjab. It is foolishness, as Endicott Sahib
said: but the badmashes will do much evil, and the sahib said that
Appleton Sahib ought to know, so that he might escape to India while
there is yet time."
"And what about the sahib himself? He will break through, of course?"
"Hai! The sahib will not leave the wounded."
"He can hold out?"
"Who shall say? The sahib has little food, and the water of the well in
the tower is foul. The sahib will assuredly fight as long as he has one
cartridge left in his revolver; then.... It is written, sahib; but the
huzurs know how to die."
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Lawrence. "Can't he send for help?"
"The nearest post is a hundred miles away, sahib. There would not be
time. In one day more, or perhaps two, all the food will be gone. No
help could come to him for a week--no force strong enough to drive away
the dogs that beset him."
"Why did he think we could escape, then?"
"Because the road is still open, sahib. The tribes are not yet moving
towards the frontier, and the hill-tower is far to the west of the road.
If the sahibs start at once there is just a chance that they may save
themselves--as one leaves a house before the flood comes up and washes
it away."
The boys felt overwhelmed by this climax to their embarrassments. There
was no certainty that they could reach the nearest British post before
the tide of invasion had begun to flow. The way might already be blocked
by hordes of tribesmen gathering strength for their swoop upon the
Punjab--an adventure which, utterly absurd as it seemed, and foredoomed
to disaster, would work havoc on the frontier until it was crushed by
the might of the Imperial power. They saw themselves shut up as in a
trap between the 20,000 men on the north, and the innumerable host which
the scent of plunder would attract to the Afghans' banner.
"We shall have to stick it now, in any case," said Bob to Lawrence.
"Khansaman, take Ganda Singh to Gur Buksh: he will find him quarters.
Then go to bed. I will ring for you if I want you."
When the two men were gone, Bob threw himself into a chair.
"Light up," he said. "There'll be no more sleep for us to-night."
"What a brick the Major is!" said Lawrence. "Poor old chap! He won't
cave in without giving those blackguards something to remember, but if
things are as bad as Ganda Singh says it's all up with him. Nothing on
earth will induce him to leave his men, or he might make a bolt for it.
I wonder if it was too late for him to send for help?"
"There's not much doubt of it. A man couldn't get away quietly enough
on horseback with the tower surrounded, and it would take him four or
five days to foot it. Then they'd have to get together an expeditionary
force, and if they've got wind of what's on, they would hesitate to send
out a small light-marching force that might be smothered. These
political officers are always taking their lives in their hands. The
Major's a good sort. I wish to goodness something could be done for
him."
"I say! I've a notion. What about the aeroplane?"
"How do you mean?"
"Fly to help him. A few of those bombs of yours would work wonders."
"That's all very well, I dare say a little dynamite would set the
besiegers flying in panic; but to bring the Major away is quite another
matter. He's in a hill-tower, and if it's like those we saw
occasionally as we came north it'll be perched in the worst possible
place for the machine to alight."
"We can find that out from Ganda Singh."
"But there's another thing. Suppose it is possible to come down, will
there be time to get the Major out and take him on board before the
enemy come back? Their panic won't last long when they find they can
only be hit from the air."
"It will take some time to discover that, but I foresee the worst
difficulty. That's the sowars. As I said, he won't leave them,
especially as some are wounded. And the biggest cowards in
creation--and the Afghans are not cowards--would recover their courage
and their wits long before you could fly to and fro with the sowars as
passengers."
"And they'd smash the machine too. It would be an easy target most of
the time. I'm afraid it's no go."
They smoked on in silence, gloomily watching the rings and clouds
eddying out into the dark through the open window.
"Look here!" exclaimed Bob suddenly.
"I say!" cried Lawrence at the same moment.
"I'm going to try it," Bob continued.
"That's what I was going to say."
"But----"
"Hold hard! Just listen while I put the case with my usual sweet
reasonableness. You're about fed up with patrolling the valley, I
should think."
"But----"
"Let me have my say out: your turn by and by. You're a soldier; I'm
not. You're the chap to defend this place, and, as you said, we've got
to defend it now. You've a head for strategy and all that sort of
thing: I'm a fool at it. If one of us has got to go, I can be best
spared."
"You're talking perfect----"
"I know, but I haven't done yet. I haven't had quite as much practice
in the aeroplane as you, but I've had quite enough for this job. And as
for shying dynamite bombs, any ass could do that."
"I back you wouldn't find it easy to hit a mark," Bob got in.
"Perhaps not, but when the mark is a crowd of three or four hundred
Afghans I ought to be kicked if I couldn't score at least an outer.
Seriously, old man, this is my job. I'm not such a fool as to think
it'll be pure fun; it's a desperately tough proposition, as the Yanks
say; and of course you'd do it better than I could; but we can't both
go, and I'm sure you're the right man to stay here. Now have your
fling."
"Well, you've put me in a hole with your beastly logic," grumbled Bob.
"I can't admit you're right without sort of making myself out to be a
sprouting commander-in-chief! My word! It would be a fine thing to get
the Major here! He'd take command, and I'd play second fiddle with the
greatest pleasure in life. All right: you go, then."
"Thanks, old man. Just ring for Chunda, will you? I must have a talk
with Ganda Singh."