A cold wind swept down the Peirâk valley, driving the last leaves from
the birch trees, which, filling the gully, crept some short way up the
steep ascent to the Pass, where the ridges of grey-blue slate seemed
almost a part of the staring blue sky against which they showed like a
serrated line of shadow. Nearer at hand the slopes of withered bent
were broken by sharp fang-like rocks gathering themselves in the
distance into immature peaks and passes. Here and there a patch of
dirty snow, having borne the burden and heat of summer, lay awaiting a
fresh robe of white at the hands of the fast-coming winter. Already
the round black tents of the pasture-seeking tribes were in full
retreat to the plains, and the valley lay still and silent, without
even the sweep of a hawk in its solitary circle, or the bird-like
whistle of a marmot sunning itself on the rocks. Ere long the snow
would wrap all in its soft white mantle, and the bunting, paired with
its own shadow, flicker over the glistening drifts.
Notwithstanding the lateness of the season the Peirâk was not utterly
deserted. In a sheltered bit behind a cluster of rocks sat two young
men. One, despite the sheepskin coat and turban-wound peaked cap of
the Afghan, showed unmistakable signs of alien blood in the steady
gaze of a pair of brown eyes, and a white line of clean skin where the
fur collar met his neck. It was our old friend Dick Smith, and he was
on the watch for the last British regiment which was to cross the Pass
in order to strengthen the little garrison beyond, before winter set
her silver key upon the mountains. His companion carried his
nationality in his face, for even when Afzul Khân had condescended to
wear the uniform of a Sikh soldier no one could have mistaken the
evidence of his long, straight nose and cruel, crafty expression, in
which, however, lurked little hint of sensuality.
"You are deeply interested in this particular regiment," remarked Dick
in fair Pushtu. "What's up, Afzul?"
"Nothing, _Huzoor_. A fool who called himself my relative took service
once with your Sirkar. Mayhap in this regiment--God knows! It does not
matter if it was."
The studied indifference made his hearer smile. "You are a queer lot,
you Pathans," he said lazily. "Not much family affection; not much
welcome for a long-lost brother, eh, Afzul?"
"The Presence should remember there are Pathans and Pathans. He has
not seen my people; they are not here." He spread a well-shaped
nervous hand emphatically east, west, and south.
"Tarred with the same brush north, I expect," muttered the Englishman
to himself.
Afzul Khân frowned. "These are my enemies," he went on. "But for the
Sirkar,--_chk!_" He gave a curious sound, half click, half gurgle, and
drew an illustrative finger across his throat. It was rather a ghastly
performance.
"Then why stop?"
Afzul Khân plucked at the withered bents carelessly. "Because--because
it suits this slave; because the merciful Presence is my master;
because I may as well wait here as anywhere else."
"What are you waiting for?"
He showed all his long white teeth in a grin. "Promotion, _Huzoor_. It
should come speedily, since but yesterday the _sahib_ said I was worth
all the rest of the gang."
"I must be more careful. Where the dickens did you pick up English,
Afzul?"
"From you, _Huzoor_." A statement so irredeemably fictitious that it
made Dick thoughtful.
"You're sharp enough, Heaven knows; but I don't understand why you
wanted to learn signalling. Are you going to give up your _jezail_ and
become a _bâbu?_"
Afzul Khân fingered the matchlock which lay beside him. "I have
changed my mind," he said shortly. "I will leave it to the Presence to
bring down fire from Heaven; _I_ bring it from this flash-in-the-pan."
"Now what can you know about Prometheus?"
He shook his head. "The Presence speaks riddles. The fire comes to
some folk, to many of the _sahibs_--to you, perhaps. God knows! The
Pathans are different. Our work is fighting."
Dick, looking at his companion's sinewy strength, thought it not
unlikely. "While we are waiting, Afzul," he said idly, "tell me the
finest fight you ever were in. Don't be modest; out with it!"
"Wherefore not? Victory is Fate, and only women hang their heads over
success. The best fight, you say? 'Twas over yonder to the north.
There is a dip; but one way up and down. Twenty of us Barakzais and
they were fifteen; but they were ahead of us in count, for, by Allah!
their wives were so ugly that we didn't care to carry them off."
"Why should you?"
"'Twas a feud. Once, God knows when, a Budakshân Nurzai carried off
one of ours and began it. If the women ran out, we killed the men
instead. So it was a moonlight night, and the fifteen were fast
asleep, snoring like hogs. By Allah! my heart beat as we crept behind
the rocks on our bellies, knowing that a rolling stone might waken
them. But God was good, and _chk!_ they bled to death, like the pigs
they were, before their eyes were wide open."
Dick Smith stared incredulously. "You call that the best fight you
ever were in? I call it--" The epithet remained unspoken as he started
to his feet with a shout. "By George! I see the glitter. Yonder,
Afzul! by the turn. Hurrah! hurrah!"
He was off at long swinging strides, careless of the fact that the
Pathan never moved. The latter's keen eyes followed the lad with a
certain regret, and then turned to the straggling file of soldiers now
plainly visible.
"Marsden _sahib_ with the advance guard," he muttered. "Why did I give
in to those cursed hawk's eyes when my bullet was all but in his
heart! _Wah-illah!_ his bravery made me a coward, and now my life is
his. But I will return it, and then we shall cry quits. Yonder's the
_subadâr_. By God! my knife will be in his big belly ere long, and
some of those gibing Punjâbis shall jest no more."
So he watched them keenly with a fierce joy, while Dick tore down the
hill, to be brought, by an ominous rattle among the rifles below, to a
remembrance of his dress. Then he waited, hands down, in the open,
until the advance guard came within hail of his friendly voice; when
he received the whole regiment with open arms, as if the Peirâk were
his special property. Perhaps he had some right to consider it so,
seeing that he was the only Englishman who had ever attempted to make
those barren heights his head-quarters. But, as he explained to Philip
Marsden, while they climbed the narrow gully hemmed in by
perpendicular rocks which led to the summit, the breaks in
communication from storms and other causes had been so constant, that
he had cut himself adrift from head-quarters at Jumwar in order to be
on the spot, and so avoid the constant worry of small expeditions with
an escort; without which he was not allowed to traverse the unsettled
country on either side.
"Here I am safe enough," he said with a laugh; "and if I could only
get my assistant, a Bengali _bâbu_, to live at the other hut I have
built on the northern descent, we could defy all difficulties. But he
is in such a blind funk that if I go out he retires to bed and locks
the door. The only time he is happy is when a regiment is on the
road."
"Then his happiness is doomed for this year,--unless you use
discretion and come on with us to Jumwar. I doubt your being safe here
much longer."
Dick shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps not, and of course I shall have
to cut and run before the snow; but I like the life, and it gives me
time. I've been at work on a field-instrument--" here his eyes lit up,
and his tongue ran away with him over insulators and circuits.
Major Marsden looked at the lad approvingly, thinking how different he
was from the slouching sullen boy of six months back. "I'm afraid I
don't understand, Dick," he said with a half-smile; "but I've no doubt
it will be very useful, if, as you say, it enables you to tap the
wires anywhere with speed and certainty."
Dick gave a fine blush. "I beg your pardon, but these things get into
my head. It will work though, I'm sure of it. I'd show you if it was
here, but I left it at the other shanty. There's a stretch of low
level line across the Pass where I was testing it."
The half-aggrieved eagerness in his voice made Philip smile. They were
sitting together under the lee of a rock on the summit while a halt
was called, in order to give time for the long caravan-like file,
encumbered by baggage ponies, to reach the top and so ensure an
unbroken line during the descent. For in these mountain marches the
least breach of continuity is almost certain to bring down on the
detached portion an attack from the robbers who are always on the
watch for such an opportunity.
"You had best come with us, Dick," said Philip, returning to the point
after a pause.
"No! The fact is I want to be certain of the communication until you
are safe in Jumwar. Those two marches, between your next camp and the
city, are risky. I have my doubts of the people."
"Doubts shared by head-quarters apparently, for the chief got a
telegram yesterday to await orders at Jusraoli. I expect they are
going to send to meet us from Jumwar."
"I wish I'd known in time," replied Dick lightly; "in that case there
is not much reason for staying. Yet I don't know; I'd rather stick on
till I am forced to quit."
"That won't be long; the snow's due already, and you are coming on
with us so far in any case, aren't you?"
Dick sat idly chucking stones and watching them leap from point to
point of the cliffs below him. "I don't think I shall, if you are to
be in camp Jusraoli for some days. You see, my _bâbu_ is no use, and
something might turn up. I'll see you across the Pass and come back. I
could join you later on if I made up my mind to cut." He lay back with
his arms under his head and looked up into the brilliant blue
cloudless sky. "Major," he said suddenly, after a pause, "do you know
that you have never asked after Belle?"
"Haven't I? The fact is I had news of her lately. Raby wrote to me a
few days ago."
"I wouldn't trust Raby if I were you. Did he tell you that Belle
hadn't a penny and was trying to be independent of charity by
teaching?"
"I am very sorry to hear it."
Dick sat up with quite a scared look on his honest face. "I thought
there must be something wrong between you two by her letters," he said
in a low voice; "but I didn't think it was so bad as that. What is
it?"
"Really, my dear boy, I don't feel called upon to answer that
question."
"It's beastly impertinent, of course," allowed Dick; "but see here,
Major, you are the best friend I have, and she,--why, I love her more
dearly every day. So you see there must be a mistake."
The logic was doubtful, but the faith touched Philip's heart. "And so
you love her more than ever?" he asked evasively.
"Why not? I seem somehow nearer to her now, not so hopelessly beneath
her in every way. And I can help her a little by sending money to Aunt
Lucilla. _She_ wouldn't take a penny, of course. But they tell me that
when my grandfather,--I mean my mother's father--dies I might come in
for a few rupees; so I have made my will leaving anything in your
charge for Belle. You don't mind, do you?"
Philip Marsden felt distinctly annoyed. Here was fate once again
meddling with his freedom. "I'm afraid I do. To begin with, I may be
lying with a bullet through me before the week's out."
"So may I. Look on it as my last request, Major. I'd sooner trust you
than any one in the wide world. You would be certain to do what I
would like."
"Should I? I'm not so sure of myself. Look here, Dick! I didn't mean
to tell you, but perhaps it is best to have it out, and be fair and
square. The fact is we are rivals." He laughed cynically at his
hearer's blank look of surprise. "Yes,--don't be downcast, my dear
fellow; you've a better chance than I have, any day, for she dislikes
me excessively; and upon my word, I believe I'm glad of it. Let's talk
of something more agreeable. Ah, there goes the bugle."
He started to his feet, leaving Dick a prey to very mixed emotions,
looking out with shining eyes over the dim blue plains which rolled up
into the eastern sky. It must be a mistake, he felt. His hero was too
perfect for anything else; and she? Something seemed to rise in his
throat and choke him. So nothing further was said between them till on
the northern skirts of the hills they stood saying good-bye. Then Dick
with some solemnity put a blue official envelope into his friend's
hand. "It's the will, Major. I think it's all right; I got the _bâbu_
to witness it. And of course the--the other--doesn't make any
difference. You see I shall write and tell her it is all a mistake."
The older man as he returned the boyish clasp felt indescribably mean.
"Don't be in a hurry, Dick," he said slowly. "You can think it over
and give it me when you join us, for join us you must. I won't take it
till then, at all events. As for the other, as you call it, the
mistake would be to have it changed. Whatever happens she will never
get anything better than what you give her, Dick--never!--never!
Good-bye; take care of yourself."
As he watched the young fellow go swinging along the path with his
head up, he told himself that others beside Belle would be the losers
if anything happened to Dick Smith; who, for all the world had cared,
might at that moment have been lying dead-drunk in a disreputable
bazaar. "There is something," he thought sadly, "that most men lose
with the freshness of extreme youth. It has gone from me hopelessly,
and I am so much the worse for it." And Dick, meanwhile, was telling
himself with a pang at his heart that no girl, Belle least of all,
could fail in the end to see the faultlessness of his hero.