A PLEDGE
It was Mahmoud who signed for Edith to follow him toward the rear of
the mosque. As John Donovan was silent, she obeyed hesitatingly.
Here was the bronze grating, raised some few feet from the tiled floor,
and behind it the damask curtain that hung in dark folds from the edge
of the dome to the floor. Glancing up, the girl saw that the sun's
ray had vanished; overhead, through the dome's opening, a long cleft,
dividing solid rock was visible. Only for an hour at midday did the sun
strike down this natural shaft in the rock.
Edith heard a dull, purring sound from beneath. Underfoot there was a
slight, continuous vibration as the hidden springs seethed and boiled.
The heat rose from the vapor and touched her face.
"What is it?" she asked Donovan, her low voice trembling in spite of
her effort at control.
"Wait. Do not be afraid."
She tried to smile in answer, as Mahmoud took the veil from Iskander,
who still held it, and wound it tightly about her arms and body. Then
he looked up and spoke to the _manaps_, who slowly removed his own
shawl girdle and handed it to the physician. Mahmoud turned to Donovan,
who was watching from smoldering eyes.
"In this way there will be no pain, Dono-van Khan. We will bind the
white woman and lay her upon the raised place. Then the hot vapor will
creep into her throat Soon she will be dead."
Donovan was smiling--a habit of the man when his thoughts were racing
and there was danger to be met.
"Mahmoud," he began slowly, almost painfully, "you must listen to what
I have to say. Miss Rand is not a woman of your people. She is innocent
of evil. You will not slay her----"
"A woman. No more. What is she but a beautiful slave? Aye, one made for
the pleasure of men?"
"I love Miss Rand," said Donovan.
Mahmoud stroked the girdle in his hand gently. "It does not avail.
Others you will perhaps love. It is written that a strong man shall
have many wives."
"Not a white man, Mahmoud. This is a matter beyond even your knowing. I
shall love no woman but Miss Rand. Her life is more than my life."
"Nay, for you have a mission to fulfill in Yakka Arik. If she lives,
she could reveal the site of Yakka Arik to our enemies outside. Aye,
and the hatred of the wolf for the wolfhound is not greater than the
hate of the orthodox Mohammedans for us--who worship the sun. She must
be silenced, so that Yakka Arik will be inviolate."
"The wolfhound hunts," smiled Donovan, "and he has need of one who
will put him upon the scent of the wolf. The falcon is loosed--but a
hand must first release him. I am your friend, and the hour is near
when you will hunt. Without me your plans will be like water cast upon
the hot sand at midday. You need me." Donovan turned to Mahmoud. "You
know that a bargain between two righteous men is like a signed bond.
Very well. I will make a bargain. Let Miss Rand live, and I will pledge
my honor as surety that she will never speak of Yakka Arik outside the
valley. It is in my heart to marry Miss Rand if she will consent."
The Sayak chief shook his head.
"It is not enough. We are no more than servants of _him_"--he pointed
to the curtain into which the _hadji_ had retired--"and the law of
Yakka Arik is binding. Miss Rand must die."
Donovan looked up at the circle of sky framed in the dome-opening. He
drew a long breath and his shoulders stiffened. He had lost his point.
He knew that there was no hope in resistance. Hidden eyes were watching
from behind the great curtain. Iskander and the chief were armed. A cry
from Mahmoud would bring a dozen Sayak guards from the barred door.
Even if he could account for the three Sayaks,--and, weaponless, this
was impossible--he could not leave the mosque with the girl. Fleetingly
he thought of seeking the _hadji_, as a last card to be played in the
face of the Sayaks' will.
But, knowing the settled purpose of these men, he did not dare leave
Edith's side even for a moment. Instead he turned swiftly upon the
silent Iskander.
"Scion of Tahir," his words came with the ring of command, "you have
drawn sword in the army that once was mine. You have shared the bread
and salt of the English. Will you remain passive and see this woman
slain?"
The Arab bent his handsome head; his thin fingers plucked at his beard.
"_Effendi_, it is written and what is written will come to pass."
"Iskander, you are my brother in arms. Once I saved your life in
battle, when we followed the trail of him who killed your wife and
daughter. Is the mirror of your honor clouded? Or will you grant me the
request that I will ask--the one thing I will ask of you?"
Iskander plucked forth his sword; his dark eyes roved and the veins
stood out on his forehead.
"Speak!" he moaned. "I will obey. May Allah, the Generous, forgive!"
At this the Sayak chieftain glared, and gripped his dagger in a
powerful fist. So deep was the mosque in shadow, so quiet the group
by the vapor gate, they might have been five worshipers gathered in
prayer--except for the veil that bound the limbs of the woman. Edith
was watching Donovan steadfastly, biting her lips to quiet their
trembling.
A slight breeze passed through the shadows, cooling the damp foreheads
of Donovan and Iskander and touching the yellow curls of Edith Rand.
The white man put hand to belt. But, as the Sayak chief looked up
intently, he slipped loose the leather strap at his waist and held it
out to Iskander.
"Man of Tahir," he said, "here is a cord to bind me. If they lay Miss
Rand upon the vapor gate, you must bind me and put me beside her. This
is the thing I ask of you. I will not live if she dies."
Iskander drew back as though a snake had coiled in front of him.
Donovan waited, his tall figure erect, the strap in an open hand. While
four men kept silence, the balance of judgment was poised. Then some
one spoke.
"The white woman must live."
In front of the damask curtain stood the priest of Yakka Arik. His
haggard face, veiled by a venerable beard, was almost invisible under
the loose folds of a white turban. He looked from one to the other and
nodded slowly.
"I have heard--I have seen."
The chief and Iskander released their weapons. Donovan drew a deep
breath.
"I have seen the life of a man offered with that of the woman," went on
the _hadji_, his sonorous voice awaking echoes under the dome. "A life
for a life. It is sufficient. It fulfills the law, which is not alone
of revenge, but of mercy."
Edith fancied that he smiled.
"O, my foolish children! Did you think that the peace of Yakka Arik and
its mosque rested upon the tongue of one woman? Let the white man and
the woman go free from the mosque."
With that he turned, to disappear through the curtain, and the Sayaks
bent reverent eyes to the floor. The master of Yakka Arik had spoken.
At the door Iskander touched Donovan on the arm.
"Do not forget the pledge," he whispered. "Miss Rand must not attempt
to leave the valley."
"I will not forget," said Donovan.
They found Aravang striding up and down outside the guards, his broad
face harassed. At sight of them, he ran forward.
"Take the white woman to her house," commanded Donovan. "I must go with
the Sayaks. There is much to be done."
Edith, once more in possession of her veil and slippers, lingered. Her
eyes sought those of John Donovan. "Tell me," she begged. "I know we
were--in danger."
"Perhaps." He laughed, at the proscribed word. "After all, the mosque
is not a safe place for inquisitive young women."
"I will never do anything you forbid again, Donovan Khan," she promised
contritely. "Never. What did the _hadji_ say?"
"He said----" Donovan paused. "Well, for a heathen, he said a rather
fine thing. Now, you must go with Aravang. Lunch is waiting----"
"Not," responded Edith firmly, "until you assure me that you are
perfectly safe. And promise to come _right away_ and tell me
everything."
His glance rested long on her anxious face. He wanted to take her in
his arms, to feel that she was still whole, to press his lips against
the tangle of her hair. Edith did not look away. So, Donovan Khan
laughed just a little unsteadily.
"'Everything' may mean more--than you think," he whispered.
Not until she had passed across the open space with burly Aravang at
her heels, both looking back at him more than once where he stood among
the Sayaks, did he realize that he was trembling.
Edith sat on the small balcony overlooking the valley, chin on hand.
Her thoughts strayed willfully. Detail by detail the scene at the
mosque repeated itself before her fancy; the impress of the light veil
still lingered on her limbs; she visioned the flash of Iskander's
melancholy eyes--remembered the tranquil words of the priest--words
that she could not understand.
"It was some kind of a benediction, I think," she mused.
What had it all been about? Edith was aware that she had been an
onlooker at a grim struggle, the meaning of which she would not
know until Donovan explained. In the conflict Donovan had emerged
victorious. But--so thought the girl--he must have paid some price for
his success.
Why did he not come? She wanted him to tell her everything.
"Everything," she repeated, and the watching Aravang saw her face
brighten.
The sun declined behind the ridge that backed the house. The coolness
of its shadow recalled Edith to herself. She went below and for the
second time that day changed her attire.
When she emerged from her curtained compartment she wore the ball
dress that had come with her from Kashmir. A scarf covered her bare
shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy with the touch of the afternoon sun,
and the tawny hair was dressed low on her neck in the manner Donovan
admired.
Aravang gaped; then grinned delightedly. His goddess had robed herself
in a new aspect of divinity. He announced importantly by signs that he
had prepared dinner--an excellent dinner. Edith shook her head.
"Donovan Khan," she ordered. "Find him. Say that I want him to come to
me."
The servant hesitated, pretending that he did not understand. But Edith
knew better, and waved him away on his mission. Experience had taught
Aravang the advisability of obeying her; nevertheless, he went slowly.
Meanwhile Edith bethought her that her hair would need a flower to
set it off. She had made her toilette as anxiously as a débutante at a
first dance. It was her wish that John Donovan should think her fair
when he came to the house.
"The house of the Falcon," she repeated, and rather liked the sound of
it.
Smilingly she reflected how once she had dreaded the thought of coming
to the house. Now the tiny stone edifice, with its tinier kiosk, seemed
to beckon her. It was Donovan's.
It was a poor kind of garden, after all, the roses thin and fast
falling to the earth. Weeds overgrew the paths and the stone walls.
Edith knew, however, where certain blue grass-flowers were still to be
found. She sought for them in the swiftly gathering twilight that falls
upon the valleys when the sun is obliterated behind the mountains. That
morning she had read Donovan's love in his eyes--truthful eyes that
could not lie.
Edith was stooping over a verdant tangle in a corner of the wall when
she saw a tall, white-clad figure moving toward her. With her flowers
firmly grasped, she rose and extended a hand, smiling not altogether
steadily. She had not expected Donovan so soon. Then the blue blossoms
fell at her feet, and the hand dropped to her side.
The man was Monsey.
Edith watched, bewildered, as he hastened to her, stooping as he did so
under the wall.
"Miss Rand," he said quickly under his breath, "I did not mean to
startle you. We must be very quiet. We must leave at once." He was
breathing heavily as if he had been running and a muscle twitched
persistently in his cheek.
Surprised, she faced him, trying to account for his appearance. Monsey
had come from the direction of the small gate through which she had
passed to the mosque. She saw him glance toward it anxiously.
"I have been watching you through glasses all this afternoon. Yes, Miss
Rand--from the hill behind the hut. Now is our chance. The native guard
in the ravine behind the mosque has been slain, but the devils are
thick on the mountain side----"
Edith would have given much to read his face. Monsey's coming had at
first filled her with expectation. Had aid from Kashmir reached Yakka
Arik?
"Your father sent me." The man spoke impatiently. "I have risked much
to come here to-night Do not wait to get any other clothing. I have
horses and men up the mountain. We came through--along a goat path."
He did not tell her of hours spent spying from the heights upon
Yakka Arik, or of men slain in a silent struggle where he penetrated
the concealed ravine through which he had once before entered the
valley--or of the fear that clung to him, close as his own shadow.
"My father? Is he here?"
Monsey swore under his breath and leaned nearer.
"No! He is sick. Come! You do not understand. You must go or these
devils will see us, and that will be the end of us all. _Nom d'un nom!_"
Edith strove to think, to decide. She had no reason to doubt that
Arthur Rand had sent the Russian. The man's presence in the garden,
which must be decidedly dangerous to him, was evidence to back his
words. It was her instinctive distrust of Monsey that made her
pause--that, and another thought Donovan had told her of his pledge
that she would not leave Yakka Arik without the consent of the Sayak
chiefs.
"Your father will be at my camp soon," he urged.
"I have a friend," she said quickly. "He should be here any minute. I
will not leave without him. He has given his parole for me."
"A friend!" Monsey hissed angrily. "Some native. Have I come here to
risk my neck for any one but you? The valley is guarded----"
Like a clarion from the skies, the long trumpet blast of Yakka Arik
devastated the twilight quiet. Monsey started, and caught the girl's
wrist.
"You hear? Ah." He fancied that he saw a movement on the terrace
overlooking the garden. "You must come, before the guard is
changed--now----"
"Let me think." Edith was trying to grasp the situation. Reason told
her that John Donovan, alone, would find it easier to win free from
Yakka Arik than if burdened with her. Because they trusted him, the
Sayaks obeyed him. But the girl found that she did not want to leave
the valley without John Donovan.
"No," she said, "I can't explain it all"--she was a trifle breathless
with the urgent need of the situation--"Donovan Khan will soon be here.
I will not do anything without him----"
"A khan?" Monsey, intent on the balcony that was shrouded in gloom,
caught only vaguely the name. "Edith, do you want them to find me
here?" Under his breath he muttered: "Don't think, young lady, that I
also am a fool."
He stepped nearer, his hand rising suddenly to her face. He had caught
the silk shawl in his fingers. The girl, startled and suspicious, tried
to draw away. But Monsey wrapped the shawl quickly about her head,
holding it fast with an arm that he passed around her shoulders. The
other arm caught her close to him, lifted her from the ground.