THE PLEDGE IS BROKEN
"Excellency, the night was coming and the garden was a place of
shadows. Even so, for the trumpets had blown. An owl could have seen.
I am not an owl. How was I to know? All unworthy, thou despisest me.
Truly, my sorrow has gripped me--here."
Aravang was speaking in his own tongue. As he ended he smote his
muscled chest with a knotted fist that made the hollow within his bones
echo like a drum. Air escaped his bearded lips in a long, hissing
breath.
Impatiently, Donovan moved. He was standing, feet planted wide, at the
edge of the balcony overlooking the garden and the gray expanse that
was the lake's surface. Under impulse of a fresh breeze the water's
margin lapped against the stones.
"From the beginning," he said slowly, "tell me what you did and what
you saw. I do not blame you. But I must know."
Aravang squatted on his heels, facing the lake, struggling with the
need of intelligent speech. Unlike Iskander, he was a man of few words,
and fewer ideas. While the native talked, the white man bent nearer to
catch each syllable. His brain was afire with the need of action. Yet
men who have commanded others in the armies of the world know the folly
of action upon insufficient information.
"Excellency, I am thy _kul_. Did I not slay the pig of a Jain Ali Beg,
who betrayed thee? And for the white woman I would give the blood from
my severed veins--aye. _She_ sent me to seek thee. I passed through the
village, looking on all sides. An Usbek told me that the council had
disbanded, and so I hastened back, thinking that thou wouldst be again
at the stone house, and hungry.
"Two I saw in the garden, but not the faces. One was a woman."
"Are you sure it was your mistress?"
Aravang grunted a disconsolate affirmative.
"Aye. Should I not know the murmur of her voice, even from afar? The
other I thought to be thee, for it was a white man. Dog that I am, I
waited, listening, and fearful to speak to the higher ones. Then she
said thy name, Dono-van Khan, very loudly. The white man made response,
then took her in his arms. I was glad. I have known the longing that is
in your veins for the white woman. Aye, I have seen the light of desire
in her eyes----"
"Aravang!" Donovan felt ashamed, as if he had been caught spying on the
woman he loved. Then a hot exultation gripped him, to pass as swiftly
as it came and leave him cold.
"Spit upon thy unworthy slave, master! Call me even a dog. Oh, I am
unworthy. While I watched, this man took her in his arms and bore her
to the small gate, the one that leads to the forest. The gate opened
before him and then closed; this thing I heard.
"It was unwonted. Master, I knew thy custom to go always alone. If
the gate closed, _thus_, when the white man held my mistress in his
arms, another hand must have closed it. So, when I felt of the gate
from within and found it fast, I scented evil. Then I climbed the
wall. Donovan Khan, there is a small moon to-night. By its light I saw
shadows moving into the forest. I followed.
"By the sound of their passage I traced them. After a long time, at
one of the upper goat paths I heard the _khanum_ cry out, once. Am I
not her dog? I ran forward to strike and slay, even though I held no
weapon--not a knife. In the goat path where the new moon struck through
the trees stood a dozen armed men with horses. They mounted and spurred
away, two by two."
"Which way?"
"To the lower valley. The bits of the horses were muffled, likewise the
hard leather of their hoofs. For a space I ran behind, seeking to gain
the side of my mistress. They saw me and went faster. Then the thought
came to me that I should seek thee with the news. I waited until I knew
they were riding beyond the valley and not to the mosque. Then I ran
down the mountain side to the stone house, where thou wert sitting----"
Aravang ceased, and fell into expectant silence. The balcony was quiet,
except for the native's deep breathing and the broken murmur of the
lake. Now and then a gust shook the pine branches high over their heads.
For five minutes John Donovan was immobile. In that time he
experienced the bitterness that comes to a man with misfortune not of
his deserving. Also, with the necessary calmness of a trained soldier,
he revised the whole of the plans he had formed with the Sayaks that
afternoon, and made others. And, gravely, he prepared to face the
consequences of a broken oath.
Edith Rand had left Yakka Arik.
His only information was the story of Aravang. Donovan could not know
whether she had gone willingly or not. Yet, he believed she had been
taken forcibly.
"Aravang," he voiced the result of his thoughts, "run through the
village, to the mosque. Summon Iskander first, to come speedily here.
Aye--bid all the Sayak leaders and Mahmoud to come. Say that I must
speak with them. Go swiftly!"
"Excellency, I hear"--the servant rose and dropped from the rail of the
balcony to the earth, muttering, "It shall be done. I am a dog, but a
dog can run----"
Donovan looked at the stars, to mark the hour.
He went below to the empty sleeping room. Aravang had set the table,
with lighted candles that flickered in the passing breaths of wind. The
sight of Edith's empty chair stirred him strangely, and he moved it
away from the table.
The curtained recess that had been Edith's was dark. He could make out
vaguely the outlines of soft garments hanging in orderly array beside
the bed. A very faint scent of rose leaves came to him. Pushing aside
his untouched plate, Donovan buried his face in his hands.
The room was chilly, in spite of the embers of the fire Aravang had
kindled in the grate. When the curtains that screened Edith's quarters
swayed, Donovan looked up with a start to see only the dressing shelf
the girl had fashioned laboriously--the mirror fixed in a chink in the
stone, the silk-covered board bearing comb and pins, sewing materials.
Everything that had belonged to Edith was in its place. Could she have
meant to leave him? Had she fashioned her disguise of the morning for
this purpose?
"After all," he murmured, "my house wouldn't appeal to her. Perhaps she
guessed that I meant to ask her to marry me. I wonder. Did you, Edith?"
Swift, poignant loneliness smote him. And as quickly came the phantom
of jealousy to mock at him.
"She knew you had given your word to the Sayaks," gibed the imp in his
brain. "Didn't she? Of course, she did!"
"But she wouldn't leave without speaking to me," reasoned the hope that
would not forsake Donovan in spite of Edith's disappearance.
"Ha!" mocked the imp. "Wouldn't she? How do you know? Did the girl
consult you before she ran away to the temple? And why did she go up
the mountain, before that--just when one of the Vulture's Sarts sneaked
through the lines? After all, my dear fellow, can you trust a woman?
And the Vulture's handsome--Monsey, you know--he's devilishly handsome.
Women trust him."
"Edith wouldn't listen to a scoundrel," maintained Donovan's love.
"That's just the point," reasoned the imp logically. "She doesn't know
his record, nor that he _is_ the Vulture. What did the Sayaks tell
you in the council this afternoon? They had information from Kashgar.
Monsey spread the news there that he is leading a party to rescue Miss
Rand. And that she is engaged to marry him."
"He lied!" cried Donovan, aloud. "I trust her."
"But does she care for you?" The mocking voice became fainter. "Didn't
she leave you, of her own accord----"
"No!" cried the faith that was in Donovan. "She was carried off!"
And now the voice was silenced.
Iskander strode in, swaggering and fully armed. When the Arab saw that
Donovan would not speak he glanced curiously at Edith's empty chair.
Others of the Sayaks came, among them the chief, and finally Mahmoud.
Each one looked at him fleetingly, then knelt on cushions or against
the wall, adjusting striped silk robes, and thrusting their hands into
the wide sleeves.
"You have summoned us and we are here. The council of Sayak chieftains
waits until you speak."
Donovan leaned back in his chair and his glance went from face to face
along the wall--dark faces, keen of eye, that did not turn from his
scrutiny. His lips moved wordlessly as he murmured to himself: "Isn't
it just my bally luck? Every minute we lose before going after Edith
is worth--well, there's no price high enough. But I can't act--I can't
think of acting--until I've made a clean breast to these chaps who
trust me now as they always have, but whose natures won't let them keep
from suspecting me if I tell them Edith's gone. Iskander, of course,
will back me to a certain extent--no farther. Won't do now to strain
his friendship or to bank on my word alone, again."
His lined face was grave, his clear eyes purposeful; but he was tired
and his pulse throbbed heavily. Edith's departure jeopardized the
fruits of years of work--of the mission that had taken him from the
army. Laboriously he had won the faith of the Sayaks. And now----
He had made a pledge to the Sayaks and the pledge had been broken,
through no fault of his. Would they understand? If they did not----
"Edith's gone," he repeated to himself, "to the Tower. After all,
that's what matters."
The certainty of his love returned fourfold and unsettled his
reasoning. He could only think of one thing--Edith was gone and he must
go after her, but was kept from doing that very thing. He straightened
in his chair and spoke to Iskander.
"Send a rider to the ravine behind the mosque to learn what is to be
seen there, where the guard stood. Let the rider report here what he
has seen."
Before assenting or refusing, the Arab consulted the other Sayaks with
a glance. One, a swaggering Afghan whose evil-smelling wool was belted
with a priceless sword, rose and left the room.
From the road outside came a clatter of hoofs. Donovan was gazing
thoughtfully into the fire. "The white woman has left Yakka Arik," he
said.
The faces of the Sayaks remained impassive, but all eyes turned at once
to him. Iskander, leaning against the wall, played with a gold necklace
at his throat.
"You made a pledge," he responded softly.
"I have not broken it, Iskander----"
"Speak not in English," warned the Arab, "or these others will suspect
and grow angry."
"Bear witness," Donovan slipped easily into Turki, "as to the truth of
what I say----"
"If it be truth," broke in one harshly. To interrupt a sahib was
insolence.
"A fool, out of an empty mind, questions wisdom, and a jackal yelps
from a pack." Donovan fastened the surly speaker with his blue eyes.
"Have you not given me the rank of _manaps_? Have you known me to lie,
or to speak merely that I might hear the sound of my voice?" The Sayak
who had interrupted him looked uncomfortable. "Bear witness, Sayaks,"
Donovan raised his low voice a little. "Was I not at the council since
the shadows have changed (since noon)? After that, you know that I came
here, and that I summoned you directly. Is this not so?"
Silence answered him, and Donovan's lips tightened.
"In that time," he pointed out, "I could not have taken the white woman
through the guards and returned. Aravang knows that I was here."
Mahmoud spoke mildly, without raising his eyes.
"The _kul_ is lowborn, Dono-van Khan: his word we will not hear.
Because of our trust in you, because you have aided Yakka Arik, and
because your word is the word of Donovan Khan, we will listen. Tell
now how the woman came to depart from Yakka Arik." He paused, weighing
his words. "It is well that you have spoken thus. For we knew that the
woman was free of our guards. A watcher on one of the cliffs saw her
ride hence, with several men who were not sayaks."
Donovan saw into the trap Mahmoud's subtle mind had set for him.
"You ask, O healer of the sick," he observed slowly, "that I tell how
the _khanum_ escaped. Nay, when I saw it not, nor had a share in what
came to pass, what can I tell that you do not know? Only this I know.
By force was the woman taken, not by her own will."
Having fought out his own battle and having kept his belief in Edith
Rand, he could tell them this with assurance.
Some one--the native who had first matched words with him--arose.
"Dono-van Khan," he said slowly, "well are you named the Falcon,
if yours is an all-seeing eye, if you can see what passes upon the
mountain slope when your body is within the council hall." There was a
challenge and mockery in his words. "Why should the _khanum_ be loath
to leave Yakka Arik? Does a caged dove struggle against freedom?"
"I will explain that."
A sneer touched the thin lips of the native. Mahmoud's beadlike eyes
glittered.
"Does your explaining alter the fact that the veil of secrecy, kept for
ten generations, has been torn from Yakka Arik?" he demanded harshly.
Donovan faced him frankly.
"The secret has not been revealed. It was known before this--to the
rider who carried off the _khanum_."
Mahmoud looked up sharply. "Twice, Dono-van Khan, have you said she
was carried off. Yet the talk of Kashgar has come to our ears, as such
things do, through my servants; and we know that the white man who rode
hither for the woman claims her as his bride."
"He lied."
"How may we know it?"
"The _khanum_ loved no man. And soon you will see that this rider is a
master of lies."
The _hakim_ looked grave.
"Dono-van Khan, another thing have I heard--a thing that is true
beyond a doubt. On the heels of this _wilayati sowar_--foreign
rider--who is named Monsey in Kashgar, there came two other _effendis_,
one the father of this woman, the other an English officer From Kashgar
they turned their reins to the hills." Mahmoud spoke coldly. "Aye. In
the bazaars it was said that Rand _effendi_ sent this one who is called
Monsey to seek the girl."
At this Donovan rose, carefully concealing the fact that the news
puzzled him. It was probably true. Mahmoud had an uncanny way of being
aware of all that went on in the near-by hills. The tidings, coming at
this point, dealt a blow to his hopes.
Under the leadership of Mahmoud, the Sayaks were beginning to doubt
him. Appearances were against him. How could he convince them of his
own certainty that Edith Rand had met with foul play? Without the help
of the Sayaks he was powerless to aid her.
Any hesitation on his part would be fatal. Swiftly he surveyed the
situation. Fraser-Carnie, he was sure, would not ally himself with
a man of Monsey's stamp. The fact that the two rescue parties were
separate seemed to prove this. But he--Donovan--could not leave Yakka
Arik to get word to the Englishman, even if there were time and
Fraser-Carnie could be located in the gorges. Nor would Fraser-Carnie
be able to find Yakka Arik without a Sayak guide.
Nor would the Sayaks think of joining forces with any outsiders.
Moreover, they would hold him prisoner until certain he had kept faith
with them. Meanwhile every minute was taking Monsey and Edith farther
from Yakka Arik.
Donovan had only one card to play. The knowledge--unguessed as yet
even by Mahmoud--that Monsey and the Vulture were the same man. And he
had one friend--Iskander.
"Sayaks of the council!" He drew a long breath, with a silent prayer
for success. "I have said the _khanum_ was taken by force from the
valley. This thing I know because the rider who came hither is a
stealer of women."
He walked to Mahmoud and raised his hand.
"Likewise, O _hakim_, the rider knew the paths into Yakka Arik because
he had been here before."
Swinging about, Donovan held Iskander's eyes with his own.
"Scion of Tahir, you, like myself, have felt the evil of the slave
dealer. Once a Vulture entered the valley, sinking his talons into the
hearts of Sayak fathers and brothers----"
"Aye," cried a Sayak. "He was a _wilayti_, base beyond words, such as
Don----"
"Peace!" barked Iskander. "Who should know the Vulture better than I--a
father and a husband? Fools! Will you not heed the wisdom of Dono-van
Khan who has shared our salt?"
The murmurs subsided and the warriors settled back passively, only
their dark eyes following every motion of the white man.
At a single throw Donovan cast the weight of his influence against the
uncertainty and suspicion of the Sayaks.
"Three years ago during the Great War I came to you when the _mullahs_
of the Turks and the Tartars urged the Sayaks to join the standard of
war against the Sirdar (the English government). I asked you to keep
the peace."
"Aye," nodded Mahmoud, "the _hadji_ of the temple added his voice to
yours. Thus, the Sayaks kept the peace, and because of the fear of
Yakka Arik, the tribes of Central Asia did likewise. Yet the agreement
was----"
"That I was not to leave the Hills until your enemy, the man you called
the Vulture, was hunted down. And at Srinagar I learned his name."
At this every Sayak straightened and complete silence fell.
"The Vulture and the Alaman, Abbas Abad, were the leader of the slave
caravans. And the Vulture was the real head of the slave merchants. He
was once a Russian officer: stripped of his rank because of an intrigue
with a Russian woman. Now, concealed behind this name, he directs the
activities of his thousand servants, from Kashgar to Samarkand. Oh, he
is powerful. When he despoiled the hill villages of our friends----"
"We followed close upon the dust of his going." So spoke a Sayak, a
Pathan chieftain, who had been silent until now.
"Aye," assented Donovan, "from the Mustagh Ata to the Caucasus. Yet he
escaped us. The _mirs_ of the cities sold him their aid. Lawless Tartar
and Russian detachments, leaderless after the end of the Great War,
took his gold for their services. And he is the friend of Esad Pasha.
When fear of the Sayaks came upon him, he fled to America."
"But now he is once more in the hills," murmured Iskander. "And our
vengeance----"
"You stood within sword's reach of him in Srinagar, son of Tahir. The
Vulture is Monsey, the Russian."
"Ah!"
The Arab started, and his hand went to his scimitar hilt. Fifty eyes
turned to him. "Dares the dog return to the scene of his crime, to
Yakka Arik?" he questioned harshly, probing the open countenance of the
white man.
"Desire for the white _khanum_ brought him."
A murmur that was like a sigh answered Donovan. "A-a-h!" Iskander drew
his scimitar and threw away the scabbard. "It was written. Oh, it was
written. Now the pursuit of blood will be ended and the mirror of my
honor will be cleansed----"
"Proof!" said Mahmoud abruptly. "Dono-van Khan, we must know beyond a
doubt. Have you proof of this thing?"
Donovan had played his card--had made his appeal to the Sayaks' longing
for revenge. Yet Mahmoud and some others had not regained confidence
in him. Glancing toward the door, he stilled the rising tumult with
a quick command and pointed to the tall figure filling the entrance.
Only a moment ago he had seen that for which he had been watching--the
return of the Afghan messenger.
"Speak," he nodded at the warrior. "What did you learn at the bridge
below the mosque? Where went the riders who entered Yakka Arik?"
"Dono-van Khan," the man growled, blinking at the light, "the Sayak
guard at the bridge was slain when he opposed their flight. Yet the
venerable _hadji_ who was watching from the tower of the mosque saw the
riders go, not across the bridge, but up the gorges toward----"
"The Tower!" Donovan cut in crisply. "As I thought, the Vulture has
taken flight to his empty nest. Mahmoud, who but he would do that?"
While the _hakim_ meditated, the Afghan messenger spoke again.
"Dono-van Khan, the face of one of the riders was seen, by the light
of the torches at the bridge. Abbas Abad was with the riders----"
"Do you believe now?" Donovan swung savagely around to face Mahmoud
"Have I spoken the truth?"
As one man the Sayaks answered. "We believe. We have never doubted."
He did not smile. Half an hour ago these same men would have killed
first him and then Edith Rand--if they could have found her--had not
their suspicions been dispelled. Now, as so often in the past, the
personality of the white man had won them to him.
Like children they were, jealous, arrogant, cruel, and yet, withal,
open-hearted and faithful. As their multicolored robes crowded toward
the door, his fist smote on the table.
"Iskander, _bahader_!"
At the familiar command, coupled with his noncommissioned rank in the
Anglo-Indian army, the Arab halted and stiffened to attention. Others
half paused, to listen.
"Whither go you, son of Tahir?"
"To tear out heart and bowels of the Vulture--Monsey: aye, to sew the
arrow stitches of vengeance. The angel of God has opened the gate of
justice--we will not turn back. I go to the Tower, and with me all men
of the Sayaks who can bear swords. Dono-van Khan, those swords will not
be sheathed until----"
"I know." The white man cut short the other's eloquence. Now, however,
he spoke not as officer to native, but as man to man. "You are the
chieftain of the Sayaks; you must follow the path of duty. Am I less
than you?"
Hereupon the Arab caught the other's hand and pressed it to his
forehead. "Nay, Dono-van Khan," he said softly, "you are the sun of my
world."
"And the _mem_-sahib Rand, Iskander--she is to be my wife. If there is
a fight at the Tower--and there will be--she will be in danger. I must
reach her first. Give me time, Iskander, before you attack Monsey. A
little time will be enough."
The Arab's muscular hand plucked at his beard.
"The woman beloved of Dono-van Khan is dear to me as she who was the
star of my life. What I may do, I will do. Yet the fury of the Sayaks
is like to a torrent and who can stay the course of a torrent?" He
lifted somber eyes to the tense face of the young Englishman. "Sahib,
we are all under the hand of God."
"It is enough." Donovan smiled, his tired eyes quizzical. He knew that
he would need to ride a horse to death to be at the Tower before the
Sayaks. "Then I will go alone, Iskander."
"With God," said the Arab sententiously. They passed out together.
In the path by the lake shore Iskander halted with a warning gesture.
He could hear footsteps following them. A shadowy figure, bulky and
clumsy, was outlined against the silvery-gray glimmer of the lake.
"Aravang," said Donovan.
Throughout the night the servant of Edith Rand dogged the heels of
John Donovan, not letting the Englishman from his sight. His broad,
good-natured face wore a harassed look, and from time to time he
muttered to himself uneasily. When the white man mounted one of the
Sayak horses, Aravang promptly laid hold of the stirrup, and trotted
silently beside him.