THE VOICE OF MAHMOUD
As Donovan had anticipated, and as might have been expected, the
first rush of Monsey's men toward the hold and the ladder leading to
the tower was without result except for certain casualties among the
attackers.
Aravang, standing over the aperture in the floor through which the
ladder led, was armed only with a short wooden pole. But with this
weapon--which, indeed, the _kul_ favored over others--he sent the first
two or three who ventured up the ladder back with broken heads.
Donovan, climbing alertly down the stairs from above, seconded his
effort with the clip of cartridges in the Mauser rifle--five shots that
drove the attackers back, dragging their wounded, from the ladder and
the lower room.
"Ah, that was well, Excellency!" grunted the burly native, leaning on
his staff. The reflected light from the courtyard served to disclose
the two men and the woman to each other dimly.
"It was but the beginning," responded the Englishman in Aravang's
tongue. "We must hold the tower now. This is the only entrance."
He paused to count the cartridges in the bandoleer. Two or three dozen
rounds, at the most. The six chambers of the revolver were filled, but
extra ammunition was lacking. Aravang, experienced in such warfare, was
almost indifferent.
"We may meet another peril, Excellency."
"They may try to climb the outside of the tower?"
Aravang shook his head.
"It may be, Donovan Khan. But this peril is otherwise."
Edith spoke then and Donovan did not learn what alternative the native
had in mind.
"That was splendid," she cried. "Aren't we quite safe in these stone
walls--of the tower? If only we can keep them away until my father
comes----"
"Our position, Edith," he smiled, "is excellent. Aravang, alone,
could hold this floor, at a pinch. And, if you will be good enough to
mount the stairs for a flight and watch from the embrasures, we can
check-mate any attempt to put ladders against the tower itself." He
added, however, to himself: "Of course, we are without food or water,
or necessary ammunition, and Major Fraser-Carnie is at least twelve
hours' ride from this place----"
"Indeed," Edith reproved him, "I won't think of going upstairs without
you. I think you are trying to send me away!"
She pouted and Donovan shook his head guiltily. A new outbreak of
firing from the plateau, however, took him halfway up the stairs at
her side, to one of the arrow slits in the stone wall, giving on the
courtyard.
Hence they obtained a glimpse of an unexpected development resulting
from the withdrawal of the Sayaks. Bundles of small pine branches bound
together and soaked in part with kerosene--even that poor brand of
liquid brought by camelback from China to Kashgar--when once ignited
are not easily extinguished. As a consequence, the flares of Monsey
were still blazing and crackling away above the courtyard, shedding a
bloodlike flood of illumination over the natives who were struggling to
haul down the poles supporting the flares and extinguish them. The men
worked hastily, with one eye on the tower.
Donovan looked for Abbas and Monsey; but the masters of the _Kurgan_
were keeping well without the range of fire from the summit. Meanwhile
the horses had fallen into a semi-panic at the blazing masses near
their backs and were tugging at their halters, while some Tartars
struggled to secure them. This light had given opportunity to Iskander
to organize a sniping fire from the branches of trees on the further
side of the plateau.
"Oh, do you think it will hurt these--these Alamans and the rest?"
inquired Edith interestedly. She felt impelled to call attention to the
brief advantage which her strategy had secured for the Sayaks. "Surely
these horrid men are worried by our being in the tower and by this
shooting----"
Donovan, intent on the panorama of the fight, unconsciously dropped his
mask of cheerfulness.
"Hardly, I think, Edith. That long-range fire has little effect. And
when the flares are out, the horses will soon quiet down; then we won't
be able to see anything that happens."
The girl was struck by the abrupt moodiness of his words,
understanding, however, that it was on her account and not his own that
the Englishman was troubled. Shyly, she nestled her hand in his, which
closed on it firmly.
Realizing that his enemies would soon be in darkness, Donovan jerked
his rifle to pick off some while he could still see to do so. Then he
sighed. Cartridges were too few for such a maneuver. He must save his
fire for defense of the tower. Edith noticed his act, and promptly
questioned him.
"It would be unnecessary bloodshed," he parried, not wishing to explain
the true reason.
Donovan was silent. He drew her close to his side, his arm around the
slender shoulder that pressed near him. Edith's hair was against his
cheek, and he felt her warm breath on his throat.
The girl clung to him trustfully, her faith strong that the man she
loved would do what was best, under all circumstances.
They watched the flares splutter into smoky gloom as the Tartars pulled
down the poles. With this, the shooting from the tree tops dwindled
perforce. The horses ceased their plunging, and an unnatural quiet
settled upon the castle.
Once Donovan caught up his rifle and took a snap shot at a figure that
explored the base of the tower from the summit of the hold. The form
sank to the stone flooring and presently crawled away.
Again there was a brief clamor as the men below tried to take the tower
ladder by surprise, and Aravang came into action. Donovan did not even
think this important enough to go down the stairs, well knowing the
advantages of position possessed by their burly friend. Presently this
new tumult also ceased, and they knew that Aravang was still master of
the stair.
The smoke currents eddied away from the courtyard. The new moon
brightened, casting a luminous half light upon the plateau, the walls
of the _Kurgan_--a light that blurred all outlines and was more
treacherous than helpful.
Edith and Donovan watched it from the shelter of the dismantled beams
on the tower top. The girl snuggled close to him.
"I don't like this--this silence," she whispered.
"Oh, it's quite to be expected, Edith. Monsey is checkmated for a
moment. Our side had a good inning. His men probably are disturbed
by the failure of their plans and our appearance in the tower. These
natives are superstitious. They must have been startled by my voice----"
"Please, you are just trying to say nice things. That is what I tried
to tell you a little while ago."
Donovan, however, had been reasoning aloud. His mind was alert. He was
disappointed by the complete withdrawal of the Sayaks--as the quiet of
the plateau seemed to hint. What was Monsey doing? He knew the Russian
would not leave them unmolested in the tower.
If scaling ladders were being prepared, he would have heard some noise.
And if his enemies did not plan to rush the tower summit from without,
what were their intentions? To wait for daylight?
It was not likely, Donovan thought.
Dawn would give an advantage to Monsey, for the defenders of the tower
would then be visible. On the other hand, delay would bring Major
Fraser-Carnie and Arthur Rand nearer to Yakka Arik. No, Monsey would
hardly wait.
Edith did not try to think. She was resting against Donovan, thankful
for the interval of peace with him at her side. The peril of the
_Kurgan_ seemed to draw further off.
"Dearest, this is our hour of peace," she heard him say. "God--it will
be short. Brave heart that you are!"
His fingers trembled, touching the soft masses of her hair. She looked
up, reading the secret of the steadfast eyes that were close to hers in
the darkness.
Sheer triumph thrilled the girl. He loved her. Donovan Khan loved her.
No matter how short their hour of happiness, they would be together.
Bitterness was in the heart of the man. He had brought the woman he
loved to suffering and the shadow of death.
"Sweetheart of mine, did you really say you would--be my wife? Then
I didn't dream it, did I?" His arm tightened around her and his lips
brushed her closed eyes. He heard a soft, quivering laugh.
"Donovan Khan, you haven't said yet that you love me?"
"Love you--_you_, Edith? Why, I've done nothing else but that since you
came to Yakka Arik. Didn't you know?"
"But I wanted to hear you say it. Now everything's all right."
"It must be so for you, Edith. This nightmare will end; you'll sail
to England with me, won't you, darling? There's a jolly curate, my
uncle--a garden that was made for you----" something choked the man's
words.
"England is so far. There is an army chaplain at--at----"
Edith's voice failed, and Donovan closed her lips with a fierce kiss.
"Sreenugger, you darling!" He tried to look into the face that was
pressed tightly against his shoulder, and, failing, he murmured
inarticulately into her ear, his arm straining her to him.
And so did these two voice their love that was to Edith the most
splendid gift of this other world of the hills.
At a sound from below Donovan moved cautiously to the edge of the
parapet. Edith heard Monsey speak, from the shadows that clung to the
stone shelters of the courtyard.
"A truce, Donovan," he called. "Will you hold your fire, while we talk
terms?"
The man in the tower considered.
"If your men stay where they are--yes," he announced, keeping well
behind the stone breastwork. "No trickery, mind you!"
"Granted." The girl heard Monsey laugh. He spoke like one who held the
situation well in hand. "May I compliment you on the trick you played
us--warning off your Sayak friends? It was too bad, though, to give
your secret away. You will do well to accept my terms."
"I was going to propose some of my own."
"No use, Mr. Donovan Khan."
"I'm afraid not. The Sayaks have marked you for their own," Donovan
shifted guilefully into Turki, for the benefit of such of Monsey's men
as might be within hearing.
Edith caught an oath from the courtyard below. Then the Russian
responded something she could not understand. She leaned back against
the timbers, waiting. Into her eyes crept the glimmer of countless
stars. The heavens were afire, and in the clear mountain air the
jeweled radiance of the sky seemed very close to the wearied girl.
The murmur of the men's voices went on, and her eyes closed through
sheer drowsiness. She had not slept for nearly forty-eight hours. It
was Donovan's return that roused her from her stupor.
He spoke grimly.
"I must tell you this, Edith. Monsey's men are piling timbers and
firewood under the entrance hole of the tower--throwing the stuff in
from the door. He says that he will burn us out, if we don't surrender."
"Oh!" Edith sat up with sudden dread. "He wouldn't do that!"
Donovan did not answer at once. "He would, dear, to save his own skin.
I wonder if it's come to that? Somehow, I don't think so. Of course, if
I were alone here he'd jolly well start a bonfire at once----"
"Then we won't surrender, not a bit. And I'll stay right here, so there
will be no bonfire, as you say," she responded promptly. She knew
Monsey better than to ask--although she wanted to--whether Donovan
could be released, unhurt, if she gave herself up. She dreaded parting
with Donovan, even for a moment.
"You must think of yourself a little----" he protested.
"I am. And I don't want you to talk to him any more."
This ended the conference. Donovan reflected that the danger of fire
was the one that must have occurred to Aravang. The Englishman and
Aravang could not prevent the piling up of wood. A large blaze started
under the entrance to the tower would soon catch in the ruins of the
staircase and the tower itself would serve as a chimney for the draft.
Nevertheless, he fancied that this was Monsey's last card.
With Donovan's arm around her once more, the girl subsided into the
drowsiness she was powerless to fight She tried vainly to keep her eyes
open.
In this state of half-wakefulness, the whole aspect of her plight lost
its reality. What were the tower, the _Kurgan_, Monsey, but a bad
dream, like the one in Srinagar? Only Donovan was real. She rested her
cheek against his arm.
Dull sounds from the regions below failed to disturb her as they did
the man. He did not relish hearing an incendiary pyre prepared. But he
was powerless to do anything save watch from the tower top.
His arm tightened about the woman. She was his. Nothing must take her
away from him now----
Presently he shook her gently into consciousness.
"Listen," he said quietly.
A sound from the plateau had reached his keen ears. He could not
identify it. Edith hearkened.
"Why, it's camels," she said at once. "I ought to know their coughing
by now. But what in the world are camels doing around here?"
"I fancy you're right." He rose and stepped to the parapet. Something
was moving in front of the _Kurgan_. He strained his eyes through the
haze of moonlight. Some shapes, clumsy and grotesque, were taking
semblance.
The girl was not sure she was not still dreaming--except for Donovan's
aroused interest. Camels! Why, that was absurd. Unless a wandering herd
had strayed there----
"They are coming here," whispered Donovan.
She could hear the tinkle of rusty bells now, and the protesting cough
of the beasts--even the muffled calls of the drivers, still veiled in
the haze. Shadows were passing over the ground.
The thought came to her that here was aid; but at once she reflected
that her father's party must be mounted on horses. The only camels in
these mountain passes were those of Yakka Arik.
"It's a caravan," muttered Donovan. "Now, what does that mean?"
Already Edith was conscious that movement was afoot in the _Kurgan_
below them. Men were running to the wall. The _clink_ of metal echoed
faintly.