"There is a large section of our fellow subjects that votes Alpine
climbing the most incomprehensible form of lunacy known to science, on
the ground that to spend half one's life, and putting the whole of it in
pawn, scrambling up rocks and ice and snow, for the sake of getting to
the top of some pinnacle which a hundred people have already got to, and
thousands more eventually will, is to place one's self beyond the pale
of ordinary intelligence. But I wonder what such would say of a being
of mature age, and laying claim to the possession of ordinary
intelligence, who skips up in the middle of the night, and under the
guidance of an Asiatic whom he can't understand, and who can't
understand him, spends several hours crawling over boulders and along
blood curdling precipices, on the off-chance of one shot--and the
certainty of a miss--at an infernal wild goat, which is of no earthly
use to you when you get him, except to stick up his head and brag about
it ever after. The Alp-climber would have to cede to him the proud
distinction of prize imbecile, I guess."
Thus mused Campian, as, following in the wake of Bhallu Khan, he wormed
himself warily around an elbow of rock, between which and space, was a
foothold just twenty inches as to width, and precarious as to stability,
he bearing in mind the while two considerations--firstly, the
desirability of refraining from dislodging so much as a pebble;
secondly, the necessity of refraining from dislodging himself. The
first grey of early dawn was just breaking upon the mountain world, and
here he was spread-eagled against a cliff of dizzy height and well nigh
perpendicular formation: raked by a piercing wind, and wondering whether
he should eventually get off it by the ordinary tedious process of slow
and sure progression or by the rapid one of a false step--leading to
pulverisation. As to one consideration, however, he laboured under no
ambiguity of mind. Nothing on earth should induce him to return by the
way he had come, even if it must needs take a week to go round by some
safer way.
In due course however, the situation improved. The rock face grew less
perpendicular, the path wider, and finally they found themselves in a
steep gully. Here the old Pathan, pointing upward began signalling
vehemently, the gist of which Campian took to be that he must proceed
more noiselessly than ever, and that the ridge above being gained, they
would find markhor.
A clamber of a hundred feet--one pebble dislodged with a clatter,
bringing his heart to his mouth, and a reproachful glance from Bhallu
Khan--and they were cowering behind the top of the ridge. Campian
wanted a few moments to steady himself after their long, hard climb. He
could not shoot straight in a state of breathlessness, he declared.
It was quite light up here now, but the sun had not risen above the
eastern mountain-tops. As they peered over the ridge, the valley
beneath still lay in the grey half-dawn. But between it and their point
of vantage, on the rock-strewn slopes beneath, something was moving, and
it needed not the touch on the arm from the old Pathan and the barely
articulated whisper to set Campian's nerves tingling. He had already
taken the rifle from the forester so as to be in readiness.
"Markhor," he whispered.
Bhallu Khan nodded. A solitary ram, with fine horns, was browsing
unconcernedly. There was no getting any nearer. Campian set the sight
at four hundred yards. Then resting the rifle upon the rock in front of
him, he took a steady aim and drew trigger.
The roar of the piece among the echoing stillness of the craggy
solitudes was like a peal of thunder. The markhor gave one wild bound
into the air, and a thrill of exultation went through the shooter. But
the disappointed headshake of Bhallu Khan would promptly have undeceived
him, even had not the quarry taken to its heels and gone bounding down
the slope at a flying gallop. He let go a couple more shots from the
magazine, but wider than the first. Then he threw up the rifle in
mingled disgust and resignation, the markhor now being a mere bounding
and very badly frightened speck.
"No good!" he exclaimed. "Can't do anything with certainty over two
hundred yards, and that brute was nearer five than four. Well, I didn't
expect to, so am not disappointed, and it doesn't really matter a little
damn."
The only word of this reflection understood by Bhallu Khan being the
last, he smiled, and proceeded to expatiate in Hindustani, profusely
illustrating his harangue with signs. But of this, for his part,
Campian understood not even the last word.
He cared the less for his failure to bring down the game in that this
had not been his primary object. The pretext of sport had been a
pretext only. He wanted to explore the markhor cave, and that quietly
and by himself, wherefore, when a couple of days after their visit to
Jermyn he had suggested to Upward a markhor stalk, the latter,
remembering his expressed views on the subject of hard toil inadequately
rewarded, had evinced considerable surprise, but excused himself from
joining on that very ground, which was exactly what Campian had
expected.
Now they were no great distance above that cave, and he soon signalled
Bhallu Khan his desire to proceed thither. Somewhat to his surprise,
remembering the superstition attached, the old Pathan cheerfully
acquiesced, and a downhill climb of about three quarters of an hour
brought them to a position commanding its entrance. Signing him to
remain there and watch, the forester crawled round to the rock above the
gaping black fissure, where by dint of making a considerable noise, and
rattling down showers of stones, he hoped to drive forth its inmate.
But there came forth nothing.
"This markhor is a fraud, anyway," said Campian to himself. And he
signalled Bhallu Khan to return just as that estimable Asiatic had
himself arrived at the conclusion that there was no point in making
further efforts to scare out of a hole something which was not within
it. Then they sat on the rock together and conversed, as best they
could by signs, while Campian breakfasted on some sandwiches and the
contents of a business-like flask.
The sun had risen now, and was reddening the great craggy pinnacles on
high with the new glow of day. Later on these would bear an arid and
depressing aspect, but now they seemed to soar up proudly to the
deepening blue. Meditatively Campian watched the line of light as it
dropped lower and lower, soon to flood the valley with its fierce
heatwave. Now it had reached the _kotal_, now it was just touching the
junipers which embedded the forest bungalow. He could not see the
latter from his present position, it being shut off by a rounded spur;
but the immediate surroundings of it drew his glance. Not that they
reminded him--oh, no! He had needed no mere reminder since that chance
meeting three days ago. Bother thinking! Thinking was worse than
useless. Springing to his feet, he signed Bhallu Khan that he wanted to
explore the cave.
The fissure was easily approached, opening as it did on to a grass
ledge. Campian produced a couple of candles, thereby betraying
premeditation in this quest, and, lighting one, gave the other to the
old Pathan. Then they advanced into the darkness.
The fissure ran at a slant for about ten yards, then it widened out,
with a tolerably level floor, to an irregularly shaped rock chamber,
seeming to extend about thirty yards back. The light was flickering and
uncertain, and Campian, who was a little in front, felt his arm suddenly
and violently seized, and a voice vociferated in his ear. For a brief
fraction of a second the idea of treachery flashed through his mind;
then he recognised in Bhallu Khan's tone the vehemence not of menace but
of warning.
He had been about to step on a broad, black stripe which lay across the
floor of the cavern. Now he halted, his foot already raised. He
lowered his candle. The broad, black stripe was a fissure--a crevasse.
Of no great width was it--at that point only just wide enough to admit
his own body--still it _was_ wide enough. But what of its depth?
Motioning him to stand still, the forester picked up a handful of loose
stones, and dropped them in one by one. Both listened. The stones took
some time to strike anything, and then it was very far down. There was
yet a further and fainter concussion. Bhallu Khan smiled significantly,
and shook his head. Campian whistled. Both looked at each other. Then
they examined the crevasse again. No current of air arose, which argued
no outlet. But the thing was of ghastly depth.
"Your markhor is a fraud, Bhallu Khan," said Campian, as they inspected
the floor of the cave, and emphasising the statement by signs. "There
is no trace of such a thing ever having been into it."
The other smiled again, and nodded assent. But just then a sound
outside made them start and look at each other. It was that of a human
voice. Bhallu Khan blew out his light, and Campian followed his
example. Thus for a moment they waited.
Footsteps were advancing into the cave. Then the striking of a match.
They made out the figure of a man approaching--a native--bearing a
lighted candle, which he shaded with his hand. Behind him came another
figure, which they could not make out.
"Salaam, brother," said Bhallu Khan in Hindustani, at the same time
lighting his own candle.
The effect on the newcomer was disturbing. He gave a violent start,
dropping the candle, which went out. But by their own light Campian
could see a business-like revolver pointed straight at him, while a
full, clear, feminine voice cried out in purest English:
"Don't move, or I fire!"
It was his turn to start now. That voice! There was no other like it
in the world. He replied calmly:
"Yes. Pull off. You may as well. It won't really matter much."
"Oh!" Just a little cry escaped Vivien Wymer. She lowered the weapon,
then laughed, and there was a note in her laugh which, in one less self
possessed, less self reliant, might almost have been taken for
hysterical. "Who would have thought of finding you--anyone--here?" she
went on. "But I believe I was the more startled of the two."
"Yes, I am sure you were," he replied, advancing now into the light.
"We haven't said `How d'you do?' yet, and it's as well to keep up the
conventionalities."
She put forth her hand to meet his, and again they clasped hands. Again
they had met under strange and unlooked for circumstances--here, in the
semi-gloom of the mountain cave.
"I was so interested in hearing about this place," she said. "Mr
Upward's account of it seemed to hold my imagination, and I felt moved
to explore it for myself. I did not feel inclined to wait for a scheme
that might never come off. Besides, the associations of mystery and a
touch of eeriness would have no effect in the midst of an every day,
sceptical crowd."
"Great minds jump together! That was precisely my own idea. But who is
with you? Surely you are not alone, with only one servant, and not a
very reliable one at that, judging from his behaviour just now. It is
hardly safe, is it?"
"Yes, it is. All these northern border tribes are of the best type of
Mohammedan, and respect women. No, I am not afraid."
"You did not seem so just now, at any rate. But it is not only of that
sort of danger I was thinking. A gloomy hole like this might conceal
all kinds of hidden peril. It might be the den of a panther, or a wolf,
or even a snake. For instance, look at this. Keep behind me, though."
He led the way--it was only a few steps--to the scene of his own narrow
escape. There yawned the cleft, black and hideous.
"Keep back," he said, extending an arm instinctively, as though to bar a
nearer advance, and in doing so his hand accidentally closed upon hers.
He did not let it remain there, but it seemed as though a magnetic touch
were conveyed from frame to frame, and there came a softness into his
tone which accorded well with the protecting, shielding attitude.
"Is it very deep?" asked Vivien, holding her candle over the brim, and
peering down into the blackness.
"Well, judging by the sound, it takes a stone a good while to get to the
bottom. I should have been there myself long before this but for Bhallu
Khan here. In fact, I was placidly walking into it when he laid violent
hands on me."
"Really? How horrible! Let's leave it now, and go outside. The idea
of such a thing oppresses one in here."
She turned away. Her voice was unshaken. Beyond just a faint
quickening in her tone, she might have been listening to some mere
abstract risk run by somebody she had never seen or heard of before, and
Campian could not see her face.
"Just take one more look around before you go outside," he said. "The
idea of those hidden valuables being here won't wash. Both floor and
walls are of solid rock. There is no possibility of burying anything."
"Hardly, I should think," she answered, after a few moments' critical
survey of the interior. "But, this is not an artificial cavern,
surely?"
"No. I have seen others rather like it, though none quite of its size.
But if you follow out the formation of the place, it is all on the same
slant. The crevasse, to be sure, is at something of a different angle,
but that is nothing to go by here, where the whole side of a mountain is
seamed and criss-crossed with the most irregular network of fissures."
"What if the things are at the bottom of that cleft?" said Vivien.
At the bottom of it! This was a new idea. Was it a new light? But he
replied:
"Then they will remain there till the crack of doom. The hole is of
immense depth--Bhallu Khan and I sounded it from every point--and is
sure to contain noxious gas at a certain distance below the surface. Do
you mind if I ask you a favour?--oh nothing very great!" seeing her
start. "It is not to talk about this, or speculate before others as to
the possibility of such a thing existing."
"Why, of course, if you wish it! But--do you believe in it, then?"
"Perhaps partly. But it may be that I have something to go upon. When
I have more I will tell you more--but--I am forgetting--how on earth can
it interest you?"
"But it will interest me very much--and--" "you know it," she was going
to add, but substituted: "life is prosaic enough for a romantic search
of this sort to add new interest to it. How is it I did not know you
were here?"
"Here--on this spot, or in this country?"
"On this spot, I mean. The other is easily understood. We have been
living out of the way so long, and I see so few people. And you have
only recently arrived?"
"Yes. As to being in here, I had no pony to leave outside. I have been
climbing the mountains after markhor, hence a tolerably disreputable old
Khaki suit, and a battered and general air of not having been to bed all
night."
"Did you have any success?"
"No. I got in one shot, but missed it of course, just as I was saying
when up at your place the other day. However, what I really wanted to
do was to come in quietly here and explore."
"So did I. Where is my syce, I wonder? There is my pony," looking
around, for they had regained the entrance of the cave. "Ah! I see
him. He is at his prayers. Your man has joined him."
"Yes. Old Bhallu Khan is a whale at piety. I should think he stood a
first-class chance of the seventh heaven."
"These people are very devout," said Vivien, looking towards the two
Mohammedans, who, with their shoes off, and their chuddas spread on the
ground as praying carpets, were prostrating their foreheads to the
earth, and otherwise following out the prescribed formula--facing
towards the holy city. "I sometimes wonder if it is all on the
surface."
"I don't know why it should be. We make a good deal of show, too,
though in a different way; but I doubt if we are any better than they.
In fact, it is more than possible we are actually worse. But John Bull
has a fine, hearty, overgrown, schoolboy contempt for anything he can't
understand, and to him the bowings and prostrations enjoined by the
Moslem form of worship is sheer nonsense. For my part, I am not sure it
is not even too refined for him."
"Perhaps. I have often thought that to these people we must seem
something worse than Pagans. I hardly wonder at their fanatical hatred
of us."
"Neither do I, the more so that our attitude towards them is for the
most part well exemplified in the remark made to me by a fine wooden
specimen of John Bull the other day coming down the Red Sea. Two or
three of these travelling traders had got up on the forecastle, and were
praying towards Mecca. `Ever see such humbug in your life?' says this
chump. I said I had, and far greater humbug; in fact, couldn't see any
humbug in the present performance at all. Oh, but it was all on the
surface! How did he know that? I asked him. Oh, because they would
lie and cheat and so forth. But so would nine-tenths of the English
commercially engaged, I answered. Whereat he snorted, and moved off.
He thought I was a fool. I knew he was one."
"Very much so," assented Vivien. "I detest that wooden-headedness which
no amount of moving about the world will ever teach to think. And now
that those two good people are through with their devotions, it is time
I got home again. Oh, Meran Buksh, _ghora lao_!"
The syce sprang to execute this order, and in a minute Vivien's pony was
before her, ready to mount.
"Why this is the first time you have ever put me on a horse," she said,
as Campian seemed to be arranging her skirt with minute care, "and how
well you did it."
"Thanks," he said. "There. I hope you will not have too hot a ride
home. Good-bye."
"Good-bye. You will be coming up to see us again soon, I suppose, or we
shall be going to see Mrs Upward. You are going to make some stay, are
you not?"
He replied in the affirmative, and, looking at her as she sat there with
easy grace, he felt that never had his self-possession been in greater
peril. Cool and fresh and sweet in her light blouse and riding-skirt--
her glance full and serene meeting his--the flush of health mantling
beneath the soft skin, she was a picture in her dark, brilliant
attractiveness, framed against the background of savage rocks and ragged
junipers.
"Good-bye," was all he said.
A pressure of the hand, and she turned her pony and rode away at a walk,
the syce following.
Campian watched her out of sight. Then he did a curious thing--at any
rate for a man of mature age and judgment. He returned to the cave and
picked up a small rough stone, quite an ordinary stone it was, but while
they had stood talking Vivien had been rolling this stone absently to
and fro beneath the sole of her boot. Now he picked it up, and,
glancing at it for a moment, put it in his pocket. But he seemed to
change his mind, for, pulling it forth again, he hurled it away far over
the rocks.
Then he started out in the direction of Upward's camp, old Bhallu Khan,
carrying the rifle, following close at his heels.