Meanwhile those in the waiting room were doing all they could to make
good their position, and that was not much. Their first attempt at
forcing an entrance having failed, the four Marris had rushed among
their countrymen who had firearms, striving to bring them against the
door in force, or rake the room with a volley through the window, but
their attention at the time was taken up with other matters, which
afforded the beleaguered ones a brief respite.
"Non-combatants up here," said Campian, pointing to the ladder and the
trap door which has been mentioned. "Isn't that the order, Colonel?"
"Yes, certainly. Up you go, Vivien."
But Vivien refused to stir.
"I can do something at close quarters, too," she said, drawing her
revolver.
"Give it to me. I've not got mine with me. Now--go upstairs."
"I may be of use here. Here's the pistol, though," handing it over.
"Will you obey orders, Viv? What sort of a soldier's niece are you?"
"Do go," said Campian, looking at her. "Well, I will, then."
As she ascended the iron ladder Campian followed her up, under pretext
of aiding her. In reality he managed so he should serve to screen her
from any shot that might be fired, for the ladder was in full view of
the window.
"I know why you came up behind me," she whispered as she gained the
loft. "It was to shield me in case they fired."
Then, before he had time to begin his descent, she bent her head and
kissed him, full on the lips.
Not a word did he speak as he went down that ladder again. The blood
thrilled and tingled through his frame. Not all the fury of fanaticism
which spurred the Ghazis on to mania could surpass the exaltation of
fearlessness which was upon him as he tried to treasure up the warm
sweetness of that kiss--and after five years!
"Campian, confound it! We have only a dozen shots among us," growled
the Colonel. "What an ass I am to go about without a pistol."
"We can do a lot with a dozen shots. And Der' Ali has his tulwar."
Der' Ali was the Colonel's bearer, who had been within at the time of
the onslaught. He had been a trooper in his master's old regiment, and
they had seen service together on more than one occasion. What had
become of the two syces and the forest guard, who were outside, they did
not then know, for then the whole volume of the savage fanatics came
surging up to the door. In their frenzy they fired wild shots at the
solid iron plates.
"Tell them, Der' Ali," growled Colonel Jermyn, in Hindustani, "that they
had better clear out and leave us alone. The _Sirkar_ will hang every
man Jack of their tribe if they interfere with us. And the first man in
here we'll shoot dead; and the rest of them to follow."
The bearer, who understood Baluchi well, rendered this, not minimising
the resource and resolution of those within as he did so. A wild yell
greeted his words. Then one, more frenzied or enterprising than the
rest, pushed his rifle through the window, and the smashing of glass
mingled with the report as he blazed into the room. But those within
were up to that move. The window being on a line with the door, they
had only to flatten themselves against the wall, and the bullet smashed
harmless.
Then there was a rush on the window. Two men crashed through, badly cut
by the glass. Before they could recover themselves they were shot dead.
Even Campian's wretched stores revolver did its work on this occasion.
That halted the rest--for the moment.
Only for the moment. By a rapid movement, crawling beneath the level of
the window sill, several managed to discharge their rifles well into the
room. Narrowly the bullets missed the defenders.
"Look here. This is getting hot," growled the Colonel. "Let's give
them one more volley and go into the loft. There one of us can hold the
place for ever against the crowd."
Campian had his doubts about the strategical wisdom of this. However,
just then there was another rush through the window, and this time his
revolver jammed. Outside were thirty furious Ghazis, urging each other
on with wild fanatical yells. If they two were cut down what of Vivien?
That decided him. She could hold that trap door against the crowd.
"All right, Colonel. Up you go. I and Der' Ali will hold the window."
"You and Der' Ali be damned," growled the staunch old veteran. "Obey
orders, sir."
"No, no. You forget I'm only a civilian, and not under orders. And--
you must be with Vivien."
No time was this for conventionalities, but even then the old man
remembered the evening of the earthquake. "Well, I'll cover your
retreat from the ladder," he said, and up he went.
Campian, by a wrench, brought the cylinder of his weapon round. Then,
sighting the head of a Ghazi thrust prominently forward, he let go. It
was a miss, but a near one. Under cover of it both he and the bearer
gained the loft. A strange silence reigned. The assailants seemed to
have drawn off.
It was a breathing space, and surely these needed it. The excitement
and energetic action brought a relapse. So sudden was the change from a
quiet ordinary leave taking to this hell of combat and bloodshed, that
it told upon the nerves more than upon the physical resources. Then,
too, they could sum up their position. Here they were beyond all
possibility of relief. It was only three o'clock in the afternoon. No
train would be due at Mehriab until eleven the next morning. Meanwhile
these bloodthirsty barbarians would stick at nothing to reach their
victims. These were cut off from human aid as entirely, to all intents
and purposes, as though thousands of miles within the interior of Africa
instead of in the heart of a theoretically peaceful country, over which
waved the British flag.
"If only the telegraph clerk had been able to send a wire," said the
Colonel. "But even if the poor devil wasn't cut down at the start, he'd
have been in too big a scare to be able to put his dots and dashes
together."
Suddenly, with an appalling clatter, two or three logs were hurled
through the window on to the floor of the waiting room below. Then some
more, followed by a splash of liquid and a tin can. But the throwers
did not show.
"By the Lord, they are going to try burning us out," said Campian, in a
low tone, watching the while for an enemy to show himself.
Then came more logs. They were old sleepers which had been piled up
beside the line, and were as dry as lucifer matches. On to them came a
great heap of tattered paper--the return forms and books found in the
station offices. The assailants could load up a great pyre thus without
incurring the slightest risk to themselves--could set it alight, too.
That was what came of the British way of doing things--a heavily
armoured and loop-holed door, and, alongside of it, an open and entirely
unprotected window. Truly Upward had been right when he conjectured the
Russians would have had a different way. No nation under the sun is
more wedded to shortsightedness and red tape than that which is
traditionally supposed to rule the waves.
Now indeed a feeling of blank despair came into the hearts of at any
rate two out of the four as they watched these preparations. Vivien,
fortunately, could not see them, for with splendid patience she sat
quite still, and refrained from hampering her defenders, even with
useless questions. The reek of paraffin rose up strong and sickening.
The assailants had flung another can of it upon the pile of
combustibles. All this they could do without exposing themselves in the
least.
"Heavens I are we to be roasted or smoked in a hole?" growled the
Colonel. "Cannot we cut our way through?"
Campian said nothing. His thoughts were too bitter. He had some belief
that these barbarians would not harm Vivien. But death had never been
less welcome than at that moment.
"Could we not propose terms to them, Colonel? Offer a big ransom, say?"
"Nothing like trying. Der' Ali, ask the _budmashes_ how many rupees
they want to clear out and leave us alone."
The bearer, who spoke Baluchi well, did as he was told. The reply came
sharp and decided. "Not any."
"Try again, Der' Ali. Tell the fools they'll be none the better for
killing us, and we'll promise to do nothing towards having them caught.
In fact, promise them anything."
Then Der' Ali, who was no fool, put the offer before them in its most
tempting light. Everyone knew the Colonel Sahib. His word had never
been broken, why should it be this time? The rupees would make them
rich men for life, and would be paid with all secrecy. A Moslem
himself, Der' Ali quoted the Koran voluminously. It was not for
themselves that they feared death, it was on account of the mem-sahib,
for if they were slain what would become of her? And what said the Holy
Koran? "If ye be kind towards women, and fear to wrong them, God is
well acquainted with what ye do."
For a time there was silence. The suspense of the beleaguered ones was
terrible. Then the reply came.
"If the Colonel Sahib would give his promise to pay over the sum of five
thousand rupees to an accredited messenger at a certain spot in eight
days' time he and the mem-sahib and their servant should be spared. But
the other sahib must come down and deliver himself into their hands."
"That's all right," said Campian cheerfully, when this had been
rendered. "They want me as a hostage. Things are looking up. When
they finger the rhino they'll turn me adrift again, and meanwhile I
shall see something of the inner life of the wily Baluch."
"Tell them we'll double the sum if they let all four of us go," said the
Colonel.
Der' Ali put this, but the reply of the leader was again prompt and
decided. It was in the negative. The other sahib must come and deliver
himself into their hands.
"The question is, can we trust them?" said the Colonel. "Will they keep
to their conditions in any case? Once we are out of this we are at
their mercy."
"Are we less so here?" said Campian. "A match put to that nice little
pile and we shall be smoked or roasted in no time. No. Strike while
the iron's hot, say I. Der' Ali, make them swear by all that they hold
sacred to keep faith with us, and then I'll come down."
"Who is your leader, brothers?" called out the bearer.
"I, Ihalil Mohammed Khan," returned the same deep voice that had before
spoken.
Then Der' Ali put to him the most binding oath he could call to mind,
and Ihalil accepted it without hesitation. He bound himself by all the
virtues of the Prophet, by the Koran, and by the holy Caaba, faithfully
to observe the conditions he had laid down--in short, he almost swore
too much.
"Say we accept, Der' Ali. I'm coming down."
"God bless you, my boy," said the Colonel, as he wrung the other's hand
in farewell. "If it was only ourselves, I'd say let's all hang
together. But for Vivien's sake. There, good-bye."
"Rather--so long, we'll say," was the cheerful reply. "I'll show up
again in a few days."
Vivien said nothing. A silent pressure of the hands was the extent to
which she could trust herself.
For all his assumed cheerfulness it was a critical moment for Campian,
as once more he stood upon the floor of the waiting room, and, stumbling
over the heaped-up combustibles, stepped outside into the full glare of
daylight. His nerves were at their highest tension. The chances that
he would be cut to pieces or not the moment he showed his face were
about even. As in a flash, that question as to whether he was ever
afraid of anything darted through his mind. At that moment he was
conscious of feeling most horribly and unheroically afraid.
No one would have thought it to look at him, though--certainly not those
into whose midst he now stepped.
"Salaam, brothers!" he said in Hindustani, with a glance at the ring of
shaggy scowling faces which hemmed him in.
The salute was sullenly returned, and then Ihalil, beckoning him to
follow, led the way down the platform, surrounded by the whole party.
They passed the body of the murdered policeman and that of the
stationmaster, and at these some of the barbarians turned to spit, with
muttered curses; and the platform, smeared and splattered with blood,
was like the floor of a slaughter-house. Even the dirty white garments
of the murderers were splashed with it.
Out through the gate at the end of the platform they went. Heavens, was
the whole thing a dream--a nightmare? Why, it was less than an hour ago
they had entered that gate all so light hearted and unthinking. He
remembered the _badinage_ he had been exchanging with Nesta as they
passed in through it--and more than one reference as to meeting in
Shalalai in a week or two. Now--who could say whether he would meet
anybody again--in a week or two or ever? And then his sight fell upon
that which caused him well nigh to give up hope.
In the shade before the station master's private quarters, a man was
squatting--a wild, fierce-looking Baluchi. Before him the whole party
now halted, treating him as with the deference due to a leader. But one
glance at the grim, cruel face and eagle beak, and shaggy knotted brows,
sufficed. In him Campian recognised the man who had scowled so
demoniacally upon him in the retinue of the Marri sirdar--the man he had
wounded and lamed for life when set upon by the Ghazis in the Kachin
valley. And this man was no other than the celebrated outlaw Umar Khan,
and now, he was his prisoner.
And at that very moment it occurred to those left behind in the loft
that any sort of stipulation as to the said prisoner being returned
unharmed on the payment of the sum agreed upon had been entirely left
out of the covenant.