As they rode forth from the village fort, and its gates closed behind
them, Campian could not but once more realise the strangeness of life,
and the sudden and unexpected turns the wheel of fate will take. He had
entered in a state of swooning unconsciousness, swung, in agonising and
ignominious attitude, one bale among the many which constitute a camel's
load. Now he rode forth at the right hand of the powerful Marri sirdar,
whose honoured guest and almost blood-brother he had become, and that by
a fortuitous chance which partook of the nature of a triviality. He was
mounted on a fine steed, and his worn and dingy garments had been
replaced, as though by magic, by the finest and snowiest of raiment--
even to one of the chief's highly ornamented vests of state.
How good it was to breathe again the air of freedom. Even the desert
waste in its wide expanse, the jagged treeless mountain peaks, took on
all manner of soft and changing lights in the golden glow of the
cloudless afternoon. Soon his terrible experiences would be as a dream
of the past. No impatience was upon him now. Life had taught him a
certain amount of philosophy, and so completely had he identified
himself with the part he had for months past been forced to sustain,
that something of the Eastern stoicism had transmitted itself to him.
Now he could allow himself to think--to dwell upon those last days
before the tragedy that had forced him into captivity and peril and
exile. Yet, why that uneasy stirring--why that misgiving? Could it be
that his impending restoration to nineteenth century life brought with
it something of the cares and pains and heart-searchings of busy,
up-to-date, restless, end of the century struggle after chimeras and
will o' the wisps? For months now all trace of him would have been
lost. He would have been given up as dead. How would Vivien accept the
general opinion? Perhaps she had long since left Shalalai. He
remembered their last parting well--ah, so well! But it had taken place
under stress of circumstances--of circumstances abnormal and strained.
In cooler moments all might have been different. And acting upon this
idea he had made no stipulation or request that he should be escorted to
Shalalai previous to revealing the place of concealment of the long
buried treasure. He had known experience of a meeting of this sort--all
the anticipation, the dwelling upon the thought thereof day and night,
the figuring out of its programme, and all the rest of it--and then,
when it came--mere commonplace; disappointment perhaps--not to say a
strong dash of disillusionment.
To reach the Kachin valley would take them some days--but Campian easily
prevailed upon the sirdar to despatch a swift messenger to Shalalai
announcing his safety and approaching return--and, indeed, it suited Yar
Hussain's own plans to do this.
We left that chief under arrest. Not long, however, was he detained.
It was found practically impossible on investigation to hold him
responsible for the doings of Umar Khan; moreover he represented, and
with perfect truth, that the hostage's interests were likely to suffer
from such detention--even if it did not entail upon him actual peril.
So he was released.
Even then, however, he was in an ugly and vindictive frame of mind, and
whether his intervention or protection would have been extended to the
captive under ordinary circumstances, it is hard to say. As it was, the
mere accidental glimpse of the ring worn by Campian had worked wonders.
The fact was that Campian seldom wore this ring. He had done so of
late, thinking it in keeping with the Eastern dress he had assumed, but
formerly he had hardly remembered that it was in his possession. Even
of late, however, it had passed unnoticed, partly from the fact of Ain
Asraf's sight being dim with age partly that none of those who custodied
him were of the family of Dost Hussain. Fortunate, indeed, that it had
been upon his finger at that critical moment.
At a village on their road they fell in with Ain Asraf. The old Syyed
was genuinely rejoiced at beholding his neophyte once more. The latter,
in spite of his own protests, anger, menaces even, had been spirited off
by the lawless and irreligious followers of Umar Khan, nor had he been
able to learn his whereabouts.
"Ah, my son," he said at the close of their cordial greeting, "Allah
watches over His own--and His Prophet holds hell in store for they who
oppress them. Yet, it is well. I may no more be with thee to instruct
thee in the fair flowers of the faith. Yet forget not that Allah has
delivered thee in thine extremity, and that not once."
Then he signed that the hour of prayer was at hand, and all dismounted,
and the same orisons--uttered alike by chief and lowest herdsman--by the
upright and the criminal--by the true ally and treacherous outlaw--went
up from the desert sand from that group with their faces to the setting
sun.
The old Syyed attached himself to their band, being readily provided, by
the people of the village, with a camel, for they had no horses, and was
treated with great deference by all--both as the uncle of the chief, and
in his capacity of saint. Through the medium of Sohrab Khan, the
English speaking Baluchi, Campian was able to while away the monotony of
the road in converse. He learnt much of what had befallen since his
captivity--of the arrest of the Sirdar, the anxiety as to his own fate,
and the doings of Umar Khan, with whom his present friends seemed not
altogether out of sympathy--in fact, he decided that if it depended upon
their aid, the chances of capturing that redoubted freebooter were
infinitesimal. Thus they fared onward, day after day, through _tangi_
and over _kotal_, threading deep mountain valleys, and traversing
sun-baked plains; now resting for the night at mud-walled villages, now
camping out in the open beneath the desert stars.
The Kachin valley at last! How well he remembered its long, deep
configuration. Now after his enforced wanderings over those grim
deserts, even its sparse foliage was like a cool and refreshing oasis.
And what experiences, strange and startling, had he not known within its
narrow limits. There, above the juniper growth rose the mass of rock
wherein was the markhor cave. It seemed strange to think that the face
of that ordinarily rugged mountain side should contain what it did.
Then a misgiving seized him. What if it should contain nothing? What
if he had been allowing his over-wrought imagination to run away with
him? The chest was there--no doubt about that, but what if it contained
nothing more than a lot of old parchments, or a storage of ordinarily
trumpery trinkets? Things might, in that event, take an awkward turn.
But no, he would not believe it. The strength of the chain, the weight
of the chest, the weird, unheard of place of its concealment, the care
and labour involved in designing such a hiding place, all pointed to
this being the object of his search. And then, too, the topographical
features of the surroundings were all exactly as set forth in his
father's instructions. Every piece of the puzzle seemed to fit in to a
nicety.
And this chief was the son of the refugee Afghan whose life his father
had saved, and in the inscrutable workings of time it had come about
that the debt should be repaid twofold, that his own life should be
saved, first by the brother, then by the son of Dost Hussain. On the
eventual slaughter of the latter by the Brahuis, Yar Hussain then an
infant, had found refuge with the Marri tribe, and by dint of descent on
his mother's side, had, on reaching years of manhood, claimed and seized
the position he now held. All this Campian learned as they travelled
along; and a very stirring--if complicated--tale of Eastern intrigue,
and fierce, ruthless tribal feud it was.
A feeling of awe was upon the party as they entered the gloomy crack
which constituted the portal of the now historic markhor cave. Upon the
Baluchis the superstitious associations which clustered round the place
had their effect. The Syyed Ain Asraf was muttering copious exorcisms
and adjurations from the sacred book, and the wild desert warriors were
overawed at the thought that here was about to be unfolded that which
had been placed there by the hands of those long since dead. Upon the
European, however, the associations were multifold. That first
exploration of the cave, the chance arrival of Vivien Wymer, and their
long, quiet talk as they investigated it together all came back to him.
Then the tragedy, his escape, and the hours he had spent hanging in the
very mouth of that hideous gulf--here again the hidden hoard of the dead
chief had been instrumental in preserving the life of his rescuer's son,
for what would the latter have done but for the resting place afforded
by the chain and that which it supported, whit time Umar Khan, with his
bloodthirsty brigands had run him literally to earth?
Taking a torch from one of the bystanders, and holding it out at arm's
length over the gulf, he said:
"Look down there, my brother, yonder is the Ruby Sword."
"I see nothing," replied Yar Hussain, who, lying flat on the brink, was
peering over. "Stay--yes. Something is hanging. It is of iron. It is
a chain. You--three of you--hold your lights out over yon black opening
of hell." Then as they obeyed he went on--"Yes. There it is. There is
a chest--bound with brass. Of a truth the secret is at length
revealed."
Even the impassive reticence of the Oriental seemed to relax. There was
a note of strong excitement in the deep tones of the chief, and his eyes
dilated as he beheld at last that which contained his long buried
heirloom. He gave orders that the chest should be at once drawn up.
This was not difficult. By Campian's advice they had come well provided
with strong camel-hide ropes. These were noosed, and the loops being
swung round the chest on either side of the chain--a very simple process
in the strong light of many torches--were drawn tight. Then, at the
word from Campian, who superintended the operation, and whose interest
and excitement were hardly less than that of the chief, they hauled
away. The chest proved of less weight than they expected, and lo!--in a
trice--it lay safe upon the floor of the cave.
Many and pious were the ejaculations of those who beheld. The massive
chain, somewhat indented in the wood through the weight it had so long
sustained, was at length filed through, and the chest borne to the
entrance of the cave to be opened in full daylight.
Seen there it was indeed black and venerable with age, and the lettering
on the cover so blurred that the old eyes of Ain Asraf were hardly equal
to the task of deciphering it. But the impatience of those around was
deepening every moment, and Yar Hussain with his own hands began to open
the chest.
It was secured by cunning locks, the device of which was known to him.
The hinges, stiff and rusty with age and damp, at first would not turn,
then yielded to a couple of hearty tugs. The while every head was
craned forward, every spectator was breathless with expectation. As an
instance of how one can persuade oneself into a belief in any theory,
even now no misgiving came to Campian lest the chest should contain
nothing of any value.
An aromatic and pungent odour filled the air on the opening of the box.
At first a layer of sheepskin vellum, then parchments. At these Yar
Hussain merely glanced hurriedly and continued his investigations. One
bag--then another--five bags of the same soft sheepskin and carefully
tied, each about the size of an orange. On opening these--lo! three of
them contained precious stones, cut, and some of splendid size and
water. The other two were filled with uncut stones. This was beginning
to look promising.
The next layer being uncovered yielded to view some magnificent personal
ornaments, bracelets and the like, thickly jewelled. These were lifted
out, and then the third skin covering being removed, that contained by
the last and lower compartment of the chest lay revealed. Something
long, wrapped in several rolls of the soft wash leather. Carefully,
almost reverently, Yar Hussain unfolded these and--There it lay, in the
bottom of the chest, hilt and scabbard literally glowing with splendid
rose red jewels, relieved by the white flash of diamonds, dazzling the
eyes of the beholders with the suddenness of its glare--there it lay, in
its long hidden splendour, the cherished heirloom of the refugee Durani
chief--the priceless Ruby Sword.
For some moments the surrounding Baluchis stood staring in stupefied
silence, then they broke forth in ejaculations as to the wonderful ways
of Allah, and so forth. Campian, beholding the wealth thus displayed,
could not but feel some sort of qualm as he remembered how he might have
concealed his knowledge until able to turn it to his own material
account. It was only momentary, however, and he was the first to break
in with a practical remark.
"Hearken, Sohrab Khan," he said. "I think I have now done all that I
can do. Tell the sirdar that he and his have returned to me the service
that my father rendered to his, have returned it twofold, and I, for my
part, am rejoiced to have been the means by which he has come into the
possession of his own. But there are those in Shalalai I would fain see
again, and if it is all the same to him, I think"--with a glance at the
sun--"we might fetch Mehriab station in time to catch the afternoon
train."
This very Western and end of the nineteenth century phrase breaking in
upon such a scene of Eastern and mediaeval romanticism struck its
utterer as almost ludicrous in its incongruity.
"In truth, that is comprehensible," replied Yar Hussain, when this
suggestion was put to him--"and it shall be done. Yes, my brother, who
art now one of us, thy wishes shall be fulfilled. But now, receive
this,"--placing in his hand one of the bags of cut stones--"and choose
from among these,"--pointing to the jewelled bracelets--"that some
recompense may be made thee for thy sufferings at the hands of our
people, and that the remembrance of thy brethren here may be pleasant
and sweet when thou art among thine own people in the years to come."
Campian, repressing the momentary instinct which moved him to decline so
splendid a gift, made choice of one of the bracelets--not one of the
best, however. It was a splendid ornament for all that, and a
tightening of the heart went through him as he wondered to himself if it
would ever be worn. Then he asked if he could keep the Durani ring,
which he valued more than ever.
"Surely," was the sirdar's reply. "In truth it is restored to a
believer, and hath amply fulfilled its mission."
When the train for Shalalai stopped at Mehriab station that day, the few
European passengers it contained were lazily astonished by the presence
on the platform of an evidently important Baluchi sirdar, accompanied by
a large retinue. Their astonishment grew to activity, however, when one
of the group, before entering a first-class carriage, took leave of them
in excellent English, which was duly translated to the chief and his
following by one of their number, the departure of the train being
signalled by a perfect chorus of farewell "salaams" from those left
behind. They were destined to be still more mightily astonished upon
the arrival of the train at the last station or two before Shalalai by
the appearance of a European, of military or official aspect, who
greeted the supposed Oriental with cordial handgrip, singing out in a
voice that carried the whole length of the train:
"Devilish glad to see you back, old chap. And I've brought you your
togs, so you'll have time to get into them as we go along. By George,
though, you look no end of a real sirdar in that get-up, all the same."
And taking a Gladstone bag from the attendant bearer, he jumped in too.