To Cumner’s Son when all was told, Pango Dooni said: “If my son be dead
where those jackals swarm, it is well he died for his friend. If he be
living, then it is also well. If he be saved, we will march to Mandakan,
with all our men, he and I, and it shall be as Cumner wills, if I stay
in Mandakan or if I return to my hills.”
“My father said in the council-room, ‘Better the strong robber than the
weak coward,’ and my father never lied,” said the lad dauntlessly. The
strong, tall chief, with the dark face and fierce eyes, roused in him
the regard of youth for strong manhood.
“A hundred years ago they stole from my fathers the State of Mandakan,”
answered the chief, “and all that is here and all that is there is mine.
If I drive the kine of thieves from the plains to my hills, the cattle
were mine ere I drove them. If I harry the rich in the midst of the
Dakoon’s men, it is gaining my own over naked swords. If I save your
tribe and Cumner’s men from the half-bred jackal Boonda Broke, and hoist
your flag on the Palace wall, it is only I who should do it.”
Then he took the lad inside the house, with the great wooden pillars and
the high gates, and the dark windows all barred up and down with iron,
and he led him to a court-yard where was a pool of clear water. He made
him bathe in it, and dark-skinned natives brought him bread dipped in
wine, and when he had eaten they laid him on skins and rubbed him dry,
and rolled him in soft linen, and he drank the coffee they gave him, and
they sat by and fanned him until he fell asleep.
.......................
The red birds on the window-sill sang through his sleep into his dreams.
In his dreams he thought he was in the Dakoon’s Palace at Mandakan with
a thousand men before him, and three men came forward and gave him a
sword. And a bird came flying through the great chambers and hung over
him, singing in a voice that he understood, and he spoke to the three
and to the thousand, in the words of the bird, and said:
“It is fighting, and fighting for honour and glory and houses and kine,
but naught for love, and naught that there may be peace.”
And the men said in reply: “It is all for love and it is all for peace,”
and they still held out the sword to him. So he took it and buckled it
to his side, and the bird, flying away out of the great window of the
chamber, sang: “Peace! Peace! Peace!” And Pango Dooni’s Son standing by,
with a shining face, said, “Peace! Peace!” and the great Cumner said,
“Peace!” and a woman’s voice, not louder than a bee’s, but clear above
all others, said, “Peace!”
......................
He awoke and knew it was a dream; and there beside him stood Pango
Dooni, in his dress of scarlet and gold and brown, his broadsword
buckled on, a kris at his belt, and a rich jewel in his cap.
“Ten of my captains and three of my kinsmen are come to break bread with
Cumner’s Son,” said he. “They would hear the tale of our kinsmen who
died against the Palace wall, by the will of the sick Dakoon.”
The lad sprang to his feet fresh and well, the linen and skins falling
away from his lithe, clean body and limbs, and he took from the slaves
his clothes. The eye of the chief ran up and down his form, from his
keen blue eyes to his small strong ankle.
“It is the body of a perfect man,” said he. “In the days when our State
was powerful and great, when men and not dogs ruled at Mandakan, no man
might be Dakoon save him who was clear of mote or beam; of true bone and
body, like a high-bred yearling got from a perfect stud. But two such
are there that I have seen in Mandakan to-day, and they are thyself and
mine own son.”
The lad laughed. “I have eaten good meat,” said he, “and I have no muddy
blood.”
When they came to the dining-hall, the lad at first was abashed, for
twenty men stood up to meet him, and each held out his hand and spoke
the vow of a brother-in-blood, for the ride he had made and his honest
face together acted on them. Moreover, whom the head of their clan
honoured they also willed to honour. They were tall, barbaric-looking
men, and some had a truculent look, but most were of a daring open
manner, and careless in speech and gay at heart.
Cumner’s Son told them of his ride and of Tang-a-Dahit, and, at last, of
the men of their tribe who died by the Palace wall. With one accord they
rose in their places and swore over bread and a drop of blood of their
chief that they would not sheathe their swords again till a thousand
of Boonda Broke’s and the Dakoon’s men lay where their own kinsmen had
fallen. If it chanced that Tang-a-Dahit was dead, then they would never
rest until Boonda Broke and all his clan were blotted out. Only Pango
Dooni himself was silent, for he was thinking much of what should be
done at Mandakan.
They came out upon the plateau where the fortress stood, and five
hundred mounted men marched past, with naked swords and bare krises in
their belts, and then wheeled suddenly and stood still, and shot their
swords up into the air the full length of the arm, and called the
battle-call of their tribe. The chief looked on unmoved, save once when
a tall trooper rode near him. He suddenly called this man forth.
“Where hast thou been, brother?” he asked.
“Three days was I beyond the Bar of Balmud, searching for the dog who
robbed my mother; three days did I ride to keep my word with a foe, who
gave me his horse when we were both unarmed and spent, and with broken
weapons could fight no more; and two days did I ride to be by a woman’s
side when her great sickness should come upon her. This is all, my lord,
since I went forth, save this jewel which I plucked from the cap of
a gentleman from the Palace. It was toll he paid even at the gates of
Mandakan.”
“Didst thou do all that thou didst promise?”
“All, my lord.”
“Even to the woman?” The chief’s eye burned upon the man.
“A strong male child is come into the world to serve my lord,” said
the trooper, and he bowed his head. “The jewel is thine and not mine,
brother,” said the chief softly, and the fierceness of his eyes abated;
“but I will take the child.”
The trooper drew back among his fellows, and the columns rode towards
the farther end of the plateau. Then all at once the horses plunged into
wild gallop, and the hillsmen came thundering down towards the chief and
Cumner’s Son, with swords waving and cutting to right and left, calling
aloud, their teeth showing, death and valour in their eyes. The chief
glanced at Cumner’s Son. The horses were not twenty feet from the lad,
but he did not stir a muscle. They were not ten feet from him, and
swords flashed before his eyes, but still he did not stir a hair’s
breadth. In response to a cry the horses stopped in full career, not
more than three feet from him. Reaching out he could have stroked the
flaming nostril of the stallion nearest him.
Pango Dooni took from his side a short gold-handled sword and handed it
to him.
“A hundred years ago,” said he, “it hung in the belt of the Dakoon of
Mandakan; it will hang as well in thine.” Then he added, for he saw a
strange look in the lad’s eyes: “The father of my father’s father wore
it in the Palace, and it has come from his breed to me, and it shall go
from me to thee, and from thee to thy breed, if thou wilt honour me.”
The lad stuck it in his belt with pride, and taking from his pocket a
silver-mounted pistol, said:
“This was the gift of a fighting chief to a fighting chief when they met
in a beleaguered town, with spoil, and blood, and misery, and sick women
and children round them; and it goes to a strong man, if he will take
the gift of a lad.”
At that moment there was a cry from beyond the troopers, and it was
answered from among them by a kinsman of Pango Dooni, and presently, the
troopers parting, down the line came Tang-a-Dahit, with bandaged head
and arm.
In greeting, Pango Dooni raised the pistol which Cumner’s Son had given
him and fired it into the air. Straightway five hundred men did the
same.
Dismounting, Tang-a-Dahit stood before his father. “Have the Dakoon’s
vermin fastened on the young bull at last?” asked Pango Dooni, his eyes
glowering. “They crawled and fastened, but they have not fed,” answered
Tang-a-Dahit in a strong voice, for his wounds had not sunk deep. “By
the Old Well of Jahar, which has one side to the mountain wall, and one
to the cliff edge, I halted and took my stand. The mare and the sorrel
of Cumner’s Son I put inside the house that covers the well, and I
lifted two stones from the floor and set them against the entrance. A
beggar lay dead beside the well, and his dog licked his body. I killed
the cur, for, following its master, it would have peace, and peace is
more than life. Then, with the pole of the waterpail, I threw the dead
dog across the entrance upon the paving stones, for these vermin of
plainsmen will not pass where a dead dog lies, as my father knows well.
They came not by the entrance, but they swarmed elsewhere, as ants swarm
upon a sandhill, upon the roofs, and at the little window where the lamp
burns.
“I drove them from the window and killed them through the doorway, but
they were forty to one. In the end the pest would have carried me to
death, as a jackal carries the broken meats to his den, if our hillsmen
had not come. For an hour I fought, and five of them I killed and seven
wounded, and then at the shouts of our hillsmen they fled at last. Nine
of them fell by the hands of our people. Thrice was I wounded, but my
wounds are no deeper than the scratches of a tiger’s cub.”
“Hadst thou fought for thyself the deed were good,” said Pango Dooni,
“but thy blood was shed for another, and that is the pride of good men.
We have true men here, but thou art a true chief and this shalt thou
wear.”
He took the rich belt from his waist, and fastened it round the waist of
his son.
“Cumner’s Son carries the sword that hung in the belt. We are for war,
and the sword should be out of the belt. When we are at peace again ye
shall put the sword in the belt once more, and hang it upon the wall of
the Palace at Mandakan, even as ye who are brothers shall never part.”
Two hours Tang-a-Dahit rested upon skins by the bathing pool, and an
hour did the slaves knead him and rub him with oil, and give him food
and drink; and while yet the sun was but half-way down the sky, they
poured through the Neck of Baroob, over five hundred fighting men, on
horses that would kneel and hide like dogs, and spring like deer, and
that knew each tone of their masters’ voices. By the Bar of Balmud they
gathered another fifty hillsmen, and again half-way beyond the Old Well
of Jahar they met two score more, who had hunted Boonda Broke’s men, and
these moved into column. So that when they came to Koongat Bridge, in
the country infested by the men of the Dakoon, seven hundred stalwart
and fearless men rode behind Pango Dooni. From the Neck of Baroob
to Koongat Bridge no man stayed them, but they galloped on silently,
swiftly, passing through the night like a cloud, upon which the dwellers
by the wayside gazed in wonder and in fear.
At Koongat Bridge they rested for two hours, and drank coffee, and broke
bread, and Cumner’s Son slept by the side of Tang-a-Dahit, as brothers
sleep by their mother’s bed. And Pango Dooni sat on the ground near them
and pondered, and no man broke his meditation. When the two hours were
gone, they mounted again and rode on through the dark villages towards
Mandakan.
It was just at the close of the hour before dawn that the squad of
troopers who rode a dozen rods before the columns, heard a cry from the
dark ahead. “Halt-in the name of the Dakoon!”