A LADY JOINS US
Payindah took first shift, while I settled myself into a corner of the
rock below him with a pocket edition of Browning, which I generally
carry when travelling. It is an old friend that has solaced many a
lonely hour and many a lonely place.
I had been reading for about three quarters of an hour--I remember the
poem was “One Word More”--when Payindah gave a low hiss. I looked up
and saw he had turned his head round.
“There’s some one in the gate,” he said.
I slipped the book into my pocket, climbed up beside him, and stared
out across the open space, but saw nothing.
“Where?” I asked.
“Something moved in the third loophole. There it is again! Look!”
I gazed through the glasses, and then just caught a faint flicker.
It might have been anything--a man’s hand, a flutter of cloth; but
something certainly moved in the shadow of the arrow-slit. We crouched
there silently for perhaps ten minutes, and nothing more happened. Then
suddenly Payindah spoke, and I saw his rifle slip forward.
“Sahib, the gate opens; the little one on the right there.”
I looked, and, as he said, there was a growing shadow as if it was
being opened slowly. Then the chink widened, the gate opened, and two
figures stumbled out.
I say “stumbled,” for they gave me the impression of being pushed out.
The gate swung to behind them noiselessly.
The leading figure was that of an old man with long white beard and
white locks. His arms were bound behind his back, and he moved slowly,
walking rather oddly, as though something dragged at his feet. But the
second figure was that of a woman, young and white, with a mass of
auburn hair. She, too, had her hands bound behind her.
The old man tripped, and I saw the girl all but fall. Then they moved
forward a few slow paces and stopped.
Then again onward, and now I realized, as I watched through my glasses,
why they stumbled. Their movement seemed constrained, and it was only
as they came over a little rise that I grasped the fact that they were
shackled together, left ankle to right.
I heard Payindah’s guttural grunt behind me.
“Who be these swine that maltreat an old man and a woman like that,
turning them out of the gates stripped and bound?”
A few more yards and the old man halted, looking dazedly up at the
sky. Then he moved forward once more, the girl stepping jerkily at his
side. Again he checked and swayed, and then I saw the girl bend toward
him and evidently say something. I think she was urging him to another
effort. Poor soul; I suppose they thought they might yet escape.
They had come slowly and hesitatingly perhaps sixty yards, and I was
racking my brain as to some means of helping them, when suddenly the
old man stopped dead, then shot forward on to his face, pulling the
girl to the ground. I could see him as he lay; he only moved once, and
up from between his shoulders stuck a long arrow-shaft.
What happened after that will take a long time to tell, though it took
but a few minutes to act.
The girl writhed herself up again, and bent piteously over the old man.
Then she dragged herself to her knees, and stayed looking at the gate.
At first I had hesitated. One did not want to introduce one’s self to
a new country by attacking the local police in the execution of their
legitimate--if unpleasant--duties. But the sight of the girl decided
me. This could be no decent form of justice.
I laid my rifle down by Payindah and said:
“Shoot into the loopholes. Shoot like hell!”
As his rifle spoke, I was slipping off the rock, and a second later
I was out in the open, my big hunting-knife in my hand, running as I
hadn’t run since I played outside left for my regiment before the war.
Payindah was not much in the brain line as far as education went. But
even before the war, when straight shooting was the common possession
of most regular soldiers, he stood out as a marksman. And his star
specialty was rapid shooting. I have seen him put thirteen shots into a
two-foot target at two hundred yards in thirty seconds, and do it often.
As I ran over the stones, picking my way among the scattered heaps of
what had once been men, I heard the steady rapid crack of his rifle
behind me, and before me I could catch the “smack” “smack” of the
bullets about the arrow-slits.
The men inside were evidently not accustomed to firearms, and the
sudden noise--magnified by the enclosed space, and, as we learnt later,
the effect of the shots that went home--paralyzed them.
Probably another factor in saving us was my utterly unexpected
appearance in that place of death, where no living being, save captives
stripped and bound, had ever been seen before. Possibly, for a minute
or two, they--a superstitious, half-savage people--took me for an evil
spirit.
Anyway, not a single arrow was fired at me as I tore across the
clearing.
The girl, hearing the noise behind, turned her head bewilderedly, and
then, seeing me leaping over the stones, struggled to her feet. I don’t
know what she took me for, but with the knife bare in my hand she
probably thought me Death in some new form. But she stood there bravely
facing me with steady eyes, her poor arms cruelly twisted behind her
back, her red-gold hair falling in a loose bundle on one shoulder, her
breath coming quickly between her parted lips.
I hadn’t breath to speak nor time to waste, and I didn’t definitely
know what her language was, so I did the only possible thing. I put my
arm round her and swung her to the ground as gently, but as quickly as
I could, so that she would be the smaller target while I got her free.
I think she expected to feel the knife in her heart, and was amazed to
be still alive. Anyway, she lay still, which was all I asked. I didn’t
worry about her arms; what I wanted to see was her leg. And then to my
horror I found that instead of a rope as I had hoped, she was fastened
to the old man by a short length of chain riveted in each case to an
iron ring round the ankle.
I think I put up some kind of incoherent prayer, and then bethought me
of my pistol. I squatted with both feet on the chain, pulled out the
big Colt forty-five automatic, pushed it up hard against the riveted
boss on the ring round the old man’s ankle, and pressed the trigger.
Did I mention, by the way, that the old man was stone dead with two
inches of the arrow sticking through his ribs over the heart? His being
dead helped me, since I had not to worry where the bullet went.
The recoil nearly dislocated my wrist, but I saw that the rivet had
smashed away, and with a violent wrench I pulled the chain free.
My hasty glance at the girl’s arm, smothered in many times knotted
rope, had shown me that it would be quicker to carry her than try to
free the knots in the green hide that bound her arms together. To have
tried to make her run over the stones with her arms literally racked
back, and a length of chain dangling from one ankle, would have been
equally slow; she would have fallen time and again.
I put my left arm round her shoulders, my right under her knees, swung
her up, and started at a slow jog-trot over the stones toward Payindah,
and then an arrow flicked past us, to stand quivering in the ground
beyond.
By this time doubtless the people inside had sized up me and my
mission, and between the rifle-cracks I heard shouting in the gate. I
had gone a matter of thirty yards when the girl said something I didn’t
understand, but obviously to attract my attention backwards. Her head
was resting on my left shoulder, so that she could just see over it.
I looked back. There was the little gate open and five men running
over the stones after us, men in steel caps and short leather and mail
jerkins.
I thought that was the end. I struggled on twenty paces or so and then
stopped, slipped my arm from under the girl’s knees so that she could
stand, and with my left arm round her shoulders turned, drawing my
pistol as I did, and covering her body as best I could with my own.
The leading man, a sinister, dark-visaged fellow, was within twenty
yards of me, a short heavy sword in his hand. Practically level with
him was another man. Ten yards behind them was a third, and beyond that
again two more, all running fast, with guttural shouts, while two or
three more showed in the open gate.
As I turned I saw one of the hindmost pair stop, sink slowly to his
knees, and then roll over sideways. Payindah had caught him, all right.
I asked him afterwards why he picked the last man, and found that we
had been between him and the leading man, and he dared not shoot at
them for fear of hitting us.
The leaders were within ten yards as I fired. The heavy bullet took the
first low in the middle of the body, and he smashed down in a heap, his
steel cap ringing over the stones nearly to our feet. His feet drummed
a second on the ground, and then he lay still--face buried in a huddle
of bones, one of his earlier victims. The girl gave a little gasp as
he went over. The second man had leaped in at the same moment, and was
barely three yards from me when my second shot caught him in the chest,
and he flung forward at my feet. He tried to struggle up, but sank
again, blood pouring from mouth and nose.
Seeing his leaders drop, the third man, checked at this new fashion of
killing, turned his head to see if he was supported, missed the fifth
man, and as he looked saw the fourth pitch backwards with a ringing
crash of metal, and then turned to fly. I fired, but missed him, and he
made for the gate.
I thrust the pistol back into its holster, swung the girl up again,
and made off once more. And as we started, out of the corner of my
eye I caught a glimpse of the last fellow shooting forward on to his
face, roll over, wriggle up on his hands again trying to claw his
way forward, struggling and screaming like a wounded rabbit. I think
Payindah must have broken his spine low down. From what I learnt of him
and his kind afterwards, I’m glad he took some little time to die.
Then Payindah turned on to the gate, and within fifteen seconds
that was shut again hurriedly. I expect the bullets ricocheting
round corners into the passage behind, as arrows could never have
done, was pretty scaring to the men inside, leaving out the sudden
incomprehensible deaths of the party in the open.
But his switching off the loopholes gave the men above a chance.
Probably some bold spirit had rallied them after their first surprise,
and as we started off the second time two arrows shot by, just missing
us; then two more, one of which went through the skirt of my coat.
So far I had not had much time to consider the girl, but I glanced down
at her as the arrows came over, and tried to get her head below the
level of my shoulder. She was quite conscious, and cooler than most
people would have been in her circumstances; and yet as I stumbled
along over the stones she must have been suffering agonies, with her
arms bound so tight that her shoulder-joints seemed to stick clean out
of her body. There was no colour in her drawn face, and there were dark
shadows below her big hazel-grey eyes. But she lay there in my arms
with never a moan.
Then I caught my foot in some snag and nearly fell. Something tore
across my face, and I heard the girl give a little faint cry. An arrow
had flicked in between us as I stumbled and, tearing open my cheek,
had grazed a couple of inches below her right shoulder. But she didn’t
scream, just looked down at the wound and up at me again.
I must have been a fairly unpleasing sight by that time, panting for
breath, with the blood streaming down from my face on to her white neck
and shoulders.
But Payindah had got back on to the arrow-slits, I think. Two last
arrows flicked past, one passably near, the other a good bit overhead.
There were only thirty yards to go now, and it was done at a stumbling
walk. Thank goodness, no more arrows came, and then I got round the
corner of the rock, where Payindah’s rifle--the sweetest music I have
ever heard--cracked steadily above me, and, I am ashamed to say, slid
forward on to my knees, nearly pitching on my face altogether. Luckily
I saved myself. Then I laid the girl down, mopped the blood off my face
with my sleeve, and fumbled for my knife.
As I was getting the knife out, I called to Payindah to ask if he
wanted aid.
“No need, sahib. These spawn of hell have shut the gate, and now they
dare not even shoot from the loopholes. Three lie dead in the open, and
two more are dying noisily near them.” He fired a burst of rapid shots,
and then, stopping, hurriedly slipped off his _poshtin_ and pushed it
down to me, saying as he took up his rifle again, “The memsahib will be
cold.”
Payindah, like most decent fighting men, is a gentleman of nature.
So I turned again to the girl, who was sitting up, and with a somewhat
unsteady hand hacked and tore at the twisted leather that bound her
arms. The man who had tied her up was an artist and also a fiend. She
told me later that he was the third man who followed us, the one whose
back Payindah had broken. It took me with a sharp knife about three
minutes to get her arms loose.
The swine had wound the raw hides into a sort of crisscross network,
and pulled it up so that her arms practically met from the wrists
to the elbows behind her back. Her nails were blue, and her hands
all swollen up with great knotted veins standing out. She was a good
plucked ’un not to scream while I tried to get her free. When I’d cut
the last of the knots and peeled off the ropes which had sunk into
weals in the flesh, though luckily not breaking the skin, her arms fell
limp and helpless to her sides.
With my handkerchief I wiped the blood off her shoulder and then tied
it up. There was only a small tear an inch or so long, and not deep.
Then I pulled Payindah’s _poshtin_ on to her, and settling her against
a rock tried to massage her arms. Once the blood started moving, she
nearly fainted, and I could see the pain was pretty bad. Luckily I had
the little brandy-flask I always carry, so I poured some out and held
it to her lips.
She made rather a grimace, coughed, and choked, but swallowed it, and
a little spot of colour came into her cheeks. After a few more minutes
she was able to move her arms and just bend her elbows a bit.
We had brought a thermos of hot tea for use during our watch, as it was
very cold in the gloomy valley, so I reached that down and gave her
some, which she swallowed gratefully enough. Payindah was only firing
occasional shots now, and said there was no movement to be seen at the
arrow-slits.
While rubbing the girl’s arms, I tried to talk to her. I said a word
or two in Greek; then I tried my halting Turki, then Greek again. The
second time she seemed to recognize something, and said slowly, in
unmistakable Greek, though idiom and accent were strange at first: “Who
are you? You are not of those of the gate?”
“Friends, lady,” said I; “friends from a far country. You are safe now.”
Then the pain stopped her speaking more, and she closed her eyes and
leant back against the rock.
Five minutes later, she was just beginning to bend her wrists and the
swollen veins were going down, but I could see how the efforts hurt her.
I stood up and spoke to Payindah.
“Can you hold this place alone, Payindah? It’s the narrowest place to
stop any one. If you can, I will take the memsahib back and send up the
others to relieve you. We shall have to get away from here now that
we’ve killed these men.”
“Wah, sahib, one shot like me could hold this against an army. Have no
fear. They have no guns, and, so long as it’s light, nothing will cross
the stones alive while I am here. But what when it gets dark?”
I looked at my watch--just on 3.15.
“The others will be here before dark. Stay you here and hold the
valley.” I took off my bandolier and passed it up to him. “I will leave
my rifle in case yours should jam at any time.”
I helped the girl to her feet. “You will have to walk now. It’s too far
to carry you. Can you walk if I help?”
“I will try,” she said.
Then I took off my puttees and made slings for her arms, so that the
blood flowing down should not hurt too much as she walked. The last
thing I did was to knot up some of the cut leather rope, twist it into
the chain fastened to her ankle, and tie it up in a loop to the skirt
of Payindah’s _poshtin_ which came down to her knees.
As I was doing this last, Payindah looked down. “The mem cannot walk
over the stones with bare feet,” and he loosed his _chaplis_ and
dropped them down to me.
They were a bit large, but most Easterns have smaller hands and feet
than we have, and I managed to knot them on to the girl’s feet fairly
well with the aid of the lanyard of my knife. Then I put my arm about
her, and we started slowly down the valley.
When we came to the stream, I made her sit down, and bathed her hands
and arms, washed the cut on her shoulder, and tied it up again. Then
I washed as much of the blood off my face and neck as I could--I
was still bleeding a bit--and made a crude bandage with a second
handkerchief I had in my pocket.
The girl tried to help me with this last, but her swollen hands still
refused to do anything, and with a gesture of despair she gave it up.
“I cannot use my hands,” she said piteously. Then, looking at my face,
“Are you much hurt?”
“Nothing really,” I said; “keep your arms still now for a while.”
We went fairly slowly, and it took us an hour to get to the tent. I
didn’t try to talk to her much, for I could see that her arms hurt a
lot as we walked over the rough stones.
“My God!” said Forsyth, whom we ran into just at the _tangi_ mouth
examining plants. “What on earth have you been doing? And who have you
got here?”
Then he shouted to Wrexham to get the medicine-chest out quick.
“Had a fight, killed some unpleasing gentlemen, picked up this lady,
and left Payindah with two rifles holding the valley.”
By this time the others had run up to us, and Wrexham had brought the
medicine-chest, so I said to Forsyth:
“Tackle her first, arrow gash on right shoulder, and arms all to hell
from ropes. Talks strange Greek slowly.”
He gathered up the medicine-chest and piloted the girl to the tent.
While he was overhauling her and dressing the cut on her shoulder, I
turned to Wrexham and hurriedly explained things.
“Right-o,” he said, “I’ll cut along now and join Payindah. Two men can
hold that pass all night. As soon as Firoz has put some food out--the
girl looks as if some wouldn’t hurt her--send him along and Alec, too,
as soon as he’s done with you both. You’d better sit down and keep
quiet a bit; you look a trifle war-worn. Have you talked to the damsel
yet?”
As he spoke he was pulling open the ammunition-boxes, from one of which
he took out a small square tin and from another a little round cylinder.
“Yes. She talks Greek, all right, though it sounds funny. But I didn’t
worry her much; she was looking pretty cheap. What’s that you’re
digging out?”
“A few pounds of powder and some lighters that I brought. With that and
some string I’ll rig up some booby-traps in case we have to come away
in a hurry.” He opened his little tool-chest and pulled out a hacksaw.
“That’ll get the chain off the girl’s ankle. Put a pad underneath while
you work.”
“Good idea. I’ll do it when Forsyth’s done with her. Do you think we
shall have to bolt from here?”
“I fancy so, but I don’t want to go till we’ve found out something from
the girl. She will be able to tell us what’s going on inside. Nor do I
want to trek by night if we can hold on till morning and then slip away
quietly. They’ll be shy of trying to cross the open space in daylight
if they think we’re still there.”
He stuffed his treasures into a big haversack, slung two bandoliers
round his neck (we had loaded our sporting .303 into clips and packed
it into bandoliers), filled my empty thermos from the teapot on the
table, got his rifle, and started off, saying as he went:
“Get all the loads roped up in case we have to scuttle quick.”
I went over to the tent, where I found Forsyth had fixed up the girl in
one of our beds, dressed her shoulder, fitted her out with a suit of
his silk pyjamas (he is particular about his underclothing), and was
rubbing her arms with something or other. She could move her fingers
by now, and the swelling had gone down a lot. They were carrying on a
conversation, both speaking rather slowly.
As I came in, she looked up, and seeing me caught hold of my hand with
a torrent of words rather too quick for me to follow exactly with her
strange accent, but it was mostly thanking me for getting her away from
the gate. Feeling distinctly embarrassed, I murmured something about
“nothing to make a fuss over.”
“Are you feeling better now?” I asked.
“Yes, much better already.”
“You’ve got some luck, old man,” said Forsyth, “to get a chance of
rescuing a girl like this. Jolly nice-looking and lots of pluck. She
must have been through hell, but no whining.”
He had a final look at her arms and then pulled the blankets up over
them.
“What about her shoulder?” I asked.
“Oh, only a deep scratch, and there’s nothing else the matter. Her
arms will be all right to-morrow. We must get the chain off her leg,
though.”
I showed him the hacksaw.
“Good! Can you tackle that job now while I get some food for her?”
“Yes. But I shall want you to hold the ring steady while I saw it. We
want something under it, too; a towel will do.”
He reached for a towel he had been using, and the girl, who had been
listening to us, asked me if he was going to do my face.
“Presently,” said I. “But first of all we’re going to get that ring off
your leg. Then we’ll give you some food and something warm to drink.
After that you must try and tell us what happened to you and where you
live. Now keep your leg still. We shan’t hurt.”
Forsyth turned back the end of the blanket and wrapped a twisted towel
round her ankle, pushing it up under the ring. Then he held the ring
steady, and I got to work. The iron was soft, and the hacksaw went
through it with no trouble. A bit of a wrench at the cut ends and it
pulled open enough to let me slip her ankle--a particularly slim neat
one--through it.
“Well, now I’ll get her some food. I’ve told Firoz to bring boiling
water, and I’ve got a bottle of bovril here. The rest will have to be
_chupattis_ and tinned stuff. We’re not exactly equipped for hospital
feeding.” Forsyth went out and shouted for Firoz.
“You must try and eat, even if you’re not feeling hungry,” said I. “We
may have to go a long way to-morrow, I expect.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, looking at me anxiously.
“Try and take you back to your own folk, if we can find a way in, or if
you can show us one.”
She was clearly relieved at this, I could see.
“But don’t worry about that for a bit. Here’s food coming. When you’ve
eaten and feel stronger, we’ll talk about it.”
Forsyth reappeared, carrying our cherished bazaar tea-tray, with some
food on it, and, propping the girl up on the pillows, proceeded to
feed her. She tried to take the cup herself, but her wrists were still
too stiff, and he had to help her. When she had finished, there was a
little more colour in her cheeks.
“Pass me those brushes,” said Forsyth.
I passed them over, and he brushed out her hair, and made it into two
plaits in a notably skilful manner, I thought.
“He’s a good nurse; isn’t he?” said I.
She smiled wanly at him.
“Hasn’t she topping hair?” he said. “Real Titian red. Reminds me of
some one I used to know.”
Every pretty girl reminds Forsyth of some one he used to know. I
suppose that’s why he escaped unmarried. There’s a certain safety in
numbers.
When he had finished, the girl said that it was time my face was done.
“Just going to now. You rest a little and then we’ll come back.” He
smoothed out the blankets and slipped another pillow under her head.
“Now come along outside, Harry, and let’s have a look at that face of
yours.” He picked up the medicine-chest as he spoke, and I followed
him out of the tent, where he called Firoz for a basin of water. Then,
pulling off my extemporized bandage, he cleaned up my face, which was
getting moderately painful.
“A fairly big gash, Harry. You’ll wear your face in a sling for some
days to come. Now hold steady. I’m going to hurt a bit.”
He did.
“There, that’s done,” he said at last, reaching for a roll of lint.
“It’ll stop hurting presently; it’s a fairly clean cut, though deep.
They keep their arrows sharp, which is a blessing. That cut the girl’s
got might have been done with a razor.” He was twisting a bandage
round my head as he spoke.
“Well, now, we’d better go and ask the girl what’s been happening,” I
said, as he finished and began putting his things away.
“Yes. But first I’ll tell Firoz to get ready. I’ll tell him to pack up
some food for Wrexham and Payindah; they’ll want something up there.
The gorge must be perishing cold by now. It’s none too warm even at
midday.”
When we had given Firoz his instructions, we went back to the tent, and
sat down on Wrexham’s bedding next to the girl, who had been put into
mine. She was looking better already from the food and the warmth.
“Now will you tell us one or two things about what’s happened?” I said.
“Are the people in the gate people you’re at war with, or who are they?”
“They are Shamans, a tribe who live round the gate. They are not yet at
war with us, though my father expects war some day. They captured me
when I was stopping with an old chief, who is a friend of my father’s,
just outside our country.”
I was getting accustomed to her accent now, and she had the sense not
to talk too fast.
“Why did they capture you, then?”
“They and certain others attacked the old chief’s house when I was
there. He was the old man with me in the gate.” She shuddered a bit.
“Then why were they going to kill you?”
“They weren’t--just yet. But ... the chief Shaman ... wanted me ... and
so I thought I’d better make him angry--as angry as I could--so that
he would kill me quick. They say once he is angry, nothing but blood
pleases him, so I thought that was my only chance.”
The colour had gone from her face again, and she breathed rather
quickly, so I turned on to something else.
“Do you think the Shamans”--I hesitated over the word, and she repeated
it--“the Shamans will attack us to-night?”
“I do not think they will dare face your weapons that kill with only a
noise. Moreover, I think they are afraid of the outside of the gate by
night. They say there are devils there. Last night they kept me above
the gate to frighten me. But _I_ thought that there were worse devils
inside than out.... Also they will not know what you are. No man has
ever come into the country for hundreds of years, and I think that the
common people do not even believe there are men outside.” She looked
at us, and then went on again: “You are certainly men, and of course I
know there are other countries. But how came you across the desert, and
why? And who are you?”
“We came from very far away, lady. We came because we heard that there
were white people like ourselves here, and we wished to see. But we
will tell you all about that later on. Now you just said the old man
with you was a friend of your father’s. Who is your father?”
“He is chief of the Blue Sakae, as we call our clan.”
“Are there several clans in the country, then?”
“Yes, four; but the Shamans have overcome three of them, and seek now
to overcome us, being very, very evil.”
“Are your people far away from here?” I asked.
“About three days’ journey--on horseback--to the east.”
“Is there any way up the cliffs into your country, or any other gate
like this one?”
“There is no gate.” She thought a little; then continued: “Have you
ropes?”
“Yes; we have ropes which we brought to help us climb the cliffs if we
could not enter the gate.”
“Then if you can climb well--very well--I can show you a way that might
be climbed. It leads to some caves near a country house we have on the
edge of our country.”
“Then to-morrow, lady, we will start for there and take you back to
your people. At least, we will if you can show us a way up the cliffs.”
I turned to Forsyth.
“Well, now we know where we are, and the thing is to get hold of John.
I suggest that we move east the first thing in the morning, unless he’s
seen anything which makes him think we ought to go to-night.”
I turned to the girl.
“Now you lie still and rest, and, if you can, sleep. We are going to
get things ready to start to-morrow. Presently we’ll come back and fix
you up for the night.”
“I wonder if John has seen anything,” said I as we left the tent. “The
girl does not seem to think that the enemy will come out to-night,
and I expect they’re pretty well scared, what with our guns and our
unexpected appearance in a place where no one ever comes. Thank
goodness, the moon gets up soon. It will give some light in that
beastly place if the enemy try to come out. I’ll go up with Firoz and
tell John about things.”
“No, you won’t; not much. You’ll just sit quiet here and rest that face
of yours. I’ll go along with Firoz as soon as I’ve made up some stuff
to send that young woman to sleep. She’s had enough shocks to last
her a lifetime, and I want her to get to sleep. When I’ve gone--say,
in another half an hour--give her this stuff I’m going to make up; it
ought to send her off pretty quick.”
He was opening the medicine-chest as he talked, and proceeded to mix up
some drugs.
“Did you notice the way she talked?” he continued. “I’m sure Greek
is not her mother tongue. You noticed how strange words slipped in
every now and then, and when she saw we didn’t understand them she
substituted Greek ones, sometimes thinking a second or two. She’s got
her wits about her, all right, that young person.”
“Yes; I noticed that. Her Greek is different from any I’ve heard,
although one can follow it easily enough. I wonder if it’s the old
classic Greek just been changing through the ages, or whether it’s some
old forgotten dialect. But did you realize her clan name, the ‘Sakae’?
I’ve met them somewhere in one of the classics, I’m sure.”
“Yes; I remarked that, all right. They were a tribe of sorts in middle
Asia in Alexander’s time. The chief points about them were their being
very stout fighters, and their women being particularly independent.
There’s some old story about their marriage customs, including a
decision in each case as to whether the man or the woman should rule
the house. Rather fits in with the present case, for it’s clear that
this damsel is accustomed to treat with men on an equal footing. None
of your Eastern _purdah_ about her.”
“Jolly refreshing to meet after some years in the East, isn’t it? I
wonder if this crowd are the original Sakae? Were they supposed to be
white?” I asked.
“I fancy so. At least, the old writers differentiate between them and
the Indians, whom Arrian refers to as being ‘blacker than any other men
except the Æthiopians.’ If the Sakae were dark, they’d have mentioned
it. But this girl is as white as you or me, and you’d remark on her
fairness even in England. I wonder who they can be. Not pure Greek, I’m
sure, if they’re all like her.”
He handed me the stuff he had made up, closed his case, and called to
Firoz, who came up with his rifle slung over his shoulder, Payindah’s
_chaplis_ and _poshtin_, our second thermos and a bundle, presumably
food. Forsyth got his rifle, slung on a bandolier, and the two set off.
I set Sadiq to roping up the loads, so as to be ready to move quickly
if necessary, and then I went into the tent.
The girl was still awake so I lit the lantern which I had brought, for
it was getting dark. Her colour had come back a lot now, and I realized
more than I had before how really beautiful she must be when she was
well.
“Are you warm enough?” I asked. The evenings were getting chilly, and a
cold wind had sprung up.
“Yes; quite warm now, thank you.”
“Well, anyway, I’ll put this rug over your feet, so that you can pull
it up later if you feel cold.”
I took the rug off Wrexham’s bedding and spread it over the end of her
bed. Then I began to pull out the two other bedding-rolls.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking our bedding outside,” said I.
“Whose bed have I got?” she asked.
“Mine, as a matter of fact. Why?”
“And what are you going to do? You won’t have enough things if you give
me all these.”
“Yes, we shall. One of us, if not two, will be up in the valley
watching all night in case the Shamans try to come out of the gate.
They won’t get far if they do, though,” I added to reassure her.
Then I tidied up the tent, and finally brought her Forsyth’s medicine.
“The doctor sent you this to make you sleep. He says you’re to go to
sleep now.”
She drank it without a murmur.
“Is the tall fair man a doctor?”
“Yes,” said I.
“And what are you?”
“A soldier. At least I have been one for many years.”
“I thought so,” she said reflectively.
“And why?”
“Because you look as if you made people do what they’re told quickly
without asking questions. Many soldiers look like that. My cousins do.”
“Are they soldiers?”
“Yes. But most of our people are soldiers to begin with until they’re
old enough to take over their father’s land.”
“Well, you go to sleep now. You’re quite safe here, so don’t worry. One
or other of us will be sleeping just outside the tent, so you can call
if you want anything, and I’ll leave the light burning.”
Her eyes were bright, and she looked, as Forsyth said, as if sleep was
the only thing for her after what she’d been through.
“How can I call if I don’t know your names?” she said.
“Mine’s Harry Lake, and the doctor’s is Forsyth.”
She didn’t worry much about the latter name, but mine seemed to give
a little difficulty, for she repeated it two or three times, finally
compromising on ‘Harilek.’ And ‘Harilek’ I remained ever afterwards.
I was just going to turn down the light when she asked--woman-like--in
a _very_ anxious voice--
“O Harilek! What about some clothes for to-morrow?”
I admit I hadn’t thought about that matter. How on earth were three
wandering bachelors going to fit out a young woman--of remarkably
pleasing looks I thought again as I looked at her--from our exiguous
male wardrobes?
“We’ll find something for you, all right,” I said, in my most
reassuring tones. “But ... we haven’t got any skirts,” I added.
She laughed then--a real laugh--the first I’d heard from her, and
thought it a good sign that she was getting back her spirits.
“I didn’t think you would have, Harilek. You’re not the sort of people
that would have skirts with you.”
“You seem to understand very quickly just what sort of people we are,”
I said, rather nettled as I turned the light half down.
“_You_ are not at all difficult to understand--soldier man--at least
not to a woman, though doubtless you think your soldiers can’t read
your mind.”
“Time you went to sleep, lady. By the way, you haven’t told me your
name yet.”
“Aryenis,”[5] she said, snuggling down on my worn pillow.
“Sleep well, Aryenis; you’re quite safe now, so don’t dream.”
She closed her eyes. Then she opened them again, looked at me, and said
very slowly:
“Good-night, Harilek; good-night ... and thank you.”
I felt I’d had my reward as I went out and softly pulled to the tent
flies.
I pottered about watching Sadiq rope up loads, lending him a hand
with the more difficult ones. Then I made him refill the last tank,
inspected the others, went over the loads--nearly everything except our
sleeping kit and the tent was roped up--and finally, realizing that
I was very weary, rolled into Wrexham’s bedding, and lay out in the
stillness watching the moon rising over the desert to the east of the
shadowy hills.
I suppose it was nearly three hours later that I heard footsteps on the
stones, and got up to find Firoz coming back with a note from Wrexham:
No movement in front, but saw lights in arrow-slits at dusk, so sent
some shots over and lights went out.
A bit jumpy till the moon got high, and fired precautionary shots at
intervals. After the moon was up did another crawl to see the fellows
you laid out. A villainous-looking crowd. Three dead, one just on it,
and the fifth won’t last long. Couldn’t pull the old man over to our
side owing to the noise, or might have buried him decently.
Alec will come back later. He told me what the girl said, and we will
trek at dawn, hugging the cliffs eastward. A. will give you further
details.
Payindah full of blood and battle. Wants to know who the “mem” is?
J. W.
I explained things to Firoz, and went up to the tent door and peeped
in. The girl was asleep, her eyes closed, and her breathing slow and
regular. Evidently Forsyth’s medicine was working all right.
Then, feeling thoroughly tired, I told Firoz to keep awake, curled
up in Wrexham’s bedding again, and in a few minutes, despite a very
tender face, was asleep. A somewhat broken sleep it was, full of dreams
about arrows and savage men, sometimes my mail-jacketed friends of the
afternoon, sometimes older souvenirs; and in the midst of them all a
vision, big hazel-grey eyes, a very kissable kind of mouth, and a cloud
of red-gold hair over white shoulders. Then once a picture of all that
with a slim white body waiting bravely for death, and lastly, a sweet,
low voice saying, “Good-night, Harilek; good-night ... and thank you.”
I had no more dreams after that.