Jaffer closed up his hospital affairs, and waited two days to receive
Umar Khel’s offering of tea for Dr. Trench. He knew it would be worth
waiting for, and it would come exactly on the doctor’s birthday. To the
rich of Kabul, Umar Khel often sold teas that the Chief Commissioner in
Peshawar could not afford to buy.
On Thursday, at eight in the morning, he appeared at the shop. The
proprietor was on hand.
“Salaam alêkom, Umar Khel.”
“Wa-alêkom salaam, Hakim Rasul. The tea has come. But be seated and try
my cigarettes, for now we shall lose you to the infidels.”
Jaffer had hardly complied when his little sister came running in quite
out of breath, bearing an official envelope for which her mother had just
signed. He took it from her, opened it, read it, and spoke. “Be at peace,
little one, and say to mother that there is no bad news.”
Jaffer put the message in his pocket and threw back his head, emitting a
ring of smoke. This was different. The doctor had stepped into the game,
and that was enough for Jaffer.
“Umar Khel, I will buy the camel of you. I am going to Kabul.”
“No, Rasul. If you get past Lundi Kotal, I shall have to go to Kabul and
beg your life of Habibullah.”
“Not so, Umar Khel, but far otherwise. I shall be taken to Kabul for
trial. At Kabul I shall send for your cousin, and he will despatch a
messenger for me to Tashkent.”
“Do not boast, my son. You will never get to Kabul. At evening you will
eat soup with some new friend, and a new friend’s soup is worse than
bhang to make you sleep.”
“Then I will go soupless, but I go to Kabul. Hukm hai! It is commanded.”
Umar Khel spat on the ground. “These ears are deaf when an infidel
commands a Moslem.”
“Umar Khel, this man Trench has been to me as my father. He gave me a
home when Americans turned me from the doors. I have sworn an oath. When
he calls, I answer. When he thirsts, he shall have the last drop from my
mushak. When he is robbed, I avenge him. When his women are betrayed, I
go to hunt the jackal.”
“It is an oath,” said Umar Khel. “Is the foul budmash an infidel or a
Moslem?”
“Moslem and infidel, O thou just one. Behold him—as he lurks even now in
Kabul or Bokhara.” And Jaffer drew forth the picture of Saadi.
“A cat!” exclaimed Umar Khel. “He mocks the Prophet, whose beautiful
animal now springs upon his shoulder in Paradise.”
“Thou hast said. Wisdom sits upon the lips of my father’s friend.”
The old man clapped his hands, and Amar Singh appeared.
“Bring me pen and paper, and cut the reed true, for to-day I write in
Persian. I write to the Amir, and he will send the writ of Habibullah
himself, permitting one Rasul Rahim Jaffer, Hakim of Peshawar, full
liberty to tread any and every road in Afghanistan. And when I have
finished, it shall be your duty, Amar Singh, to go to the Afghan
postmaster with it, and tell him that I have lame clerks that can run
faster than his dak-runners. It will madden him, and in fourteen days we
shall place the writ in the doctor’s hands.”
Amar Singh smiled with pleasure at this confidence, and turned to depart.
But Jaffer spoke.
“Wait, Amar Singh, for Jaffer waits not. I go to some friend, for my
father no longer has friends. They who were his friends speak of dangers
and days.”
He sprang to his feet, and Umar Khel arose frowning. Both turned toward
the door, and both stopped—
For there in the white sunlight stood a tall youth, well coloured and
light of limb. His turban was whiter than the sunlight, and his eye
darker than Umar’s frown.
“Salaam alêkom, Uncle!”
There was silence for a moment. Then Umar shrieked, “I know you not!
Breaker of promises! Rebellious budmash! Leave my door and go back to the
whipping post.”
But Abdul of Kabul smilingly stepped in, advanced, and seized his uncle’s
hands. “Struggle not, old man, or I shall kiss you, like a Christian.”
The Kabuli laughed loud as he turned to Jaffer, still holding his uncle’s
wrists.
“I know thee well, Hakim. Often I have heard of my almost copy. But
Jaffer is a prince to gaze upon, and I a wretched fakir. It is useless
for this ancient fire to flame hot words—for look! uncle, I have the
Amir’s writ for all the world, and ocriti lista for Russia. He could
not refuse when I mentioned our friend who returns from Leipzig a great
chemist.”
“Our friend can make ammunition,” said Umar faintly.
“Yes, uncle! And I can make inquiries. When I get back to Kabul, I shall
have information to impart.”
Then silence fell upon the three men. They seated themselves, and the
noiseless Amar Singh was presently setting forth more tea, more cakes,
more strawberries, more cigarettes.
“When I came in,” said Abdul, “you twain were parting in anger.”
“I blame him not,” said Umar.
“Nor I him, the aged and true,” said Jaffer. “Is there in Kabul a
Bokharan physician named Ali Khan?”
“Assuredly not, hakim. There are a thousand Ali Khans, but no hakim. Why
do you ask?”
“Look, Abdul. This telegram is from one whose word to me is law, even as
the word of the Amir is law to you. He bids me seek Tashkent, and that
with the utmost haste and effort—_jitnee koshesh ho sakay kar ke ravana,
ho jao_.”
“And why?”
“Because a friend of Afghans has been robbed, and a woman has been
betrayed.”
“May I see your passport?”
Jaffer drew it forth, and Abdul examined it. “This is not good in
Turkestan, but it will serve in Turkey.”
Abdul calmly pocketed Jaffer’s passport, and placed his Afghan writ and
ocriti lista in Jaffer’s hands.
Umar looked up. Umar smiled. Umar said, “I have long thought that you
should visit Stamboul.”
Then he turned to Jaffer. “You go as my agent to Ibrahim Ismail in
Bokhara, with a trifling load of tea. I will tell you the price, and you
will not take a pouhl less. Ali Khel is in Monday’s kafila now, and you
will overtake him before he reaches Kabul. If you get away within three
hours, you will be in Lundi Kotal to-morrow night.”
“Umar Khel means to-morrow morning.”
“It is bravely spoken, Rasul, but you will not be able to pass the fort.
The rules are strict. You will have to halt and camp with the rest before
Shadi, the jaw of the pass.”
“A bad omen, Umar Khel. The man I hunt is named Saadi.”
Umar thought a moment. “Nothing is ominous. The Prophet has said it.
But—your camel—the Houri—cannot endure a pinch on the ear. It makes her
run—even in the dark.”
“Enough, Umar Khel! I am the hafiz and memory of Houri’s ear.”
“Very good. The kafila takes fourteen days to Kabul, but I have done
it in six—on a she-camel no better than Houri, whom Amar Singh will
instantly load for you in the compound. Ali Khel goes by Kabul, Bamian,
Khulm, and Balkh. You may tell him to press ahead with you. Take a gun.
Take a heavy shawl to pray on and sleep in. Change your dress. I will
include bajra cakes and dried fruits. There will be a mushak, but you
will find water. There are cotton seed cakes for your camel. There is
a small tent. I will have your customs instructions ready, in case Ali
drops behind.”
He clapped his hands for his clerk, and the clerk, being instructed,
brought certain Afghan monies.
“In one Kabuli rupee there are thirteen annas, four pice. The customs
will reckon at thirteen, and it is robbery, but you will not dispute
them. If Ali can keep up with you, you will need no other guidance till
you reach Balkh. Follow, and be careful of the steep roads at Kohak. At
Balkh, be guided by breath and bone. If you are worn out, go to Termes
and take the boat. Sell the camel there, and remit to me from Tashkent.
If you go clear through to Bokhara with it, Ali can bring back its skin
and bones. It is a week on Amu Darya to Charjui, but it is only versts
one hundred and twenty-five from Charjui to Bokhara. Ali will do his best
to keep up—but I see this case clearly. You will beat him to the bazaar
or to Paradise.”
“And if I fail?”
“It is kismet, and Trench will pay. He is rich, or he would not ask you
to undertake this thing. Is it a profit for me to send two maunds of tea
to Bokhara? Is it safe for you—in spite of stolen writs and passes? But
an oath is an oath. Go now and change your clothes, put your feringhee
rags into a bundle not to exceed thirty-six pounds English, quiet your
mother’s fears, and be back.”
Jaffer arose, and a single exclamation escaped him. “Gee whiz!”
“I do not understand, Rasul, but he that catches a Gilzai asleep has good
kismet. And by Allah! as you boys stand there, I seem to see the fair
full moon double! I must be drunk, like a Christian.”