Jaffer went to get the money which Trench had cabled. Then he went home
and said farewell to his mother, who cheered him on when she understood
the situation. Finally he changed his clothes, having put all his money,
together with a short pencil and some bits of paper, in a belt next to
his skin. Accompanied by his father and the family servants, he set out
for Umar Khel’s. He looked the travelling merchant. About his middle he
wore a cummerbund, on his legs the loose Afghan tombons, on his head an
old turban. He carried a Martini, a good dagger, and twenty-five pounds
of luggage. It cost him a pang to leave all the heavier instruments of
the elegant kit which Trench had given him, but he had a half-dozen of
the smaller ones.
Umar Khel handed him a wonderful lacquered canister. “I now take an
interest in your Chicago friend. Present my salaams to Trench. There
is mettle in the man, and in return for our help he shall help the
Headman of his street. If the street have no such person charged with
the execution of justice, he shall himself be that man. I hail him Hakim
Trench Kilantar! In ordinary cases of seduction and outrage, let him
exercise ordinary prudence by burying the offender up to the neck, and
the dogs will take care of the head. In case his subordinates allow
buildings to burn, let him burn the negligent inspector. Here in this
paper are your instructions, written out. Mount, Rasul, mount and be off.”
Jaffer was quick about it. He thrust the canister into his luggage,
strapped the luggage in place, made his farewells, and mounted. The camel
rose beneath him. Enthroned there on high, he looked as fine an Afghan
as any.
“Shabash, shabash!” cried Umar Khel. “Roar and be gone, for Rasul means
the messenger, and the messenger of a lion is a lion. Find your jackal,
skin him, and say your prayers on the skin. It is unclean, but God is
merciful!”
Jaffer swung off in fine style, and they watched him till the bazaar
closed behind him and he struck the road to the pass.
He urged his beast. He safely crossed the rocky plain which, in nine
miles, harbours many a cutthroat. At six o’clock he reached the fort,
showed his writ, was remembered as Abdul, registered as Abdul, and was
allowed to join the kafila encamped beyond.
He selected a position as far on the northern outskirts of the camp as
possible. He ate his supper, and listened idly to the braying of donkeys,
the grumbling of camels, and the cackling of fowls. Slowly darkness fell.
Jaffer lay down close to the Houri, and took a nap. When he awoke it
was eight o’clock, and the sky was starry clear, and most of the motley
horde about him had gone to sleep. Jaffer stretched himself, tightened
his sash, reached over to Houri, and pinched her ear. The camel sprang to
her feet like a billowy sea monster. Jaffer then arose and gave that ear
the pinch of poverty itself. Houri did not stop to bite—she fled into the
darkness, due north, with Jaffer following. A guard called out, but he
got no answer.
Half an hour later Houri and hakim were well into the grim jaws of Shadi
Bagiar.
Along the ravine, then into the smooth road made by the British with vast
labour some seventy years before. The camel moved as securely as on a
pavement, and Jaffer remembered the old legend that Asoka built a railway
here. It was doubtless untrue, for Asoka—they say—is a name known to more
people than ever heard of Cæsar, and more idealised than Cæsar. Jaffer
remembered what feet had marched through here. Persian, Greek, Seljuk,
Tatar, Mongol, Durani—driven by unguessed forces of nature. Certainly
within ten feet of him, perhaps through exactly the same space to a
foot, had passed the living bodies of Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan,
Tamerlane.
He inspected the heights. In the day-time three guards should appear at
every block-house as he approached. In the day-time they should present
arms and watch him till he was within sight of the next. But, of course,
nobody appeared. He was unguarded.
He fell to whistling—and then to whispering—“Oh, du lieber Halsted
Street,” and plodded on as fast as his mount could go. The sky was a
thin black starry strip, with a faint scimitar of silver, but Jaffer was
unmoved by the night’s “illegible vast romance,” having enough to watch
in this chiselled water-course of his own planet.
Hours came and went. The road slowly rose to the left, and from a little
plateau Jaffer caught the gleam of a light, below, doubtless from the
fort of Ali Masjid. He paused to reflect that it was midnight, and that
he had ridden more than a day’s journey. He dismounted, pretty stiff, and
fed the camel, which proceeded to lie down and rest. Jaffer ate a bajra
cake, drank some water, and lighted a cigarette. He sat there half an
hour, wrapped in his heavy shawl from the bitter night air, and so drowsy
that he could hardly smoke. Then he rose and proposed to the Houri that
they should proceed. The lady viciously objected, but in vain.
On and on, still westward. The road zigzagged down and ran along a
cliff. The pass is very narrow here, and there is a river below, and two
thousand feet of hill rise above it. The camel felt her way along, and
Jaffer did no whistling.
The sky seemed less black. One by one the stars disappeared. The
valley widened a trifle, and day dawned slowly. He was on the edge of
the country of the Zakka Khels, and yonder he saw a ruined Afridi watch
tower. He thought he would eat some mulberries and give the Houri another
rest.
Ping! Something struck into the bundle of tea on the left side. The
report followed, and Jaffer reflected for a second what to do. Then he
toppled gracefully and fell to the ground. His camel loped off up the
pass and lay down, glad that her rider had come to his senses.
Jaffer lay still. He wondered if he had done the right thing. The only
other thing would have been to advance with the camel as a shield, and
that would have invited the death of his mount. Well, he had tested the
safety of the pass on a guarded day, and found that it was not guaranteed
so early in the morning. He had no right to complain, though he heartily
wished that the Germans owned it. As for himself, he must play ’possum
till the robber appeared, and then take his chances in a sudden grapple.
He reflected idly, during the next five minutes, on Umar Khel’s ideas
of justice. He had considerable sympathy with them, but just at present
their limitations were painfully evident, for co-operation was necessary
to enforce them. He earnestly desired the sound of hoof-beats of the
King’s Own. Hark—was that a stone, loosened by a hasty foot? He scanned
the hillside as well as he could without changing position.
He saw it—a form skulking, dodging, winding down. As it came nearer,
he saw that the fellow wore his lungi wrapped around his left arm, and
though the arm supported a Snider, it looked stiff.
Why had the villain paused at a safe distance? Surely he must see that
the Martini was lying out of Jaffer’s reach. Jaffer longed for it—could
imagine the “Ma-sha-Illah” engraved on it for good luck—but he did not
dare reach out. Bismillah! what was happening now? The scoundrel had
turned and was making off up the hill.
Jaffer sprang to his feet, seized his rifle, and drew a bead on the
retreating form. “Zakka Khel ahoy! The hill is steep. Manda na bash—may
you never be weary!”
The fellow stopped, presenting a tempting back. He turned. Jaffer lowered
his rifle and laid it on the ground.
“What’s the matter with the arm, brother? Come down in the safety of God.”
The Afridi hesitated, laid down his rifle, and descended. He took
Jaffer’s hand and laid it in turn upon each of his own eyes. “It was only
Takrar—the Feud. I took you for my cousin.”
Jaffer nodded. “I have heard. A cousin’s tooth breaks on a cousin’s. Did
he give you that arm?”
“Yes, Agha. Early in this month of Jomhadi.”
“Three weeks ago! Do you hate him?”
“Oh, no. My cousin lost three little ones in the famine. Great was their
pain, but now they drink the river of milk in paradise.”
“Have you seen a hakim about this arm?”
“The mullahs have prayed. It grows worse. I shall die, but in paradise I
shall no longer struggle for bread. I shall shoot the pheasants and eat
and be filled, and the bones will put on new plumage and fly back into
the golden leaves. The mullah has told me.”
“O pale son of Zakka Khel, I am hakim. I am Hakim Rasul of Peshawar.”
“I kiss the foot of Hakim Rasul. Why did he spare this slave?”
“I have sworn an oath to spare the men of Zakka Khel. I have sworn the
oath of _wilyati yunani_[1]—that I will heal friend and foe. Let me see
your arm.”
The man shook his head. “You are Daktar Sahib—a Christian.”
“No.”
“You are Baid—a Hindu.”
“No! La illaha illa ’llaha, Muhammad-an-Rassul-Allah, Hakim Rasul
rasul-o-rasulillah!”[2]
The man unbound the lungi and revealed a ghastly sight. Jaffer stripped
off a chicken skin that was wrapped around the general disaster. Then he
opened his luggage and got out his big bath sponge. “Take this down to
the river and soak it.”
The fellow received the sponge gingerly. “It is the little cloud. I have
heard but never seen. Hakim Rasul has caught the cloud on the top of
Safed Koh, and shut it in the jar, and waited till the cloud is dead.
Then he cut off this piece to wash the arm of Zakka Khel.”
When the arm was clean, Jaffer brought out his instruments, and the man
started to run away. “Coward!” yelled Jaffer. “Spawn of an Englishman!”
The Afridi came back with flashing eyes, and for the next four minutes
never flinched. At the end of that time Jaffer placed the ball in his
hand. “Pukka talisman, Zakka Khel.”
“I know, I know! I shall have no sickness now. I am the hakim’s slave.”
“Then go to your cousin and give him this word from me. As I wrap this
lungi about your arm, so I wrap a spell about you both. From henceforth
there shall be peace between you till I come again.”
“It shall be so, Hakim. I will bring the camel. Lundi Kotal is only five
kro from here. Go in the safety of God, and may the riches of Rasul ever
increase.”