bring them fast enough to us; but as thou knowest, Ahmed-ji, the sound
of their riding would be heard while they were yet far away, and they
have but to come a little nearer to be seen by the outpost. The end
would be the same: Minghal would lie hid in readiness to meet them, and
they would fall into his hands."
"Yet we must do something," cried Ahmed, "and before it is dark. When
night comes we shall be attacked and overcome; and my father, when he
hears the firing, will come up in haste, and as you say, the sound of
his riding will be heard; having overcome us, Minghal would have time to
prepare to meet him."
"There is one way, Ahmed-ji," said Ahsan slowly. "One of us must go down
the rope and haste to meet him and give him warning of what has befallen
us here. And who better than thyself? Thou art swift of foot and skilled
in the secret tracking down of prey: who more fit to undertake this
errand or more likely to accomplish it?"
This was perfectly true; but the old man had another motive. There was
still uncertainty whether the horsemen were friends or foes, and he
wished in either case to secure the lad's safety. Ahmed did not see
through the gate-keeper's design; he knew that, of the company there
assembled, he would have the best chance of success; and so he agreed,
as soon as dusk fell, to slip down the rope, make his way round the
village, and set off towards the distant hill on which the dark patch
could still be seen, stationary.
It wanted still two hours of dusk when this decision was come to. During
that time Ahmed and the gate-keeper talked over the plan, and as they
did so they saw the band of horsemen begin to move once more slowly
towards them. They were at once alive to a danger. The horsemen were at
least twelve miles from the village. At the pace at which they appeared
to be riding it would take them four hours to reach the walls. But when
they had covered half the distance they would come in sight of the
outpost on the hillock; the alarm would be given, and they would arrive
only to fall into a trap. Yet it was impossible to warn them. It would
be unsafe for Ahmed to leave the tower until the approach of dark, and
by that time the horsemen might have come within view from the hillock.
Ahmed waited in great restlessness and anxiety, feeling his
helplessness.
"'Tis in the hands of Allah," said Ahsan, trying to quiet him. "What is
to be will be. But that thou hast Feringhi blood in thee, Ahmed-ji, thou
wouldst not be so disturbed. We cannot hasten the dark; we cannot speak
through the air to warn the master. But look what Allah can do; they
have halted again."
And pointing over the parapet, he showed that the dark irregular shadow
had rested a little lower down the hill, upon which lay the glow of the
now setting sun.
As soon as the dusk was merging towards dark, Ahmed was let down by the
rope. Ahsan had promised to hold out against any attack that Minghal
might make. Then, creeping stealthily along by the foot of the wall, he
continued till he came to a place where the ground was broken by a
nullah, into which he leapt, and ran along its dry bottom at full speed
until he arrived safely in the hills. By this time it was quite dark;
but the moon was just rising, and in a little he was able by its light
to guide his steps so that he did not stumble into a ravine or trip over
a salient rock.
As he came near the place where the outpost was stationed he went very
cautiously. The men had taken shelter in a rude shepherd's cairn; he saw
the faint glow of their charcoal fire and heard their voices as he
slipped by. Then he pushed on at greater speed, choosing a course in
which he would never come within sight of the men, however carefully
they might keep watch. At one spot he halted and looked behind, to catch
a last glimpse of the tower before he rounded the base of a hill that
would hide it from view. The moon was shining full upon it, and he hoped
that the enemy would defer their threatened attack, as at the first
attempt, until the door was shrouded in darkness.
On and on he hastened, for mile after mile, running down the slopes
where he could, wading brooks, climbing bluffs, doggedly, without rest.
When he came to an eminence where he could scan a long stretch of the
comparatively level ground over which the horsemen would come, he looked
eagerly for some sign of them; but though the greyish soil shone white
in the moonlight and the outlines of things were very clear, he failed
to descry them, and could not but think that they had encamped for the
night. If it was so, still greater was the necessity for speed, since at
any moment the attack on the tower might be begun and the frail
barricade forced or blown up.
Every now and again he paused for a moment to listen, both for sounds
from the village behind him and for the hoofs of the horses. In the
still air of the night the crack of musket-shots might well reach him if
the assault on the tower were begun. But he heard nothing save the
rustle of falling water or the cry of a jackal, and he went on again,
buoyed up by a great hope that he might be in time.
At length, heated and weary, after breasting a steep knoll he espied, in
a well-sheltered hollow far below him, the glow of camp fires. With the
caution habitual in a hill-man he crept down warily; if he should
blunder on a hostile party the chances of saving the village and warning
his father would be small indeed. Taking cover from bushes and angular
projections of the hillside, he drew nearer and nearer to the camp. He
had little fear of encountering a sentry, for the Pathans, in some
matters highly cautious, are in others equally careless. And thus he
came within earshot of the camp, and, lying flat on his face, peered
down to spy if the men there were or were not his friends.
Now he was able to see the dark forms of a number of horses tethered to
trees beyond the camp, and in the middle of the hollow, around the
fires, the shapes of sleeping men. Still he was unable to distinguish
them. He wriggled forward on all fours until he was within a spear-cast
of them, and then caught sight of the red turban which his father always
wore. No other man of the tribe wore a turban of that colour; but still
it might be affected by one of another tribe, and Ahmed was not yet
satisfied. So he crept very stealthily round the encampment until he
reached the line of horses, and his heart leapt with delight when, on
the very first of the line, he recognized the housings of Rahmut Khan's
favourite arab. He hesitated no longer, but gave a low hail, and rising
to his feet walked down towards the fires. His call, low as it was, had
reached the ears of several of the men and of the chief himself. They
rose, gripping their long muskets that lay beside them, and as they
recognized Ahmed, they came forward to meet him, and asked him eagerly
the meaning of this nocturnal visit.
It did not take him long to explain what had happened. Growling with
anger, but breaking off to speak a fond word of approbation to Ahmed,
the old chief called to his men to mount their horses. "Bah!" he cried,
with a scornful intonation, "we will see if the eagle cannot deal with
the night-hawk."
The blood of the old warrior was up; Minghal should rue the day when he
conceived the folly of setting himself in rivalry to Rahmut Khan.
The chief was quick to form his plan. The first thing was to guard
against any alarm among Minghal's men. It was necessary to silence the
two men of the outpost. This would cause some delay, but it was of the
first importance that they should neither see nor hear the advancing
body, since by firing their matchlocks they could put their comrades in
the village on the alert.
It was seven miles from the camp to the outpost. Rahmut durst not ride
towards it with his full body of men, for the clatter of fifty horses'
hoofs could not fail to be heard. Yet the case was urgent, for very
soon, perhaps even at this moment, the tower might be assaulted. Delay
there must be, but to lessen it as much as possible Rahmut decided to
muffle the hoofs of three of the horses with strips of blanket, and to
send three of his men with Ahmed to surprise the outpost. Meanwhile he
himself with the rest of his party would ride in a circular course to
the southward, so that they might sweep round the dangerous point at
sufficient distance to be out of earshot.
The muffling was soon done, and the three chosen men set off, Ahmed
being mounted behind one of them. Following his directions, they came
unerringly to within a short distance of the hillock upon which the
scouts were posted. Then they dismounted, and, Ahmed leading the way,
they crept round and up so as to come on the men from above. The scouts
were reclining in the cairn behind the fire, still talking in low tones.
There was a sudden rush, a cry, a wild scuffle, and then silence.
Their task accomplished, the four returned to their horses and galloped
across the country to join the main body, whom they met at the appointed
rendezvous, a copse on rising ground some three miles south of the
village. From that point Rahmut had decided to make the advance on foot,
so that the chances of premature discovery by the enemy should be
diminished. The moon was sinking in the sky; they could not see the
tower from the place where they dismounted; but the favourable moment
for Minghal's intended assault had certainly now come, and Ahmed
expected within a little to hear the sound of firing.
The whole party, save a few men left to guard the horses, set off at a
rapid march towards the village. It was possible that as they approached
it a keen look-out might descry them from the tower, but they would be
invisible to any one on a lower level. True, a man perched on the wall
might see them; but Minghal, having posted scouts on a hillock
commanding all the surrounding country for several miles, would be
little likely to take this extra precaution.
Marching rapidly, the party had come within a few hundred yards of the
village wall when they heard an explosion, followed by cries and the
crack of muskets. The assault had begun. The gates being shut, it was
only possible to enter the village by climbing the wall, and Ahmed led
the band at the double to the spot where he had mounted when he fired
the powder in the shed. Shouts and the sound of firing still came from
the village; it was clear that a desperate fight was in progress; and
since the din must drown all other noises, Rahmut's troops made no
effort towards silence, but rushed with all speed.
The place for which Ahmed was making was on the opposite side of the
village from the tower. Thus it was possible to climb the wall without
attracting the attention of the enemy. Ahmed was first up; while some of
the men were following him one by one he ran round to the gate on the
chance that it might be left unguarded. He would then throw it open and
give admittance to the rest of his party. But when he came within sight
of it he found that a sentry was on guard there. He dared not risk the
sound of a scuffle, so he slipped back to his friends and waited until
the whole party had climbed the wall. Then, drawing his talwar, Rahmut
put himself at the head of his men and led them through the streets
towards the tower.
Their advance was not at first seen, for the villagers, drawn out of
their houses by the sounds of fighting, had flocked to the neighbourhood
of the tower, and were watching the progress of Minghal's attack. The
barricade at the foot of the winding stair had been blown up, and a
fierce contest was now going on. Ahsan and his comrades were making a
stout resistance, buoyed up by the belief that their chief was coming to
their help; but they were on the point of being overpowered when a great
shout arose from the street, and Rahmut and his men burst through the
ranks of the onlookers and fell upon the rear of Minghal's force. The
surprise was complete. The new-comers laid about them doughtily with
their terrible swords; their enemies fell into a panic, and in a few
minutes the whole crowd, save those who had already fallen, were running
in every direction. Many of them were cut down as they fled. Some made
straight for the gate, which the men stationed there had thrown open at
the first sign of what was happening. Among the fugitives was Minghal
Khan. Rahmut had ordered his men to take the rival chief alive, but in
the darkness it was difficult to distinguish one from many, and Minghal
made good his escape with a few of his followers, and fled away into the
night.
CHAPTER THE FOURTH
The Return of Sherdil
To pursue the fugitives was impossible in the darkness; nor, indeed,
were Rahmut's men capable of further exertions. They were worn out by
two days and nights of hard riding. Before proceeding to carry out the
prime object of his expedition, the old chief had turned aside to raid
the village of an enemy near the frontier, and had scarcely completed
his work there when he was spied by a troop of the Feringhis, who chased
him with such pertinacity that he was forced to abandon his purposed
quest. Having secured, therefore, those members of Minghal's band who
had life in them and were not too severely wounded to escape, Rahmut
ordered the gates to be again closed and the community to rest.
Before he sought his own couch, however, the old chief heard from Ahsan
the full story of what had happened during his absence. Enraged as he
was at Minghal's action, he was still more delighted with the part Ahmed
had played. He embraced the lad fondly, called him by endearing names in
the extravagant Oriental way, and declared that, after punishing
Minghal, he would devote himself in earnest to the quest of a suitable
bride for his heir.
In the morning he caused all the villagers to assemble in the open space
before the tower, and bitterly upbraided those who had tamely submitted
to the enemy. He ordered his nephew Dilasah, who had been severely
wounded, to be brought out among the people, and, cursing him in the
name of the Prophet, he bade all men to witness that he disowned him
utterly. Then he waxed eloquent in praise of Ahmed, about whose neck he
hung a chain of silver cunningly wrought, and called on the people to
recognize him as their future chief. And, finally, he announced that
Minghal Khan should not go unpunished. When the time was ripe his enemy
should lick the dust.
When the assembly was dismissed, Rahmut called his chief men about him
to discuss the means of taking vengeance on Minghal. Ahmed felt a glow
of pride at being admitted to the council. In the ordinary way he could
not have expected so great an honour until he had proved himself in
actual warfare and become a married man. But the old chief was so much
pleased with his coolness and daring, that he was resolved to give the
lad a real share in the activities of the tribe.
There was a long discussion as to the method by which reprisal might be
made on Minghal Khan. It was speedily agreed that to attack his village
openly was impracticable, or would at least expose them to the risk of
disaster. Minghal had lost some twenty men in the fight, but it was well
known that he could still put eighty or ninety good warriors in the
field, whereas Rahmut had but forty or fifty. Success could only be
hoped for from a stratagem. But Minghal, while inferior as a warrior to
Rahmut, was more than his match in wiles. Rahmut, indeed, disdained
trickery of any kind; he had won his reputation by sheer prowess and
skill in generalship, and if it came to a contest in cunning, Minghal
would easily bear the palm. No doubt the wily chief would expect
retaliation, and would be fully prepared to meet it. No one among the
council was able to suggest a likely scheme, and it broke up without
having come to a decision.
Two days passed, and still no plan had suggested itself. On the third
day, there rode up to the village a tall, black-bearded horseman clad in
worn and tattered garments of dust colour, and carrying sword, lance and
carbine. When he had come within a short distance of the gate Ahsan
shouted--
"Halt, there! Who are you, and what is your business?"
"Knowst thou me not, Ahsan?" came the reply. "Dost not remember Sherdil,
son of Assad? Thou didst thrash me often enough, and truly the soft part
of me will never forget thy thwackings."
"Why, Sherdil, thy beard has grown since those days. I remember thee
well. Come in, and say why thou ridest in garments of so strange a
make."
Sherdil rode in, eyed curiously by the crowd of men and boys whom the
brief conversation had drawn to the spot. He was a magnificent specimen
of a Pathan, tall, handsome of feature, well made, and his horse was a
match for him. Dismounting, he led his horse by the bridle and went to
pay his respects to the chief.
Sherdil had left the village nearly eight years before, when he was a
youth of seventeen. He had been the wildest and most unruly boy of the
tribe, always in mischief, showing no respect for his elders--one day he
had called a holy sayad "old scaldhead," and laughed when his father
thrashed him for it. He had been incorrigibly lazy at school: not all
the mullah's thwackings drove into his thick head the scraps from the
Koran which formed the greater part of his lessons, and he was always
very rebellious at having to fast from sunrise to sunset in Ramzan, the
ninth month. But in tent-pegging and racing and sword-play he beat all
boys of his age, and indeed many of the men; and when he insisted on
joining them in their expeditions, which happened at the age of sixteen,
he excelled them all as a highway robber and a horse-thief.
When he was seventeen he ran away, and nothing had since been heard of
him. His mother grieved, for he was her firstborn; but his father,
having three more sons, was not greatly distressed, for the boy had
always been a trouble to him. And now he had come back, grown out of
knowledge, with a fine black beard and the look of a seasoned warrior.
His father, Assad, as in duty bound, made a great feast in honour of the
returned prodigal. He invited a great number of his neighbours, and
regaled them with the flesh of sheep and goats and--this was a great
luxury--fowls, and beautifully light chapatis baked by his wife Fatima
herself, and luscious sweetmeats made of honey and ghi; but the only
drink was water. And having been well fed, Sherdil related the story of
his life since he had left Shagpur--a good riddance, as most of the folk
thought.
It was a stirring tale, of wild doings on the borders, among men who
kept the passes into the hills and lived amid inaccessible rocks, whence
they swept down upon unsuspecting travellers and merchants in the
plains, and even pushed their forays across the frontiers among the
sahib-log. His audience uttered many an exclamation of wonderment and
admiration as he recounted his exploits, and you may be sure he did not
minimize them. The men about him were robbers and brigands and murderers
themselves, but their deeds faded into insignificance beside the bold
and desperate adventures of Sherdil. Ahmed, who was among the company,
listened with all his frame thrilling. He had a faint recollection of
Sherdil as a big fellow who, rough as he was, had treated him with a
certain kindness, and had shown him first how to snare a rabbit. And he
felt a good deal of envy of this fine stalwart fellow who had seen and
done so much.
One story of Sherdil's made the company hilarious. The chief to whom he
for a time attached himself--one Dilawur, a native of Jahangia, a
village on the Cabul river--heard one day that a wealthy Hindu
shopkeeper was to be married. He instantly determined to profit by the
bridegroom's happiness. With his men, among whom Sherdil was one, he lay
in wait on the bank of the Indus at a place which the Hindu must pass on
his way to the bride's house. When the expectant bridegroom came in
sight, all bedizened with wristlets and chains and jewels, the brigands,
armed with pistol, sword and dagger, fell upon the party, seized the
luckless man, dragged him to the river bank, and thrust him into an
inflated cow-hide. Then Sherdil mounted upon this monstrous bladder, and
paddled it across the river. When the rest were across, the Hindu was
carried away into the hills, and Dilawur's scribe--for he could not
write himself--penned a letter to his sorrowing friends, informing them
that their relative was well and happy, and would be restored to them
fat and jolly for the little sum of two hundred rupees.
"Wah! wah!" said the company in chorus. "And what next, O lion of the
hills?"
And Sherdil, whose name means "lion-hearted," chuckled and said--
"Why, did ye ever know a Hindu who would pay a price without bargaining?
And the richer they are, the more they haggle. 'Two hundred rupees? No,
no: we cannot afford that. The sickness fell on our goats last winter;
we are very poor; our friend is very dear to us, but he will be too dear
if we pay that price. We will give a hundred rupees, when we are sure
our friend has lost no flesh.' But Dilawur Khan has not the patience of
a camel. When he got their foolish answer he sent me with another
letter, saying that if the two hundred rupees were not in his hands
within seven days, he would strike off their dear relative's head and
send it them as an offering of peace; only having been at the expense of
feeding him with good fattening food all that time, he would require two
thousand rupees as recompense."
"Wah! wah!" shouted the delighted hearers, to whose sense of justice
this appealed no less than to their sense of humour; "and what was the
answer?"
"Why, the answer was two hundred rupees, full tale, and a present of
goats beside. And the Hindu--whom fear and the delay of his marriage had
most marvellously thinned--was restored to his home, with good wishes
for a long life and many sons--for our sons to pluck likewise."
And in the midst of the laughter this story evoked, one of the guests
asked a question--
"But why, O Sherdil, hast thou given up the dress of thy
forefathers--the chogah, and the blue trousers drawn in at the ankles,
and the sandals? Why dost thou wear this strange garb, like the dust of
the plain or corn of the fields in colour?"
"Eha, that is a strange story too," said Sherdil, and he drew himself
up. "I am a servant of the sahib-log."
"Hai! hai!" gasped the company in astonishment. "A servant of the
sahib-log! the accursed Feringhis! sayest thou, O Sherdil?"
"'Tis true. My coat is the colour of corn, say you? yes, but it is the
colour of the lion also. Is not my name Sherdil? A great sahib, his name
Lumsden, heard of me; he knows everything; no man who does brave deeds
escapes him. Having heard of my great daring in the hills, he sent one
to me who had served him long and was as brave as myself, and begged me,
if it were not too much trouble, to go and see him. And then he spoke
fairly to me: the sahibs are just and speak true; he told me that he had
learnt somewhat of my doings, and asked whether it would suit my honour
to join a company of warriors like myself--Afridis and Gurkhas, Sikhs
and Hazaras, Waziris and even Kafirs, many bloods but one spirit. And
before I made my answer he showed me them at their sports, and verily,
brothers, never did I see such skill among so many men. I saw them throw
the spear at a mark, and doing nazabaze, which is, to fix a stake of a
span length in the ground and take it up on the spear's point when
passing at a full gallop; and, for another sport, putting an orange on
the top of a bamboo three spans high, and slicing it through with the
sword as they ride by at full speed. 'By my beard!' I thought, 'these
are fit mates for me;' and I asked the sahib whether I might try the
nazabaze myself. And he allowed me, and when I caught up the stake on my
spear point he smote his hands together and said words in his tongue to
Hodson Sahib that stood by him, and then he offered me good wages to be
one of his men--Guides, they call them. And I agreed, and therefore it
is, my friends, that I wear this garb, which being of the colour of
earth cannot be seen from afar so clearly as our own garments."
Assad, for the first time in his life proud of this son of his, swelled
with gratification.
"Well did I name thee Sherdil, my son," he said. "But tell us, what dost
thou do for the pay these Feringhis--curst unbelievers--give thee?
Assuredly it is easy work, or thou wouldst not do it."
Sherdil laughed.