set off again. Ahmed was by no means easy in mind. While he felt pretty
sure that there was no enemy in sufficient force across the Delhi road
to interrupt communications, he suspected that the whole country was
infested with disaffected persons, and that parties of rebels and
robbers were roving about, ready to swoop down upon any one worth
plundering. It would matter nothing whether such a person were well or
ill affected to the sahibs: unless he were accompanied by an adequate
escort he would stand small chance against the rebel troops and the
lawless element of the population, who had taken advantage of the
disturbances to plunder their own countrymen and the hated Feringhis
impartially. As he rode, therefore, Ahmed was ever on the alert to catch
the first sound of a body of men approaching, or anything that should
indicate the neighbourhood of a village.
But nothing occurred to cause alarm. The party marched on, through
fields, over slight nullahs and across small streams, until, some time
after midnight, they struck into a broad dusty track which the men said
was the high-road to Delhi. Here Ahmed called a halt, and sat his horse
intently listening. Had the Guides passed? he wondered. For the moment
he could not tell. He heard nothing but the faint barking of dogs in the
distance. He asked the men the name of the village whence the sound
came. It was Panipat, they told him, about six koss south of Karnal, and
probably half-a-koss from where they were at that moment standing. He
was in a quandary. If the Guides had not passed, it would be well to
wait for them. On the other hand, if they had passed he stood a poor
chance of overtaking them. Well he knew the rate at which they could
march! The four bearers, encumbered with the palki, could not move at
anything like the pace of the Guides. He dared not leave them; they
could not be relied on, no matter what bakshish were promised, when it
was a Feringhi lady who was concerned: they might get more bakshish by
delivering her up. He thought for a moment of setting her behind him on
his arab and making a dash for Karnal, where she would be safe with Le
Bas Sahib; but Panipat was in the way: if it were not held by the sahibs
the risk was too great. On the other hand, even if he knew that the
Guides were now on the road south of him, he might not overtake them
before daylight, and no doubt there were other villages to pass through.
Were the girl seen by any passing native, he would soon have every
freebooter of the countryside upon his tracks, for he knew the
extraordinary speed with which the news of such a discovery would
travel. Then, his horse bearing a double burden, he could scarcely hope
to outride any pursuers.
But, since delay was dangerous, it was necessary for him to make up his
mind to some course, and he thought it best to push along the highway
southward, keeping a sharp look-out for hostile parties. No doubt he
would have sufficient warning of their presence to give him time to find
some temporary hiding-place by the roadside. The absence of any sound
from the north persuaded him that the Guides had already passed, and
then he bethought himself that he might possibly prove it by examining
the dust of the road. Dismounting, he struck a light with flint and
steel, ignited his tinder, and, shielding it with his pagri, blew up a
sufficient glow to throw a faint light on the road. The dust was marked
with a great number of foot-prints, both of men and of horses, many of
them so blurred as to be indistinguishable. But after a little Ahmed's
trained eye noticed several which were clearer than the rest; without
doubt they were made by the horses coming at the end of a troop. He
easily distinguished the four hoof-marks of a single horse: the mark of
the hind-foot coming close behind that of the fore-foot: and by the
distance between the successive impressions he knew that the horse had
been going at a walking pace. The print was very like that which would
be made by the shoe of one of the horses of the Guides; and the evidence
was so clear that a considerable troop had passed along the road not
many hours before that he felt sure his comrades were ahead of him.
He wondered whether there was any chance of catching them up. It
occurred to him that he might quicken the pace of the party by relieving
the palki-wallahs of their burden for a time, so he asked the missy
sahib, through one of the men, to alight and mount his horse while he
led the animal. Tired as she was of her cramped position in the palki,
and not a little discommoded by the jolting movements of the vehicle as
the men trudged over the rough ground, the girl consented with alacrity.
Thus lightened, the men stepped forward at a good pace--probably as fast
as the Guides, whose progress was of course limited by the marching
power of the infantry portion of the corps.
The march continued for several hours at a brisk rate. They skirted one
village by making a detour into the fields beside the road. When they
returned to the highway Ahmed noticed that the men were flagging; the
palki, even without its occupant, was no light weight to bearers who had
already carried it for many hours; and one of the men plucked up courage
to tell their hard taskmaster that his strength was failing. But Ahmed
could not venture to delay. In a fierce whisper he bade the man, who had
dropped his pole, bringing the party momentarily to a halt, to push on,
if he valued his life. The man obeyed with a groan, but the party had
not gone much further when the girl, who had hitherto endured the
fatigues and anxieties of the journey without a murmur, suddenly broke
down. She would have fallen from the horse but for Ahmed's arm, and when
he had carried her back to the palki he found that she had fainted. He
was utterly ignorant of what to do to restore her; nothing of the kind
had ever come within his experience before. But one of the men explained
that she must have water, and volunteered to go and find a brook; he had
a small lotah with him. Ahmed dared not trust him; the reasons for not
leaving the party himself were as cogent as ever; there was nothing for
it but that the whole party should leave the road and search for a
stream.
The girl recovered from her swoon before their search was rewarded. Then
she broke into a fit of weeping, which to Ahmed was almost as alarming.
But a draught from a brook they by and by discovered revived her, and
they returned to the road. The delay had cost them a good hour.
It was nearing daybreak when Ahmed heard the sound of trotting horses on
the road behind. He instantly ordered the bearers to make for a patch of
woodland bordering the roadside. He hoped that the horses might prove to
be those of the Guides, but it was necessary to prepare for the worst.
It was useless to attempt any deception in case the horsemen turned out
to be enemies and discovered him: his khaki uniform would betray him. If
he should pretend to have deserted from the Guides and joined the
mutineers, a word from one of the palki-wallahs would be his undoing.
The only chance was to remain in hiding in the copse and trust that the
riders would pass by. He wondered whether any of the bearers would have
sufficient courage to cry out, and so disclose their hiding-place.
Dismounting from his horse, he handed the girl his knife, and stood over
the four men with his sword drawn, bidding them not to make a sound if
they valued their lives.
They had been but a minute or two in their place of concealment when the
horsemen came up at a trot. It was still very dark, but Ahmed, peering
out from among the trees, was able to see them dimly, and thought from
their general appearance, and the sounds made by the horses' furnishings
as they trotted past, that they were sowars. If that were the case, it
was almost certain that they were mutineers; he knew that they were not
Guides because they were riding in one compact troop, without an advance
guard. As nearly as he could guess, they numbered about fifty.
They passed by; the immediate danger was over. But it was disconcerting
to find a body of the enemy now between him and the Guides. He wondered
for a moment whether the Guides were after all behind them, but
dismissed that idea when he remembered the leisurely pace of the
horsemen who had just gone by; they would have made greater speed had
they feared pursuit. There was clearly need for redoubled carefulness.
Ahmed waited a full quarter of an hour after the troop had ridden by
before he gave the word to proceed. Then he went after them slowly,
listening more intently than ever, both for sounds from ahead, in case
they should return, and for sounds from behind, in case others were
following. But after a time the tramping of the receding horses faded
quite away; he heard nothing from the opposite direction, and hoped that
with the morning light he would reach the bivouac of the Guides.
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH
Bluff
Before morning broke, however, it was clear that the march must be
intermitted. The girl was in no condition to walk, nor could she sit the
horse; and the palki-wallahs, men of no great stamina or muscular
development, were worn out. Bitterly as he deplored the necessity, Ahmed
saw that further progress was impossible for the present, and promised
the men that if they would hold out until the dawn, which must be at
hand, he would let them have a long rest. He was still hoping that
daylight would reveal the encampment of the Guides.
Very soon afterwards the sky lightened, and he saw nothing but the long
dusty road and the wide plain on either side. It would clearly be unsafe
to continue the journey now that they could be seen, so a hiding-place
must be found where they might lie up in comparative comfort during the
day. The men were so exhausted that he ventured now for the first time
to leave them, to search for a hiding-place himself. At a little
distance from the road he discovered a nullah, and, scrambling up the
bed of the watercourse, now nearly dry, he came upon a spot overgrown
with thorn and brambles, which would shelter the whole party, save,
perhaps, the horse. He retraced his steps, explained to the girl what he
proposed to do, and led the horse in advance of the party to the place
of concealment. When they were settled there, he found, a little higher
up, a tall bush standing almost as high as the horse's head, and there
he left the animal, speaking to him, and knowing that the faithful beast
would not move from the spot until his master called him.
The bed of the watercourse was fairly steep. Two or three tall trees
overhung it. Ahmed thought by climbing one of these he might get a view
of the surrounding country. He managed to make the girl understand that
he wished her to watch the bearers, and use the knife upon any of them
who should attempt to escape or call out. Even if she had not the nerve
for such action, he thought that the men, having heard what he said,
might shrink from putting the matter to the test.
Then he scrambled up the side of the nullah and nimbly climbed the
tallest tree. What he saw from his perch was not reassuring. A little to
the right of the road, perhaps a koss distant, a troop of horsemen,
dismounted, were resting at the edge of a small plantation, which
concealed them from any one passing along the highway. Beyond them the
ground rose slightly, scarcely enough to be called a hill, and yet
sufficiently to cut off any more extended view southward. Far away on
all sides stretched open country, with little vegetation except patches
of scrub. Many miles to the left he fancied he descried the white roofs
of a village, but in front the road ran between almost bare plains.
Ahmed guessed that the plantation at which the men were resting
surrounded a tank where they had watered their horses. He had no doubt
that they were those who had passed in the night. Yet he wondered why
they had halted at that particular spot, for if it was a tank, there was
in all probability a village on the other side of the rising ground. He
watched them for a time, and presently saw a man riding towards them
from round the shoulder of the hillock. As he reached them, some of the
dismounted men crowded about him; in the distance they looked to Ahmed
like flies clustering. After a time two of them mounted their horses,
and accompanied the new-comer along the high-road in the direction of
Delhi. When they came near the crest of the rising ground they halted
and dismounted. One of the men held the horses in the middle of the
road, while the others went on foot to the top, and gradually
disappeared as they descended on the further side. The third man
remained motionless with the horses in the road.
Ahmed felt interested. What were they about? What lay beyond the
hillock?
After a while he saw two figures reappear on the skyline. They were no
doubt the same two, for they walked down to the man with the horses,
mounted, and trotted back to the main body. A few minutes afterwards two
other men left the plantation and rode up the acclivity as the others
had done, dismounting also before they reached the top. While one held
the horses the other ascended the slope, with a slowness that spoke of
caution, and went out of sight as the others had done before him. Ahmed
looked for him to return after an interval, but minute after minute
slipped away and still he did not reappear. Had he gone on some scouting
errand, or perhaps to take post as sentry? It was clear that on the
further side of the hillock something was going on in which the horsemen
on this side were keenly interested.
All at once the explanation occurred to Ahmed. The Guides were without
doubt encamped beyond the hillock. It had been their practice all
through the march from Mardan to halt in the early morning. The horsemen
at the plantation were probably a roving band of mutinous sowars from
Delhi, who had been raiding, and now found the Guides between them and
the city. To obtain confirmation of his conclusions, Ahmed slipped down
from the tree and asked one of the men whether there was a village
beyond the hillock.
"Truly there is," said the man, "and it is some seventeen koss from
Karnal."
This was the distance the Guides might be expected to march during the
night.
"And how far is it from us?" he asked.
"Thy servant knows not with any certainty, but maybe it is two koss."
It was a tantalizing situation to be in. Ahmed felt sure that his
comrades were encamped within an hour's march of him and yet he could
not reach them. Why had the sowars halted at the plantation instead of
returning to Delhi by some roundabout route? And yet, he reflected, even
if they were not there, he could hardly dare to move on in the broad
daylight. There were the same dangers to be feared as had determined his
previous conduct.
The position was delicate enough. The sowars might take alarm. In that
case they would probably retreat to find some shelter, and might easily
come upon the very nullah in which the little party was concealed. The
Guides would no doubt remain in their encampment for the greater part of
the day, moving on again when night fell. Even if the rebel horsemen
should not be scared by any action of the Guides, it was always possible
that some of them should take it into their heads to go a-roving. At any
moment, too, a villager, a wandering mendicant, a kasid from one village
to another, might cross the plain and get sight of the fugitives. There
were signs of footpaths, and passers-by would not need to come right up
to the nullah before suspecting the presence of the hidden party, for
Ruksh was but imperfectly concealed by the bush.
Moreover, the party would soon be in want of food. The bearers had with
them provisions for only one day, and though Ahmed did not know how much
food was in the palki, he suspected that it was very little: the
zamindar would hardly have foreseen the possibility of so long a delay
in reaching his brother's house. Ruksh could find some little sustenance
in the leaves of the shrubs around him, but he would soon strip them
bare. There was water in the bed of the nullah, and the bearers had
already given the girl some in the lotah she had used before; they
themselves of course, being Hindus, would not drink from the vessel
which her lips had contaminated, but stooped and lapped up the running
water. But none of the party was in a condition to wait through the long
hours of an Indian day in the hottest season of the year, and then to
undertake a night march, without more refreshment than it seemed
possible for them to obtain. Ahmed thought over the situation with no
little anxiety. To move away might be immediately fatal; the only
alternative was to remain hidden on the chance of the sowars by and by
moving off.
Once more Ahmed climbed the tree to keep watch. The sun rose higher and
higher, and yet there was no sign of a movement among the party. But
after some time he noticed the man who had gone over the brow of the
hill returning. He came much faster than he had gone. Rejoining his
waiting comrade, he mounted his horse, and the two galloped down to the
rest. Instantly the whole party sprang to their feet, loosened their
horses, and sprang into the saddle. A few even started to ride across
the plain in a straight line for the nullah, and Ahmed feared that in a
few minutes the fugitives would be discovered. He knew that if they were
seen there was no help for them; with his single hand he could do
nothing against a troop of horse. The sowars came on until they were
within a hundred yards of the nullah, and Ahmed shrank back among the
leaves, fearing lest he might be seen and so draw the men on. But they
suddenly wheeled half round and cantered to the road, where they halted.
Their comrades meanwhile, though they had mounted their horses, had not
left the plantation. Apparently they were waiting to see if the report
brought to them by their scout was correct. After some time they
appeared to decide that it was a false alarm, for half-a-dozen now left
the main body and rode up the hillock, dismounting as the others had
done previously, and skirmishing forward over the crest. In a few
minutes they returned and trotted back again. The smaller body who had
taken panic returned slowly to rejoin their comrades. They all
dismounted, tethered their horses, and once more stretched themselves at
ease under the shade of the plantation.
Ahmed watched them for a long time. There was no sign of further
movement among them. It looked as if they had settled down to doze
through the hot hours of the day. The prospect of being kept at a
standstill became more and more unendurable. To say nothing of the
torture of remaining through the long hours of torrid heat without
adequate protection or sufficient food, there was the danger that, if
his journey could not be resumed until nightfall, he would reach the
encampment of the Guides only to find them gone. Was it not possible, he
wondered, in some way to get past or round the men who lay between him
and safety? Obviously the whole party, with the palki, could not advance
openly across the bare plain. Nor could he alone venture to go, in the
tell-tale uniform of the Guides, to bring assistance to the missy sahib.
If only he were clad in the costume of Shagpur he would have risked the
attempt.
Suddenly a new idea crossed his mind. Was it possible to disguise
himself? The palki-wallahs could not help him; they had little on but
their loin-cloths. He wished he had stripped the zamindar whom he had
left on the ground. There was not likely to be a spare dhoti in the
palki. But he remembered the coloured hangings of that vehicle. If he
tore those down and wound them over his khaki tunic, they might raise a
question as to what his race and position were, but they would certainly
never cause any one to suspect that he was one of the Guides.
Hitherto he had shrunk from leaving the missy sahib. But now the
position was desperate. To die of fright, hunger, and exposure to the
heat might be her fate; an accident might at any moment lead to her
discovery; yet there was at least a chance that by carrying out the plan
which had suggested itself to him he could secure her safety. The
bearers had been cowed into submissiveness; the natives, for all their
brave talk, were very amenable to stern and authoritative handling.
Threats of grievous punishment on the one hand, and promises of liberal
bakshish on the other, might at any rate keep their wills in a state of
oscillation, so that they would not make up their minds to any positive
course. And if only the missy sahib would summon up a little resolution,
and show that she meant to use the knife he had given her if they
attempted to betray her whereabouts, he would feel a certain confidence
in leaving her for a time. He could at any rate fasten them more tightly
together. There were creepers growing on the sides of the nullah, and
strands of these would make very serviceable bonds.
His resolution fixed, he climbed down the tree and crept to the palki.
It was difficult for him to explain his purpose to the girl without the
assistance of the bearers, but he did not wish them to know too much.
The missy sahib herself was so depressed from anxiety and want of sleep,
as well as from the effects of the heat, that she was slower to
apprehend than she might otherwise have been. But he succeeded after a
time in making her understand that he was going to bring help from the
sahibs, who were very near at hand, and that during his absence she was
to strike without compunction any of the bearers who tried either to
free himself or to give an alarm. Then he cut lengths of creeper
sufficient for his purpose, and tied the men's arms and legs together so
that they could not move. He did not gag them; they were in a state of
abject submission; and when he told them that the missy sahib would
certainly kill them if they uttered a word above a whisper, they
declared that they had no tongues until he gave them leave. Then he
wrenched the muslin curtains of the palki from their fastenings, and
with the missy sahib's help his khaki was soon entirely concealed.
As she twisted the stuff around him she suddenly said--
"There is a little black hole in your pagri, and the cloth is scorched
around it. Did you know that?"
He did not understand her until at her bidding he took the pagri from
his head, and she pointed to the spot. Then he remembered that the
zamindar had fired almost point-blank at him, and did not doubt that the
bullet had gone through his head-dress. But he had no words to explain
this to the girl, and would hardly have done so if he could. It had been
a narrow escape: a Pathan took such incidents as a matter of course.
Having made his preparations, he repeated his orders to the men, and led
his horse gently up the nullah towards the road. It was now midday; the
sun burnt at its fiercest; not a living soul was passing along the road,
and the horsemen at the plantation were without doubt in a state of
somnolence. It was not at all improbable that he might mount and ride
some paces before he was seen. He crept quietly along the nullah until
he reached the end, then sprang lightly into the saddle, walked the
horse the few yards to the road, and urged it to a mad gallop towards
Delhi. Some few seconds passed before the clatter of the hoofs was heard
by the men dozing in the plantation; then some of them rose lazily to
their feet and gazed at this strange figure in yellow and red tearing
along so furiously. As soon as he was within hailing distance Ahmed
flung up his arms and shouted--
"The Feringhis! The sahibs! They are upon us! Fly for your lives!"
The effect was magical. The lethargic sowars were galvanized into
activity. Those who were already upon their feet rushed to their horses,
unloosed them, and in a few moments were galloping at a headlong speed
in a direction at right angles to the road. Those who had as yet been
too sleepy or too incurious to rise sprang up and followed their
comrades' example. Soon the whole party was scattered, each man riding
as his fear directed him, the dust of the plain flying up in clouds from
the heels of their horses. And still Ahmed rode on, crying lustily, "The
sahibs are upon us!"
He breasted the hillock, topped the crest, and gained the other side.
Then he saw what had so much occupied the sowars earlier in the day.
Some three miles ahead of him the white tents of the Guides gleamed in
the sunlight. Between him and them there was a small mounted patrol of
the same corps. He gave a joyful shout, and Ruksh flew down the gentle
slope with responsive gaiety. The men of the patrol caught sight of him
as soon as he of them, though in the distance it was impossible to
distinguish what or who he was. On he rode, and as he drew nearer he
began to tear off the coloured muslin that disguised him. The khaki was
disclosed. Wondering, the sowars of the patrol watched as he approached,
shading their eyes against the sunbeams. Presently one of them
recognized the horse; there was no horse like Ruksh in the corps. Then
another shouted, "'Tis Ahmed!" and cantered to meet him.
"What news?" he cried.