by Talbot Mundy
Dear is the swagger that takes a man in Helmeted, clattering, proud. Sweet are the honors the arrogant win, Hot from the breath of a crowd. Precious the spirit that never will bend-- Hot challenge for insolent stare! But--talk when you've tried it!--to win in the end, Go ahsti!* Be meek! And beware!
[* Slowly.]
Even with the man with the stomach Ache mounted on the spare horse forthe sake of extra speed (and he was not suffering one-fifth so much ashe pretended); with Ismail to urge, and King to coax, and the fear ofmountain death on every side of them, they were the part of a night anda day and a night and a part of another day in reaching Khinjan.
Darya Khan, with the rifle held in both hands, led the way swiftly,but warily; and the last man's eyes looked ever backward, for many asneaking enemy might have seen them and have judged a stern chase worthwhile.
In the "Hills" the hunter has all the best of it, and the hunted needsmust run. The accepted rule is to stalk one's enemy relentlessly and gethim first. King happened to be bunting, although not for human life, andhe felt bold, but the men with him dreaded each upstanding crag, thatmight conceal a rifleman. Armed men behind corners mean only one thingin the "Hills."
The animals grew weary to the verge of dropping, for the "road" had beenmade for the most part by mountain freshets, and where that was not thecase it was imaginary altogether. They traveled upward, along ledgesthat were age-worn in the limestone--downward where the "hell-stones"slid from under them to almost bottomless ravines, and a false stepwould have been instant death--up again between big edged boulders, thatnipped the mule's pack and let the mule between--past many and many alonely cairn that hid the bones of a murdered man (buried to keep hisghost from making trouble)--ever with a tortured ridge of rock forsky-line and generally leaning against a wind, that chilled them to thebone, while the fierce sun burned them.
At night and at noon they slept fitfully at the chance-met shrine ofsome holy man. The "Hills" are full of them, marked by fluttering ragsthat can be seen for miles away; and though the Quran's meaning must bestretched to find excuse, the Hillmen are adept at stretching things andhold those shrines as sacred as the Book itself. Men who would almostrather cut throats than gamble regard them as sanctuaries.
When a man says he is holy he can find few in the "Hills" to believehim; but when he dies or is tortured to death or shot, even the men whomurdered him will come and revere his grave.
Whole villages leave their preciousest possessions at a shrine beforewandering in search of summer pasture. They find them safe on theirreturn, although the "Hills" are the home of the lightest-fingeredthieves on earth, who are prouder of villainy than of virtue. A manwith a blood-feud, and his foe hard after him, may sleep in safety ata faquir's grave. His foe will wait within range, but he will not drawtrigger until the grave is left behind.
So a man may rest in temporary peace even on the road to Khinjan,although Khinjan and peace have nothing whatever in common.
It was at such a shrine, surrounded by tattered rags tied to sticks,that fluttered in the wind three or four thousand feet above Khyberlevel, that King drew Ismail into conversation, and deftly forced on himthe role of questioner.
"How can'st thou see the Caves!" he asked, for King had hinted at hisintention and for answer King gave him a glimpse of the gold bracelet.
"Aye! Well and good! But even she dare not disobey the rule. Khinjan wasthere before she came, and the rule was there from the beginning, whenthe first men found the Caves! Some--hundreds--have gained admission,lacking the right. But who ever saw them again? Allah! I, for one, wouldnot chance it!"
"Thou and I are two men!" answered King. "Allah gave thee qualities Ilack. He gave thee the strength of a bull and a mountain goat in one,and her for a mistress. To me he gave other qualities. I shall see theCaves. I am not afraid."
"Aye! He gave thee other gifts indeed! But listen! How many Indianservants of the British Raj have set out to see the Caves? Many,many--aye, very many! Again and again the sirkar sent its loyal ones.Did any return? Not one! Some were crucified before they reached theplace. One died slowly on the very rock whereon we sit, with his eyelidsmissing and his eyes turned to the sun! Some entered Khinjan, and thewomen of the place made sport with them. Those would rather have beencrucified outside had they but known. Some, having got by Khinjan,entered the Caves. None ever came out again!"
"Then, what is my case to thee?" King asked him "If I can not come outagain and there is a secret then the secret will be kept, and what isthe trouble?"
"I love thee," the Afridi answered simply. "Thou art a man after mineown heart. Turn! Go back before it is too late!"
King shook his head.
"Be warned!"
Ismail reached out a hairy-backed hand that shook with half-suppressedemotion.
"When we reach Khinjan, and I come within reach of her orders again,then I am her man, not thine!"
King smiled, glancing again at the gold bracelet on his arm.
"I look like her man, too!"
"Thou!" Ismail's scorn was well feigned if it was not real. "Thouchicken running to the hand that will pluck thy breast-feathers!Listen! Abdurrahman--he of Khabul--and may Allah give his ugly bones nopeace!--Abdurrahman of Khabul sought the secret of the Caves. He senthis men to set an ambush. They caught twenty coming out of Khinjan ona raid. The twenty were carried to Khabul and put to torture there.How many, think you, told the secret under torture? They died cursingAbdurrahman to his face and he died without the secret! May Godrecompense him with the fire that burns forever and scalding water andashes to eat! May rats eat his bones!"
"Had Abdurrahman this?" asked King, touching the bracelet.
"Nay! He would have given one eye for it, but none would trade with him!He knew of it, but never saw it."
"I am more favored. I have it. It is hers, is it not?"
"Does not she know the secret?"
"She knows all that any man knows and more!"
"Was she seen to slay a man in the teeth of written law?" asked King,and Ismail stared so hard at him that he laughed.
"I was in Khinjan once before, my friend! I know the rule! I failed toreach the Caves that other time because I had no witnesses to swear theyhad seen me slay a man in the teeth of written law. I know!"
"Who saw thee this time?" Ismail asked, and began to cackle with thecruel humor of the "Hills," that sees amusement in a man's undoing, orin the destruction of his plans. His humor forced him to explain.
"The price of an entrance has come of late to be the life of an Englisharrficer! Many an one the English have dubbed Ghazi, because he crossedthe border and buried his knife in a man on church parade! They hangand burn them, knowing our Muslim law, that denies Heaven to him who ishanged and burned. Yet the man they miscall ghazi sought but the key toKhinjan Caves, with no thought at all about Heaven! Thou art a Britisharrficer. It may be they will let thee enter the Caves at her bidding.It may be, too, that they will keep thee in a cage there for somechief's son to try his knife on when the time comes to win admission!Listen--man o' my heart!--so strict is the rule that boys born in theCaves, when they come to manhood, must go and slay an Englishman andearn outlawry before they may come back; and lest they prove fearful andbetray the secret, ten men follow each. They die by the hand of one orother of the ten unless they have slain their man within two weeks. Sothe secret has been kept more years than ten men can remember!" (Thatestimate was doubtless due to a respect for figures and bore no relationto the length of a human generation.)
"Whom did she kill to gain admission?" King asked him unexpectedly.
"Ask her!" said Ismail. "It is her business."
"And thou? Was the life of a British officer the price paid?"
"Nay. I slew a mullah."
The calmness of the admission, and the satisfaction that its memoryseemed to bring the owner made King laugh. He found lawless satisfactionfor himself in that Ismail's blood-price should
have been a priest, notone of his brother officers. A man does not follow King's profession forhealth, profit or sentiment's sake, but healthy sentiment remains. Theloyalty that drives him, and is its own most great reward, makes him aman to the middle. He liked Ismail. He could not have liked him in thesame way if he had known him guilty of English blood, which is onlyproof, of course, that sentiment and common justice are not one. Butsentiment remains. Justice is an ideal.
"Be warned and go back!" urged Ismail.
"Come with me, then."
"Nay, I am her man. She waits for me!"
"I imagine she waits for me!" laughed King. "Forward! We have rested inthis place long enough!"
So on they went, climbing and descending the naked ramparts that leadeastward and upward and northward to the Roof of Mother Earth--Ismailever grumbling into his long beard, and King consumed by a fiercerenthusiasm than ever had yet burned in him,
"Forward! Forward! Cast hounds forward! Forward in any event!" saysCocker. It is only regular generals in command of troops in the fieldwho must keep their rear open for retreat. The Secret Service thinksonly of the goal ahead.
It was ten of a blazing forenoon, and the sun had heated up the rocksuntil it was pain to walk on them and agony to sit, when they topped thelast escarpment and came in sight of Khinjan's walls, across amile-wide rock ravine--Khinjan the unregenerate, that has no other humanhabitation within a march because none dare build.
They stood on a ridge and leaned against the wind. Beneath them a pathlike a rope ladder descended in zigzags to the valley that is Khinjan'sdry moat; it needed courage as well as imagination to believe that theanimals could be guided down it.
"Is there no other way?" asked King. He knew well of one other, but onedoes not tell all one knows in the "Hills," and there might have been athird way.
"None from this side," said Ismail.
"And on the other side?"
"There is a rather better path--that by which the sirkar's troops oncecame--although it has been greatly obstructed since. It is two days'march from here to reach it. Be warned a last time, sahib--littlehakim--be warned and go back!"
"Thou bird of ill omen!" laughed King. "Must thou croak from every rockwe rest on?"
"If I were a bird I would fly away back with thee!" said Ismail.
"Forward, since we can not fly--forward and downward!" King answered."She must have crossed this valley. Therefore there are things worthwhile beyond! Forward!"
The animals, weary to death anyhow, fell rather that walked down thetrack. The men sat and scrambled. And the heat rose up to meet them fromthe waterless ravine as if its floor were Tophet's lid and the devilbusy under it, stoking.
It was midday when at last they stood on bottom and swayed like men in adream fingering their bruises and scarcely able for the heat haze tosee the tangled mass of stone towers and mud-and-stone walls that facedthem, a mile away. Nobody challenged them yet. Khinjan itself seemeddead, crackled in the heat.
"Sahib, let us mount the hill again and wait for night and a coolbreeze!" urged Darya Khan.
Ismail clucked into his beard and spat to wet his lips.
"This glare makes my eyes ache!" he grumbled.
"Wait, sahib! Wait a while!" urged the others.
"Forward!" ordered King. "This must be Tophet. Know ye not that nonecome out of Tophet by the way they entered in? Forward! The exit isbeyond!"
They staggered after him, sheltering their eyes and faces from theglare with turban-ends and odds and ends of clothing. The animals swayedbehind them with hung heads and drooping ears, and neither man nor beasthad sense enough left to have detected an ambush. They were more thanhalf-way across the valley, hunting for shadow where none was to befound, when a shotted salute brought them up all-standing in a cluster.Six or eight nickel-coated bullets spattered on the rocks close by, andone so narrowly missed King that he could feel its wind.
Up went all their hands together, and they held them so until theyached. Nothing whatever happened. Their arms ceased aching and grewnumb.
"Forward!" ordered King.
After another quarter of a mile of stumbling among hot boulders, notone of which was big enough to afford cover, or shelter from the sun,another volley whistled over them. Their hands went up again, and thistime King could see turbaned heads above a parapet in front. But nothingfurther happened.
"Forward!" he ordered.
They advanced another two hundred yards and a third volley rattledamong the rocks on either hand, frightening one of the mules so that itstumbled and fell and had to be helped up again. When that was done,and the mule stood trembling, they all faced the wall. But they were tooweary to hold their hands up any more. Thirst had begun to exercise itssway. One of the men was half delirious.
"Who are ye?" howled a human being, whose voice was so like a wolf'sthat the words at first had no meaning. He peered over the parapet,a hundred feet above, with his head so swathed in dirty linen that helooked like a bandaged corpse.
"What will ye? Who comes uninvited into Khinjan?"
King bethought him of Yasmini's talisman. He, held it up, and the goldband glinted in the sun. Yet, although a Hillman's eyes are keener thanan eagle's, he did not believe the thing could be recognized at thatangle, and from that distance. Another thought suggested itself to him.He turned his head and caught Ismail in the act of signaling with bothhands.
"Ye may come!" howled the watchman on the parapet, disappearinginstantly.
King trembled--perhaps as a racehorse trembles at the starting gate,though he was weary enough to tremble from fatigue. The "Hills," thatnumb the hearts of many men, had not cowed him, for he loved them andin love there is no fear. Heat and cold an hunger were all in the day'swork; thirst was an incident; and the whistle of lead in the wind hadnever meant more to him than work ahead to do.
But a greyhound trembles in the leash. A boiler, trembles when word goesdown the speaking-tube from the bridge for "all she's got." And sothe mild-looking hakim Kurram Khan, walking gingerly across her rocks,donning cheap, imitation shell-rimmed spectacles to help him look thepart, trembled even more than the leg-weary horse he led.
But that passed. He was all in hand when he led his men up over a roughstone causeway to a door in the bottom of a high battlemented wall andwaited for somebody to open it.
The great teak door looked as if it had been stolen from some Hindutemple, and he wondered how and when they could have brought it thereacross those savage intervening miles. With its six-inch teak planksand bronze bolts its weight must be guessed at in tons--yet a horse canhardly carry a man along any of the trails that lead to Khinjan!
The wood bore the marks of siege and fracture repair. The walls werenew-built, of age-old stone. The last expedition out of India hadleveled every bit of those defenses flat with the valley, but Khinjan'sdevils had reerected them, as ants rebuild a rifled nest.
The door was swung open after a time, pulled by a rope, manipulated fromabove by unseen hands. Inside was another blind wall, twenty feet behindthe first. To the right a low barricade blocked the passage and provideda safe vantage point from which it could be swept by a hail of lead;but to the left a path ran unobstructed for more than a hundred yardsbetween the walls, to where the way was blocked by another teak door,set in unscalable black rock. High above the door was a ledge of rockthat crossed like a bridge from wall to wall, with a parapet of stonebuilt upon it, pierced for rifle-fire.
As they approached this second door a Rangar turban, not unlike King'sown, appeared above the parapet on the ledge and a voice he recognizedhailed him good-humoredly.
"Salaam aleikoum!"
"And upon thee be peace!" King answered in the Pashtu tongue, for the"Hills" are polite, whatever the other principles.
Rewa Gunga's face beamed down on him, wreathed in smiles that seemed toinclude mockery as well as triumph. Looking up at him at an angle thatmade his neck ache and dazzled his eyes, King could not be sure, but itseemed to him that the smile said, "Here yo
u are, my man, and aren't youin for it?" He more than half suspected he was intended to understandthat. But the Rangar's conversation took another line.
"By jove!" he chuckled. "She expected you. She guessed you are a houndwho can hunt well on a dry scent, and she dared bet you will come inspite of all odds! But she didn't expect you in Rangar dress! No, byjove! You jolly well will take the wind out of her sails!"
King made no answer. For one thing, the word "hound," even in English,is not essentially a compliment. But he had a better reason than that.
"Did you find the way easily?" the Rangar asked but King kept silence.
"Is he parched? Have they cut his tongue out on the road?"
That question was in Pashtu, directed at Ismail and the others, but Kinganswered it.
"Oh, as for that," he said, salaaming again in the fastidious mannerof a native gentleman, "I know no other tongue than Pashtu and my ownRajasthani. My name is Kurram Khan. I ask admittance."
He held up his wrist to show the gold bracelet, and high over his headthe Rangar laughed like a bell.
"Shabash!" he laughed. "Well done! Enter, Kurram Khan, and be welcome,thou and thy men. Be welcome in her name!"
Somebody pulled a rope and the door yawned wide, giving on a kind ofcourtyard whose high walls allowed no view of anything but hot blue sky.King hurried under the arch and looked up, but on the courtyard side ofthe door the wall rose sheer and blank, and there was no sign of windowor stairs, or of any means of reaching the ledge from which the Rangarhad addressed him. What he did see, as he faced that way, was thateach of his men salaamed low and covered his face with both hands as heentered.
"Whom do ye salute?" he asked.
Ismail stared back at him almost insolently, as one who would rebuke afool.
"Is this not her nest these days?" he answered. "It is well to bow low.She is not as other women. She is she! See yonder!"
Through a gap under an arch in a far corner of the courtyard came aone-eyed, lean-looking villain in Afridi dress who leaned on a long gunand stared at them under his hand. After a leisurely consideration ofthem he rubbed his nose slowly with one finger, spat contemptuously, andthen used the finger to beckon them, crooking it queerly and turning onhis heel. He did not say one word.
King led the way after him on foot, for even in the "Hills" wherecruelty is a virtue, a man may be excused, on economic grounds, forshowing mercy to his beast. His men tugged the weary animals alongbehind him, through the gap under the arch and along an almostinterminable, smelly maze of alleys whose sides were the walls of squarestone towers, or sometimes of mud-and-stone-walled compounds, and hereand there of sheer, slab-sided cliff.
At intervals they came to bolted narrow doors, that probably led up tooverhead defenses. Not fifty yards of any alley was straight; not a yardbut what was commanded from overhead. Khinjan bad been rebuilt since itslast destruction by some expert who knew all about street fighting. LikeOld Jerusalem, the place could have contained a civil war of a hundredfactions, and still have opposed stout resistance to an outside army.
Alley gave on to courtyard, and filthy square to alley, untilunexpectedly at last a seemingly blind passage turned sharply and openedon a straight street, of fair width, and more than half a mile long. Itis marked "Street of the Dwellings" on the secret army maps, and it hasbeen burned so often by Khinjan rioters, as well as by expeditions outof India, that a man who goes on a long journey never expects to find itthe same on his return.
It was lined on either hand with motley dwellings, out of which amotlier crowd of people swarmed to stare at King and his men. There werehouses built of stolen corrugated iron-that cursed, hot, hideous stuffthat the West has inflicted on an all-too-willing East; others ofwood--of stone--of mud--of mat of skins--even of tent-cloth. Most ofthem were filthy. A row of kites sat on the roof of one, and in thegutter near it three gorged vultures sat on the remains of a mule.Scarcely a house was fit to be defended, for Khinjan's fighting men allpossess towers, that are plastered about the overfrowning mountain likewasp nests on a wall. These were the sweepers, the traders, the loosewomen, the mere penniless and the more or less useful men--not Khinjan'sinner guard by any means.
There were Hindus--sycophants, keepers of accounts and writers tothe chiefs (since literacy is at premium in these parts). In proof ofKhinjan's catholic taste and indiscriminate villainy, there werewomen of nearly every Indian breed and caste, many of them stolen intoshameful slavery, but some of them there from choice. And there werelittle children--little naked brats with round drum tummies, whosquealed and shrilled and stared with bold eyes; some of them werepretending to be bandits on their own account already, and one flung astone that missed King by an inch. The stone fell in the gutter on thefar side and, started a fight among the mangy street curs, whichproved a diversion and probably saved King's party from more accurateattentions.
Perhaps a thousand souls came out to watch, all told. Not an eye of themall missed the government marks on King's trappings, or the governmentbrand on the mules, and after a minute or two, when the procession washalf-way down the street, a man reproved the child who had throwna stone, and he was backed up by the others. They classified Kingcorrectly, exactly as he meant they should. As a hakim--a man ofmedicine--he could fill a long-felt want; but by the brand on hisaccouterments he walked an openly avowed robber, and that made him abrother in crime. Somebody cuffed the next child who picked up a stone.
He knew the street of old, although it had changed perhaps a dozen timessince he had seen it. It was a cul-de-sac, and at the end of it, justas on his previous visit, there stood a stone mosque, whose roof leanedback at a steep angle against the mountain-side. The fact that it was amosque, and that it was the only building used as such in Khinjan,had saved it from being leveled to the ground by the last Britishexpedition.
It was a famous mosque in its way, for the bed-sheet of the Prophet isknown to hang in it, preserved against the ravages of time and the touchof infidels by priceless Afghan rugs before and behind, so that it hangslike a great thin sandwich before the rear stone wall. King had seenit. Very vividly he recalled his almost exposure by a suspicious mullah,when he had crept nearer to examine it at close range. For the SecretService must probe all things.
There had been an attempt since his last visit to make the mosque'sexterior look more in keeping with the building's use. It was cleaner.It had been smeared with whitewash. A platform had been built on theroof for the muezzin. But it still looked more like a fort than a placeof worship.
Toward it the one-eyed ruffian led the way, with the long,leisurely-seeming gait of a mountaineer. At the door, in the middle ofthe end of the street, he paused and struck on the lintel three timeswith his gun-butt. And that was a strange proceeding, to say the least,in a land where the mosque is public resting place for homeless ones,and all the "faithful" have a right to enter.
A mullah, shaven like a mummy for some unaccountable reason--even hiseyebrows and eyelashes had been removed--pushed his bare head throughthe door and blinked at them. There was some whispering and morestaring, and at last the mullah turned his back.
The door slammed. The one-eyed guide grounded his gun-butt on thestone, and the procession waited, watched by the crowd that had lost itsinterest sufficiently to talk and joke.
In two minutes the mullah returned and threw a mat over the threshold.It turned out to be the end of a long narrow strip that he kicked andunrolled in front of him all across the floor of the mosque. After thatit was not so astonishing that the horses and mules were allowed toenter.
"Which proves I was right after all!" murmured King to himself.
In a steel box at Simla is a memorandum, made after his former visitto the place, to the effect that the entrance into Khinjan Caves mightpossibly be inside the mosque. Nobody had believed it likely, and hehad not more than half favored it himself; but it is good, even whenthe next step may lead into a death-trap, to see one's first opinionsconfirmed.
He nodded to himself as
the outer door slammed shut behind them, forthat was another most unusual circumstance.
A faint light shone through slit-like windows, changing darkness intogloom, and little more than vaguely hinting at the Prophet's bed-sheet.But for a section of white wall to either side of it, the relic mighthave seemed part of the shadows. The mullah stood with his back to itand beckoned King nearer. He approached until he could see the patternon the covering rugs, and the pink rims round the mullah's lashlesseyes.
"What is thy desire?" the mullah asked--as a wolf might ask what a lambwants.
Supposing Yasmini to be jealous of invasion of her realm, King did notdoubt she would be glad to have him break down at this point. Until hehad actually gained access to her, nobody could reasonably charge herwith his safety. If he had been done to death in the Khyber, the sirkarwould have known it in a matter of hours. If he were killed here theymight never know it.
"Answer!" said the mullah. "What is thy desire?"
"Audience with her!" he answered, and showed the gold bracelet on hiswrist.
The red eye-rims of the mullah blinked a time or two, and though hedid not salute the bracelet, as others had invariably done, his mannerunderwent a perceptible change.
"That is proof that she knows thee. What is thy name."
"Kurram Khan."
"And thy business?"
"Hakim."
"We need thee in Khinjan Caves! But none enter who have not earned rightto enter! There is but one key. Name it!"
King drew in his breath. He had hoped Yasmini's talisman would prove tobe key enough. The nails his left hand nearly pierced the palm, but hesmiled pleasantly.
"He who would enter must slay a man before witnesses in the teeth ofwritten law!" he said.
"And thou?"
"I slew an Englishman!" The boast made his blood run cold, but hisexpression was one of sinful pride.
"Whom? When? Where?"
"Athelstan King--a British arrficer--sent on his way to these 'Hills' tospy!"
It was like having spells cast on himself to order!
"Where is his body?"
"Ask the vultures! Ask the kites!"
"And thy witnesses?"
Hoping against hope, King turned and waved his hand. As he did so, beingquick-eyed, he saw Ismail drive an elbow home into Darya Khan's ribs, ancaught a quick interchange of whispers.
"These men are all known to me," said the mullah. "They all have rightto enter here. They have right to testify. Did ye see him slay his man?"
"Aye!" lied Ismail, prompt as friend can be.
"Aye!" lied Darya Khan, fearful of Ismail's elbow.
"Then, enter!" said the priest resignedly, as one admits a communicantagainst his better judgment.
He turned his back on them so as to face the Prophet's bed-sheet andthe rear wall, and in that minute a hairy hand gripped King's arm frombehind, and Ismail's voice hissed hot-breathed in his ear.
"Ready of tongue! Ready of wit! Who told thee I would lie to save thyskin? Be thy kismet as thy courage, then--but I am hers, not thy man!Hers, thou light of life--though God knows I love thee!"
The mullah seized the Prophet's bed-sheet and its covering rugs in bothhands, with about as much reverence as salesmen show for what they keepin stock. The whole lot slid to one side by means of noisy rings on arod, and a wall lay bare, built of crudely cut but very well laid stoneblocks. It appeared to reach unbroken across the whole width of themosque's interior.
On the floor lay a mallet, a peculiar thing of bronze, cast in onepiece, handle and all. The mullah took it in his band and struck thestone floor sharply once--then twice again--then three times--then adozen times in quick succession. The floor rang hollow at that spot.
After about a minute there came one answering hammer-stroke from beyondthe wall. Then the mullah laid the mallet down and though King ached topick it up and examine it he did not dare.
Excitement now was probably the least of his emotions. It had beenswallowed in interest. But in his guise of hakim he had to beware ofthat superficial western carelessness, that permits folk to acknowledgethemselves frightened or excited or amused. His business was to attractas little attention to himself as possible; and to that end he foldedhis hands and looked reverent, as if entering some Mecca of his dreams.Through his horn-rimmed spectacles his eyes looked far-away and dreamy.But it would have been a mistake to suppose that a detail was escapinghim.
The irregular lines in the masonry began to be more pronounced. All atonce the wall shook and they gaped by an inch or two, as happens when anearthquake has shaken buildings without bringing anything down. Then anirregular section of wall began to move quite smoothly away in front ofhim, leaving a gap through which eight men abreast could have marched.
As it receded be observed that the lowest course stones was laid ona bronze foundation, that keyed in wide bronze grooves. There was oilenough in the grooves to have greased a ship's ways and there neithersqueak nor tremor as the tons of masonry slid back.
At the end of perhaps three minutes that section of the wall had becomethe fourth side of a twenty-foot-wide island that stood fair in themiddle of a tunnel, splitting it in two to right and left. Judging bythe angle of the two divisions they became one again before going veryfar.
The mullah stood aside and motioned King to enter. But the one-eyedguide who had led them to the mosque thrust himself between Darya Khanand Ismail, pushed King aside and took the lead.
"Nay!" he said, "I am responsible to her."
It was the first time he had spoken and he appeared to resent the wasteof words.
The tunnel that led to the left was pierced in twenty places in the rooffor rifle-fire; a score of men with enough ammunition could have heldit forever against an army. But the right-hand way looked undefended.Nevertheless, the guide led to the left, and King followed him, filledwith curiosity.
"Many have entered!" sang the lashless mullah in a sing-song chant."More have sought to enter! Some who remained without were wisest! Icount them! I keep count! Many went in! Not all came out again by thisroad!"
"Then there is another road?" King wondered, but he held his tongue andfollowed the guide.
It proved to be fifty yards through part natural, part hand-hewn, tunnelto the neck of the fork where the left--and right-hand passages becameone again. He stopped at the fork and looked back, for none of his menwas following.
He caught the sound of scuffling of clattering hoofs, and grunts andshouted oaths--and started to run back, since even a native hakim mayprotect his own, should he care to, even in the "Hills."
For the sake of principle he chose the other passage, for Cocker says,"Look! Look! Look!" But the guide seized him by the arm from behind andswung him back again.
"Not that way!" he growled. But he offered no explanation.
In the "Hills" it is not good to ask "why" of strangers. It is goodto be glad one was not knifed, and to be deferent until more suitableoccasion. King started to run again, but this time along the samedefended passage down which they had come. And now the guide made noobjection but leaned on his long gun and waited.
The charger proved to be making the trouble--the horse that King hadexchanged with the jezailchi in the Khyber. The terrified brute wasrefusing to enter the passage, and all the men, including Ismail and themullah, were shoving, or else tugging at the reins.
At the moment King appeared the united strength of six men was beginningto prevail. The mullah let go the reins, and in that instant the horsesaw King advance toward him out of the tunnel; so, after the manner ofhorses, he chose the other passage. King ran at full speed roundthe corner after him, remembering that the guide had admittedresponsibility, and therefore that the chances were he would be rescuedshould he run into a trap.
Suddenly, ten yards in the lead down the dark tunnel the horse threw hisweight back with a clatter of sparks and screamed as only a horse can.After that there was neither sight nor sound of him.
Creeping forward with both arms outstre
tched against the left-hand wall,he reached the spot where, the horse had been, and shuddered on thesmooth dark edge of a hole that went the full width of the floor. Therecame whispering up out of it, and a dank wet smell, as if there wererunning water a mile away below. He could feel that a little air floweddownward into it. Twenty yards away on the far side the path resumed,but there was neither hand nor foothold on the smooth dampwalls between. He went back to his men with a shiver between hisshoulder-blades, and the mullah, standing in the gap of the mosque wall,blinked at him with lashless eyes.
"Many have entered," he chanted maliciously. "Some went out by adifferent road!"
"Come!" Ismail growled at the other men, seizing the mule's bridlehimself and leading to the left. "The ghosts will have a charger now fortheir captain to ride! Lead on, Hakim sahib!"
"Come!" called the one-eyed guide from the neck of the fork ahead. Andas they all pressed forward after King the hairless mullah gave asignal and the great stone door slid slowly into place. It was like atombstone. It was as if the world that mortals know were a thing of theforgotten past and the underworld lay ahead.
"Lead along, Charon!" King grinned. He needed some sort of pleasantryto steady his nerves. But even so he wondered what the nerves of Indiawould be like if her millions knew of this place.
Chapter IX