CHAPTER NINETEEN.
HOPES AND FEARS.
A Regimental band was playing in the grounds of the Shalalai Club, whichinstitution constituted the ordinary afternoon resort of the society ofthe station.
A row of subalterns were roosting on the railing in front of theexclusively male department of the club, while their dogs fought andfrisked, and snarled and panted, on the sward underneath. Every varietyof dog--large and small, mongrel and thoroughbred--was thererepresented; indeed far more variety than might have been discernedamong their owners, who, for the most part, were wonderfully alike; asto ideas, no less than in outward aspect.
As the afternoon wore on, more subs would ride up by twos and threes, onbicycles or in dog-carts--or even the homely necessary "gharri"--withmore dogs, and after going inside for a "peg," would emerge to swell theranks of those already on the rail; their dogs the while engaging incombat with those already on the sward.
This rail-roost was a deeply cherished institution, which noconsideration apparently was able to shake; whether the frowns or hintsof superiors, or the attractions of the ornamental sex. This wasscarcely surprising, for the ornamental sex as represented at Shalalaiwas, with very little exception, singularly unornamental; which, thoughparadoxical, was none the less fact.
The tennis courts were in full blast, with a fringe of spectators.There were many sunshades and up-to-date hats and costumes scatteredabout the lawn, yet upwards of forty British subalterns roosted upon therailing.
"Hallo, Cox," sung out one, hailing a new comer. "When are you going tocatch Umar Khan?"
"No betting on this time, Cox," said another, "unless it's on UmarKhan."
He addressed was a handsome, pleasant, fresh faced young fellow, whoheld a somewhat important political post. The point of the banter onthe subject of Umar Khan was that Cox had started in pursuit of thatbold bandit immediately on receipt of the news of the Mehriab stationaffair. He had started absolutely confident of success, but he might aswell have started to stalk the wily markhor with the regimental bandplaying before him. That had been some weeks ago, but as yet neitherCox nor anyone else had ever come within measurable prospect of layingthe marauder by the heels.
"Oh, _bus_!" retorted Cox. "Pity they don't turn out some of youfellows after him. A week or so of tumbling about among rocks andstones would do you all the good in life. Anyone know where Upward's tobe found, by the way?"
"The jungle-wallah? He was in the billiard room just now knocking fitsout of old Jermyn with that tiger-potting stroke of his. Why? Anythingfresh turned up?"
"I expect you fellows will soon be started after Umar Khan," retortedCox, looking knowing, as he turned away to find Upward.
"Wonder if he really means it?" said one of the rail-roosters, after hehad left, and then they fell to talking about the notorious brigand, anddiscussing a current rumour to the effect that the Governmentcontemplated arresting the principal Marri chiefs for suspectedcomplicity in Umar Khan's misdemeanours, and holding them as hostagesagainst the surrender of that outlaw, and the safe restoration of hisprisoner.
"Wonder if that poor devil Campian's throat has been cut yet?"conjectured someone.
"More than likely. If not it will be, directly any of the chiefs areinterfered with."
"They won't bone Mr Umar Khan," said another Solon of the rail-roost."He's skipped over into Afghanistan long ago, and the Amir won't givehim up, you bet. Shouldn't wonder if he was at the bottom of it allhimself." At that time the Amir of Kabul was a very Mephisto in thesight of the collective and amateur wisdom of the Northern border.
A wave of interest here ran along the line of the rail-roosters--evokedby the bowling up of a neat dogcart, whose occupants, two in number,were alighting at the door of the feminine department of the club.
"By Jove! Those are two pretty girls. And neither belong here," addedthe speaker plaintively.
"She _can_ handle the ribbons, that Miss Wymer," cut in another of moresporting vein, who had been critically surveying the arrival of theturn-out. "She's got a fine hand on that high-actioned gee of oldJermyn's. Isn't that the brute that Wendsley had to sell because hiswife couldn't drive him?"
"No. You've got the affair all mixed," returned yet anotheremphatically. And then, while a warm horse argument grew and thrivedamong one section, another continued and fostered apace the discussionconcerning those just deposited there through the motive power of thequadruped under dispute.
"I don't think Miss Wymer is pretty," declared a Solon of the rail."She's awfully fetching, though."
"Rather. There's a something about her you don't often meet with, andyou don't know what the devil it is, either. By the way, wasn't oldBracebrydge properly smashed on her?"
"Oh, he's that on every woman under the sun--in rotation. This one lethim have what for, though."
"Did she? Eh, what about? How was it?" exclaimed several.
"Rather. They were talking about the Mehriab affair, and Bracebrydgesaid something sneering about that poor plucky devil, Campian. You knowwhat a blundering, tactless, offensive beast Bracebrydge can be. Well,he said they were all making too much of the affair, and more thanhinted that Campian had only done what he did so as to seize the firstopportunity of running away later on. Miss Wymer only answered that shethought she knew one or two who wouldn't have waited for that--they'dhave run away at the start. But it was the way she said it, looking himstraight in the face all the time. By George, it was great, I can tellyou--great. Bracebrydge looked as sick as if he had just been hit inthe eye."
"Serve him jolly well right," declared one of the listeners, and hisopinion was universally seconded, for Bracebrydge was not popular amongthose who roosted on the railing.
"I think Miss Cheriton's the prettiest of the two," said the youth whohad first spoken. "She's one of the most fetching girls I ever saw inmy life."
"Then why don't you make hay while the sun shines?" rejoined another."Go and make yourself agreeable--if you can, that is. They've just goneinto the library. Go and ask her to play tennis, or something,chappie."
"I think I will." And sliding from the rail with some alacrity, away hewent. Those remaining continued their subject.
"Bracebrydge must have been a double-dyed ass to have hit thatparticular nail on the head. It's my belief he couldn't have hit thewrong one harder, anyway."
"The devil he couldn't!"
"Well, I don't know, mind. Only look at the opportunities they had,thrown almost entirely upon each other up there, for old Jermyn doesn'tcount. If they hadn't altogether set up a _bundobust_, it was mostlikely only a question of time."
"_Miss_ Wymer hasn't been to a dance since that affair," struck inanother oracle of the rail. "Looks as if there was some fire beneaththe smoke. What?"
"That don't follow, either. Mind you, the chap deliberately went tohave his throat cut so that the others should be let go, and while hisfate is a matter of uncertainty it is only what a nice girl like thatwould do to keep a bit quiet. She wouldn't care to think, while she wasfrisking about at dances, that at that very moment they might be hackingthe poor chap to pieces."
It so happened that the theory set forth by the last two speakersexpressed with very fair accuracy the real state of affairs. Naturallyself-contained, and with immense power of control over her feelings,Vivien was able to support the terrible strain of those weeks without--in popular parlance--giving herself away. And it was a strain. Day andnight his image was with her, but always as she had seen him last;calmly and cheerfully delivering himself into the merciless hands ofthese cruel, marauding fanatics, giving his life for her and hers. Ofthe old days she dared not even think--and, since this tragedy had comebetween, they seemed so far away. Small wonder, then, if she refrainedfrom joining in the ordinary round of station gaieties, yet not toopointedly, and she was the better able to do this that, being acomparative stranger in the place, her abstention was ascribed to anatural seriousness of temperament. Even thus, h
owever, it could notentirely escape comment, as we have seen.
She and Nesta Cheriton had become great friends, although as differentin temperament as in outward characteristics. In public, at any rate,they were generally about together, and in private, too, seemed to see agood deal of each other. It was almost as though they had some bond incommon, and yet Vivien never by word or hint let out the ever presentsubject of her thoughts to any living soul. She had not quite losthope, but as the days went by and nothing was heard either of thecaptive, or of the marauding outlaw who held him, she well nigh did loseit. Both seemed to have vanished into empty air.
For the stipulated ransom had been duly paid. Colonel Jermyn, with theaid of Upward and the head forest guard, had met Umar Khan's envoy--noneother than Ihalil Mohammed himself--he who had negotiated the terms.Great was the amazement and disgust of all when told that the prisonerwould not be handed over. It was not in the _bundobust_. Nothing hadbeen said as to the restoration of Campian on payment of the fivethousand rupees. The Colonel and Der' Ali stared at each other in blankdismay, for they recognised that this was only too true. No suchstipulation had been made, they remembered. But, of course, it had beenunderstood, they put it to the envoy. That wily Baluchi merely shookhis head slightly, and repeated--as impassable as ever, "It was not inthe _bundobust_."
Then the Colonel raved and swore. It was treachery, black, infernaltreachery. He believed they had murdered their prisoner already, at anyrate, not one _pice_ should they get from him until the sahib was handedover safe and sound. Then they should have every _anna_ of it. Notbefore.
At this Ihalil Mohammed merely elevated one shaggy eyebrow, and remarkedlaconically:
"Sheep are flayed after they are dead, _not before_."
The Colonel stared blankly over the apparent inconsequence of thisremark, then, as the fiendish import of it dawned upon him, he lost histemper, and nearly his head. His hand flew to his revolver.
This time Ihalil Mohammed elevated two shaggy eyebrows and observed:
"Sheep are flayed _and roasted_ after they are dead--_not before_."
Then he relapsed into his wonted saturnine taciturnity.
The others consulted together. Ihalil seemed hardly interested enougheven to watch them. The wily Baluchi knew that the key to the wholesituation was in his own hand. He had marked the visible discomfitureproduced by his hideous threat. He knew that the stipulated sum wouldbe paid, and that he himself would be suffered to depart with itunmolested--and, indeed, such was the case.
"Is the sahib still alive?" asked the Colonel.
"He is still alive."
"And well?"
"And well."
"Very good. Now then, Der' Ali. Tell this infernal scoundrel to tellhis more infernal scoundrel of a chief that if he brings in the sahibsafe and well within eight days from, this, and hands him over, we willpay him another five thousand rupees; but if any harm happens to him,then the _Sirkar_ will never rest until he has hung him and every manJack of the gang--hung 'em in pigskins, by God, and burnt themafterwards. What does he say to that?"
Der' Ali, being judicious, substituted courteous epithets for thenaturally explosive ones which his master had directed at Umar Khan, andDer' Ali, being a Moslem himself, refrained from repeating in plainterms so shocking a reference as that of which the blunt Feringhi hadnot scrupled to make use, substituting for it mysterious and sinisterhints as to death by hanging under its most dreaded form. Ihalil'sreply was characteristically laconic.
"Well, what does he say?" repeated the Colonel testily.
"He say--he hears, _Huzoor_."
"Are they going to bring the sahib back, Der' Ali?"
"He say--he can't say, _Huzoor_," answered the interpreter, havingelicited that terse reply.
"Tell him to go to the devil, then," said the Colonel, unable to resistan angry stamp of the foot.
Der' Ali rendered this as--"Go in peace," and Ihalil, uttering animpassive "Salaam," mounted his camel, and--did so.
They watched the form of the retreating Baluchi, fast becoming a merewhite speck in the desert waste with every stride of his camel, andshook their heads despondently. Would these wolves ever release theirprey? Bhallu Khan was of a kindred tribe. What did he think of thechances? But the old forester, who, like most barbarians orsemi-barbarians, always answer what they imagine the inquirers wouldlike best to hear, replied that he thought the chances were good. Allmen loved money--even the sahibs would rather have plenty than little--he interpolated with a whimsical smile. Baluchi loved money too. UmarKhan would probably release his prisoner if plenty of rupees wereoffered him.
But the eight days became fifteen, and still of the said prisoner therewas no sign; and the fortnight grew into weeks, with like result. Thenthose interested in Campian's fate felt gloomy indeed. They had almostabandoned hope.
But whatever private woes and trials, the world rubs on as usual.Shalalai at large was not particularly interested in Campian's fate,except as an item of political excitement. It was far more interestedin the capture or destruction of Umar Khan than in the rescue or murderof his prisoner; for that bold outlaw had set up something of a scare.That sort of outbreak was catching among these fierce, fanatical,predatory races, and it struck home. Shooting parties became decidedlynervous, and fewer withal; and those delightful, moonlight bicyclingpicnics, miles out along the smooth, level, military road, were given upas unsafe--for did not the Brahui villages dotting the plain on eitherside contain scowling, shaggy, sword-wearing ruffians in plenty, and wasthere not a wave of restlessness heaving through the lot?
Fleming was one of those who decided that his own affairs were ofparamount importance to himself; wherefore he continued to pay assiduouscourt to Nesta Cheriton. But the girl seemed to have altered somehow.She had grown quite subdued, not to say serious. The old, gay,sparkling high spirits were seldom there. Fleming, turning things over,shook a gloomy head, then dismissed his fears as absurd. Could it bethere was anything between Campian and herself? They had perforce beenthrown together a lot in Upward's camp--moreover, when he andBracebrydge had left, they had left the other behind them. Had heimproved the shining hour then? Fleming recalled the _tangi_ adventure,and swore to himself; but he soon recovered, and the restoration of hisequanimity was effected through the agency of his looking-glass. It wastoo damned absurd, he told himself, surveying his really good-lookingface and well-knit soldierly figure--that any girl could prefer a dryold stick like Campian, and a mere civilian at that--so, giving hisgallant moustache an additional twist or two eyewards, he concluded tostart off and place the matter beyond a doubt.
But on reaching Upward's bungalow ill chance awaited him. Nesta was notalone, and her mood was unpropitious. What was that? He could hardlybelieve his ears. She was depreciating--yes, actually depreciating--theBritish Army.
"I don't know what is the use of all these soldiers here in Shalalai,"she was saying as he came in. "Thousands of them. How many are there,Captain Fleming? How many soldiers have we got in Shalalai?"
"Oh, about five thousand--of all sorts."
"About five thousand," she repeated, "horse, foot, and artillery, andyet a dozen ragged Pathans can race about the country, killing people atwill."
"That everlasting Umar Khan, I suppose?" said Fleming, somewhat shortly,for he was not a little nettled at her disparaging, almost jeering,tone.
"I think he _is_ going to be the `everlasting' Umar Khan," she retortedquickly. "Why don't some of you try and catch him, Captain Fleming?There are enough of you, at any rate."
"We must wait for orders, Miss Cheriton," he replied stiffly.
"If I were a man, and a soldier, I wouldn't wait for orders if there wasanything of that sort to be done," she retorted, with delightfulinconsistency. "I'd get leave to raise a troop, and I'd never rest tillI brought in that Ghazi. All our jolly bicycle picnics are knocked onthe head, and then Mr Upward has constantly to go into camp, and ofcourse Mrs Upward will insi
st on going with him, and--I'm very fond ofher."
Fleming, who had been twirling his moustache eyeward somewhat viciously,suddenly quit that refuge for the perturbed. An idea had struck him.By George, it was not merely on Campian's account she wanted Umar Khanrun to earth! Vastly relieved, he said:
"There's a good deal in what you say, Miss Cheriton. I must think outhow the thing may be done." Then he talked on other and indifferentmatters, and shortly took his leave.
Meanwhile the bi-annual _jirgeh_, or tribal council, was in progress atShalalai, and representatives of all the tribes and clans and septsgathered daily in the durbar hall to meet the _Sirkar_ and ventilategrievances and settle disputes, and in short to discuss mattersgenerally between themselves and the Executive. Stately chiefs andtheir retinues--tall, dignified men, picturesque in their snowy turbansand long hair and flowing beards, wending thither beneath theplane-shaded avenue--passed in strange contrast the dapper sub skimmingalong on his bicycle, or fashionably attired ladies in theirhigh-wheeled dogcart flashing by at a hard trot, bound for club orgymkhana ground. Such, however, they eyed as impassively as they didthe crowd of low caste Hindus which thronged the bazaar; for thetraining of their wild desert home had left no room for the display ofemotions. Now and then, recognising some official, they might utter agrave "Salaam," accompanied by a slight raising of the hand, but thatwas all. A contrast indeed! The unchanging East, in its melancholydignity and fund of awe-suggesting power--because power held in themystery of reserve--jostled by fussy, domineering, up-to-datecivilisation; the fierce, wild, untamable spirits masked by thosecopper-hued and dignified countenances, side by side with the careless,pleasure loving, yet intensely pushing and practical temperamentunderlying the fresh, tawny-haired Anglo-Saxon faces. Even the veryheadgear suggested a vivid contrast--the multitudinous folds of thesnowy and graceful turban expressive of absence of all capacity forflurry--cool deliberateness, repose, wisdom--even as the cock of theperky "bowler" seemed a very object lesson in itself of push and bounceand "there-to-stay" tenacity.
Now and then one or two of the sirdars would visit Upward to talkofficially on forest matters in their respective districts, or to viewhis multifold trophies of the chase, which keenly interested them.These visits Upward encouraged, hoping to learn something of Campian'sfate. But it was of no avail. Of the massacre at Mehriab station, andthe doings of Umar Khan in general, the wily Asiatics professed theprofoundest ignorance, not with effusive reiteration, but in a grave,nonchalant, dignified way, as though the matter were entirely unworthyof their notice or cognisance, once and for all. But to Vivien Wymer,who never lost an opportunity of studying these people, such visits wereof untold interest; moreover, they seemed to result in a certain degreeof hope renewed. These stately, courteous-mannered potentates had notgot cruel faces. There was a noble look about most of them, even abenevolent one. Surely these were not the men to sanction a coldbloodedmurder.
Meanwhile, during the _jirgeh_, the matter of Umar Khan was receivingthe full attention of the Executive. It was one thing for the chiefs toprotest ignorance in private and unofficial conversation with Upward,with whom, diplomatically, they had no earthly concern. Carefully andwith due deliberation the authorities narrowed the net--and it wasdecided to arrest Yar Hussain Khan, who, as the outlaw's feudal chief,was responsible for his behaviour--and a sirdar of the Brahuis who wasproved to have sheltered and screened him.
The chiefs in question made no trouble over the decision of the_Sirkar_. With Oriental impassibility they accepted the situation, andwere placed under guard accordingly. But two nights later Umar Khanswooped down upon a Levy post within ten miles of Shalalai, surprisedand massacred the handful of Hindu sepoys in charge, and rolled a coupleof field pieces down the mountain side, retiring as swiftly as he hadappeared: while the Brahui clans in the neighbourhood began to makethemselves disagreeable by various small acts of aggression whichrendered it unsafe to venture many miles beyond the lines.
Things began to look uncommonly lively in and about that stationcontaining five thousand troops--horse, foot and artillery.
The Ruby Sword: A Romance of Baluchistan Page 19