“Oh, my darling!” he whispered, looking deep into the lustrous eyes, “how very, very beautiful you are!”
Such sincere tribute was beyond Maie’s power to resist. The little head might be full of ambitions, schemes and intrigues, yet there was room for a vivid appreciation of man’s adoration, and this abrupt method:of wooing was sure to appeal to her Eastern imagination. She sighed, forgetful of all save the handsome face bent over her, and only the sound of her father’s stern voice coming from the opposite chamber had power to recall her to the present.
“You must go, my American,” she said, in clear English, “or you will be discovered.”
“Ah, you speak my language?” said Allison, in delight; “then you will understand me, sweet one, when I tell you how lovely you are — how passionately I adore you!”
He clasped his arms around her and drew her so close that her bosom rested against his own. The red lips were nearer now — so near that he kissed them again and again, in a very abandon of ecstatic joy.
“They will find you,” said Maie, softly. “And they will kill you.”
“What does it matter?” he rejoined, recklessly. “One moment such as this is worth a hundred deaths!”
With a sudden movement she freed herself from his embrace and sat up, facing him.
“Take this key,” she whispered, drawing it from her bosom, where it was secured by a silken thread. “It unlocks the Gate of the Griffins, at the end of our garden.
Meet me there tonight — an hour before midnight — and take care you are seen by no prying eye. And now, go — and go quickly!”
She broke the thread and handed him a tiny silver key, which he thrust into his pocket.
“One kiss, sweetheart,” he begged; “just one more to comfort me until — ”
“Go, or all is lost,” she answered, almost fiercely, and seizing his arm she dragged him to another doorway and thrust him from the room with a force her slender form did not seem to warrant.
It was time. Allison heard footsteps and voices, and staggering through an anteroom he barely had time to reach the outer chamber and throw himself into a chair when David and a slave entered.
“Hiss goot Excellency, de vizier, vill see you,” said David, looking with open surprise into Allison’s flushed and excited face.
“I must have fallen asleep, David,” said the American, reaching out his arms as if to stretch them, “for I dreamed I was in Paradise, and you were imploring the Prophet to pardon my sins.”
David grinned, and turned to lead him to the vizier. But the Jew’s keen eyes had made a hasty survey of the room, and noted a curtain swaying gently where no breeze could ever have reached it.
CHAPTER XIII.
A WILD WOOING
“Well?” asked the Colonel; “what luck?”
“None at all,” growled Allison. “The vizier is as tricky and sly as his master. He assumed a dignified and benevolent air, was very sorry we were discontented, but can do nothing to help us.”
“How about horses?”
“The vizier states it is an ecclesiastical command that no beasts of burden shall be sold to an infidel, under pain of death. His Highness the Khan regrets it; His Excellency the Vizier regrets it You are referred to Aboullah O’Brien, Grand Mufti of the Mosque of the Angels, who issued the order to the faithful.”
“It iss Aboullah Beyren,” corrected David, meekly.
“How long has this order been in effect?” enquired the doctor.
“Since the day we arrived. It was not aimed at us, by any means. It was a coincidence.”
“That looks bad,” said the Colonel, gravely. “How about my interview with the Khan?”
“The vizier will intercede for you. He will go down on his knees to His Supreme Mightiness; he will implore the Star of the Heavens to see you. But he doubts if we ever get within earshot of the Glorious and Magnificent Defender of the Faith, who is otherwise known as Ahmed Khan. It seems he has other fish to fry, and is busy getting them ready. We can do nothing with the scoundrelly vizier, I am certain.”
“Then we must depend upon David to get me an audience with the Khan. Americans are not accustomed to fail in what they undertake. See here, David,” turning to that worthy merchant; “can’t you bribe your way into the royal palace?”
“I will try, most Excellency,” answered David, eagerly. “But de bribe must be great moneys — grant moneys — many golt fillibees! Unt I promise nodding. Maybe I see de Khan; maybe nod. Who can tell?”
“It sounds like a risky investment, David,” remarked the doctor. “We’ll take time to think it over.”
They thought of many things, in the days that followed, but could arrive at no plan that promised to provide a caravan or give them an opportunity to negotiate with the Khan concerning the new railway.
The Colonel went personally to the palace one day, taking along the trembling David as interpreter. The official who met him at the entrance listened to him respectfully, but assured him that no message from an infidel could be carried to the Khan. Hints of money had no effect. It would cost him his head to disturb the Khan on such an errand.
Under these unfortunate conditions the Colonel began to be worried, and even the doctor lost much of his habitual cheerfulness. Aunt Lucy vowed vengeance upon every barbarian in Baluchistan, and promised the United States would wipe this miserable country off the map as soon as she returned and reported their treatment to her friend the senator.
But Allison, to the wonder of all, stopped grumbling and bore his imprisonment with rare fortitude and good nature. Janet also grew brighter and merrier day by day — a circumstance that did much toward reconciling her father to their enforced stay in Mekran. Bessie, always philosophic and gay, made no complaint of any sort. And so the days passed swiftly away and as yet brought no change in the fortunes of the stranded Commission.
One evening David came in greatly excited. A messenger had arrived from the Khan. Although that haughty potentate still ignored the Commission he had placed two saddle horses from his own stables at the disposal of the young ladies. If they would ride at daybreak on the following morning — that hour being the most cool and delightful of the day — the Khan would send a competent guard to protect them. His Most Serene and Magnificent Highness offered this courtesy in order to relieve the monotony of the young ladies’ stay in his capital. He made no mention of the other members of the party, who might exist as monotonously as ever. And the messenger awaited an answer.
This was, indeed, a startling proposition. Eastern women did not ride, yet the Khan seemed to know that nothing could be more acceptable to American girls than a dash across country on the back of a spirited horse. They were very glad to accept the favor, and the Colonel hoped it might lead in some way to more friendly relations between them and the ruler of Mekran, and perhaps result in the interview he so ardently desired.
“But who’s going to chaperon them?” enquired Aunt Lucy. “It seems I’m not invited.
The Colonel thought the khan’s guard would be sufficient.
“But it’s a heathen country, and they’ll have to bandage their faces,” declared the old lady.
“We’ll wear veils until we are out of Mekran,” said Bessie. “Then there will be no masculine eyes to see us, and we’ll take them off.”
So at daybreak Janet and Bessie were ready for their ride, and soon a grizzled Baluch warrior rode up to the house leading two magnificent bays from the famous stables of Mehmet. The one that Janet rode was the very animal that had carried Ahmed on his swift journey from the monastery, and Bessie’s horse was but little inferior.
The warrior saluted and assisted the ladies to mount. It was Dirrag. He led them through the streets, around the palace enclosure ànd out at the south gate. A beautiful country lay spread before them, and as the keen morning air saluted their nostrils, brightened their eyes and flushed their cheeks, the girls dashed away at a canter with Dirrag silently following a few paces behind.
After their long confinement within the walls of a city dwelling this free, invigorating exercise was a great delight to the two girls, and they enjoyed the ride thoroughly.
Passing through the city on their return they closely veiled their faces, yet were evidently objects of curiosity to those of the natives who were abroad so early.
Dirrag held the stirrups for them to dismount and then silently touched his cap and led the horses back to the khan’s stables. But next morning he was again at their door with the mounts, and their ride became a daily event to the girls.
Dirrag knew no English, but Janet and Bessie had come to understand many of the Baluch words — a dialect evidently founded upon Arabic — and could even speak a few simple sentences, learned by contact with the native servants and somewhat puzzling explanations from David. So the silence of their first rides began to be broken by laconic observations on the part of the battered old warrior, who seemed not to object to acting as escort to the charming infidel women. Occasionally they passed the house of Agahr the Vizier, and Maie, who was informed of all that occurred in the capital, watched from her latticed window the graceful forms of the American girls riding by and on several occasions when they neglected to arrange their veils caught glimpses of their fair faces.
It was enough to set the vizier’s daughter wild with envy and chagrin. Why should the Khan favor these outcasts — these women of another world? Was it for them the harem was being prepared, despite her father’s protestation that Ahmed had never seen the foreign women nor ever would see them? The girl well knew that their beauty could in no way compare with her own in the eyes of any true Baluch. The Americans were deformed by being laced and belted at the waist and wearing heavy, close-fitting draperies that must not only be uncomfortable but were decidedly ugly in appearance. But Maie could not deny they sat their horses gracefully and with rare self-possession, and men have queer ideas of beauty. Perhaps Ahmed Khan might admire the novelty of their white faces, their queerly arranged hair and the pink finger nails that lacked any trace of the beautifying henna.
Maie was jealous, and with good reason.
She had abandoned her handsome cousin Kasam for the more powerful and scarcely less handsome Ahmed Khan, and if fate destined her to lose them both she was surely to be pitied.
But her father declared he had no such fears. Ahmed was difficult to understand, it was true; but Ahmed was a man, and he had seen and admired Maie. Was he not beautifying his harem? and what place could these stiff Americans have amid the luxuries of the perfumed baths, the gardens of the Court of the Maidens, or the musk-scented cushions of the oriental divans? It would be as absurd as putting a frog in the jar devoted to gold-fish. Add to this argument the fact that Maie was the most beautiful maiden the world had ever known, and none but a fool could fail to read the lines of destiny.
One morning Dirrag turned to the west, and led his fair companions across the valley and up the curve of the long hill that enclosed it. The country was more wild and unsettled here than at the south or east, and when finally they mounted the brow of the hill and gazed down into the next valley Dirrag pointed out a cluster of white dots showing far away against the green of the fertile plains.
“Kasam,” said he.
The girls looked with eager interest “Is it a camp?” asked Bessie, twisting her tongue into the Baluch dialect.
Dirrag seemed to understand.
“Kasam is a rebel,” he said, looking calmly at the tents. “Many traitors to our great khan have joined him. His army grows daily. It will be battle, some day, and Kasam and his host will disappear like snow before the sun.”
“Has the Khan also an army?” asked Janet.
Dirrag smiled, proudly.
“The warriors of Mekran are as numerous as the leaves in the forest Our mighty khan does not mind Kasam, for the buzzing of a bee against the window-pane is not annoying. But when the time comes he will crush the rebel in a day.”
“That may not be so easy,” exclaimed Bessie, while her eyes sparkled indignant-ly. “Prince Kasam is no child. I’ll bet he knows very well what he’s about!”
Dirrag shrugged his shoulders. He did not understand, for in her excitement she spoke in English. But other ears heard the words, and a young man rode out from a clump of trees that had concealed him and advanced toward the ladies with a bow and a smile.
It was Kasam himself, mounted upon a magnificent gelding that was black as night. He wore a native costume, sparkling with jewels, and looked as handsome and manly as any prince in a fairy tale.
Dirrag, frowning and alert, drew his terrible curved cimeter and prepared to defend his charges. But the girls were pleased at the encounter, and Bessie managed to cry out in Baluch: “Don’t strike, Dirrag! It is Prince Kasam.”
“Good reason to strike,” growled the warrior; but he stood at attention, awaiting the outcome of the adventure and admiring secretly the enemy’s boldness.
“I thank you, fair ladies, for your protection,” said Kasam, speaking gaily and in English. “Not that I particularly fear your doughty champion, but because it affords me the opportunity I have longed for to talk frankly with you, and explain why I seemingly abandoned you on the eve of your arrival in Mekran.”
“And also why you carried away our entire caravan,” added Janet, severely.
Kasam laughed.
“All is fair in love and war,” he rejoined. “You did not need the caravan any longer, and I needed it badly. It was natural I should take advantage of your good nature and my own necessities. Look!” pointing proudly to the plain below; “it is the encampment of my army — the host that is to win for me the throne of Mekran!”
“Are our horses and dromedaries there? And our escort of Afghans?” asked Janet.
“All are there. For the money loss you have sustained I can easily recompense you. As for my own desertion, I agreed to guide your party to Mekran, and I kept my promise. Really, I cannot see that you have just cause for complaint.”
“We have no way to leave the city,” re-plied Janet. “Your act has made us prisoners in Mekran.”
“That was part of my plan,” declared the young man, eyeing the girl with open admiration. “I do not want you to leave Mekran until I am khan.”
“Why?” she asked.
He hesitated, and glanced at Dirrag.
“Let us ride on,” he said, “and, if you will kindly pace beside me, Miss Janet, I will confide to your ears alone my hopes and ambitions.”
He reached out and caught the rein of her bridle, drawing the horse beside his own, and then he rode slowly down the hill toward the city. Dirrag, puzzled by the action and marvelling that the Prince should venture so near the khan’s headquarters, followed a few paces behind Kasam, with Bessie at his side. The girl’s face had flushed red at Kasam’s evident preference for her friend, and her lips were pressed ominously together. She nodded approval as she saw that the warrior beside her still held his drawn cimeter tightly clasped in his hand, for the stern look upon his grim features boded no good to the rebel prince.
For a few paces Kasam rode in silence; then, glancing behind to make sure they were not overheard, he said:
“Miss Moore — Janet! the conditions that surround me oblige me to be frank with you, and to discard all foolish formalities. Although I have been educated in London you must not forget I am a native Baluch, and that we of the East are children of impulse, obeying the dictates of our hearts spontaneously and scorning that cold formality so much affected by your race. I have neither the time nor the opportunity to woo you in the dignified Western fashion. But I love you; and, after all, that is enough for a man to say!”
“Prince Kasam!”
“Since you must hear me, pray rob your voice of its scorn, my love. Be sweet and fond as a woman should. Let your real soul peep out of your beautiful eyes — let your heart bound wild and free in unison with my own. We are man and woman, fitted to sweet communion one with the other and destined to be happy in t
he passionate union of our lives.” His voice was broken and excited; his eyes sparkled with fierce intensity; the conventionality of the Western civilization he had once known was all forgotten. “I love you — I adore you, my Janetl And I am a prince — soon to be Khan of all this great land. Speak to me, dear one! Promise to leave all else and cling to me alone — to follow my fortunes until I can place you in the palace where you shall be queen!”
“You have taken me by surprise, Prince Kasam,” said Janet, gravely. “I am sorry you have spoken in this way.”
“And why?” he cried. “Can love be denied when it clamors at the door of an eager heart? Why should I not love you? Why should you not accept my love?”
She looked into his animated face and smiled sadly.
“Because I do not belong to myself,” she answered, trying hard, as a true woman will, to soften the blow. “Can I give you what another claims as his right?”
She should have said more, or not so much; but she did not know the Baluch temper.
He drew a quick breath at her words and reined his horse to a sudden halt. Her own horse stopped at the same time, and for one long moment Kasam gazed steadily into the fair face she turned pleadingly upon him.
With an exclamation and a passionate gesture he spurred forward. The black gelding was off like the wind across the plain, and Janet was left to stare wonderingly after him.
Dirrag swore heartily; but the native oaths, lacking translation, did not offend the ears of the American girls. The warrior dared not leave his companions to pursue the prince, who circled around and made straight for the hillside in the direction of his encampment.
An embarrassing silence fell upon the three as they again rode forward. Dirrag was plainly suspicious of Janet’s secret conference with the rebel, and Bessie’s sweet face was masked with a grieved and despondent expression that was new to it.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 753