Read The Broken Road Page 19


  CHAPTER XIX

  A GIFT MISUNDERSTOOD

  The month was over before Linforth at last steamed out of the harbour atMarseilles. He was as impatient to reach Bombay as a year before ShereAli had been reluctant. To Shere Ali the boat had flown with wings ofswiftness, to Linforth she was a laggard. The steamer passed Strombolion a wild night of storm and moonlight. The wrack of clouds scurryingoverhead, now obscured, now let the moonlight through, and the greatcone rising sheer from a tempestuous sea glowed angrily. Linforth, inthe shelter of a canvas screen, watched the glow suddenly expand, and astream of bright sparkling red flow swiftly along the shoulder of themountain, turn at a right angle, and plunge down towards the sea. Thebright red would become dull, the dull red grow black, the glare oflight above the cone contract for a little while and then burst outagain. Yet men lived upon the slope of Stromboli, even asEnglishmen--the thought flashed into his mind--lived in India,recognising the peril and going quietly about their work. There wasalways that glare of menacing light over the hill-districts of India asabove the crater of Stromboli, now contracting, now expanding andcasting its molten stream down towards the plains.

  At the moment when Linforth watched the crown of light above Stromboli,the glare was widening over the hill country of Chiltistan. Ralston sofar away as Peshawur saw it reddening the sky and was the more troubledin that he could not discover why just at this moment the menace shouldglow red. The son of Abdulla Mohammed was apparently quiet and Shere Alihad not left Calcutta. The Resident at Kohara admitted the danger. Everydespatch he sent to Peshawur pointed to the likelihood of trouble. But hetoo was at fault. Unrest was evident, the cause of it quite obscure. Butwhat was hidden from Government House in Peshawur and the Old MissionHouse at Kohara was already whispered in the bazaars. There among thethatched booths which have their backs upon the brink of thewater-channel in the great square, men knew very well that Shere Ali wasthe cause, though Shere Ali knew nothing of it himself. One of thosequeer little accidents possible in the East had happened within the lastfew weeks. A trifling gift had been magnified into a symbol and amessage, and the message had run through Chiltistan like fire through adry field of stubble. And then two events occurred in Peshawur which gaveto Ralston the key of the mystery.

  The first was the arrival in that city of a Hindu lady from Gujerat whohad lately come to the conclusion that she was a reincarnation of theGoddess Devi. She arrived in great pomp, and there was some trouble inthe streets as the procession passed through to the temple which she hadchosen as her residence. For the Hindus, on the one hand, firmly believedin her divinity. The lady came of a class which, held in dishonour in theWest, had its social position and prestige in India. There was no reasonin the eyes of the faithful why she should say she was the Goddess Deviif she were not. Therefore they lined the streets to acclaim her coming.The Mohammedans, on the other hand, Afghans from the far side of theKhyber, men of the Hassan and the Aka and the Adam Khel tribes, Afridisfrom Kohat and Tirah and the Araksai country, any who happened to be inthat wild and crowded town, turned out, too--to keep order, as theypleasantly termed it, when their leaders were subsequently asked forexplanations. In the end a good many heads were broken before the ladywas safely lodged in her temple. Nor did the trouble end there. Thepresence of a reincarnated Devi at once kindled the Hindus to fervour andstimulated to hostility against them the fanatical Mohammedans. FuttehAli Shah, a merchant, a municipal councillor and a landowner of someimportance, headed a deputation of elderly gentlemen who begged Ralstonto remove the danger from the city.

  Danger there was, as Ralston on his morning rides through the streetscould not but understand. The temple was built in the corner of an openspace, and upon that open space a noisy and excited crowd surged all day;while from the countryside around pilgrims in a mood of frenzied pietyand Pathans spoiling for a fight trooped daily in through the gates ofPeshawur. Ralston understood that the time had come for definite steps tobe taken; and he took them with that unconcerned half-weary air which wasat once natural to him and impressive to these particular people withwhom he had to deal.

  He summoned two of his native levies and mounted his horse.

  "But you will take a guard," said Colonel Ward, of the Oxfordshires, whohad been lunching with Ralston. "I'll send a company down with you."

  "No, thank you," said Ralston listlessly, "I think my two men will do."

  The Colonel stared and expostulated.

  "You know, Ralston, you are very rash. Your predecessor never rode intothe City without an escort."

  "I do every morning."

  "I know," returned the Colonel, "and that's where you are wrong. Some daysomething will happen. To go down with two of your levies to-day ismadness. I speak seriously. The place is in a ferment."

  "Oh, I think I'll be all right," said Ralston, and he rode at a trotdown from Government House into the road which leads past the gaol andthe Fort to the gate of Peshawur. At the gate he reduced the trot to awalk, and so, with his two levies behind him, passed up along thestreets like a man utterly undisturbed. It was not bravado which hadmade him refuse an escort. On the contrary, it was policy. To assumethat no one questioned his authority was in Ralston's view the best wayand the quickest to establish it. He pushed forward through the crowdright up to the walls of the temple, seemingly indifferent to every cryor threat which was uttered as he passed. The throng closed in behindhim, and he came to a halt in front of a low door set in the whitewashedwall which enclosed the temple and its precincts. Upon this door he beatwith the butt of his crop and a little wicket in the door was opened. Atthe bars of the wicket an old man's face showed for a moment and thendrew back in fear.

  "Open!" cried Ralston peremptorily.

  The face appeared again.

  "Your Excellency, the goddess is meditating. Besides, this is holyground. Your Excellency would not wish to set foot on it. Moreover, thecourtyard is full of worshippers. It would not be safe."

  Ralston broke in upon the old man's fluttering protestations. "Open thedoor, or my men will break it in."

  A murmur of indignation arose from the crowd which thronged about him.Ralston paid no heed to it. He called to his two levies:

  "Quick! Break that door in!"

  As they advanced the door was opened. Ralston dismounted, and bade one ofhis men do likewise and follow him. To the second man he said,

  "Hold the horses!"

  He strode into the courtyard and stood still.

  "It will be touch and go," he said to himself, as he looked about him.

  The courtyard was as thronged as the open space without, and four strongwalls enclosed it. The worshippers were strangely silent. It seemed toRalston that suspense had struck them dumb. They looked at the intruderwith set faces and impassive eyes. At the far end of the courtyard therewas a raised stone platform, and this part was roofed. At the back in thegloom he could see a great idol of the goddess, and in front, facing thecourtyard, stood the lady from Gujerat. She was what Ralston expected tosee--a dancing girl of Northern India, a girl with a good figure, smallhands and feet, and a complexion of an olive tint. Her eyes were largeand lustrous, with a line of black pencilled upon the edges of theeyelids, her eyebrows arched and regular, her face oval, her foreheadhigh. The dress was richly embroidered with gold, and she had ankletswith silver bells upon her feet.

  Ralston pushed his way through the courtyard until he reached the wall ofthe platform.

  "Come down and speak to me," he cried peremptorily to the lady, but shetook no notice of his presence. She did not move so much as an eyelid.She gazed over his head as one lost in meditation. From the side an oldpriest advanced to the edge of the platform.

  "Go away," he cried insolently. "You have no place here. The goddess doesnot speak to any but her priests," and through the throng there ran amurmur of approval. There, was a movement, too--a movement towardsRalston. It was as yet a hesitating movement--those behind pushed, thosein front and within Ralston's vision held back. But at any
moment themovement might become a rush.

  Ralston spoke to the priest.

  "Come down, you dog!" he said quite quietly.

  The priest was silent. He hesitated. He looked for help to the crowdbelow, which in turn looked for leadership to him. "Come down," once morecried Ralston, and he moved towards the steps as though he would mount onto the platform and tear the fellow down.

  "I come, I come," said the priest, and he went down and stoodbefore Ralston.

  Ralston turned to the Pathan who accompanied him. "Turn the fellow intothe street."

  Protests rose from the crowd; the protests became cries of anger; thethrong swayed and jostled. But the Pathan led the priest to the door andthrust him out.

  Again Ralston turned to the platform.

  "Listen to me," he called out to the lady from Gujerat. "You must leavePeshawur. You are a trouble to the town. I will not let you stay."

  But the lady paid no heed. Her mind floated above the earth, and withevery moment the danger grew. Closer and closer the throng pressed inupon Ralston and his attendant. The clamour rose shrill and menacing.Ralston cried out to his Pathan in a voice which rang clear and audibleeven above the clamour:

  "Bring handcuffs!"

  The words were heard and silence fell upon all that crowd, the suddensilence of stupefaction. That such an outrage, such a defilement of aholy place, could be contemplated came upon the worshippers with a shock.But the Pathan levy was seen to be moving towards the door to obey theorder, and as he went the cries and threats rose with redoubled ardour.For a moment it seemed to Ralston that the day would go against him, sofierce were the faces which shouted in his ears, so turbulent themovement of the crowd. It needed just one hand to be laid upon thePathan's shoulder as he forced his way towards the door, just one blow tobe struck, and the ugly rush would come. But the hand was not stretchedout, nor the blow struck; and the Pathan was seen actually at thethreshold of the door. Then the Goddess Devi came down to earth and spoketo another of her priests quickly and urgently. The priest went swiftlydown the steps.

  "The goddess will leave Peshawur, since your Excellency so wills it," hesaid to Ralston. "She will shake the dust of this city from her feet. Shewill not bring trouble upon its people." So far he had got when thegoddess became violently agitated. She beckoned to the priest and when hecame to her side she spoke quickly to him in an undertone. For the lastsecond or two the goddess had grown quite human and even feminine. Shewas rating the priest well and she did it spitefully. It was acrestfallen priest who returned to Ralston.

  "The goddess, however, makes a condition," said he. "If she goes theremust be a procession."

  The goddess nodded her head emphatically. She was clearly adamant uponthat point.

  Ralston smiled.

  "By all means. The lady shall have a show, since she wants one," said he,and turning towards the door, he signalled to the Pathan to stop.

  "But it must be this afternoon," said he. "For she must go thisafternoon."

  And he made his way out of the courtyard into the street. The lady fromGujerat left Peshawur three hours later. The streets were lined withlevies, although the Mohammedans assured his Excellency that there was noneed for troops.

  "We ourselves will keep order," they urged. Ralston smiled, and orderedup a company of Regulars. He himself rode out from Government House, andat the bend of the road he met the procession, with the lady from Gujeratat its head in a litter with drawn curtains of tawdry gold.

  As the procession came abreast of him a little brown hand was thrustout from the curtains, and the bearers and the rabble behind came to ahalt. A man in a rough brown homespun cloak, with a beggar's bowlattached to his girdle, came to the side of the litter, and thence wentacross to Ralston.

  "Your Highness, the Goddess Devi has a word for your ear alone."Ralston, with a shrug of his shoulders, walked his horse up to the sideof the litter and bent down his head. The lady spoke through thecurtains in a whisper.

  "Your Excellency has been very kind to me, and allowed me to leavePeshawur with a procession, guarding the streets so that I might pass insafety and with great honour. Therefore I make a return. There is amatter which troubles your Excellency. You ask yourself the why and thewherefore, and there is no answer. But the danger grows."

  Ralston's thoughts flew out towards Chiltistan. Was it of that countryshe was speaking?

  "Well?" he asked. "Why does the danger grow?"

  "Because bags of grain and melons were sent," she replied, "and themessage was understood."

  She waved her hand again, and the bearers of the litter stepped forwardon their march through the cantonment. Ralston rode up the hill to hishome, wondering what in the world was the meaning of her oracularwords. It might be that she had no meaning--that was certainly apossibility. She might merely be keeping up her pose as a divinity. Onthe other hand, she had been so careful to speak in a low whisper, lestany should overhear.

  "Some melons and bags of grain," he said to himself. "What message couldthey convey? And who sent them? And to whom?"

  He wrote that night to the Resident at Kohara, on the chance that hemight be able to throw some light upon the problem.

  "Have you heard anything of a melon and a bag of grain?" he wrote. "Itseems an absurd question, but please make inquiries. Find out what itall means."

  The messenger carried the letter over the Malakand Pass and up the roadby Dir, and in due time an answer was returned. Ralston received theanswer late one afternoon, when the light was failing, and, taking itover to the window, read it through. Its contents fairly startled him.

  "I have made inquiries," wrote Captain Phillips, the Resident, "as youwished, and I have found out that some melons and bags of grain were sentby Shere Ali's orders a few weeks ago as a present to one of the chiefMullahs in the town."

  Ralston was brought to a stop. So it was Shere Ali, after all, who wasat the bottom of the trouble. It was Shere Ali who had sent the present,and had sent it to one of the Mullahs. Ralston looked back upon thelittle dinner party, whereby he had brought Hatch and Shere Alitogether. Had that party been too successful, he wondered? Had itachieved more than he had wished to bring about? He turned in doubt tothe letter which he held.

  "It seems," he read, "that there had been some trouble between this manand Shere Ali. There is a story that Shere Ali set him to work for a dayupon a bridge just below Kohara. But I do not know whether there is anytruth in the story. Nor can I find that any particular meaning isattached to the present. I imagine that Shere Ali realised that it wouldbe wise--as undoubtedly it was--for him to make his peace with theMullah, and sent him accordingly the melons and the bags of grain as anearnest of his good-will."

  There the letter ended, and Ralston stood by the window as the lightfailed more and more from off the earth, pondering with a heavy heartupon its contents. He had to make his choice between the Resident atKohara and the lady of Gujerat. Captain Phillips held that the presentwas not interpreted in any symbolic sense. But the lady of Gujerat hadknown of the present. It was matter of talk, then, in the bazaars, and itwould hardly have been that had it meant no more than an earnest ofgood-will. She had heard of the present; she knew what it was held toconvey. It was a message. There was that glare broadening overChiltistan. Surely the lady of Gujerat was right.

  So far his thoughts had carried him when across the window there fell ashadow, and a young officer of the Khyber Rifles passed by to the door.Captain Singleton was announced, and a boy--or so he looked--dark-hairedand sunburnt, entered the office. For eighteen months he had beenstationed in the fort at Landi Kotal, whence the road dips down betweenthe bare brown cliffs towards the plains and mountains of Afghanistan.With two other English officers he had taken his share in the difficulttask of ruling that regiment of wild tribesmen which, twice a week,perched in threes on some rocky promontory, or looking down from amachicolated tower, keeps open the Khyber Pass from dawn to dusk andprotects the caravans. The eighteen months had written their history
uponhis face; he stood before Ralston, for all his youthful looks, a quiet,self-reliant man.

  "I have come down on leave, sir," he said. "On the way I fetched RahatMian out of his house and brought him in to Peshawur."

  Ralston looked up with interest.

  "Any trouble?" he asked.

  "I took care there should be none."

  Ralston nodded.

  "He had better be safely lodged. Where is he?"

  "I have him outside."

  Ralston rang for lights, and then said to Singleton: "Then, I'llsee him now."

  And in a few minutes an elderly white-bearded man, dressed from head tofoot in his best white robes, was shown into the room.

  "This is his Excellency," said Captain Singleton, and Rahat Mian bowedwith dignity and stood waiting. But while he stood his eyes roamedinquisitively about the room.

  "All this is strange to you, Rahat Mian," said Ralston. "How long is itsince you left your house in the Khyber Pass?"

  "Five years, your Highness," said Rahat Mian, quietly, as though therewere nothing very strange in so long a confinement within his doors.

  "Have you never crossed your threshold for five years?" asked Ralston.

  "No, your Highness. I should not have stepped back over it again, had Ibeen so foolish. Before, yes. There was a deep trench dug between myhouse and the road, and I used to crawl along the trench when no-one wasabout. But after a little my enemies saw me walking in the road, andwatched the trench."

  Rahat Mian lived in one of the square mud windowless houses, each with atower at a corner which dot the green wheat fields in the Khyber Passwherever the hills fall back and leave a level space. His house wasfifty yards from the road, and the trench stretched to it from his verydoor. But not two hundred yards away there were other houses, and one ofthese held Rahat Mian's enemies. The feud went back many years to thedate when Rahat Mian, without asking anyone's leave or paying a singlefarthing of money, secretly married the widowed mother of Futteh AliShah. Now Futteh Ali Shah was a boy of fourteen who had the right todispose of his mother in second marriage as he saw fit, and for the bestprice he could obtain. And this deprivation of his rights kindled in hima great anger against Rahat Mian. He nursed it until he became a man andwas able to buy for a couple of hundred rupees a good pedigree rifle--arifle which had belonged to a soldier killed in a hill-campaign and forwhich inquiries would not be made. Armed with his pedigree rifle, FuttehAli Shah lay in wait vainly for Rahat Mian, until an unexpected bequestcaused a revolution in his fortunes. He went down to Bombay, added tohis bequest by becoming a money-lender, and finally returned toPeshawur, in the neighbourhood of which city he had become a landownerof some importance. Meanwhile, however, he had not been forgetful ofRahat Mian. He left relations behind to carry on the feud, and inaddition he set a price on Rahat Mian's head. It was this feud whichRalston had it in his mind to settle.

  He turned to Rahat Mian.

  "You are willing to make peace?"

  "Yes," said the old man.

  "You will take your most solemn oath that the feud shall end. You willswear to divorce your wife, if you break your word?"

  For a moment Rahat Mian hesitated. There was no oath more binding, moresacred, than that which he was called upon to take. In the end heconsented.

  "Then come here at eight to-morrow morning," said Ralston, and,dismissing the man, he gave instructions that he should be safely lodged.He sent word at the same time to Futteh Ali Shah, with whom, not for thefirst time, he had had trouble.

  Futteh Ali Shah arrived late the next morning in order to show hisindependence. But he was not so late as Ralston, who replied by keepinghim waiting for an hour. When Ralston entered the room he saw that FuttehAli Shah had dressed himself for the occasion. His tall high-shoulderedframe was buttoned up in a grey frock coat, grey trousers clothed hislegs, and he wore patent-leather shoes upon his feet.

  "I hope you have not been waiting very long. They should have told me youwere here," said Ralston, and though he spoke politely, there was just asuggestion that it was not really of importance whether Futteh Ali Shahwas kept waiting or not.

  "I have brought you here that together we may put an end to your disputewith Rahat Mian," said Ralston, and, taking no notice of the exclamationof surprise which broke from the Pathan's lips, he rang the bell andordered Rahat Mian to be shown in.

  "Now let us see if we cannot come to an understanding," said Ralston, andhe seated himself between the two antagonists.

  But though they talked for an hour, they came no nearer to a settlement.Futteh Ali Shah was obdurate; Rahat Mian's temper and pride rose in theirturn. At the sight of each other the old grievance became fresh as athing of yesterday in both their minds. Their dark faces, with the highcheek-bones and the beaked noses of the Afridi, became passionate andfierce. Finally Futteh Ali Shah forgot all his Bombay manners; he leanedacross Ralston, and cried to Rahat Mian:

  "Do you know what I would like to do with you? I would like to string mybedstead with your skin and lie on it."

  And upon that Ralston arrived at the conclusion that the meeting might aswell come to an end.

  He dismissed Rahat Mian, promising him a safe conveyance to his home. Buthe had not yet done with Futteh Ali Shah.

  "I am going out," he said suavely. "Shall we walk a little way together?"

  Futteh Ali Shah smiled. Landowner of importance that he was, theopportunity to ride side by side through Peshawur with the ChiefCommissioner did not come every day. The two men went out into the porch.Ralston's horse was waiting, with a scarlet-clad syce at its head.Ralston walked on down the steps and took a step or two along the drive.Futteh Ali Shah lagged behind.

  "Your Excellency is forgetting your horse."

  "No," said Ralston. "The horse can follow. Let us walk a little. It is agood thing to walk."

  It was nine o'clock in the morning, and the weather was getting hot. Andit is said that the heat of Peshawur is beyond the heat of any other cityfrom the hills to Cape Comorin. Futteh Ali Shah, however, could notrefuse. Regretfully he signalled to his own groom who stood apart incharge of a fine dark bay stallion from the Kirghiz Steppes. The two menwalked out from the garden and down the road towards Peshawur city, withtheir horses following behind them.

  "We will go this way," said Ralston, and he turned to the left and walkedalong a mud-walled lane between rich orchards heavy with fruit. For amile they thus walked, and then Futteh Ali Shah stopped and said:

  "I am very anxious to have your Excellency's opinion of my horse. I amvery proud of it."

  "Later on," said Ralston, carelessly. "I want to walk for a little"; and,conversing upon indifferent topics, they skirted the city and came outupon the broad open road which runs to Jamrud and the Khyber Pass.

  It was here that Futteh Ali Shah once more pressingly invited Ralston totry the paces of his stallion. But Ralston again refused.

  "I will with pleasure later on," he said. "But a little exercise will begood for both of us; and they continued to walk along the road. The heatwas overpowering; Futteh Ali Shah was soft from too much good living; histhin patent-leather shoes began to draw his feet and gall his heels; hisfrock coat was tight; the perspiration poured down his face. Ralston washot, too. But he strode on with apparent unconcern, and talked with theutmost friendliness on the municipal affairs of Peshawur."

  "It is very hot," said Futteh Ali Shah, "and I am afraid for yourExcellency's health. For myself, of course, I am not troubled, but somuch walking will be dangerous to you"; and he halted and lookedlongingly back to his horse.

  "Thank you," said Ralston. "But my horse is fresh, and I should not beable to talk to you so well. I do not feel that I am in danger."

  Futteh Ali Shah mopped his face and walked on. His feet blistered; hebegan to limp, and he had nothing but a riding-switch in his hand. Nowacross the plain he saw in the distance the round fort of Jamrud, and hesuddenly halted:

  "I must sit down," he said. "I cannot help it, your Excellency, I mus
tstop and sit down."

  Ralston turned to him with a look of cold surprise.

  "Before me, Futteh Ali Shah? You will sit down in my presence before Isit down? I think you will not."

  Futteh Ali Shah gazed up the road and down the road, and saw no helpanywhere. Only this devilish Chief Commissioner stood threateninglybefore him. With a gesture of despair he wiped his face and walked on.For a mile more he limped on by Ralston's side, the while Ralstondiscoursed upon the great question of Agricultural Banks. Then he stoppedagain and blurted out:

  "I will give you no more trouble. If your Excellency will let me go,never again will I give you trouble. I swear it."

  Ralston smiled. He had had enough of the walk himself.

  "And Rahat Mian?" he asked.

  There was a momentary struggle in the zemindar's mind. But his fatigueand exhaustion were too heavy upon him.

  "He, too, shall go his own way. Neither I nor mine shall molest him."

  Ralston turned at once and mounted his horse. With a sigh of reliefFutteh Ali Shah followed his example.

  "Shall we ride back together?" said Ralston, pleasantly. And as on theway out he had made no mention of any trouble between the landowner andhimself, so he did not refer to it by a single word on his way back.

  But close to the city their ways parted and Futteh Ali Shah, as he tookhis leave, said hesitatingly,

  "If this story goes abroad, your Excellency--this story of how we walkedtogether towards Jamrud--there will be much laughter and ridicule."

  The fear of ridicule--there was the weak point of the Afridi, as Ralstonvery well knew. To be laughed at--Futteh Ali Shah, who was wont to lordit among his friends, writhed under the mere possibility. And how theywould laugh in and round about Peshawur! A fine figure he would cut as herode through the streets with every ragged bystander jeering at the manwho was walked into docility and submission by his Excellency the ChiefCommissioner.

  "My life would be intolerable," he said, "were the story to get about."

  Ralston shrugged his shoulders.

  "But why should it get about?"

  "I do not know, but it surely will. It may be that the trees have earsand eyes and a mouth to speak." He edged a little nearer to theCommissioner. "It may be, too," he said cunningly, "that your Excellencyloves to tell a good story after dinner. Now there is one way to stopthat story."

  Ralston laughed. "If I could hold my tongue, you mean," he replied.

  Futteh Ali Shah came nearer still. He rode up close and leaned a littleover towards Ralston.

  "Your Excellency would lose the story," he said, "but on the other handthere would be a gain--a gain of many hours of sleep passed otherwise inguessing."

  He spoke in an insinuating fashion, which made Ralston disinclined tostrike a bargain--and he nodded his head like one who wishes to conveythat he could tell much if only he would. But Ralston paused before heanswered, and when he answered it was only to put a question.

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  And the reply came in a low quick voice.

  "There was a message sent through Chiltistan."

  Ralston started. Was it in this strange way the truth was to come to him?He sat his horse carelessly. "I know," he said. "Some melons and somebags of grain."

  Futteh Ali Shah was disappointed. This devilish Chief Commissioner kneweverything. Yet the story of the walk must not get abroad in Peshawur,and surely it would unless the Chief Commissioner were pledged tosilence. He drew a bow at a venture.

  "Can your Excellency interpret the message? As they interpret it inChiltistan?" and it seemed to him that he had this time struck true. "Itis a little thing I ask of your Excellency."

  "It is not a great thing, to be sure," Ralston admitted. He looked at thezemindar and laughed. "But I could tell the story rather well," he saiddoubtfully. "It would be an amusing story as I should tell it. Yet--well,we will see," and he changed his tone suddenly. "Interpret to me thatpresent as it is interpreted in the villages of Chiltistan."

  Futteh Ali Shah looked about him fearfully, making sure that there was noone within earshot. Then in a whisper he said: "The grain is the armywhich will rise up from the hills and descend from the heavens to destroythe power of the Government. The melons are the forces of the Government;for as easily as melons they will be cut into pieces."

  He rode off quickly when he had ended, like a man who understands that hehas said too much, and then halted and returned.

  "You will not tell that story?" he said.

  "No," answered Ralston abstractedly. "I shall never tell that story."

  He understood the truth at last. So that was the message which Shere Alihad sent. No wonder, he thought, that the glare broadened overChiltistan.