CHAPTER XXX
THE NEEDED IMPLEMENT
Ralston rode home with an uncomfortable recollection of the littledinner-party in Calcutta at which Hatch had told his story of theEnglishwoman in Mecca. Had that story fired Shere Ali? The time forquestions had passed; but none the less this particular one would forceitself into the front of his mind.
"I would have done better never to have meddled," he said to himselfremorsefully--even while he gave his orders for the apprehension ofShere Ali and his companion. For he did not allow his remorse to hamperhis action; he set a strong guard at the gates of the city, and gaveorders that within the gates the city should be methodically searchedquarter by quarter.
"I want them both laid by the heels," he said; "but, above all, thePrince. Let there be no mistake. I want Shere Ali lodged in the gaol herebefore nightfall"; and Linforth's voice broke in rapidly upon his words.
"Can I do anything to help? What can I do?"
Ralston looked sharply up from his desk. There had been a noticeableeagerness, a noticeable anger in Linforth's voice.
"You?" said Ralston quietly. "_You_ want to help? You were ShereAli's friend."
Ralston smiled as he spoke, but there was no hint of irony in eitherwords or smile. It was a smile rather of tolerance, and almost ofregret--the smile of a man who was well accustomed to seeing the flowersand decorative things of life wither over-quickly, and yet was stillalert and not indifferent to the change. His work for the moment wasdone. He leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. He no longer looked atLinforth. His one quick glance had shown him enough.
"So it's all over, eh?" he said, as he played with his paper-knife."Summer mornings on the Cherwell. Travels in the Dauphine. The Meije andthe Aiguilles d'Arves. Oh, I know." Linforth moved as he stood at theside of Ralston's desk, but the set look upon his face did not change.And Ralston went on. There came a kind of gentle mockery into his voice."The shared ambitions, the concerted plans--gone, and not even a regretfor them left, eh? _Tempi passati!_ Pretty sad, too, when you come tothink of it."
But Linforth made no answer to Ralston's probings. Violet Oliver'sinstincts had taught her the truth, which Ralston was now learning.Linforth could be very hard. There was nothing left of the friendshipwhich through many years had played so large a part in his life. A womanhad intervened, and Linforth had shut the door upon it, had sealed hismind against its memories, and his heart against its claims. The eveningat La Grave in the Dauphine had borne its fruit. Linforth stood therewhite with anger against Shere Ali, hot to join in the chase. Ralstonunderstood that if ever he should need a man to hunt down that quarrythrough peril and privations, here at his hand was the man on whom hecould rely.
Linforth's eager voice broke in again.
"What can I do to help?"
Ralston looked up once more.
"Nothing--for the moment. If Shere Ali is captured inPeshawur--nothing at all."
"But if he escapes."
Ralston shrugged his shoulders. Then he filled his pipe and lit it.
"If he escapes--why, then, your turn may come. I make no promises," headded quickly, as Linforth, by a movement, betrayed his satisfaction."It is not, indeed, in my power to promise. But there may come workfor you--difficult work, dangerous work, prolonged work. For thisoutrage can't go unpunished. In any case," he ended with a smile, "theRoad goes on."
He turned again to his office-table, and Linforth went out of the room.
The task which Ralston had in view for Linforth came by a long stepnearer that night. For all night the search went on throughout thecity, and the searchers were still empty-handed in the morning. AhmedIsmail had laid his plans too cunningly. Shere Ali was to becompromised, not captured. There was to be a price upon his head, butthe head was not to fall. And while the search went on from quarter toquarter of Peshawur, the Prince and his attendant were already out inthe darkness upon the hills.
Ralston telegraphed to the station on the Malakand Pass, to the fort atJamrud, even to Landi Khotal, at the far end of the Khyber Pass, butShere Ali had not travelled along any one of the roads those positionscommanded.
"I had little hope indeed that he would," said Ralston with a shrugof the shoulders. "He has given us the slip. We shall not catch upwith him now."
He was standing with Linforth at the mouth of the well which irrigatedhis garden. The water was drawn up after the Persian plan. A woodenvertical wheel wound up the bucket, and this wheel was made to revolve bya horizontal wheel with the spokes projecting beyond the rim and fittinginto similar spokes upon the vertical wheel. A bullock, with a bandageover its eyes, was harnessed to the horizontal wheel, and paced slowlyround and round, turning it; while a boy sat on the bullock's back andbeat it with a stick. Both men stood and listened to the groaning andcreaking of the wheels for a few moments, and then Linforth said:
"So, after all, you mean to let him go?"
"No, indeed," answered Ralston. "Only now we shall have to fetch him outof Chiltistan."
"Will they give him up?"
Ralston shook his head.
"No." He turned to Linforth with a smile. "I once heard the PoliticalOfficer described as the man who stands between the soldier and hismedal. Well, I have tried to stand just in that spot as far as Chiltistanis concerned. But I have not succeeded. The soldier will get his medal inChiltistan this year. I have had telegrams this morning from Lahore. Apunitive force has been gathered at Nowshera. The preparations have beengoing on quietly for a few weeks. It will start in a few days. I shall gowith it as Political Officer."
"You will take me?" Linforth asked eagerly.
"Yes," Ralston answered. "I mean to take you. I told you yesterday theremight be service for you."
"In Chiltistan?"
"Or beyond," replied Ralston. "Shere Ali may give us the slip again."
He was thinking of the arid rocky borders of Turkestan, where flightwould be easy and where capture would be most difficult. It was to thatwork that Ralston, looking far ahead, had in his mind dedicated youngLinforth, knowing well that he would count its difficulties light in theardour of his pursuit. Anger would spur him, and the Road should be heldout as his reward. Ralston listened again to the groaning of thewater-wheel, and watched the hooded bullock circle round and round withpatient unvarying pace, and the little boy on its back making nodifference whatever with a long stick.
"Look!" he said. "There's an emblem of the Indian administration. Thewheels creak and groan, the bullock goes on round and round with abandage over its eyes, and the little boy on its back cuts a fineimportant figure and looks as if he were doing ever so much, and somehowthe water comes up--that's the great thing, the water is fetched upsomehow and the land watered. When I am inclined to be despondent, I comeand look at my water-wheel." He turned away and walked back to the housewith his hands folded behind his back and his head bent forward.
"You are despondent now?" Linforth asked.
"Yes," replied Ralston, with a rare and sudden outburst of confession."You, perhaps, will hardly understand. You are young. You have a careerto make. You have particular ambitions. This trouble in Chiltistan isyour opportunity. But it's my sorrow--it's almost my failure." He turnedhis face towards Linforth with a whimsical smile. "I have tried to standbetween the soldier and his medal. I wanted to extend our politicalinfluence there--yes. Because that makes for peace, and it makes for goodgovernment. The tribes lose their fear that their independence will beassailed, they come in time to the Political Officer for advice, they laytheir private quarrels and feuds before him for arbitration. That hashappened in many valleys, and I had always a hope that though Chiltistanhas a ruling Prince, the same sort of thing might in time happen there.Yes, even at the cost of the Road," and again his very taking smileillumined for a moment his worn face. "But that hope is gone now. A forcewill go up and demand Shere Ali. Shere Ali will not be given up. Evenwere the demand not made, it would make no difference. He will not bemany days in Chiltistan before Chiltistan is in arms. Alread
y I have senta messenger up to the Resident, telling him to come down."
"And then?" asked Linforth.
Ralston shrugged his shoulders.
"More or less fighting, more or less loss, a few villages burnt, and theonly inevitable end. We shall either take over the country or set upanother Prince."
"Set up another Prince?" exclaimed Linforth in a startled voice. "Inthat case--"
Ralston broke in upon him with a laugh.
"Oh, man of one idea, in any case the Road will go on to the foot ofthe Hindu Kush. That's the price which Chiltistan must pay as securityfor future peace--the military road through Kohara to the foot of theHindu Kush."
Linforth's face cleared, and he said cheerfully:
"It's strange that Shere Ali doesn't realise that himself."
The cheerfulness of his voice, as much as his words, caused Ralston tostop and turn upon his companion in a moment of exasperation.
"Perhaps he does." he exclaimed, and then he proceeded to pay a tributeto the young Prince of Chiltistan which took Linforth fairly by surprise.
"Don't you understand--you who know him, you who grew up with him, youwho were his friend? He's a man. I know these hill-people, and like everyother Englishman who has served among them, I love them--knowing theirfaults. Shere Ali has the faults of the Pathan, or some of them. He hastheir vanity; he has, if you like, their fanaticism. But he's a man. He'sflattered and petted like a lap-dog, he's played with like a toy. Well,he's neither a lap-dog nor a toy, and he takes the flattery and thepetting seriously. He thinks it's _meant_, and he behaves accordingly.What, then? The toy is thrown down on the ground, the lap-dog is kickedinto the corner. But he's not a lap-dog, he's not a toy. He's a man. Hehas a man's resentments, a man's wounded heart, a man's determination notto submit to flattery one moment and humiliation the next. So he strikes.He tries to take the white, soft, pretty thing which has been dangledbefore his eyes and snatched away--he tries to take her by force andfails. He goes back to his own people, and strikes. Do you blame him?Would you rather he sat down and grumbled and bragged of his successes,and took to drink, as more than one down south has done? Perhaps so. Itwould be more comfortable if he did. But which of the pictures do youadmire? Which of the two is the better man? For me, the man whostrikes--even if I have to go up into his country and exact the penaltyafterwards. Shere Ali is one of the best of the Princes. But he has beenbadly treated and so he must suffer."
Ralston repeated his conclusion with a savage irony. "That's the wholetruth. He's one of the best of them. Therefore he doesn't take badtreatment with a servile gratitude. Therefore he must suffer still more.But the fault in the beginning was not his."
Thus it fell to Ralston to explain, twenty-six years later, the sayingof a long-forgotten Political Officer which had seemed so dark toColonel Dewes when it was uttered in the little fort in Chiltistan.There was a special danger for the best in the upbringing of the Indianprinces in England.
Linforth flushed as he listened to the tirade, but he made no answer.Ralston looked at him keenly, wondering with a queer amusement whether hehad not blunted the keen edge of that tool which he was keeping at hisside because he foresaw the need of it. But there was no sign of anysoftening upon Linforth's face. He could be hard, but on the other hand,when he gave his faith he gave it without reserve. Almost every wordwhich Ralston had spoken had seemed to him an aspersion upon VioletOliver. He said nothing, for he had learned to keep silence. But hisanger was hotter than ever against Shere Ali, since but for Shere Ali theaspersions would never have been cast.