CHAPTER VII
IN THE DAUPHINE
The day broke tardily among the mountains of Dauphine. At half-past threeon a morning of early August light should be already stealing through thelittle window and the chinks into the hut upon the Meije. But the fourmen who lay wrapped in blankets on the long broad shelf still slept indarkness. And when the darkness was broken it was by the sudden spit of amatch. The tiny blue flame spluttered for a few seconds and then burnedbright and yellow. It lit up the face of a man bending over the dial of awatch and above him and about him the wooden rafters and walls came dimlyinto view. The face was stout and burned by the sun to the colour of aripe apple, and in spite of a black heavy moustache had a merry andgood-humoured look. Little gold earrings twinkled in his ears by thelight of the match. Annoyance clouded his face as he remarked the time.
"Verdammt! Verdammt!" he muttered.
The match burned out, and for a while he listened to the wind wailingabout the hut, plucking at the door and the shutters of the window. Heclimbed down from the shelf with a rustle of straw, walked lightly for amoment or two about the hut, and then pulled open the door quickly. Asquickly he shut it again.
From the shelf Linforth spoke:
"It is bad, Peter?"
"It is impossible," replied Peter in English with a strong German accent.For the last three years he and his brother had acted as guides to thesame two men who were now in the Meije hut. "We are a strong party, butit is impossible. Before I could walk a yard from the door, I would haveto lend a lantern. And it is after four o'clock! The water is frozen inthe pail, and I have never known that before in August."
"Very well," said Linforth, turning over in his blankets. It was warmamong the blankets and the straw, and he spoke with contentment. Later inthe day he might rail against the weather. But for the moment he was veryclear that there were worse things in the world than to lie snug and hearthe wind tearing about the cliffs and know that there was no chance offacing it.
"We will not go back to La Berarde," he said. "The storm may clear. Wewill wait in the hut until tomorrow."
And from a third figure on the shelf there came in guttural English:
"Yes, yes. Of course."
The fourth man had not wakened from his sleep, and it was not until hewas shaken by the shoulder at ten o'clock in the morning that he sat upand rubbed his eyes.
The fourth man was Shere Ali.
"Get up and come outside," said Linforth.
Ten years had passed since Shere Ali had taken his long walk from Koharaup the valley in the drawing-room of his house-master at Eton. And thoseten years had had their due effect. He betrayed his race nowadays bylittle more than his colour, a certain high-pitched intonation of hisvoice and an extraordinary skill in the game of polo. There had been atime of revolt against discipline, of inability to understand the pointsof view of his masters and their companions, and of difficulty todiscover much sense in their institutions.
It is to be remembered that he came from the hill-country, not from theplains of India. That honour was a principle, not a matter ofcircumstance, and that treachery was in itself disgraceful, whether itwas profitable or not--here were hard sayings for a native of Chiltistan.He could look back upon the day when he had thought a public-house with agreat gilt sign or the picture of an animal over the door a temple forsome particular sect of worshippers.
"And, indeed, you are far from wrong," his tutor had replied to him. "Butsince we do not worship at that fiery shrine such holy places areforbidden us."
Gradually, however, his own character was overlaid; he was quick tolearn, and in games quick to excel. He made friends amongst hisschoolmates, he carried with him to Oxford the charm of manner which isEton's particular gift, and from Oxford he passed to London. He was rich,he was liked, and he found a ready welcome, which did not spoil him.Luffe would undoubtedly have classed him amongst the best of the nativePrinces who go to England for their training, and on that very account,would have feared the more for his future. Shere Ali was now justtwenty-four, he was tall, spare of body and wonderfully supple of limbs,and but for a fulness of the lower lip, which was characteristic of hisfamily, would have been reckoned more than usually handsome.
He came out of the door of the hut and stood by the side of Linforth.They looked up towards the Meije, but little of that majestic mass ofrock was visible. The clouds hung low; the glacier below them upon theirleft had a dull and unillumined look, and over the top of the Breche dela Meije, the pass to the left of their mountain, the snow whirled upfrom the further side like smoke. The hut is built upon a great spur ofthe mountain which runs down into the desolate valley des Etancons, andat its upper end melts into the great precipitous rock-wall which formsone of the main difficulties of the ascent. Against this wall the cloudswere massed. Snow lay where yesterday the rocks had shone grey and ruddybrown in the sunlight, and against the great wall here and there icicleswere hung.
"It looks unpromising," said Linforth. "But Peter says that themountain is in good condition. To-morrow it may be possible. It isworth while waiting. We shall get down to La Grave to-morrow instead ofto-day. That is all."
"Yes. It will make no difference to our plans," said Shere Ali; and sofar as their immediate plans were concerned Shere Ali was right. Butthese two men had other and wider plans which embraced not a summer'sholiday but a lifetime, plans which they jealously kept secret; and theseplans, as it happened, the delay of a day in the hut upon the Meije wasdeeply to affect.
They turned back into the room and breakfasted. Then Linforth lit hispipe and once more curled himself up in his rug upon the straw. Shere Alifollowed his example. And it was of the wider plans that they at oncebegan to talk.
"But heaven only knows when I shall get out to India," cried Linforthafter a while. "There am I at Chatham and not a chance, so far as I cansee, of getting away. You will go back first."
It was significant that Linforth, who had never been in India, none theless spoke habitually of going back to it, as though that country intruth was his native soil. Shere Ali shook his head.
"I shall wait for you," he said. "You will come out there." He raisedhimself upon his elbow and glanced at his friend's face. Linforth hadretained the delicacy of feature, the fineness of outline which ten yearsbefore had called forth the admiration of Colonel Dewes. But the tenyears had also added a look of quiet strength. A man can hardly live witha definite purpose very near to his heart without gaining some rewardfrom the labour of his thoughts. Though he speak never so little, peoplewill be aware of him as they are not aware of the loudest chatterer inthe room. Thus it was with Linforth. He talked with no greater wit thanhis companions, he made no greater display of ability, he never outshone,and yet not a few men were conscious of a force underlying his quietudeof manner. Those men were the old and the experienced; the unobservantoverlooked him altogether.
"Yes," said Shere Ali, "since you want to come you will come."
"I shall try to come," said Linforth, simply. "We belong to the Road,"and for a little while he lay silent. Then in a low voice he spoke,quoting from that page which was as a picture in his thoughts.
"Over the passes! Over the snow passes to the foot of the Hindu Kush!"
"Then and then only India will be safe," the young Prince of Chiltistanadded, speaking solemnly, so that the words seemed a kind of ritual.
And to both they were no less. Long before, when Shere Ali was firstbrought into his room, on his first day at Eton, Linforth had seen hisopportunity, and seized it. Shere Ali's father retained his kingdom withan English Resident at his elbow. Shere Ali would in due time succeed.Linforth had quietly put forth his powers to make Shere Ali his friend,to force him to see with his eyes, and to believe what he believed. AndShere Ali had been easily persuaded. He had become one of the white men,he proudly told himself. Here was a proof, the surest of proofs. Thebelief in the Road--that was one of the beliefs of the white men, one ofthe beliefs which marked him off from the native, not mere
ly inChiltistan, but throughout the East. To the white man, the Road was thebeginning of things, to the Oriental the shadow of the end. Shere Alisided with the white men. He too had faith in the Road and he was proudof his faith because he shared it with the white men.
"We shall be very glad of these expeditions, some day, in Chiltistan,"said Linforth.
Shere Ali stared.
"It was for that reason--?" he asked.
"Yes."
Shere Ali was silent for a while. Then he said, and with some regret:
"There is a great difference between us. You can wait and wait. I wanteverything done within the year."
Linforth laughed. He knew very well the impulsiveness of his friend.
"If a few miles, or even a few furlongs, stand to my credit at the end, Ishall not think that I have failed."
They were both young, and they talked with the bright and simple faith intheir ideals which is the great gift of youth. An older man might havelaughed if he had heard, but had there been an older man in the hut tooverhear them, he would have heard nothing. They were alone, save fortheir guides, and the single purpose for which--as they thenthought--their lives were to be lived out made that long day short as asummer's night.
"The Government will thank us when the work is done," said Shere Alienthusiastically.
"The Government will be in no hurry to let us begin," replied Linforthdrily. "There is a Resident at your father's court. Your father iswilling, and yet there's not a coolie on the road."
"Yes, but you will get your way," and again confidence rang in the voiceof the Chilti prince.
"It will not be I," answered Linforth. "It will be the Road. The power ofthe Road is beyond the power of any Government."
"Yes, I remember and I understand." Shere Ali lit his pipe and lay backamong the straw. "At first I did not understand what the words meant. NowI know. The power of the Road is great, because it inspires men to strivefor its completion."
"Or its mastery," said Linforth slowly. "Perhaps one day on the otherside of the Hindu Kush, the Russians may covet it--and then the Road willgo on to meet them."
"Something will happen," said Shere Ali. "At all events somethingwill happen."
The shadows of the evening found them still debating what complicationmight force the hand of those in authority. But always they came back tothe Russians and a movement of troops in the Pamirs. Yet unknown to bothof them the something else had already happened, though its consequenceswere not yet to be foreseen. A storm had delayed them for a day in a hutupon the Meije. They went out of the hut. The sky had cleared; and inthe sunset the steep buttress of the Promontoire ran sharply up to theGreat Wall; above the wall the small square patch of ice sloped to thebase of the Grand Pic and beyond the deep gap behind that pinnacle thelong serrated ridge ran out to the right, rising and falling, to theDoight de Dieu.
There were some heavy icicles overhanging the Great Wall, andLinforth looked at them anxiously. There was also still a little snowupon the rocks.
"It will be possible," said Peter, cheerily. "Tomorrow night we shallsleep in La Grave."
"Yes, yes, of course," said his brother.
They walked round the hut, looked for a little while down the stonyvalley des Etancons, with its one green patch up which they had toiledfrom La Berarde the day before, and returned to watch the purple flush ofthe sunset die off the crags of the Meije. But the future they hadplanned was as a vision before their eyes, and even along the high cliffsof the Dauphine the road they were to make seemed to wind and climb.
"It would be strange," said Linforth, "if old Andrew Linforth were stillalive. Somewhere in your country, perhaps in Kohara, waiting for thething he dreamed to come to pass. He would be an old man now, but hemight still be alive."
"I wonder," said Shere Ali absently, and he suddenly turned to Linforth."Nothing must come between us," he cried almost fiercely. "Nothing tohinder what we shall do together."
He was the more emotional of the two. The dreams to which they had givenutterance had uplifted him.
"That's all right," said Linforth, and he turned back into the hut. Buthe remembered afterwards that it was Shere Ali who had protested againstthe possibility of their association being broken.
They came out from the hut again at half-past three in the morning andlooked up to a cloudless starlit sky which faded in the east to thecolour of pearl. Above their heads some knobs of rock stood out upon thethin crest of the buttress against the sky. In the darkness of a smallcouloir underneath the knobs Peter was already ascending. The traverse ofthe Meije even for an experienced mountaineer is a long day's climb. Theyreached the summit of the Grand Pic in seven hours, descended into theBreche Zsigmondy, climbed up the precipice on the further side of thatgap, and reached the Pic Central by two o'clock in the afternoon. Therethey rested for an hour, and looked far down to the village of La Graveamong the cornfields of the valley. There was no reason for any hurry.
"We shall reach La Grave by eight," said Peter, but he was wrong, as theysoon discovered. A slope which should have been soft snow down which theycould plunge was hard ice, in which a ladder of steps must be cut beforethe glacier could be reached. The glacier itself was crevassed so thatmany a devour was necessary, and occasionally a jump; and evening cameupon them while they were on the Rocher de L'Aigle. It was quite darkwhen at last they reached the grass slopes, and still far below them thelights were gleaming in La Grave. To both men those grass slopes seemedinterminable. The lights of La Grave seemed never to come nearer, neverto grow larger. Little points of fire very far away--as they had been atfirst, so they remained. But for the slope of ground beneath his feet andthe aching of his knees, Linforth could almost have believed that theywere not descending at all. He struck a match and looked at his watch andsaw that it was after nine; and a little while after they had come towater and taken their fill of it, that it was nearly ten, but now the lowthunder of the river in the valley was louder in his ears, and thensuddenly he saw that the lights of La Grave were bright and near at hand.
Linforth flung himself down upon the grass, and clasping his handsbehind his head, gave himself up to the cool of the night and thestars overhead.
"I could sleep here," he said. "Why should we go down to La Graveto-night?"
"There is a dew falling. It will be cold when the morning breaks. And LaGrave is very near. It is better to go," said Peter.
The question was still in debate when above the roar of the river therecame to their ears a faint throbbing sound from across the valley. Itgrew louder and suddenly two blinding lights flashed along thehill-side opposite.
"A motor-car," said Shere Ali, and as he spoke the lights ceasedto travel.
"It's stopping at the hotel," said Linforth carelessly.
"No," said Peter. "It has not reached the hotel. Look, not by a hundredyards. It has broken down."
Linforth discussed the point at length, not because he was at allinterested at the moment in the movements of that or of any othermotor-car, but because he wished to stay where he was. Peter, however,was obdurate. It was his pride to get his patron indoors each night.
"Let us go on," he said, and Linforth wearily rose to his feet.
"We are making a big mistake," he grumbled, and he spoke with more truththan he was aware.
They reached the hotel at eleven, ordered their supper and bathed. It washalf-past eleven before Linforth and Shere Ali entered the longdining-room, and they found another party already supping there. Linforthheard himself greeted by name, and turned in surprise. It was a party offour--two ladies and two men. One of the men had called to him, anelderly man with a bald forehead, a grizzled moustache, and a shrewdkindly face.
"I remember you, though you can't say as much of me," he said. "Icame down to Chatham a year ago and dined at your mess as the guestof your Colonel."
Linforth came forward with a smile of recognition.
"I beg your pardon for not recognising you at once. I remember you, ofcourse, quite well," h
e said.
"Who am I, then?"
"Sir John Casson, late Lieutenant-Governor of the United Provinces," saidLinforth promptly.
"And now nothing but a bore at my club," replied Sir John cheerfully. "Wewere motoring through to Grenoble, but the car has broken down. You aremountain-climbing, I suppose. Phyllis," and he turned to the younger ofthe two ladies, "this is Mr. Linforth of the Royal Engineers. Mydaughter, Linforth!" He introduced the second lady.
"Mrs. Oliver," he said, and Linforth turning, saw that the eyes of Mrs.Oliver were already fixed upon him. He returned the look, and his eyesfrankly showed her that he thought her beautiful.
"And what are you going to do with yourself?" said Sir John.
"Go to the country from which you have just come, as soon as I can," saidLinforth with a smile. At this moment the fourth of the party, a stout,red-faced, plethoric gentleman, broke in.
"India!" he exclaimed indignantly. "Bless my soul, what on earth sendsall you young fellows racing out to India? A great mistake! I once wentto India myself--to shoot a tiger. I stayed there for months and neversaw one. Not a tiger, sir!"
But Linforth was paying very little attention to the plethoric gentleman.Sir John introduced him as Colonel Fitzwarren, and Linforth bowedpolitely. Then he asked of Sir John:
"Your car was not seriously damaged, I suppose?"
"Keep us here two days," said Sir John. "The chauffeur will have to go onby diligence to-morrow to get a new sparking plug. Perhaps we shall seemore of you in consequence."
Linforth's eyes travelled back to Mrs. Oliver.
"We are in no hurry," he said slowly. "We shall rest here probably for aday or so. May I introduce my friend?"
He introduced him as the son of the Khan of Chiltistan, and Mrs. Oliver'seyes, which had been quietly resting upon Linforth's face, turned towardsShere Ali, and as quietly rested upon his.
"Then, perhaps, you can tell me," said Colonel Fitzwarren, "how it was Inever saw a tiger in India, though I stayed there four months. A mostdisappointing country, I call it. I looked for a tiger everywhere and Inever saw one--no, not one."
The Colonel's one idea of the Indian Peninsula was a huge tiger waitingsomewhere in a jungle to be shot.
But Shere Ali was paying no more attention to the Colonel'sdisparagements than Linforth had done.
"Will you join us at supper?" said Sir John, and both young men repliedsimultaneously, "We shall be very pleased."
Sir John Casson smiled. He could never quite be sure whether it was orwas not to Mrs. Oliver's credit that her looks made so powerful an appealto the chivalry of young men. "All young men immediately want to protecther," he was wont to say, "and their trouble is that they can't findanyone to protect her from."
He watched Shere Ali and Dick Linforth with a sly amusement, and as aresult of his watching promised himself yet more amusement during thenext two days. He was roused from this pleasing anticipation by hisirascible friend, Colonel Fitzwarren, who, without the slightest warning,flung a loud and defiant challenge across the table to Shere All.
"I don't believe there is one," he cried, and breathed heavily.
Shere Ali interrupted his conversation with Mrs. Oliver. "One what?" heasked with a smile.
"Tiger, sir, tiger," said the Colonel, rapping with his knuckles upon thetable. "Of what else should I be speaking? I don't believe there's atiger in India outside the Zoo. Otherwise, why didn't I see one?"
Colonel Fitzwarren glared at Shere Ali as though he held him personallyresponsible for that unhappy omission. Sir John, however, intervened withsmooth speeches and for the rest of supper the conversation was kept toless painful topics. But the Colonel had not said his last word. As theywent upstairs to their rooms he turned to Shere Ali, who was just behindhim, and sighed heavily.
"If I had shot a tiger in India," he said, with an indescribable lookof pathos upon his big red face, "it would have made a great differenceto my life."