CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
THE TRAGEDY AT MEHRIAB.
Mehriab station, on the Shalalai line of railway, was situated amidabout as wild, desolate and depressing surroundings as the human mindcould possibly conceive.
A narrow treeless plain--along which the track lay, straight as a wall--shut in by towering arid mountains, rising to a great height, cleft hereand there by a chasm overhung by beetling cliffs--black, frowning andforbidding. At the lower end of the plain rose sad-hued mud humps,streaked with gypsum. There was nothing to relieve the eye, no speck ofvivid green standing out from the parched aridity prevailing; but on theother hand all was on a vast scale, and the little station andrest-house looked but a tiny toy planted there beneath the stupendoussweep of those towering hills.
In the latter of the buildings aforesaid, a tolerably lively party wasassembled, discussing tiffin, or rather having just finished discussionof the same. It had been done picnic fashion, and the room was litteredwith plates, and knives and forks, and lunch baskets, and paper, and allthe accompaniments of an itinerant repast.
"Have another `peg,' Campian," Upward was saying. "No? Sure? Youwill, Colonel? That's right. We've plenty of time. No hurry whatever.Hazel, don't kick up such a row, or you'll have to go outside. MissWymer, don't let them bother you. What was I saying just now?"
He took up the thread of what he had been saying, and in a moment he andthe Colonel were deep in reminiscences of _shikar_. Vivien and Nestahad risen and were strolling outside, and there Campian joined them.The _dak_ bungalow extended its accommodation to travelling natives, forwhom there was a department opposite. Camels--some standing, somekneeling, but all snarling--filled the open space in front of this, andwild looking Baluchis in their great white turbans and loose garmentswere squatting around in groups, placidly chatting, or standing alone inmelancholy silence.
"Look at this!" said Campian. "It makes quite a picture, taken againstthe background of that loop-holed mud wall, with the great sweep ofmountain rising behind."
Several camels, some ready laden, some not, were kneeling. On one a manwas adjusting its load. He was a tall, shaggy, hook-nosed black beardedruffian, who from time to time cast a sidelong, malevolent glance at thelookers on as he continued his work. In business-like manner heproceeded to adjust each bale and package, then when all was complete,he lifted from the ground a Snider carbine and hung it by its ring to ahook on the high wooden pack saddle. Then he took up his curved sword;but this he secured to the broad sabretache over his shoulder.
"Isn't that a picture in itself?" went on Campian. "Why, adequatelyreproduced it would bring back the whole scene--the roaring of thecamels, the midday glow, the burning heat of this arid hole. I wonderwho they are by the way"--for others who had similarly accoutred theircamels were jerking the animals up, and preparing for the start.
Vivien turned to Bhallu Khan who was just behind, and translated hisanswer.
"He says they are Brahuis from the Bolan side, going further in."
"Why are they all armed like that? Don't they trust their own people?"
"He says they may have heard that Umar Khan is on the warpath, and theyare not of his tribe. Nobody knows who anybody is who is not of histribe--meaning that he doesn't trust them."
It was something of a contrast to turn from these scowling, brigandishlooking wayfarers, to the beaming, benevolent, handsome countenance ofthe old forest guard. They strolled around a little more, then voted ittoo hot, and returned to the welcome coolness of the _dak_ bungalow.
Campian, always analytical, was conscious of a change, or rather was ita development? Now that they were together--in a crowd--as he put it tohimself, there was a certain feeling of proprietary right that seemed toassert itself in his relations with Vivien. It was something akin tothe feeling which was over him in the old time when they moved abouttogether. And yet, why? Well, the close intimate intercourse of thelast ten days or so had not been without its effect. Not without aninward thrill either, could he recognise that this intercourse had butbegun. They were returning together, and to be candid with himself thathot stifling arid afternoon here on one of the wildest spots on earth'ssurface, he could not but recognise that this elation was very real,very exhilarating indeed.
"I think we'd better stroll quietly up to the station," said Upward, asthey re-entered. "We may as well have plenty of time to get all thisluggage weighed and put right." Then relapsing into the vernacular:"Khola, you know what goes in and what has to be weighed."
"_Ha, Huzoor_," assented the bearer.
"Then get away on ahead and do it."
The rest-house was about half a mile distant from the station. On theway to the latter Campian found himself riding beside Nesta Cheriton.
"You don't seem elated over the prospect of returning to Shalalai," hesaid. "Five thousand of the British Army--horse, foot, and artillery!Just think what that represents in the shape of its heroic leaders,Nessita--and yet you are just as _chup_ as if you were coming away fromit all."
"Oh, don't bother--just at the last, too," retorted the girl, almostpetulantly. "Besides--that joke is becoming rather stale."
"Is it? So it is. So sorry. What about that other joke--is it staletoo? The one time you ever took anybody seriously. Won't you tell menow, Nessie?"
"No, I won't," she said, this time quite petulantly. "Come along. Weare a long way behind."
"Then you will tell me when next we meet, in Shalalai in a week or two."
"No, I won't. And look here--I don't want to hear any more about it."Then, with apparent inconsequence--"It was mean of you to desert us likethat. You might just as well have put off your stay up there untilnow."
They had reached the station and were in the crowd again by now. Andthere was somewhat of a crowd on the platform. Long-haired Baluchis,all wearing their curved swords, stood about in threes and fours;chattering Hindus with their womenkind, squatting around upon theirbundles and packages; a native policeman in Khaki uniform armed with aSnider rifle--with which he probably could not have hit the traditionalhaystack--and the joint party with their servants and two or three ofthe forest guard, constituted quite a crowd on the ordinarily desertedplatform; for the arrival of the train--of which there was but one dailyeach way--was something of an event.
Having arranged for the luggage and tickets, Upward was chatting withthe stationmaster--a particularly civil, but very ugly Babu from downcountry--as to the state of the country. The man grinned all over hispockmarked countenance. What would the Sahib have? A Government berthwas not one to throw up because it was now and then dangerous, and somany only too eager to jump into it. Umar Khan was not likely totrouble him. Why should he? No defences? No. There was an iron doorto the waiting room, loop-holed, but the policeman was the only manarmed. Upward proceeded to inspect the said iron door.
"Look at this, Colonel," he said. "Just look, and tell me if ever yousaw anything more idiotic in all your life. Here's a thick iron door,carefully set up for an emergency, loop-holed and all, but the window isutterly unprotected. Just look at it. And there's no one armed enoughto fire through either, except one policeman, who'd be cut down on thefirst outbreak of disturbance."
"You're right, Upward. Why, the window is as open as any Englishdrawing room window. There's a loft though, and an iron ladder. Well,you'd be hard put to it if you were reduced to that."
"Rather. That's how we British do things. I'll answer for it theRussians wouldn't. Why, every one of these stations ought to be a youngfort in itself. It would be if the Russians had this line. And they'llhave it too, one of these days at this rate."
And now a vehement ringing of the bell announced the train. On it came,looking, as it slowed down, like a long black centipede, in contrast tothe open vastness of Nature; the engine with its cup shaped chimney,vomiting white smoke, its pointed cow-catcher seeming as a living headof the monster. The chattering Hindus were loading up their bundles andhastening to
follow; heads of all sorts and colours protruded from thewindows, but Mehriab was not a station where passengers often alighted,so none got out now. The Upwards were busy looking after theirmultifold luggage--and good-byes were being exchanged.
"Now, Ernest, get in," called out Mrs Upward. "We are just off."
"No hurry. Where's Tinkles? Got her on board?"
"Yes, here she is," answered Hazel--hoisting up the little terrier tothe window, from which point of vantage it proceeded to snarl valorouslyat a wretched pariah cur, slinking along the platform.
"All right. Well, good-bye, Colonel. Good-bye, Miss Wymer. Campian,old chap, I suppose we'll see you at Shalalai in a week or two. Ta-ta."
The train rumbled slowly away, quickening its pace. Our trio stoodlooking after it, Vivien responding to the frantic waving ofhandkerchiefs from Lily and Hazel.
The train had just disappeared within a deep rift which cut it off fromthe Mehriab valley like a door. The station master had retired withinhis office. The Colonel and his niece were in the waiting roomcollecting their things. Campian, standing outside on the platform, wasshielding a match to light a cheroot, when--Heavens! What did thismean?
A band of savage looking horsemen came clattering up--ten or a dozen,perhaps--advancing from the open country the other side of the line.They seemed to have sprung out of the earth itself, so sudden was theirappearance. All brandished rifles. They dashed straight for thestation, springing from their horses at the end of the platform. Thenthey opened fire on the armed policeman, who was immediately shot dead.The stationmaster ran outside to see what the disturbance was about. Hereceived a couple of bullets the moment he showed himself, and fell,still groaning. Three coolies walking unsuspectingly along the linewere the next. A volley laid them low. Then, with wild yells,expressive of mingled fanaticism and blood thirst, the savage Ghazisrushed along the platform waving their naked swords, and looking formore victims. They slashed the wretched Babu to pieces where he lay--and then seeing that their other victims were not quite dead--rushedupon them, and cut and hacked until there seemed not a semblance ofhumanity left. Whirling their dripping weapons on high in the brightsun, they looked heavenward, and yelled again in sheer mania as theytore back on to the platform.
The whole of this appalling tragedy had been enacted in a mere flash oftime; with such lightning celerity indeed, that Campian, standingoutside, could hardly realise that it had actually happened. It was afortunate thing that three or four tall Marris, standing together in agroup, happened to be between him and the assassins or he would havereceived the first volley. Quick to profit by the circumstance, hesprang within the waiting room.
"Back, back," he cried, meeting the other two in the doorway. "There'sa row on, of sorts, and they are shooting. Help me with the door,Colonel."
It was a fortunate circumstance that Upward had called their attentionto this means of defence, and that they had all looked at it, and partlytried it. Now it swung to without a hitch--and no sooner had it done sothan four of those without flung themselves against it with a savagehowl. These were the Marris who had unconsciously been the means ofsaving Campian's life--and realising that fact, promptly decided to jointheir Ghazi countrymen, and repair if possible the error. And, indeed,the same held good of the others on the platform. They were there byaccident, but, being there, their innate savagery and fanaticism blazedup in response to the maddening slogan of the Ghazis, with whom, almostto a man, they decided to make common cause. If ever a sharp and vividcontrast was to be witnessed it was here. The peaceful, prosaic,commonplace railway station platform of a few moments ago, was now avery hell of raging shaggy demons, yelling with fury and fanatical hate,rolling their eyes around in search of more victims, as they splashedand slipped in the blood of those they had already massacred.
Then someone brought news that there were more coolies, hiding for theirlives behind a wood pile a little way up the line. With howls ofdelight, a dozen barbarians started to find some fresh victims, and thedefenceless wretches were butchered as they grovelled on the ground andshrieked for mercy.
Those left on the platform now got an inspiration. They had killed theBabu in charge, but there would be others. Fired with this idea, theyrushed into the station master's office. Nobody! Into an inner room.Still nobody. They were about to turn and leave, when one, more knowingthan the rest, noticed that a large chest was standing rather far outfrom the wall, and that a shower of dust was still falling from the topof it. He looked behind. Just as he suspected. A man was crouchingthere, and now quickly they hauled him forth. It was the Eurasiantelegraph and ticket clerk, who had hoped to hide away and escape. Hisyellow face was pale with terror, and he shook in every limb at thesight of those fierce faces and blood dripping tulwars. One of thelatter was about to descend upon his head, when somebody in authorityintervened, and the murderous blade was lowered.
"The money--where is it?" said this man in Hindustani. "Give us overthe rupees."
"You shall have them, Sirdar sahib. Don't let them kill me!" hepleaded, frantic with fear. Then he began fumbling for the safe keys.In his terror he could not find them.
"Hurry up, thou son of a pig and a dog!" urged the one who seemed to bethe leader; "else will I have thee slain inch by inch, not all at once."
The wretched Eurasian went nearly mad with fear at this threat, but justthen, by good luck, he found the keys. His hand, however, shook so muchhe could hardly open the safe. When he did so, it was found to containless than they had expected.
"Where is the remainder, thou son of Shaitan? Quick, lest we flay theealive, or broil thee on red-hot coals," growled the leader.
Frantic with fear, the miserable wretch fumbled wildly everywhere. Afew loose rupees, and a bag or two containing no great sum were found,but no more.
"And is that all, food for the Evil One? Is that all?"
"Quite all, Sirdar sahib."
"Good." And, with the word, the barbarian raised his rifle and shot theother dead.