CHAPTER TWO.
THROUGH FLOOD.
Ernest Aurelius Upward was the chief official in charge of theGovernment forests of Baluchistan.
Now the said "forests" had about as much affinity to the idea of sylvanwildness conveyed by that term as many of the Highland so-called deerforests; in that they were mainly distinguishable by a conspicuous lackof trees; such trees as there were consisting wellnigh entirely of thestunted, profitless, and utterly unpicturesque juniper, which stragglingover the slopes of the hills and devoid of undergrowth imparted to thearid and stony landscape somewhat of the aspect of a vast continentalburying-ground, badly kept and three parts forgotten.
Being thus devoid of undergrowth, the land was proportionately depletedof wild life, since game requires covert. This added not to itsattractions in the eyes of Ernest Aurelius, who was a keen Nimrod. Hehad been a mighty slayer of tiger during an experience of many yearsspent in the Indian forest service. Long indeed was the death roll of"Stripes" when that energetic official was around with rifle and campoutfit among the jungly hills of his North West Province section. Ofpanther he had long since ceased to keep count, while cheetul orblackbuck he reckoned in with such small game as partridge or snipe. Wehave said that the great rugged slopes and towering crags of his presentcharge still held the markhor and wild mountain sheep; but Upward wasnot so young as he had been and remembering the fine times he had hadwith the far easier _shikar_ of the lower country, frankly declared hisdistaste for the hard labour involved in swarming up all manner ofinaccessible heights at all sorts of unearthly hours of the day or nighton the off-chance of one precarious shot. So the _gadh_ and markhor, sofar as he was concerned, went unmolested.
But its lack of sport notwithstanding, his present charge had itscompensations. Life in camp among these elevated mountain ranges washealthful and not unpleasant. At an altitude of anything up to 8,000feet the air stirred keen and fresh, and the climate of Shalalai, thecantonment station where he had his headquarters in the shape of a snug,roomy bungalow and a garden in which he took much pride, was appreciatedalike by himself and others, to whom recollection was still vivid of thetorrid, enervating exhaustion of plains stations. Furthermore his termof retirement was not many years distant and on the whole, Upward foundno great reason for discontent.
And now as we first make his personal acquaintance, he is riding slowlyacross the valley bottom towards his camp. His mackintosh is streamingwith wet, and the collar tucked up to his ears, for the rain is fallingin a steady pitiless downpour. Two men of his Pathan forest guard walkbehind, one carrying his master's gun, the other a few brace of chikoror grey partridge, an abominable unsporting biped, whom no amount ofeducation will convince of his duty to rise and be shot. The eveninghas closed in wet and stormy, and the lightning gleam sheds its redblaze upon the white tents of the camp. These tents, in number about adozen, are pitched among the trees of an apricot tope, whose leafage isjust beginning to bud forth anew after the devastations of a flight oflocusts. In front the valley bottom is open and comparatively level butbehind, the mountain range rises rugged and abrupt--its face cleft bythe black jaws of a fine _tangi_, narrow, but with perpendicular sidesrising to an altitude of several hundred feet. This picturesquelyforbidding chasm acts in rainy weather as a feeder to the now drywatercourse on whose bank the camp is pitched.
The lamps are already lighted, and in one of the larger tents a lady isseated reading. She looks up as Upward enters.
"What sport have you had, Ernest?"
"Only seven brace and a half."
"Oh come, that's not so bad. Are you very wet?"
"No--but my Terai hat is about spoiled; wish I had put on another,"flinging off the soaked headgear in question. "These beastly stormscrop up every afternoon now, and always at the same time. There's nofun in going out shooting. Khola, _Peg lao_."
The well trained bearer, who has been assisting his master out of hissoaked mackintosh, moves swiftly and noiselessly in quest of the needed"peg."
"Well, I'll go and change. Where are the girls?"
"In their own tent. Hurry up though. Dinner must be quite ready."
By the time Upward is dried and toiletted--a process which does not takehim long--"the girls" are in. Two of them are not yet out of the shortfrock stage. These are his own children, and are aged fourteen andtwelve respectively. The third, however, who is a couple of yearsbeyond her teens, is no relation, but a guest.
"Did you have any sport, Mr Upward?" says the latter, as they sat downto table.
"No--there's no sport in chikor shooting. The chikor is the mostunsporting bird in the world. He won't rise to be shot at."
"What on earth do we stay on here for then?" says the elder of the twochildren, who, like many Indian and colonially raised children, is notslow to volunteer an opinion. "I wish we were going back to Shalalaito-morrow."
"So do I," cuts in the other promptly.
"Oh--do you!" responds her parent mingling for himself a "peg"--"Why,the other day you were all for getting into camp. You were sick ofShalalai, and everybody in it."
"Well, we are not now. It's beastly here, and always raining," says theyounger one, teasing a little fox terrier under the table until it yelpsand snarls.
"Do go on with your dinner, Hazel, and leave the dog alone," urges hermother in the mildest tone of gentle remonstrance.
"Oh, all right," with a pout and flounce. She is a queer,dark-complexioned little elf is Hazel, with a vast mane of hair nearlyas large as herself--and loth to accept reproof or injunction withoutprotest--The other laughs meaningly, and then a squabble arises--forthey are prone to squabbling--which is finally quelled.
"Well, and what do you think, Miss Cheriton?" says Upward turning totheir guest, when this desirable result has been achieved. "Are yousick of camp yet?"
"N-no--I don't think I am--At least--of course I'm not."
"I'm afraid Nesta does find it slow," puts in Mrs Upward--But beforeNesta Cheriton can utter a disclaimer, the other of the two childrengives a whistle.
"Lily, my dear girl!" expostulates her mother.
"I can't help it. Slow? I should think Nesta did find it slow. Why,she was only saying this morning she'd give ten years of her life for alittle excitement."
"Lily is simply `embroidering,' Mr Upward," pleads Nesta, with a brightlaugh. "I said--at anytime--not only now or here."
"We could have found you excitement enough in some of my otherdistricts. You could have come after tiger with me."
"Oh no--no! That isn't the kind of thing I mean--And I can't think howMrs Upward could have done it"--with a glance at the latter. For thisgentle, refined looking woman with the pretty eyes and soft, charmfulmanner, had stood by her husband's side when the striped demon of thejungle, maddened with his wounds, ears laid back and eyes flashing greenflame, had swooped upon them in lightning charge, uttering that awfulcoughing roar calculated to unnerve the stoutest of hearts--to drop, asthough lightning-struck, before the heavy Express bullet directed by asteady hand and unflinching brain.
"Well, the kind of excitement you mean will roll up in a day or two inthe shape of Bracebrydge and Fleming"--replies Upward, with a genialtwinkle in his eyes--"they want to come after the chikor. It's rather anuisance--This place won't carry two camps. But I say, Miss Cheriton,those fellows wont do any chikor shooting."
"Why not?--Isn't that what they are coming for?"
"Oh, yes. But then, you see, when the time comes to go out, each ofthem will make some excuse to remain behind--or to double back. Neitherwill want to leave the field open to the other."
"Ah, but--I don't care for either of them," laughed Nesta, notpretending to misunderstand his meaning.
"Not? Why everybody is in love with Bracebrydge--or he thinks theyare--There's only one thing I must warn you against, and that is not tospell his name with an `I'. There are two girls in Shalalai to myknowledge who wrecked all their chances on that rock."
; "Nonsense Ernest"--laughed his wife. "How can you talk such a lot ofrubbish? To talk sense now. I wonder when Mr Campian will turn up?"
"Any day or no day. Campian's such an uncertain bird. He never knowshis own plans himself. If he didn't know whether he was coming overlandfrom Bombay or round by sea to Karachi, I don't see how I can. Anyway,I wrote him to the B.I. agents at Karachi telling him how to get toShalalai, and left a letter there for him telling him how to get here.I couldn't do more. Khola, cheroot, _lao_."
Dinner was over now, and very snug the interior of the tent looked inthe cheerful lamplight, as Upward, selecting a cheroot from the box thebearer had just deposited in front of him, proceeded to puff awaycontentedly. The rain pattered with monotonous regularity on thecanvas, and, reverberating among the crags, the thunder rolled indeep-toned boom.
"Beastly sort of night," said Upward, flicking the ash from his cheroot."The storm's passing over though. By Jove! I shouldn't wonder if itbrought the _tangi_ down. It must be falling heavy in that catchmentarea."
A shade of alarm came into Nesta Cheriton's face.
"Should we be--er--quite safe here if it did?" she asked.
"Rather," said Upward. "The water comes through the _tangi_ itself likean express train, but the nullah widens out below and runs off thewater. No fear. It has never been up as high as this. In fact, itcouldn't. By George! What was that?"
The two younger girls had got out cards and were deep in some gameproductive of much squabbling. The conversation among their elders hadbeen carried on in an easy, placid, after-dinner tone. But through allthere came, distinctly audible, the sound of a sharp, heavy report, notso very distant either.
"That's a shot, I'll swear!" cried Upward excitedly, rising to his feetand listening intently. "Thunder? No fear. It's a shot. No mistakinga shot. But who the deuce would be firing shots here and at this timeof night? Shut up Tinkles--shut up you little _soor_!" as the littlefox terrier charged savagely towards the purdah, uttering shrill,excited barks.
Various emotions were manifest on the countenances of the listeners--oneor two even expressing a shade akin to fear. As they stood thus, withnerves at tension, a new sound rushed forth upon the silence of thenight--a sort of hollow, bellowing roar--nearer and nearer--louder andlouder.
"The _tangi_!" cried Upward. "By George! the _tangi_ is down."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" crowed Lily, clapping her hands. "Let's go and lookat it. Come along, Nesta. Here's some excitement at last!"
"Wait for the lantern. Wait--wait--do you hear?" cried her mother."It's very dark; you might tumble in."
"Oh, hang the lantern," grumbled Lily. "The water will have passed bythat time, and I want to see it rush out."
She had her wish, however, for the lantern being quickly lighted, thewhole party stepped forth into the rain and the darkness. At firstnothing was visible, but as the radius of light struck upon the verticaljaws of the great black chasm, they stopped for a moment, awed,appalled--almost instinctively stepping back.
Forth from those vertical jaws vomited a perfect terror of roaring,raging water. It was more like a vast spout than a mere stream was thisawful flood; of inky blackness save where the broken waves, meeting aprojection, seethed and hissed; and, amid the deafening tumult, therattle of rocks, loosened from their bed, and shot along like timber bythe velocity of the waters, mingled with the crash of tree trunksagainst the smooth cliff walls of the rift. In a moment, with a roarlike a thunder burst, it had spread itself over the dry face of thenullah, which was now rolling many feet deep of mountainous swirlingwaves.
For a few moments they stood contemplating the wild tumult by the lightof the lantern. Then Mrs Upward, her voice hardly audible through thebellowing of the waters, said:
"Now girls, we'd better go in. It's raining hard still."
This drew a vehement protest from Hazel and Lily. It was such funwatching the flood, they urged. What did it matter about a little rain?and so forth. But Tinkles, the little fox terrier, was now barkingfuriously at something or other unseen, keeping, however, very close toher master's legs, for all her expenditure of vocal ferocity. Then avoice came out of the darkness--a male voice which, although soft andpleasing, caused Nesta Cheriton to start and cling involuntary toUpward's arm.
"_Huzoor_!" [A form of greeting more deferential than the better known"Sahib."]
"What is it, Bhallu Khan?" said Upward, as the voice and the light ofthe lantern revealed the chief forest guard.
The latter now began speaking quickly in Hindustani. Had the _Huzoor_heard anything? Yes? Well there was something going on yonder. Justbefore the _tangi_ came down there was a shot fired. It was on theother side of the nullah. Something was going on.
Now Bhallu Khan was inclined to be long-winded in his statements. Itwas raining smartly, and Upward grew impatient.
"I don't see what we can do," he bellowed through the roar of the water."We can't even go and see what's up. The _tangi_ is down, and the_tumasha_, whatever it is, was on the other side."
"Not all the time, _Huzoor_," urged the forest guard. "While the roarof the water was yet distant, we heard a strange noise--yes, a verystrange noise--It was as the clatter of hoofs in the bed of the drynullah, of shod hoofs. And then there was another shot--and thehoof-strokes seemed to cease. Then the water came down and we couldhear no more of anything."
"Eh! another shot!" cried Upward, now thoroughly startled. "Why, whatthe devil is the meaning of it?" This last escaped him in English--andit brought the whole party around him, now all ears, regardless of therain. Only Nesta was out of it--not understanding Hindustani.
It was where the road crosses the nullah, Bhallu Khan explained. Hecould not tell what it might be, but thought he had better inform the_Huzoor_. It might even be worth while going that far to see if therewas anything to find out.
"Yes, let's go!"--cut in Lily. "Hurrah! here's a new excitement!"
"Let's go!" echoed her father sharply. "To bed, you mean. So off yougo there, both of you. Come--clear in--quick! Likely one wants a lotof children fooling about in the dark on a night like this."
Heedless of their grumbling protest, Upward dived into his tent, and,quickly arming himself with his magazine rifle and revolver, he cameforth. Bhallu Khan he instructed to bring another of the forest guardto accompany them while a third was left to look after the camp.
In the darkness and rain they took their way along the bank of theflood--Upward hardly knowing what he was expecting to find. The countrywas wild, and its inhabitants wilder still. Quite recently there hadbeen an upheaval of lawlessness among a section of the powerful andrestless Marri tribe. What if some bloody deed of vendetta, or tribalfeud, had been worked out here, almost at his very door? He stumbledalong through the wet, coarse tussocks, peering here and there as theforest guard held the lantern before him--his rifle ready. He hardlyexpected to find anything living, but there was a weird creepiness aboutthis nocturnal quest after something sinister and mysterious that movedhim by sheer instinct to defensive preparation. Twice he started, asthe dark form of a half-stranded tree trunk with its twisted limbssuggested the find of some human body--ghastly with wounds--distortedwith an agonising death. Suddenly Bhallu Khan stopped short, and with ahurried and whispered exclamation held up the lantern, while pointing tosomething in front.
Something which lay half in, half out of the water. Something which allfelt rather than saw had had life, even if life were no longer in it.No tree trunk this time, but a human body. Dead or alive, however, theywere only just in time, for even as they looked the swirl of an eddythrew a volume of water from the middle of the trunk right over theneck--so quickly had the flood risen.
"Here--give me the lantern--And you two pull him out, sharp," saidUpward.
This, to the two stalwart hillmen, was but the work of a moment. Thenan exclamation escaped Bhallu Khan.
"It is a sahib!" he cried.
Upward bent over the pros
trate form, holding the light to the face.Then it became his turn to start in amazement.
"Good God! it's Campian!" he exclaimed--"Campian himself. But how thedevil did he get here like this, and--Is he alive or dead?"
"He is alive, _Huzoor_," answered Bhallu Khan, who had been scrutinisingthe unconscious features from the other side.