CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
"A LAND OF SURPRISES."
"Raynier may be a smart chap, and a smart official, and all that, but hedoesn't know this country a little hang. He oughtn't to get wanderingabout all alone as he does. It isn't safe--and--it isn't _pukka_!"
And Haslam, having delivered himself of the above opinion, drained his"peg" and yelled for his bearer to bring him another.
"But he isn't all by himself," objected Tarleton. "He's got Miss Clivewith him, and two Levy Sowars."
"Oh, as to the first, that of course," returned the Forest Officer,looking knowing, "he generally has. Think that'll be a _bundobust_,Tarleton?"
"I don't know--and don't care. It's no concern of mine."
"Don't care what?" said Mrs Tarleton, joining the two, who, seated inlong chairs and clad in easy attire, were indulging in "pegs" andcheroots.
"We were talking about Raynier, Mrs Tarleton," said Haslam. "We agreedhe oughtn't to go and look up a man like Sarbaland Khan attended by onlytwo Levy Sowars."
"And Miss Clive, Haslam said," appended Tarleton.
"It isn't _pukka_, you know," repeated Haslam, "nor is it altogethersafe."
"Mercy on us, Mr Haslam! Why, he'd never go taking Hilda anywherethat's dangerous, surely? Besides, the country's quite quiet now, andthe people friendly."
"Yes. Still, you never know exactly what may happen next. This is aland of surprises. I don't trust these _soors_ any further than I cansee them, and however friendly it may suit them to be for the momentthey hate us like poison underneath it all."
"Why, you quite frighten me," said Mrs Tarleton, anxiously. "I wishthey'd come back. It's getting late too. Oh, what if anything shouldhappen!"
"Something is going to happen, and that before long," growled Tarleton,looking up, "and that'll be a thunderstorm. Phew! how close it is. Imust have another `peg.'" And he, too, shouted for his bearer.
It was even as he had said, close--close and brooding. The sun wasgetting low, but the blue of the sky on the northern side had mergedindefinably into a leaden, vaporous opacity which was gradually andinsidiously creeping upward to the zenith. Against this, the peaksstood up, black and bizarre, and here and there, caught by a fitful windpuff, a trail of red dust would stream outward from the summit of aridge, to lose itself in midair, or perchance to mingle with one of thecolumn-like "dust-devils" which rose gyrating from the plain. Somethingwas bound to come of it--an earthquake, a tornado, or a thunderstorm--probably the latter, for a muffled boom in the direction of theadvancing blackness now became audible.
"We're going to get it," said Haslam, looking upward. "I only hope itisn't a blow--we don't want the tents suddenly whirled away over ourheads. Rather not."
"I wish those two were back," repeated Mrs Tarleton, looking out overthe forbidding waste, now more forbidding than ever. "I have apresentiment something is going to happen. Do you think these LevySowars are reliable, Mr Haslam?"
"I say, Mrs Tarleton, I believe Miss Clive has been infecting you withher forecasts and clairvoyance and all that sort of thing. I don't knowabout the Catch-'em-alive-ohs being reliable--but I don't believe theycould hit a town-hall unless they were put inside it and all the doorslocked. Even then they'd miss it by the windows."
"Well, but--surely they must be some good or they wouldn't be enlisted,"objected Tarleton.
"I remember trying a chap once. There was an old door stuck on endabout sixty yards off. I got him to take three shots at it with hisMartini, and he missed it clean twice, the third time just knocking achip off one of the top corners."
"Well, but you can't judge them all by one," objected Tarleton.
"Hallo. Here comes somebody," cried Haslam.
"Oh, I'm so glad," said Mrs Tarleton. Then, disappointedly, "It isn'tthem at all. It's some horrid natives. It's not in the rightdirection, either."
Down amid the sparse vegetation, below the camp on the more open side,the troop horses and baggage camels were grazing, and here it was that agroup of figures appeared, surrounding a central one who was mounted ona fine camel. It could be seen that all were armed to the teeth, havingLee-Metfords and Martinis, over and above the inevitable curved sword,but there was nothing unusual in this. It was a national custom amongthese wild northern tribes.
The group had come to a halt just outside the camp. Haslam sent downone of his forest guards to inquire who was there, and what could bedone for them. But it might have been seen that the section of the campoccupied by the Levy Sowars was the scene of some little excitement.The occupants had turned out to a man, and were gazing attentively atthe new arrivals.
Soon Haslam's envoy returned to say that a Sirdar of the Gularzai wasanxious to salaam to Raynier Sahib, but, as the latter was absent,perhaps the jungle wallah Sahib would confer with him instead. No, theSirdar could not rest at their camp. He was journeying on a matter offamily and religious importance, and must push on immediately. But hehad a communication of official import to make. Perhaps the junglewallah Sahib would hear it in the absence of the Government'srepresentative, and transmit it.
"Here's a `dik,'" [bother--perplexity--nuisance] grumbled Haslam. "Idon't want to be `dikked' with Raynier's official affairs. As if Ihadn't enough of my own. Wonder what he wants--and who he is. Well,here goes." And gulping down the remainder of his "peg" he strolleddown towards the group, doing so, moreover, with a leisureliness of gaitthat was rather put on, being designed to impress the Sirdar with asense of his condescension in thus going to him at all.
The man on the camel did not dismount, nor did he cause the beast tokneel. This, again, aroused Haslam's resentment. What business had anative to remain seated, and talk down to him, so to say? Not onlythat, but the man on the camel returned his salaam somewhat coldly andhaughtily--and the salute of his followers was equally curt. Haslambegan to feel downright angry.
"Where is the _Sirkar_ Sahib?" began the chief--his voice takingadditional haughtiness, coming down, as it did, from his rather loftyeminence.
"You have been told. He is away," returned the Forest Officer no lesscurtly, and speaking in Hindustani.
"Where?"
Haslam did not answer immediately. He stared. He was boiling withrage. To be addressed in this way, and in such a tone. Moreover, hethought to detect an evil grin on the faces of the hook-nosed, turbanedsavages standing around, who seemed to be fingering their rifles in amanner that was unpleasantly suggestive.
"Are you the jungle wallah?" went on the man on the camel.
"The jungle wallah _Sahib_" blared forth Haslam, white with fury. Butwhat was the use? and then he remembered that he had not even hisrevolver upon him. He had thrown it down upon his camp bed, and thereit was. And an unarmed man is a demoralised man.
The chief laughed evilly and spat.
"Well, jungle wallah _Sahib_," he said. "I asked--Where is the _Sirkar_wallah _Sahib_? I am not accustomed to repeat a question twice."
"Oh, you are not, your Mightiness, and lord of all the world," answeredHaslam, adopting the other's sneering tone. "Salaam to you then, foryou are far too great a king for me to talk with," and he turned to go.
"Move not."
The order came, sharp and stern. Haslam's first impulse was to ignoreit, but a second, and perhaps a safer one, caused him to halt, and halfturn. It was high time. Four rifles were levelled straight at him atthe distance of a few yards.
Haslam was as brave a man as ever lived, yet at that moment, gazing atthe deadly muzzles and the scowling, shaggy visages behind them, wellmight he have quailed, for his peril was great indeed. But he returnedthe threatening stare of the chief firmly and unflinchingly.
For a few moments both thus looked at each other in silence. ThenHaslam, who had none of the imperturbability of the Oriental, thought hemight as well say something, if only to show them he was not cowed.
"Who is the Sirdar with whom I am talking?" he asked.
"Murad Afzul, Gularzai."
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Then Haslam felt more than uncomfortable. The name of this noted borderruffian was known to him, likewise some of his deeds. But it wassupposed that he had disappeared from that side of the country for sometime past.
"Look now at thy camp," went on the latter. "But move not, or thou artdead."
The words were nearly drowned in what followed. A long, rattling rollas of thunder, from the ridge overhanging the camp--then another, andlo! the slope was alive with rushing white figures, and the flash ofwaving tulwars, as the crowd of fierce assailants charged down withlightning speed upon the practically defenceless camp. Many of the LevySowars--upon whose especial side of the camp the volleys had beenpoured--were dead, or writhing in death agonies and wounds. The remnanthuddled for a moment like sheep, then made a rush for their horses, butbetween these and them was Murad Afzul's bodyguard--practised marksmen.Coolly, and with deliberate aim, they picked off the units of thedemoralised force, bringing the whole to a standstill--and a sorry wholeit was by now.
Not all, however--not quite all--were demoralised. One, a brave man, aclansman of Mehrab Khan, who had been detailed for _dak_ duty, leaped onhis horse, which was standing ready saddled and bridled, and dashed offat full gallop, to warn the _Sirkar_ Sahib and, incidentally, hisfellow-tribesman. Bullets were rained after him, but now, in theexcitement of immediate massacre and loot, aim had become wild. Yet,had they looked more closely, a tell-tale squirm or quiver might havetold those marksmen that of the multitude of the bullets, one or two--orperchance more--had found a billet.
It was all over very quickly. There was no question of defence. In amoment the whole crowd of copper-coloured, frenzied savages wasoverrunning the camp. Those that were left of the Levy Sowars, beingMoslems, appealed to their assailants in the name of Allah and theProphet for quarter, and were spared. But the other camp servants--bearers, kitmutghars, syces, and the rest, being Hindus, were cut downwithout mercy, those who had striven to hide being dragged forth andbutchered--and the barbarians, yelling aloud in the madness of theirblood lust, surged to and fro, brandishing aloft their red and reekingswords, looking around for more to slay. But there were none.
Throughout the attack and massacre Tarleton had been too staggered to doanything at all. As for his wife, the sight of the butchery of thewretched servants, cut to pieces before her eyes, in spite of theirheartrending yells for mercy, had been too much for her, and she savedall trouble on her account by incontinently fainting. He reckoned hisonly chance was to sit quiet, wherein perhaps he was wise, for, althoughmany pressed, cursing and threatening, around them both, none offeredthem violence, and indeed it looked as if such abstention were part oftheir orders. But what was the whole bobbery about, he kept putting tohimself, for there was no open war with any of the tribes? He was soonto know.