CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
"BETTER THAN NOTHING."
"What has happened?" said Hilda, quickly, gazing from one to the other,and then at the dead man who lay a little way off.
"Our camp has been rushed by Ghazis, and they are in possession."
"But--has there been a fight? Have they killed anybody?"
"They had killed some of the servants when that poor fellow broke awayto warn us. He was one of Mehrab Khan's tribesmen. But our people werealive, he says."
"But we can't leave them, Mr Raynier."
"That is not spoken with your usual sense. Are we going to walkstraight into the jaws of the enemy and say, `Here we are'? No. I amresponsible for your safety, Miss Clive, and you may be sure I shall dothe uttermost in my power to secure it."
Even while he had been speaking his mind had rapidly reviewed thesituation, and it was one that filled him with the gravest misgiving andconcern. He knew that a _jihad_, or fanatical rising, was beingfomented among the tribes further along the border, but that theGularzai could by any possibility take part in it he had reckoned asclean out of the question. He had trusted Mushim Khan thoroughly, hadreckoned the Nawab as no more likely to take up arms against theGovernment than he himself. But that a bold outrage on a large scalecould thus take place here right under the nose of the Nawab without theknowledge and therefore sanction of that potentate, he could notbelieve. What a fool he had been, and how utterly blind not to haveseen some sign or warning of the dangerous unrest having spread. Well,this was no time for regrets, but for action--and to this end he wouldconsult Mehrab Khan.
But what then? Would the Baluchi be true to his salt? All these bordertribes were akin. Ties of friendship, of gratitude, of honour, ofself-interest even, all were swept aside when they made common causetogether against the Feringhi and the infidel--and the acquaintancebetween himself and Mehrab Khan was of the shortest.
But the latter, even at that moment, was giving some indication of whatline he was going to take in the crisis. For the other Levy Sowar hadbeen gradually edging away. These two Feringhis would soon be found andcut to pieces, _Sirkar_ or not, argued this man, and he had no intentionof identifying himself with them any further, and thus sharing theirfate; wherefore he resolved, while there was yet time, to effect his ownescape. But Mehrab Khan, who knew the workings of his mind, was equallyresolved that he should not.
To this end Mehrab Khan dismounted, and levelling his rifle called uponhim to stop. The result of this order was to cause the defaulter to ramhis spurs into his horse's flanks, and start off along the hillside at agallop. Now Mehrab Khan was an old and practised stalker of markhor andwild sheep, consequently now, when, without further warning, he pressedthe trigger, the runaway toppled heavily from his saddle, and laywithout a kick.
"He would have betrayed us, _Huzoor_," said the Baluchi, laconically, ashe slipped a fresh cartridge into his piece. "Now he will not."
To Raynier's plan of returning straight to Sarbaland Khan's village, andnot only placing themselves under the protection of that chief, but evenordering him, by virtue of his own office as representative of theGovernment, to collect a strong force and safeguard those in the camp,if any were left there, or pursue the aggressors if they were not,Mehrab Khan was strongly opposed. He was somewhat mysterious on thepoint; mysterious but emphatic. On no account must they go there,indeed, he had been glad to get out of the place when they were therebefore.
Was Sarbaland Khan disaffected then? That he could not say exactly.But the _Huzoor_ must trust him. He had seen signs which might havemeant much or little. By the light of what had happened he now knewthey meant much. The _Huzoor_ knew his people, and he, Mehrab Khan,knew his. The gist of all of which was that they must go at once intohiding, and the sooner the better.
All this, however, took far quicker to decide than it has taken tonarrate, and now, Mehrab Khan taking the lead, they moved, under hisguidance, down into the valley, turning their backs on the site of thecamp altogether.
"I shall never forgive myself for getting you into this fix, MissClive," said Raynier, with great concern, as he thought on the hardshipsthe coming night would entail upon her, even if it were not the first ofmany such nights.
"There is no necessity for you to do anything of the sort," sheanswered. "You could not help it. You could not have foreseen things."
"But that is just what I ought to have done," he answered bitterly. "Ihave simply acted like a fool, and have made an utter mess of the wholesituation."
"No--no. I am sure you have not. Things may not be so bad as youthink--and if they are, you are not to blame."
What was this? He looked at her strangely. There was not so much inthe words--but the tone, the soothing sympathy of it, as if sherealised, even as he did, that, apart from their imminent and commondanger, the result for him would be something like official ruin. Thecolour had returned to her face--for she had gone rather white as shewitnessed Mehrab Khan's grimly successful shot--and there was a look inher eyes which, combined with the tone of her voice, went far tocompensate for all. It struck him, too, that she showed no alarm, noanxiety whatever on her own account. Afterwards it was to occur to himhow easily she was reassured as to the safety of those they had left inthe camp.
Darker and darker it grew, as they threaded their way behind their guidethrough those lonely defiles, for now the sky was black and overcast,and a lurid flash or two lit their way--and the accompanying boomrolled, deep voiced, among the cliffs and chasms.
"Here we should halt, Mehrab Khan," said Raynier, at last, as two orthree great drops splashed down upon them. "The Miss Sahib will get wetthrough if we go further, and here under this rock is shelter."
But the Baluchi shook his head.
"See there, _Huzoor_," pointing upward.
"We are in a sort of _tangi_, only it is closed at one end. If itshould rain here, and rain hard, the water would roll off the smoothrock slopes above, and sweep us out of this like wisps of dried grass.We cannot rest here. We must go on and upward."
The horses were needing rest badly, yet on they struggled. It was quitedark now, but their way was lit by the red flashes. Rain had begun tofall, hard, heavy rain, as, stumbling over the slippery stones, theyheld on their wet and weary way. And through it all Raynier did notfail to notice that from the girl at his side there came no word ofcomplaint, no sigh of weariness--whereat he marvelled.
He himself was feeling the strain: but with him the strain was as much amental as a physical one. He felt weighed down with responsibility. Ifthis rising took large and destructive proportions he it was who shouldhave foreseen and coped with it, yet he had gone off, easily andcarelessly, upon a pleasure trip, and that right into the heart of thevery peril itself. And now the safety of this girl beside him was inhis hands; and by way of a beginning to the adventure she would have tospend the livelong night, wet and cold and hungry, lying out among therocks, for, of course, they had not taken a food supply when startingupon an afternoon ride. And what a contrast it was. The highestofficial of the district, with, but a few hours ago, servants and armedsowars at his beck and call, surrounded by every comfort and not a fewluxuries, was now a fugitive in the heart of a hostile land, soaked by adrenching rain, with no prospect of either food or shelter at the end ofit all. It was a contrast, but he was hard and could worry through it--but what of his companion in adversity? She was not inured to rudehardships of this kind. She was not even representative of the stalwarttype of her sex, who could scull a boat or play golf all day. She washigh couraged and cool of nerve; he had seen enough to convince him ofthat, yet, physically, she did not look altogether strong. But still noword of complaint escaped her as, stumbling onward and upward throughthe darkness and the rain, they held on their way.
"Here we will rest, _Huzoor_," said Mehrab Khan at last.
They must be among the mountain tops now, Raynier reckoned. The airblew raw and piercing, and tall slimy rocks glistened ar
ound in the redglare of the now more distant lightning. Dismounting, with stiffenedlimbs, he aided Hilda Clive from her saddle. To his surprise she slidoff as lightly as though returning from an ordinary ride.
"I believe you are more tired than I am," she said, with something likea laugh, as she let her hand rest just a moment in his after he hadassisted her down. "Tell me. Did you ever have fever?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. Only you are very wet. Shall we be able to make a fire?"
"I'm afraid not. There's nothing to make it with."
"That's a pity. You ought to get dry. Let me think it out."
Raynier marvelled, and well he might. What sort of a woman was this?Any other woman who had ever come within his experience would not havebehaved like this. She would probably have begun by abusing him roundlyfor ever bringing her into such a hobble at all. Once in it, she wouldhave grumbled and whined, or hysterically howled. She would have beenfull of herself and her own miserable plight, and what _she_ should do,and what would become of _her_, and so forth. But this one--her chiefthought seemed to be for him. She didn't seem to think of herself atall.
"Great Heavens, Miss Clive!" he burst forth, "what does it matterwhether _I_ am dry or wet. It is of you I am thinking--of you, who haveto get through this abominable night somehow. Why, it is nothing tome--but what about you?"
"But I have never had fever."
The answer came so equably, so matter-of-fact in tone, yet Raynier'squick ear thought to detect something further. He turned straightwayand began vehemently haranguing Mehrab Khan.
The place to which the latter had brought them afforded shelter from therain, though little or none from the piercing wind. A great slab ofrock overhung, yawning outward like an open mouth. Now Mehrab Khanastonished them still further, for, from a cleft at the back of thehole, he produced some billets of dry juniper wood. It would burnwretchedly, he explained apologetically, but was better than nothing.The place had been an old resort of mountain herdsmen, and the wood hadbeen kept ready stored for emergencies. And then, still furtheramazement followed, for Mehrab Khan produced--this time from his ownstore--a little rice and corn meal tied up in a rag. Would the _Huzoor_deign to accept it for himself and the Miss Sahib? he said. It was poorfare, but it might be better than nothing.
This, then, was the man for whose good faith he had feared, thoughtRaynier, inwardly ashamed, and then again came the whimsical thought ofcontrast, and the highest official in the district becoming dependent onthe Levy Sowar's humble store, yet not for himself. But Hilda Clivelooked at it, then beamed on the giver.
"What will he do?" she asked. "It is all he has."
"What then? Let the Miss Sahib take what Allah provides through Hisslave and praise Him. More can be provided, and will be," was theanswer of the follower of the Prophet to the follower of the Redeemer.Said the latter,--
"The blessings of Allah be upon you, Mehrab Khan, and that of HisProphet."
And Raynier again translating, the fine face of the Baluchi beamed inturn.