The Sirdar's Oath Part 15

"Move not."

The order came, sharp and stern. Haslam's first impulse was to ignore it, but a second, and perhaps a safer one, caused him to halt, and half turn. It was high time. Four rifles were levelled straight at him at the distance of a few yards.

Haslam was as brave a man as ever lived, yet at that moment, gazing at the deadly muzzles and the scowling, s.h.a.ggy visages behind them, well might he have quailed, for his peril was great indeed. But he returned the threatening stare of the chief firmly and unflinchingly.

For a few moments both thus looked at each other in silence. Then Haslam, who had none of the imperturbability of the Oriental, thought he might 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."

Then Haslam felt more than uncomfortable. The name of this noted border ruffian was known to him, likewise some of his deeds. But it was supposed that he had disappeared from that side of the country for some time past.

"Look now at thy camp," went on the latter. "But move not, or thou art dead."

The words were nearly drowned in what followed. A long, rattling roll as of thunder, from the ridge overhanging the camp--then another, and lo! the slope was alive with rushing white figures, and the flash of waving tulwars, as the crowd of fierce a.s.sailants charged down with lightning speed upon the practically defenceless camp. Many of the Levy Sowars--upon whose especial side of the camp the volleys had been poured--were dead, or writhing in death agonies and wounds. The remnant huddled for a moment like sheep, then made a rush for their horses, but between these and them was Murad Afzul's bodyguard--practised marksmen.

Coolly, and with deliberate aim, they picked off the units of the demoralised force, bringing the whole to a standstill--and a sorry whole it was by now.

Not all, however--not quite all--were demoralised. One, a brave man, a clansman of Mehrab Khan, who had been detailed for _dak_ duty, leaped on his horse, which was standing ready saddled and bridled, and dashed off at full gallop, to warn the _Sirkar_ Sahib and, incidentally, his fellow-tribesman. Bullets were rained after him, but now, in the excitement of immediate ma.s.sacre and loot, aim had become wild. Yet, had they looked more closely, a tell-tale squirm or quiver might have told those marksmen that of the mult.i.tude of the bullets, one or two--or perchance more--had found a billet.

It was all over very quickly. There was no question of defence. In a moment the whole crowd of copper-coloured, frenzied savages was overrunning the camp. Those that were left of the Levy Sowars, being Moslems, appealed to their a.s.sailants in the name of Allah and the Prophet for quarter, and were spared. But the other camp servants-- bearers, kitmutghars, syces, and the rest, being Hindus, were cut down without mercy, those who had striven to hide being dragged forth and butchered--and the barbarians, yelling aloud in the madness of their blood l.u.s.t, surged to and fro, brandishing aloft their red and reeking swords, looking around for more to slay. But there were none.

Throughout the attack and ma.s.sacre Tarleton had been too staggered to do anything at all. As for his wife, the sight of the butchery of the wretched servants, cut to pieces before her eyes, in spite of their heartrending yells for mercy, had been too much for her, and she saved all trouble on her account by incontinently fainting. He reckoned his only chance was to sit quiet, wherein perhaps he was wise, for, although many pressed, cursing and threatening, around them both, none offered them violence, and indeed it looked as if such abstention were part of their orders. But what was the whole bobbery about, he kept putting to himself, for there was no open war with any of the tribes? He was soon to know.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

HOW TARLETON YIELDED.

"This is a land of surprises," Haslam had said, and indeed if ever words had been vividly, literally and luridly borne out, here was an instance.

Within one short half hour of their utterance this camp, then the very embodiment of peaceful repose and fancied security, had been overrun by savage ma.s.sacre and turned into a reeking human shambles. Corpses, many of them horribly hacked, lay in every att.i.tude of agonised contortion, and great smears of blood spattered the canvas of the tents, as also the dirty-white garments of the a.s.sailants. As for the hapless Europeans, though for the moment alive and uninjured, they were helpless captives in the power of the most notoriously cruel and unsparing brigand of the whole northern border. Of a truth this was a land of surprises.

The first idea that occupied Haslam and Tarleton was to attend to the unfortunate lady, and this they did, as carefully as though it was an ordinary fainting fit, and there were no barbarous enemies within a thousand miles of them.

"She'd better not come to again just yet," Tarleton said. "We'd better get her into a tent, if they'll let us."

Permission to do this was granted gruffly, but two of their captors were ordered to enter with them lest they should possess themselves of weapons, nor was this precaution superfluous, for they had fixed upon Haslam's tent as being the nearest, and Haslam's revolver lay upon his charpoy. At the sight he stifled a deep and muttered curse, as the Gularzai pounced greedily upon it. He had reason to curse deeper still as they ordered him to at once deliver up any arms and ammunition he might have in his possession. Inwardly he groaned again as he saw his beautiful shot gun and Mannlicher rifle in the eager grip of the hooked claws of these copper-hued brigands. Then he was ordered outside again.

Murad Afzul had not dismounted from his fine camel, and from the alt.i.tude of his seat--for he had ridden into the centre of the camp--was directing operations. Several of his followers were ransacking the tents, trundling out their contents; and soon trunks and despatch boxes, bags and tins of provisions, articles of clothing and kitchen utensils were piled together in promiscuous heaps. But what delighted the warrior soul of the freebooter was the sight of four or five good, up-to-date rifles and a brace of revolvers. The shotguns, too, he contemplated with satisfaction, but the rifles appealed to him most, and these he caused to be handed up to him one after the other as he sat on his camel, and each he would bring to his shoulder, sighting it at some object far or near, away over the plain. The weapons of his followers were good, but they were only Martinis. But these--magazine and repeating guns, spick and span, and of first-rate workmanship! Ya, Mahomed, what a find!

Now he beckoned Haslam to him. The Forest Officer, standing there under this arch-brigand looking down upon him from the height of his towering camel, felt that humiliation was indeed his lot to-day.

"So, jungle wallah," began Murad Afzul, speaking in Hindustani, and sneeringly withal, "so, jungle wallah, I told you I was not accustomed to ask the same question twice; yet this time I will give you yet another chance, and ask it the third time. Where is Raynier?"

"That I can't tell, for I don't know," answered Haslam, with perfect truth.

The chief bent over, and whispered instructions to some of his followers on the off-side of his camel. These came round, and laying a hand on Haslam's shoulder ordered him to go with them. Resistance was absolutely useless, and Haslam was marched away. They were taking him in the direction of the Levy Sowars' camp, he noticed, of course to execute him there. His time had come, he concluded. Rapidly, as he walked to his doom, his past life flashed through his recollection. He had been a careless sort of chap, he supposed, like others, no better-- he would have shrunk from the imputation of making any other claim--but, he hoped, no worse. He had not troubled his head much about what lay beyond the grave, nor had he ever shrunk from death when duty or dangerous sport had brought him within gazing distance of it. Perhaps, if all that was taught of what came after it were true, or even a portion, why, he was surrendering his life rather than give information which should place the lives of others in danger, and it might be taken into consideration. But of mercy at the hands of yon ruthless freebooter he had no hope. At any rate, he would meet a swift death-- they would shoot or behead him, and they might have done him to death by slow torture. He thought of his wife and young family away in England.

Would they miss him much, and, more important still, would the Government do anything for them over and above the rather moderate pension which they would draw from the fund to which he had subscribed throughout his term of service? It was not probable. Government was seldom liberal. Then his thoughts were broken in upon. They had reached the tents of the Levy Sowars, and into one of these he was ordered.

Wonderingly he obeyed. What did it mean? Were they not going to put him to death after all, for it occurred to him they would hardly have brought him into a tent for such a purpose? But he was ordered to seat himself, and remain perfectly still--and informed that any movement he might make, or sound that he should utter, would be his last. And then, immediately outside the canvas which screened him from the outer world, he heard the loud sharp, double report of a rifle.

One other heard it too, and that one was Tarleton. To his mind it suggested but one solution--possible rescue to wit--acting upon which idea he did what a man of his bull-headed temperament would be expected to do, but which, had his idea been correct, was the very worst possible thing he could have done. He came to the tent door, and looked eagerly and anxiously out.

Murad Afzul still sat there on his great camel, his countenance as cold and impa.s.sive as the graceful folds of his snowy turban, while upon his followers a strange hush had fallen. At sight of the Feringhi it was broken--broken by muttered curses and threats. But--where was Haslam?

The chief beckoned him forward, and he had to obey. Yes, obey. There was no mincing the word. He was in the power--absolutely in the power of this man, this "n.i.g.g.e.r," as he would have described him about half an hour ago.

"You heard those shots," said the Gularzai, haughtily, from the loftiness of his tall steed. "Yes? Look around. Where is the jungle wallah?"

Tarleton did look around--with some alacrity, moreover. But no sign of Haslam rewarded his glance. He began to see the grim drift of the injunction.

"You will see your friend no more," went on the chief. "I asked him a question--for the third time. He would not answer--so he was shot--over there."

He paused, with intent to let the full weight of his words sink deep in the other's mind. Like most wild or semi-civilised people, the Gularzai freebooter was a character reader, and knew his man. But, before the other had time to answer, an interruption occurred, as startling as it was unforeseen.

All were watching the result of the dialogue between the chief and the prisoner. Fierce eyes glared beneath s.h.a.ggy brows, claw-like fingers felt the edge of tulwars, foul and sticky with blood that had already been shed. Eagerly heads were bent forward, awaiting the word that should hand this Feringhi over to their scarcely-glutted blood l.u.s.t and hate.

"Hear me, O great Sirdar," cried a voice, pitched in loud, harsh tones.

"Hear me, I can give the information thou requirest, O Sword of the Prophet."

The Levy Sowars who had surrendered, to the number of about a dozen, were grouped on the outskirts of the freebooters. From one of these the voice proceeded.

"Let him come forward," said Murad Afzul.

Way being made the speaker advanced. He was a youngish man, tall and well built, with aquiline features and a short curling beard.

"Who art thou?" said the chief, shortly.

"Mahomed Afa, Waziri," answered the man.

"Well, what dost thou know?"

"This, O great Sirdar, Murad Afzul. This, this. That as thou didst slay my father Mahomed Jan, so now enter Jehanum by the hand of his son."

Quick as thought, while uttering these words he had s.n.a.t.c.hed a rifle from the loose, unguarded grasp of the man next to him, and without waiting to raise it to his shoulder discharged the piece well-nigh point blank at the chief. But the ball hummed viciously past, just ruffling the edge of Murad Afzul's voluminous turban. For the camel, whether acting under the influence of the ineradicable cussedness which is inherent in its species, or irritated by the harsh vociferation right at its ear, had suddenly reached round its head with a resentful grunt, making a vicious snap at the would-be slayer, with the double effect of somewhat marring his aim and moving its rider by just the few inches requisite to the saving of his life. In a twinkling the man was seized.

"Ya, Allah!" he mouthed, struggling furiously in the grasp of those who held him. "Avenge me of this robber-dog, this vulture-bred coward who only strikes those who are too weak to oppose his numbers. Mahomed Prophet! strike him down into the burning pit of Hawiyat, where his gnawing vitals shall consume for ever and ever."

The declamatory voice had risen to a wild scream. Murad Afzul, seated on his camel, had not moved throughout the whole scene. Now he spoke.

"So thou art the son of Mahomed Jan, that Waziri thief and enemy of Allah?" he said, gazing down upon his would-be slayer. "Allah is great and His Prophet has rendered thee as unskilful in the use of weapons as others of thy kind. Well, ye twain, father and son, have been parted long enough, so now thou shalt join thine in Jehanum, yet not at once, for I think I will show thee some foretaste of its fires here."

He signed to those who held the frantic man--then something in the aspect of the latter caused him to change his intention. For he recognised that the Waziri's mind had given way, in short, that he had become a frenzied maniac, and to harm him as such would be clean contrary to all tribal tradition and sanction. Yet he had no intention of letting him off scot free.

"I will spare him the fire," he said, "for of that he will have plenty.

So--shorten him by the head."

Willing feet sprang to do his bidding. Willing hands seized the mouthing, cursing maniac, who by dint of a camel halter was forced to stretch forth his neck. Then the flash of a keen tulwar in the air, and the deluging, headless corpse was writhing and squirming right at Tarleton's feet.