King--of the Khyber Rifles: A Romance of Adventure by Talbot Mundy (ink ebook reader .TXT) 📕

the flashlight was harmless, and another minute before he could get him to hold it still. Then, however, he wrote swiftly. “In the Khyber, a mile below you. “Dear Old Man--I would like to run in and see you, but circumstances don't permit. Several people sent you their regards by me. Herewith go two mules and their packs. Make any use of the mules you like, but store the loads where I can draw on them in case of need. I would like to have a talk with you before taking the rather desperate step I intend, but I don't want to be seen entering or leaving Ali Masjid. Can you come down the Pass without making your intention known? It is growing misty now. It ought to be easy. My men will tell you where I am and show you the way. Why not destroy this letter? “Athelstan.”

He folded the note and stuck a postage stamp on it in lieu of seal. Then he examined the packs with the aid of the flashlight, sorted them and ordered two of the mules reloaded.

“You three!” he ordered then. “Take the loaded mules into Ali Masjid Fort. Take this chit, you. Give it to the sahib in command there.”

They stood and gaped at him, wide-eyed--then came closer to see his eyes and to catch any whisper that Ismail might have for them. But Ismail and Darya Khan seemed full of having been chosen to stay behind; they offered no suggestions--certainly no encouragement to mutiny.

“To hear is to obey!” said the nearest man, seizing the note, for at all events that was the easiest task. His action decided the other two. They took the mules' leading-reins and followed him. Before they had gone ten paces they were all swallowed in the mist that had begun to flow southeastward; it closed on them like a blanket, and in a minute more the clink of shod hooves had ceased. The night grew still, except for the whimpering of jackals. Ismail came nearer and squatted at King's feet.

“Why, sahib?” he asked: and Darya Khan came closer, too. King had tied the reins of the two horses and the one remaining mule together in a knot and was sitting on the pack.

“Why not?” he countered.

Solemn, almost motionless, squatted on their hunkers, they looked like two great vultures watching an animal die.

“What have they done that they should be sent away?” asked Ismail. “What have they done that they should be sent to the fort, where the arrficer will put them in irons?”

“Why should he put them in irons?” asked King.

“Why not? Here in the Khyber there is often a price on men's heads!”

“And not in Delhi?”

“In Delhi these were not known. There were no witnesses in Delhi. In the fort at Ali Masjid there will be a dozen ready to swear to them!”

“Then, why did they obey?” asked King.

“What is that on the sahib's wrist?”

“You mean--?”

“Sahib--if she said, 'Walk into the fire or over that Cliff!' there be many in these 'Hills' who would obey without murmuring!”

“I have nothing against them,” said King. “As long as they are my men I will not send them into a trap.”

“Good!” nodded Ismail and Darya Khan together, but they did not seem really satisfied.

“It is good,” said Ismail, “that she should have nothing against thee, sahib! Those three men are in thy keeping!”

“And I in thine?” King asked, but neither man answered him.

They sat in silence for five minutes. Then suddenly the two Hillmen shuddered, although King did not bat an eyelid. Din burst into being. A volley ripped out of the night and thundered down the Pass.

“How-utt! Hukkums dar?” came the insolent challenge half a minute after it--the proof positive that Ali Masjid's guards neither slept nor were afraid.

A weird wail answered the challenge, and there began a tossing to and fro of words, that was prelude to a shouted invitation:

“Ud-vance-frrrennen-orsss-werrul!”

English can be as weirdly distorted as wire, or any other supple medium, and native levies advance distortion to the point of art; but the language sounds no less good in the chilly gloom of a Khyber night.

Followed another wait, this time of half an hour. Then a man's footsteps--a booted, leather-heeled man, striding carelessly. Not far behind him was the softer noise of sandals. The man began to whistle Annie Laurie.

“Charles? That you?” called King.

“That you, old man?”

A man in khaki stepped into the moonlight. He was so nearly the image of Athelstan King that Ismail and Darya Khan stood up and stared. Athelstan strode to meet him. Their walk was the same. Angle for angle, line for line, they might have been one man and his shadow, except for three-quarters of an inch of stature.

“Glad to see you, old man,” said Athelstan.

“Sure, old chap!” said Charles; and they shook hands.

“What's the desperate proposal?” asked the younger.

“I'll tell you when we are alone.”

His brother nodded and stood a step aside. The three who had taken the note to the fort came closer--partly to call attention to themselves, partly to claim credit, partly because the outer silence frightened them. They elbowed Ismail and Darya Khan, and one of them received a savage blow in the stomach by way of retort from Ismail. Before that spark could start an explosion Athelstan interfered.

“Ismail! Take two men. Go down the Pass out of ear-shot, and keep watch! Come back when I whistle thus--but no sooner!”

He put fingers between his teeth and blew until the night shrilled back at him. Ismail seized the leather bag and started to obey.

“Leave that bag. Leave it, I say!”

“But some man may steal it, sahib. How shall a thief know there is no money in it?”

“Leave it and go!”

Ismail departed, grumbling, and King turned on Darya Khan.

“Take the remaining man, and go up the Pass!” he ordered. “Stand out of ear-shot and keep watch. Come when I whistle!”

“But this one has a belly ache where Ismail smote him! Can a man with a belly ache stand guard? His moaning will betray both him and me!” objected “Lord of the Rivers.”

“Take him and go!” commanded King.

“But--”