The Ruby Sword: A Romance of Baluchistan

“There may have been both among them. What is the sirdar’s name, again?”

“Yar Hussain Khan.”

“Yes. Well, Sirdar Yar Hussain Khan seems a very nice fellow, and I should much like to see him again; but probably I sha’n’t, for the simple reason that I don’t in the least want ever to behold that particularly abominable follower of his again.”

But he little thought under what circumstances he was destined to behold both again.

Chapter Seven.

The Tangi

“It’s a thundering mistake allowing these fellows to wander all over the country armed, like that,” said Upward, commenting on their late visitors, while preparations were being made for a start. “They are never safe while they carry about those beastly tulwars. A fellow may take it into his head to cut you down at any moment. If he has nothing to do it with he can’t; if he has he will. Government ought to put the Arms Act into force.”

“Then there’d be a row,” suggested Campian.

“Let there be. Anything rather than this constant simmering. Not a week passes but some poor devil gets stuck when he least expects it – in broad daylight, too – on a railway station platform, or in the bazaar, or anywhere. For my part, I never like to have any of these fellows walking close behind me.”

“No, I don’t want either of you. I’ve had enough of you both for to-day. I’m going to ride with Mr Campian now. I want to talk to him a little.”

Thus Nesta Cheriton’s clear voice, which of course carried far enough to be heard by the favoured one, as she intended it should. The pair of discomfited warriors twirled their moustaches with mortification, but their way of accepting the situation was characteristic, for while Fleming laughed good-humouredly, if a trifle ruefully, Bracebrydge’s tone was nasty and sneering, as he replied:

“Variety is charming, they say, Miss Cheriton. Good thing for some of us we are not all alike – ah – ha – ha!”

“I quite agree with you there,” tranquilly remarked Campian, at whom this profoundly original observation was levelled. Then he assisted Nesta to mount.

The path down from the kotal was steep and narrow, and the party was obliged to travel single file. Finally it widened out as they gained the more level valley bottom. Here were patches of cultivation, and scattered among the rocks and stones was a flock of black goats, herded by a wild looking native clad in a weather-beaten sheepskin mantle, and armed with a long jezail with a sickle shaped stock. Two wolfish curs growled at the passers by, while their master uttered a sulky “salaam.” A blue reek of smoke rose from in front of a misshapen black tent, consisting of little more than a hide stretched upon four poles, beneath whose shelter squatted a couple of frowsy, copper-faced women. Two or three more smoke wreaths rising at intervals from the mountain side, and the distant bark of a dog, betokened the vicinity of other wandering herdsmen.

“I never seem to see anything of you now,” said the girl suddenly, during a pause in the conversation, which up till then had been upon the subject of the surrounding and its influences.

“Really? That sounds odd, for I have been under the impression that we are looking at each other during the greater portion of every day, and notably when we sit opposite each other at the not very wide, but pre-eminently festive board.”

“Don’t be annoying. You know what I mean.”

“That we don’t go out chikór shooting together any more. You may remember I foretold just such a possibility on the last occasion of our joint indulgence in that pastime.”

“Well but – why don’t we?”

“For exactly the reason I then foretold. You seem better employed. I amuse myself watching the fun instead.”

She looked at him quickly. Was he jealous? Nesta Cheriton was so accustomed to be spoiled and adored and competed for and quarrelled over by the stronger sex, that she could hardly realise any member of the same remaining indifferent to her charms. As a matter of fact, this one was not indifferent. He appreciated them. Her blue-eyed, golden-haired prettiness was pleasant to behold, in the close, daily intercourse of camp life. He liked to notice her pretty ways, and there was something rather alluring in her half affectionate and wholly confidential manner towards himself. But – jealous? Oh no – no. He had lived too long, and had too much experience of life for that phase of weakness. Nesta was disappointed. She read no symptoms of the same in his face, her ear detected no trace of bitterness or resentment in the tone.

“But I want to go out with you sometimes,” she said. “Why do you avoid me so of late?”

“My dear child, you never made a greater mistake in your life than in thinking that. Here we are, you see, all crowded up together. We can’t all be talking at once – and – I thought you rather enjoyed the fun of playing those two Johnnies off against each other.”

“Ah, I’m sick of them. I wish they’d go back to Shâlalai.”

“I don’t altogether believe that. Which is the favoured one, by the way?”

“No, really. I rather like Captain Fleming, though.” She laughed, branching off with the light-hearted inconsequence of her type. “And – I don’t know what to do. He’s awfully gone on me.”

“And are you ‘awfully gone’ on him?”

“Of course not. But I rather like him. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“You don’t know whether to buckle yourself for life to some one you ‘rather like’ – or not. Is that the long and short of it?”

“Yes.”

“If you are a little idiot, Nessie, you will do it – if you are not, you won’t. You are dreadfully lacking in ballast, my child, even to dream of such a thing, are you not?”

“I suppose so. I don’t care a straw for anybody for more than a week or so. Then I am just as sick of them as I can be. That’s how I am.”

“Except on that solitary occasion when you did take someone seriously. Tell me about that, Nessita.”

“No – no!”

“But you promised to, one of these days. Why not now?”

“What a tease you are. I won’t tell it you now. No – nor ever. There! – Hark! Wasn’t that thunder?” she broke off suddenly.

“Yes. It’s a long way off, though, travelling down yonder ridge. Won’t come near us.”

Away along the summit of the further range a compact mass of cloud now rested, and from this came a low distant peal. It represented one of the thunderstorms common at that time of year, restricted in locality, and of limited area. They gave it no further thought, and the conversation running on from one subject to another, now grave, now gay, carried them a long way over the road. The rest of the party were far ahead. Bracebrydge was consoling himself by teasing Lily, and receiving from that young person, not unaided by Hazel, many a repartee fully up to the viciousness of his own thrusts. Fleming was riding with Mrs Upward, while Upward and Bhallu Khan were constantly diverging from the road, inspecting various botanical subjects with professional eye. Thus Nesta and Campian, whether by accident or design of the former, gradually dropped behind. Again, a long low boom of thunder pealed out upon the stillness of the air.

“That’s much nearer?” exclaimed the girl, looking up. “I say! I wish it wouldn’t! I don’t like thunder.”

“Scared of it?”

“Rather. What shall we do if it comes right over?”

“There may be some shelter of sorts further on. Meanwhile, don’t think about it. Go on talking to me. What subject shall we find to wrangle about?”

She laughed, and very soon found a subject; and thus they continued their way, until the path opened out from the narrow, stony, juniper-grown valley they had been descending, on to a wide, open plain, utterly destitute of foliage of any kind. The bulk of the party were now visible again, further in advance, looking mere specks, nearly three miles distant.

“They will be in the tangi directly,” said Nesta, shading her eyes to watch the distant figures. “There, they are in it now,” as the latter disappeared in what looked like the mountain side itself, for no rift was discernible from where these two now rode.

“We had better get on, hadn’t we?” urged Campian.

“Oh no. I hate hurrying, and there’s no earthly reason why we should.”

So they held on at the same foot’s pace over the plain, which stretched its weary desolation far on either side of them. Here and there a great hump of earth, streaked with white gypsum, relieved the dead level monotony, but not a living thing – man, beast or bird – was in sight. Not even a sound was audible, except the deep-toned growl of the thunder, growing louder as they neared the mountain wall.

“Good study for a subject illustrating the jaws of Death,” remarked Campian, as, now before them, the mountain seemed to yawn apart in a vertical fissure, which the stupendous height of the cliffs on either hand caused to appear as a mere slit.

“Yes. And – it’s beginning to rain.”

Large drops were pattering down as they entered the jaws of the great chasm, but once within them there was shelter for a space, for the cliffs took an abrupt slant over at about a hundred feet above, so that the sky was no longer visible. A trickle of muddy water was already running down the stony footway. This should have warned Campian, at any rate; but then his experience of the country and this particular feature thereof, was not large. Nesta shivered.