 Chapter 4 of King of the Kyber Rifles by Talbot Mundy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Brett Downey Men boast in the hills when they ought to pray, For the wind blows lusty and the blood runs red, And law lies belly upwards for a man to wreck his fancy on it. Down in the plains, in the dust of the plains, Where law is master and a good man ought to boast, They all lie belly downwards praying for their hills again. The rear lights of the train he had not taken Swayed out of Delhi station and King grinned As he wiped the sweat from his face with a dripping handkerchief. Behind him towered the hook-nosed Ishmael, Resentful of the unexpected. In front of him, Saunders eyed the proffered black sheroots suspiciously, Accepted one with an air of curiosity, And passed the case back. Around them the clatter of the station crowd began to die, And parsimony in a shabby uniform went round to lower lights. Are you sure? King's merry eyes looked into Saunders, As if there were no World War really, And they too were puppets in a comedy. Are you absolutely certain Yasmini is in Delhi? No, said Saunders. What I swear to is that she is not left by train. It's my business to know who leaves by train. What can you suggest? asked King, Twisting at his scrubby little mustache. But if he wished to convey the impression of a man at his wit's end, He failed signally. I? Nothing. She's the most elusive individual in Asia. One person in the world knows where she is, Unless she has an accomplice. My information's negative. I know she has not gone by. King struck a match and held it out. So the sentence was unfinished. The first few puffs of the astonishing cigar Wiped out all memory of the missing word. And then King changed the subject. Those men I asked you to arrest? Nabbed. Puff. Every one of them puff puff. All under. Puff puff. Lock and key. Best smoke I ever tasted. Where'd you get them? Had they been in communication with her? Puff puff. You bet they had. Where'd you get these things? Not her special man by any chance. Puff. God, what smoke! Couldn't say, of course, but... Puff puff. Shouldn't think so. Well, I'll go along with you if you like And look them over. Both tone and manner gave Saunders credit for the suggestion And Saunders seemed to like it. There is nothing like following up In football, war, or courtship. I see you're a judge of a cigar, Said King, and Saunders purred. All men being fools to some extent. And the only trouble being To demonstrate the fact. They had started for the station entrance When a nasal voice began intoning Captain, King Zahib! Captain, King Zahib! And a telegraph messenger passed them With his book under his arm. King whistled him. A moment later he was tearing open An official urgent telegram And writing a string of figures in pencil Across the top. Then he decoded swiftly. Advice as Arya's meanie was in Delhi As recently as six this evening. Failed to understand your inability to get in touch. Have you tried at her house? Matters in Khyber district much less satisfactory. Word from OC Khyber Rifles To effect that Lashkar is collecting. Better sweep up in Delhi and proceed northward As quickly as compatible with caution. LML. The three letters at the end Were the general's coded signature. The wording of the telegram was such That as he read King saw a mental picture Of the general's bald red skull And could almost hear him say The fail to understand. The three words much less satisfactory Were a book full of information. So as he folded up the telegram Tore the penciled strip of figures from the top And burned it with a match. He was at pains to look pleased. Good news? Asked Saunders blowing smoke through his nose. Excellent! Where's my man? Here! You! The general came and towered above him. You swore she went north! Ha, Sahib! To Peshawar she went. Did she start from this station? From where else, Sahib? But this was too much for Saunders Who stepped forward and thrust in an oar. King, on the other hand, stepped back a pace So as to watch both faces. Then when did she go? I saw her go! Said Ishmael, affronted. When? When confound you? When? Yesterday. I expect he means tomorrow, said King. With the advantage of look-a-ron And a very deep experience of northerners He had noted that Ishmael was lying And that Saunders was growing doubtful Although both men concealed the truth With what was very close to being art. I have a telegram here, he said, That says she is in Delhi. He patted his coat where the inner pocket bulged. Nay, then the tower lies Or I saw her go with these two eyes of mine. It is not wise to lie to me, my friend, King assured him, so pleasantly That none could doubt he was telling truth. If I lie, may I eat dirt? Ishmael answered him. Anches lent the Afridi dignity, But dignity has often been used As a stalking-horse for untruth. King nodded, and it was not possible To judge by his expression Whether he believed or not. Let's make a move, he said, Turning to Saunders. She seems at any rate to wish it believed She has gone north. I can't stay here indefinitely. If she's here, she's on the watch here, And there's no need of me. If she has gone north, then that is where The kites are wheeling. I'll take the early morning train. Where are the prisoners? In the old Mir Khan's palace. We were short of jail-room and had to improvise. The horse-dolls there have come in handy More than once before. With Ishmael up beside the driver, Nursing King's bag, and looking like A great grim vulture about to eat the horse, They drove back through the swarming streets In the direction of the river. King seemed to have lost all interest in crowds. He scarcely even troubled to watch When they were held up at a crossroads By a marching regiment that tramped As if it were a herald of the last trump, With bayonets glistening in the streetlights. He sat staring ahead in silence, Although Saunders made more than one effort To engage him in conversation. No, he said at last suddenly, So that Saunders jumped. No what? No need to stay here. I've got what I came for. What was that? asked Saunders. But King was silent again. Conscious of the unaccustomed weight On his left wrist, he moved his arm So that the sleeve drew and he could see The edge of the great gold bracelet Rewa Gunja had given him in Yasmini's name. Know anything of Rewa Gunja? He asked suddenly again. The Rangar? Yes, the Rangar, Yasmini's man. Not much. I've seen him. I've spoken with him. I've had to stand impudence from him, twice. I've been tipped off more than once To let him alone because he's her man. He does ticklish errands for her, Or so they say. He's what you might call Known to the police, all right. They began to approach an age-old palace Near the river, and Saunders Whispered a password when an armed guard Halted them. They were halted again at a gloomy gateway Where an officer came out to look them over. By his leave they left the gauri And followed him under the arch Until their heels rang on stone paving In a big, ill-lighted courtyard Surrounded by high walls. There, after a little talk, They left Ishmael squatting beside King's bag. And Saunders led the way through a modern iron door Into what had once been A royal prince's stables. In gloom that was only thrown into Contrast by a wide-spaced row Of electric lights, a long line Of barred and locked converted horse stalls Ran down one side Of a lean-to building. The upper half of each locked door Was a grating of steel rods So that there was some ventilation For the prisoners, but very little Light filtered between the bars And all that King could see of the men Within was the whites of their eyes And they did not look friendly. They could pass between them in the light And they could see more of him than he could of them. At the first cell, he raised his left hand And made the gold bracelet on his wrist Clink against the steel bars. A moment later, he cursed himself And felt the bracelet with his fingernail. He had made a deep nick in the soft gold. A second later, yet he smiled. May God be with thee! Boomed a prisoner's voice in Pashto. Didn't know that fellow was handcuffed, Said Saunders. Did you hear the ring? They should have been taken off. Leaving his irons on is made in polite, though. He passed on, and King followed him, saying nothing. But at the next cell, he repeated What he had done at the first, Taking better care of the gold, But letting his wrist stay longer in the light. May God be with thee! Said a voice within. Getting a shade less arrogant, what? Said Saunders. May God be with thee! Said a man in the third stall, as King passed. They seemed to be anxious for your morals, Keeping a pace or two ahead to do the honors of the place. May God be with thee! Said a fourth man, and King desisted for the present, Because Saunders looked as if he were growing inquisitive. Where did you arrest them? He asked when Saunders came to stand under a light. All in one place, at Ali's. Who and what is Ali? Pimp, crimp, procurer, Prussian spy, and any other evil thing that takes his fancy. Runs a combination gambling-hell and boarding-house. Let's him run into debt and blackmails him. Ali's in the Kaiser's pay, that's known. Musing thing about it is, he keeps a photo of Wilhelm in his pocket, And tries to make himself believe the Kaiser knows him by name. Suffers from a swelled head, Which is part of their plan, of course. We'll get him when we want him, But at present he's useful as is for a decoy. Ali was very much upset at the rest. Asked in the name of heaven, seems to be familiar with God too, All the angels. How he shall collect all the money these men owe him. You wouldn't call these men prosperous, then? Not exactly. Ali is the only spy out of the north who prospers much of present. And even he gets most of his money out of his private business. Why, man, the real Germans we have pounced on Are all as poor as church mice. That's another part of the plan, of course, Which is sweet in all its workings. They're paid less than driven by threats of exposure to us. He comes cheaper and serves to ginger up the spies. The Germans pay Ali a little, And he traps the hillmen when they come south. Let's them gamble, get some in a debt. Plays on their fear of jail and their ignorance of the Indian penal code. Which altereth every afternoon. And spends a lot of time telling them stories To take back with them to the hills when they can get away. They can get away when they've paid him what they owe. He makes that clear, and of course, that's the fly in the amber. Yasmine sends and pays their board and gambling debts, And she's our man, so to speak. When they get back to the hills... Thanks, said king, I know what happens in the hills. Tell me about the deli end of it. Well, when the wander fever grabs them again, They come down once more from their hills to drink and gamble. And first they go to Yasmineys. But she won't let them drink at her place. Have to give her credit for that, you know. Her place has never been a stews. Sooner or later they grow tired of virtue, Especially with so much intrigue going on under their noses. And back they all drift to alleys and tell them tales to tell the Germans. And the round begins again. Yasminey coaxes all their stories out of them, And primes them with a few extra good ones into the bargain. Everybody's fooled, especially the Germans, And except in, of course, Yasminey and the Raj. Nobody ever fooled that woman, Nor ever will if my belief goes for anything. Sounds simple, said king. Simple and sorted, agreed Saunders. King looked up and down the line of locked doors And then straight into Saunders eyes in a friendly, Yet rather disconcerting way. One could not judge whether he were laughing or just thinking. Just suppose it's as simple as all that. How do you mean? Just suppose the Germans aren't in direct touch with the tribes? Why should they be? The simpler the better I expect from their point of view, And the cheaper the better too. Aha, king rubbed his chin. On what charge did you get these men? Defense of the realm, suspicious characters, Charged to be entered later. Good, that's simple at all events. Know anything of my man Ishmael? Sure, he's one of Yasminey's pets. She bailed him out of Ali's three years ago, And he worships her. It was he who broke the leg and ribs of a pup Raja A month or two ago, For putting on too much dog in her reception room. He's Ursus out of Quovadas. He's dog, desperado, stalking horse, And keeper of the queen's secrets. Then why do you suppose she passed him along to me, Asking? Don't know. This is your little mystery, not mine. Glad you appreciate that. Do me a favor, will you? Anything and reason. Get the keys to all these cells, Send them in here to me by Ishmael, And leave me in here alone. Saunders whistled and wiped sweat from his glistening face, For in spite of windows open to the courtyard, It was hotter than a furnace room. Maint I have you thrown into a den of tigers, He asked, or a nest of cobras? Or get the fiery furnace ready, And you'll find him sore and dangerous, That men at the end with handcuffs on Has probably been violent. That God be with these stuff is habit. They say it with unction before they knife a man. I'll be careful then, king chuckled, And it is a fact that few men can argue with him When he laughs quietly in that way. Send me in the keys like a good chap. So Saunders went, Glad enough to get into the outer air. He slammed the great iron door behind him As if he were glad too, To disassociate himself from king, And all foolishness. Like many another first class man, King sheds friends as a cat sheds fur Going under a gate. They grow again and quit again And don't seem to make much difference. The instant the door slammed, King continued down the line with his left wrist Held high, So that the occupant of each cell in turn Could see the bracelet. May God be with thee. Came the instant greeting from each cell Until down towards the farther end. The occupants of the last six cells were silent. Numbers had been chalked roughly on the doors. With wedded fingers he rubbed out the chalk marks On the last six doors, And he had scarcely finished doing that When Ishmael strode in, Slamming the great iron door behind him, Jangling a bunch of keys And looking more than ever like somebody Out of the Old Testament. Open every door except those whose numbers I have rubbed out. King ordered him. Ishmael proceeded to obey As if that were the least improbable order In all the world. Took him two minutes to select the pass key And determine how it worked. Then the doors flew open one after another In quick succession. Come out, he growled. Come out, come out. Although King had not ordered that. King went and stood under the center light With his left arm bared. The prisoners, emerging like dead men Out of tombs, blinked at the bright light. Saw him, then the bracelet, and saluted. May God be with thee. Growled each of them. They stood still then, awaiting fresh developments. It did not seem to occur to any of them As strange that a British officer In khaki uniform should be sporting Yasmini's talisman. The thing was apparently sufficient Explanation in itself. Ye all know this? He asked, holding up his wrist. Whose is this? Hers. The answer was monosyllabic An instant from all thirty throats. May Allah guard her, sleeping and awake. Added one or two of them. King lit a charoute and made mental note Of the wisdom of referring to her by pronoun, Not by name. And I, who am I? He asked, since it saves worlds of trouble To have the other side state the case The secret service was not designed For giving information, but discovering it. Her messenger, who else? Thou art he who shall take us to the hills. She promised. How did she know you were in this jail? He asked them. And one of the hillmen laughed like a jackal Showing yellow eye teeth. The others cackled in chorus after him. Answer that riddle thyself. Or ask her, who are we? Bats that can see in the night? Spirits who can hear through walls? Nay, we be plain men of the mountains. But where were ye when she promised? At Ali's. All of us at Ali's. Held for debt. We sent and begged of her. She sent word back by a woman That one of the Sikar's men Shall free us and send us home. So we waited, eating shame and little else At Ali's. And last came a sahib in a great rage Who ordered irons put on our wrist And marched us hither. Only when each was pushed into a separate cell Were the irons taken off again. Yet we were patient, for we knew This is part of her cunning May Ali die of want, said we, With one voice altogether in these cells. And now we be ready. They fed us before we had been in here an hour. Our bellies be full, but we be hungry for their hills. King thought of the gold-hilted knife That still rested under his shirt. He was tempted to show it to them And find out surely who's it was And what it meant. But wisdom and curiosity seldom mingle. He thought of Ishmael, Ursus of Quovatis, Dog, desperado, stalking horse, And keeper of the queen's secrets. It was not yet time to run risk with Ishmael. The knife stayed where it was. I shall start for the hills at dawn, He said slowly, And he watched their eyes gleam at the news. No caged tiger is as wretched as a prisoned hillman. No freed bird wings more wildly for the open. No moth comes more foolishly back to the flame again. It was easy to take pity on them, Probably not one of whom knew pity's meaning. Is there any among you who would care to come? Ah! At the price of strict obedience? Eh! It seemed there was no word in Pashto That could express their willingness. We'd be very, very weary for our hills, Explained the nearest man. Aye, king answered, And ye all, O Ali? Ah! But he knew better than to browbeat them On that account just then, For the men of the north are easier led Than up to a certain point. Yet it is no bad plan to remind them Of the fundamentals to begin with. Will ye obey me and him? He asked, laying his hand on Ishmael's shoulder, As much to let them see the bracelet again As for any other reason. Aye, if we fail, Allah do more to us! King laughed, Ye shall leave this place as my prisoners. Here ye have no friends, here ye must obey. But what when ye come to your hills at last? Will ye hold thirty men prisoners then? In the hills will ye still obey me? They answered him in chorus, Every man of the thirty, And Ishmael into the bargain, Through his right hand into the air, Allah witness that we will obey! Ah! said king, I have heard him and swear by Allah many a time, Many a time. The answer to that was unexpected. Ishmael knelt, Seized his hand, And pressed the gold bracelet to his lips. In turn every one of them filed by, Nelt reverently, And kissed the bracelet. Saw ye ever a hillman do that before? Asked Ishmael, They will obey thee, Have no fear. Katch dar nahim hay! King answered, There is no such thing as fear. And Ishmael grinned at him, Not knowing that king was feeling As Aladdin must have done. I have heard you swear, said king, Be ye true men? Ah! Had they belongings that ought to be collected first? He asked, And Ishmael laughed, No more than the dead have. A shroud of peace. Ali gave them bitterness to eat, And picked their teeth afterwards for gleaning. They stand in what they own. Then come, ordered king, Turning his back confidently on thirty savages, Whom Saunders, for instance, Would have preferred to drive in front of him, After first seeing them handcuffed. But when he is not pressed for time, Neither pistols nor yet handcuffs Are included in king's method. Locke has a key, but some keys fit all locks, Says the eastern proverb. King has been chosen for many ticklish errands In his time, and Saunders is still in Delhi. Through the great iron door into the dim outer darkness, King led them and presently made them squat In a close huddled semi-circle on the paving stones, Like night birds waiting for a meal. I want blankets for them, Two good ones apiece, And food for a week's journey, He told the astonished Saunders, And he spoke so decidedly That the other man's questions and argument Died stillborn. While you attend to that for me, I'll be seeing his dibs and making explanations. You look full of news. What do you know? I've telephoned all the other stations, And my men swear Yasmini has not left Delhi by train. King smiled at him. If I leave by train, Do you suppose she'll hear of it? You bet, bet your boots. Man alive, if she's interested in you by so much, He measured off a fraction of his little finger-end. She knows your next two moves ahead To say nothing of your past half-dozen. I crossed her bowels once And thought I had her at a disadvantage. She laughed at me. On my honor, my spine tingles yet At the mere thought of it. You've never met her? Never heard her laugh? Never seen her eyes? You've a treat in store for you. An amové quadre. What do you bet me she doesn't laugh You out of countenance the very first time you meet? Come now, what do you bet? Not in the habit, King answered, Glanting at his watch. Will you see about their rations, please, And the blankets? Thanks. They went then in opposite directions, And the prisoners were left squatting Under the eyes and band-nets Of a very suspicious prison guard, Who made no secret of being ready For all conceivable emergencies. One enthusiast drew the cartridge Out of his breach chamber And licked it at intervals of a minute or two, To the very great interest of the Hillman, Who memorized every detail That by any stretch of imagination Might be expected to improve their own shooting When they should get home again. King found his way on foot Through a maze of streets to a palace Where he was admitted through one door after another By sentries who saluted When he had whispered to them. He ended by sitting on the end Of the bed of a grey-headed man Who owns three titles and whose word is law Between the borders of a province. To him he talked as one schoolboy Because the grey-haired man had understanding And hence sympathy. I don't envy you. Said he under the sheet. There was an American here. Not long ago. Most amusing man I ever talked to. He had the right expression. I do not desiderate that pie. Was his way of putting it. Good, don't you think? All the while he talked The older man was riding on a pad That he held propped by his knees beneath the bedclothes. Holding the paper tight To keep it from fluttering in the breeze Of a big electric fan. There's the release for your prisoners. Take it and take them. Whatever possessed you to want such a gift? Orders, sir. Whose? His. He sent for me to Peshawar And gave me strict orders to work with Not against her. This was obvious. How obvious. It seems bewildering. She doesn't want to seem to be connected with me. Otherwise she'd have been more in evidence. Second place, she has left Delhi. His telegram and Saunders men On oath notwithstanding. And she did not mean to leave those men. I imagine her best way to manage Hillman Is to keep promises. And they say she promised them. Third place, if those thirty men Had been anything but her particular pet gang They'd either have been over the border Or else in jail before now. Just like all the others. I don't pretend to understand. She promised them more than she has been able to perform. So I provide performance. She gets the credit for it. I get a pretty good personal following At least as far as up the kyber. QED, sir. The man in bed nodded. Not bad, he said. Didn't she make some effort to get those men away from Ali's? King asked him. I mean, didn't she try to get them dry nursed By the sir car in some way? Yeah, she did. We were caught in the first place There didn't seem to be any particular hurry. They were eating Ali's substance. The scoundrel had to feed them As long as he kept them there. And we wanted that. We forbade her to pay their debts to Ali Because he has too urgent need of money just now. He is being pressed on account Of debts of his own. And the pressure is making him take risks. He has been begging for money from the German agents. We know who they are. And we expect to make a big haul Within a few hours now. Hope I didn't spoil things by budding in, sir. No, this is different. She wanted them arrested and locked up In a moment when the jails were all crowded. And then she wanted us to put them Into trucks and railroad them up north Out of harm's way as she put it. And we happened to be too busy. The railway staff was overworked. Now things are getting straightened out. I felt it keenly, not being able to oblige her. But she asked too much at the wrong moment. I would have done it If I could out of gratitude. It was she who tipped off for us Most of the really dangerous men. And it was not her fault A few of them escaped. But we've all been working both sides under, king. Take me, this is my first night in bed In three. And here I am awake. No, nothing personal. Glad to see you, but please understand. I'm a leisure dilettante Compared to most of the others. She must have known our fix. She shouldn't have asked. King smiled. Perfectly good opportunity for me, sir. He said carefully. So you seem to think. But look out for that woman, king. She's dangerous. She's got the brains of Asia Coupled with western energy. I think she's on our side. And I know he believes it, but watch her. Ham ducked a high, king grinned. But the older man continued to look as if he pitied him. If you get through alive Come and tell me about it afterwards. Now mind you do. I'm awfully interested. But I saw Envy in you. Envy, king almost squealed. He made the bed springs rattle as he jumped. I wouldn't swap jobs with general French, sir. Nor with me, I suppose. Nor with you, sir. Goodbye then. Goodbye, king, my boy. Goodbye, Athelston. Your brother's up the kyber, isn't he? Give him my regards. Goodbye. Long before dawn The thirty prisoners and Ishmael Squatted in a little herd On the up platform of a railway station. Shepherded by king Who smoked a charoute some twenty paces away Sitting on an unmarked chest of medicines. He seemed absorbed in a book on surgery That he had borrowed from a chance-met acquaintance In the go-down where he drew the medical supplies. Ishmael sat on the one trunk That had been fetched from the other station And nursed the new handbag on his knees. Picking everlastingly at the lock And wondering audibly what the bag contained To an accompaniment of low, growled sympathy. I am his servant. For she said so, and he said so. As the custom is, he gave me the key Of the great bag, on which I sit As he set himself for safe-gaping. Then why, why in Allah's name Am I not to have the key of this bag, too? Of this little bag that holds so little And is so light? It might be money in it. Hazarded one of the herd. Nay, for that it is not. It is not. It is not. It is not a bird. Nay, for that it is too light. Paper money suggested another man. Hundies with printing on the face That Sahibs accept instead of gold. Nay, I know where his money is, Said Ishmael. He has bought little with him. A razor would slit the leather Easily, suggested another man. Then with a hand inserted Carefully through the slit, So as not to widen it more than needful A man could soon discover the contents. And later the bag might be dropped Or pushed violently against some sharp thing To explain the cut. Ishmael shook his head. Why, what could he do to thee? It is because I know not What he would do to me that I will do nothing. Answered Ishmael. He is not at all like other Sahibs I have had dealings with. This man does unexpected things. This man is not mad. He has a devil. I have it in my heart to love this man. But such talk is foolishness. We are all her men. Aye, we are her men, came the chorus, So that king looked up And watched them over the open book. At dawn when the train pulled out The thirty prisoners sat safely locked In third class compartments. King lay lazily on the cushions Of a first class carriage in the rear Utterly absorbed in the principles Of antiseptic dressing, As if that had anything to do with Prussians And the Kyber Pass. King said to the careful packing Of soda water bottles in the ice box On the floor. Shall I open the little bag, Sahib? He asked. King shook his head. Ishmael shook the bag. The sound is of things Of much importance, all disordered. He said sagely. It might be well to rearrange. Put it over there, king ordered. Set it down. Ishmael obeyed and king laid his book down To light another of his black sharoots. The theme of antiseptics Ceased to exercise its charm over him. Peeled off his tunic, changed his shirt And lay back in sweet contentment. Headed for the hills. Who would not be contented? Who had been born in their very shadow? In their shadow Of a line of Britons Who have all been buried there. The day after tomorrow I'll see snow, He promised himself. And Ishmael, running with yellow teeth Through a gap in his wayward beard Stood and sympathized. Forward in the third class carriages The prisoners hugged themselves And crooned as they met old landmarks And recognized the changing scenery. There was a new cleaner tang in the hot wind That spoke of the hills and home. Deli had drawn them As Monte Carlo attracts the gamblers Of all Europe. But Deli had spewed them out again And oh, how exquisite the promise Of the hills was. And the thunder of the train that hurried. That sang, Himalayas, Himalayas. The air that blew in on them Unscented. The reawakened memory. The heart's desire for the cold And the snow and the cruelty. The dark nights and the shrieking storms And the savagery of the land of the knife Ahead. The journey to Peshawar That ought to have been weary some Because they were everlastingly shunted Into sidings to make way for roaring Southbound troop trains To the wayside station Because the trains ahead of them Were blocked three deep Was no less than a jubilee progress. Not a packed-in regiment went by That was not howled at by King's prisoners As if they were blood brothers of every man in it. Many an officer whom King knew Waved to him from a passing train. Meet you in Berlin! Was a favorite greeting. And after that they would shout to him For news and be gone before King could answer. Many a man at stations With no soul and nothing less than miracles Seemed able to release the wedged-in trains Came and paced up and down a platform Side by side with King. From them he received opinions But no sympathy to speak of. Got to stay in India. Hard lines. Then the conversation would be bluntly changed For in the height of one's enthusiasm It is not decent to hurt another fellow's feelings. Simple, simple as a little child Is the clean clip to British officer. Look at that baboo now. Don't you think he's a marvel? Don't you think the Indian baboo's a marvel? Sixty a month is more than the beggar gets. And there he goes doing two jobs And straightening out tangled trains Into the bargain. Isn't he a wonder king? India's a wonderful country. King would answer. That being one of his stock remarks. And to his credit be it written That he never laughed at one of them. He let them think they were more fortunate than he. With manlier, bloodier work to do. When they reached it at last Look dusty and bleak in the comfortless light Of northern dawn. But the prisoners crowed and crooned at a greeting And there was not much grumbling When king refused to unlock their compartment doors. Having waited thus long They could endure a few more hours in patience Now that they could see and smell Their hills at last. And there was the general again Not in a dog cart this time But furiously driven in a motor car Roaring and clattering into the station Less than two minutes after the train arrived He was out of the car For all his age and weight Before it had come to a stand He took one steady look at king And then at the prisoners before he returned king's salute Good he said And then as if that were not enough Excellent! Toten let him out though To chew the rag with the people on the platform Keep him in. They're locked in sir. Excellent! Chapter 5 Of king of the kyber rifles By Talbot Mundy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording By Brett Downey Death roosts in the kyber While he preens his wings Native proverb Seen her? Asked the general with his hands behind him No Said king The general looked equally sharply sidewise at him And walking stride for stride His hands were behind him too And one of them covered the gold bracelet On his other wrist The general looked equally sharply sidewise Nor by He said She called me up over the phone yesterday To ask for facilities for her man Rewa Gunja And he was in here later He's waiting for you at the foot of the pass Camped near the fort to gem rude With your bandabast already She's on ahead Wouldn't wait King listened in silence And his prisoners watching him Through the barred compartment windows Formed new and golden opinions of him For it is common knowledge in the hills That when a burra sahib Speaks to a chota sahib The chota sahib ought to say Yes sir, oh yes At very short intervals Therefore king could not be a chota sahib After all, so much the better The hills ever loved To deal with men in authority Just as they ever despised underlings What made you go back for the prisoners? The general asked Who gave you that cue? It's a safe rule never to do What the other man expects sir And Rewa Gunja expected me to travel By his train Was that your only reason? No sir, I had general reasons None of them specific Where natives have a finger in the pie There's always something left undone At the last minute But what made you investigate those prisoners? Couldn't imagine why 30 men Should be singled out for special treatment Rewa Gunja told me they were still at large In Delhi, couldn't guess why Had them arrested so as to be able To question them, that's all sir Not nearly all Said the general You realize by now, I suppose That they are her special men Special personal following Well, she's clever It occurred to her that the safest way To get them up north was to have them Arrested and deported That would avoid interference and delay And would give her a chance to act deliverer At this end And so make them grateful to her, you see Rewa Gunja told me all this You understand, he seemed to think She's semi-divine He was full of her cleverness And having thought of letting them all Get into debt at a house of ill repute To give them at hand when she wanted them She must have learned that trick From our merchant marine, said King Maybe, she's clever She asked me over the phone Whether her 30 men had started north I sent a telegram in Cypher To find out The answer was that you had found them And rounded them up and were bringing them with you When she called me up on the phone The second time I told her so And I hurt her chuckle with delight So I emphasized the point I discovered them and saved them every wit Whole and all that kind of thing I asked her to come and see me But she wouldn't Said she was disguised and particularly Did not want to be recognized Which was reasonable enough She sent Rewa Gunja instead Now, this seems important Before I sent you down to Delhi Before I sent for you at all I told her what I meant to do And I never in my life knew a woman Raise such terrific objections to working with a man As it happened her objections only confirmed My determination to send for you And before she went down to Delhi to clean up I told her flatly She would either have to work with you Or else stay in India for the duration of the war The general did not notice That King was licking his lips Nor if he had noticed King's hand That was now in front of him Pressing on something under his shirt Could he have guessed that the something Was a gold-hilted knife with a bronze blade King grunted in token of attention And the general continued She gave in finally But I felt nervous about it Now, without your getting sight of her You say you haven't seen her Her whole attitude has changed What have you done Bringing up her thirty men seems a little enough thing Yet she swears by you Used to swear at you And now she says you're the only officer In the British army with enough brains To fill a helmet Says she wouldn't go up the kyber without you Says you're indispensable Sent Rewa Gunja round to me with orders To make sure I don't change my mind about you What have you done to her Bewitched her? Done nothing, said King Well, keep on doing nothing in the same style And the world shall render you its best jobs One after the other In sequence, you've made a good beginning Know anything of Rewa Gunja, sir? Nothing Except that he's her man She trusts him, so we've got to And you've got to take him up the kyber with you What she orders, he'll do Or you may take it from me She would never have left him behind As long as she is on our side You will be pretty safe in trusting Rewa Gunja And she has got to be on our side Got to be She's the only key we've got to Kenjin And hell is brewing there this minute She'd dare unlock the gates And ride the devil down the kyber If she thought it worth her while You're to go up the kyber after her That there are better mounts than the devil And better fun than playing with hellfire The Rangar told me he'd given you her passport That right? As they turned at the end of the platform King bared his wrist and showed the gold bracelet Good, said the general But King thought his face clouded That thing is worth more than a hundred men Jack Allison wore that same bracelet Unless I'm much mistaken On his way down in disguise from Bakara So did another man we both knew But he died Be sure not to forget to give it back to her When the show's over, King King nodded and grunted What's the news from Kenjin, sir? Nothing specific, except that the place is filling up You remember what I told you about The heart of the hills being in Kenjin Well, they say now that the heart of the hills Has been awake for a long time And that when the heart stirs The body does not lie quite long No use trying to guess what they mean Find out, and remember The whole armed force at my disposal In this province isn't more than enough To tempt the tribes to conclusions It's a case for diplomacy It's a case where diplomacy must not fail King said nothing, but the chin strap mark On his cheek and chin grew slightly whiter As it always does under the stress of emotion He cannot control it, and he has died At more than once on the eve of happenings There being no more wisdom And no more feelings on one's face than on a sleeve Here comes your engine, said the general Well, there are two battalions of Kaiba rifles up the pass And they're about at full strength They've got word already that you are gazetted to them They'll expect you By the way, you've a brother in the KR, haven't you? At Alimasjid, sir Give him my regards when you see him, will you? Thank you, sir There's your engine whistling You'd better hurry Goodbye, my boy Goodbye to me whenever possible Good luck to you Regards to your brother Goodbye King saluted and stood watching While the general hurried to the waiting motor car When the car whirled away in a din of dust He returned leisurely to the train That had been shortened to three coaches Then he gave the signal to start up the spur track That leads to Jamrud Where a fort cowers in the very throat Of the dreadfulest gorge in Asia The Kaiba pass It was not a long journey nor a very slow one For there was nothing to block the way Except occasional men with flags Who guarded culverts and little bridges The Germans would know better than to waste Time or effort on blowing up that track But there might be northern gentlemen at large Out to do damage for the sport of it And the seapoys all along the line Were posted in twos and awake It was the low tide under the Himalayas The flood that was draining India Of her armed men had left Jamrud high and dry With a little nondescript force Stranded there, as it were Under a British major and some native officers There were no more pomp and circumstance No more the reassuring thunder Of gathering regiments Nor, for that matter, any more Of that unarmed native helplessness That so stiffens the backs of the official English Frowning over Jamrud were the lean hills Peopled by the fiercest fighting men on earth And the clouds that hung over the Kaiba's course Were an accent to the savagery But King smiled merrily as he jumped out of the train And Rewa Ganja, who was there to meet him Advanced with outstretched hand and a smile That would have melted snow on the distant peaks If he had only looked the other way Welcome, King Sahib, he laughed With the air of a skilled fencer Who admires another, better one I shall know better another time And let you keep in front of me No more of getting first into a train And settling down for the night It may not be easy to follow you And I suspect it isn't But at least it jolly well can't be such A job as leading you I trust you had a comfortable journey Thanks, said King, shaking hands with him And then turning away to unlock the carriage doors That held his prisoners in They were banging now like wolves to be free And they surged out, like wolves from a cage To climb around the Rangar, pawing him And struggling to be the first to ask him questions Nay, ye mountain people, nay, he laughed I, too, am from the plains What do I know of your families or of your feuds Am I to be torn to pieces to make a meal? At that, Ishmael interfered With the aid of an ash pick handle Chance found beside the track Hill-bastards, he howled at them Beating at them as if they were sheaves And his cudgel were a flail Sons of nameless mothers Forgotten of God, shameless Brood of the evil one, hands off King had to stop him, not that he feared trouble For they did not seem to resent The abuse or cuddling in the least And that in itself was food for thought But broken shoulders are no use for carrying loads Laughing as if the whole thing Was the greatest joke imaginable Rewa Gunja fell into stride beside King And led him away in the direction of some tents She is up the pass ahead of us He announced She was in the doos of a hurry I can assure you She wanted to wait and meet you But matters were too jolly well urgent And we shall have our ballet work Cut out to catch her, you can bet But I have everything ready Tents and beds and stores, everything King looked over his shoulder To make sure that Ishmael was bringing The little leather bag along So have I, he said quietly I have horses, said Rewa Gunja And mules and how did she travel up the kyber King asked him And the Rangar spared him a curious Sidewise glance On a horse, you should have seen the horse What escort had she? She? Rewa Gunja chuckled and then Suddenly grew serious The hills are her escort, King Sahib She is mistress in the hills There isn't a murdering ruffian Who would not lie down and let her walk on him She rode away alone On a thoroughbred mare And she jolly well left me the mare's double On which to follow her Come and look Not far from where the tents had been pitched In a cluster, a string of horses Winning at a picket rope King saw the two good horses Ready for himself and the ten mules Beside them that would have done Credit to any outfit But at the end of the line Pawing at the trampled grass Was a black mare that made his eyes open wide Once in a hundred years or so A viceroy's cup or a derby Is one by an animal that can stand And look and move as that mare did Just watch, the Rangar boasted Hooking up the bit and throwing off the blanket And as he mounted into the native-made Rough-hide saddle, a shout went up from the fort And native officers and half the soldiery Came out to watch, the poetry of motion The mare was not the only one worth watching Her rider shared the praise There was something unexpected Although not in the least ungainly About the Rangar's seat in the saddle That was not the ordinary graceful Native balance and yet was full of grace King ascribed the difference to the fact That the Rangar had seen no military service And before the inadequacy of that explanation Had asserted itself, he had already Forgotten to criticize in sheer admiration There was none of the spurring and back-raining That some native bloods of India Mistake for horsemanship. The Rangar Rowed with sympathy and most consummate skill And the result was that the mare behaved As if she were part of him, responding to His thoughts, putting a foot where he wished Her to put it, and showing her wildest Turn of speed along a level stretch In instant response to his mood Never saw anything better, King admitted Ungrudgingly as the mare came back At a walk to her picket-rope There was only one mare like this one Laughed the Rangar, she has her What do you take for this one? King asked him, aim your price The mare is hers, you must ask her Who knows, she is generous There is nobody on earth more generous than she When she cares to be See what you wear on your wrist? That is alone, said King, uncovering the bracelet I shall give it back to her when we meet See what she says when you meet Laughed the Rangar, taking a cigarette From his jeweled case with an air And smiling as he lighted it There is your tent, Sahib He motioned with the cigarette toward a tent Pitched quite a hundred yards away from the others And from the Rangar's own With the Rangar's and the cluster of tents for the men It made an equilateral triangle So that both he and the Rangar had privacy With a nod of dismissal, King walked over To inspect the bandabast And finding it much more extravagant Than he would have dreamed of providing for himself He lit one of his blackcher roots And with hands clasped behind him Strolled over to the fort to interview Courtney The officer commanding It so happened that Courtney Had gone up the pass that morning With a quail He came back into view Followed by his little ten-man escort Just as King neared the fort And King timed his approach so as to meet him The men of the escort were heavily burdened He could see that from a distance Hello! He said by the fort gate cheerily After he had saluted and the sleut had been returned Oh, hello, King! Glad to see you! I heard you were coming, of course Anything I can do? Tell me anything you know, said King Which the other accepted As he bid off the end, they stood facing each other So that King could see the oncoming escort And what it carried Courtney read his eyes Two of my men, he said, found him up the pass Gazi work, I think They were cut all to pieces There's a big lash-car gathering somewhere in the hills And it might have been done by their skirmishers But I don't think so A lash-car besides the crowd at Kinjan? Yes Who's supposed to be leading it? Who's out? said Courtney Then he stepped aside to give orders to the escort They carried the dead bodies into the fort Know anything of Yezmini? King asked, when the major stood in front of him again My reputation, of course Yes, famous person Sings like a bull bull Dances like the devil Lived in Delhi Mean her? King nodded When did she start up the pass? he asked How'd you mean? Courtney demanded sharply Today or yesterday She didn't start I know who goes up and who comes down Would you care to glance over the list? Know anything of Rewa Gunja? King asked him Not much, tried to buy his mare Seen the animal? God! I'd give a year's pay for that beast He wouldn't sell and I don't blame him He goes up the kyber with me, said King He's what the Turks would call my Yoldash And the Persians a hamra, eh? There was an American here lately Very fellow, and I was learning his language Side-partner is the word in the States I can imagine a worse side-partner Than that same man Rewa Gunja Much worse He told me just now, said King That Yasmini went up the pass unescorted Mounted on a mare the very dead spit To the black one you say you wanted to buy Courtney whistled I'm sorry, King I'm sorry to say he lied Will you come and listen while I have it out with him? Certainly He threw away his less than half consumed charoute And they started to walk together toward King's camp After a few minutes They arrived at a point from which they could see the Prisoners lined up in a row facing Rewa Gunja A less experienced eye than King's Or Courtney's could have recognized Their attitude of reverent obedience He'll make a good adjutant for you that man Said Courtney But King only grunted At the sight of them Ishmael left the line And came hurring towards them with long Mountain man's strides Tell Rewa Gunja sahib that I wish to speak to him King called And Ishmael hurried back again Within two minutes the Rangar stood facing them Looking more at ease than they I was cautioning those savages He explained They're an escort but they need a reminder of the fact Else they might jolly well imagine themselves Mountain goats and scatter among the hills He drew out his wonderful cigarette case And offered it open to Courtney Who hesitated and then helped himself King refused Major Courtney has just told me, said King That nobody resembling Yasmini Has gone up the pass recently Can you explain? You see I've been watching the pass Explained Courtney The Rangar shook his head Blew smoke through his nose and laughed And you did not see her go He said as if he were very much amused No, said Courtney She didn't go Can you explain Do you mean Can I explain why the major failed to see her Pun my soul, King Sahib Do you want me to insult a man Yasmini is too jolly clever for me Or for any other man I ever met And the major's a man, isn't he He may pack the kyber so full of men That there's only standing room And still she'd go up without his leave If she chooses There is nobody like Yasmini in all the world The Rangar was looking past them Facing the great gourds That lets the north of Asia trickle down into India And back again When weather and the tribes permit His eyes had become interested in the distance King wondered why And looked and saw Courtney saw too Hail that man and bring him here He ordered Ishmael keeping his distance With ears and eyes peeled Heard instantly and hurried off He went like the wind And all three watched in silence for ten minutes He headed off a man near the mouth of the pass Stopped him Spoke to him and brought him along Fifteen minutes later An Afridi stood scowling in front of them With a little letter and a cleft stick in his hand He held it out and Courtney took it And sniffed Well, I'll be blessed A note, sniff sniff Uncented paper Sniff sniff Carry down the kyber in a split stick Take it, King Obeyed and sniffed too It smelt of something far more subtle than musk He recognized the same strange scent That had been wafted from behind Yasmini's silk and hangings in her room In Delhi As he unfolded the note, it was not sealed He found time for a swift glance At Riva Gunja's face The Rangar seemed interested and amused Dear Captain King The note ran in English Kindly be quick to follow me Because there is much talk of a lash car For a raid I shall wait for you in Kinjin Wither my messenger shall show the way Please let him keep his rifle Trust him and Riva Gunja And my thirty whom you brought with you The messenger's name is Dara Khan Your servant, Yasmini He passed the note to Courtney Who read it and passed it back Are you the messenger who is to show this Sahib The road to Kinjin? He asked Aye One of the three who left here Went up the pass at dawn I recognize you Aye, said the man She met me and gave me this letter And sent me back How great is the lash car that is forming Ask Courtney Some say three thousand men They speak truth They who say five thousand are liars There is a lash car And she went up alone King murmured aloud in Pashtu Aye, the fellow asked And King smiled at him Let us hurry after her Sahib Urged Riva Gunja And King looked straight into his eyes That were like pools of fire Just as they had been that night in the room in Delhi He nodded and the Rangar grinned Better wait until dawn Advised Courtney The pass is supposed to be closed at dusk I shall have to ask for special permission, sir Granted, of course Then we'll start at eight tonight Said King, glancing at his watch And snapping the gold case shut Dine with me, said Courtney Yes, please, got to pack first Daren't trust anybody else Very well, we'll dine in my tent at six thirty Said Courtney So long So long, sir, said King And each went about his own business King with the Rangar and Ishmael And all thirty prisoners at his heels And Courtney alone But that much more determined The Major muttered How she got up the pass without my knowing it Somebody's tail shall be twisted for this But he did not find out Until King told him And that was many days later When a terrible cloud no longer threatened India From the north End of chapter Read by Brett Downey Chapter 6 of King of the Kyber Rifles By Talbot Mundi This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by Brett Downey Oh, a broken blade And an empty bag And a sodden kit And a foundered nag And a whimpering wind Are more or less ground for a gentleman's distress Yet the blade will cut He should swing with a will And the emptiest bag He may readyist fill And the nag will trot If the man has a mind So the kit he may dry In the whimpering wind Confess how many fights were won with less I think I envy you Said Courtney They were seated in Courtney's tent Face to face across the low table With guttering lights between And Ishmael outside the tent Hending plates and things to Courtney's servant inside You're about the first who has admitted it Said King Not far from them a herd of pack camels Grunted and bubbled after the evening meal The evening breeze brought the smoke of dung fires down to them And in Afghan, one of the little crowd of traders Who had come down with the camels three hours ago Sang a wailing song about his lady love Overhead the sky was like black velvet Pierced with silver holes You see, you can't call our end of this business war It's sport, said Courtney Two battalions of kyber rifles Hired to hold the pass against their own relations Against them a couple hundred thousand tribesmen Very hungry for loot Armed with up-to-date rifles Thanks to Russia yesterday and Germany today And all perfectly well aware that a world war is in progress That's sport, you know Not the image and likeness of war The Joraks called it But the real red root And you've got a mystery thrown in to give it frequency I haven't found out yet How Yasmini got up the pass without my knowledge I thought it was a trick Didn't believe she'd gone Yet all my men swear they know she has gone And not one of them will own to having seen her go What do you think of that? Tell you later, said King When I've been in the hills a while What you suppose I'm going to say, eh? Shall I enter in my diary That a chit came down the pass From a woman who never went up it Or shall I say she went up While I was looking the other way Myself, laughed King Laugh on, I envy you If the worst comes to the worst You'll have had the best end of it If you fail up there in the hills You'll get scoffed and be done with you You'll at least have had a show All we shall know of your failure Will be the arrival of the flood Will be swamped and gloriously Shot, skinned alive and crucified Without a chance of doing anything But wait for it You're in luck, you can move about Go off the fidgets For a while, as he ate Courtney's Broiled quail, King did not answer But the merry smile had left his eyes And he seemed for once to be letting His mind dwell on conditions As they concerned himself How many men have you at the fort? He asked at last Two hundred, why? All natives? To a man Like him? What's the use of talking? When men of an alien race stand up to you And grin when they salute, they're my own King nodded Die with you, eh? To the last man, said Courtney Quietly, with that conviction That can only be arrived at in one way And that, not the easiest I'd die alone, said King It'll be lonely in the hills Got any more quail? And that was all he ever did say on that subject Then or at any other time Here's to her! Laughed Courtney at last Rising and holding up his glass We can't explain her, so let's drink to her No heel taps Here's to Rewa Gunja's mistress Yasmini May she show good hunting? Answered King, draining his glass And it was his first that day If it weren't for that note of hers That came down the pass And for one or two other things I'd almost believe her a myth One of those suppositious people Is supposed to express some ideal or other Not an elucination, you understand Nor exactly an embodied spirit, either Perhaps the spirit of a problem Let Y be the kyber district Z the tribes And X the spirit of the rumpus Find X, get me? Not exactly Got quinine in your kit, by the way? Plenty, thanks What shall you do first After you get up the pass? Call on your brother at Ali Majid? He's likely to know a lot by the time you get there Not sure, said King May and may not I'd like to see him Haven't seen the old chap in a donkey's age How is he? Well, two days ago, said Courtney What's your general plan? Hunt, said King Hunt for X and report Hunt for the spirit of the coming ruction And try to scrag it Be open when I can Sleep with the lice when it rains or snows Eat dead goat and bad bread, I expect Scratch myself when I'm not looking And take a tub at the first opportunity When you see me on my way back Have a bath made ready for me, will you? And keep to winward Certainly, said Courtney What's the Rangar going to do with that mare of his? Suppose he'll leave her at Ali Majid? He'll have to leave her somewhere along the way She'll get stolen, god! That's the brightest notion yet I'll make a point of buying her from the first horse thief Who comes traipsing down the pass Here's wishing you luck, said King It's time to go, sir He rose and Courtney walked with him To where his party waited in the dark Chilled by the cold wind whistling down the kyber Reba Gunja sat, mounted, at their head And close to him his personal servant Rowed another horse Behind them were the mules In a cluster, each with a load of some sort on his head Were the thirty prisoners And Ishmael took charge of them officiously Daria Khan, the man who had brought the letter down the pass Kept close to Ishmael Are you armed? King asked as soon as he could see the whites Of the Rangar's eyes through the gloom You jolly well bet I am! The Rangar laughed King mounted and Courtney shook hands Then he went to Reba Gunja's side And shook hands with him too Goodbye, called King Goodbye and good luck Forward march! King ordered and the little procession started Oh men of the hills, ye look like ghosts Like graveyard ghosts Jeered Courtney as they all filed past him Ye look like dead men going to be judged Nobody answered They strove behind the horses With the swift, silent strides of men Who are going home to the hills Even they, born in the hills And knowing them as a wolf pack knows its hunting ground Were awed by the gloom of the kyber mouth ahead King's voice was the first to break the silence And he did not speak until Courtney was out of earshot Then, Man of the hills, he called Kuch Da Nahim Hai Nahim Hai, ha! Shouted Ishmael So speaks a man Hear that ye mountain folk He says, there is no such thing as fear In his place in the lead, King whistled softly to himself But he drew an automatic pistol from its place beneath his armpit And transferred it to a readier position Fear or no fear, kyber mouth is haunted after dark By the men whose blood feuds are too reeking raw To let them dare go home And for whom the British hangman very likely waits a mile or two farther south It is one of the few places in the world Where a pistol is better than a thick stick Molder, crag, and loose rock faded into gloom behind In front, on both hands, ragged hillsides were beginning to close in And the wind, whose home is in Allah's refuse heap Whistled as it searched busily among the black ravines Then presently, the shadow of the thousand foot high kyber walls began to cover them And King drew rain to count them all and let them close up To have let them straggle after that point Would be tantamount to murder, probably Ride last, he ordered riba gunja You've got the only other pistol, haven't you? Dara Khan, who had brought the letter, had a rifle So King gave him a roving commission on the right flank They moved on again after five minutes, in the same deep silence Looking like ghosts in search of somebody to ferry them across the sticks Only the glow of King's charoute And the lesser, quicker fire of riba gunja's cigarette They betrayed humanity, except that once or twice King's horse would put a foot wrong and be spoken to Hold up! But from five or ten yards away that might have been a new note in the Gaining wind or even nothing After a while King's charoute went out and he threw it away A little later, riba gunja threw away his cigarette After that, the various five-year-old among the zakka-kels Watching sleepless over the rim of some stone watchtower Could have taken oath that the kyber's unburied dead Were prowling in search of empty graves Probably their uncanny silence was their best protection But riba gunja chose to break it after a time King Sahib, he called softly Repeating it louder and more loudly until King heard him Slowly, not so fast Why? King did not check speed by a fraction But the Rengar legged his mare into a canter And forced him to pull out to the left of the track and make room Because Sahib, there are men among the boulders And to go too fast is to make them think you are afraid To seem afraid is to invite attack Can we defend ourselves with three firearms between us? Look, what was that? They were at the point where the road begins to lead uphill Westward, leaving the bed of a ravine And ascending to join the highway built by British engineers Below, to the left and right, was a pit-mouth gloom Shadows amid shadows, full of eerie whisperings And King felt the short hair on his neck begin to rise So he urged his horse forward because what riba gunja said is true There was only one sureer key to trouble in the kyber than to seem afraid And that is to be afraid And to have sat his horse there listening to the Rengar's whisperings And trying to see through the shadows would have been to invite fear Of the sort that grows into panic The Rengar followed him close up And both horse and mare sensed excitement The mare's steel shoes sent up a shower of sparks And King turned to rebuke the Rengar Yet he did not speak Never in all the years he had known India and the borderland beyond Had he seen eyes so suggestive of a tiger's in the dark Yet they were not the same color as a tiger's Nor the same size nor the same shape Look, Sahib Look at what? Look! After a second or two he caught glimpse of a bluish flame That flashed suddenly and died again Somewhere below to the right Then all at once the flame burned brighter and steadier And began to move and to grow Halt! King thundered And his voice was as sharp and unexpected as a pistol crack This was something tangible that a man could tackle A perfect antidote for nerves The blue light continued on a zigzag course As if a man were running among boulders With an unusual sort of torch And as there was no answer, King drew his pistol Took about thirty seconds' aim and fired He fired straight at the blue light It vanished instantly into measureless black silence Now you've jolly well done it, haven't you? The Rengar laughed in his ear That was her blue light, Yasmineis It was a minute before King answered For both animals were all but frantic With their sense of their rider's state of mind It needed horsemanship to get them back under control How do you know whose light it was? King demanded When the horse and mare were head to head again It was prearranged She promised me a signal at the point Where I am to leave the track Where is that guide? demanded King And Dara Khan came forward out of the night With his rifle cocked and ready Did she not say Kingen is the destination? I, the fellow answered I know the way to Kingen, that is not it Get down there and find out what that light was Shout back what you find The man obeyed instantly and sprang down into darkness But King had hardly given the order When shame told him he had sent a native On an errand he had no liking for himself Come back! he shouted All go! But the man had gone, slipping noiselessly In the dark from rock to rock So King drove both spurs home And set his unwilling horse to scrambling downward At an angle he could not guess Into blackness he could feel Trusting the animal to find a footing Where his own eyes could make out nothing To his disgust he heard the rangar follow immediately To his even greater disgust The black mare overtook him And even then with his own mount stumbling And nearly pitching him head foremost at each lurch He was forced to admire the mare's goat-like agility For she descended into the gorge in running leaps Never setting a wrong foot When he and his horse reached the bottom at last He found the rangar waiting for him This way sahib The next he knew sparks from the black mare's heels Were kicking up in front of him And a wild riot had begun such as he had never yet dreamed of There was no catching up For the black mare could gallop too to his horse's wand But he set his teeth and followed into solid night Trusting ear, eye, guesswork, and the god of secret servicemen Who loves the reckless Once in a minute or so he would see a spark Or a shower of them Where the mare took a turn in a hurry Once in every two or three minutes He caught sight for a second of the same blue siren light That had started the race He suspected that there were many torches placed at intervals It could not be one man running More than once it occurred to him to draw and shoot But that thought died into the darkness once it came Never once while he rode did he forget to admire The rangar's courage or the black mare's speed His own horse developed a speed and stamina He had not suspected And probably the rangar did not dare extend the mare To her limit in the dark At all events for ten perhaps fifteen minutes Of breathless galloping he almost made a race of it Keeping the rangar either within sight or sound But then the mare swerved suddenly behind a boulder And was gone He spurred round the same great rock a minute later And was faced by a blank wall of shale That brought his horse up all standing It led steep up for a thousand feet to the skyline There was not so much as a goat track To show in which direction the mare had gone Nor a sound of any kind to guide him He dismounted and stumbled about on foot For about ten minutes with his eyes two feet from the earth Trying to find some trace of hoof Then he listened with his ear to the ground There was no result He knew better than to shout For that would sound like a cry of distress And there was no mercy whatever in the hills For lost wanderers or for men who seemed lost He had not a doubt there were men with long gazelles Lurking not far away to say nothing of those responsible For the blue torchlight After some thought he mounted And began to hunt the way back Remembering turns and twists with a gift for direction That natives might well have envied him He found his way back to the foot of the road at a trot Where ninety-nine men out of almost any hundred Would have been lost hopelessly And close to the road he overtook Dara Khan Hugging his rifle and staring about like a scorpion at bay Did you expect that blue light and this galloping away He asked Hey sahib, I knew nothing of it I was told to lead the way to Kinjin Come on then He set his horse at the boulder strewn slope And had to dismount to lead him At the end of half a minute At the end of a minute both he and the messenger Were hauling at the reins and the horse had grown Frantic from fear of falling backward He shouted for help and Ishmael and another man Came leaping down looking like the devils of the rocks To lend their strength Ishmael tightened his long girdle And stung the other two with whiplash words So that Dara Khan overcame prejudice To the point of stowing his rifle Between some rocks and lending a hand Then it took all four of them fifteen minutes To heave and haul the struggling animal To the level road above There with eyes long grown used to the dark King stared about him Recovering his breath and feeling in his pockets For a fresh charoute and matches He struck a match and watched it To be sure his hand did not shake Before he spoke Because one of Khakkar's rules Is that a man must command himself Before trying it on others Where are the others? He asked when he was certain of himself Gone Boomed Ishmael still panting For he had heaved and dragged more stately Than had all the rest together King took a dozen poles of the charoute And stared about again In the middle of the road stood his second horse And three mules with his baggage Including the unmarked medicine chest Close to them were three men Making the party now only six all told Including Dara Khan himself and Ishmael Gone wither he asked Wither? Ishmael's voice was eloquent of shocked surprise They followed Was it then thy baggage on the other mules? Were they thy men? They led the mules and went Who ordered them? Allah! Need the night be ordered to follow the day? Who told them wither to go? Who told the moon where the night was? Ishmael answered And thou? I am thy man She bade me be thy man And these? Try them! King bethought him of his wrist That was heavy with the weight of gold on it He drew back his sleeve and held it up May God be with thee! Boomed all five men at once And the Kyber Knight gave back their voices Like the echoing of a well King took his reins and mounted What now? Asked Ishmael Picking up the leather bag that he regarded As his own particular charge Forward! said King Come along! He began to set a fairly fast pace Ishmael leading the spare horse And the others towing the mules along Except for King, who was modern And out of the picture They looked like Old Testament patriarchs Hurrying out of Egypt As depicted in the illustrated Bibles Of a generation ago All leaning forward Each man carrying a staff And none looking to the right or left After a time the moon rose And looked at them from over a distant ridge There was thousands of feet higher Than the ragged fringe of the Kyber Wall The little mangy jackals threw up Their heads to howl at it And after that there was a pale light Diffused along the track And they could see so well That King set a faster pace And they breathed hard in the effort to keep up He did not draw rain until it was nearly Time for the past to begin narrowing And humping upward to the narrow gut At Ali Majid But then he halted suddenly The jackals had ceased howling And the very spirit of the Kyber Seemed to hold its breath and listen In that shuddersome ravine Unusual sounds will rattle along Sometimes from wall to wall And gully to gully Multiplying as they go Until night grows full of thunder So it was now that they heard A staccato cannonade Not very loud yet, but so quick So pulsating, so filling to the ears That he could judge nothing About the sound at all Except that whatever caused it Must be round a corner out of sight At first, for a few minutes King suspected it was Riba Gunja's mayor Galloping over hard rock Away ahead of him Then he knew it was a horse approaching After that he began nearly sure He was mistaken altogether And that the drums were being beaten At a village Until he remembered there was no village near enough And no drums in any case He rode, and of the lead one And the mules that announced at last Beyond all question That a horse was coming down the kyber in a hurry One of the mules braided until The whole gorge echoed with the insult And a man hit him hard on the nose To silence him King legged his horse into the shadow of a great rock And, after shepherding The man and mules into another shadow Ishmael came and held his stirrup With the leather bag in the other hand The bag fascinated him Because he did not know what was in it And it was plain that he meant to cling to it Until death or king Should put an end to curiosity King drew his pistol Ishmael drew in his breath with a hissing sound As if he and not king were the marksmen King notched the foresight Against the corner of a crag At a height that ought to be an inch or two Above an oncoming horse's ears And Ishmael nodded sagely Whoever now should gallop round that rock Would be obliged to cross the line of fire Such are the vagaries of the kyber's night echos That it was a long five minutes yet Before a man appeared at last Riding like the night wind On a horse that seemed to be very nearly On his last legs The beast was going wildly, sobbing With strangled ears Instead of speaking King spurred out of the shadow And blocked the oncoming horsemen's way Making his own horse meet the other Shoulder to breast Knocking most of the remaining wind Out of him At risk of his own life Ishmael seized the man's reins The sparks flew and there was a growled oath But the long and short of it was That the rider squinted uncomfortably Down the barrel of king's repeating pistol Give account of yourself Commanded king The man did not answer He was a jazelkey of the kyber rifles Hook-nosed as an osprey Black-bearded with white teeth Glistening out of a gap in the darkness Of his lower face And he was armed with a British government rifle Although that is no criterion In that borderland of professional thieves Where many a man has offered himself For enlistment with a stolen government rifle In his grasp The whaler he rode was an officer's Charger, the poor brute Sobbed and heaved and sweated in his Tracks as his rightful owner Surely had never made him do Wither, king demanded Jamrood The jazelkey ground the one word Answer with one eye on king But the other eye still squinted Down the pistol barrel warily Have you a letter? The man did not answer You may speak to me, I am of your regiment I am Captain King That is a lie and a poor one The fellow answered What a very little while ago I spoke with king Sahib in Ali Majid Fort And he is no captain He is Lefnit Therefore thou art a liar twice over Nay, three times Thou art no officer of Kyber Rifles I am a jazelkey And I know them all Nonetheless, said king I am an officer of the Kyber Rifles Newly appointed I asked you, have you a letter? I Let me see it Nay I order you Nay, I am a true man But the fellow shook his head Still eyeing the pistol As if it were a snake about to strike I have eaten the salt, he said May dogs eat me if I break faith Who art thou to ask me to break faith An officer? That must be a lie The letters from him who wrote it To whom I bear it And that is my answer if I die this minute King led his reins fall And raised his left wrist until the moonlight Glinted on the gold of his bracelet Under the jazelche's very eyes May God be with thee Said the man at once From whom is your letter and to whom Asking, wondering What the men in the clubs at home would say If they knew that a woman's bracelet Could outweigh authority on British sod For the Kyber Pass is as much British As the air is in Eagles Or Korea Japanese Or Panama, United States American And the Kyber jazelche's Are paid to help keep it so From the Carnal Sahib, Colonel At Lended Kotal Whose horse I ride Said the jazelche slowly To the officer At Jamrud To King Sahib, the officer At Ali Majid I bore a letter also And left it as I passed Had they no spare horses at Ali Majid That beast is foundered There are two horses there And both lame The man who thou sayest is thy brother Is heavy on horses King nodded What is in the letter, he asked Nay, have I eyes that can see through paper? Thou hast ears that can listen Answered King In the letter that I left at Ali Majid There is news of the Lashkar That is gathering in the hills Above Ali Majid and beyond Kinjin King Sahib is ordered to be awake And wary And to lame no more horses Jumping them over rocks? Nay, the Carnal Sahib said He is to ride after no more jackals With a spear. Same old game, King said to himself What knowest thou of the Lashkar That is gathering? I, oh a little, an uncle of mine And three half-brothers And a brother are of its number One came at night to tempt me to join But I have eaten the salt It was I who first warned Our Carnal Sahib Now let me by! Nay, wait! ordered King But he lowered his pistol-point To hold up a dispatch-rider Was about as irregular as any proceeding could be But it was within his province To find out how far the Kyberges Elchis Could be trusted And within his power more than to make up The lost time So that the irregularity did not trouble him much Does this other letter tell of the Lashkar too? Am I God That I should know? Of what else should the Carnal Sahib write? What is the object of the rising? King asked him next And the man threw his head back to laugh like a wolf Laughter at night in the Kyber Is an insult Ishmael chattered into his beard But King sat still Object? What but to force the Kyber And burst through into India and loot What but to plunder Now that the English backs are turned the other way? Who said their backs are turned? Demanded King Hahahaha Hear him The Kyber echoed the Makri away And away into the distance Their backs are this way and their faces that The kites know it The vultures know it The little jackals know it The little butchers in the valley villages All know it As the rocks and the grass The very water running from the hills They all know that the English fight for life And the Kyber Jizelchis What of them? King asked They know it better than any And? They make ready even as I For what? For what Allah shall decide We ate the salt we Jizelchis We chose and we ate of our own free will We have been paid the price we named In silver and rifles and clothing The officers The sarkar sent us Our men of faith who have made No trouble with our women What then should the Kyber Jizelchis Do? For a little while there will be fighting Or if we be very brave and our Officers skillful And Allah would feign see sport Then for a longer while Then we shall be overridden Then the Kyber will be a roaring river Of men pouring into India As my father's father told me That I had been born in Bin India shall bleed in these days But there will be fighting in the Kyber first And what of her? Of Yasmini, King asked Thou, where is that? And ask us what of her? Nay, tell! Should she order the Jizelchis To be false to the salt? Such a question! Men clucked into his beard And began to fidget in the saddle King gave him another view of the bracelet We other rifles have her leave To be loyal to the salt Or she said, otherwise How could we be true men? And she loves no liars From the first, when she first won Our hearts in the hills She gave us of the rifles leave To be true men first And her servants afterward We may love her as we do And yet fight against her if so Allah wills And she will yet love us Then I die here And very likely Thou too The man answered, bringing his rifle To the port in front of him so quickly That he almost had King at a disadvantage As it was King was quick enough to balance matters By covering him with the pistol again The horse in front of him The horse in front of him The horse in front of him The horse in front of him The horse in front of him The horse in front of him The horse in front of him The horse in front of him King took him king Then he went out and lost money And the blood of the whole So yeah Thou did you And then he got another Personnel where he was Then he left IMAGINE Okay good voice, and that would weedle secrets from the Sphinx. Her secrets are her own, and may Allah help her guard them. I will tear my tongue out first." "'Inviable woman,' murmured King. "'Pass, friend,' he ordered, reigning aside. Take my spare horse and leave me that weary one, so you will recover the lost time and moor into the bargain." The man changed horses gladly, saying nothing. When he had shifted the saddle and mounted, he began to ride off with a great air, not so much as daining to scallot Ishmael. But he had not ridden a dozen paces when he sat round in the saddle and drew rain. "'Sahib,' he called, "'Sahib!' King waited. He had waited for this very thing and could afford to wait a minute longer. "'Hast thou, is there? Does the Sahib?' "'I have not tasted.'" He made a sign with his hand that men recognized him pretty nearly every land under the sun. "'So,' laughed King, patting his hip pocket, from which the cap of a silver-topped flask had been protruding ever since he put the pistol out of sight. "'So our copper's hot, eh?' "'May Allah do more to me if my throat is not lined with the fires of Eblis!' "'But the Calamula,' King objected, "'What sayeth the Prophet?' "'The Prophet forbade the faithful to drink wine,' said the Giselchi. "'He said nothing about whiskey that I ever heard.'" "'Mine is brandy,' said King. "'May Allah bless the Sahib's sons and grandsons to the seventh generation. "'May Allah tell me about Yazmini first. Where is she?' "'Nay,' King tapped the flask in his pocket. "'Nay, my throat is dry, but it shall parched. "'I know not. As to where she is, I know not. "'Remember, and I will give you the whole of it.'" He drew the flask out of his pocket and rode a little way towards the man. "'None can overhear. Tell me now.'" "'Nay, Sahib, I am silent. Have you passed her on your way?' The man shook his head, shook it until the whites of his eyes were a streak in the middle of his dark face, and when a hillman is as vehement as that, he is surely lying. King set the flask to his own lips and drank a few drops. "'Salam, Sahib,' said the Gizelchi, wheeling his horse to ride away. King let him ride twenty paces before calling him to a halt. "'Come back,' he ordered and rode part of the way to meet him. "'I but tried, thee friend,' he said, holding out the flask. "'Allah then preserved me from a second test. The Gizelchi seized the flask, clapped it to his lips, and drained it to the last drop, while King sat still in the moonlight and smiled at him. "'God grant the giver peace,' he prayed, handing the flask back. The kindly east possesses no word for a thank you. Then he wheeled the horse in a sudden eddy as poloponies turned on the Indian plains and rode away down the wind as if the paths were full of devils in pursuit of him. King watched him out of sight and then listened until the hoofbeats died away and the paths grew still again. "'The Gizelchi's'll stand,' he said, lighting a new sheroot. "'Good men and good luck to him.' Then he rode back to his own men. "'Where starts the trail to Kinyan?' he asked. Not that he had forgotten it, but to learn who knew. "'This side of Ali Majid,' they all answered together. "'Two miles this side, more than a mile from here,' said Ishmael. "'What next? Shall we camp here?' "'Here is fuel and a little water. "'Give the word. "'Nay, forward,' ordered King. "'Forward,' growled Ishmael. "'With this man it is ever forward. "'Is there neither rest nor fear? "'Has she bewitched him? "'Hi, you lazy ones! "'Oh, sons of sloth! "'Earth the mules faster! "'Beat the lead horse!' So in weird wan moonlight, King led them forward, straight up the narrowing gorge between cliffs that seemed to fray the very bosom of the sky. "'He smoked a cigar and stared at the view, "'as if he were off to the mountains for a month's sport, "'with dependable Shakaris whom he knew. "'Nobody could have looked at him "'and guessed he was not enjoying himself.' "'That man,' mumbled Ishmael behind him, "'is not as other Sahibs I have known. "'He is a man this one. "'He will do unexpected things.' "'Forward,' King called to them, "'thinking they were grumbling. "'Forward, men of the hills! "'End of chapter, read by Brett Downey.'"