 CHAPTER XVI. WOLF MET WOLF in the dawning day, where scent hung sweet over trodden clay, and square each stood in the jungle way, eyeing the other with ears laid back. Still were the watchers, when foe greets foe, the wisest are quietest, better to go, who stays to watch trouble, woos trouble, but lo, they trotted together to hunt one doe, eyeing each other with ears laid back. When king awoke he lay on a comfortable bed in a cave he had never yet seen, but there was no trace of Yasmini, nor of the men who must have carried him to it. Barbaric splendor, and splendor that was not, by any means barbaric, lay all about, tiger-skins, ivory-legged chairs, graven bronze vases, and a yak-hair shawl worth a rajah's ransom. The cave was spacious and not gloomy, for there was a wide door apparently unguarded, and another square opening cut in the rock to serve as a window, through both openings light streamed in like taunt threads of Yasmini's golden hair, strings of a golden zither on which his own heart's promptings played a tune. He had no idea how long he had slept, but judged from memory of his former need of sleep and recognition of his present freshness, and from the fact that it was a morning sun that shone through the openings that he must have slept the clock round. It did not matter. He knew it did not matter in the least. He had no more plan than a mathematician has who starts to solve a problem, knowing that twice two is four an infinite combination. Like the mathematician, he knew that he must win. No man ever won a battle or conceived a stroke of statesmanship, no great deed was ever accomplished without a first taste of the triumphant foreknowledge, such as comes only to men who have digged hard, hewing to the line loyal to first principles. King had been loyal all his life. The difference between first principles and the other thing could hardly be better illustrated than by comparing Yasmini's position with his. From her point of view, he had no ground to stand on, unless he should choose to come and stand on hers. She had men, ammunition, information. He had what he stood in, and his only information had been poured into his ears for her ends. Yet his heart sang inside him now, and he trusted it because that singing never had deceived him. He did not believe she would have left him alone at that state of affairs unless through overconfidence. And it is one of the absolute laws that overconfidence begets blindness and mistakes. She had staked on what seemed to her the certainty of India's rising at the first signal of a holy war. She believed from close acquaintance that India was utterly disloyal, having made a study of disloyalty. And having read history, she knew that many a conqueror has staked on such cards as hers to win for lack of a better man to take the other side. The king had studied loyalty all his life, and he knew that besides being the home of moneylenders, thugs, and murderers, India is the very motherland of chivalry, that besides sedition she breeds gentlemen with stout hearts, that in addition to what one Christian book calls whoring after strange gods, India strives after purity. He knew that India's ideals are all imperishable and her crimes but a kaleidoscopic phase. Not that he was analyzing thoughts just then, he was listening to the still, small voice that told him half of his purpose was accomplished. He had probed Kenjin caves, and knew the whole purpose for which the lawless thousands had been gathering and were gathering still. Remained to thwart that purpose, and he had no more doubt of there being a means to thwart it than a mathematician has of the result of two times two applied. Like a mathematician, he did not waste time and confuse issues by casting too far ahead, but began to devote himself steadily to the figures nearest. Nuts are not untied by wholesale, but are conquered strand by strand. He began at the beginning, where he stood. He became conscious of human life nearby and tiptoe to the door to look. A six foot ledge of smooth rock ended just at the door and sloped in the other direction sharply, downward towards another opening in the cliffside, three or four hundred yards away and two hundred feet lower down. Behind him in a corner at the back of the cave was a narrow fissure, hung with a leather curtain that was doubtless the door into Kenjin's heart. But the only way to the outer air was along that ledge above a dizzying precipice, so high that the huge waterfall looked like a little stream below. He was in a very eagle's eerie. The upper rim of Kenjin's gorge seemed not more than a quarter of a mile above him. Around the corner, ten feet from the entrance, stood a guard, armed to the teeth, with a rifle, a sword, two pistols, and a long curved kyber knife, stuck handy in his girdle. He spoke to the man and received no answer. He picked up a splint of rock and threw it. The fellow looked at him then. He spoke again. The man transferred his rifle to the other hand and made signs with his free fingers. King looked puzzled. The man opened his mouth and showed that his tongue was missing. He had been made dumb, as pegs are made to fit square holes. King went in again to wait on events and shudder. Nor did he have to wait long. There came a sound of grunting up the rock path. Then footsteps. Then a hoarse voice growling orders. He went out again to look and beheld a little procession of women led by a man. The man was armed, but the women were burdened with his own belongings, the medicine chest, his saddle and bridle, his unrifled mule pack, and wonder of wonders. The presents King and sick had given him, including money and weapons. They came past the dumb man on guard and laid them all at King's feet just inside the cave. He smiled with that genial, face-transforming smile of his that has so often melted a road for him through sullen crowds. But the man in charge of the women did not grin. He was suffering. He growled at the women and they went away like obedient animals to sit halfway down the ledge and await further orders. He himself made as if to follow them, and the dumb man on guard did not pay much attention. He let the women and man pass behind him, stepping one pace forward towards the edge to make more room. That was his last entirely voluntary act in this world. With a suddenness that disarmed all opposition, the other humped himself against the wall and bucked into the dumb man's back, sending him, weapons and all, hurtling over the precipice. With a wild effort to recover and avenge himself and do his duty, the victim fired his rifle that was already cocked. The bullet struck the rock above and either split or shook a great fragment loose, that hurtled down after him so that he and the stone made a race of it for the waterfall and the caverns into which the water tumbled, thousands of feet away. The other ruffians spat after him and then walked back to where King stood. Now heal me, my boils! Many said, grinning at last, doubtless from pleasure at the prospect. He was the same man who had stood on guard at the guest cave when Ishmael led King out to see the cavern of earth's drink. The temptation was to fling the brute after his victim. The temptation always is to do the wrong thing, to cap wrath with wrath in justice with vengeance. That way wars began and are never ended. King beckoned him into the cave and bent over the chest of medical supplies. Then finding the light better for his purpose at the entrance, he called the man back and made him sit down on the box. The business of lancing boils is not especially edifying in itself, but that particular minor operation probably saved India. But for hope of it, the man with boils would never have stood two turns running on guard and let the relief sleep on. So he would not have been on duty when the message came to carry King's belongings to his new cave of residence. There would have been no object in killing the dumb man and so there would have been an expert with a loaded rifle to keep Muhammad Anim lurking down the trail. Muhammad Anim came, like the devil to scotch King's faith. He had followed the women with the loads. He stood now like a big bear on a mountain track, swaying his head from side to side six feet away from King, watching the boils succumb to treatment. He grunted when the job was finished and King jumped, nearly driving the lance into a new place in his patient's neck. Let him go, growled Muhammad Anim. Go thou, stand guard over the women until I come. The mula turned a rifle this way and that in his paws, like a great bear dancing. The Masudi with a sore neck could have shot him perhaps, but there are men with whom only the bravest dare try conclusions. In the cold great dawn it would have needed a martinet to make a firing squad do execution on Muhammad Anim, even with his hands tied and his back against a wall. A man whose boils had just been lanced was no match for him at all, even in broad daylight. The hillmen slunk away and did as he was told. What meant thy message? growled the mula. There came a baton to me in the cavern of earth's drink, with word that yonder sits a hakeem. What of it? King had almost forgotten the message he had sent to Muhammad Anim in the cavern of earth's drink. But that was not why his eyes looked past the mulas now, nor why he did not answer. The mula did not look round, for he knew what was happening. The very Araksai Baton, who had sat next to King in the cavern of earth's drink, and who had carried the message for him, was creeping up behind the women, and already had his rifle leveled at the man with boils. I said the mula, watching King's eyes. He has done well, and the road is clear. The man with boils offered no fight. He dropped his rifle and threw his hands up. In a moment the Araksai Baton was in command of two rifles, holding them in one hand, and nodding and making signs to King from among the women, whom he seemed to regard as his plunder too. The women appeared supremely indifferent in any event. King nodded back to him, a friend is a friend in the hills, and rare is the man who spares his enemy. Why send that message to me? asked Muhammad Anim. Why not? asked King. If none know where the hakeem is, how shall the hakeem earn a living? None comes to earn a living in the hills. Grow the mula, swaying his head slowly and devouring King with cruel, calculating eyes. Why art thou here? I slew a man, said King. Thou liest. It was my men who got the head that let thee in. Speak, why art thou here? But King did not answer. The mula resumed. He who brought me the message yesterday says he has it from another, who had it from a third, that thou art here because she plans a simultaneous rising in India, and thou art from the Punjab, where the Sikhs all the way to rise. Is that true? Thy man said it, answered King. What sayest thou? the mula asked. I say nothing, said King. Then hear me, said the mula. Listen now. But he did not begin to speak yet. He tried to see past King into the cave and peer about into the shadows. Where is she? he asked. Her man Rewa Gunja went yesterday, with three men and a letter to carry, down the Khyber. But where is she? So he HAD slept the clock round. King did not answer. He blocked the way into the cave and looked past the mula at a sight that fascinated, as a serpent's eyes are said to fascinate a bird. But the mula, who knew perfectly well what must be happening, did not trouble to turn his head. The Iraq side patan crouched among the women, and the women grinned. The Masudi, having surrendered, and considering himself therefore absolved from further responsibility, at least for the present, spat over the precipice and fingered gingerly the sore place where his boils had been. He yawned and dropped both hands to his side, and it was at that instant that the patan sprang at him. With arms like the jaws of a vice, he pinned the Masudis to his side and lifted him from off his feet. The fellow screamed, and the patan shouted, Oh! But he did no murder yet. He let his victim grow fully conscious of the fate in store for him, holding him so that his frantic kicks were squandered on thin air. He turned him slowly until he was upside down, and so, perpendicular, face outward, he hoeved him forward like a dead log. He stood and watched his victim fall two or three thousand feet before troubling to turn and resume both rifles, and it was not until then as if he had been mentally conscious of each move that the mula turned to look and seeing only one man nodded. Good, he grunted, Shabash! Well done. Then he turned his head to stare into King's face, with a scrutiny of a trader appraising loot. Fire leaped up behind his calculating eyes, and without a word passing between them, King knew that this man, as well as Yezmini, was in possession of the secret of the sleeper. Perhaps he knew it first. Perhaps she snatched the keeping of the secret from him. At all events, he knew it and recognized King's likeness to the sleeper, for his eyes betrayed him. He began to stroke his beard monotonously with one hand. The rifle that he pretended to be holding really leaned against his back, and with the free hand he was making signals. King knew well he was making signals, but he knew, too, that in Yezmini's power, her prisoner, he had no chance at all of interfering with her plans. Having grounded on the bottom of impotence, so to speak, any tide that would take him off must be a good tide. He pretended to be aware of nothing, and to be particularly unaware that the baton, with a rifle in each hand, was pretending to come casually up the path. In a minute he was covered by a rifle. In another minute the mula had lashed his hands. In five minutes more the women were loaded again, with his belongings, and they were all halfway down the track in single file, the mula bringing up the rear, descending backward with the rifle ready against surprise, as if he expected Yezmini and her men to pounce out at any minute to the rescue. They entered a tunnel and wound along it, stepping at short intervals over the bodies of three stabbed sentries. The baton spun them with his heel as he passed. In the glare at the tunnel's mouth, King tripped over the body of a fourth man, and fell with his chin beyond the edge of a sheer precipice. They were on a ledge above the waterfall again, having come through a projection on the cliff side, where Kenjin is all rat runs and projections, like a sponge or a hornet's nest on a titanic scale. The baton laughed and came back to gather him like a sheaf of corn. The great smelly ruffian hugged him to himself as he set him on his feet. Ah, the hakeem, he grinned. There is no pain in my shoulder at all. Ask me another favor when the time comes. Hey, but I am sick of Kenjin. He gave King a shove along the path in the general direction of the mula. Then he seized the dead body by the legs and hurled it like a slingshot, watching it with a grin as it fell in a wide parabola. After that he took the dead man's rifle and those of the three other dead men that he had hidden in a crevice in the rock and loaded them all on a woman in addition to King's saddle that she already carried. Come, he said, hurry or bull with a beard yonder will remember us again. I love him best when he forgets. They soon reached another cave at which the mula stopped. It was a dark, ill-smelling hole, but he ordered King into it and the baton after him on guard, after first seeing the women pile all their loads inside. Then he took the women away and went off muttering to himself, swaggering, swinging his right arm as he strode in a way few natives do. Let us hope he has forgotten these, the baton grinned, touching the pile of rifles. Wait for wait in silver. They bring me a fine price. He may forget, he dreams, for a mula he cares less for meat and money than any I ever saw. He is mad, I think. It is my opinion Allah touched him. What is that under thy shirt? King asked. The baton grinned and undid the button. There was a second shirt underneath and to that on the left breast were pinned two British medals. Oh, yes, he laughed. I served the Raj. I was in the army eleven years. Why did you leave it? King asked, remembering that this man loved to hear his own voice. Oh, I had a furlough and the bastard who stood next to me in the ranks was the son of a dog with whom my father had a blood feud. The blind fool did not know me. He received his furlough on the same day as I. I would not lay a finger on him on that side of the border, for we ate the same salt. I knifed him this side of the border. It was no affair of the British. But I was seen and I fled. And having slain a man and having no doubt a report had gone back to my regiment, I entered this place, except for a raid now and then to cool my blood I have been here ever since. It is a devil of a place. Now the art of ruling India consists not in treading barefooted on scorpions, not in virtuous indignation at men who know no better, but in seeking for and making much of the goal that lies ever amid the dross. There is gold in the character of any man who once passed the grilling test before enlistment in a British Indian regiment. It may need experience to lay a finger on it, but it is surely there. I heard, said King, as it came towards the Khyber in great haste, for the police were at my heels. Ah, the police! The baton grinned pleasantly. The inference was that at some time or other he had left his mark on the police. I heard, said King, that men are flocking back to their old regiments. Ah, but not men with a price on their heads, little Hakim. I could not say, said King, to seem to know too much is as bad as to drink too much. But I heard say that the Sarkar has offered pardons to all deserters who return. Ha! The Sarkar must be afraid. The Sarkar needs men. For myself, said King, a whole skin in the hills seems better than one full of bullet holes in India. Ha! But thou art a Hakim, not a soldier. True, said King. Tell me that again. Free pardons? Free pardons for all deserters? So I heard. Ah, but I was seen to slay a man of my own regiment. On this side of the border or that? King asked artfully. On this side? Ah, but you are seen. Aye, but that is no man's business. In India, I earned my salt. I obeyed the law. There is no law here in the hills. I am minded to go back and seek that pardon. It would feel good to stand in the rank again, with a stiff back sahib out in front of me, and the thunder of the gunwheels going by. The salt was good. Come thou with me. Pardon is for deserters, King objected, not for political offenders. Ha! Said the baton, bringing down his flat hand hard on the Hakim's thigh. I will attend to that for thee. I will obtain my pardon first. Then I will lead thee by the hand to the carnal sahib, and lie to him and say, this is the one who persuaded me against my will to come back to the regiment. And he will believe. Nay, I would be afraid, said King. Would a pardon not be good? The baton asked him. A pardon and a leave to swagger through the bazaars again, and make trouble with the daughters and wives of fat traitors. A pardon. Allah! It would be good to salute the carnal sahib again, and see him raise a finger thus, and to have the captain sahib call me a scoundrel, or some worse name if he loves me very much, for the English are a strange race. Thou art a dreamer, said King. Untie my hands, the thong cuts me. The baton obeyed. Dreamer am I? It is good to dream such dreams. By Allah! I am a mind to see that dream come true. I never slew a man on Indian soil, only in these hills. I will go to them, and say, here I am. I am a deserter. I seek that pardon. Truly I will go. Come thou with me, little Akim. Nay, said King, I have another thought. What then? You who are seen to slay a man a yard this side of the border. Nay, half a mile this side. Half a mile then. You who are seen to slay a fellow soldier of your regiment, and I whom a political offender, do not win pardons so easily as that. Would they hang us? That was the first squeamishness the baton had shown of any kind, but men of his race would rather be tortured to death than hanged in a merciful hempen noose. They would hang us, said King, unless we came bearing gifts. Gifts? Has Allah touched thee? What gifts should we bring? A dozen stolen rifles, a bag of silver? And I am a dreamer, am I? Nay, said King. I am the dreamer. I have seen a good vision. Well? There are others in these hills. Others in Kingen who wear British medals. The baton nodded. How many? Asked King. Hundreds. Men fight first on one side, then on the other, being true to either side while the contract lasts. In all, there must be the makings of many regiments among the hills. King nodded. He himself had seen the chieftains come to parley after the Tira war. Most of them had worn British medals and had worn them proudly. If we too, he said, speaking slowly, could speak with some of those men and stir the spirit in them and persuade them to feel as thou dost, mentioning the pardon for deserters and the probability of bonuses to the time expired for reenlistment. If we could march down the kyber with a hundred such or even with fifty or with twenty-five or with a dozen men, we would receive our pardon for the sake of service rendered. Good! The baton thumped him on the back so hard that his eyes watered. We would have to use much caution, King advised him when he was able to speak again. Aye, if Bull with a beard cut wind of it, he would have us crucified. And if she heard of it, he was silent. Apparently, there were no words in his tongue that could compass his dread of her revenge. He was silent for ten minutes. The king sat still beside him, letting memory of other days do its work, memory of the long, clean regimental lines, and of order and decency, and of justice handed out to all in sundry by gentlemen who did not think themselves too good to wear a native regiment's uniform. In two days I could do the drill again as well as ever! He said at last. Then there was silence again for fifteen minutes more. I could always shoot. He murmured. I could always shoot. When Mohammed Anim came back, they had both forgotten to replace the lashing on King's wrist, but the mullah seemed not to notice it. Come! He ordered, with a sidewise jerk of his great ugly head, and then stood muttering impatiently while they obeyed. He had twice the number of women with him, but none of them the same, and he had brought five ruffians to guard them who pounced on the captured rifles and claimed one apiece to the baton's loud, growled disgust. Then the women were made to gather up King's belongings, and at a word from the mullah, they started in single file, the mullah leading, then two men, then King, then the Iraq side baton, and then the other three. The baton began to whisper busily to the man next behind, and noticing that, King looked straightforward and contented himself. His heart was singing within him unexplainably. He wanted to sing and dance, as once David did before the ark. He did not feel in the least like a prisoner. They marched downward through the interminable tunnels and along ledges poised between earth and heaven, till they came at last to the tunnel leading to the one entrance into Kinjin caves. Just before they entered it, two more of the mullah's men came up with them, leading horses. One horse was for the mullah, and they helped King mount the other, showing him more respect than is usually shown a prisoner in the hills. Then the mullah led the way into the tunnel, and he seemed in deadly fear. The echo of the hoofbeats irritated him. He eyed each hole in the roof, as if Yezmini might be expected to shoot down at him, or drench him with boiling oil, and hurried past each of them at a trot, only to reign in immediately afterwards, because the noise was too great. It became evident that his men had been at work here too, for intervals along the passage lay dead bodies. Yezmini must have posted the men there, but where was she? Each of them lay dead with a knife wound in his back, and the mullah's men possessed themselves of rifles and knives and cartridges, wiping off blood that had scarcely cooled yet. When they came to the end of the tunnel, it was to find the door into the mosque open in front of them, and 20 more of Muhammad Anim's men standing guard over the eyelashless mullah. They had bound and gagged him. At a word from Muhammad Anim, they loosed him, and at a threat the hairless one gave a signal that brought the great stone door sliding forward on its oiled bronze grooves. Then with a dozen jests thrown to the hairless one for consolation, and an utter indifference to the sacredness of the mosque floor, they sought outer air, and Muhammad Anim led them up the street of the dwellings toward Kenjin's outer ramparts. They reached the outer gate without incident and hurried into the great dry valley beyond it. As they rode across the valley, the mullah thumbed a long string of beads. Unlike Yezmini, he was praying to one God, but he seemed to have many prayers. His back was a picture of determined treachery. The backs of his men were expressions of the creed that, he shall keep who can. King rode all but last now and had a good view of their unconsciously vaunted blaggardism. There was not a hint of honor or tenderness among the lot, man, woman, or mullah. It is heart sang within him as if he were riding to his own marriage feast. Last of all, close behind him, marched his friend, the Iraq side Pathan. And as they picked their way among the boulders across the mile wide moat, the two contrived to fall a little to the rear. The Pathan began speaking in a whisper and King, riding with lowered head as if he were studying the dangerous track, listened with both ears. She sent her man Rewa Gunja towards the kyber with a message, he whispered. He took a few men with him and he is to send them with the message when they reach the kyber, but he is to come back. All he went for is to make sure the message is not intercepted for bull with a beard is growing reckless these days. He knew what was doing and said at once that she is treating with the British, but there were few who believed that. There are more who wonder where she hides while the message is on its way. None has seen her. Men have swarmed into the cavern of earth's drink and howled for her, but she did not come. Then the Mullah went to look for his ammunition that he stored and sealed in a cave and it was gone. It was all gone and there was no proof of who had taken it. Hakim, there be some who say and bull with a beard is one of them that she is afraid and hides. Men say she fears vengeance for the stolen ammunition because it was plenty for a conquest of India. So men say, so say these here for I have asked them. And thou, asked King, struggling to keep the note of exultation from his voice, he did not believe she was hiding. She might be staring into a crystal in some secret cave. She might be planning new mischief of any kind but afraid she surely was not. And just as surely he could vow she was working out her own undoing. I, said the baton, I swear she is afraid of nothing. If she has taken all the ammunition then we shall hear from it again and from her too. And what of me, asked King. What will the Mullah do with me? His men say he is desperate. His owner losing faith in him. He snatched thee to be a bait for her, having it in mind that a man whom she hides in her private part of Kinjin must be of great value to her. He is sworn to have thee skinned alive on a hot rock should she fail to come to terms. That being not such a comforting reflection, King rode in silence for a while with the baton trudging solemnly beside his stirrup, keeping semblance of guard over him. When they reached the steep escarpment he had to dismount. Although the Mullah in the lead tried to make his own beast carry him up the lower spur and was mad, angry with his men for laughing when the horse fell back with him. Far in the rear King and the baton shoved and hauled and nearly lost their horse a dozen times at that. But once at the top the Mullah set a furious pace and the laden women panted in their efforts to keep up, the men taking less notice of them than if they had been animals. The march went on in single file until the sun died down and splendid fury. Then there began to be a wind that they had to lean against but the women were allowed no rest. At last at a place where the trail began to widen the Mullah beckoned King to ride beside him. It was not that he wished to be communicative but there were things King knew that he did not know and he had his own way of asking questions. "- Damned Hakeem!" he growled. "- Pill man, polter sir, that is a sweeper's trade of thine. Thou shalt apply it at my camp. I have some wounded and some sick." King did not answer but buttoned his coat closer against the keen wind. The Mullah mistook the shutter for one of another kind. "- Did she choose the only for thy face?" he asked. "- Did she not consider thy courage? Does she love thee well enough to ransom thee?" Again King did not answer but he watched the Mullah's face keenly in the dark and missed nothing of its expression. He decided the man was in doubt, even wracked by indecision. "- Should she not ransom thee, Hakeem? Thou shalt have a chance to show my men how a man out of India can die. By and by I will lend thee a messenger to send her. Better make the message clear and urgent. Thou shalt state my terms to her and plead thine own cause in the same letter. My camp lies yonder." He motioned with one sweep of his arm towards a valley that lay in a shadow far below them. As far as the slope leading down to it was visible in the moonlight, it was littered with what the hills call hellstones that will neither lie flat nor keep on rolling and are dangerous to man and beast alike. Nothing else could be made out through the darkness but a few twisted tamarisk trees that served to make the savagery yet more savage and the loneliness more desolate. The gloom below the trees was that of the very under depths of hell itself. The Mullah pointed to a rock that rose like a shadow from the deeper blackness. "- Yes," said King, "- I have seen." And the Mullah stared at him. Then he shouted and the top of the rock turned into a man who gave them leave to advance, leaning on his rifle as one who had assured himself of their identity long minutes ago. As they approached it, the rock clove in two and became two great pillars with a man on each. And between the pillars, they looked down into a valley lit by fires that burned before a thousand hide tents with shadows by the hundred flitting back and forth between them. A dull roar like the voice of an army rose out of the gorge. "- More than four thousand men," said the Mullah proudly. "- What are four thousand for a raid into India?" Sneered King greatly daring. "- Wait and see." Grav the Mullah, but he seemed depressed. He led the way downward, getting off his horse and giving the reins to a man. King copied him and partway sliding, part stumbling down, they found their way along the dry bed of a water course between two spurs of a hillside until they stood at last in the midst of a cluster of a dozen centuries, close to a tamarisk to which a man's body hung spiked, that the man had been spiked to it alive was suggested by the body's attitude. Without a word to the centuries, the Mullah led on down a lane through the midst of the camp, toward a great open cave at the far side in which a bonfire cast fitful light and shadow. Watchers sitting by the thousand tents yonder them, but took no particular notice. The mouth of the cave was like a lion's fringed with teeth. There were men in it, 10 or 11 of them, all armed, squatting round the fire. Get out! Grav the Mullah, but they did not obey. They sat and stared at him. Have you tense? The Mullah asked in a voice like thunder. Aye! But they did not go yet. One of the men, he nearest the Mullah, got on his feet, but he had to step back a pace for the Mullah would not give ground and their breath was in each other's faces. Where are thy bombs? And the rifles? And the many cartridges? He demanded. We have waited long, Muhammad, on him. Where are they now? The others got up to lend the first man encouragement. They leaned on rifles and surrounded the Mullah so that King could only get a glimpse of him between them. They seemed in no mood to be treated cavalierly, in no mood to be argued with, and the Mullah did not argue. Ye dogs! He growled at them and strode through them to the fire and chose himself a good, thick burning brand. Ye sons of nameless mothers! Then he charged them suddenly, beating them over the head and face and shoulders, driving them in front of him, utterly reckless of their rifles. His own rifle lay on the ground behind him and King kicked at stock, clear of the fire. Oh, I shall pray for you this night. Muhammad, on him snarled. What a curse I shall beg for you! Oh, what a burning of the bows ye shall have! What a sickness! What running of the eyes! What sores! What boils! What sleepless nights and faithless women shall be yours! What a prayer I will pray to Allah! They scattered into outer gloom before his rage and then came back to kneel to him and beg him withdraw his curse. He kicked them as they knelt and drove them away again. Then, silhouetted in the cave mouth with the glow of the fire behind him, he stood with folded arms and dared them shoot. He lacked little in that minute of being a full-grown brute at bay. King admired him with reservations. After five minutes of angry contemplation of the camp, he turned on a contemptuous heel and came back to the fire, throwing on more fuel from a great pile in a corner. There was an iron pot in the embers. He seized a stick and stirred the contents furiously, then set the pot between his knees and ate like an animal. He passed the pot to King when he had finished, but fingers had passed too many times through what was left in it and the very thought of eating the mess made his gorge rise. So King thanked him and set the pot aside. Then, That is thy place. Muhammad on him growled, pointing over his shoulder to a ledge of rock like a shelf in the far wall. There was a bed on it of cotton blankets stuffed with dried grass. King walked over and felt the blankets and found them warm from the last man who had lain there. They smelt of him too. He lifted them and laughed. Taking the hole in both hands, he carried it to the fire and threw it in, and the sudden blaze made the Mullah draw away a yard, but it did not make him speak. Bugs! King explained, but the Mullah showed no interest. He watched, however, as King went back to the bed and subsequent proceedings seemed to fascinate him. Out of the chest that one of the women had set down, King took soap. There was a pitcher of water between him and the fire. He carried it nearer. With an improvised scrubbing brush of twigs, he proceeded to scrub every inch of the rock shelf, and when he had done and dried it, more or less, he stripped and began to scrub himself. Who taught thee thy squeamishness? The Mullah asked at last, getting up and coming nearer. It was well that King's skin was dark, although it was many shades lighter than his face that had been stained so carefully. The Mullah eyed him from head to foot and looked awfully suspicious, but something prompted King and he answered without an instant's hesitation. Why ask a woman's questions, he retorted. Only women ask when they know the answer. When I watched thee with the firebrand a short while ago, oh Mullah, I mistook thee for a man. The Mullah grunted and began to tug his beard, but King said no more and went on washing himself. I forgot, said the Mullah then, that thou art her pet. She would not love thee unless thy smell was sweet. No, said King quite cheerfully, going it blind, for he did not know what had possessed him to take that line, but he knew he might as well be hanged for sheep as for a lamb. No, if I stank like thee, she would not love me. The Mullah snorted and went back to the fire, but he took King's cake of soap with him and sat examining it. Tawah! He swore suddenly as if he had made a gruesome discovery. Such filthy stuff is made from the fat of pigs. Doubtless, said King. That is why she uses it and why I use it. She is a better Muhammaden than thou. She would surely cleanse her skin with the fat of pigs. Thou art a shameless one, said the Mullah, shaking his head like a bear. I am what Allah made me, answered King. And then for the sake of the impression, he went through the outward form of Muslim prayer, spreading a mat and omitting none of the genuflections. When he had finished, he unfolded his own blankets that a woman had thrown down beside the chest and spread them carefully on the rock shelf. But though he was allowed to climb up and lie there, he was not allowed to sleep, nor did he want to sleep for more than an hour to come. The Mullah came over from the fire again and stood beside him, glaring like a great animal and grumbling in his beard. Does she surely love thee? He asked at last and King nodded because he knew he was on the trail of information. So thou art to ape the sleeper in his bronze mail, eh? Thou art to come to life, as she was said to come to life. And the two of you are to plunder India, is that it? King nodded again, for a nod is less committal than a word, and the nod was enough to start the Mullah off again. I saw the sleeper and his bride before she knew of either. It was I who let her into Kinjin. It was I who told the men she is the heart of the hills come to life. She tricked me, but this is no hour for bearing grudges. She has a plan and I am minded to help. King lay still and looked up at him, sure the treachery was the ultimate end of any plan the Mullah Mohammed Anim had. India had been saved by the treachery of her enemies more often than ruined by false friends. So has the world for that matter. A jihad when the right hour comes will raise the tribes, the Mullah growed. She and thou, as the sleeper and his mate, could work wonders, but who can trust her? She stole that head. She stole all the ammunition. Does she surely love thee? King nodded again, for monesty could not help him at that juncture. Love and boastfulness go together in the hills. She shall have thee back then at a price. King did not answer. His brown eyes watched the Mullahs and he drew his breath in little jerks. Lest by breathing aloud, he should miss one word of what was coming. She shall have thee back against Kinjin and the ammunition. She and thou shall have India, but I shall be the power behind you. She must give me Kinjin and the ammunition. She must admit me to the inner caves whence her damned guards expelled me. I must have the reins in my two hands so. Then thou and she shall have the pomp and glitter while I guide. King did not answer. Just understand. King murmured something unintelligible. Otherwise I and my men will storm Kinjin and she and thou shall go down into earth's drink, lash together. King shuddered, not because he felt afraid, but because some instinct told him to make the Mullah think him afraid. He was far too interested to be fearful. Ye shall both be tortured before the plunge into the river. She shall be tortured in the cavern of earth's drink before the men. King shuddered again, this time without an effort. He could imagine the thousands watching grimly while the flayer used his knife. I have men in Kinjin. I have as many as she. On the day I march there will be a revolt within. She would better agree to terms. King lay looking at him like a prisoner on the rack undergoing examination. He did not answer. Write thou a letter. Since she loves thee, state thine own case to her. Tell her that I hold the hostage and that Kinjin is mine already for a little fighting. In a month she cannot pick out my men from among her own. Her position is undermined. Tell her that. Tell her that if she obeys, she shall have India and be queen. If she disobeys, she shall die in the cavern of earth's drink. She is the proud woman, Mula, answered King, threats to such as she. The Mula mumbled and strode back and forth three times between King's bed and the fire with his fist knotted together behind him and his head bent as Napoleon used to walk. When he stood beside the bed again at last it was with his mind made up as his clenched fist and eyes indicated. Make thine own terms with her, he growled. Write the letter and send it. I hold thee. She holds Kinjin and the ammunition. I am between her and India, so be it. She shall starve in there. She shall lie in there until the war is over and take what terms are offered her in the end. Write thine own letter, state the case and bid her answer. Very well, said King. He began to see now definitely how India was to be saved. It was none of his business to plan yet, but to help others' plans destroy themselves and to sow such seed in the broken ground as might bear fruit in time. The Mula left him to squat and gaze into the fire and mutter and King lay still. After a while the Mula went and carried a great water bowl near to the fire and, as King had done, stripped himself. Then he heaped great faggots on the fire, wasteful faggots, each of which had cost some woman hours of mountain climbing. And in the glow of the leaping flame he scrubbed himself from head to foot with King's soap. Finally, with a feat of strength that nearly forced an exclamation out of King, he lifted the great water bowl in both hands and emptied the whole contents over himself. Then he resumed his smelly garments without troubling to dry his body and got out a Koran from a corner and began to read it in a nasal sing song that would have kept dead men awake. King lay and watched and listened. Reading scripture only seemed to fire the Mula's veins. For him sleep was either out of reach or despicable, perhaps both. He seemed in a mood to despise anything but conquest and strode back and forth up and down the cave like a caged bear muttering to himself. After a time he went to the mouth of the cave to stand and stare out at the camp where the thousand fires were dying fitfully and wood smoke purged the air of human nastiness. The stars looked down on him and he seemed to try to read them, standing with fist knotted together at his back. And as he stood so, six other Mulas came to him and began to argue with him in low tones. He brow-beating them all with furious words, hissed between half-closed teeth. They were whispering still when King fell asleep. It was courage, not carelessness, that let him sleep. Courage and a great hope born of the Mula's perplexity. He dreamed that he was writing, writing, writing while the torturers made a hot fire ready in the cavern of earth's drink and wetted knives on the bridge end while the organ played the Marseilles. He dreamed Yesmini came to him and whispered the solution to it all, but what she whispered he could not catch, although she whispered the same words again and again and seemed to be angry with him for not listening. And when he awoke at last, he had fragments of his blanket in either hand and the sun was already shining into the jaws of the cave. Camp was alive and reeked of cooking food, but the Mula was gone and so was all the money the women had brought together with his medicines and things from Kinjin. End of chapter, recording by Brett Downey. Chapter 17 of King of the Kyber Rifles by Talbot Mundy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Brett Downey. When the last evil jest has been made and the rest of the ink of hypocrisy spilt, when the awfully right have elected to fight, lest their own should discover their guilt. When the door has been shut on the if and the but and it's up to the men with the guns, on their knees in that day, let Diplomatus pray for forgiveness from prodigal sons. Instead of the Mula growling texts out of a Quran on his lap, the Raksa-Patan sat and sunned himself in the cave mouth, emitting worldly or wisdom unadulterated with divinity. As King went toward him to see to whom he spoke, he grinned and pointed with his thumb and King looked down on some sick and wounded men who sat in a crowd together on the ramp, 10 feet or so below the cave. They seemed stout, soldierly fellows, men of another type were being kept at a distance by dint of argument and threats. Away in the distance was Mohammed Anim with his broad back turned to the cave in altercation with a dozen other Mulas. For the time he was out of the reckoning. Some of these are wounded, the Batan explained. Some have sores, some have the bellyache. Then again, some are sick of words, hot and cold by day and night. All have served in the army, all have medals. All are deserters, some for one reason, some for another, and some for no reason at all. Both a beard looks the other way, speak thou to them about the pardon that is offered. So King went down among them, taking some of the tools of his supposed trade with him and trying to crowd down the triumph that would well up. The seed he had sown had multiplied by fifty in a night. He wanted to shout, as men once did before the walls of Jericho. A man bared a sword-cut, he bent over him, and if the Mula had turned a look, there would have been no ground for suspicion. So, in a voice just loud enough to reach them all, he repeated what he had told the Batan the day before. But who art thou? As one of them suspiciously. Perhaps there had been a shade too much cocksurness in Hakim's voice, but he acted faultlessly when he answered. Voice, accent, mannerism, guilty pride, were each perfect. Political offender. My brother yonder in the cave mouth. The Batan smirked. He liked the imputation. Suggested I seek pardon too. He thinks if I persuade many to apply for pardon, then the Serkar may forgive me for service rendered. The Batan's smirk grew to a grin. He liked grandly to have the notion fathered on himself, and his complacency, of course, was suggestive of the Hakim's trustworthiness, but the East is ever cautious. Some say thou art a very great liar. Remarked a man with half a nose. Nay, answered King. Liar I may be, but I am one against many. Which of you would dare stand alone and lie to all the others? Nay, sahibs, I am a political offender, not a soldier. They all laughed at that, and, seizing the moment when they were in a pliant mood, the Iraq side Batan proceeded to bring proposals to a head. Are we agreed? He asked. Or have we waggled our beards all night long in vain? Take him with us, say I. Then, if pardons are refused us, he at least will gain nothing by it. We can plunge our knives in him first, whatever else happens. Aye! That was reasonable, and they approved in chorus. Possibility of pardon and reinstatement, though only heard of it at second hand, had brought unity into being, and unity brought eagerness. Let us start tonight, urged one man, and nobody hung back. Aye! Aye! Aye! They chorused, and eagerness, as always in the hills, brought wilder counsel in its wake. Who dares stab Bo with a beard? He has sought blood, and has led blood. Let him drink his own. Aye! Nay, he is too well guarded. Not he. Let us stab him and take his head with us. There well may be a price on it. They took a vote on it, and were agreed, but that did not suit King at all. Whatever Muhammad Anim's personal desserts might be, to let him be stabbed would be to leave Yasmini without a check on her of any kind, and then might India defend herself. Yet to leave the Mullah and Yasmini both at large would be almost equally dangerous, for they might form an alliance. There must be some other way, and he set out to gain time. Nay, nay, nay, sahibs, he urged. Nay, nay. Why not? Sahibs, I have wife and children in Lahore. Same are most dear to me, and I to them. I find it expedient to make great effort for my pardon. You are but fifty. You are less than fifty. Nay, let us gather a hundred men. Who shall find a hundred? Somebody demanded, and there was a chorus of denial. We be all in this camp who ate the salt. It was plain, though, that his daring to hold out only gave them more confidence in him. What's kinship, he objected. The crimes of the kinship men were not to the point. Time had to be gained. Aye, they agreed. There'll be many in kinship. Mere mention of the place made them regard Araksai Patan and Hakim with new respect, as having right of entry through the forbidden gate. Then I have it, the Patan announced at once, for he was awake to opportunity. Many of you can hardly march. Rest ye here, and let the Hakim treat your belly aches. Bull with a beard made me wait here for a letter that must go to Kinjin today. Good, I will take his letter, and in Kinjin I will spread news about pardons. It is likely there are fifty there who'll dare follow me back. And then we shall march down the kyber like a full company of the old days. Who says that is not a good plan? There were several who said it was not, but they happened to have nothing to matter with them and could have marched at once. The rest were of the other way of thinking and agreed in asserting that Kinjin men were a higher caste of extra ultra murderers whose presence doubtless would bring good luck to the venture. These prevailed after considerable argument. Strangely enough, none of them deemed the proposition beneath Kinjin's men's consideration. Pardon and leave to march again behind British officers looned bigger in their eyes than the green banner of the Prophet, which could only lead to more outrageous outlawry. They knew Kinjin men were flesh and blood, humans with hearts as well as they, but caution had a voice yet. She will catch thee in the Kinjin caves, suggested the man with part of his nose missing. She will have thee flayed alive. Take note then, I bequeath all the women in the world to thee. Be thou heir to my whole nose, too, and a blessing. Laugh the patan, and the butt of the jest spat savagely. In the hills, there was only one explanation given as to how one lost his nose, and they all laughed like hyenas until the mullah, Mohamed Anem, came rolling and striding back. By that time, King had got busy with his lancet, but the mullah called him off and drove the crowd away to a distance. Then he drove King into the cave in front of him, his mouth working as if he were biting bits of vengeance off for future use. Write thy letter, thou. Write thy letter, here is paper. There is a pen, take it, sit. Yonder is ink, toot toot, right now, right. King sat at a box and waited, as if to take dictation, but the mullah, tugging at his beard, grew furious. Write thy own letter, invent thine own argument, persuade her, or die in a new way. I will invent a new way for thee. So King began to write, in Urdu, for reasons of his own. He had spoken once or twice in Urdu to the mullah, and had received no answer. At the end of 10 minutes, he handed up what he had written, and Mohamed Anem made as if to read it, trying to seem deliberate and contriving to look irresolute. It was a fair guess that he hated to admit ignorance of the scholar's language. Are there any alterations you suggest? King asked him. Nay, what can I what the words are? If she be not persuaded, the worse for thee. He held it out, and as he took it, King contrived to tear it. He also contrived to seem ashamed of his own clumsiness. I will copy it out again, he said. The mullah swore to him, and conceiving that some extra show of authority was needful, growled out. Remember all I said. Sit down, she must surrender, Kinjin caves. Or I swear by Allah I will have thee tortured with fire and thorns. And her too, when the time comes. Now he had said that or something very like it in the first letter. There was no doubt left that the mullah was trying to hide ignorance, as men of that fanatic, ambitious mold so often will at the expense of better judgment. If fanatics were all wise, it would be a poor world for the rest. Very well, King said quietly, and with great pretense of copying the other letter out on fresh paper, he now wrote what he wished to say, taking so long about it, for he had to weigh each word, that the mullah strewed up and down the cave, swearing and kicking things over. Greeting, he wrote, to the most beautiful and very wise Princess Yasmini in her palace in the caves of Kinjin, from her servant, Khuram Khan the Hakim, in the camp of the mullah Muhammad Anim, a night's march distant in the hills. The mullah Muhammad Anim makes his stand and demands now surrender to himself of Kinjin caves and of all his ammunition. Further, he demands full control of you and of me and of all your men. He is ready to fight for his demands and already, as you must well know, he has considerable following in Kinjin caves. He has at least as many men as you have and he has 4,000 more here. He threatens, as a preliminary, to blockade Kinjin caves, unless the answer to this prove favorable, letting none enter but calling his own men out to join him. This would suit the Indian government because while the hills fight among themselves, they cannot raid India and while he blockades Kinjin caves, there will be time to move against him. Knowing that he dares begin and can accomplish what he threatens, I am sorry because I know it is said how many services you have rendered of old to the government I serve. We who serve one Raj are one, one to remember, one to forget, one to help each other in good time. I have not been idle. Some of Muhammad Anim's men are already mine. With them I can return to India, taking information with me that will serve my government. My men are eager to be off. It may be that vengeance against me would seem sweeter to you than return to your former allegiance. In that case, Princess, you only need betray me to the Mullah and be sure my death would leave nothing to be desired by the spectators. At present, he does not suspect me. Be assured, however, that not to betray me to him is to leave me free to serve my government and well able to do so. I invite you to return to India with me, bearing news that the Mullah Muhammad Anim and his men are bottled in Kinjin caves and to play with me to that end. If you will, then write an answer to Muhammad Anim, not in Urdu, but in a language he can understand, seem to surrender to him, but to me send a verbal message either by the bearer of this or by some trustier messenger. India can profit yet by your service, if you will. And in that case, I pledge my word to direct the government's attention only to your good service in the matter. It is not yet too late to choose. It is not impertinent in me to urge you. Nor can I say how gladly I would subscribe myself your grateful and loyal servant. The Mullah pounced on the finished letter, pretended to read it and watched him seal it up, smudging the hot wax with his own great, gnarled thumb. Then he shouted for the Iraq'sai Patan who came striding in all grins and swagger. There, take it, make speed. He ordered, and with his rifle at the ready and the letter tucked inside his shirt, the Patan favored king with a farewell grin and obeyed. Get out! The Mullah snarled then immediately. See to the sick, tell them I sent thee, bid them be grateful. King went. He recognized the almost madness that constituted the Mullah's driving power. It is contagious, that madness, until it destroys itself. It had made several thousand men follow him and believe in him, but it had once given Yasmini a chance to fool him and defeat him. And now it gave king his chance. He let the Mullah think himself obeyed implicitly. He became the busiest man in all the hills, while the Mullah glowered over the camp from the cave mouth or fulminated from the Quran or fought with other Mullahs with words for weapons and abuse for argument. He bandaged and lanced and poltest and fizicked until his head swam with weariness. The sick swarmed so around him that he had to have a bodyguard to keep them at bay. So he chose 20 of the least sick from among those who had talked with him after sunrise. And because each of those men had friends, it is only human to wish one's friend in the same boat, especially when the sea, so to speak, is rough. The progress through the camp became a current of missionary zeal and the virtues of the Anglo-Indian Raj were better spoken of than the hills had heard for years. Not that there was any effort to convert the camp or mosque far from it, but the likely few were pounced on and were told of a chance to enlist for a bounty in India. And what with winter not so far ahead and what with experience of former fighting against the British army, the choosing was none so difficult. From the day when the lad first feels soft down upon his face until the old man's beard turns white and his teeth shake out, the hillman would rather fight than eat. But he prefers to fight on the winning side if he may and he likes good treatment. Before it was dark that night, there were 30 men sworn to hold their tongues and to wait for the word to hurry down the Khyber for the purpose of enlisting in some British-Indian regiment. Some even began to urge the haqeem not to wait for the Rakhsai Patan, but to start with what he had. Shall I leave my brother in the lurch? The haqeem asked them and though they murmured, they thought better of him for it. While for him that he had plenty of epsom salts in his kit, for in the hills, physics should taste evil and show very quick result to be believed in. He found a dozen diseases of which he did not so much as know the name, but half of the sufferers swore they were cured after the first dose. They would have dubbed him Fakir and have foisted him to a pillar of holiness had he cared to let them. Muhammad Anim slept most of the day, like a great animal that scorns to live by rule. But at evening he came to the cave mouth and fulminated such a sermon as set the whole camp to roaring. He showed his power then. The jihadi preached would have tempted dead men from their graves to come and share the plunder and the curses he called down on cowards and laggards and unbelievers were enough to have frightened the dead away again. In 20 minutes he had undone all king's missionary work and then in 10 more feeling his power and their response and being at heart a fool as all rogues are, he built it up again. He began to make promises too definite. He wanted kinship caves, more he needed them. So he promised them that they should all be free of kinship caves within a day or two to come and go and live there at their pleasure. He promised them they should leave their wives and children and belonging safe in the caves while they themselves went down to plunder India. He overlooked the fact that kinship caves for centuries have been a secret to be spoken of in whispers and that prospect of its violation came to them as a shock. Half of them did not believe him. Such a thing was impossible and if you were lying as to one point, why not as to all the others too? And the army veterans who had been converted by king's talk of pardons and almost reconverted by the sermon shook their heads at the talk of taking kinship. Why waste time trying to do what never had been done with her to reckon against when a place in the sun was waiting for them down in India to say nothing of the hope of pardons and clean living for a while. They shook their heads and combed their beards and eyed one another sidewise in a way the hills understand. That night while the mullah glowered over the camp like a great old owl with leaping firelight reflected in his eyes the thousands under the skin tense argued so that the night was all noise but king slept. All of another day and part of another night he toiled among the sick wondering when a message would come back. It was nearly midnight when he bandaged his last patient and came out into the starlight to bend his back straight and yawn and pick his way reeling with weariness back to the mullah's cave. He had given his bag of medicines and implements to a man to carry ahead of him and had gone perhaps ten paces into the dark when a strong hand gripped him by the wrist. Hush! said a voice that seemed familiar. He turned swiftly and looked straight into the eyes of the Rangar Rewa Ganja. How did you get here? He asked in English. Any fool could learn the password into this camp. Come over here, Sahib. I bring word from her. The ground was crisscrossed like a man's palm by the shadows of tent ropes. The Rangar led him to where the tents were 40 feet apart and none was likely to overhear them. There he turned like a flash. She sends you this! He hissed. In that same instant king was fighting for his life. In another second they were down together among the tent pegs. King holding the Rangar's wrist with both hands and struggling to break it and the Rangar striving for another stroke. The dagger he held had missed king's ribs by so little that his skin yet tingled from its touch. It was a dagger with bronze blade and gold hilt. Her dagger. It was her perfume in the air. They rolled over and over, breathing hard. King wanted to think before he gave an alarm and he could not think with that scent in his nostrils and creeping into his lungs. Even in the stress of fighting he wondered how the Rangar's clothes and turban had come to be drenched with it. He admitted to himself afterward that it was nothing else than jealousy that suggested to him to make the Rangar prisoner and hand him over to the Mula. That would have been a ridiculous thing to do for it would have forced his own betrayal to the Mula. But as if the Rangar had read his mind he suddenly redoubled his efforts and King, weary to the point of sickness had to redouble his own or die. Perhaps the jealousy helped put Venom in his effort for his strength came back to him as a madman's does. The Rangar gave him own and let the knife fall. And because jealousy is poison, King did the wrong thing then. He pounced on the knife instead of on the Rangar. He could have questioned him, knelt on him and perhaps forced explanations from him. But with a sudden swift effort like a snake's the Rangar freed himself and was up and gone before King could struggle to his feet. Gone like a shadow among shadows. King got up and felt himself all over for they had fought on stony ground and he was bruised. But bruises faded into nothing and weariness as well as his mind began to dwell on the new complication to his problem. It was plain that the moment he had returned from his message to the Khyber the Rangar had been sent on this new murderous mission. If Yasmini had told the truth a letter had gone into India describing him, King as a traitor and from her point of view that might be supposed to cut the very ground away from under his feet. Then why so much trouble to have him killed? Either Riba Gunja had never taken the first letter or and this seemed more probable. Yasmini had never believed the letter would be treated seriously by the authorities and had only sent it in the hope of fooling him and undermining his determination. In that case, especially supposing her to have received his ultimatum on the Mullah's behalf before sending Riba Gunja with the dagger she must consider him at least dangerous. Could she be afraid? If so her game was lost already. Perhaps she saw her own peril. Perhaps she contemplated, gosh, what a contingency. Perhaps she contemplated bolting into India with a story of her own and leaving the Mullah to his own devices. In such a case, before going she would very likely try to have the one man stabbed who could give her away most completely. In fact, would she dare escape into India and leave himself alive behind her? He rather thought she would dare do anything and that thought brought reassurance. She would dare and being what she was she almost surely would seek vengeance on the Mullah before doing anything else. Then why the dagger for himself? She must believe him in league with the Mullah against her. She might believe that with him out of the way the Mullah would prove an easier prey for her and that belief might be justifiable but as an explanation it failed to satisfy. There was an alternative. The very thought of it made him feel fearfully uneasy and yet brought a thrill with it. In all Eastern lands love scorned takes to the dagger. He had half believed her when she swore she loved him. The man who could imagine himself loved by Yasmini and not be thrilled to his core would be inhuman. Whatever reason and caution and cast and creed might whisper in imagination's wake. Reeling from fatigue he felt like a man who had been racked for the Rangar strength was nearly unbelievable. He started towards where the Mullah sat glowering in the cave mouth. He found the man who had carried his bag asleep at the foot of the ramp and taking the bag away from him let him lie there and it took him five minutes to drag his hurt weary bones up the ramp for the fight had taken more out of him than he had guessed at first. The Mullah glared at him but let him by without a word. It was by the fire at the back of the cave where he stooped to dip the water from the Mullah's enormous crock that the next disturbing factor came to light. He kicked a brand into the fire and the flame leaped. Its light shone on a yard and a half of exquisitely fine hair like spun gold that caressed his shoulder and descended down one arm. One thread of hair that conjured up a million thoughts and in a second upset every argument. If Rewa Gunja had been near enough to her and intimate enough with her not only to become scented with her unmistakable perfume but even to get her hair on his person then gone was all imagination of her love for himself. Then she had lied from the first to the last. Then she had tried to make him love her that she might use him and finding she had failed she had sent her true love with the dagger to make an end. In a moment he imagined a whole picture as it might have been in crystal of himself trapped and made to don the Romans armor and forced to pose to the savage hills or fooled into posing to them as her lover while Rewa Gunja lurked behind the scenes and waited for the harvest in the end. And what kind of harvest? And what kind of man must Rewa Gunja be who could lightly let go all the prejudices of the East and submit to what only the West has endured hitherto with any complacency? A tertium quid. Yet what a fool he, king had not been to appreciate it once that Rewa Gunja must be her lover. Why should he not be? Were they not alike as cousins? And the East does not love its contrary but its compliment, being older in love than the West and wiser in its ways in all but the material. He had been blind. He had overlooked the obvious that from the first to the last her plan had been to set herself and this Rewa Gunja on the throne of India. He washed and went through the memory of Muslim prayers for the watchful Mullah's sake and climbed onto his bed. But sleep seemed out of the question. He lay and tossed for an hour. His mind is busy as a terrier in hay. And when he did fall asleep at last, it was so to dream and mutter that the Mullah came and shook him and preached him a half hour sermon against the mortal sins that robbed men of peaceful slumber by giving them a foretaste of the hell to come. All that seemed kinder and more refreshing than King's own thoughts had been. For when the Mullah had done it last and had gone striding back to the cave mouth, he really did fall sound asleep. And it was after dawn when he awoke. The Mullah's voice, not untuneful, was rousing all the valley echoes in the call to prayer. Alla is almighty. Alla is almighty. I declare there is no God but Allah. I declare Muhammad is his prophet. High ye to prayer. High ye to salvation. Prayer is better than sleep. Prayer is better than sleep. There is no God but Allah. And while King knelt behind the Mullah and the whole camp faced Mecca in forehead in the dust abasement, there came a strange procession down the midst. Not strange to the hills, where such sites are common, but strange to that camp an hour. Somebody rose and struck them and they knelt like the rest. But when the prayer was over and cooking had begun and the camp became a place of savory smell, they came on again, seven blind men. They were weary, ragged, lean, seven very tattered demalions. And the front man led them, tapping the ground with a long stick. The others clung to him in line, one behind the other. He was the only clean shaven one and he was the tallest. He looked as if he had not been blind so long for his physical health was better. All seven men yelled at the utmost of their lungs but he yelled the loudest. Oh, the haqeem, the good haqeem, they wailed. Where is the famous haqeem? We be blind men, blind we be, blind, blind. Oh, pity us. Is any kismet worse than ours? Oh, show us to the haqeem. Show us the way to him. Lead us to him. Oh, the famous great good haqeem who can heal men's eyes. The mullah looked down on them like a vulture waiting to see them die. And seeing they did not die, turned his back and went into his cave. Close to the ramp they stopped and the front man, cocking his head to one side as only birds and the newly blind do, gave voice again in nasal sing song. Will none tell me where is the great, good wise haqeem karam kaan? I am he, said king, and he stepped down toward him, calling to an assistant to come and bring him water and a sponge. The blind man's face looked strangely familiar, although it was partly disguised by some gummy stuff stuck all about the eyes. Taking it in both hands, he tilted the eyes to the light and opened one eye with his thumb. There was nothing whatever the matter with it. He opened the other. Rub me anointment on. The man urged him and he stared at the face again. Ishmael, he said, you? I, father of cleverness, make play of healing my eyes. So king dipped a sponge in water and sent back for his bag and made a great show of rubbing on ointment. In a minute, Ishmael, looking almost like a young man without his great beard, was dancing like a lunatic with both fists in the air and yelling as if wasps had stung him. Aye, aye, aye, he yelled. I see again, I see, my eyes have light in them. Allah, oh Allah, heep riches on the great wise hakeem who can heal men's eyes. Allah reward him richly for I am a beggar and have no goods. The other six blind men came struggling to be next, and while king rubbed ointment on their eyes and saw that there was nothing there he could cure, the whole camp began to surge toward him to see the miracle and his chosen bodyguard rushed up to drive them back. Find your way down the kyber and ask for the Walati Dakatar. He will finish the cure. The six blind men, half resentful, half believing, turned away mainly because Ishmael drove them with words and blows. And as they went, a tall Afridi came striding down the camp with a letter for the mullah held out in a cleft stick in front of him. Her answer, said Ishmael with a wicked grin. What is her word? Where is the Araksai Pathan? But Ishmael laughed and would not answer him. It seemed to king that he sent to climax. So did his near 50 and their 30 friends. He chose to take the arrival of the blind men as a hint from Providence and to go it blind on the strength of what he had hoped might happen. Also he chose in that instant to force the mullah's hand on the principle that hurried buffaloes will blunder. To Kinjen, he shouted to the nearest man, the mullah will march on Kinjen. They murmured and wandered and backed away from him to give him room. Ishmael watched him with dropped jaw and wild eye. Spread it through the camp that we march on Kinjen, shout it, bid them strike the tents. Somebody behind took up the shout and it went across the camp in leaps as men toss a ball. There was a surge toward the tents, the king called to his deserters and they clustered back to him. He had to cement their allegiance now or fail altogether and he would not be able to do it by ordinary argument or by pleading. He had to fire their imagination and he did. She is on our side. That was a sheer guess. She has kept our man and sent another as hostage for him in token of good faith. Listen, you saw this man's eyes healed. Let that be a token. Be ye the man with new eyes. Give it out, claim the title and be true to it and see me guide you down the kyber in good time like a regiment many more than a hundred strong. They jumped at the idea. The hills, the whole east for that matter are ever ready to form a new sect or join a new band or a new blood feud. Witness the Nicolissans who worship a long since dead Englishman. We see, yelled one of them. We see, they coerced and the idea took charge. From that minute they were a new band with a war cry of their own. To Kinjan, they howled, scattering through the camp and the mula came out to glare at them and tug his beard and wonder what possessed them. To Kinjan, they roared at him. Lead us to Kinjan. To Kinjan then, he thundered, throwing up both arms in a sort of double apostolic blessing and then motioning as if he threw them the reins and leave to Gallup. They roared back at him like the sea under the whip of a gaining wind and Ishmael disappeared among them, leaving King alone. Then the mula's eyes fell on King and he beckoned him up. King went up with an effort for he ached yet from his struggle of the night before. Up there by the ashes of the fire the mula showed him a letter he had crumpled in his fist. There were only a few lines written in Arabic which all mulas are supposed to be able to read and they were signed with a strange scrawl that might have meant anything but the paper smelt strongly of her perfume. Come then, bring all your men and I will let you and them enter Kinjan caves. We will strike a bargain in the cavern of earth's drink. That was all but the fire in the mula's eyes showed that he thought it was enough. He did not doubt that once he should have his extra four thousand in the caves, Kinjan would be his and he said so. Kinjan is mine. He growled. India is mine. And King did not answer him. He did not believe Yasmini would be full enough to trust herself in any bargain with Muhammad on him. Yet he could see no alternative as yet. He could only be still and be glad he had set the camp moving and so had forced the mula's hand. The old fatalist would have suspected her answer otherwise, he told himself, for he knew that he himself suspected it. While he and the mula watched, the tents began to fall and the women labored to roll them. The men began firing the rifles and within the hour enough ammunition had been squandered to have fought a good-sized skirmish. But the mula did not mind, for he had Kinjan caves in view and none knew better than he what vast door of cartridges and dynamite was piled in there. He let them waste. Watching his opportunity, King slipped down the ramp and into the crowd. While the mula was busy with personal belongings in the cave, King left his own belongings to the fates or to any thief who should care to steal them. He was safe from the mula in the midst of his nearly 80 men who half believed him ascending from the skies. We see, we see! They yelled and danced around him. Before ever the mula gave an order, they got underway and started climbing the steep valley wall. The mula on his brown mule thrust forward, trying to get in the lead, and King and his men hung back to keep at a distance from him. It was when the mula had reached the top of the slope and was not far from being in the lead that Ishmael appeared again, leading King's horse, that he'd found in possession of another man. That did not look like enmity or treachery. King mounted and thanked him. Ishmael wiped his knife that had blood on it and stuck his tongue through his teeth, which did not look quite like treachery either. Yet the Afridi could not be got to say a word. Two or three miles along the top of the escarpment, the mula sent back word that he wanted the hakeem to be beside him. Doubtless he had looked back and had seen King on the horse, head and shoulders above the baggage. But King's men treated the messenger to open scorn and sent him packing. Did the mula hunt himself another hakeem? Be thou his hakeem. Stay, we will give thee a lesson in how to use a knife. The men ran, lest they carry out their threat, for men joked grimly in the hills. Ishmael came and held King's stirrup, striding beside him with an easy hillman gate. Art thou my man at last? King asked him, but Ishmael laughed and shook his head. I am her man. Where is she? King asked. Nay, who am I that should know? But she sent thee. Aye, she sent me. To what purpose? To her purpose, the Afridi answered, and King could not get another word out of him. He fell behind. But out of the corner of his eye, and once or twice by looking back deliberately, King saw that Ishmael was taking the members of his new band one by one and whispering to them. What he said was a mystery, but as they talked each man looked at King, and the more they talked, the better pleased they seemed. And as the day wore on, the more deferential they grew. By midday, if King wanted to dismount, there were three at least to hold his stirrup and tend to help him mount again. End of chapter, recording by Brett Downey. Chapter 18 of King of the Kyber Rifles by Talbot Mundy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Brett Downey. By the sweat of your brow, by the ache of your bones, in the sun, in the wind, in the chill of the rains, ye sowed as ye knew, and ye knew it was blown to be trodden and burned, eye and that by your own, who sneered at lean furrows and mocked at the stones. But ye stayed and sowed on, and a little remains, ye shall have for your faith, ye shall reap for your pains. Four thousand men with women and children and baggage do not move so swiftly as one man or a dozen, especially in the hills, where discipline is reckoned beneath a proud man's honor. There were many miles to go before Kingen when night fell and the mula bade them camp. He bade them camp because they would have done it otherwise in any case. And we, said King, to his all but 80, who crowded around him. Being men with new eyes and with a great new hope in us, will halt here and eat the evening meal and what for an opportunity? Opportunity for what? They asked him. An opportunity to show how Allah loves the brave, said King, and they had to be content with that, for he would say no more to them. Seeing he would not talk, they made their little fires all around him and watched while their women cooked the food. The mula would not let them eat until he and the whole camp had prayed like the only righteous. When the evening meal was eaten and the centuries had been set at every vantage point, and the men all sat about cleansing their beards and fingers, the mula sent for their keem again. Only this time, he sent 20 men to fetch him. There was so nearly a fight that the skin all down King's back was goose flesh, for a fight at that juncture would have ruined everything. At the least, he would have been made a hopeless, helpless prisoner. But in the end, the mula's men drew off snarling and before they could have time to receive new orders or reinforcements, King's die was cast. There came another order from the mula. The women and children were to be left in the camp next dawn and to remain there until sent for. There was murmuring at that around the camp and especially among King's contingent, but King laughed. It is good, he said. Why, how so? they asked him. Mid your women make for the kyber soon after the mula marches tomorrow. Bid them travel down the kyber until we and they meet. But, please yourself, sahibs. The hakeem's heir was one of supremist indifference. As far as me, I leave no women behind me in the mountains. I am content. They murmured awhile, but they gave the orders to their women and King watched the women nod. And all that while Ishmael watched him with carefully disguised concern, but undisguised interest. And King understood. Enlightenment comes to a man swiftly when it does come as a rule. He recalled that Yasmini had not done much to make his first entry into Kinjin easy. On the contrary, she had put him on his medal and had set Rewa Gunja to the task of frightening him and had tested him and tried him before tempting him at last. She must be watching him now for even the East repeats itself. She had sent Ishmael for that purpose. It might be Ishmael's business to drive a knife in him at first opportunity, but he doubted that. It was much more likely that, having failed in an attempt to have him murdered, she was superstitiously remorseful. Her course would depend on his. If he failed, she was done with him. If he succeeded in establishing a strong position of his own, she would yield. All of which did not explain Ishmael's whisperings and noddings and chin strokings with King's contingent. But it explained enough for King's present purpose and he wasted no time on writers to the problem. With or without Ishmael's aid, with or without his enmity, he must control his 80 men and give the slip to the Mula and he went at once about the best way to do both. We will go now, he said quietly. That sentry in yonder shadow has his back turned. He has overeaten. We will rush him and put good running between us and the Mula. Surprised into obedience and too delighted at the prospect of action to wonder why they should obey a Hakim so, they slung on their bandoliers and made ready. Ishmael brought up King's horse and he mounted. And then a King's word, all 80, made a sudden swoop on the drowsy sentry and took him unawares. They tossed him over the cliff, too startled to scream an alarm. And though sentries on either hand heard them and shouted, they were gone into outer darkness like wind-blown ghosts of dead men before the Mula even knew what was happening. They did not halt until not one of them could run another yard, King trusting to his horse to find a footing along the cliff tops and to the men to find the way. Wither, one whispered to him. To Kenjin, he answered and that was enough. Each whispered to the other and they all became fired with curiosity, more potent than money bribes. When he halted at last and dismounted and sat down and the stragglers caught up, panting, they held a council of war altogether, with Ishmael sitting at King's back and leaning a chin on his shoulder in order to hear better. Bone pressed on bone and the place grew numb. King shook him off a dozen times, but each time Ishmael set his chin back on the same spot as a dog will that listens to his master. Yet he insisted he was her man and not King's. Now ye men of the hills said King, listen to me who am political offender with reward for capture offered. That was a gem of a title. It fired their imaginations. I know things that no soldier would find out in a thousand years and I will tell you some of what I know. Now he had to be careful. If he were to invent too much they might denounce him as a traitor to the hills in general. If he were to tell them too little they would lose interest and might very well desert him at the first pinch. He must feel for the middle way and upset no prejudices. She has discovered that this Mullah Mohammed Anim is no true Muslim but an unbelieving dog of a foreigner from Farangistan. She has discovered that he plans to make himself an emperor in these hills and to sell hillmen into slavery. Might as well serve the Mullah up hot while about it. Beyond any doubt, not much more than a mile away the Mullah was getting even by condemning the lot of them to death. An eye for the risk of an eye, say the unforgiving hills. If one of us should go back into his camp now he would be tortured. Be sure of that. Breathing deeply in the darkness they nodded as if the dark had eyes. Ishmael's chin drove a fraction deeper into his shoulder. Now you know, for all men know that the entrance into Kenjin caves is free to any man who can tell a lie without flinching. It is the way out again that is not free. How many men do ye know that have entered and never returned? They all nodded again. It was common knowledge that Kenjin was a very graveyard of the presumptuous. She has set a trap for the Mullah. She will let him and all his men enter and will never let them out again. How knowest thou? This from two men, one on either hand. Was I never in Kenjin caves? He retorted. Whence came I? I am her man, sent to help trap the Mullah. I would have trapped all of you but for being weary of these hills and wishful to go back to India and be pardoned. That is who I am. That is how I know. Their breath came and went sibilantly and the darkness was alive with the excitement they thought themselves too warrior-like to utter. What? What was she do then? Asked somebody. King searched his memory and in a moment there came back to him a picture of the hurring jizelchi he had held up in the Khyber Pass and recollection of the man's words. No ye not, he said, that long ago she gave leave to all who ate the salt to be true to the salt. She gave the Khyber jizelchis leave to fight against her. Be sure, whatever she does, she will stand between no man and his pardon. What will she lead a jihad? We will not fight against her. Nay, said King, drawing his breath in. Ishmael's chin felt like a knife against his collarbone and Ishmael's iron fingers clutched his arm. It was time to give his hostage to dame fortune. She will go down into India and use her influence in the matter of the pardons. I believe thou art a very great liar indeed, said the man who lacked part of his nose. The patan went and he did not come back. What proof have we? Ye have me, said King. If I show you no proof, how can I escape you? They all grunted agreement as to that. King used his elbow to hit Ishmael in the ribs. He did not dare speak to him, but now is the time for Ishmael to carry information to her, supposing that to be his job. And after a minute, Ishmael rolled into a shadow and was gone. King gave him 20 minute start, letting his men rest their legs and exercise their tongues. Now that he was out of the Mullah's clutches and he suspected Yasmine would know of it within an hour or two, and before dawn in any event, he began to feel like a player in a game of chess who foresees his opponent's mate in so many moves. If Yasmine were to let the Mullah and his men back into the caves and to join forces with him in there, he would at least have time to hurry back to India with his 80 men and give warning. He might have time to call up the Kaibir Gezelchis and blockade the caves before the hive could swarm, and he chuckled to think of the hope of that. On the other hand, if there was to be a battle royal between Yasmine and the Mullah, he would be there to watch it and to comfort India with the news. Now, we will go on again in order to be close to Kinjin at break of day. He said, and they all got up and obeyed him as if his word had been law to them for years. Of all of them, he was the only man in doubt. He who seemed most confident of all. They swung along into the darkness under low hung stars, trailing behind King's horse with only half a dozen of them, a hundred yards or so ahead as an advance guard, and all of them expecting to see Kinjin loom above each next valley for distances and darkness are deceptive in the hills, even to trained eyes. Suddenly the advance guard halted, but they did not shoot. And as King caught up with them, he saw they were talking with someone. He had to ride up close before he recognized the Iraq side baton. Salam. Said the fellow with a grin. I bring 111. As he spoke, graveyard shadows rose out of the darkness all around and leaned on rifles. Me, men, all ex-soldiers of the Raj? King asked them. Aye. They growled in chorus. What will ye? Bartons. They all said the same word together. Who gave you leave to come? King asked. None. He told us of the Bartons and we came. Aye. Said the Iraq side baton, drawing King aside. But she gave me leave to seek them out and tempt them. And what does she intend? King asked him suddenly. She? Ask Allah, who put the spirit in her. How should I know? We will much again, my brothers. King shouted and they streamed along behind him, now with no advance guard, but with the Iraq side baton striding beside King's horse, with a great hand on the saddle. Like the others, he seemed decided in his mind that the Hakeem ought not to be allowed much chance to escape. Just as the Don was tinting the surrounding peaks with softest rows, they topped a ridge and King didn't lay below them across the mile wide, bone dry valley. They all stood and stared at it, leaning on their guns. All the men with new eyes saw it now for the first time and it held them speechless. But with its patchwork towers and high battlements, it looked like a very city of the spirits that their tails around the fire on winter nights so linger on. And while they watched and the Kenjin men were beginning to murmur, for they needed no last view of the place to satisfy any longings. None else than Ishmael rose from behind Iraq and came to King's syrup. He tugged and King backed his horse until they stood together apart. She sends this message, said Ishmael, showing his teeth in the most peculiar grin that surely the hills ever witnessed. And then, omitting the message, he proceeded first to give some news. Many of our men who have never been in the army are nonetheless true to her and she will not leave them to the Mullah's mercy. They will leave the caves in a little while and will come up here. They are to go down into India and be made prisoners if the Sarkar will not enlist them. You ought to wait for them here. Is that all her message? King asked him. Nay, that is none of it. This is her message. Thou shalt know this day, thou Englishman, whether or not she truly loved thee. There shall be proof such as even thou shalt understand. What does that mean? Nay, who am I that should know? Ishmael slipped away and lost himself among the men and none of them seemed to notice that he had been away and had come again. On King's advice, a dozen men climbed nearby immanences and began to watch for the Mullah's coming. The Kinjin men murmured openly. They wanted to be off. But no, said King. Go if you will, but she has sent word that other men are coming. I wait for them here. After a great deal of resentful argument, they consented to lie hidden for an hour or two, but no longer. And King hid his horse in a hollow and persuaded three of them to gather grass for him. It was a little more than an hour after dawn and the chilled rocks were beginning to grow warmer when the head of a procession came out of Kinjin Gate and started towards them over the valley. In all, more than 500 men emerged and about 100 women and children. And King's men were kept busy for half an hour counting them and quarreling about the exact number. Some of them were burdened heavily and there was much discussion as to whether to loot them or not. Then, Muhammad on him comes, shouted a voice from a cragged top. They snuggled into better hiding and there was no thought now of leaving before the Mullah should go by. There began to be wagers as to whether her men would be hidden out of sight before the Mullah could top the rise. And then, when the last man was safe across the valley and up the cliff and in hiding, there was endless argument as to how much each had bedded and to whom he had lost. It needed an effort to quiet them when the Mullah rose into view at last above the rise and paused for a minute to stare across Kinjin before leading his 4,000 down and onward. He was silent as an image, but his men roared like a river in flood and he made no effort to check them. He was like a man who has made up his mind to victory in any event. He seemed to be speculating 3 or 4 moves ahead of this one and to hold this one such a foregone conclusion in his mind that he had ceased to interest. He was admirable, there was no doubt of that. In his own way, like an old boar sniffing up the wind for trouble, he could command a decent man's respect. He dismounted, for he had to, and tossed his reins to the nearest man with the air of an emperor, and he led the way down the cliffside without hesitation, striding like a mountaineer. His men followed him noisily, holding hands to make human chains at the difficult places and shouting a great deal, but not quite naturally now. They were too much impressed by the seriousness of what they undertook and in their hearts, too much afraid. The noise was bravado. It was a weary, long wait, watching from the crevices until the last man's back departed down the cliff and the procession, pied piper of hamlin and rats, but no music, wound across the valley. At last, Kingen Gate opened and the mula led in. The gate did not shut after the last man, King noted that. Let us go now, shouted 50 voices and every man of King's party showed himself and stretched. Let us go, why wait? But King would not go, nor would he explain why he would not go, nor could he tell himself what held him, gazing at Kingen, except that he thought of Yasmini and ached to know what she was doing. It was 30 minutes after the last of the mula's men had vanished through the gate and his own men in dozens and 20s were scattered along the cliff top, arguing against delay with growing rancor when a lone horseman galloped out of Kingen Gate and started across the valley. He rode recklessly, he was either panic stricken or else bolder than the devil. In a minute, King had recognized the mare and so were the eyes of 50 men around him. No man with half an eye for a horse could have failed to recognize that black mare, having ever seen her once. She came like a goat among the rocks just that she had once dived into darkness in the kyber with King following. In another two minutes, King had recognized the rancor's silken turban and now there was no need to restrain the men. They all stood and watched to know what new turn affairs were taking. Most of them were staring downward at the rancor's head as he urged the mare up the cliff path when the explanation of Yasmini's message came. It was only King urged by some intuition who had his eyes fixed on Kingen. There came a shock that actually swayed the hill they stood on. The mare on the path below missed her footing and fell a dozen feet, only to get up again and scramble as if a thousand devils were behind her. The rancor riding her grimly like a jockey in a race. Three more shocks followed. A great slice of Kingen suddenly caved in with a roar and smoke and dust burst upward through the tumbling crust. There was a pause after that as if the waiting elements were gathering strength. For 10 minutes they watched and scarcely breathed. Riva Ganja gained the summit and, dismounting, stood by King with the reins over his arm. The mare was too blown to do anything but stand and tremble and King was too enthralled to do anything but stare. This is what a woman can do for a man, said Riva Ganja grimly. She set a fuse and exploded all the dynamite. There were tons of it. The galleries must have fallen in one on the other. A thousand men digging for a thousand years could never get into Kingen now. And the only way out is down earth's drink. She made me come and bid you goodbye, Sahib. I would have stayed in there, but she commanded me. She said, tell King Sahib, my love was true. Tell him I give him India and all Asia that were at my mercy. While the rancor spoke, there came three more earth tremors in swift succession and a thunder out of Kingen as if the very hills were coming to an end. The mare grew frantic and the rancor summoned six men to hold her. Suddenly, right over the top of Kingen's upper rim where only eagles ever perched, there burst a column of water immeasurable, huge, that for a moment blotted out the sun. It rose sheer upward, curved on itself and fell in a million ton deluge onto Kingen and into Kingen Valley, hissing and roaring and thundering. Earth's drink had been blocked by the explosion and it found a new way over the barrier before plunging down again into the bowels of the world. The one sky-flung leap it made as its weight burst down a mountain wall was enough to blot out Kingen forever and what had been a dry, mile-wide moat was a shallow lake with death's rack and rubbish floating on the surface. The earth rocked, the hillmen prayed and Kingen stared, trying to memorize all that had been. Suddenly, it flashed across his mind that the Rangar who had striven like a fiend to stab him only a matter of hours ago was now standing behind him within a yard. He was up on his feet in a second and faced about. The Rangar laughed. So ends hot of the hills, he said. Think kindly of her sahib. She thought well enough of you. He laughed again and sprang on the black mare and before Kingen could speak or raise a hand to stop him, he was off, hell-bent for leather along the precipice in the direction of the Khyber Pass and India, two of the men who had come out of Kinjan mounted and spurred after him. King collected his men and the women and children. It was easy, for they were numb from what they had witnessed and dazed by fear. In half an hour, he had them mustered and marching. Let's go back and loot the Mullah's camp and take the women, urged a dozen men at least. Go then, said King, go back, but I go on. He is afraid, the Hakim is afraid of what he saw. King let them think so. He let them think anything they chose, knowing well that what had unnerved him had at least rendered them amenable to leading. They would have no more dared go back without him and without at least a hundred others than they would have dared go and hunt in the ruins of Kinjan. Even Ishmael, claying to his stirrup, it would not leave him looking like a fledgling with his beard all new sprouted on his jaw and eyes wider than a bird's. Why aren't thou here? King asked him. Had she no true men who would die with her? The Afridis scowled, but choked the answer back. Aren't thou my man now? King asked him, but he shook his head. So they marched without talking over the hideous, bolder strewn range that separates Kinjan from the Kaibir, sleeping fitfully whenever King called a halt and eating almost nothing at all, for only a few of them had thought of bringing food. They reached the Kaibir famished and were fed at Ali Majid Fort, after King had given a certain password and had whispered to the officer commanding, but he did not change into European clothes yet, and none of his following suspected him of being an Englishman. A Rangar on a black mare has gone down the pass ahead of you in a hurry, they told him at Ali Majid. He had two men with him and food enough, only stopped long enough to make his business known. What did he say his business is? Asked King, gave a sign and said a word that satisfied us on that point. Oh, said King, can you signal down the pass? Surely. Courtney still at Jammarud? Yes, in charge there and growing tired of doing nothing. Signal down and ask him to have that bath ready for me that I spoke about, goodbye. So he left Ali Majid at the head of a motley procession that grew noisier and more confident every hour. Ishmael still clung to his stirrup, but began to grow more lively and to have a good many orders to fling to the rest. You mourn like a dog, King told him, three howls and a wine and a little sulking and then forgetfulness. Ishmael looked nasty at that, but did not answer, although he seemed to have a hot word ready, and thenceforward he hung his head more and at least tried to seem bereaved, but his manner was unconvincing nonetheless and King found it food for thought. The ex-soldiers and would-be soldiers marched in fours behind him, growing hourly more like drilled men and talking with each stride that brought them near India, more as men do who have an interest in law and order. Behind them tramped the women from Kenjin, carrying their babies and their husband's loads and behind them again were the other women who had been told they would be overtaken in the kyber but who had actually had to run themselves raw-footed in order to catch up. Down the kyber have come conquerors, a dozen conquering kings and as many beaten armies, but surely no stranger host than this ever trudged between the echoing walls, the very eagles screamed at them. And as they neared Jamrud Fort, the men who sought pardons began to grow sheepish. They began to remember that the hakeem might after all be a trickster and to realize how much too friendly, how almost intimate he had been with the Sahebs at Ali Majid. They began to cluster around him instead of letting him lead and by the time they met the farther outpost up the kyber they were as nervous as raw recruits and ready to turn and bolt at a word. For no one can be more timid than your hillman when he is not sure of himself, just as no one can be braver when he knows his ground. Signals proceeded them and Courtney himself rode of the past to greet them. But of course he was not very cordial to king considering his disguise and he chose to keep the hillmen in doubt yet as to their eventual reception. But one of them, the Iraq side baton where nothing could completely unmanned him, shouted to know whether it was true that pardons had been offered for deserters and Courtney nodded. They were less timid after that. Some of them pulled metals out and pinned them outside their shirts. At Jamru they were given food and the rifles were taken away from them and a guard was set to watch them. But the guard only consisted of two men both of whom were patons and they assured them that ridiculous though it sounded the British were actually willing to forgive their enemies and to pardon all deserters who applied for pardon on condition of good faith in the future. That night they prayed to Allah like little children lost and found. The women crooned love songs to their babies over the clear fires and the men talked and talked and talked until the stars grew big as moons to weary eyes and they slept at last to dream of khaki uniforms and carnal sahibs who knew neither fear nor favor and who said things that were so. It is a mad world to the Himalayan hillmen where men in authority tell truth unadorned without shame and without consideration. A mad, mad world and perhaps too exotic to be wholesome but pleasant while the dream lasts. Over in the fort Courtney placed a bath at King's disposal and lent him clean clothes and a razor but he was not very cordial. "'Tell me all the war news,' said King splashing in the tub and Courtney told him passing him another cake of soap when the first was finished. After all there was not much to tell butchery in Belgium, huns and guns and the everlastingly glorious stand that saved Paris and France and Europe. According to the cables, our men are going the records one better. I think that's all said Courtney. Then why the stuffiness asked King why am I talked to at the end of a tube so to speak? You're under arrest said Courtney. The deuce I am. I'm taking care of you myself to obviate the necessity of putting a sentry on guard over you. Good of you I'm sure. What's it all about? I don't mind telling you but I'd rather you'd wait. The minute you were sighted word was wired down to headquarters and the general himself will be up here by train any minute. Very well said King. Got a cigar? Got a black one? Blacker the better. He was out of his bath and remembered that minute that he had not smoked a cigar since leaving India. Naked, shade with some of the stain removed he did not look like a man in trouble as he filled his lungs with the salt peterous smoke of a fat trechanopoli. And then the general came and did not wait for King to get dressed but burst into the bathroom and shook hands with him while he was still naked and asked 10 questions like a gatling gun while King was getting on his trousers dividing each answer after the third word and waving the rest aside. And why am I arrested sir? Ask King the moment he could slip the question in edge wise. Oh yes of course. Try the case here as well as anywhere. What does this mean? Out of his pocket the general produced a letter that smelt strongly of ascent King recognized. He spread it out on a table and King read. It was Yezmini's letter that she has sent down the kyber to make India too hot to hold him. Your Captain King has been too much trouble. He has taken money from the Germans. He has adopted native dress. He called himself Curram Khan. He slew his own brother at night in the kyber pass. These men will say that he carried the head to Kinjan and their word is true. Aye Yezmini saw. He used the head for a passport to obtain admittance. He proclaims a jihad. He urges invasion of India. He held up his brother's head before 5,000 men and boasted of the murder. The next you shall hear of your Captain King of the kyber rifles. He will be leading a jihad into India. You would have better trusted me. Yezmini. Too bad about your brother, said the general. The body is buried. How much is true about the head? King told him. Where's she? asked the general. King did not answer. The general waited. I don't know, sir. Ask the Rangar, Courtney suggested. Where is he? asked King. Caught him coming down the kyber on his black mare and arrested him. He's in the next room. I hope he's to be hanged so that I can buy the mare. He added cheerfully. King whistled softly to himself and the general looked at him through half closed eyes. Go in and talk to him, King. Let me know the result. He had picked King to go up the kyber on that errand, not for nothing. He knew King and he knew the symptoms. Without answering him, King obeyed. He went out of the room into a dark corridor and wrapped on the door of the next room to the right. There was a muffled answer from within. Courtney shouted something to the sentry outside the door and he called another man who fitted a key in the lock. King walked into a room in which one lamp was burning and the door slammed shut behind him. He was in there an hour and it never did transpire just what passed for he can hold his tongue on any subject like a clam and the general, if anything, can go him one better. Courtney was placed under orders not to talk so those who say they know exactly what happened in the room between the time the door was shut on King and the time when he knocked to have it opened and called for the general are not telling the truth. What is known is that finally the general hurried through the door and ejaculated, well, I'm damned. Before it could close again, the sentry, Punjabi Musselman, has sworn to that over a dozen campfires since the day and it is known too for the sentry has taken oath on it and has told the story so many times without much variation that no one who knows the man's record doubts any longer. It is known that when the door opened again King and the general walked out with the Rangar between them and the Rangar had no turban on but carried it unwound in his hand and his golden hair fell nearly to his knees and changed his whole appearance and he was weeping and he was not a Rangar at all but she and how anybody can ever have mistaken her for a man even in man's clothes and with her skin darkened was beyond the sentry's power to guess he for one, etc. but nobody believed that part of his tale. As Yusef bin Ali said over the campfire up the kyber later on when she sets out to disguise herself she is what she will be and he who says he thinks otherwise has two tongues and no conscience. What is surely true is that the four of them Yesmini, the general, Courtney and King sat up all night in a room in the fort talking together while a succession of sentries overstrained their ears endeavoring to hear through keyholes and the sentries heard nothing and invented very much but Parton Singh, the Sikh who carried in bread and cocoa to them at about five the next morning and found them still talking heard King say so in my opinion sir there can be no jihad in these parts there'll be sporadic raids of course but nothing a brigade can't deal with the heart of the holy wars torn out and thrown away. Very well, said the general you can get up the kyber again and join your regiment but by that time the Rangars turban was on again and the tears were dry and it was Parton Singh who threw most doubt on the sentries tail about the golden hare but as the sentry said no doubt Parton Singh was jealous. There is no doubt whatever that the general went back to Peshawar in the train at eight o'clock and that the Rangar went with him in a separate compartment with about a dozen hillmen chosen from among those who had come down with King and it is certain that before they went King had a talk with a Rangar in a room alone of which conversation however the sentry reported afterwards that he did not overhear one word and he had to go to the doctor with a cold in his ear at that he said he was nearly sure he heard weeping but on the other hand those who saw both of them come out were certain that both were smiling it is quite certain that Athelston King went up the kyber again for the official record say so and they never lie especially in time of war he wrote a coal black mare and Courtney called him cheeky a lifter some say the Rangar went to Delhi some say Yasmini is in Delhi some say no but it is quite certain that before he started up the kyber King showed Courtney a great gold bracelet that he had under his sleeve five men saw him do it and if that really was Riba Gunja in the general's train why was the general so painfully polite to him and why did Ishmael insist on riding in the train instead of accepting King's offer to go up the kyber with him one thing is very certain King was right about the jihad there has been none in spite of all turkeys and Germany's efforts there have been sporadic raids much as usual but nothing one brigade could not easily deal with the paid press to the contrary notwithstanding King of the kyber rifles is now a major for you can see that by turning up the army list but if you wish to know just what transpired in the room in Jamrud Fort while the general and Courtney waited you must ask King if you dare for only he knows and one other it is not likely you can find the other but it is likely that you may hear from both of them again for a woman and intrigue are one as India says the war seems long and the world is large and the chances for intrigue are almost infinite given such combination as King and Yasmini and a love affair and as King says on occasion kuchda nachim high there is no such thing as fear another one might say the roof's the limit and bear in mind for this is important King wrote to Yasmini a letter in Urdu from the mullahs cave in which he as good as gave her his word of honor to be her loyal servant should she choose to return to her allegiance he is no splitter of hairs no quibbler his word is good on the darkest night or wherever he cast a shadow in the sun a man and his promise a woman and intrigue are one end of chapter and end of king of the kyber rifles by Talbot Mundy recording by Brett Downey