Chapter XXXII: The Ransom

One of the Ghoojurs who left the main party in quest of the cooking kit came back, but his companion was a stranger. The one who did not return knew the whole scheme of Wana Affghar. He was the chieftain's trusted lieutenant, and he went away to carry out a certain agreement that he had made with his leader, in spite of the unceasing watchfulness of Luchman the guide.

Wana was obsequious to his brother, as he called his guest, to the extent even of offering him his pony to ride, but Luchman's sense of propriety would not allow him to accept the kindness. They talked freely, the brigand expressing his belief that British rule in India was ended forever. The Mogul Empire that had been proclaimed a few days before at Delhi would last as long as the sun and stars. The miscreant tried to proselyte the guide to his view of the question, though in the mutiny of 1857 the Ghoojurs were bushwhackers, caring little which cause triumphed, so that it gave them opportunity to gather loot.

Wana Affghar seemed to go beyond his pledge. He had promised to take them two miles from the temple, but he never stopped in the march until he had gone fully double that distance. He was too cunning to call attention to the same, and it need not be said that Luchman held his peace.

They finally halted near a grove of mango trees of large size, whose shadows were heavy enough to hide the company from any others that might pass by. They were near the stream which wound by the temple, where the fugitives were doubtless waiting and wondering whether their deliverance was to be made complete.

The halting place was a good one for resting. They were removed from all huts, houses and highways, and did not seem likely to attract notice from any wanderers through the neighborhood. The Ghoojurs lolled upon the ground, smoking their hookahs, and, as the night advanced, several of them started a large fire. Wana Affghar sat somewhat apart, with Luchman upon the ground close to him. Though the chieftain could not repress his restlessness, the guide was as unmoved as if stretched on his charpoy a thousand miles from all danger.

There was no chronometer in that company of ruffians, but all could note with reasonable accuracy the passage of time. Just before the turn of night, Luchman carefully counted the ruffians. There were precisely fourteen, exclusive of the leader--the exact force that had withdrawn from the vicinity of the temple.

And yet, despite this fact, a misgiving took shape in the mind of Luchman that Wana Affghar, after all, would try to play him false. This dread, however, was founded rather upon his vivid recollection of the clever manner in which the chieftain had dogged him during the past year or so than upon any possible scheme that presented itself to the suspicious native.

"_The turn of night has come._"

It was Wana Affghar who spoke the words in a sepulchral voice, while he was the embodiment of suppressed emotion.

Just then the two were seated near the fire, the others dawdling about as though unaware of any important transaction pending.

"Yes," quietly replied Luchman as he began calmly passing his fingers through his turban.

Could it be possible that the daring native had walked into the camp of the Ghoojurs bearing that priceless gem about his person? Wana Affghar stared at him dumfounded and almost speechless, and yet, while he was staring, Luchman drew the piece of brown paper from the folds of his head gear, just as he did on the previous occasions described, and took the gem from within.

"There!" he exclaimed, "the bargain is finished!"

As the gem fell into the trembling, outstretched palm, the Ghoojur chieftain fixed his eyes upon it like a bird charmed by a serpent. He sat motionless and rigid as iron, life itself held in suspense.

At last the Star of India was his!

There it lay in his hand, luminous, flaming, variegated in its reflection of the firelight, wonderful, peerless, marvelous. This was the gem for which princes, kings, queens and emperors had fought, and that had caused the death of multitudes in the centuries that were gone.

Here it was--his at last!

Could it be real, or was it another of those tantalizing dreams that had haunted his slumbers for years, until the longing to possess the Star of India became the ruling passion of his life?

Tremulously and in fear he gently closed his fingers, fearful that they would shut upon vacancy, as they had done so many times in the past. But no; there was the round, cold gem, as big as a robin's egg, heavy and substantial--not shadowy, but real.

By and by the spell began to lift, and Wana Affghar became himself again--crafty, cruel, perfidious as Satan himself.

With his gaze still riveted on the diamond, as he slowly opened and closed his hand, he said:

"It is the will of Allah that the Star of India shall be mine, and I accept it bismillah (by the will of God); but the infidel deserves only death. The Feringhees that profaned the temple are prisoners, for, despite the cunning of the dog, Luchman, Ramsurun Duss remained with some of the faithful, and has prevented their flight. Their eyes shall not see the rising of tomorrow's sun, nor shall you, infidel dog, go hence; he who allows Luchman to escape shall lose his head!"

As Wana Affghar emitted the last exclamation in a loud voice, he flung off the spell that had held him motionless, raised his eyes from the sinewy hand that closed fiercely about the gun, and circled it above his head, as a signal for his ruffians to fall upon Luchman and hew him to pieces.

But _dekhna_! Luchman was not there!