Chapter XXIX

Jaffer closed up his hospital affairs, and waited two days to receive Umar Khel’s offering of tea for Dr. Trench. He knew it would be worth waiting for, and it would come exactly on the doctor’s birthday. To the rich of Kabul, Umar Khel often sold teas that the Chief Commissioner in Peshawar could not afford to buy.

On Thursday, at eight in the morning, he appeared at the shop. The proprietor was on hand.

“Salaam alêkom, Umar Khel.”

“Wa-alêkom salaam, Hakim Rasul. The tea has come. But be seated and try my cigarettes, for now we shall lose you to the infidels.”

Jaffer had hardly complied when his little sister came running in quite out of breath, bearing an official envelope for which her mother had just signed. He took it from her, opened it, read it, and spoke. “Be at peace, little one, and say to mother that there is no bad news.”

Jaffer put the message in his pocket and threw back his head, emitting a ring of smoke. This was different. The doctor had stepped into the game, and that was enough for Jaffer.

“Umar Khel, I will buy the camel of you. I am going to Kabul.”

“No, Rasul. If you get past Lundi Kotal, I shall have to go to Kabul and beg your life of Habibullah.”

“Not so, Umar Khel, but far otherwise. I shall be taken to Kabul for trial. At Kabul I shall send for your cousin, and he will despatch a messenger for me to Tashkent.”

“Do not boast, my son. You will never get to Kabul. At evening you will eat soup with some new friend, and a new friend’s soup is worse than bhang to make you sleep.”

“Then I will go soupless, but I go to Kabul. Hukm hai! It is commanded.”

Umar Khel spat on the ground. “These ears are deaf when an infidel commands a Moslem.”

“Umar Khel, this man Trench has been to me as my father. He gave me a home when Americans turned me from the doors. I have sworn an oath. When he calls, I answer. When he thirsts, he shall have the last drop from my mushak. When he is robbed, I avenge him. When his women are betrayed, I go to hunt the jackal.”

“It is an oath,” said Umar Khel. “Is the foul budmash an infidel or a Moslem?”

“Moslem and infidel, O thou just one. Behold him—as he lurks even now in Kabul or Bokhara.” And Jaffer drew forth the picture of Saadi.

“A cat!” exclaimed Umar Khel. “He mocks the Prophet, whose beautiful animal now springs upon his shoulder in Paradise.”

“Thou hast said. Wisdom sits upon the lips of my father’s friend.”

The old man clapped his hands, and Amar Singh appeared.

“Bring me pen and paper, and cut the reed true, for to-day I write in Persian. I write to the Amir, and he will send the writ of Habibullah himself, permitting one Rasul Rahim Jaffer, Hakim of Peshawar, full liberty to tread any and every road in Afghanistan. And when I have finished, it shall be your duty, Amar Singh, to go to the Afghan postmaster with it, and tell him that I have lame clerks that can run faster than his dak-runners. It will madden him, and in fourteen days we shall place the writ in the doctor’s hands.”

Amar Singh smiled with pleasure at this confidence, and turned to depart. But Jaffer spoke.

“Wait, Amar Singh, for Jaffer waits not. I go to some friend, for my father no longer has friends. They who were his friends speak of dangers and days.”

He sprang to his feet, and Umar Khel arose frowning. Both turned toward the door, and both stopped—

For there in the white sunlight stood a tall youth, well coloured and light of limb. His turban was whiter than the sunlight, and his eye darker than Umar’s frown.

“Salaam alêkom, Uncle!”

There was silence for a moment. Then Umar shrieked, “I know you not! Breaker of promises! Rebellious budmash! Leave my door and go back to the whipping post.”

But Abdul of Kabul smilingly stepped in, advanced, and seized his uncle’s hands. “Struggle not, old man, or I shall kiss you, like a Christian.”

The Kabuli laughed loud as he turned to Jaffer, still holding his uncle’s wrists.

“I know thee well, Hakim. Often I have heard of my almost copy. But Jaffer is a prince to gaze upon, and I a wretched fakir. It is useless for this ancient fire to flame hot words—for look! uncle, I have the Amir’s writ for all the world, and ocriti lista for Russia. He could not refuse when I mentioned our friend who returns from Leipzig a great chemist.”

“Our friend can make ammunition,” said Umar faintly.

“Yes, uncle! And I can make inquiries. When I get back to Kabul, I shall have information to impart.”

Then silence fell upon the three men. They seated themselves, and the noiseless Amar Singh was presently setting forth more tea, more cakes, more strawberries, more cigarettes.

“When I came in,” said Abdul, “you twain were parting in anger.”

“I blame him not,” said Umar.

“Nor I him, the aged and true,” said Jaffer. “Is there in Kabul a Bokharan physician named Ali Khan?”

“Assuredly not, hakim. There are a thousand Ali Khans, but no hakim. Why do you ask?”

“Look, Abdul. This telegram is from one whose word to me is law, even as the word of the Amir is law to you. He bids me seek Tashkent, and that with the utmost haste and effort—_jitnee koshesh ho sakay kar ke ravana, ho jao_.”

“And why?”

“Because a friend of Afghans has been robbed, and a woman has been betrayed.”

“May I see your passport?”

Jaffer drew it forth, and Abdul examined it. “This is not good in Turkestan, but it will serve in Turkey.”

Abdul calmly pocketed Jaffer’s passport, and placed his Afghan writ and ocriti lista in Jaffer’s hands.

Umar looked up. Umar smiled. Umar said, “I have long thought that you should visit Stamboul.”

Then he turned to Jaffer. “You go as my agent to Ibrahim Ismail in Bokhara, with a trifling load of tea. I will tell you the price, and you will not take a pouhl less. Ali Khel is in Monday’s kafila now, and you will overtake him before he reaches Kabul. If you get away within three hours, you will be in Lundi Kotal to-morrow night.”

“Umar Khel means to-morrow morning.”

“It is bravely spoken, Rasul, but you will not be able to pass the fort. The rules are strict. You will have to halt and camp with the rest before Shadi, the jaw of the pass.”

“A bad omen, Umar Khel. The man I hunt is named Saadi.”

Umar thought a moment. “Nothing is ominous. The Prophet has said it. But—your camel—the Houri—cannot endure a pinch on the ear. It makes her run—even in the dark.”

“Enough, Umar Khel! I am the hafiz and memory of Houri’s ear.”

“Very good. The kafila takes fourteen days to Kabul, but I have done it in six—on a she-camel no better than Houri, whom Amar Singh will instantly load for you in the compound. Ali Khel goes by Kabul, Bamian, Khulm, and Balkh. You may tell him to press ahead with you. Take a gun. Take a heavy shawl to pray on and sleep in. Change your dress. I will include bajra cakes and dried fruits. There will be a mushak, but you will find water. There are cotton seed cakes for your camel. There is a small tent. I will have your customs instructions ready, in case Ali drops behind.”

He clapped his hands for his clerk, and the clerk, being instructed, brought certain Afghan monies.

“In one Kabuli rupee there are thirteen annas, four pice. The customs will reckon at thirteen, and it is robbery, but you will not dispute them. If Ali can keep up with you, you will need no other guidance till you reach Balkh. Follow, and be careful of the steep roads at Kohak. At Balkh, be guided by breath and bone. If you are worn out, go to Termes and take the boat. Sell the camel there, and remit to me from Tashkent. If you go clear through to Bokhara with it, Ali can bring back its skin and bones. It is a week on Amu Darya to Charjui, but it is only versts one hundred and twenty-five from Charjui to Bokhara. Ali will do his best to keep up—but I see this case clearly. You will beat him to the bazaar or to Paradise.”

“And if I fail?”

“It is kismet, and Trench will pay. He is rich, or he would not ask you to undertake this thing. Is it a profit for me to send two maunds of tea to Bokhara? Is it safe for you—in spite of stolen writs and passes? But an oath is an oath. Go now and change your clothes, put your feringhee rags into a bundle not to exceed thirty-six pounds English, quiet your mother’s fears, and be back.”

Jaffer arose, and a single exclamation escaped him. “Gee whiz!”

“I do not understand, Rasul, but he that catches a Gilzai asleep has good kismet. And by Allah! as you boys stand there, I seem to see the fair full moon double! I must be drunk, like a Christian.”