Chapter XXX

Jaffer went to get the money which Trench had cabled. Then he went home and said farewell to his mother, who cheered him on when she understood the situation. Finally he changed his clothes, having put all his money, together with a short pencil and some bits of paper, in a belt next to his skin. Accompanied by his father and the family servants, he set out for Umar Khel’s. He looked the travelling merchant. About his middle he wore a cummerbund, on his legs the loose Afghan tombons, on his head an old turban. He carried a Martini, a good dagger, and twenty-five pounds of luggage. It cost him a pang to leave all the heavier instruments of the elegant kit which Trench had given him, but he had a half-dozen of the smaller ones.

Umar Khel handed him a wonderful lacquered canister. “I now take an interest in your Chicago friend. Present my salaams to Trench. There is mettle in the man, and in return for our help he shall help the Headman of his street. If the street have no such person charged with the execution of justice, he shall himself be that man. I hail him Hakim Trench Kilantar! In ordinary cases of seduction and outrage, let him exercise ordinary prudence by burying the offender up to the neck, and the dogs will take care of the head. In case his subordinates allow buildings to burn, let him burn the negligent inspector. Here in this paper are your instructions, written out. Mount, Rasul, mount and be off.”

Jaffer was quick about it. He thrust the canister into his luggage, strapped the luggage in place, made his farewells, and mounted. The camel rose beneath him. Enthroned there on high, he looked as fine an Afghan as any.

“Shabash, shabash!” cried Umar Khel. “Roar and be gone, for Rasul means the messenger, and the messenger of a lion is a lion. Find your jackal, skin him, and say your prayers on the skin. It is unclean, but God is merciful!”

Jaffer swung off in fine style, and they watched him till the bazaar closed behind him and he struck the road to the pass.

He urged his beast. He safely crossed the rocky plain which, in nine miles, harbours many a cutthroat. At six o’clock he reached the fort, showed his writ, was remembered as Abdul, registered as Abdul, and was allowed to join the kafila encamped beyond.

He selected a position as far on the northern outskirts of the camp as possible. He ate his supper, and listened idly to the braying of donkeys, the grumbling of camels, and the cackling of fowls. Slowly darkness fell. Jaffer lay down close to the Houri, and took a nap. When he awoke it was eight o’clock, and the sky was starry clear, and most of the motley horde about him had gone to sleep. Jaffer stretched himself, tightened his sash, reached over to Houri, and pinched her ear. The camel sprang to her feet like a billowy sea monster. Jaffer then arose and gave that ear the pinch of poverty itself. Houri did not stop to bite—she fled into the darkness, due north, with Jaffer following. A guard called out, but he got no answer.

Half an hour later Houri and hakim were well into the grim jaws of Shadi Bagiar.

Along the ravine, then into the smooth road made by the British with vast labour some seventy years before. The camel moved as securely as on a pavement, and Jaffer remembered the old legend that Asoka built a railway here. It was doubtless untrue, for Asoka—they say—is a name known to more people than ever heard of Cæsar, and more idealised than Cæsar. Jaffer remembered what feet had marched through here. Persian, Greek, Seljuk, Tatar, Mongol, Durani—driven by unguessed forces of nature. Certainly within ten feet of him, perhaps through exactly the same space to a foot, had passed the living bodies of Alexander the Great, Ghengis Khan, Tamerlane.

He inspected the heights. In the day-time three guards should appear at every block-house as he approached. In the day-time they should present arms and watch him till he was within sight of the next. But, of course, nobody appeared. He was unguarded.

He fell to whistling—and then to whispering—“Oh, du lieber Halsted Street,” and plodded on as fast as his mount could go. The sky was a thin black starry strip, with a faint scimitar of silver, but Jaffer was unmoved by the night’s “illegible vast romance,” having enough to watch in this chiselled water-course of his own planet.

Hours came and went. The road slowly rose to the left, and from a little plateau Jaffer caught the gleam of a light, below, doubtless from the fort of Ali Masjid. He paused to reflect that it was midnight, and that he had ridden more than a day’s journey. He dismounted, pretty stiff, and fed the camel, which proceeded to lie down and rest. Jaffer ate a bajra cake, drank some water, and lighted a cigarette. He sat there half an hour, wrapped in his heavy shawl from the bitter night air, and so drowsy that he could hardly smoke. Then he rose and proposed to the Houri that they should proceed. The lady viciously objected, but in vain.

On and on, still westward. The road zigzagged down and ran along a cliff. The pass is very narrow here, and there is a river below, and two thousand feet of hill rise above it. The camel felt her way along, and Jaffer did no whistling.

The sky seemed less black. One by one the stars disappeared. The valley widened a trifle, and day dawned slowly. He was on the edge of the country of the Zakka Khels, and yonder he saw a ruined Afridi watch tower. He thought he would eat some mulberries and give the Houri another rest.

Ping! Something struck into the bundle of tea on the left side. The report followed, and Jaffer reflected for a second what to do. Then he toppled gracefully and fell to the ground. His camel loped off up the pass and lay down, glad that her rider had come to his senses.

Jaffer lay still. He wondered if he had done the right thing. The only other thing would have been to advance with the camel as a shield, and that would have invited the death of his mount. Well, he had tested the safety of the pass on a guarded day, and found that it was not guaranteed so early in the morning. He had no right to complain, though he heartily wished that the Germans owned it. As for himself, he must play ’possum till the robber appeared, and then take his chances in a sudden grapple.

He reflected idly, during the next five minutes, on Umar Khel’s ideas of justice. He had considerable sympathy with them, but just at present their limitations were painfully evident, for co-operation was necessary to enforce them. He earnestly desired the sound of hoof-beats of the King’s Own. Hark—was that a stone, loosened by a hasty foot? He scanned the hillside as well as he could without changing position.

He saw it—a form skulking, dodging, winding down. As it came nearer, he saw that the fellow wore his lungi wrapped around his left arm, and though the arm supported a Snider, it looked stiff.

Why had the villain paused at a safe distance? Surely he must see that the Martini was lying out of Jaffer’s reach. Jaffer longed for it—could imagine the “Ma-sha-Illah” engraved on it for good luck—but he did not dare reach out. Bismillah! what was happening now? The scoundrel had turned and was making off up the hill.

Jaffer sprang to his feet, seized his rifle, and drew a bead on the retreating form. “Zakka Khel ahoy! The hill is steep. Manda na bash—may you never be weary!”

The fellow stopped, presenting a tempting back. He turned. Jaffer lowered his rifle and laid it on the ground.

“What’s the matter with the arm, brother? Come down in the safety of God.”

The Afridi hesitated, laid down his rifle, and descended. He took Jaffer’s hand and laid it in turn upon each of his own eyes. “It was only Takrar—the Feud. I took you for my cousin.”

Jaffer nodded. “I have heard. A cousin’s tooth breaks on a cousin’s. Did he give you that arm?”

“Yes, Agha. Early in this month of Jomhadi.”

“Three weeks ago! Do you hate him?”

“Oh, no. My cousin lost three little ones in the famine. Great was their pain, but now they drink the river of milk in paradise.”

“Have you seen a hakim about this arm?”

“The mullahs have prayed. It grows worse. I shall die, but in paradise I shall no longer struggle for bread. I shall shoot the pheasants and eat and be filled, and the bones will put on new plumage and fly back into the golden leaves. The mullah has told me.”

“O pale son of Zakka Khel, I am hakim. I am Hakim Rasul of Peshawar.”

“I kiss the foot of Hakim Rasul. Why did he spare this slave?”

“I have sworn an oath to spare the men of Zakka Khel. I have sworn the oath of _wilyati yunani_[1]—that I will heal friend and foe. Let me see your arm.”

The man shook his head. “You are Daktar Sahib—a Christian.”

“No.”

“You are Baid—a Hindu.”

“No! La illaha illa ’llaha, Muhammad-an-Rassul-Allah, Hakim Rasul rasul-o-rasulillah!”[2]

The man unbound the lungi and revealed a ghastly sight. Jaffer stripped off a chicken skin that was wrapped around the general disaster. Then he opened his luggage and got out his big bath sponge. “Take this down to the river and soak it.”

The fellow received the sponge gingerly. “It is the little cloud. I have heard but never seen. Hakim Rasul has caught the cloud on the top of Safed Koh, and shut it in the jar, and waited till the cloud is dead. Then he cut off this piece to wash the arm of Zakka Khel.”

When the arm was clean, Jaffer brought out his instruments, and the man started to run away. “Coward!” yelled Jaffer. “Spawn of an Englishman!”

The Afridi came back with flashing eyes, and for the next four minutes never flinched. At the end of that time Jaffer placed the ball in his hand. “Pukka talisman, Zakka Khel.”

“I know, I know! I shall have no sickness now. I am the hakim’s slave.”

“Then go to your cousin and give him this word from me. As I wrap this lungi about your arm, so I wrap a spell about you both. From henceforth there shall be peace between you till I come again.”

“It shall be so, Hakim. I will bring the camel. Lundi Kotal is only five kro from here. Go in the safety of God, and may the riches of Rasul ever increase.”

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Foreign medicine—the medicine of Hippocrates.

[2] There is no God but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God, and Dr. Rasul is the messenger of God’s messenger.