Part 16 (1/2)

”Has this slave not always said the Huzoor was as the Salt of the Earth,” came the instant rapid reply. ”My lord, listen! This is the Hand of Fate. Wise men bow to it. You are here, safe, alone, none know of you. Come with this slave and he will save you ...”

”D--n you, you scoundrel,” shouted the Boy blindly, and fumbled for the stirrups.

”Huzoor! that is useless!” came Hoshyari's voice, quiet now; all entreaty gone. In its place almost command. ”You cannot force the barrier. Where we had one man, they have ten.”

”I will try,” muttered the Boy, doggedly. ”I can but try.”

”The Huzoor can do better,” said Hoshyari. ”He can come with me. I know a way.”

Even in his excitement the full meaning of this came home to the Boy.

”You know?” he echoed under his breath, ”didn't I always say you were the greatest scoundrel unhung?”

”And the Huzoor is the Salt of the Earth,” came the unfailing reply.

The rapid Indian dusk was falling as they made their way on foot to a village which, though almost exactly opposite the barrier, still lay the orthodox half mile from the Hedge, within which, by rule of the Salt Department, no building might be erected. The Boy was now in native dress, for Hoshyari had utilised the interval of time in arranging for the former's midnight ride of warning.

In reporting on these arrangements, he had given scope to his imagination as to their difficulty. In reality, he had only had to ride up to the barrier, give the pa.s.sword, and enter, to be welcomed as one of the party within. Whether he was at heart one of them, or whether, all things considered, his cleverness had come to the conclusion that it was best for his purpose to fall in with their mood for the time being, is uncertain; but that purpose was clear, namely, to get the Boy out of the danger zone if he could. So he raised no objection to the looting of the Salt Patrol's bungalow--the little Salt Patrol who, doubtless, had run away into the jungle in the hope of escape, being but a mere boy--but the office must be let alone. There must be no tampering with books and registers, since he, Hoshyari Mull, Srimali Brahman, whose father--G.o.d rest him--had been Prime Minister to a Prince, was accountable for them to the powers that be--be they John Company or the Badshah. Therefore the doors must be locked and the keys given to him. And that Kathyawar mare in the stable was his; so that was an end of it. Whoever laid hands on the beast would rue the deed.

But all this was past: now he had to get the Boy through the Hedge, incredible though it seemed. ”The furthermost house in the village is mine, Huzoor,” said Hoshyari, gravely. ”It is thence that, in disguise, I penetrate the evil designs of the smugglers.”

The Boy ground his teeth, and was silent. He knew what he would say; but this was not the time to say it; this was the time to warn his countrymen.

They found the tiny hamlet deserted; as all knew, half India fled before the mutineers.

”It is as well,” remarked Hoshyari, hardily, ”since they might talk, though none know of the secret save this slave and Suchet Singh, the waiting--house keeper.”

But as they came upon what was called the waiting-house, since here salt that arrived without proper papers, or that failed to pay the toll, was held up, they found Suchet Singh the Sikh lying dead at his post. The Boy ground his teeth again. So would he be lying but for his desire not only to die, but to do.

”Look sharp, will you,” he said, roughly, to his companion, ”we lose time. The moon will be up ere long.”

Hoshyari led the way across a yard; an ordinary village house yard with a row of three or four native corn granaries standing against one wall.

These are huge basketwork erections, each taller than a man, in shape not unlike a big pickle bottle, fixed to the ground and carefully plastered over with mud and cow dung.

”They are all full,” said Hoshyari, with a curious smile, as he pa.s.sed one; and, sure enough, as he lifted the little sliding door at the bottom, a tiny moraine of wheat fell forward in the half light. But the next instant, with a dexterous twist of his hand, the whole _kothe_ slid round as on a pivot, disclosing a round well-like hole.

”We shall need a light,” said Hoshyari in a matter-of-fact tone, and produced a tinder box and a candle from a niche at his feet.

Once again the Boy ground his teeth. So this was the way, was it? and all the time this biggest scoundrel that ever went unhung was discovering miserable back-loads of smuggling! Words had failed him long since; now thought failed him also; he plodded on, his head bent, down the narrow subterranean pa.s.sage that scarcely showed in the flickering candle light.

But here, surely, there was less gloom and more room. He stood upright and glanced above him. A star showed through a tangle of branches.

”We are under the Great Hedge, Huzoor,” said Hoshyari, deferentially, in answer to his look. ”The pa.s.sage needed air, and we also required to have a store closer at hand.” He held up the light, and it fell faintly on rows on rows of sacks of salt ranged round a central s.p.a.ce. ”It is quite light here in the daytime, Huzoor,” he went on cheerfully.

”Sometimes the sun actually s.h.i.+nes in; and the snakes do not fall down now that we have put a net across the opening.”

So this was one of the things concealed in the great width of the Hedge. Who would have dreamt of it? Who _could_ have dreamt it?

Something of the comicality of the whole affair was beginning to filter into the Boy's brain; he caught himself wondering where the pa.s.sage ended--under his bed, maybe!

It was almost as bad. ”We are there, Huzoor,” said Hoshyari, mounting some steep steps, and then swung a panel blocking the pa.s.sage backwards. It had shelves on it, and books. He heard the turning of a key, he followed his leader, and the next minute stood in the growing light which presages a rising moon, inside the office room, looking stupidly at what lay behind him; only a cupboard in the mud wall where the ledgers were kept.