Part 12 (2/2)

Some miles ahead of us lay a village which contained a police station. I sent Balderston and Marriott galloping on ahead to give warning to the havildar and constables in it, as they might not yet have heard of the crime. The column tramped on in gloomy silence through fairly open country, until we reached the new Raidak River and found our way barred by the swift-flowing stream. However, at this point there was a ferry consisting of a small dug-out canoe. I halted the detachment and was superintending the embarkation of the first batch of men, when higher up on the opposite bank two hors.e.m.e.n appeared. They were Marriott and Balderston. They called out across the water something that I did not hear. But the sepoys farther along on our side of the river did; and a wild burst of cheering from them startled me. They seemed to have gone mad. They threw their _puggris_ in the air and waved their rifles above their heads yelling excitedly. Then a wild rush was made towards me.

”They've caught him, Sahib. Ranjit Singh has caught him,” they cried, as they crowded round me. Never in my service had I seen the usually stolid sepoys so moved. Only then did I realise fully their bitter feeling of personal hatred of the treacherous a.s.sa.s.sin who had slain a comrade, and how keenly they had desired his capture.

Fording the stream the two officers approached me. Balderston waved his helmet, his face aglow with excitement.

”They've got him, major! They've got the brute, thank G.o.d!” he cried.

A load seemed lifted off my heart; but a sudden fear gripped me.

”Are the others safe?” I asked. ”Anyone shot?”

”No, no. They sprang on him before he could use his rifle,” he replied, as his pony scrambled up the bank. Swinging himself out of the saddle he continued: ”We met Ranjit Singh on the road bringing him along. They are not far off. They tracked him to a village and overpowered him before he could resist. He had his loaded rifle beside him.”

That was the first happy moment I had experienced since the fatal night.

The murderer was in our hands; and my poor havildar's death would be avenged.

We stood in silence beside the river, watching the opposite bank intently. At last on it appeared a little group of figures, three in khaki, a fourth in white. Again the cheering burst out from the sepoys and continued as the canoe was sent across the stream to bring over the prisoner and his captors. Farid Khan was in front, his hands bound behind his back by a rope, the end of which was held by Havildar Ranjit Singh, who carried a rifle. As they came down the sloping path to the water's edge, it occurred to me that the prisoner, when in the cranky boat, might endeavour to capsize it and drown himself. So I ordered two or three of my best swimmers to strip and be ready to plunge into the river. But Farid Khan stepped carefully into the canoe and seated himself in the bottom of it and never moved until it reached our side.

He laughed amusedly when one of his escort, trying to spring ash.o.r.e, fell into the shallow water. As the canoe grounded the sepoys crowded round it with menacing looks; and we officers had to drive them back.

Had we not been there they would have lynched him. Some cursed and reviled him, while others applauded his captors. But coolly and unconcernedly he stepped ash.o.r.e with a cynical smile on his face. When the havildar had marched him up in front of me he stood quietly at attention. He was a young man twenty-one years old, with good features and a slight, well-knit frame. He returned my gaze steadily and seemed as little perturbed as though the offence he would have to answer for were of the slightest nature. The havildar handed me a rifle.

”This was in the prisoner's possession when I arrested him,” he said.

I examined the weapon. The barrel was fouled; and in the magazine were eight cartridges.

I warned Farid Khan that anything he said might be used in evidence against him, and then asked:

”Why did you run away from the fort?”

”Because, when I had shot the colour-havildar, it was the only thing to do,” he replied unconcernedly.

”You confess that you did shoot Shaikh Bakur?” I said.

”Yes, I did shoot him.”

”Why?”

”Because he punished me and abused me that day. I knew that I would be on guard that evening and would have cartridges for my rifle. So I resolved to shoot him. At first I did not intend to do it in the night; as it would cause a lot of trouble to the other sepoys of the detachment, since they would be obliged to turn out and try to capture me. But while I was on sentry I thought the matter over and reflected that I might not have as good a chance to kill him in the morning as when he was sleeping. So I determined to make sure of him and do it at once.”

He spoke calmly and without the least sign of remorse or apprehension.

”How did you do it?” I asked.

”As soon as the _naik_ (corporal) of the guard had visited my post at eleven o'clock that night, I walked across to the barrack-room. I groped my way to my cot, beside which was a small lamp. This I lighted. Then I got my pipe, sat down on my bed and had a smoke. When I had finished it I stood up and took my rifle, which I loaded. Shaikh Bakur was lying asleep opposite me. I shot him and ran out of the room.”

I tried to picture the scene with the callous youngster calmly smoking as he watched his unconscious victim. I wondered if the sight of his enemy's face had aroused his anger as he looked at it.

”How was Shaikh Bakur lying?” I questioned. ”Was his face turned towards you?”

”I don't know,” he replied indifferently. ”His head was covered up in the bedclothes; and I could not see it.”

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