Part 18 (1/2)
”Yes, Captain; and I may say that if you can get through with all this there will be no question about your Majority; you might even go higher up than Major.”
”By Jove! as to that, my dear Colonel, this trip is just good sport--I love it: less danger than playing polo with these rotters. I'll swing over to Udaipur first--it's just west of the Pindari camp,--been there once before on a little pow-wow--then I'll switch back to Amir Khan.”
”I wish you luck, Captain; but be careful. If we can feel sure that this horde of Pindaris are not hovering on our army's flank, like the Russians hovered on Napoleon's in the Moscow affair, it will be a great thing--you will have accomplished a wonderful thing.”
”Right you are, Sir,” Barlow exclaimed blithely. The stupendous task, for it was that, tonicked him; he was like a sportsman that had received news of a tiger within killing distance. He rose, and stretched out his hand for the paper, saying: ”I've got a job of cobbling to do--I'll put this between the soles of my sandal, as it was carried before--it's the safest place, really. To-morrow I'll become an apostate, an Afghan; and I'll be busy, for I've got to do it all myself. I can trust no one with a dark skin.”
”Not even the Gulab, I fear, Captain; one never knows when a woman will be swayed by some mental transition.” He was thinking of Elizabeth.
”You're right, Colonel,” Barlow answered. ”I fancy I could trust the Gulab--but I won't.”
CHAPTER XVI
Captain Barlow had been through a busy day. The very fact that all he did in preparation for his journey to the Pindari camp had been done with his own hands, held under water, out of sight, had increased the strain upon him.
In India in the usual routine of matters, a staff of ten servants form a composite second self to a Sahib: to hand him his boots, and lace them; to lay out his clothes, and hold them while slipped into; to bring a cheroot or a peg of whiskey; a _syce_ to bring the horse and rub a towel over the saddle--to hold the stirrup, even, for the lifted foot, and trotting behind, guard the horse when the Sahib makes a call; a man to go here and there with a note or to post a letter; a servant to whisk away a plate and replenish the crystal gla.s.s with pearl-beaded wine without sign from the drinker, and appear like a bidden ghost, clad in speckless white, silent and impa.s.sive of face, behind his master's chair at the table when he dines out; everything in fact beyond the mental whirl of the brain to be arranged by one or other of the ten.
But this day Barlow had been like a man throwing detectives off his trail. Not one of his servants must suspect that he contemplated a trip--no, not just that, for the Captain had intimated casually to the butler that he would go soon to Satara.
Thus it had to be arranged secretly that he would ride from his bungalow as Captain Barlow and leave the city as Ayub Alli, an Afghan.
Perhaps Barlow was over tired, that curious knotted condition of the nerves through overstrain that rasps a man's mental fibre beyond the narcotic of sleep, and yet holds him in a hectic state of half unconsciousness. He counted camels--long strings of soured, complaining beasts, short-legged, stout, s.h.a.ggy desert-s.h.i.+ps, such as merchants of Kabul used to carry their dried fruits,--figs and dates and pomegranates, and the wondrous flavoured Sirdar melon,--wending across the Sind Desert of floating white sand to Rajasthan.
Once a male, tickled to frenzy by the caress of a female's velvet lips upon his rump, with a hoa.r.s.e bubbling scream, wheeled suddenly, snapping the thin lead-cord that reached from the tail of the camel in front to the b.u.t.ton in his nostril, and charged the lady in an exuberance of affection with a full broadside--thrust from his chest that bowled her over, where she lay among the fragments of two huge broken burnt-clay _gumlas_, that, filled with water, had been lashed to her sides.
Barlow sat up at this startling tumult that was the outcome of his slipping a little into slumber. He threw his head back on the pillow with a smothered, ”d.a.m.n!”
His bed had creaked, and an answering echo as if something had slipped or slid, perhaps the sole of a bare foot on the fibrous floor matting, at the window, fell upon his senses. Turning his face toward the sound he waited, eyes trying to pierce the gloom, and ear attuned. He almost cried out in alarm as something floated through the dark from the window and fell with a soft thud upon his face. He brushed at the something--perhaps a bat, or a lizard, or a snake--with his hand and received a sharp p.r.i.c.k, a little dart of pain in a thumb. He sprang from the bed, lighted the wick that floated in the iron lamp, and discovered that the thing of dread was a rose, its petals red against the white sheet.
He knew who must have thrown the rose, and almost wished that it had been a chance missil, even a snake, but he put the lamp down, pa.s.sed into the bathroom, and unbarring the wooden door, called softly, ”Who is there?”
From the cover of an oleander a slight girlish form rose up and came to the door saying, ”It is Bootea, Sahib; do not be angry,--there is something to be said.”
By the arm he led her within and bidding her wait, pa.s.sed to the bedroom and drew the heavy curtains of the windows. Then he went through the drawing-room and out to the verandah, where the watchman lay asleep on his roped charpoy. Barlow woke him: ”There's a thief prowling about the bungalow. Do not sleep till I give you permission.
See that no one enters,” he commanded.
He went back to his room, closed and barred the door, and told Bootea to come.
When the girl entered he said: ”You should not have come here; there are eyes, and ears, and evil tongues.”
”That is true, Sahib, but also death is evil--sometimes.”
”I have brought this to the Sahib,” Bootea said as she drew a paper from her breast and pa.s.sed it to the Captain. It was the pardon the Resident had given that morning to Ajeet Singh.
Barlow, though startled, schooled his voice to an even tone as he asked: ”Where did you get this--where is Ajeet?”
”As to the paper, Sahib, what matters how Bootea came by it; as to Ajeet, he is in the grasp of the Dewan who learned that he had been to the Resident in the way of treachery.”
”Ajeet thought Nana Sahib had stolen you, Bootea.”