Barclay of the Guides. Herbert Strang

of Dilasah were well founded. If they were, he would have two aims in life: to bring back Rahmut Khan, and to punish Dilasah.

      It was three weeks before Assad returned. He came in one day weary and footsore, and in great depression of spirits.

      "Hai! Sherdil was ever a liar," he said dolefully, when amid a circle of the chief men of the village he made his report to Ahmed. "He a great man with the sahibs, forsooth! Why, he is but a servant, and does foolishness. I found him not in Peshawar; weary as I was, I had to go two days' journey to Mardan in the north-east. And what did I see there? Two score of men standing in line beneath the walls, and a Feringhi with a boy's face calling out strange words to them, and as he spoke these men lifted their right feet all together, and held them in the air as a goose does, and then let them fall to the ground again, and up came their left feet, all together, and so they marched, very slowly. And then they stopped, and moved their feet up and down without walking; 'twas the most foolish thing I ever saw. And then at another word from the Feringhi dog they lifted their guns—short guns for babies, not like our jazails—and held them straight before their noses, and at another word they let them down again and crossed their hands over them, and so stood without motion, as quiet and still as if they had been trees. And I called to Sherdil, and bade him come and greet his father; but he neither looked at me nor said a word, not daring to make a movement except at the bidding of the Feringhi boy. And afterwards, when the Feringhi made a hissing between his teeth—'Dissmisss!' was the word of the foolish one—Sherdil came to me and asked me with great violence why I had tried to get him punished, for it seems that if he had walked out of the line, or lifted a hand, or spoken a word save at the bidding of the Feringhi, he would have suffered grievous stripes, or have received no sheep's flesh to eat. Cursed be the dogs of Feringhis! That is what they make of the free-men of the hills."

      "But what of my father?" asked Ahmed, to whom this description of European drill was not interesting.

      "Thy father? Hai! He is shut up for five years."

      He was interrupted by shrill cries from the men around. Ahmed, stealing a glance at Dilasah, saw his eyes flash with satisfaction.

      "Yes, for five years he is to lie in the Feringhis' prison. That is the judgment of Jan Larrens. And Sherdil, my wretched son, said that it was his just deserts and the due reward of foolishness. Hai! if I had known what I know now, I would have cut off Sherdil's right hand sooner than let him go back to do goose-step and other things unworthy of a Pathan. And when I told him what I thought, he laughed at me with great laughter, and said, 'Go back, foolish one, or verily I will tell Lumsden Sahib of thee, and ere thou knowest thou wilt be doing goose-step too. Lumsden Sahib will have thee.' And I shook the dust off my feet and departed; and my heart is sore vexed, for I thought my son was a great man, and would do me honour in my old age."

      There was much shaking of heads at this exposure of Sherdil's boastfulness, and much sympathy expressed for Assad. But the man was an ignorant fellow, a dyer by trade, who had seldom left the village, and Ahmed felt sure that he had in some way been mistaken.

      Assad's news about Rahmut Khan did but confirm his resolution to leave the village. He was on the point of mentioning it to Dilasah when that plausible man himself came to him, all smiles and geniality.

      "Salaam, Ahmed," he said. "'Tis to be feared we shall never see our chief Rahmut Khan again. He is an old man; the prison will kill him. No man can strive against fate, and it is not meet that we sorrow overmuch for what cannot be altered. Therefore am I come to bid thee to a feast, Ahmed-ji, at which we will hail thee as chief and be merry."

      "But I cannot be chief while my father lives."

      "True, but what matters it? Thou wilt be chief in his absence, it is what he himself would wish; and if by Allah's mercy he does not die in the Feringhis' prison, but comes back to us, he will rejoice that we held a feast in thy honour. This feast will be to-morrow, Ahmed-ji, and I have already ordered the finest sheep to be killed."

      Ahmed had no reasonable excuse for declining the invitation, and Dilasah went away well pleased.

      But later in the day there came to Ahmed an old Hindu scribe who had settled in the village years before. In all considerable Pathan villages there were a few men of Hindu race—low-caste men, who plied petty trades among the Mohammedans in the hope of making money. This man had been protected once by Ahmed against the rabble of the village when he had unwittingly given them offence. He came to the tower as soon as it was dark, and being admitted to Ahmed's room, said—

      "Hazur, I come to warn you. I remember the kindness wherewith you saved your servant when he was in peril of his life, and it is meet and right to show gratitude. Besides, our lord and master Rahmut Khan will reward me when he returns, as he assuredly will do. But that is a little matter. I may be dead before that time comes, and even without a reward I would do much for you, hazur. And now what I say is this: go not to the feast to which Dilasah has bid you. I have spoken it."

      "But why, Dinga Ghosh?"

      "To-day," said the man, dropping his voice, "when I was sitting at my writing behind my lattice, I heard two of Dilasah's friends talking together. Without doubt they supposed me asleep, and indeed it was very hot, and I should have been asleep but for some good jin that held my eyelids. The men talked, and spoke of the morrow's feast, at which they would be guests, and one said that it would be a merry feast, and when it was ended no man would be in doubt as to who was chief of Shagpur. And both chuckled at this, and shortly after went away, and peeping through my lattice I beheld them that they were minions of Dilasah. For this reason have I come to warn you; without doubt mischief is intended."

      "I thank thee, Dinga Ghosh," said Ahmed, "and be sure that my father will reward thee when he comes back."

      "Salaam, hazur," said the Hindu, and went away as secretly as he had come.

      Ahmed had no longer any doubt that he must go; Shagpur was no longer safe for him. He had no scruples about leaving his father's household; Dilasah would never dare to molest them, in face of public opinion. There was nothing to detain him. But, as he had told Ahsan, he would never slink out of the place furtively like a dog in fear of a whipping. No doubt if he pleased he might slip down over the wall in the night. He would not use that way, but go openly and in broad daylight through the gate.

      Next morning, therefore, he told the chief's family of his resolve.

      "It is wise, Ahmed-ji," said Meriem; "but we are loath to lose thee. Yet it is the part of a good son to do what may be done for his father, and we shall love thee the more if thou bringest back our lord in safety. But I fear lest Dilasah will not let thee go."

      "Wah! He will be glad to be rid of me," said Ahmed.

      "Not so. Does he wish our lord Rahmut to return? Will he feel safe if he live in fear that thou mayst return one day, perhaps after many years, and become in very truth lord of Shagpur? Nay, Dilasah would fain kill thee while thou art yet a boy; it will not be so easy when thou art a man."

      "Nevertheless, O pearl, I will go, and Dilasah shall not stay me."

      He bade farewell to the ladies and their daughters, left them, and went immediately to saddle his horse. A Pathan starting on a journey needs but little equipment; his horse, his weapons, a trifle of money, a wallet of food—with these he is ready. A few minutes after he left the women he rode boldly from the courtyard towards the gate. He was surprised to find it closed, and in charge of a new gate-keeper.

      "Where is Ahsan?" he demanded sharply.

      The man replied that Ahsan being sick, he had been sent to take his place. Ahmed immediately grasped the situation. This was Dilasah's first move; he meant to make sure that his invited guest and victim should not escape him. Luckily Dilasah's house was at the other side of the village; Ahmed felt that he had perhaps a few moments to spare.

      "Open the gate," he said to the new gate-keeper.

      The man hesitated; clearly he had his orders. Instantly Ahmed's knife flashed before his eyes. There was no escape for him, with Ahmed above him. Haltingly he moved towards the gate, trying to gain time. Perhaps Dilasah or some of