Daughters of Destiny. L. Frank Baum

‘strike while the iron is hot.’ We may safely apply it to ourselves.”

      Maie glanced at her father, and there was a glint of triumph in the dark eyes.

      “It is what I have said,” she murmured. “The Lion of Mekran must not live seven days.”

      “Do you know, fair one,” remarked Kasam, lightly, “that only yesterday I bewailed the approaching fate of the usurper, and longed to have him live until we could secure England’s support?”

      “England!” she cried, scornfully. “What is that far-away nation to our Baluchistan? It is here that history will be made.”

      Kasam laughed merrily.

      “What a logical little head you have, cousin!” he answered, laying his hand upon her own, caressingly. “To us, indeed, Baluchistan is the world. And England’s help is far away from us in this crisis. Tell me, Maie, what is your counsel?”

      “It is your duty, Prince, to prevent Burah Khan from living until his son arrives to be acknowledged his successor.”

      Kasam’s face became suddenly grave.

      “My duty, cousin?” he replied. “It is no man’s duty to murder, even to become khan. But perhaps I misunderstood your words. I am practically a stranger in my own land, and can do little to further my own interests, which naturally include the interests of my friends. If Burah Khan fails to live until his son’s arrival it will be through the will of Allah, and by no act of mine.”

      “You are a coward,” said the girl, scornfully.

      “Yes,” he answered, coldly; “I am afraid to become a murderer.”

      “Peace, both of you!” commanded the vizier, angrily. “You are like a pair of children. Do you think that I, who have been Burah’s faithful officer for thirty years, would countenance treachery or foul play while he lies upon his death-bed? I long to see Prince Kasam seated upon the throne, but it must be through honest diplomacy, and by no assassin’s stroke.”

      “Right, my uncle!” cried Kasam, seizing the vizier’s hand in a hearty clasp. “Otherwise, were I khan, you should be no officer of mine.”

      Agahr and his daughter exchanged a quick glance, and the girl said, languidly:

      “I was doubtless wrong, urged on by the intensity of my feeling and my loyalty to the Tribe of Raab. But a woman’s way is, I think, more direct and effective than a man’s.”

      “Even if less honest, cousin?” retorted the young man, playfully pinching her cheek. “Let us bide our time and trust to the will of Allah. This evening I must set out on my return to Quanam. What answer shall I take to my foreign friends who await me?”

      “Tell me, Kasam; why do they wish to cross our territory—to visit our villages and spy upon our people?” asked Agahr suspiciously.

      “It is as I told you, my uncle. They are people of great wealth, from the far western country of America, and it is their custom to penetrate to every part of the world and lay rails of iron over which chariots may swiftly speed. We have no such rails in Baluchistan.”

      “Nor do we desire them,” returned the vizier, brusquely.

      “But they would bring to us all the merchandise of that wonderful western world. They would bring us wealth in exchange for our own products,” said Kasam, eagerly.

      “And they would bring hundreds of infidels to trick and rob us. I know of these railways,” declared the vizier.