Chapter Twelve.
Umar Khan—Freebooter.
Umar Khan was a Baluchi who bore a very bad record indeed.
One of his earlier exploits, in fact, that which was destined to start him in his career of budmâshi, and ultimately, in all probability, land him on the scaffold and faggot pyre (Note 1), had taken place many years before the events narrated in our story. He had been summoned before the Political Agent to answer for complicity—real or alleged—in the raiding upon and blackmailing of certain wandering herdsmen, belonging to a weaker clan. The British official found him guilty, and sentenced him to a term of imprisonment, a terrible punishment to the free, wild man of the deserts and mountains.
The manner in which this one received the penalty to which he was doomed was characteristic. His eyes blazed, and, his features working with demoniacal fury, he spat forth a volume of curses and threats.
“What does he say?” inquired the Political Agent.
The interpreter replied that, apart from calling down all the most forcible anathemas known to the Moslem creed upon the heads of those concerned in his then discomfiture, the substance of the prisoner’s declaration was as follows:—The Sirkâr (Ruling power, i.e., Government) was strong, but those who had borne witness against him were not. Let them beware. He would have ten lives for that day’s work. The Sirkâr could not shut him up for ever. It could kill him, but there were plenty left—several, even, who heard him that day—who would accept his legacy of vengeance; and the witnesses against him had better go across the wide sea, if haply they might, for no corner of the land wherein they now dwelt was remote enough to hide them from the vengeance of Umar Khan.
To this manifesto the Political Agent replied in words of weighty warning. As the prisoner had said, the Sirkâr was strong—strong to punish, as he had already discovered. If, on the expiration of his term of imprisonment he continued his evil ways, or made any attempt to fulfil his threat, he would speedily find that there was no corner of the land remote enough to hide him from the vengeance of the Sirkâr, which in that case would be swift, condign, and terrible—in fact the most terrible that could overtake him, viz: death with ignominy.
So Umar Khan duly served his term, and in the fulness of time was released. For a while the authorities kept an eye on him, and all went well. He was in no hurry, this wild, brooding, vindictive mountaineer. He employed his period of enforced quietude in secretly locating every one of those who had borne witness against him, and when the surveillance over his movements had relaxed, he became as good as his word. One night he started for some of the objects of his feud, and, taking them by surprise, killed three. Two more he found in a neighbouring village, and these also felt the weight of his tulwar. But now things grew too lively. With half of his account of vengeance settled, Umar Khan found himself forced to flee, unless he were prepared to forego—and that forever—the other half. So flee he did, both fast and far, hotly pursued by the Political Agent and a strong posse of Levy sowars.
Now, the said Political was a staff corps man who had seen some service, and, moreover a very energetic and zealous official; consequently, he allowed the fugitive no more start than he could help, with the result that the latter had no time to collect any following so as to afford him the satisfaction of selling his life dearly. So day and night fled Umar Khan; but turn and double as he would, the avenging force pressed him hard, for the Levy sowars were men of the country, and knew all the twists and turns of the mountains as well as he did; and their commander was a seasoned campaigner, and as hard as nails. However, fortune favoured him, and the hunted man succeeded in reaching a place of refuge and of safety—as he thought.