“I believe he did, Nawab Sahib,” he answered. “But why rake up these dead and buried tales of strife?”
“Dead and buried!” yelled Hadji Haroun, clasping and unclasping his claws. “Ya Mahomed! hear him. Dead and buried! What of Allahyar Khan—what of the dog who sent him defiled to his death, the father of this dog standing here?”
Then for the first time Raynier realised the imminence of his peril, for he saw that no common incident in the fortune of war lay behind this. The noble expression of the Nawab’s countenance had disappeared, giving way to one of hate and cruelty, and the same held good of that of his brother, Kuhandil Khan. A roar of execration arose from the close ranks of the Gularzai, and tulwars were drawn, and flashed in the sun. Mushîm Khan turned, and in an undertone gave directions to some of those nearest to him. These advanced upon Raynier.
“There is no need to lay hands upon me, Chief of the Gularzai,” he cried in a firm tone. “I am in your power, you who have professed friendship for me. Say what your will is.”
But Mushîm Khan answered no word. Raynier was seized and violently dragged away, a roar of execration and hate going up from the gathering, and, rising above it, he could distinguish the high, venomous tones of the mullah, shrilling forth,—
“The blood of Allahyar Khan! The blood of Allahyar Khan! Now will it be avenged. Ya Mahomed! Now! Now!”