A bundle of dirty papers was thereupon dragged to light, an examination of which proved to Hector that he had secured a treasure, for they one and all declared that, of all shikaris now in Kashmir, this one, for honesty, skill, and lion-hearted bravery, was incomparably the first. Graeme, impatient to be off, and by this time bored with the discussion, then gave in, and Ahmed secured a place, which suited him exactly. He smoked and slept all day, spent his nights in the bazaar, and left the cleaning of the guns to the sais, his sole self-imposed duty being to stand up and salute the sahib whenever he saw him, a performance which he religiously observed, and which irritated Graeme exceedingly. The present expedition, involving a departure from the daily routine, was by no means to his liking, and on receiving his orders the previous night he had at once raised objections. Right well he knew Karin, he declared, and its inhabitants, the headman especially, a liar, a very prince of liars, he was too, always deceiving sahibs by false tales of bears.
Afraid, did the Presence say, he, Ahmed Khan, afraid of a bear? How could that be, for was he not known throughout the country as a lion-hearted one, and the terror of all wild beasts? Let the Presence but deign to look at his chits once more, and forthwith his hand sought the folds of his dirty garments. The frequent production of these documents had by this time got on Graeme's nerves, and, advancing on the lion-hearted one with uplifted arm and dangerous eyes, he was about to make his meaning clearer, when Ahmed, recognising the inevitable, salaamed humbly, and with a meek "Taiyar, sahib, taiyar hojaega,"[#] proceeded, with wrath in his heart, to make preparations for the morrow. He was now morosely trudging along by the side of Gokal Singh, with whom as a Hindu dog he had nothing in common, but to whom as a soldier and man of violence he was invariably respectful.
[#] "I will be ready, sir."
For the first six or seven miles the journey lay through the dense fir and pine forest, the track winding its way along the mountain-side. Here and there the path was broken by noisy rivulets rushing down from above, nasty chasms being thus formed, bridged in the usual slack Kashmiri way by a few poles covered over with sods and brushwood. Dangerous places these for the rider, as when the brushwood rots holes are left, through which the crossing pony may chance to drop a leg. Soon, however, these and the gloomy forest were left behind and the party emerged on to an open plateau, where the full glory of a Kashmiri morning suddenly burst upon them.
Far below lay the valley, its green and gold gleaming through a veil of silver mist, which glittered and flashed like a diamond cobweb in the rays of the morning sun. To their right stretched an endless succession of mountains, the summits rising like islands through the vapour billows which swirled around them—a restless, tossing sea, now fast breaking up and melting into floating patches of white beneath the growing splendour of the sun. Far across the valley gleamed the great snow-wall of the Himalayas, now no longer spirit-haunted and visionary, but pink-flushed and radiant with the kisses of the dawn.
At the sight Lucy gave a cry of pleasure, and, moving instinctively closer to her husband, began to point out to him the various beauties thus unfolded. He was unresponsive, for once more there had stolen over him the faint melancholy of the previous night, and with it the desire for solitude and silence. He therefore assisted her to dismount—Sir Reginald had here called a halt—and muttering an excuse went to some distance, where he stood gazing towards the north.
Lucy, much hurt at his behaviour, remained for a moment looking after him, and then, with a sigh, walked slowly away to join Sir Reginald and his wife, whom she found tucked away behind a rock, whither they had betaken themselves for shelter from the breeze that blew cold and clear from the distant snows.
The Resident had not yet regained his wonted bonhomie, and was full of gloomy forebodings. He ought not to have left Shiraz, he declared; something would be certain to happen in his absence, and Latimer, though a good enough fellow in his way, was not the man to cope with unforeseen emergencies. The present expedition too was more likely than not to turn out a failure; a bear-shoot so often did. Possibly they might get a shot, but he doubted it, he very much doubted it. He only hoped there would be no mistake about breakfast. Samuel—his Madrasi butler—was not given to make a hash of things, but natives were so unreliable, and to-day somehow he had a presentiment he would. But they must be getting on, not waste time on this infernal hill, where he was rapidly freezing.
"Where's Graeme? Oh, looking at the snows, is he?—very fine, very fine indeed. Where's my sais? Abdul, you rascal, leave that stinking hubble-bubble at once, and bring my pony, the lady sahib's too. Why don't you roll karo[#] and keep them warm, instead of letting them stand in the cold while you're squatting on the ground like a damned fool? They'll get a chill now and die, and you'll be in jail khana. Serve you right. Hold his head, will you, how the devil can I get up with the brute twisting about like a top? My foot, curse it, right on my foot, you clumsy lout, and now I shan't be able to shoot. Oh, come on, come on, Sarah, you too, Mrs. Graeme, never mind about that husband of yours, he'll turn up at breakfast all right."
[#] "Walk them about."