Peace with Honour

by Sydney C. Grier

“It’s women like you that make men heroes in spite of themselves,” broke out Dick. “Oh, Georgie, I was a brute to you this morning—about that cat of yours. Say you forgive me.”

“Dick!” she almost laughed. “As though I could remember such a thing as that now! Good-bye, my dearest, and God go with you.”

“God keep you, my darling!” He held her in his arms for a moment longer, then released her with a last kiss. “Take care of her,” he said to the rest, as he stepped up on the parapet, and let himself down by the rope. They lowered him carefully to the ledge, and from thence, with the rope still round his waist, he made his way down the precarious path to the foot of the cliff. Presently the strain on the rope ceased. Those above drew it up, and listening intently, fancied they could hear the sound of a horse’s hoofs as it was led cautiously over the fallen rocks into the open plain, but the shadows were too confusing to allow them to distinguish anything by the sense of sight. They listened anxiously for any alarm from the walls which might indicate that some sentry had been more successful, but none came, and they returned slowly to their several quarters, Fitz taking possession of the room which had been assigned to Dick. As for Georgia, she kissed the sword-hilt on which her lover’s fingers had so often rested, and allowed her tears to have free course, now that he was no longer at hand for his heart to be troubled by them.

Very early the next morning, before any of Abd-ur-Rahim’s dependants were about, Stratford, Fitz, and Ismail Bakhsh might have been seen hard at work by the light of a smoky lamp. They were taking the long rope to pieces, or, in other words, restoring its component parts to their original form as box cords, and returning them to the places where they might reasonably be expected to be found under ordinary circumstances. When Rahah had been intrusted with the fragments out of which Lady Haigh and Georgia had formed their first rope, and Ismail Bakhsh had carried away the rest to put them back with the luggage of which he had charge, the prisoners breathed more freely, and Stratford took advantage of the momentary pause to arrange plans for the day.

“Look here, Anstruther—we must keep it dark as long as possible that North is gone and that you are here in his place. It strikes me that the fellows who were looking for you yesterday all went too far afield, and that’s how they missed you. To-day they will argue that they had better look at home first, and they will set to work to search the ruins down below, and the rocks near the spot where we halted, and any caves there may be in the neighbourhood. I don’t know what sort of trackers they are here, but if they are anything like so good as the natives in India, they will find out in no time that the ruins were occupied until last night, and that a man on horseback left them and took a certain course. They may even be able to discover our way up and down the cliff by means of your footprints and North’s. Still, it will all take a certain amount of time, and every hour of delay is so much gain for North. On the other hand, if they don’t happen to light upon his trail, and we keep you well out of sight, they may waste the whole day in an exhaustive search of the desert just round here, which would be nuts for us. You must pretend to be seedy, and stay in your room. If you don’t show up, perhaps they won’t find out the state of affairs for a day or two.”

“Beastly dull for me!” grumbled Fitz; but he yielded to the inevitable, and returned to his room, resolved to make up for the fatigues of the night by a few hours’ additional sleep. Indeed, the whole party slept late that morning, and when Abd-ur-Rahim came in to inquire after the health of his prisoners, he found only Stratford prepared to receive him. This was fortunate, in that it postponed the danger of discovery, and Stratford gladly accepted the old man’s offer of a ride round the city in his company, as tending still further to avert suspicion. By one means or another, the whole of the day was tided over successfully, and the spirits of the captives began to rise. The next day, however, a new difficulty confronted them, in the shape of a deputation from the mutinous cavalry escort, who had found their way to Bir-ul-Malik, and demanded an interview with their hero Dick. In vain were they assured that he could not and would not see them. They expressed their readiness to await his convenience for any length of time; and Stratford guessed that, fearing they had made their native land too hot to hold them, they entertained the design of crossing the frontier under Dick’s leadership, taking their women and children with them, and transferring their allegiance to Her Most Gracious Majesty, as a preliminary to enlisting in the Khemistan Horse. It was a distinct relief to Stratford, when he considered the spirit in which Dick would probably have received this precious offer of service, to remember that he was not in the place; but it was a very embarrassing thing to have these men continually waiting and watching for an opportunity of seeing him. They were not interfered with in any way by Abd-ur-Rahim and his men—a fact which confirmed Stratford’s conviction that it had been arranged with them beforehand by Fath-ud-Din’s emissaries that they were to mutiny and desert when they did, and that their indignation respecting the misappropriated bakhshish was only part of a deep-laid plot.

For some two or three hours the deputation sat waiting patiently outside the quarters allotted to the prisoners, while ambassadors went to them at intervals to represent the uselessness of their remaining, and to advise them to withdraw. Then fortune favoured them, and they stole a march on Stratford. He had gone into the inner rooms to speak to the ladies, while Kustendjian was busy in his own quarters, and the deputation grasped their opportunity, and, after surprising and binding the man on guard at the door, walked in. Dick’s bearer was the only person who saw them enter, and he seized the moment, while they were admiring Stratford’s toilet arrangements, in the first room they reached, to rush to his master’s quarters and throw a sheet over Fitz, who was lying on the bedstead, very hot and discontented, in his shirt and trousers. There was just time for him to turn his face to the wall and for the man to arrange the sheet over his head in the manner of the natives when they sleep, before the deputation entered. A murmur of delight broke from them when they saw the shrouded figure, and they sat down in a semicircle on the floor, to wait until their desired leader should awake, all with their eyes fixed on the sheet, beneath which Fitz lay writhing in agonies of laughter. In vain did the bearer attempt to dislodge them by threats of his master’s anger when he awoke, in vain prophesy that their presence would do him harm; they simply reiterated their determination to see the General Dīk. At last, between laughter and the sheet, Fitz could bear no more; and, almost suffocated with heat, he threw out an arm and pushed the covering partially aside. A murmur of astonishment showed him at once that he had done more than he intended.

“But the General Dīk has light hair, and this man’s is black!” were the words he heard, and the leader of the party added authoritatively—“That is not the arm of the General Dīk!”

“The General Dīk!” exclaimed the bearer, trying to improve matters—“nay, this is the chota sahib. Think ye that the Major Sahib would have suffered you to enter his quarters, ye sons of swine?”

“But the little gentleman was lost!” was the cry, as Fitz threw off the sheet and sat up. “Where, then, is the General Dīk? Let us even seek Abd-ur-Rahim and ask him of the matter, for surely they have murdered our Lord Dīk!”