“Greeting,”' he wrote, “to the most beautiful and very
wise Princess Yasmini, in her palace in the Caves in
Khinjan, from her servant Kurram Khan the hakim, in
the camp of the mullah Muhammad Anim, a night's march
distant in the hills.
“The mullah Muhammad Anim makes his stand and demands
now surrender to himself of Khinjan Caves; and of all
his ammunition. Further, he demands full control of
you and of me and of all your men. He is ready to
fight for his demands and already--as you must well
know--he has considerable following in Khinjan Caves.
He has at least as many men as you have, and he has
four thousand more here.
“He threatens as a preliminary to blockade Khinjan
Caves, unless the answer to this prove favorable,
letting none enter, but calling his own men out to
join him. This would suit the Indian government,
because while the 'Hills' fight among themselves
they can not raid India, and while he blockades
Khinjan Caves there will be time to move against him.
“Knowing that he dares begin and can accomplish what
he threatens, I am sorry; because I know it is said
how many services you have rendered of old to the
government I serve. We who serve one raj are One--one
to remember--one to forget--one to help each other in
good time.
“I have not been idle. Some of Muhammad Anim's men
are already mine. With them I can return to India,
taking information with me that will serve my government.
My men are eager to be off.
“It may be that vengeance against me would seem sweeter
to you than return to your former allegiance. In that
case, Princess, you only need betray me to the mullah,
and be sure my death would leave nothing to be desired
by the spectators. At present he does not suspect me.
“Be assured, however, that not to betray me to him is
to leave me free to serve my government and well able
to do so.
“I invite you to return to India with me, bearing news
that the mullah Muhammad Anim and his men are bottled
in Khinjan Caves, and to plan with me to that end.
“If you will, then write an answer to Muhammad Anim,
not in Urdu, but in a language he can understand; seem
to surrender to him. But to me send a verbal message,
either by the bearer of this or by some trustier messenger.
“India can profit yet by your service if you will. And
in that case I pledge my word to direct the government's
attention only to your good service in the matter. It is
not yet too late to choose. It is not impertinent in me
to urge you.
“Nor can I say how gladly I would subscribe myself your
grateful and loyal servant.”
The mullah pounced on the finished letter, pretended to read it, and watched him seal it up, smudging the hot wax with his own great gnarled thumb. Then he shouted for the Orakzai Pathan, who came striding in, all grins and swagger.
“There--take it! Make speed!” he ordered, and with his rifle at the “ready” and the letter tucked inside his shirt, the Pathan favored King with a farewell grin and obeyed.
“Get out!” the mullah snarled then immediately. “See to the sick. Tell them I sent thee. Bid them be grateful!”
King went. He recognized the almost madness that constituted the mullah's driving power. It is contagious, that madness, until it destroys itself. It had made several thousand men follow him and believe in him, but it had once given Yasmini a chance to fool him and defeat him, and now it gave King his chance. He let the mullah think himself obeyed implicitly.
He became the busiest man in all the “Hills.” While the mullah glowered over the camp from the cave mouth or fulminated from the Quran or fought with other mullahs with words for weapons and abuse for argument, he bandaged and lanced and poulticed and physicked until his head swam with weariness.
The sick swarmed so around him that he had to have a body-guard to keep them at bay; so he chose twenty of the least sick from among those who had talked with him after sunrise.
And because each of those men had friends, and it is only human to wish one's friend in the same boat, especially when the sea, so to speak, is rough, the progress through the camp became a current of missionary zeal and the virtues of the Anglo-Indian raj were better spoken of than the “Hills” had heard for years.
Not that there was any effort made to convert the camp en masse. Far from it. But the likely few were pounced on and were told of a chance to enlist for a bounty in India. And what with winter not so far ahead, and what with experience of former fighting against the British army, the choosing was none so difficult. From the day when the lad first feels soft down upon his face until the old man's beard turns white and his teeth shake out, the Hillman would rather fight than eat; but he prefers to fight on the winning side if he may, and he likes good treatment.
Before if was dark that night there were thirty men sworn to hold their tongues and to wait for the word to hurry down the Khyber for the purpose of enlisting in some British-Indian regiment. Some even began to urge the hakim not to wait for the Orakzai Pathan, but to start with what he had.