A dark figure shrouded in black cloth slid down following the stones and, before Ommony could move, had jumped to his rein. A young woman’s face peered up at him, flashing white teeth, but the smile vanished instantly.
“Dawa Tsering,” she muttered, and then began talking so fast that Ommony could hardly understand her. Dawa Tsering was in danger; that seemed clear enough. Also, she, her own self, wanted him, desired him desperately. She had a baby wrapped in a shawl slung over her shoulder and had laid another bundle on the ground.
Ommony pointed down the track, and as he moved his arm two men leaped out of a shadow and rushed up-hill at Dawa Tsering. Diana flew at them and they backed away. They had weapons, but appeared afraid to use them. Dawa Tsering ran up-hill toward Ommony, feeling for the knife that was not there, and Ommony whistled to Diana. The two men followed her cautiously, advancing step by step as she retreated, snarling. From the opposite direction around the bend, the sirdar came cantering back down-hill, sending stones scattering over the cliff-side. The girl flung herself at Dawa Tsering, seizing him around the neck and pouring out a stream of words, half-intelligible, choked with anger, grief, laughter, command, and emotions unknown to those who have not loved and do not still love an adventurer from Spiti.
“Sooner than expected!” the sirdar grunted, drawing rein.
The sirdar seemed pleased, and to have changed his mind about being in a hurry. He sat bolt-upright on his pony and waited in silence for something to happen; but the Tibetan behind him drew a long knife and showed it to the two men who were standing in the attitude of wrestlers. Dawa Tsering seemed to want to run, but the woman clung to him. Diana growled thunderously but awaited orders.
“Who are these men?” asked Ommony.
“My wife’s husbands!” Dawa Tsering shook the girl off and stepped between Ommony and the sirdar. It appeared he meant to slip away, but the sirdar’s pony made a sudden half-turn, and there was nothing left for him but to stand or jump over the cliff. “Protect me, Ommonee! I have been a friend to you. That dog hasn’t a flea on her. Moreover, Missish-Anbun has my knife.”
“Who is this young woman?” Ommony demanded.
The sirdar answered. The two husbands were about to speak, but waited, open-mouthed. The woman was watching the sirdar as if destiny hung on the movement of his lips.
“She is his. It is his child. Choose!” he commanded, shoving Dawa Tsering, making him turn to face him. “Go with her to Spiti, or go with them to Ladak and the wife of many husbands. Which?”