King--of the Khyber Rifles: A Romance of Adventure by Talbot Mundy (fiction novels to read TXT) 📖

you. She wanted to wait and meet you, but matters were too jolly well urgent, and we shall have our bally work cut out to catch her, you can bet! But I have everything ready--tents and beds and stores--everything!”

King looked over his shoulder to make sure that Ismail was bringing the little leather bag along.

“So have I,” he said quietly.

“I have horses,” said Rewa Gunga, “and mules and--”

“How did she travel up the Khyber?” King asked him, and the Rangar spared him a curious sidewise glance.

“On a horse. You should have seen the horse!”

“What escort had she?”

“She?”

Rewa Gunga chuckled and then suddenly grew serious.

“The 'Hills' are her escort, King sahib. She is mistress in the 'Hills.' There isn't a murdering ruffian who would not lie down and let her walk on him! She rode away alone on a thoroughbred mare and she jolly well left me the mare's double on which to follow her. Come and look.”

Not far from where the tents had been pitched in a cluster a string of horses winnied at a picket rope. King saw the two good horses ready for himself, and ten mules beside them that would have done credit to any outfit. But at the end of the line, pawing at the trampled grass, was a black mare that made his eyes open wide. Once in a hundred years or so a viceroy's cup, or a Derby is won by an animal that can stand and look and move as that mare did.

“Just watch!” the Rangar boasted; hooking up the bit and throwing off the blanket. And as he mounted into the native-made rough-hide saddle a shout went up from the fort and native officers and half the soldiery came out to watch the poetry of motion.

The mare was not the only one worth watching; her rider shared the praise. There was something unexpected, although not in the least ungainly, about the Rangar's seat in the saddle that was not the ordinary, graceful native balance and yet was full of grace. King ascribed the difference to the fact that the Rangar had seen no military service, and before the inadequacy of that explanation had asserted itself he had already forgotten to criticize in sheer admiration.

There was none of the spurring and back-reining that some native bloods of India mistake for horse-manship. The Rangar rode with sympathy and most consummate skill, and the result was that the mare behaved as if she were part of him, responding to his thoughts, putting a foot where he wished her to put it and showing her wildest turn of speed along a level stretch in instant response to his mood.

“Never saw anything better,” King admitted ungrudgingly, as the mare came back at a walk to her picket rope.

“There is only one mare like this one,” laughed the Rangar. “She has her.”

“What'll you take for this one?” King asked him. “Name your price!”

“The mare is hers. You must ask her. Who knows? She is generous. There is nobody on earth more generous than she when she cares to be. See what you wear on your wrist!”

“That is a loan,” said King, uncovering the bracelet. “I shall give it back to her when we meet.”

“See what she says when you meet!” laughed the Rangar, taking a cigarette from his jeweled case with an air and smiling as he lighted it. “There is your tent, sahib.”

He motioned with the cigarette toward a tent pitched quite a hundred yards away from the others and from the Rangar's own; with the Rangar's and the cluster of tents for the men it made an equilateral triangle, so that both he and the Rangar had privacy.

With a nod of dismissal, King walked over to inspect the bandobast, and finding it much more extravagant than he would have dreamed of providing for himself, he lit one of his black cheroots, and with hands clasped behind him strolled over to the fort to interview Courtenay, the officer commanding.

It so happened that Courtenay had gone up the Pass that morning with his shotgun after quail. He came back into view, followed by his little ten-man escort just as King neared the fort, and King timed his approach so as to meet him. The men of the escort were heavily burdened; he could see that from a distance.

“Hello!” he said by the fort gate, cheerily, after he had saluted and the salute had been returned.

“Oh, hello, King! Glad to see you. Heard you were coming, of course. Anything I can do?”

“Tell me anything you know,” said King, offering him a cheroot which the other accepted. As he bit off the end they stood facing each other, so that King could see the oncoming escort and what it carried. Courtenay read his eyes.

“Two of my men!” he said. “Found 'em up the Pass. Gazi work I think. They were cut all to pieces. There's a big lashkar gathering somewhere in the 'Hills,' and it might have been done by their skirmishers, but I don't think so.”

“A lashkar besides the crowd at Khinjan?”

“Yes.”

“Who's supposed to be leading it?”

“Can't find out,” said Courtenay. Then he stepped aside to give orders to the escort. They carried the dead bodies into the fort.

“Know anything of Yasmini?” King asked, when the major stood in front of him again.

“By reputation, of course, yes. Famous person--sings like a bulbul--dances like the devil--lived in Delhi--mean her?”

King nodded. “When did she start up the Pass?” he asked.

“How d'ye mean?” Courtenay demanded sharply.

“To-day or yesterday?”

“She didn't start! I know who goes up and who comes down. Would you care to glance over the list?”

“Know anything of Rewa Gunga?” King asked him.

“Not much. Tried to buy his mare. Seen the animal? Gad! I'd give a year's pay for that beast! He wouldn't sell and I don't blame him.”

“He goes up the Khyber with me,” said King. “He's what the Turks would call my youldash.”

“And the Persians a hamrah, eh? There was an American here lately--merry fellow--and I was learning his language. Side partner's the word in the States. I can imagine a worse side partner than that same man Rewa Gunga--much worse.”

“He told me just now,” said King, “that Yasmini went up the Pass unescorted, mounted on a mare the very dead spit of the black one you say you wanted to buy.”

Courtenay whistled.

“I'm sorry,