Harold Lamb

“ While the girl gazed, the Sart gained a vantage point where he could see the hemlock. Straightway, after he had stared long at Edith, he fell to scrutinizing the neighboring forest as if to make certain she was alone.
Unconscious of another presence, Edith felt the surge of rising excitement. Her sally to the mountain side had been inspired by the hope of inspecting the mosque and its entrances without being seen by the Sayaks.
The sight of men at the tower stirred her pulse. Instinct told her they were not men of the valley. ”

“ Edith hated him cordially, yet with a good deal of respect. His unfathomable fatalism depressed her.
"Donovan Khan," she said. "You are going to take the box to him?"
For a long moment Iskander's brown eyes sought her gravely.
"What is written is written. And who can read what will come to pass?"
"A white man?"
"Once. Now—who knows?"
"You mean that Donovan may be dead?"
"It is all in the hand of God." The Arab swept a wide-sleeved arm against the infinite blue of the sky. "Dono-van Khan is like to the eagle that flies from mountain crag to tree top. Who will know when he is dead? ”

“ Iskander Khan Edith regarded as a pagan, with blood on his hands. Aravang, she thought, was no better than a murderer. What made them so anxious to aid the sick man? She looked from Mahmoud, now heating something in a bronze bowl over the brazier, to the still face of Donovan.
"It was the wisdom of Mahmoud," the mild voice of Iskander went on, "that sent me to Kashmir—to heal the loneliness of the white man. I went to find a spur for his spirit—a spur that would drive away the dark angel of death. The spur would be a woman of his own race and rank. ”

“ Endless flocks of sheep scampered away from them.
"Where," she remarked, emboldened by the fresh sunlight, the intoxicating air, and the recovery of Aravang, "is the house that is to be mine, Iskander? You said we were coming to it."
The Arab pointed up into the mountains they were ascending.
"There. In Yakka Arik. But the house belongs to your master, to one who is a master of many men."
Bewildered and disturbed, the girl could only say: "My—master?"
"Yess. If we are in time, and he is still alive. Then you may become a favored slave, or perhaps a wife. You are fair of face." ”

“ For perhaps the first time in her life Edith Rand was face to face with suffering and human need. The love of her father for the girl, the good-natured devotion of her aunt, the care of the old servants of the Rands—all these were now lost to her.
She stood alone. The men of Yakka Arik ignored her. To all intents she was a slave. And there was no telling what the morrow might bring.
The man became the only reality in her world. And she spent her strength in his care. When she slept, she was surprised to discover that Aravang slipped into the room and watched by the bed of John Donovan. ”

“ Two horses trotted out of the gloom. The lantern flickered away from the girl, not before she had seen the bulk of a wagon and the white tunic of its driver.
Then powerful hands grasped her from behind. She was lifted bodily from the ground. A deep voice grunted a command, at her ear.
Other hands groped for her from above. Startled, the girl cried out.
"Rawul Singh!" And again: "Rawul Singh!"
There was no answer. The wind had ceased abruptly, and the night was still. Edith felt herself drawn into the vehicle. She struggled, knowing that this could not be the Fraser-Carnie carriage. ”

“ The chain—as she fancied it—was drawing her into another world, into an environment where the realities of yesterday were the unrealities of to-day—where men knelt daily to pray like children; where hidden hatred and open loyalty were part of the new religion; and where death passed almost unnoticed.
Unknown to herself, Edith was changing. The girl's inherent vitality was gathering to meet the demand of the new life. The scornful indifference of Iskander was a bitter tonic to her pride. ”

“ Footsteps approached the tower entrance slowly. Looking down, Donovan saw Mahmoud peering up at him apathetically, a lantern held in a clawlike hand. Behind him Aravang limped, soaked in his own blood, blackened and bruised, wounded in body and every limb, but keeping himself stoically upright.
"Salaam, Mahmoud," said the Englishman. "Is the fighting finished?"
"It is finished."
"And the son of Tahir?"
"He is no more. He sought the man Monsey and found him." The hakim beckoned. "Come, Dono-van Khan. You must leave the castle. Your work here is done." ”

“ The nightmare had been very real. She still heard the terrific words—so they seemed to her—of the strange native ringing in her ears. With a whimper of subsiding fear the girl cuddled down in her bed, listening to the stentorian breathing of the sleeping Miss Rand.
Awake in the dark, Edith was thankful to hear the quiet footsteps of Rawul Singh on the veranda below her, and to know that the orderly was keeping his nightly post. ”

“ The Arab was surprised that she smiled at him so coldly. Women of his race did not defy their masters. A lash of the whip, he thought, would wipe out the smile. And Edith read his thought easily.
"If you strike me, Iskander, I shall kill you."
She had not meant to say just that A month ago she could not have said it. But she knew that it was true. Every fiber in her body was strung to revolt. Every instinct of nature was up in arms against the man who had said he was her master. She heard Mahmoud speak quickly and saw the Arab bend his head to listen. ”

“ The sentry at the matting touched the newcomer wamingly and motioned to the alley. By way of response the scarred follower of Iskander gripped the guard of the scimitar, jerked it from the man, struck him viciously with the hilt between the eyes, and leaped toward Abbas.
Edith stifled a scream and watched, absorbed by the swift flash of weapons and leap of bodies. She saw Abbas bury his knife in the arm of Aravang—saw Aravang fling a useless sword at the remaining enemy with his left hand and spring to grips with the powerful Alaman. ”

“ Iskander, many days ago, had said:
"A life already has been spent."
Then another voice, this time not an echo of memory, came to her ears.
"Missy khanum. O, missy khanum!"
Startled, the girl turned her head. No men of the caravan, as she knew, were behind her—merely the two led camels carrying food, tied nose to tail with her own. And the native on the camel in front of her had neither spoken nor looked around. Plainly he had not heard the low words.
Some twenty yards away in the sand on the slope below the caravan track was a thicket of stunted tamarisks. ”

“ Edith touched Donovan timidly on the arm.
"What are they saying, Donovan Khan? I want to know. They seem to be—angry."
By way of answer he patted her hand gently. His alert blue eyes searched the faces of the Sayaks, as a condemned criminal might endeavor to read the faces of a jury, assembling to announce a verdict.
"A spy from without must die," added Mahmoud. He placed a withered hand on the chest of the white man. "Do not grieve: a grave is dug for each of us, and we must lie therein. The woman will feel no pain." ”

“ They had passed outlying huts by the canals where ragged children stood at gaze, peering through the soft dust which is ever in the air of Kashgar. The stallion's hoofs left a trail of denser dust. Now, he slowed obstinately to a walk, panting and grinding at the bit.
Edith urged him on under an archway through the wall of the town. They pounded over a ramshackle wooden bridge which spanned the ancient moat under the wall. And a myriad smells assailed horse and rider. Edith grimaced and the stallion fought for his head. ”

“ Miss Rand is not a woman of your people. She is innocent of evil. You will not slay her——"
"A woman. No more. What is she but a beautiful slave? Aye, one made for the pleasure of men?"
"I love Miss Rand," said Donovan.
Mahmoud stroked the girdle in his hand gently. "It does not avail. Others you will perhaps love. It is written that a strong man shall have many wives."
"Not a white man, Mahmoud. This is a matter beyond even your knowing. I shall love no woman but Miss Rand. Her life is more than my life."
"Nay, for you have a mission to fulfill in Yakka Arik. ”

“ The valley extended north, beyond the lake, and here were squares of tilled ground. A gusty breeze bent the surface of ripened grain in long ripples. She could not see above the tilled land because the ground broke up into trap rock, the outcropping of which extended to the hills that pressed in on the valley upon three sides.
What surprised Edith was the complete quiet of the place. With the exception of the sheep boys, some men fishing in a flat skiff near by, and an occasional man walking barefoot between the houses, the place had the appearance of being deserted. ”

“ Edith decided to wait and see. Every muscle in her slender body ached with fatigue. She dared not dismount to ease her cramped limbs.
Where were Iskander and Aravang? Had they traced her to the walled city? She hoped that they had taken the other turning. Every minute increased the suspense.
Then swaggering men bearing scimitars pushed through the throng that gave back readily. The leader of the file gripped Edith's reins and led the stallion into the serai and she recognized her friend of the tamarisk grove. At this, the innkeeper placed matting across the front of his room with care. ”

“ Seldom have women, even the bravest, been able to resist closing their eyes when they discharged a weapon. With lids tight shut Edith continued to press the trigger savagely. She was fighting for the man she loved. To save Donovan, she would have gripped Abbas with bare hands. So, since the first ages of man, have women fought when peril faced their husbands and children. And so were native women fighting that night in the Kurgan. ”

“ Nay, it was Mahmoud, the all-wise, who lifted the shadow of sickness from your body. The woman did her share, as we intended. Now, she is useless and we will slay her, because she entered where it is forbidden."
"Aye," agreed Iskander moodily. "She is young, and her hair is like the light of the sun as was that of my cloud. We will not set her upon the caravan. Besides, she is a white woman, and it is best her body should not be seen—without." ”

“ The card player smiled. "A case of corpus delicti is sometimes difficult to prove," he observed. And now his glance rested on the girl, keenly appraising, as if he were probing for what might be in her thoughts.
Then his smile changed and he stood up, his dark eyes intent upon her. Few men failed to render tribute to the beauty of Edith Rand. His brows raised tentatively at Whittaker.
"Pardon me," the globe-trotter obeyed the signal with some reluctance. He felt that the spell of his story had been shattered. "Permit me. Miss Rand, to introduce Edouard Monsey." ”

“ But down through the aperture came the ragged fusillade from the revolver of Edith Rand, and the followers of Abbas fled away from this new peril, crying that the place was bewitched and that there were spirits in the tower. Abbas felt on the stone floor for the knife which had dropped from his hand in his fall and saw that Aravang had set his foot on it. And he read his death in the savage eyes that flamed into his.
"Thou art the man," roared Aravang, "who would have burned my mistress. ”

“ If they lay Miss Rand upon the vapor gate, you must bind me and put me beside her. This is the thing I ask of you. I will not live if she dies."
Iskander drew back as though a snake had coiled in front of him. Donovan waited, his tall figure erect, the strap in an open hand. While four men kept silence, the balance of judgment was poised. Then some one spoke.
"The white woman must live."
In front of the damask curtain stood the priest of Yakka Arik. His haggard face, veiled by a venerable beard, was almost invisible under the loose folds of a white turban. ”

“ I have horses and men up the mountain. We came through—along a goat path."
He did not tell her of hours spent spying from the heights upon Yakka Arik, or of men slain in a silent struggle where he penetrated the concealed ravine through which he had once before entered the valley—or of the fear that clung to him, close as his own shadow.
"My father? Is he here?"
Monsey swore under his breath and leaned nearer.
"No! He is sick. Come! You do not understand. You must go or these devils will see us, and that will be the end of us all. Nom d'un nom!"
Edith strove to think, to decide. ”

“ Just as the thunderstorm broke, the carriage jerked to a halt. Rawul Singh sprang down and led the two women up a steep flight of steps in a grassy slope. With the orderly almost carrying her aunt, and Edith running ahead, they gained the shelter of a wide veranda as the rain pelted down.
A white figure strode down to meet them, and the girl was assisted up the veranda steps, breathing quickly with the effort of the climb. In the darkness of the house a voice spoke close to her ear.
"You have come to the garden in a storm. Perhaps the gods are angry." ”

“ Edith framed the question gently. She sensed the anxiety of Iskander, the patience of the silent watchers—the vital importance to them of the life of the white man.
"The sands of life have not run out. And the wine vessel that held the wine is not broken." Iskander spoke slowly, with a kind of thoughtful exultation. "He who knows the sickness of the spirit has tended Dono-van Khan skillfully. We have come in time." ”