Adventure, December 3rd, 1919

Author of ``The Rider of the Gray Horse,'' ``The Skull of Shirzad Mir,'' etc.

Put cloth of gold upon a fool and a multitude will

do reverence to him; clothe a wise man in beggar's

garments, and few will honor him. Yet those few

will have their reward.---Turkestan Proverb.

E WERE three men with two horses and

two swords. We were outcasts in the

thickets of the foothills of Badakshan,

under the peaks of the Roof of the World. We had

earned the wrath of the Mogul of India and there

were two thousand riders searching for us.

It was the year of the Ox---the year 1608 by the

Christian calendar---and Jani Beg, the Uzbek, had

taken Badakshan from my lord, Baber Shirzad Mir,

sometimes called the Tiger Lord.

Nevertheless, we three were happy. We had

taken Shirzad Mir from the hands of Jani Beg, who

had marked him for death.

Aye, Shirzad Mir sat in the clean white robes in

which he had prepared to die by a twisted

bowstring around the neck, and laughed for joy of

seeing the sun cast its level darts of light over the

peaks and through the trees that gave us shelter.

Our hearts---the Ferang's and mine---were lifted

up for a moment by the warmth that comes with

early morning. We had an ache in our bellies for

lack of food; we had not slept for a day and a night.

Also, I was stiff with many bruises.

``Tell me,'' said Shirzad Mir, fingering his full

beard, which was half gray, half black, ``how you

got me out of the prison of Khanjut.''

While I watched, lying at the edge of the thicket

on my side, the Ferang---the Englishman, Sir

Ralph Weyand---explained how we had climbed

through the water tunnel of Khanjut into the walls,

and how we two alone had freed the Mir while Jani

Beg and his men were tricked into looking the

other way by a herd of cattle that we had sent to the

gate of Khanjut.

He spoke in his broken Mogholi, but Shirzad

Mir, who was quick of wit, understood.

``And whence came you?'' he asked.

Sir Weyand told how he had been sent to India

as a merchant, and had been driven from the court

of the Mogul by the wiles of the Portuguese priests.

When he had done, Shirzad Mir rose up and

touched his hand to earth, then pressed the back of

it to his brow. This is something he has seldom

done, being a chieftain by birth, and a proud man.

Sir Weyand rose also and made salutation after the

manner of his country.

I watched from the corner of my eye, for my

curiosity was still great concerning the Ferang:

also, for all he had borne himself like a brave man

that night, he was but a merchant and I knew not

how far we could trust him. While I lay on the earth

and scanned the groups of horsemen that scurried

the plain below us, seeking for our tracks, the

thought came to me that our fortunes were

desperate.

We were alone. The followers of Shirzad Mir

were scattered through Badakshan, or slain. The

W

Adventure 2

family of my lord was in the hands of Jani Beg---

upon whom may the curse of God fall. To the north

of Badakshan we would find none but Uzbeks,

enemies. To the east was the nest of bleak

mountains called by some the Hindu­Kush, by

others the Roof of the World. To the West, the

desert.

True, to the south, the Shyr Pass led to the

fertile plain of Kabul, but up this pass was coming

Said Afzel, the son of Jani Beg, with a large

caravan. I had heard that Said Afzel was a poor

warrior, being a youth more fond of sporting with

the women of his harem and with poets, than of

handling a sword. Still, he had followers with him,

for he was bearing the gifts of the Mogul Jahangir

from Agra to Jani Beg.

Something of this must also have been in the

mind of Shirzad Mir, who had been lord of

Badakshan for twice ten years, during the reign in

India of the Mogul Akbar---peace be on his name!

``I am ruler,'' he smiled sadly, ``of naught save

two paces of forest land; my dress of honor is a

robe of death. For a court I have but two friends.''

Shirzad Mir was a broad man with kindly eyes

and a full beard. He had strength in his hands to

break the ribs of a man, and he could shoot an

arrow with wonderful skill. He was hasty of

temper, but generous and lacking suspicion.

Because of this last, he had lost Badakshan to Jani

Beg, the Uzbek.

He knew only a little of writing and music; still,

he was a born leader of men, perhaps because there

was nothing he ordered them to do that he would

not do himself. Wherefore, he had two saber cuts

on his head and a spear gash across the ribs.

Thinking to comfort him, I rose up from the

place where I was watching and squatted down by

them.

``There are many in Badakshan,'' I said---long

ago he had granted me leave to be familiar with

him---``who will come to you when they know you

are alive.''

``Who will tell them, Abdul Dost?'' he asked

mildly. ``We will be hunted through the hills. The

most part of the nobles of Badakshan have joined

the standard of Jani Beg.''

``The men of the hills and the desert's edge are

faithful, Shirzad Mir,'' I said.

They were herdsmen and outlaws for the most

part. Our trained soldiers had been slain, all but a

few hiding out in the hills.

``Aye,'' he exclaimed, and his brown eyes

brightened. ``Still, they are but men. To take up

arms against the Uzbeks we need arms---also good

horses, supplies and treasure. Have we these?''

SO WE talked together in low tones, thinking that

the Ferang slept or did not hear. Presently I learned

that he understood, for, with many pains, he had

taught himself our tongue.

We spoke of the position of Jani Beg. Truly, it

was a strong one. He himself held Khanjut, which

was the citadel at the end of the Shyr ravine leading

into India. Paluwan Chan, leader of his Uzbeks,

was at the great town of Balkh with a garrison.

Reinforcements were coming through the passes to

the north from Turkestan. Outposts were scattered

through the plains. Jani Beg was a shrewd

commander. Only once did I know him to err badly

in his plans. Of that I will tell in due time.

Shirzad Mir, who was brave to the point of

folly, said he would go somehow to Agra and

appeal for mercy from Jahangir himself. I had been

to Kabul and I knew that the intrigues of Jani Beg

had made his quarrel seem that of the Mogul and---

such is the witchery of evil words---Shirzad Mir

seem to be a rebel.

``That may not be,'' I answered.

Then the Ferang lifted his yellow head and

spoke in his deep voice.

``I heard at Agra, Shirzad Mir,'' he said,

weighing his words, ``that you were a follower of

the Mogul Akbar.''

``Of Akbar,'' nodded my lord, ``the shadow of

God and prince of princes. He was a soldier among

many.''

``So it has been told me.'' Sir Weyand rested his

chin on his fists and stared up where the blue sky of

Badakshan showed through the trees. ``When Akbar

was in difficulty what plan did he follow?''

``He was a brave man. God put a plan into his

head when it was needed. He had the wisdom of

books and many advisors.''

``And with this wisdom, I have heard he always

did one thing when he was pressed by great

numbers of enemies.''

Shirzad Mir looked thoughtfully at the Ferang.

It was a strange thing that this merchant, who

carried a straight sword and came over the sea in a

boat, should know of the great Akbar. Verily,

wisdom travels hidden ways.

``Aye,'' he said, ``the Mogul Akbar would say to

Said Afzel's Elephant 3

his men that they should attack---always attack.''

``Then,'' repeated Sir Weyand promptly, ``we

will attack. It is the best plan.''

I threw back my head and laughed. How should

the three of us, with but two horses, ride against the

army of Jani Beg? How should we draw our reins

against Khanjut? We should be slain as a lamp is

blown out in the wind. A glance from Shirzad Mir,

who frowned, silenced me when I was about to put

this thought into speech.

``How?'' he asked, still frowning.

Then I remembered that I also had asked this

question of the Ferang and that his answer had

freed Shirzad Mir. I drew closer to listen.

``In my country,'' said Sir Weyand, ``there is a

saying that he who attacks is twice armed.''

He then told how an ameer of Spain, whose

empire extended over Ferangistan and the lands

across the western ocean, had sent a fleet of a

thousand ships against England in Sir Weyand's

youth; and how the Queen of England had fitted

out a much smaller fleet, dispatching it to sail

against the invader.

``Had we waited for the Spaniards on land, the

issue might have been different,'' he said. ``As it

was, few of the Dons escaped with a whole skin.

The advantages of those attacking are these: they

can chose the ground best suited to them; they can

strike when they are ready; also, their numbers

appear greater in a charge or onset.''

The thought came to me that perhaps the

Ferang, being a bold man, would not hesitate to

turn against us if the chance offered. After all, he

had been sent by his king to get money and trade

concessions from India, and the small province of

Badakshan could mean little to him. What did we

know of the King of England---except that he had

ships and very fine artillery?

Still, at this time Sir Weyand needed the

friendship of Shirzad Mir. And, although he was a

merchant---which is a getter of money---he never

in the weeks to come, and I watched closely,

shunned the dangers we faced. Instead he

welcomed a battle, and laughed, when he swung his

long sword, as if he were about to go to a feast. It is

written that a fight is like a cup of strong wine to

some. Sir Weyand was such a man.

``True,'' nodded Shirzad Mir, who had listened

with care, ``the great Mogul Akbar once, when his

men were wavering, went forward on his elephant

to a knoll where all could see him; then he ordered

his attendants to shackle the legs of the elephant

with an iron chain so that he could not retreat.

Whereupon his men rode forward, and the battle

was won. Yet we are only three against as many

thousands. In what quarter should we attack?''

``Aye,'' I put in, ``where? We are not yet mad.''

``We are like to be so from hunger or thirst,''

replied the Ferang, ``if we do not better our

fortunes. I heard you say we had no place to flee,

and so we must attack.''

``Khanjut?'' smiled Shirzad Mir almost

mockingly.

But the Ferang was not in jest.

``If we had a few score followers, it would not

be a bad plan. But that is for you to decide, Shirzad

Mir. You know the country. If I think of a plan, I

will tell you.''

That was all he had in his mind. I was

disappointed. Perhaps I had expected too much of

him.

``Meanwhile we must eat,'' I pointed out, feeling

the urge in my stomach. ``Iskander Khan will surely

give us food, also weapons, if he has any.''

I did not add that my horse was at the aul of

Iskander Khan. Last night I had ridden a wild ass

from Khanjut. But I did not want to do so again---

until my bruises healed.

``It is well,'' said Shirzad Mir.

So he mounted one horse and the Ferang the

other. I trotted before them, to spy out if the way

was safe. Iskander Khan was the friend who had

aided us with his herd of cattle and his two sons the

night before. His aul was hidden in the hills not far

away. But, as we traveled, we did not think to find

what was awaiting us there.

II

ABOUT the time of noonday prayers we came to

the Kirghiz' aul---three dome­shaped tents of

willow laths covered with greased felt and hides.

Over the opening of the biggest tent were yaks'

tails, also an antelope's head. Under this sat

Iskander Khan, cross­legged on the ground.

He was a very old man, bent in the back, with

the broad forehead and keen eyes of his race and a

white beard that fell below his chest. His eyes were

very bright and his skin had shriveled overnight.

His turban was disarranged as if he had torn it in

grief.

He rose unsteadily to his feet when he saw

Adventure 4

Shirzad Mir. But my lord---because Iskander Khan

had rendered him a great service, and because the

Kirghiz was the older man---sprang down from his

horse and went to meet him. Iskander Khan

touched his hand to the earth and to his forehead

three times; then Shirzad Mir embraced him.

``We have come for food,'' I said, looking for

Wind­of­the­Hills, but seeing him not.

Iskander Khan lifted his hands in despair and

pointed to the empty huts.

``It is my sorrow,'' he said, ``that Shirzad Mir of

Badakshan should come to my aul and ask meat

when I have none to give. There is kumiss in the

cask, and this I will bring you.''

He did so, filling a bowl with the mare's milk,

which is the distilled drink of the Kirghiz. Neither

Shirzad Mir nor I liked kumiss. When we saw how

disappointed Iskander Khan was at our refusal, we

forced ourselves to drink some. As it happened, this

was well, because the strong fluid eased the pang in

our insides.

Shirzad Mir glanced curiously about the vacant

aul. In the days when he had known Iskander

Khan, the Kirghiz had many sheep and cattle.

Then Iskander Khan told us what had happened.

The herd and flock which his sons had driven to the

gate of Khanjut had been taken by Jani Beg, who

was greatly angered at the trick we had played on

him. Also, the two boys and the daughter of

Iskander Khan had been taken by the Uzbek

horsemen.

One of the youths Jani Beg had impaled on a

spear which was then fastened to the gate of

Khanjut. The other Kirghiz had been shot in the

stomach with a matchlock ball and thrown from the

walls of the citadel.

The girl Jani Beg had had flayed alive. Iskander

Khan had been too feeble to ride with his sons.

News of what happened had been brought him by a

Khirghiz sheep­boy who saw. Truly, a heavy

sorrow had been laid on the khan for what he had

done for Shirzad Mir.

My lord put his hand on the arm of Iskander

Khan and spoke softly.

``It is written that what evil­doers store up for

themselves they shall taste. You shall have revenge

for the death of your sons. By the beard of the

prophet, I swear it.''

He felt at the peak of his turban for the jewel he

had been accustomed to wear there, intending to

give it to Iskander Khan as a token. He smiled

ruefully when his hand met naught but the cloth.

The small turban of white cotton he wore was part

of his grave clothes.

``Truly, Iskander Khan,'' he meditated aloud, ``I

am a beggared monarch. I have not even a token to

give you for this service.''

``I am content, Shirzad Mir.''

I thought of the riches that the poet son of Jani

Beg was carrying to Khanjut from the Mogul

Jahangir, while Shirzad Mir had not so much as a

spare horse, and I voiced this thought, being

embittered by hunger and much soreness. At this

the Ferang sprang to his feet so swiftly that I

thought he had seen some Uzbeks approaching, so I

did likewise. He clapped me on the back, rudely.

``Ha, Abdul Dost!'' he cried. ``That is the word I

have been waiting for. So the caravan of Said Afzel

is now in the Shyr Pass? Here is our chance. We

will attack Said Afzel!''

``Ride against two score, when we are but

three?'' I laughed at the man. If he was mad, I must

see to it that Shirzad Mir did not suffer from his

folly. ``I was in Kabul three days ago, and Said

Afzel was just setting out. Besides his slaves and

personal servants he has a bodyguard of some

Pathans. They are well armed; the pass is narrow.

Also they have many camels. You know not what

you say!''

``Peace, Abdul Dost!'' called my lord, whose

eyes had taken on a strange sparkle. ``You have not

wit to see farther than your horse's ears. Let the

Ferang speak!''

``It is better to be mad than calm at this time

when caution will gain us nothing, excellency,''

said Sir Weyand respectfully. ``Here is a noble

chance. Said Afzel does not yet know you have

escaped. He will not be watchful of danger. His

caravan may be numerous but it is made up for the

most part of women and eunuchs. Moreover, in the

narrow ravine they must extend their line of march.

We can choose our place of attack---''

``And they will dig our graves there,'' I said.

Shirzad Mir frowned at me.

``And we will have the advantage of surprise,''

continued the Ferang. ``Jani Beg will hardly think

to send reinforcements to his son because he knows

that Said Afzel is well attended. We will have time

to gain the narrow point of the pass just before

dark---the best time to strike.''

``How can three horsemen ride against camels

and an elephant in a ravine?'' I asked, for I was not

Said Afzel's Elephant 5

to be silenced.

Shirzad Mir was foolhardy of his life and it was

plain to me he liked well the words of Sir Weyand.

``We will not ride against them, Abdul Dost. If

you had thought, you would remember that we

could stand on the ridge above the caravan trail,

where our arrows will command Said Afzel's

men.''

It was true I had not thought of that, in my

concern for Shirzad Mir. It angered me---a

mansabdar of the army---to be corrected by a

foreign merchant, and I was silent for a space. Not

so the Tiger Lord.

``Hai---that was well said!'' he cried. ``Such a

plan warms my heart. Now if we had the strong

sons of Iskander Khan---'' he broke off with a

glance at the mourning Kirghiz. ``What men and

slaves are with the caravan?''

``I heard at Kabul,'' replied the Ferang, settling

his tall body against the tent, ``that Said Afzel was a

courtier and a gallant---fond of music, toys, verses

and the Indian dancing girls. He is bringing a

throng of such with him, also several camel loads

of treasure as gift from the Mogul. What do we

care for eunuchs and Ethiopian slaves?''

``Said Afzel has at least seven Pathans with

him,'' I reminded him. ``They are good fighters.''

``Are you an old nurse, Abdul Dost?'' cried my

master in great anger. ``Speak again, and I will set

you to tend swine!'' He turned to the Ferang. ``Said

Afzel is truly called `the dreamer,' Sir Weyand. He

is the most elegant in dress and can recite verses as

well as his boon companion Kasim Kirlas, the

professional courtier. It is true that he travels with

cumbrous baggage---unlike his father---and is

usually stupefied with bhang and opium. I would

risk much to set hand on his jewels.''

``We would risk much,'' nodded the Ferang

bluntly, as was his custom; ``especially as there is

one of the big Indian elephants in the caravan.''

``An elephant!'' Shirzad Mir clapped his stout

hands and laughed. ``Hai---an elephant. That would

be Most Alast from the stables of Jahangir. I heard

it said at Khanjut when I was prisoner. Verily, the

star of our good fortune is in the ascendant.''

I thought the madness that had come upon Sir

Weyand had bitten my lord, for he laughed again

and fell to talking in low tones to the other. I

strained my ears but could not hear. Being angry

and perhaps a little jealous, I withdrew slightly to

show them I did not care what they said.

Once Shirzad Mir called to Iskander Khan.

``Have you a great cauldron?'' he asked.

The Khirghiz pointed to the ashes of the fire,

where a pot stood, large enough to boil a sheep

whole.

``Will you give it me?''

Iskander Khan made a sign to show that all he

had was Shirzad Mir's for the asking. Once more

the two talked together, and I saw them glance at

me and laugh. Then Iskander Khan lifted up his

white head.

``You will need a good horse, Shirzad Mir,'' he

said slowly. ``The one you have is a sorry pony. In

a thicket yonder I have Abdul Dost's horse, also an

Arab stallion that has carried me for five years. I

will fetch it for you so that you may mount as is

fitting for a king.''

The eyes of the Tiger Lord softened.

``Thrice happy is the man who has a faithful

friend,'' he said and with his own hand helped the

aged Kirghiz to rise.

Before the two left the tent to go for the horses,

he spoke quickly to Sir Weyand.

The Ferang rose and stretched his big frame. I

did not move, for they had not confided in me. He

disappeared into the tent and presently came forth,

lugging a basket filled with something heavy. I

wanted to see what was in it, but I would not show

him that I was curious.

He was singing to himself after his strange

fashion. He moved with his hands that which was

in the basket and put it in the cauldron. I watched

him.

When he had nearly finished there came a dog

that was hungry and whined. Seeing the dog, Sir

Weyand threw him a piece of the stuff he was

handling. The dog wagged his tail and carried off

the stuff. I saw him eat it.

This was very strange, so I rose up without

seeming to be interested and walked toward Sir

Weyand, until I could see into the pot.

``B'illah!'' I cried, for the stuff was rotting

swine's flesh, which it is defilement for a follower

of the prophet to touch. It had been used by

Iskander Khan to grease the tents. The Ferang, who

knew this, laughed.

``Tell me, Abdul Dost,'' he smiled, rising from

his labor when the pot was nearly full, ``is that dog

better than you, or are you better than that dog?''

He was a caphar, one without faith. Those

words might well have cost him his life.

Adventure 6

``If I have faith,'' I answered him sternly, ``I am

better than that dog; if I have not faith, he is better

than I.'' I laid a hand on my sword. ``If you wish a

quarrel---''

``Peace!'' cried the voice of Shirzad Mir behind

us. ``It is time we mounted.''

He was leading a fine gray stallion, and

Iskander Khan had Wind­of­the­Hills. Likewise,

the Kirghiz gave to us two good bows and quivers

full of arrows---also he brought his own sword

from the tent and girded it on Shirzad Mir. What

man could do more than Iskander Khan did for us?

``The blessing of God go with you, Shirzad

Mir,'' he said in parting. ``I shall stay at this tent,

and perhaps---''

``I will come back,'' said my lord swiftly. ``I will

not forget.''

We watched the bent form of the old man go

into the empty tent; then we set spurs to our

mounts. The cauldron Sir Weyand had slung on a

long pole, one end of which he carried and I the

other. Shirzad Mir rode bridle to bridle with him---I

following behind. Still they talked together eagerly,

like boys with a new sport. Once Sir Weyand

looked back at me and grinned.

``If you are afraid to come, Abdul Dost,'' he

said, ``you are free to drop the pole and go.''

Before I could think of a fitting answer, he was

speaking again with Shirzad Mir. Verily, I was

angered. The pole leaped and jumped, and I was

forced to watch lest the vile fat should fly out on

me. There was no doubt in my mind that lack of

food had unsettled my lord's brain.

Why else should we ride at a fast trot through

the hot ravines of the hills to the Shyr Pass, where

at any moment we might meet a wandering patrol

on the watch for us? And why did we carry that

accursed pig's flesh?

As for Sir Weyand, my brain was black with

anger. I wanted to swing my scimitar against his

long sword. Had it not been for the events of that

evening, I should have done so.

OUR horses were steaming when we came out of a

poplar thicket on a hill near the caravan track and

saw a boy shepherd watching us from his flock.

When he recognized Shirzad Mir, the lad put down

his bow and dropped to his knees.

``Hazaret salamet!'' he cried joyfully, in the

dialect of his tribe.

He had thought Shirzad Mir was dead. My lord

questioned him swiftly. The boy told him that the

caravan of Said Afzel had not yet passed this point.

Our good fortune still held, yet I was doubtful of

what was to come. Shirzad Mir bent over the boy.

``Speak, little soldier,'' he laughed, ``how would

you like to shoot an arrow in the service of your

lord?''

The boy's eyes brightened and he fingered his

bow, being both pleased and shy with the attention

paid him. He was a slight, dark­skinned Kirghiz---

the same that had visited Iskander Khan's aul---and

the words delighted him. Shirzad Mir honored him

by taking him up behind on his horse. My belly

yearned for the mutton that we might have cooked

and eaten, but my master would not linger.

It was mid­afternoon, and the sun was very hot.

We were in the pass now, and once we met a

runner coming up the ravine. It was a man of Said

Afzel, and when he saw us he bounded up into the

rocks. But Shirzad Mir fired an arrow swiftly. My

lord was an excellent shot. From the body we took

the message.

It said that Said Afzel would camp that night at

a certain level spot in the pass, for the caravan track

was too narrow, besides being on the bank of the

turbulent stream Amu Daria, to travel at night.

Probably Said Afzel liked better to sit on the

cushions of a silk tent than to ride.

``God is good to us,'' exclaimed Shirzad Mir and

pressed forward.

Although I still said nothing, I had a great

foreboding. No man has ever called me a coward,

but our strength was sapped by hunger---we had no

armor or firearms. We were acting on the mad

whim of the Ferang, and for the first time in his life

my master had put aside my advice for another's---

that of the merchant who made me carry the pot of

swine­flesh.

We passed the open place where Said Afzel had

planned to camp. We knew now that the caravan

could not be far away, and Shirzad Mir sent the boy

ahead to spy. He ran swiftly, like a young mountain

goat.

We came to the very place where I had first met

the Ferang, and I bent my ears back like a horse,

listening for hoofs on the trail behind us, for here

we were in a trap. On one side the cliff rose sheer

for perhaps four spear lengths. On the left hand the

slope, steep and strewn with rocks and thorns,

dropped abruptly to the rushing stream which was

deep enough to drown a man.

Said Afzel's Elephant 7

Truly, I thought, the madness of Sir Weyand

had brought us to an evil place. If a patrol of Uzbek

horsemen should come behind us we would be

caught between them and the caravan.

Even a brave man feels a prickling of the flesh

when he knows not what is before and behind him.

The mad fantasy of the other two had veiled their

minds from danger. Shirzad Mir, to make matters

worse, set Sir Weyand and me to rolling some

stones into the path from the slope. While we were

doing this he dismounted and led our three horses

by a roundabout path up to the top of the cliff.

Not until we had the stone heap nearly the

height of a man and were panting from the toil---

my bruises had not yet healed---did he call for us to

cease. Then Sir Weyand made me take the pole

with him and carry it up the slope to the top of the

cliff. If the foul fat had fallen back on me, I should

have struck him, but it was my fate that it did not.

Back into a cedar grove we carried the accursed

thing. Here Shirzad Mir had kindled a fire from

dried cedar branches.

``The trees may hide the smoke,'' he said.

``Quick---our time is little!''

As if possessed of a demon, Sir Weyand worked

at the fire, placing the cauldron over the logs so

that the fat began to heat. Meanwhile, Shirzad Mir

stood at the edge of the cliff to watch for the

coming of the boy.

The sun had dropped behind the peaks at our

backs. There was no wind. The scent of the cedars

was sweet in my nostrils, but Sir Weyand made me

labor over the evil­smelling pot. I had none of his

wild hope. For, without doubt, Said Afzel, whom

we sought, would ride the elephant, and I had once

tried to attack one of the beasts in a battle.

The ravine in which the stream muttered was

clothed in shadows and it must have been the time

of sunset prayers when the boy came running back

up the path, looking for us.

Shirzad Mir called to him, and the youth came

nimbly up the cliff, clinging somehow to the sheer

rock, until my lord reached him a hand. Then he

bowed his head to Shirzad Mir's feet.

``The caravan comes, Lord of Badakshan!'' he

cried eloquently.

``How many and in what order?'' asked Shirzad

Mir swiftly.

``Some horsemen, riding slowly, are in front.

Then a group of slaves with burdens on foot.

Following them some armed riders. Then a black

elephant with a glittering howdah.''

``God is with us!'' cried Shirzad Mir. He turned

to me merrily. ``Ho---Abdul Dost of the dark brow!

What think you of an elephant in the ravine of

Shyr?''

We had seen none of the beasts in Badakshan

before, but something of Shirzad Mir's purpose

flashed on me, and I felt the heart­leap of the

hunter when he sees game approach his hiding

place. Sir Weyand stirred the fat, which was now

boiling and bubbling odorously.

Above the place where we had piled the stones

so they would look as if they had fallen down the

slope, my lord sent the boy with his arrows. He,

himself, took his bow and crawled forward to

where he could see him down the pass.

At a sign from Sir Weyand, I helped him lift the

cauldron from the fire by its stick. We carried it to

the edge of the ravine.

``Go with your master,'' said Sir Weyand to me

under his breath, ``and take your bow. I will

manage the rest of my task alone.''

Nothing loath, I obeyed. Crouching beside

Shirzad Mir, I could see the caravan coming up the

pass, in the quiet of the evening. The bearers and

camelmen were pushing ahead with loud cries, for

the camping­place was just around a turn.

IT WAS a brave sight. The Pathans, as the boy had

said, were in the lead---lean men, riding easily and

fully armed. Next came the Ethiopians, with their

heavy burdens. They, of course, were unarmed. I

counted seven Pathans.

Then appeared Most Alast, the elephant of the

Mogul. He had two red stripes down his forehead,

and silver bells at his neck. I could see the white

heron's plume of Said Afzel in the howdah behind

the mahout. Slowly, slowly, they came forward.

``It could not be better, Abdul Dost,'' cried my

master joyfully.

I took heart from this. For, though his eyes were

shining, he was laughing to himself, which was a

good sign. He was not mad. I had begun to see his

plan.

Last came the long­haired camels, bearing the

women, the baskets which probably contained the

treasure, and the eunuch guards of the harem. A

few slaves in gorgeous tunics walked with the dirty

camelmen.

A lone Pathan brought up the rear. I felt Shirzad

Mir's hand on my arm.

Adventure 8

``Shoot your arrows among the camelmen,

Abdul Dost,'' he said. ``I will take care of the

leading riders---I and the boy. When I shout, raise

our battle­cry and shout as if you were many men.''

I nodded to show that I understood. I strung my

bow and waited, lying on my belly. It was just as if

Shirzad Mir and I were stalking antelope. Yet never

had we stalked such game as this.

The sun had left the pass, but there was still

light when the Pathans passed under us and arrived

at the heap of stones. After talking together, three

of them dismounted and began to clear away the

stones, dropping them down the slope into the

stream to free the path for the elephant.

We four were silent on the cliff, though I could

hear Sir Weyand working at the fire. The swaying

howdah of Most Alast came nearer---so near I

could see the jewels set in the turban of Said Afzel,

who was laughing with a fat man on the cushion by

him---Kasim Kirlas, I thought. I could have almost

reached down and touched their heads.

Then Shirzad Mir bellowed his battle­cry.

``Hai---Shirzad el kadr---hai!''

He leaped to his feet and began to speed arrows

down at the riders.

``Hai---Shirzad el kadr!'' I echoed, twanging a

shaft among the camels.

It must have reached its mark, for one of the

beasts yelled with pain. I heard the shrill shout of

the boy and the startled cries of the slaves below

us.

Then Sir Weyand came to my side.

``St. George for England!'' he cried. I asked him

later what it was, and he told me.

As he shouted, he pushed the cauldron over on

its side. The boiling fat fell on the broad rump of

Most Alast.

An elephant has a thick hide, but he is sensitive

and nervous as a woman---and the boiling grease

was very hot. Most Alast lifted up his trunk and

bellowed his pain. Then he charged forward. The

howdah, with Said Afzel and Kasim Kirlas, slipped

its girths as Most Alast shook himself---the fat had

missed the howdah, to my sorrow---and the two

went to earth.

Then Most Alast dashed among the riders.

Several horses leaped over the slope in their fright.

Finding himself against the stones, the elephant

turned in the narrow path and charged back against

the camels, which gave way before him. Some

stumbled into the brush of the slope. Others pressed

against the cliff wall. B'illah, there was much

confusion!

The camels, being frightened and hurt, began to

yell also, and the horses too. The black slaves had

leaped to shelter and stood watching, their eyeballs

showing white. The camelmen sought safety where

they could.

Shirzad Mir had reckoned well what havoc an

angered elephant would make along that narrow

path.

I was a middling shot with a bow, but my lord

was a marksman among many. His shafts sought

out the Pathans, who had no time to use their

matchlocks before they had to leap out of the way

of Most Alast. Yet he killed none. Before long, I

knew why.

``Hai---Shirzad el kadr---hai!'' cried my lord for

the last time, and ordered me to seek the horses.

While the boy plied his arrows from the cliff,

we two, with the Ferang, rode rapidly down until

our horses stood at the slope above the pile of

stones. Here Shirzad Mir called upon the Pathans to

throw down their arms.

A Pathan is a good fighter when and if it suits

him. These men were less afraid of us than of Most

Alast, who was trumpeting back and forth along the

path, heedless of the efforts of his mahout. They

saw that we were armed and ready. They did not

know how many more of us there were.

Three of the Pathans were hurt by the arrows of

Shirzad Mir. Two others had fallen among the

rocks and thorns of the slope below. The other two

were afoot and watching the elephant.

All who could do so put down their muskets and

swords and said that they had had enough of the

affair. Shirzad Mir would not move until he had

seen the two who were in the thorn thicket climb

out, cursing, but little the worse for their fall, and

join the others. Then we left Sir Weyand, who had

picked up a brace of their discarded pistols, to

watch the group, and went forward with me at his

side.

``Find Said Afzel,'' he ordered me.

I saw the Uzbek prince leaning turbanless

against a rock, feeling of himself tenderly. It is no

light thing to fall from the howdah of an elephant.

Kasim Kirlas, the professional courtier, was

stretched on the ground at his feet---but this was no

salaam; the man was stunned.

Shirzad Mir caught the dazed prince by the

shoulder and bade him sternly walk before his

Said Afzel's Elephant 9

horse. My lord had drawn his sword, and this he

kept near the bare neck of Said Afzel.

``Where is the elephant?'' he asked me.

I pointed to the stream below and Shirzad Mir

laughed aloud. He ever appreciated a good jest.

Most Alast had smelled water, and had somehow

got himself down the slope to the stream unhurt. He

was drawing water up in his trunk and squirting it

over his sore back---mahout and all. Later Most

Alast lay down in the mud. It was many hours

before we could get him to leave it.

Shirzad Mir pushed through the bewildered

bearers swiftly. Half of the camelmen had fled. One

or two of the eunuchs drew their scimitars when

my lord came near the camels on which were the

women, but when they saw the plight of Said

Afzel, with my lord's sword at his ear, they threw

down their weapons.

It was a sorry gathering that we grouped against

the cliff wall. Eunuchs and slaves are masters of

brave words, but I have yet to see the ones who will

face danger to their bodies without shrinking. I cast

about and discovered that the Pathan who had

formed the rear guard had fled.

Shirzad Mir was now master of the field. He

called to the boy on the cliff---our foes thought that

many more were there---to shoot down the first

man of the caravan who moved from his place.

Then he ordered me to ride my horse slowly

back and forth among the remaining camels, the

women and their attendants, and see that none

escaped.

It was now growing dark, so of my own will I

set four of the camelmen to building a great fire at

the lower end of the caravan and another by the

heap of stones. So it happened that when it grew

dark we had our prisoners securely between the two

fires and could see all that passed.

Shirzad Mir had gone straight to the Pathans

and talked with them a long time. Presently he

came to me and said:

``They will join my party, being men who sell

their swords: For this reason I did not slay them.

They were near enough for good shooting. I have

cared for those who were hurt. The others are

cooking food. In the morning we will give them a

sword apiece---perhaps.''

With the other attendants we did not speak.

They were men of low breeding and jumped to

obey our orders. Shirzad Mir kept Said Afzel ever

at his side, in case of treachery.

One at a time we ate of the food for which we

yearned. The boy joined us proudly, and Shirzad

Mir set him to collecting the few weapons of the

eunuchs. Of these he made a pile and sat on it,

feeling greatly the honor we did him.

Shirzad Mir talked with Said Afzel through the

night. There was no chance for me to sleep, but I

think Sir Weyand slept a little during his watch

over the Pathans. Before dawn I had spoken with

the mahout of Most Alast and given him a handful

of gold from the treasure bags. He---one master

being as good as another---consented to serve us.

At dawn I had finished my task. The loads were

all recovered and placed on the camels and the

slaves' backs. All had eaten. The women were put

back on their camels, and the eunuchs herded in

front.

At first break of light in the sky we set out, my

lord and Said Afzel mounted on the elephant, who

was now quiet, the injured in litters borne by the

slaves, the Pathans on their own horses, and the

sheep boy on another.

We struck away from the Shyr Pass into the

hills. Then, for the first time in two days and

nights, I slept a little in the saddle, being weary, but

only a little.

III

SAID I not our star was in the ascendant, so that for

a space we were given strength to trick our

enemies? Later, evil fortune came upon us again,

but not then.

Three courses were open to my lord. He could

slay Said Afzel, to strike terror into the Uzbeks; he

could exchange the prince and the women for his

own family, and perhaps a strip of Badakshan; or

he could ransom our prisoners for gold with which

to pay an army. I urged the first plan, Sir Weyand

the second, and the Pathans, who had now cast

their fortunes with us, the third.

Our danger was great, for when news of what

had happened in the pass reached Khanjut by way

of some escaped bearers, the whole army of Jani

Beg was sent to hunt us down. As yet we had no

followers other than the four uninjured Pathans and

the sheep boy, whom Shirzad Mir appointed head

of the camelmen and gave a sword, to his great

satisfaction. The bearers, the slaves and the camel

drivers were useless to us and would have been

glad to fall again into the hands of Jani Beg, who

Adventure 10

would not drive them through the by­paths of the

hills, as we did.

It is written in the annals of India, the curious

thing that my master did in this difficulty.

``We will keep the prisoners and the treasure,''

he said, ``and we will regain the foothills of

Badakshan from Jani Beg; also we will gather

together a small army.

And this thing we did, by the will of God. How

was it done? We held a durbar---that is, a crowning

ceremony. The people of Badakshan had been told

my lord was dead. The durbar showed them he was

not.

Verily, not before or since has such a durbar

been held in Hindustan or Badakshan or Turkestan.

We traveled with the caravan through the villages

of the hills. At each village Shirzad Mir would

dismount from Most Alast and spend money---from

the bags of Said Afzel---for a feast.

Wine he bought freely, and food, and scattered

silver among the people. So that all might see, he

held his durbar. Said Afzel, the opium­eating

prince, he forced to do homage in public to him; fat

Kasim Kirlas, the professional courtier, Shirzad

Mir made pay him extravagant compliments; el

ghias, the buffoon of the caravan, performed his

tricks; the musicians of Said Afzel sang---at the

sword points of the Pathans---and the dancing girls

danced. It was a great feast. Shirzad Mir, looking

the proud king he was by birth, sat on cushions

under a cloth­of­gold tent which we found in the

baggage, and watched idly, saying nothing.

Sir Weyand cleaned his soiled garments and sat

at the right hand of Shirzad Mir, as the ambassador

from England. Only I did not attend, for at every

feast I was out in the lookout places, with certain

men of the hills who rallied to our standard,

keeping watch. The men of Jani Beg pressed us

close. We moved each day, marching in the night

to a new village. I kept a good watch and at each

new place more of our men came in to see and

hear, for rumors of what had happened spread

through the hills. Shirzad Mir gave to them gold

and weapons from the store we had taken.

In the plain of Badakshan we could not have

avoided being overtaken by the cavalry of the

Uzbeks. But in the hills they were at a loss---and

the people aided us. It was a mad scheme, yet its

very madness protected us.

He himself put on the jewels he took from Said

Afzel, and---sitting placidly on Most Alast, the

black elephant, with the two crimson stripes of the

Mogul on his nose---he looked the king he was.

The hearts of his old soldiers, who thronged to us

from the hills, were uplifted at this sight.

Always Shirzad Mir directed me to travel in a

circle, through Anderab, Ghori and Bamian, back

to where we had started, at the Shyr Pass. In spite

of danger he did this, and we all wondered, until

one day we came to the desolate aul of Iskander

Khan, as Shirzad Mir had planned.

When the old Kirghiz chieftain came forth and

lifted up his hands at the sight, Shirzad Mir in his

gorgeous robes dismounted from Most Alast and

embraced Iskander Khan, while we all watched.

Then my lord pointed to the caravans, to the

camels, the treasure and the women.

``Choose,'' said he to Iskander Khan; ``it is all

yours for the asking.''

But Iskander Khan would not, saying that he

was unworthy of such honor. Whereupon Shirzad

Mir called for us all to see. He loaded the horse

Iskander Khan had given him in his need---the fine

Arab stallion---with pots of gold and gems, and put

the bridle in the Kirghiz' hand himself.

He put a robe of ceremony on Iskander Khan

and girded on him the sword from his own waist.

``This man,'' he said loudly, ``shall be always at

my left hand until he dies. Those who do homage

to me shall bow to him also.''

In this manner did Shirzad Mir pay his debt to

Iskander Khan. He was a good man. A man among

ten thousand. Aye, among ten times ten thousand.