THE HOUSE OF

THE FALCON

HAROLD LAMB

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THE HOUSE OF

♦ THE FALCON4

By HAROLD LAMB, AuXhor oj ''Marching Sands;* ek.

1 1

"The stars an setting and the Carman

Starts for the Dawn ef NctUng. Oh, make hasteT'

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

NEW YORK : LONDON : MCMXXI

OOPYSIGHT, 1921. BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Connlglit, zoso, by Tbe Fkiok A. llmuey Compmy

RDfnD DC THE UMinED 8TATIS OV AMBBICA

MY WIFE

784061

CONTENTS

cHAPmt piav

I. The Roof of the World i .^

II. The Listener 6

III. The Gate 19

IV. The Seller of Rugs 29

V. Alai Bala Sleeps 39

VI. The Garden 48

VII. Into the Unknown 56

VIII. Events of a Day 64

IX. Abbas Arranges 71

X. Concerning a "Yashmak" 80 •^

XI. Edith Rides Alone 94

XII. The Country of the Falcon 106 ^»»

XIII. A Lamp Goes Out 114 .

XIV. The Bronze Bowl I22f

XV. Questions and Answers 128 —

XVI. Pandora's Box 139

XVIL Arayang Explains 149 «»

XVIII. The Stone Chamber 160

XIX. New Arrivals 167

XX. In the Shadow of the Temple 176

XXL A Veil is Drawn 184

••

Contents

CHAPTUfc VAQM

XXII. A Pledge . • • • . 191

XXIII. The Pledge is Broken 201

XXIV. The Vulture's Nest 216

XXV. Cards on the Table 232

XXVI. An Hour after Dark . , . . . . . 240

XXVII. Sanctuary of the Tower ..*... 250

XXVIII. The Voice OF Mahmoud 258

XXIX. The Sayak Fury 268

**- XXX. The Passing of the Caravan 280

THE HOUSE OF

THE FALCON

HAROLD LAMB

THE HOUSE OF

THE FALCON

• _ • • *

CHAPTER I •••:•.:: *

THE ROOF OF THE WORLD

Men drop out of sight there. This one did. Or, no,

I shouldn't say that. He went up out of sight. You

see, he was carried.

Yes, right out of the city up toward the top of the

world — ^at least that's what the natives thereabouts

call the mountains, where the spurs of the Thian Shan

meet the Himalayas. About five thousand men saw

him go.

And not one of 'em cared to follow.

They were natives of course, all sorts — Chinese,

beggarly Sarts, Mussulman traders, Kirghiz shepherds

and what not. He was a white man. The other

Europeans in Kashgar were all in the new city, the

Chinese city, where the taotai and the missionaries are.

He had come to the old city of Kashgar, by the dried-

up river. He rode — ^unccMimionly well, they say —

across the wooden drawbridge and under the arch into

tiie thick of the bazaar section.

Not that he'd lost his way. In fact he seemed to

be looking f 05 some one in the bazaar where he must

have known there were no foreign barbarians— only

The House of the Falcon

the natives. His horse was dark with sweat land he

was covered with dust. There was a good rifle slung

over his shotdder and a native servant followed him.

So the white men in Kashgar, when they heard what

had happened to him, thought he must have been a

big game htmter.

StiU, thqf. wouldn't imderstand why a hunter should

• {.off-sadHle ah^^ wandering through the bazaar as this

. . . o|ie.4id|.gui4ed'by his servant. White men, even

: \\ : •" iw^ /I'oK and twi]piti hunters, are not frequent visitors

in Kashgar, you know. It's a city on the old cara-

van route from China into India and Persia. It's sort

of stuck up there under the hills that overlook Tibet,

Turkestan and Kashmir, and the hills themselves are

rather a no man's land — ^tribal areas.

I have said he was looking for something, or some

one. And he didn't find what he was looking f on

That seems to be dear. So he let his servant take

him to a serai, an inn for travelers in the bazaar quar-

ter. For a hunter he was traveling awfully light,

and with no heads at all in his baggage. He'd made

a long trek, too, judging by the condition of his

beasts.

It sounds just like a story, of course. The white

man — ^we'U call him that for want of a better name

— was sitting in a comer of the serai with his back

to the mud wall smoking a pipe and watching the

other inmates — ^a fine lot they were, too— when a big

black-faced native in sheepskins, blind in one eye, got

up and went over to him.

^'Effendi/' the fellow said, "yo^ ^^ave who is the

dust beneath your feet (he meant himself) has heard

that there is danger and trouble in store for you here.

Will the effendi ride hence at once and swiftly ?'*

The Roof of the World

The white man laughed and said he liked it where

he was. At this the chap of the sheepskins went out

of the serai and b^;an to run as if the devil were after

him, through the twisting alleys of the bazaar, out

past the mosque and up the road to the hills.

He didn't stop running as long as he was visible

from the balcony where the taotai, the governor, was

having dinner. They noticed that, because those na-

tives never run tmless necessary, and then they ride.

In an hour, after he'd eaten a little dinner, the white

man was knocked out Not actually, of course, but

by fever or food poisoning. It was so quick in com-

ing, it must have been poisoning.

He still sat in the comer of the serai with his rifle

across his knees and his face drawn with pain. He

couldn't move except to put his finger on the trigger

of his piece and watch the crowd in the serai with his

eyes. This was necessary, because his servant had

left him and he hadn't tried to get word to the few

Europeans who were near by in the new Kashgar.

Perhaps he did try to get word to them ; still, there

was no evidence that he did. A Kashgar crowd is

harmless for the most part; but not when a foreign

barbarian with his kit and rifle is helpless in their

hands. Well — ^this chap kept watchipg the crowd and

the crowd watched him. Waiting for him to die,

most likely, so they could appropriate his kit and

rifle.

Evidently while he was still alive they didn't dare

touch hinu And it wasn't dark yet. The Chinese

governor, who was very conscientious — z, fine fellow

and a scholar, too-— and investigated the affair to the

best of his ability, says that this was before the namca

The House of the Falcon

gar J the time of evening prayer for the Moslems who

made up the greater part of Kashgar.

Apparently the white man made only one remark.

"Where is Jain Ali B^?" he asked — referring to

his servant.

The serai keeper swore afterward to the governor

that the servant had run away, perhaps because he

scented trouble in the air.

So the white man sat there, poisoned perhaps by

the Moslems of the bazaar. So the governor said;

but a Chinese official hates all Mussulmans. Then a

curious thing happened.

Those in the serai heard the trample of the camels

of a caravan outside, in the alley. They heard the

bdls of the camels. And the leader of the caravan,

the man who holds the nose cord of the first animal

in the line, was the one-eyed chap in sheepskins.

The caravan had come down the road from the

hills. Nothing unusual in that, of course, because

caravan transport is the only way of moving goods

in Central Asia and a half dozen of 'em go through

Kashgar every day. -But this particular caravan

didn't have any boxes or an3rthing but a score of

dark-skinned hillmen for riders.

It might have come in to the bazaar to load vcp—

only it didn't. The caravan moved down out of the

hills in the dust, to enter the bazaar. It stopped just

for a moment outside the serai, and the riders took

the white man away with them.

That was exactly what they did. Set him on a

camel ; then the whole string turned and went off with

the one-eyed beggar in the lead. They had crossed

the old bridge over the moat and disappeared into

the dust before the bazaar knew what was happening.

The Roof of the World

At that, the natives of Kashgar gave the caravan

a wide berth. There wasn't a soul in the alleys when

it went away. Every one had popped into iht open

shop fronts or under the sun mats. They seemed to

be superstitious about it and the Mussuhnans related

\ something to the taotai about a caravan that came

' from nowhere and went nowhere.

Yes, that particular white man went up out of sight

At least, he was never seen again.

Now, what do you think of it all^

]

CHAPTER II *^^^

THE USTENER --^V:

"Now, what do you think of it all?" repeated Whit- iAoM

taker. He rubbed his bald forehead with a plump HlMt

hand and cast birdlike glances at the girl beside him. 'lts^

Whittaker flattered himself that he could tell a good *Qife

story well, and that, having trotted over most of the ik^

globe, he had good stories to tdl. Moreover the fin- iUiw

est young woman of the Chateau had been listenings V\

to him attentively. '^^^

In the upper corridors of the Chateau music echoed ^'^

from the orchestra of the ballroom, popular music ^i

with a tang to it. Whittaker's eyes had watchec^ the ii»

girl's slippered foot tracing a dainty accompaniment. .'fe

But she had smiled away several men who had come ifsj

up to urge her to dance — ^had refused them, to listen %z

to him. Whittaker glowed. ^^

"Did it really happen, Mr. Whittaker?"

He liked the way her words slurred together softly,

after the manner of the women bom in the South of

the United States. Whittaker believed that he was

an excellent judge of women. So he permitted him-

self to admire the girl's tawny hair, dressed low on

her neck, almost touching her bare shoulders.

She carried herself devilishly well, he thought,

had a haughty eye. Came of one of the oldest Sou

em families, Kentucky, he believed, and knew it, I

father was rich. They went the round of Fifth A

The Listener

ime, St. Augustine, the Riviera, and Canada — the

Chateau, at Quebec.

"Of course, Miss Rand,'' Whittaker was aggrieved.

"You know Major Fraser-Camie, don't you? Wdl,

when you see him, ask him about it He told me the

story. And I" — ^he looked up hopefully — **l have ar-

rived at an explanation."

Leaning bade comfortably in the settee Whittaker

contemplated Edith Rand, who, with gray eyes half

closed, was staring out of the drawing-room window

at the lights of the Chateau terrace.

Beyond the lights, the mist over the broad bosom

of the St. Lawrence was luminous under an invisible

moon. But Edith Rand did not see that. She was

wondering why the man in the chair by the fireplace

within a few feet of them was listening so intently

to what the globe-trotter was saying.

She knew he was listening because his cigarette had

binned his fingers and he had dropped it hastily. He

was playing solitaire on a green card table drawn up

before his chair and was making palpable mistakes.

When the chatter of people passing in from the din-

ing-room or leaving the ballroom had drowned

Whittaker's voice, the man had leaned ever so slightly

nearer. She wished he would turn around.

"Most people would say," Whittaker argued, "that

the natives of the caravan — ^the one that took the white

man away from Kashgar, you know — were robbers,

brigands from the hills. Kashgar is north of the

l^glish lines in upper India, and it is full of outlaws."

^ "No," said Edith Rand. "You said they only took

, the ifaan himself, not his belongings."

"Precisely — exactly what I was going to point out"

Whittaker joggled his eyeglass triumphantly, "NoW

The House of the Falcon

I have heard other people say that the whole queer

event was a conspiracy. The white man in short was

an outlaw, as well as the— caravaneers. That was

why he lurked in the bazaar instead of going to his own

countryitien in the modern city of Kashgar.

"But my own opinion, my dear Miss Rand, is this.

My theory is that the white man was carried off as a

ptmishment for some crime he had committed. A

crime against the natives, you know. Robbed a tem-

ple, or — ^ah — something of the kind. One-Eye — ^the

chap of the sheepskins — drugged him and then went

to fetch his gang. Helpless under the influence of

the drug, the white man was borne away to his fate.

Eh, what?"

Edith Rand was silent. She had observed that the

card player had returned to his solitaire with fresh

enthusiasm; he was placing red cards upon blade,

quite correctly. He had even lit another cigarette.

"And now," continued Whittater, convinced of the

success of his narrative, "we come to the sequel. You

remember that the white man's servant, Jain Ali Beg,

ran away from Kashgar and was missing — tor some

time. A year later he tinned up at one of the Engj-

lish Stations in the Kashmir hills five hundred miles

away to the south in upper India. Major Fraser-

Camie, your friend, saw him.

"Jain Ali Beg," nodded the globe-trotter, "was ar-

rested. Doubtless, you wonder why. He had in his

possession the personal effects and the rifle of his

master— claimed they had been given him by the white

effendi before his master was carried off. But Fraser-

Camie had no doubt that Jain Ali Beg robbed the

man."

As Whittaker said this Edith Rand saw that the

The Listener

listener laid down his cards entirely, with the game

half finished, and began to tap upon the green sur-

face of the table with blunt, powerful fingers.

"And Jain Ali Beg was glad to be arrested. He

had been running away because he was very much

afraid. Not of arrest, but of something in Kashgar.

Perhaps, of the caravan. Piciture the scene to your-

self — ^a lonely hill station with the British officer

standitig at tiie door of his quarters talking to the

fear-sick native,

"The next moment Jain Ali Beg was lying on the

doorstep, knifed. And the murderer who had come

up behind the house was my friend of the sheep-

skins — One-Eye, the personal conductor of the cara-

van. The queer chap actually took the pains to ex-

plain why he had killed Jain Ali Beg. He said:

" Tor the space of three moons I have followed in

the tracks of this one'^ — ^he pointed to the body — ^'to

give to a faithless servant the reward that he has

stored up for himself.*

"Then One-Eye vanished around the bungalow and,

by George, the native servants of the station refused

to try to follow him I They said a curious thing.

They said :

" 'Sahib, when the lightning strikes, does any one

foUow?'

"And that," Whittaker concluded triumphantly,

"that, my dear Miss Rand, was precisely what the

natives of the Kashgar bazaar said when the caravan

came and carried oflf your white man. Strange,

whatr

"Are you sure," questioned a quiet voice beside

them^ "the man was really dead ?"

Edith Rand observed that the card player had turned

The House of the Falcon

and was looking at them fixedly, his brown face se-

rious.

"Eh, why — ^he was stabbed four times about the

heart, as dead as Mahomet — : — ^*

"Not Jain Ali Beg." The card player shook hi

head impatiently. "The man in Kashgar."

The stranger pronounced the native names in a cer-

tain sonorous fashion quite different from the flat

phrases of Whittaker.

"Oh, the hunter." Whittaker rallied to the defense

of his story. "Well, there's not much doubt that he

is dead, after all that. He was never seen arotmd

there again, of course. You see there was something

spooky about that caravan. You don't think he isn't

deed, do you?"

The card player smiled. "A case of corpi4s deUcH

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 t5 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 hfs

story had been shattered. "Permit me. Miss Rand,

to introduce Edouard Monsey."

With a ready courtesy the newcomer bowed over

Edith's hand. In spite of his almost perfect English

the ^rl felt that he was of foreign birth. She was

vaguely surprised that Monsey should be an acquaint-

ance of Whittaker — ^although her companion seemed

to know everybody. For the past hour she had f an^

The Listener

cied that Monsey had been wholly absorbed in hear-

ing Whittaker's story.

She had seen the man at intervals about the Cha-

tfau— during rides along the heights, and once when

b.^e was walking alone along her favorite promenade

on the ramparts. On that occasion she had been

aware that Monsey had followed her with his eyes.

"I have had the pleasure," remarked Monsey, "of

meeting your father, Miss Rand, in the Chateau. We

had something in common, you know. He is going

to India on business.''

He looked at her questioningly.

"Daddy will have to take me," she drawled. '*He

would be right lonely without me. I always go with

him. Mr. Whittaker was trying to frighten me with

his stories "

«1

'But it was true," protested that gentleman. "It

was quite true."

Monsey shrugged. "Kashgar is hardly India, my

dear chap. Calcutta, or Kashmir for that matter, is

safer than New York."

; Edith turned to him impulsively. She was an un-

commonly outspoken person, as her atmt, who was

travding with the Rands, had frequently reminded

her — with the added prophecy that her disposition

would undoubtedly get her into trouble, unless she

married first.

But the girl was quite heart-free and she was tre-

mendously content with the path in life that Arthur

Rand, her father, had opened for her. She liked to

wander, to see things, and to ask questions.

"Are you from India, Mr. Monsey?"

Instinctively she felt that she should say ''Captain

Monsey," the man was so plainly a former soldier.

The House of the Falcon

His accent hinted at French schooling; the name might

mean anything. India, to Edith, represented a pleas-

ure spot frequented by likable men who played polo

and owned horses — ^the girl had been brought up to

love horses.

Monsey hesitated momentarily, looking at her.

"I have been there," he said, and changed the sub-

ject, requesting the favor of a dance. "A privilege

so great that only the necessity of your coming de-

parture emboldens me to ask for it. Miss Rand, may

I be permitted to say that you dance as well as you,

ride, and that is — perfectly?"

It was one of the requirements of her world that

s)ie should do so— the festive world that was her birth-

right

Edith could appreciate the formal courtesy of ttte

stranger, Monsey. It was that of the elder school

of French gentlemen. But, even while the music

called her, she found that her mood had changed.

"Let's walk up to the ramparts," she cried "I

visit them every night, and sit on a wonderful old

cannoa If you don't mind '' *

As she tripped through the lobby with Monsey at

her side, her quick eye sighted letters in the array

behind the desk in the pigeonhole that belonged to her.

Mail always held a fascination for Edith and she could

not resist claiming the letters, handing them to Mon-

sey for safe-keeping.

Qouds were passing over the surface of the moon,

rendering the light on the wooden steps fitful. When

they ascended from the last platform four hundred

feet above the roofs of the river front, a fresh breeze

touched their faces.

*'Do you not find it dangerous?" Monsey asked

The Listener

curiously. ''I should think your aunt would ob-

ject ''

"She does," absented Edith, "that's why she is not

invited.'*

The girl perched herself on the bole of an obsolete

cannon that rested its muzzle on the grass near by.

She patted it in friendly fashion. "Old war dog, I

wonder did you growl at enemies in your time ? Do

they have forts like this in India, Mr. Monsey?"

Standing beside her, he could see the girl's fonn

against the sky and admire the light that glinted in

the tangle of her hair. A remarkably willful person,

he thought, wishing that he could gauge her mind.

"I have heard there are many such in northern In-

dia in the mountains. You will doubtless visit them,

because the early summer heat will be oppressive in

the south."

"Major Fraser-Camie lives in Kashmir, I think,"

she nodded. "We will visit him for a while — ^until

Daddy has finished his business in Calcutta."

Inwardly she was wondering why he parried any

direct allusion to India. She remembered now that

her father had mentioned meeting a man in the Cha-

teau who had come not long ago from that country

and who had given him some useful information.

Monsey, she reflected, did not seem inclined to give

her useful information.

"If you are in Kashmir^ Miss Rand," he observed

after a brief silence, "you will doubtless be in Srina-

gar. I have already assured your father that I may

have the pleasure of meeting him there. Business"

— ^he laughed — "recalls me from my — ah — ^vacation, I

believe you call it-— yes ?" Monsey tapped the pocket

of his dinner jacket. "I have here a stimmons to re-

The House of the Falcon

hxm. It is my misfortune that I must hasten by the

most direct way, the tirescwne C.P.R. boat, while you

will cross from New York."

There was something fantastic, it seemed to Edith,

in the thought of any one's taking a vacation from

India in America, even in quaint Queb^ And Mou-

sey did not appear to her to be a business man. Of

course he might merely be cult^srating her to gain the

good will of powerful Arthur Rand

*ln Srinagar," his low voice went on, **you will

grant me the happiness of the dance that ismet has

denied me here?*'

"Yes, of course."

"Ah, you will not forget? Kashmir is the garden

of India : Srinagar is the jewel of Kashmir."

Monsey was speaking to her of the Himalayas, of

floating pleasure palaces of dead kings, and the shrines

of the hills that were built before the coming of Eu-

ropeans. They were walking back slowly toward the

stairs, and Edith was wrapped up in his description

of the place she had looked forward to seeing. A

doud was passing over the moon's face.

The girl was at the edge of the parapet and she

stepped out upon what she thought to be the head

of the stairway. A high-heeled foot slid over the

brink of the height and she fell to her knees.

All the blood seemed to leave her heart, and every

nerve tingled with swift pain. She cried out as she

slipped downward and glimpsed the docks in the shad-

owy darkness below.

Then she felt an arm about her shoulders. Mon-

sey's sharp exclamation of alarm penetrated the roar-

ing in her ears. He must have thrown himself down

on the grass beside her.

The Listener

By degrees that seemed to Edith infinitely slow the

grasp on her shoulders tightened and she was drawn

up. Above her the stars danced in a maze of light

and a dozen moons circled the sky.

She was standing again in the grass, well back from

the edge, Monsey's arms arotmd her, and his face

peering into hers. "Thank you/' she heard herself

saying quite calmly. "I was very foolish ^" She

drew away, leaning against the cannon for support.

"It was my kismet,'' he nodded, "that I should be

of aid to ; ou. Now you will not forget the dance

at Srinagai. I must see you again." His voice, al-

ways low, was little more than a whisper. "Because

I shall not live until then."

Edith was repeating to herself that he had saved

her life. He had acted promptly, at great risk to

himself. The man seemed to think only of her.

Yet, even while thanking him, Edith was conscious

of a strong feeling of aversion. More than his, last

words offended her. The young girl was sensitive to

impressions. Something, perhaps, that she had seen

in his face repelled her.

When she returned to her room Edith glanced

through the letters that Monsey had given back to

her, a note from a school chum, invitations. One

missive caught her attention. It was a single sheet

of blue paper, and the envelope from which it came

had already been opened. On the blue sheet several

lines of meaningless characters peered at her.

"How strange!" Edith whistled softly, a habit

of hers when puzzled.

The odd lettering was very neat — ^pothooks, dashes,

and scrolls, all following each other in regular suc-

The House of the Falcon

cession. It was not shorthand. Nor was it any

language with which Edith was acquainted. But un-

derneath it she noticed some penciled words in Eng-

lish.

Her smooth brow wrinkled as she reread the pen-

ciled phrases which were evidently a translation of

the message.

The F&lcon is on the wing, searching the City of the Sun.

Take care.

It was like ^etry, she thought — ^like a bit from the

Rubaiyai. Or was it a code? Her father had used

code at times — ^writing apples when he meant profits,

and plums instead of losses, and so forth. Yet here

the second line seemed to make good sense as it was.

The phrase *'City of the Sun" had been scratched

out and "Srinagar'* substituted. Was this code?

The word "Srinagar** gave her an inkling of how

the blue sheet had come into her possession.

For the first time she inspected the envelope, the

open envelope from which she had taken it. It was

addressed to Edouard Monsey, the Qiateau, Quebec,

Province of Quebec, Canada. In one comer was the

legend, "To be held until called for."

A foreign stamp was attached, blurred over by an

unreadable postmark. The writing on the envelope

was English, but angular and stilted as if penned by

an unfsuniliar hand.

Edith replaced the blue sheet, and rang for a boy.

To him she delivered the missive with instructions to

take it to Mr. Monsey and say that he had given it

to Miss Rand by mistake that evening.

It was clear that Monsey had handed the blue let-

ter to her when returning those she had given him.

The Listener

She regretted that she had, unwittingly, read his let-

ter. When she tried to put it out of her mind she

found that she could not do so.

What a queer phrase — the Falcon! She had al-

ways connected the word with knights and the days

of chivahy. Were there falcons to-day? Or was it

a kind of code word for something else? Edith did

not know.

"It must be code, after all. He said he had re-

ceived a business letter," mused Edith, drowsily, and

straightway went to bed and to sleep.

By now the lighted windows of the Chateau had

blinked into darkness. The twisted streets of Quebec

had long been silent. The pleasure-stage was deserted

by its guests, the curtain drawn. Players and attend-

ants alike slept.

Somewhere in the old French city under the height

chimes rang out from a cathedral tower. Answer-

ing bells sent their notes forth under the stars. A

chorus of ironlike harmony welled from invisible

sources.

Though the pleasure-stage was dark in the hours

before dawn, the chimes of Quebec did not sleep.

The roofs of the city were still, under the eye of the

moon. A solitary note of carriage bells struck into

the chimes — from the slope of a dark street.

Monsey, who had been dozing, dressed, in his chair,

swore softly and leaped to his feet.

"Confound the bells !'* he muttered, lifting clenched

hands to his head.

In the confused instant of wakening from heavy,

troubled sleep he had fancied the chimes were hu-

man voices. Into his senses had come the distant,

The House of the Falcon

wailing cry of cloaked muezzins summoning to prayer

and shouting forth the salutation to a prophet

He had been dreaming^ and the effect was still

strong upon him. He fancied that cries of anguish

were ringing in his head— cries drowned by the clamor

of huge trumpets lifted to the skies.

**Homs of Jericho 1" Jie exclaimed, and this time

he did not speak in English.

His fancy still retained the echo of the chimes dis-

torted into another sound — ^the summons of ten-foot

trumpets reverberating from the impulse of the lungs

of powerful men, and reechoed from distant hillsides

as if from cliffs in the sky. His memory pictured

hooded heads raised to the first light of dawn, and

lips murmuring age-old prayers.

The carriage bells of Quebec had taken the sem-

Hance of camel bells of another country that jangled

as long-haired beasts pad-padded over the snow to

the hoc^hoa of caravaneers.

Then he glanced from the window out over the mist-^

shrouded river, laughed, and stretched.

"Nerves, by Jove ! Didn't know I had 'enL*'

CHAPTER III

THE GATE

•»

It was at Baramula, which is the beginning of the

real Kashmir, that Edith Rand saw the watcher at the

gate. At least so she christened him to herself.

The girl and her atmt, Catherine Rand, had been

sent to the hills by Arthur Rand at the first contact

with the lifeless heat of Calcutta. A Southerner by

birth and an easy-going gentleman of the old school,

he could not permit the women to face the climate of

southern India which was like a fever breath compared

with the heat of Louisville in midsummer.

His florid face had been almost purple when be

kissed Edith good-by on the platform beside the car-

riage of the Punjabi Mail. Edith had not wanted to

leave him. She knew that he was not well— this

knowledge had made her determined to come with him

to India.

Moreover Edith fancied that the business venture

that brought them to India had not been going well.

Letters from home had hinted at a stock market slump

and she knew that her father h^d invested heavily.

But the Southerner, reluctant to worry his daugh-

ter or his sister, had smiled and said that he would

join them within a few days in Kashmir. He had

handed Catherine Rand her inseparable traveling com-

panion, a pail of assorted medicines dear to her heart,

wrapped in a black doth, and waved good-by.

The House of the Falcon

"My dear," admitted Edith's aunt, as the guard

closed the carriage door, "no one can do business in

this Turkish bath. It was fortunate that I brought

my medicines. I fear that we all shall need them.

Your father is not well. He should never have come.*'

This had filled Edith with vague foreboding, a feel-

ing that Arthur Rand was concealing his worries from

her. Murree and the fresh air of the hills after the

long train journey had revived her, and the joggling

carts that convey^ them to Baramula fascinated her.

They had passed through the gateway of Kashmir,

threading mountain passes, while cold winds bearing

scent of pines, jasmine, and acacias swept down on

them. They moved in the shadow of cliffs. Vines

and wild flowers almost touched their hats as they

passed by.

It had cast a spell upon Edith, a sleepy, pleasant

kind of spdL She yearned for a horse to ride amon^

the mountain paihs. Two English ladies, officers

wives, who were with them had smiled at her indul-*

gently. The American traveler, they thought, was a

beautiful girl; they wondered just how she would fare

in the army circles at Srinagar. When she inquired if

it were called the City of the Sun, they responded that

the natives interpreted its name so. They spoke of

it as "Srccnugger."

At Baramula the tongas had halted to change

horses. At once a crowd of natives pressed arotmd

them, shouting, pushing, bowing. Bearded Afghans

elbowed tattered Turkomans aside; slim Paharis ges-

tured frantically beside squat Kashmiri traders with

arms full of shawls; handsome Central Asian Tews

pleaded with great play of brown eyes for the

khanum to notice the imrivaled excellence of their

The Gate

heaven-devised silks; self-appointed interpreters cried

loudly that the fn^m-sahibs should not fail to avail

themselves of their matchless services. Pockmarked

beggars in garments that were miracles of rags con-

tinued to wail for the never-ending baksheesh.

All— except the beggars — deprecated any idea of re-

ward, and asserted boldly and bodily their high in-

tegrity and the encomiums heaped upon them by pre-

vious travelers. Noisy recrimination on the part of

the tonga drivers against the horde of rivals added to

the confusion.

Through the mass of natives a carriage drove up

behind splendidly matched horses, scattering the ranks

of the beggars. A diminutive, uniformed figure

dropped instantaneously from the seat beside the

driver and sought out Edith Rand. The military,

atom bent a turbaned head and raised slim hands,

crying in very fair English :

"Major-Sahib Fraser-Camie pre^ts compliments.

Is this the American Missy?" Adding complacently,

*^ am the ord€rly of the Major-Sahib, Rawul Singh."

Edith was about to follow her aunt into the car-

riage, while Rawul Singh attended to the forwarding

of their baggage on the tongas, when a man stepped

from the crowd and thrust his arm over the carriage

wheel. The action surprised the girl, unaccustomed to

the manners of the native servants.

She saw that the man was as tall as the Afghans,

but of a more powerful build. His impassive broad

face was the hue of burned wood. Slant, black eyes

were bent submissively before her. Yet she had the

impression that he had been looking at her intently

for some time.

The aspect of the native was somber — one arm y est-

-V

The House of the Falcon

^mmt

ing across the heavy, gray woolen coat over his chest,

his big head sunnounted by a round, black velvet cap.

A scar, running from mouth to eye, increased the

grimness of the intent face.

Just for an instant the eyes of the man sought hers.

Then, with a bow he was gone. Edith fancied that

he was still watching the carriage from the crowd.

As they sped away she looked back and thought that

she saw him climbing into one of the tongas.

She forgot him almost at once, in the glory of

tiie drive along the valley beside the flooded Jhilam

that muttered through its gorge at their feet. Those

who have once entered the paradise of Kashmir do

not soon forget the gateway.

Edith laughed with the joy of it, seeing gray douds

twining among the mountain slopes behind them. The

edges of the cloud bank were touched with a fiery

purple from the concealed sun, when— as if an in-

visible hand passed across the face of the sky-— the

sunlight was blotted from their path.

The horses quickened their pace as the Afghaif

driver cracked his whip and Rawul Singh ^)oke

sharply in Turki :

"Drive, son of a pig! Would you discomfort the

guests of your master?**

He glanced back reassuringly and met Edith's

flushed, delighted countenance. "Verily," he observed

to the muttering Afghan, "this young fn^m-sahib has

no fear of a wetting or .a storm."

Edith laughed as the carriage swayed and rattled

onward, happy in the rush of air, exhilarated by the

challenge of the wind. Dust eddied around them,

and the poplar trees that lined the road turned their

pale leaves restlessly at the breath of the storm. In

The Gate

a few moments the temperature dropped many degrees.

As the first heavy drops of rain fell, they swept

under the trees that almost covered one of the outer

avenues of Srinagar, in the growing darkness. Light-

ning flashes dazzled tfaem^ while a peal of thtmder

brought a quick response from the apprehensive Miss

Rand

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 runnii^ ahead, they gained the shelter of

a wide veranda as the rain pelted down.

A white figure strode down to meet 4hem, and the

girl was assisted up the veranda steps, breathing

quickly with the effort of tiie dimb. 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 almost cried out in surprise. A glimmer ^of

]%fatning stK>wed her the dark countenance of Edou-

ard Monsey. Blackness closed in on them again. A

curtain of rain descended upon the bungalow, and the

r<^d became a mass of mud. Edith heard her aunt

stumble on the porch.

For an instant she wondered whether they had come

to Monseys quarters instead of the major's. Mon-

sey wore an undefinable air of ownership. She shiv-

ered slightly, chilled by the sudden cold. By now

the full force of the thunderstorm had swept upon

them. The mat blinds rattled with the impact of the

wind gusts. Lightning flickered incessantly, reveal-

ing the Afghan, water dripping from his beard, stag-

gering up with their hand luggage.

The House of the Falcon

A spattering of drops that was almost a spray ran

along the porch, and Rawul Singh led them inside,

lighting lamps that trembled in the air currents.

"Is this the house of Major Fraser-Camie ?** Edith

asked Rawul Singh quickly, drawing away from Mon-

sey, and arranging her disordered hat **Aren't we

going to a hotel?"

The orderly glanced at her curiously, and Monsey

replied. The major was detained at the cantonment,

settling some aflfairs of the natives. Fraser-Camie

had arranged to take up his quarters at the Residency,

and they were to have full possession of the bunga-

low — ^Fraser-Camie's bungalow. There was no good

hotel, he explained.

Monsey turned to go and in so doing spoke to Edith.

'Tfou have not forgotten your promise ?*'

She shook her head and watched him depart, some-

what surprised that he should go during the storm

and without waiting for the arrival of the major.

The shower had passed over Srinagar; the level sun-

light shone on a freshened vista of poplars and the^

water-stained wooden bungalows of the European col-

ony when Fraser-Camie appeared to pay his respects.

Major Alfred Fraser-Camie was mddy and gray-

haired. He was good-natured, in a heavy kind of

way, and not talkative imtil aroused to tiie propo*

point Well past middle age, he still made a pre-

sentable figure on a horse.

Moreover, he did not shun an occasional sally into

the polo fields of the northem stations to keep him-

self fit. A surgeon, attached to a cavalry regiment,

he had labored conscientiously at his profession, a

labor increased by his own hoMjy — ^gathering material

on the tribal customs and environment of Central Asia.

The Gate

For many years he had been looked upon as a total

loss by marriageable ladies of the cantonments, who

spoke vaguely — ^s if by way of excuse — of an early at-

tachment which the major had been unable to forget.

He greeted Catherine Rand with unaffected hearti-

nesSy mentioning his remembrance of former visits to

Louisville, and took Edith's hand in his, looking long

into her face.

Edith was the first to finish dressing for din-

ner, and tripped downstairs to find the major. Now

that the storm had ceased a ruddy light was flooding

the house, and the blinds and mats had been flung

open. In a near-by ccmipartment she heard the serv-

ants moving about, setting the table.

On the threshold of the room she paused with a

quick breath of surprise. Framed against one of the

French windows opening into the veranda she saw

the figure of a tall native that was unmistakably fa-

miliar.

The man Jmd been bending over some objects on

the window seat, and now he straightened, casting a

startled glance over his shoulder. In the brilliant

light she could see the scar that ran from eye to cheek

quite plainly. It was the native of Baramula, the

watcher at the gate, as she had christened him whim-

sically.

With a leap he cleared the window seat and disap-

peared out on the porch, as a great, shaggy mountain

^eep might vanish from sight of a hunter.

"What in the world!*' thought Edith, because it

was quite clear that the man had no right to be in the

house. Going directly to the open window she looked

out on the lawn, but saw nothing more of the uncouth

visitor.

The House of the Falcon

Having assured herself of this^ she glanced down,

wondering what the native could have been doing in

the room. A thief, perhaps, she thought. Yet his

bearing had been more bold than furtive, and cer-

tainly he had tried to take nothing with him in his

flight.

Quickly she glanced around the room, with a

woman's keen eye for details in a strange house. She

saw neat disorder. Trophies — fine heads of moun-

tain sheep and elk — ^hung from the walls. Twin cd-

lections, European and native, of weapons were ranged

systematically on either side of the stone fireplace in

which a blaze crackled cheerily.

Comfortable wicker chairs, bookshelves filled with

much-used volumes, green cotton curtains — ^all this

was quite homelike.

On the window seat under her eyes stood a bamboo

box filled with a varied assortment of objects: some

stained clothing, a tarnished telescope, a notebook care-

fully tied up, and a volimie of poetry. On the cloth-

ing was pinned a slip of paper.

''Belongings of Donovan Khan," she read.

The two words did not seem to fit ; the "khan'* did

not match with "Donovan." Beyond this there was

nothing unusual in box or contents. Edii|), perceiv-

ing this, felt a trifle embarrassed, as if she had been

spying tmwittingly on another person.

Probably, she reflected, the big native was a servant

of the place — one who was not allowed in the front

portion of the house. Edith, unfamiliar with the cus-

toms of the people of Srinagar, did not wish to play

the part of a busybody. It was quite a trivial thing,

she thought And she said nothing at dinner that eve-

ning to the major about the scarred native.

The Gate

Once when Fraser-Camie^s eye traveled to the box

she fancied that he smiled.

'1 have a duty to perfonn. Miss Rand," he ob-

served. *'A mutual acquaintance, Whittaker by name,

a very talkative chap you know, has written me. His

stories are quite a religion with him and he complains

that you did not believe one of his yams." He

glanced quizzically from the attentive girl to her aunt.

"About tiie man who was missing from Kashgar, and

all that It's quite true. There is his outfit, in that

box."

He nodded at the bamboo chest on the window

seat

"Then, his name was Donovan Khan?" Edith asked.

"Quite so, to be sure. Donovan Khan."

Edith was interested. For the first time she felt

Ae reality of the odd story Whittaker had told. At

the Chateau she had hardly thought of it as true —

until Monsey had chimed in. Monsey ? She frowned.

And then she drew a startled breath. Whittaker

had said that the native who had been leading the

caravan at Kashgar, the one who had killed Jain Ali

Beg, had been blind in one eye.

It had just occurred to Edith that the big native

who visited the drawing-room that evening had not

seen her until long after she had seen him. Then he

had turned clear around to look at her. There had

been a scar, running from his mouth to his eye— the

eye that must be Uind.

"Edith, my dear," her aunt was staring through

her lorgnette, "you are not ill, are you?"

She shook her head, laughing. "Only excited.

Auntie.*'

Major Fraser-Camie had said that the Kashmiris

The House of the Falcon

were harmless as kittens and quite all right. Edith

told herself that she was a silly goose. There must

be more than one native in Central Asia who wore

gray sheepskins and was blind in one eye. For all

she knew there might be hundreds.

CHAPTER IV

THE SELLER OF RUGS

''Once a Tartar emperor made it the heart of his

kingdom, dust and ruins now. Then the tidal wave

of the Osmanli Turk swept over it, and that, too, is

gone. After tiiat a Czar and his Cossacks reached

out hands, greedy hands for it Pouf! The wind

of Asia, the ghost wind, — tengeri buran the b^gars

in the hills say — ^that wind blew, and now the Czar is

hoist with a petard and his soldiers are either dead or

farmers, my dear Miss Rand.''

Fraser*Camie reined in his horse to point with his

riding crop up at the overhanging vastness of the

Himalayas. Underneath the forests of the foothills

— rising green shoulders, buttresses of the Titan

masses above them — Srinagar, the City of the Sun,

looked very tiny indeed. And compared with the

great peaks that loomed behind the foothills, Switzer-

land itself, thought Edith, was a toylike place.

Edith's eyes were somber. She threw back her

head upon her strong, white throat, looking up at the

statuesque boles of the pines that were scarcely smaller

than the redwoods of California. She sniffed the

pungent fragrance of the deodars.

"It w a garden, after all!" she cried.

Fraser-Camie glanced at her appreciatively. He

relished their rides together. Edith was a horse-

woman bom, and the major liked that

The House of the Falcon

"Kashmir is the garden," he murmured. "Up

there it's rather a wilderness, I fear. The law of tke

white man no longer holds good. Since the War, the

tribes are their own masters. What poet said, Tate

has turned a leaf in the book you and I cannot read' ?"

He paused to light a cigarette and tossed the match

away moodily. "Up yonder^ somewhere, Dono^n

Khan dropped out of sight" *

Edith was still gazing at the snow peaks. They fas-

cinated her. There seemed to be no life in them.

They loomed against the hard blue of the sky like bul-

warks of Jotunheim. What was beyond them?

"I thought at first," Edith smiled whimsically at

her own fancy, "that Edouard 'Monsey might be Don-

ovan Khan. He was so interested«in.Mr. Whittaker's

story. I just wondered, because I like to play at

dreaming."

"Dream, by all means, dear diild. After all, is it

not the stuff our life is made#of? Eh, what? Mon-

sey; though, is scarcely the Khan." He eyed her ap-

praisingly. "Curious thing, about a year ago Donovan

KJian himself dropped in at my diggings up Gilghit

way for the night. He claimed he was looking for

some one at Sreenugg'r. I've seldom met a man I

liked more. The politicos were furious when I didn't

arrest him or some such thing."

"Why?" Edith was surprised. She felt very much

out of touch with all that was happening in this place.

It was so different from the world in which she had

lived and moved.

"Why ? Well, all of India would have thanked me

for delivering Donovan Khan to the army. Five

years ago, just when the War began, Donovan Khan

took himself off from here, to go hunting, he said

The Seller of Rugs

Since tiien we've heard of turn occasionally amcmg the

tribes. Periodically he seems to vanish. He knew

the tribes as no other man in India did '^

The major broke off, to puff vigorously at his

cigarette.

"Jain AH B^ who went West said 16 mt more than

once that Donovan Khan, his master, had the aspect

of one who hunted, although he never killed game ex-

cept for the pot. Also that riders came f fom the hill

villages — men of a race strange to Jain Ali Beg — to

follow Donovan Khan; and thefe was much fighting.

There would be."

"It's all so strange," thought Edith aloud.

"Riddles? Not altogether" — ^again the officer

checked himself. "The Viceroy doesn't let us tell

everjrthing we hear. But this man was up to some-

thing, on his own. Up yonder, you know. He gath-

ered power to himself, and his followers named him

Khan — ^at any rate, until that caravan called for him

at Kashgar. It looks to me as if the hillmen had sent

a funeral cortege for him."

He spoke half jestingly, but Edith caught the

thoughtfulness that underlay his words. Her brow

wrinkled as she remembered the letter addressed to

Monsey that she had seen at the Chateau.

A falcon. A search in the City of the Sun — Srina-

gar. Sheer nonsense, unless it was code. What had

Fraser-Camie said that reminded her of it? Some-

thing about searching — she could not place it.

"Have you," she asked, "a servant with a mark on

his face under one eye? He frightened me once."

Fraser-Camie glanced at h^r strong, young figure,

erect in the saddle, at her friendly, gray eyes. "I

hardly fancy you are easily frightened, my dear Miss

31 '

The House of the Falcon

Rand By Jove ! If you should see a big hilltnan with

a face like a dog, blind in one eye, tell me. He's a

murderer, you know. The Maharaja — ruler of Kash-

mir — ^has a sense of justice. Which reminds me that

I am* taking you to the Maharaja's ball, in two days.''

The Maharaja was giving the ball to the members

of the British Residency and Fraser-Carnie was among

those invited. Monsey would be there. And she had

promised a dance

"Speaking of your admirers," grumbled the major,

"here comes one now, unless I am mistaken. The

Russian chap, Monsey."

Edith turned in her saddle and saw Monsey canter-

ing after them, well mounted and well dressed as he

always was. Fraser-Camie looked at her quizzically.

"I owe him," she confided quickly, almost defen-

sively, "a debt."

"Then, my dear young lady, pay it" — ^her compan-

ion spoke sharply — "and wipe the slate dean."

"Why ?" she whispered under the beat of the near-

ing hoofs.

But the major was silent and greeted Monsey with

a curt nod. As if by general consent the three quick-

ened their pace, the two men taciturn, the girl smiling.

It was clear to her that Fraser-Camie did not like

Monsey. She wondered why.

And then, abruptly, her horse shied. Edith, clever

horsewoman that she was, had him under control in

a moment and looked to see the cause of the animal's

fright.

At the roadside lay an ugly sight, the half^lecayed

body of a sheep from which a half dozen wide-win^d,

bald-headed birds had soared up at their approach,

startling the horses.

The Seller of Rugs

^'What are they?" Edith asked, nodding at the car-

rion birds that were circling now overhead, waiting

for their departure. There was something foul and

evil in their slow movements.

"Vultures," responded the major briefly. But the

girl barely heard. She had seen Monsey's eyes widen

and his lips twitch.

"Birds of prey of the basest sort," repeated Fraser-

Camie and this time he, too, glanced at Monsey.

"Are they called falcons sometimes?" She turned

to the major.

"Rather not Falcons, my dear young lady, are a

sort of hunting bird, used by the natives hereabouts,

especially in the north. An old custom, you know,

favored by the hill chiefs.'

At the door of the bungalow Fraser-Camie made

his adieus, saying that work claimed him at his quar-

ters. Monsey, however, lingered. Miss Rand, Edith

learned from the boy who took their horses, was out.

Monsey accompanied her up the porch steps. Here

Edith halted, stifling an involuntary exclamation of

surprise.

In the shadows of the veranda a white figure rose

before her. It salaamed respectfully and revealed it-

sdf as a turbaned Mussulman.

"O, will the mistress of the house see what her ser-

vant brings?" the figure said in fair English. "I am

Iskander, seller of rugs."

Edith seized this pretext to avoid being alone with

Monsey and ordered Iskander to bring his wares to

the upper porch. As she passed through the drawing-

room she could j|g| resist stealing a glance at the win-

dow seat where^ne box containing the belongings of

The House of the Falcon

Donovan stood. She saw her companion follow her

gaze and eye the box inquiringly.

Iskander, rejoicing in the favor of the white woman,

lost no time in showing his goods. Rugs of every

species from Persian to Chinese and rare silk objects

were spread on the floor of the veranda as if by magic.

The Russian, who plainly had something on his

mind, seemed determined to outstay the merchant ; but

when Edith purchased a small rug and began trying

on the soft gray and blue Kashmiri shawls, he rose,

knowing that the Mussulman would remain as long

as there was a prospect of further sales. Edith, in-

tent on her selection, nodded farewell. Monsey, how-

ever, took her hand and held it

"I will claim," he whispered, "the promised dance.

I will ask it, at the ball.''

"Yes," she responded quietly, withdrawing her

hand. Iskander glanced from one to the other with

veiled curiosity.

"In the garden of the palace I will show you the

beauty of our paradise," he smiled, and was gone.

She listened to his departing footsteps, as he strode

down the stairs to the floor below and out on the lower

porch. When he had disappeared under the trees,

Iskander rose from where he had been squatting on the

floor.

Edith, trying a fabric of the finest Kashmir wool

on her slender shoulders, felt the Mussulman draw

nearer. Iskander towered over her. His servile at-

titude had been flung from him like a discarded cloak

as he stretched out a lean hand toward her swiftly.

She was surprised to see the costliness of his white

silk vest sewn with pearls and the . jtwels that gleamed

under the dark throat

The Seller of Rugs

A strange merchant, she thought fleetingly. Then

she saw that Iskander had stooped over the scattered

rugs — ^again a soft-tongued barterer of his wares.

For the first time she noted that Rawul Singh stood

in the doorway. He spoke authoritatively to Iskander.

The merchant departed with many compliments and

effusive thanks, wishing her the happiness of pleasur-

able dreams.

A moment later when Edith descended to the draw-

ing-room to look for a book she found that the box

containing the belongings of Donovan Khan was no

longer in its place. Rawul Singh said that no one of

the household had removed it.

The girl thought of Iskander who might have con-

veyed the box from the bungalow wrapped in some

of his rugs. Still, it did not seem reasonable that the

sdler of rugs would have stolen such a valueless thing

when articles of silver plate and the collection of wea-

pons had been left untouched.

Had Major Fraser-Camie sent for the box? Rawul

Singh said not, adding that the house servants, though

of insignificant worth, were faithful to their salt. They

would not steal.

Somewhat worried, Edith asked the orderly to re-

port the incident to his master. It was a trifling mat-

ter — one of those details that vex because they defy

explanation.

And the worthy Miss Catherine Rand was still

more vexed the next day when she decided she had a

headache and sought her cherished medicine pail for

a remedy. None was forthcoming: the pail and its

medicines had disappeared from her room«

Convinced that some native maffia had designs upon

hersdf and Edith — ^who had just left for a boating

The House of the Falcon

tour with Monsey on the lagoon of Srinagar — Cath-

erine Rand dispatched a house boy for the major, requi-

sitioning her three words of Hindustani for the occa-

sion.

'The hurra sahib, you stupids! GheeT And the

boy, notwithstanding her request for plarified butter

(ffhee), read the mind of the m^w-sahib with the in-

tuition peculiar to Orientals and brought Fraser-Camie

posthaste.

The major questioned his servants briefly and turned

to Rawtd Singh, speaking in Kashmiri.

''So, the hillman, blind in one eye, has been seen

near the bungalow again even while you were seeking

him in the bazaar.^'

The orderly bent his head.

"Then, sahib, I have Mundered. Yet, who can

separate one sheaf of grain from many, or one drop

of water from a stream ? It is in my mind that he is

a caravaneer of an upland caravan that has been seen

within a few days near Gilghit. More I know not''

"Then give over the search to the native police, and

whenever I am not with the young m^m-sahib do you

accompany her. Her safety I give you as a duty.

This is understood ?*'

Rawul Singh salaamed. Hereafter, should any harm

fall to the lot of Edith Rand, the Garhwali, corporal

in the Siwalik Rifles, would be as a man without honor.

That night after Edith had retired to her room she

could hear the orderly pacing the veranda. She did

not go to sleep at once. Her aunt had kept her up

late discussing the matter of the missing medicine

chest.

Th< memory of the native with the scar stooping

over the kit of John Donovan was strong upon her.

The Seller of Rugs

The major had called him a caravaneer, and a caravan

had taken Donovan Khan away. To the hills.

The events of the day had tired her; the continued

absence of her father filled her with misgivings. Mon-

sey had proposed to her on the lagoon; and» as he

spoke, her dislike of the man had grown upon her, as

at Quebec

He had said that he loved her, needed her. Her

refusal seemed to affect him strongly. His savage

anger at her words had aroused Edith's rebellious

spirit.

Drowsily Edith smiled at her own musing and fell

into a troubled sleep. Vivid dreams thronged in upon

her.

Visions of the splendors of the carpets of Iskander

ihn Tahir passed before her unconscious eyes. The

white-garmented Arab salaamed to her, rising abruptly,

after the manner of dreams, from the piles of his own

goods. Then Iskander's swarthy face g^ew black —

as black as the storm clouds that passed over the city

of the hills.

The Arab seized her in an iron clasp. Edith had

the tormenting sensation, familiar in a nightmare, of

wanting to cry out and of being unable to utter a

sound. Quite as a matter of course the veranda of

the bungalow faded from her vision and the bare

slopes of the Himalayan foothills took its place. The

carpets of Iskander lay stretched before her, and each

one seemed to be a shroud.

Edith, still held by the Arab's remorseless hand,

stared at the carpets. Under them veiled forms lay

motionless. She felt very helpless.

Then she saw the sharp face of Monsey, smiling at

her in friendly fashion. Again, the girl tried to articu-

The House of the Falcon

late — ^to tell him that she was held a captive above the

carpets. In the queer fantasy of the dream, Monsey

bowed politely and passed on, unheeding. Sheer ter-

ror gripped the girl, and she fell to weeping — ^not so

much, she thought, on her own behalf as because of

what lay under the carpets. She was very, very sorry

for the things, whatever they were.

She could no longer see Iskander, although his hands

still held her. But the face of the tall native of Bara-

mula peered into hers. He spoke, and never had Edith

felt such utter distress as at the sounds of his heavy

words.

^'These are no longer cUwef*

And at the words, the man with the scar pointed to

the forms covered by the rugs. Edith felt that in some

manner he was kin to the passive figures. Then he

stooped to raise

and Edith cried out frantically

She was awake, her forehead moist, and her thin

nightgown cold with perspiration. Huddled, the giri

brushed back the damp hair from her brow and stared

up into the blackness of her room.

The nightmare had been very real. She still heard

the terrific words — s0 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

CHAPTER V

ALAI BALA SLEEPS

It had rained and ceased raining that evening as it

usually did in Srinagar. Mist, tinted flame color by

the setting sun, was twining around the rocky base of

Jyestharudra's pinnacle. The melancholy call of the

boatmen in the doongas came over the water as Mon-

sey drifted about, alone except for his paddler, on the

lagoon.

Edith had left him in a black mood. He lay back

on the cushions of the doonga, his powerful body tense,

a cigarette half bitten through in his^ nervous lips.

Overhead the panoply of sunset, spreading across the

arch of the sky, reflected itself on the lagoon.

Boats moved slowly under the rickety bridges. Not

without reason is Srinagar called the Venice of India.

Distant spots of purple that were iris beds growing

over graves winked down at the twilight city.

While Monsey meditated, the ragged Kashmiri boat-

man propelled his craft slowly toward the bazaar quar-

ter with its yawning shop fronts, its raft of vessels

crowding together, and its poppy-covered, tumMe-

dovm roofs.

"Where will the sahib go?" the man ventured at

last, feeling the inner impulse of hunger.

"To purgatory, or Abbas Abad's," growled Monsey.

"Take your choice.*'

A moment later the gcmdola drew up at a painted

The House of the Falcon

■■HWi

flight of steps. Glancing about the canal keenly, Mon-

sey left the bbat, tossing its proprietor a coin. Step-

ping forward with the assurance of one who knew the

way, he entered a ramshackle wooden structure that

had once been a bright pink but was now the hue of

a very dirty and diseased carnation. Stooping under

an openwork balcony he pressed onward in semidark-

ness rife with a pungent odor.

This smell came from a native woman \ymg huddled

on some mats, puffing a spluttering opitun pipe with a

child at her breast Monsey kicked the woman aside,

the movement drawing a wearied cry from the baby.

To silence it, the Kashmiri placed the pipe at its lips.

A single breath of the smoke and the child subsided

into a drugged sleep.

Monsey ascended a dark flight of steps to an upper

room lighted by a yellow hanging lamp and apparently

without access to any fresh air. On a bundle of quilts

in one comer the form of a girl was coiled — z, satin-

dad form with spangled, velvet bodice and flooding

brown hair escaping under a cap of tarnished cloth

of silver.

The pale olive countenance of 'he woman — 2l

Georgian — was lax in sleep— it might well have been

judged pretty otherwise. Circles were under the closed

eyes, stained lips parted over fine teeth. An aroma of

musk and rose scent exuded from her body. Mingled

with the stale perfume was the stringent fragrance of

a Turkish hubble-bubble, at which a man puffed. He

glanced at Monsey casually, from half-closed eyes.

"Nasha or opium ?" he remarked.

"Neither," said Monsey curtly. They both spoke

Turld. Apparently they were on familiar terms. The

man's face was the hue of the girl's, only the skin was

Alai Bala Sleeps

creased and pinched as if from exposure to hot winds.

His heavy eyes were bloodshot; a red fez rested on

straggling, curly black hair.

"As you please/' he muttered. "What was your

fate?''

Leaning back on the quilts, he eyed the gurgling

water pipe. His dress had once been immaculate white

duck, girded by a brilliant shawl belt. The open col-

lar disclosed a round, muscular throat rising from a

stout chest.

"An evil one. Abbas." Monsey sank upon the quilts

and tossed away the burned stub of his cigarette sav-

agely. The woman stirred, opened tired eyes, and

hunched away from the men, to fall into her disturbed

sleep. "I played my cards and they lost. I tell you,

they lost."

"I hear. It is fate. Did you think the beautiful

Americain khanum would want you for a husband?"

"Why not?" Monsey scowled. "Other women have

loved me-T-and they were better than this "

He looked at the drowsy woman sardonically. The

Turkoman — ^he was actually an Alaman, a Russianized

Mohammedan of the Turki race — shrugged powerful

shoulders.

"I saw her passing in the boat, my friend. Nay, I

believed not she would be a wife to you. Who was the

native soldier?"

"Orderly to the British major — the son of a dog.

He will not leave the woman."

"Therein he shows his wisdom." Abbas bared

stained teeth. "So they do not trust you, despite your

French manners and your patrician Russian birth?

Eh?"

Monsey — ^perhaps the name had once been spelled

The House of the Falcon

Otherwise — ^looked up coldly. His dark eyes were dan-

gerous. "At least," he smiled, "I know my own birth.

/ am not a jackal, bom in a gully."

Abbas Abad Mustieh'din exhaled the smoke from

his lungs and his faded eyes blinked. '^Khei'leh khoub,

Effendi, khei'leh, khoub!'' he murmured. ("Very well,

my good master, very well!")

"Nor," continued Monsey ironically, "am I a mon-

key, clad in the garments of gentlefolk, my betters."

Willful and domineering, he was irritated at him-

self, at Edith Rand. The remarks of Abbas had added

fuel to the fire. Like many men of narrow mind, the

Russian lacked humor. He was not a man to swallow

a jest lightly. With his faults, however, he was not

lacking in courage. He faced the Alaman, smiling

but watchful.

A dull red flooded into the seamed countenance of

Abbas. The artificial pride, common to those who

mimic the personality of their superiors, had been

touched. One powerful hand clasped the turquoise-

inlaid hilt of the dagger in his girdle.

McHisey dropped a hand into the pocket of his jacket

and waited. • The pocket bulged, and the bulge pointed

toward Abbas. For a long moment the Alaman

eyed his friend, the coat of his friend — ^under which

he knew a serviceable revolver was turned toward him

— ^then his brow cleared and he raised an empty hand,

pahn up.

^'BismiUah! Why should I cut open your throat?

I need you. You need me. But keep your tongue in

your mouth, or one day it will be slit — ^thus !"

Monsey had relaxed his vigilance for an instant at

the overture. The dagger of Abbas flashed out and

passed across his companion's breast. Monsey stared

Alai Bala Sleeps

down grimly at his jacket. The doth over his heart

had been slit deftly, yet he had felt no prick on his

skin.

Abbas replaced the knife in his girdle, grinning, well

pleased with himself. He clapped the stem of the pipe

to his lips and inhaled, slapping Monsey on the knee

with his heavy palm.

"Eh — ^you have seen what you have seen. Be wise,

oh, be wise. By the seven hells of purgatory, you are

no fool. Or I — ^Abbas Abad — ^would not walk in your

shadow. Come, my cherished gentleman. Hearken.

Have you given up your lust for the girl ? Are you

willing to listen to the wisdom of Abbas, your friend?

I, who sent you a letter clear across the ocean — I, who

paid a scribe well to write your name and address in

English. Would I have done that if I had not wanted

you ? The time is ripe for us to sell our merchandise.

Aye, the markets of Samarkand and Kashgar will

pay good prices for women. And for such a one as

yonder Americain —

**Bah — I tell you she is mine. Abbas, would you fly

a falcon at a hare when a young deer is marked down?"

"Why not, my Excellency ? We must eat. We have

no money.'*

"Abbas, you are a fool. The American father is

rich. He can pay — more than the price of six light-

haired Georgian women at Stamboul.'* The Russian's

dark eyes were calculating. "He would fill both your

hands with gold pieces."

The Alaman grunted skeptically.

"What would it avail me, if my head were cut off?

The days are past when we might gamer white women

openly for slaves." He shook his head. "Nay, I

will take a serpent from its hole with my bare hand,

The House of the Falcon

but a white woman I will not touch. With my own

ears I heard the cannon of the French warships bat-

tering the gates of Constantinople. The Protector of

the Faithful is but a shadow and the cloak of Islam

is rent asunder. I know, I know."

"All this," said Monsey impatiently, "is idle talk.

Abbas, there is a place where the hand of the English-

man does not reach. You know, for you lay hid there

many months."

"Above ?" Abbas pointed upward and to the north.

"Aye — ^beyond the Hills. Once the Cossack posts

were set there, like the links of a strong chain. Now,

the chain is broken. The tribesman grazes his cattle

over the ashes of camp fires. The priests of Islam

chant their prayers unheard, save by true believers.

You have seen that. Abbas!"

"It is true."

Monsey tapped his chin reflectively with lean fingers.

"No American consul is within a thousand miles.

Do you think I am a child, wet with mother's milk, to

want to make the American girl a slave to sell at a

price? Not when I love her, as I do. Allah, and all

his saints! — she is beautifuL I have been thinking."

The Alaman was silent, pondering. Monsey, who

had been the link by which he sold the choicest of his

women to be "servants" of the Russian officers on

the border during a former regime, never spoke idly.

The dissolute gentleman— once an officer himself — ^had

profited much by Abbas. But the shrewd merchant

was cautious lest the whims of his companion should

involve him in needless trouble.

"Once beyond the Kashmir frontier^ we would be

safe, Abbas," muttered the white man, "Fraser-Camie

discifrfined numskull — ^would not dare send any of

Alai Bala Sleeps

his few men into the Hills — if, indeed, he could trace

us. The Kashmir government would not bother its

head. And we would return the woman ^"

He shrugged

*Tor a price,*' grinned Abbas. *'Oh, undoubtedly

we would."

'*Rand would pay the price. He could. I tdl you,

I want the woman."

"For a time — ^yes. You tire of them quickly. As

I have seen."

"Abbas, you are a thrice-born fool. Think you I

would run such a risk ? Nay, my plan is otherwise."

"I heed. Excellency!"

"If we carry off the woman — ^you and I — ^there must

be no accusation of brigandage. Am I a bazaar thief,

or a lawless hill chief? I tell you, I will marry the

American woman. I will find means to make her

submit A missionary can be found in Kashgar. By

God, Abbas, do you think I would have risked my neck

to come back here, if I had not seen her and wanted

her at Quebec?"

The Alaman listened intently. For the first time he

seemed to approve. "This is wisdom — ^perhaps," he

grunted. "Speak !"

Monsey's expressive eyes glowed. After his fashion

he loved Edith, and her curt dismissal of his suit had

angered him. "After the marriage we can talk terms

with the father. If he will not pay well for his daugh-

ter's freedom, he will pay to have her restored to him.

I will see to that." He laughed and stretched his arms,

good-humored again. "Abbas, my dog, luck is setting

my way again. I shall do it."

"Who knows what is before him?" The Alaman

shrugged. "There is much danger and also much profit

The House of the Falcon

at stake. Has your wisdom found a way to take the

woman to the Hills?'*

"Said I not my star was rising, O one-of-Mnall-wit?

To-morrow night is the ball of the Maharaja. I am

bidden, because of" — ^he hesitated and his eyes

darkened — "old ties. Well, it is our kismet I shall

dance with the woman. She has promised, and she

will keep her word. The father has not yet arrived ;

the aunt is a fool. We will walk in the garden, she

and I ''

Glancing around cautiously, he lowered his voice.

Abbas bent his bearded head to listen. For several

moments Monsey talked, gesturing vividly, his purpose

strong upon him. An able man, strong-willed, he had

gambled with the finer ties of life — rank — ^honor. Now

his mind was twisted, his thoughts bent inward. Per-

haps Abbas Abad was the better man of the two. He

at least had not forsaken his heritage for a mess of

pottage. He had never been otherwise than he was —

a slave dealer, of Asia.

"This is wisdom," muttered the Alaman, "and

our need is great. Yet the danger also is great."

"Abbas, my luck is good. I feel it Come, we will

try the dice of fate! This woman of yours has dept

through our talk. She would not have wakened if I

had slain you. We will hear what she has to say —

>.f

he touched the passive girl with his foot, then shook

her by the shoulder. "Confound your (^ium, AU>as !

Alai Bala!"

She stared up at him sleepily, too drowsy to rise.

The Alaman looked on curiously.

"Alai Bala!" commanded Monsey, "hearken! Your

master and I are of two minds. Shall we abide in

this hole or ride to the Hills ?**

Alai Bala Sleeps

The girl seemed not to comprehend. She shook her

head slightly.

"Speak, my pretty parrakeet/' purred Abbas.

*'Q)me, my gentle dove, my jewel of jewels, my price-

less pearl of beauty! You have heard, O offal of

the bazaars, harlot — scum of paradise, my saintly

"The Hills,'^ murmured Alai Bala wearily. "This

is ah evil place : let us ride to the Hills '*

She sank at once into her interrupted slumber, her

6o/r/-stained face pallid, and her breathing laboring

from tormented lungs. Monsey nodded agreeaUy.

"My luck holds.'^

Abbas glanced up shrewdly. "You would have let

her decide, effendif*

Monsey turned away. "Certainly — ^as I said."

He dis2^)peared down the stairs. His footsteps died

away and the room was silent except for the gurgle of

Abtes' pipe. Presently the shrill cry of the sick child

sounded from below. It ceased, and Alai Bala twisted

uneasily in her sleep.

Abbas looked from her to his pipe. The murmur

of the chanting boatmen came to his ears, mingled with

another chant.

^' Allah il akbar/* came the murmur. "Allah, the

Great. There is no god but Allah ^"

It was the hour of sunset prayer.

CHAPTER VI

THE GARDEN

Edith had never been quite so happy as the night

of the Maharaja's ball Major Fraser-Camie had

announced that Arthur Rand was near Srinagar — ^the

mail tonga had come in a few hours ago and its driver

brought the tidings.

Relieved and excited at the news, the girl had donned

the gown that was her father's favorite, the blue-gray

ball dress she had worn at Quebec. The pleasure of

the coming occasion added its glow to her cheeks and

her eyes sparkled.

"Ripping! Oh, I say, you're absolutely splendifer-

ous, and — all that, you taiow." Fraser-Camie, who

had blossomed forth in dress uniform, added his com-

pliments to the purring approval of her aunt, at the

carriage. Rawul Singh strutted behind his beautiful

charge, supremely unconscious of the envy of the other

house servants.

Edith smiled at the major joyously as the carriage

rolled forward between the poplar avenues, following

a line of European carriages of visiting native poten-

tates.

Sultan after sultan with his pomp

Abode his destined hour and went his way—

Miss Rand murmured the quotation.

"Quite so." The surgeon's ruddy face reflected a

The Garden

shade of anxiety. Almost to himself he quoted an-

other couplet, but Edith's quick ear caught the words :

The Sultan rises and the dark Ferrash

Strikes— and prepares it for another guest

The flush of evening lay again upon Srinagar; the

sky was flaming from the gateway of the departing

sun. Mists were gathering in the hollows and creep-

ing together along the plain, as if tenuous spirit hands

were gripping each other.

The mists half concealed a caravan of animals wind-

ing along a path outside the city. Edith could see

only the heads of horses and the cloaked forms of

riders. It was as if beasts and men were swimming

in a gray sea in the evening calm.

Like an echo from another world, she heard the

faint sound of tinkling bells wafted from the caravan

— the hoorhoa of drivers. A hooded wagon rumbled in

the mist. Barely could the girl see the moving shapes,

so swiftly did the wings of evening fall.

She wondered briefly if the cavalcade included the

tong2L of her father. Then she reflected that he would

approach Srinagar from another quarter. She looked

up. Her aunt had neither seen nor heard the caravan.

Edith glanced back at the path in the mist. The

riders and horses were almost invisible. Dimly the

hood of the ekka^ moved along jerkily. Then her

own carriage swerved into a drive, and the Afghan

servant and Rawul Singh shouted as they almost col-

lided with a vehicle coming from the other direction.

Through the garden the bulk of the sprawling, ill-

designed palace confronted them. Edith was claimed

joyously at the entrance by her new friends, the young

^Two-wheeled native cart

The House of the Falcon

subalterns. Fraser-Carnie expostulated good-naturedly

and they all laughed.

Whole-heartedly, she threw herself into the tide of

the evening. Dances were b^ged and allotted ; Fraser-

Carnie insisted on the first waltz — ^although retpkided

by his brother officers that he had not danced in public

for half a decade. Edith was presented briefly to her

host — a sallow-faced, ^niling little man in evening

clothes that did not quite fit.

"It's so good of you,'* whispered the girl, "to do all

this."

She gave the officer's hand a quick pat, and he

glowed. He managed the maneuvers of the waltz

much as he would the evolutions of dress parade.

Edith, however, was too much interested in the spec-

tacle of the native dignitaries, the watching British

matrons, the active junior officers, to care.

Her eager eyes danced as they took in the vista of

the moving throng on the polished floor, the arched cor-

ridors decorated with immense festoons of acacias

and honeysuckle, the great divans where hill chiefs in

native dress sat painfully erect with their retinues be-

hind them. She htmuned lightly in the air of the

orchestra — ?l favorite British cavalry quickstep.

"It's glorious," she exclaimed. "I do hope Daddy

comes in time."

Major Fraser-Carnie halted precisely at the end of

the music, his ruddy face a shade redder and per-

spiration on his bald forehead. He bowed.

"Your wish. Miss Rand," he observed, "is my pleas-

ure to fulfill. I go to make inquiries '*

Time passed. Partners came and went — ^to return

again. Edith had not seen Monsey yet A young sub-

altern escorted her to a balcony overlooking the garden

The Garden

of roses where the dark surface of a round lake glim-

mered faintly.

Perching on the stone railing, a scarf flung over the

flimsy ball gown, she stared out at the sentinel-like

trees rising against the sky. It was chilly and a fresh

wind was lifting the branches of the trees below her,

setting the tiny globes of the lanterns to dancing.

The last thing Edith wanted was to be left alone.

She listened S)rmpathetically while the young subaltern

described the miraculous floating gardens of Akbar,

the pleasure palace of the dead emperors. She liked

the witchery of the darkening garden, she liked the

subaltern, and the music

"My dance, I believe. Miss Rand."

At the first strains of the music beginning anew,

Monsqr had appeared behind them. Instinctively

Edith yearned to restrain her former partner who now

bowed, preparing to leave. Then she rose quietly.

After all, she had promised.

So she walked back to the ballroom, her hand on

Monsey*s arm. It would soon be over. Then she could

enjc^ the evening.

Monsey had placed his arm lightly on her waist, and

she swayed to the rh)rthm of the music, when a voice

^ke at her side.

''Af^m-sahib, pardon!"

Edith turned inquiringly, to see Rawul Singh stiffly

at attention. Monsey wheeled on the Garhwali, his

lean face dark.

**It is the order of the major-sahib," Rawtd Singh

bowed apologetically. "He has sent a message."

Monsey would have spoken angrily, but the girl was

before him. The appearance of the orderly made her

heart leap. "My father — ^he is here?"

The House of the Falcon

Rawul Singh shook his head.

"This is the message, my mem-sahib. The major

begs the mem-sahib to come to the bungalow. There

your father waits. He has come in a tonga, and he

asks for you/*

Placidly, the orderly met the glance of Monsey.

Both men waited for the response of the girL Edith

had a swift impulse of alarm. Why had not the major

and Arthur Rand come to the palace ? Why had they

delayed in summoning her ? And why had not Fraser-

Camie come for her in person?

The imcertainty passed quickly. Her father was

tired after the journey. He had never cared for en-

tertainments. Fraser-Camie had remained at the

bungalow to keep his guest company until she should

come. That was it.

"My father is well?"

Anxious to be reassured, she asked the question of

Rawul Singh, forgetting that the orderly had not left

the palace.

"Af em-sahib, I do not know. I have not seen him."

Of course ! She ran to where she had left her scarf

and snatched it up, anxious only to be gone. There

was no reason for her to be alarmed on bdialf of

Arthur Rand. But, womanlike, she wanted to assure

herself of that at once. She did not even wait to speak

to her aunt.

It wasia slight matter. But this eagerness of Edith

to see her father, and her failure to tell Miss Rand,

had in reality an important bearing on what followed.

With the scarf in her possession, she was turning back

from the balcony when Monsey confronted her.

"Your promise?" he inquired evenly. "You must

finish your dance with me. Rawul Singh can wait."

The Garden

Edith met his ghince fairly.

"It will be over in a minute/' he urged, "and I will

take you to the bungalow in my carriage." She hesi-

tated, and he resumed impatiently, "Rawul Singh can

accompany us — if you wish.'*

"But my father is waiting, Mr. Monsey.*'

"And I have waited. Since — Quebec.*'

Monsey's hand stretched out for the scarf. The

girl drew it closer over her bare shoulders.

"You will not deny me the dance ?"

"Yes — for the present."

"Then I will escort you to the bungalow." Swiftly,

he shifted his ground. "Surely you will not refuse

that, Miss Rand?"

His words were ironical, challenging. But Edith

lifted her head purposefully. "My father has sent for

me, Mr. Monsey ^"

*And you-

«1

1 am going to the bungalow — ^with Rawul Singh."

He drew back, his dark eyes gleaming. Edith

passed from the room, followed by the orderly. At

the stairs she glanced back. Monsey was no longer

to be seen.

She would not wait for Rawul Singh to find the

carriage and bring it to the main entrance. Instead

she accompanied the orderly out upon the drive, where

groups of native servants and drivers stood about

lanterns. A puff of wind smote at the bushes beside

the road, chilling the girl who had come without suf-

ficient covering.

"Hurry, Rawul Singh," she urged, "find the car-

riage."

He ran ahead shouting among the idlers. She

pressed after, not wishing to lose sight of him. They

The House of the Falcon

were neaxing the outbuildings where the palace stables

were located. Figures of natives gave back respect-

fully at her approach. She heard voices, in the dark-

ness, almost drowned by the rising wind.

A lantern, held by a bearded Kashmiri, flashed in

her face. She could no longer make out the form of

the orderly, and paused, uncertain. The rumble of

wheels sounded in front of her.

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-Camie carriage. A hand,

rough and odorous, pressed over her mouth, and she

was laid swiftly on some yielding substance.

Again the voice spoke angrily. A whip flapped.

Edith was conscious that the wagon lurched forward,

gathering speed. She heard the beat of hoofs, and

struggled again, violently, in the hands that held her.

The cart shook from side to side. Edith was dumbly

surprised that it should be so dark — ^until she heaird

tree branches brush over a covering of some kind, near

her head. Her blunted senses told her that she was

hdd firmly, a man's powerful knee prisoning her legs.

By now the wagon must have attained swift head-

way. It jolted and bounced painfully.

The Garden

Then, slowly, at first, came a scattered rustle an the

roof of the vdiicle. It increased to a rattle — grew

deafening. A damp breath of air swept her face.

Across her vision flashed a veiled gleam, followed by

the rumble of thunder almost overhead.

The thunderstorm had brokea

CHAPTER Vn

INTO THE UNKNOWN

Edith had been sole ruler of an American home and

an American father. Now for the first time in her

existence she was deprived of personal liberty.

During the long hours of a stormy night she was

held captive in the racing cart The man who sat

beside her in the darkness under the hood only placed

his hand upon her when she struggled. Edith could

not see him— except as a vague, cloaked slu^ during

the intermittent flashes of lightning that cast a lurid

half-light into the cart.

Once she screamed vigorously. Only once, because

a heavy wad of felt was thrust against her mouth and

kept there. The giri could not loosen the grasp that

held it, and the overpowering scent of grime and mut-

ton tallow gradually nauseated her. Her dainty lips

and teeth never had been so outraged before. When

her head drooped and a despairing murmur escaped

her, the felt was removed and the solitary guardian

resumed his vigil.

Twice when the cart first started its journey she

had tried to rise and spring out. She was by no means

a weakling. An active and athletic life had made her

muscles supple and firm. Eadi time, however, the

watcher as if guessing her intent had pushed her back

upon the cushions in spite of kicks, scratches, and

vigorous blows against his bony face. Edith won-

dered if he were made of iron.

Into the Unknown

After the second attempt she lay quiet, panting and

furious. At intervals the cart stopped briefly while

voices sounded obscurely by the horses; chains jangled

and horses neighed near by. Then they went forward

at a faster pace. Edith gue^ed that fresh horses had

been harnessed to the ekka — ^the native cart

Plainly, they were traveling swiftly. But in what

direction she could not know. Had there been a mis^

take? She felt not. The men in the cart must have

seen her face by lantern light before they seized her.

Was Monsey responsible for the whole thing? She

thought he was capaUe of it. Who else would dare

to lay hand on her? For a fleeting moment she con-

sidered the native visitors at the palace, even the raja.

But it did not seem reasonable that they would try to

abduct her— especially at the palace.

Where was Rawul Singh? Why had he not an-

swered her? She dismissed the suspicion that the

message delivered by the Garhwali had been a pretext

to make her leave the ball. Rawul Singh was faithful,

and he must have been near her when she had been

carried oflf. Why had he made no effort to help her?

It was impossible for her to understand yet that she

was leaving her father. Major Fraser-Camie, and Aunt

Kate.

Every sense, however, told the girl that the hooded

cart was pelting through the rain-driven night at a

reddess pace. Its sway and lurch shook her roughly,

duUmg her perceptions. She found it almost impos-

sible to think. A blanket was wrapped around her

shoulders. Until then she had not noticed that she

was shivering. **I'm so thirsty,*' she murmured petu-

lantly.

A figure on the driver's seat stirred. There was a

The House of the Falcon

movement, a gurgle of liquid, and a cup was thrust

against her lips.

Edith tasted its contents suspiciously. Then she

took the cup and drank. It was good water, rather

musty. "Some more," she commanded.

She had emptied the cup a second time before she

reflected that some one in the cart must understand

English. Edith sat up and looked over her shoulder,

hugging the blanket to her.

"Who are you?"

Like the glimmer of a will-o'-the-wisp, the lightning

flickered, revealing two huddled shadows on the driv-

er's seat. They had not moved at the question. Her

voice rose angrily, almost hysterically.

"Take me back to the major-sahib— at once. You

must take me to Srinagar ! You must ^"

A lump rose in her throat. Edith began to cry,

overmastered by sheer helplessness.

By degrees the rain ceased. A fresh, cold wind

sprang up, shaking the hood of the ekkd. The thunder

had rolled away, like some sportive, muttering giant

betaking himself to distant skies. The blackness

around Edith changed to a somber gray. She could

make out the cloaked form of her guard, a massive

bulk wrapped in sheepskin. She sat up, peering at

hiiti.

The scarred face of the native of Baramula met her

eyes.

Dawn flooded the interior of the hood suddenly.

Edith could hear the twittering of birds near by. And

the cart jolted to a halt, while the heavy breathing

of spent horses reached her ears.

A voice dose at hand was repeating unknown words

monotonously, sonorously. The girl stirred her

Into the Unknown

numbed limbs and climbed stiffly forward upon the

empty driver's seat.

Sbe looked out upon a verdant mountain slope. The

level light of new day revealed towering mountain

peaks snow-capped. A flock of sheep were feeding

about a broken-down hut that looked for all the world

like a chalei of Switzerland. Steaming horses hung

their heads over a muddy road that was more like a

trail. Beside the road two small carpets were placed

and on them turbaned figures raised lean arms. The

driver and his companion were praying. It was this

prayer Edith had heard.

The taller of the two men rose to his feet, and, see-

ing her watching, salaamed.

"Iskander!" she cried.

The seller of rugs inclined his head respectfully ; his

elegant attire seemed none the worse for the bad night.

"Good-morning, khanum/' he said quietly. Edith

stared at him. She wondered if she looked as dis*

ordered as she felt. She was trying to read his face,

but f otmd the task singularly difficult.

"Madame will have hjer breakfast," observed

Iskander in his excellent English. The girl saw that

the other native — ^ withered satyr of a man — ^was

building a fire. Edith was hungry. The smell of

boiling coffee attacked her with a vital pang. Thus,

she resolved to breakfast before speaking her mind to

Iskander.

Heated chupatties, fruit and coffee refreshed her.

Her chin rose a notch and she summoned Iskander

with purposeful calm. Her gray eyes were coldly

alight The storm was about to break.

*T have you to thank for the cup of water — ^last

night?" she observed

The House of the Falcon

Iskanda* bowed.

"Then," she went on, **you heard me call to you-

Why did you not turn back at once to SrinagarF'

Again the Arab bent his head His aristocratic

features were inscrutable.

"I regret/' he said, "it could not be.*'

"You will do it now — ^at once !"

The gray eyes were tempestuous, the beautiful face

flushed. Not many women could have passed through

such a night and looked as attractive as Edith Rand.

The discreet gaze of the Mohammedan seemed to sug-

gest as much.

"I am sorry," he responded politdy, almost ab-

sently.

Edith flared into angty scorn. She stormed, threat-

ened, abused. She warned Iskander that Major

Fraser-Camie would most certainly avenge the insult

to her. The Arab's dark face was Uank under the

lash of words. Edith checked herself -suddenly, real-

izing that she was making no progress.

"My father will shoot you for this, Iskander/' she

said slowly.

The man's brown eyes sought hers curiously.

"A life already has been spent," his voice was stem.

The girl caught her breath, wondering what he

meant. Abruptly Iskander stepped from her view and

the powerful native climbed back into the cart. A

lurch, and the ekka started again upon its course —

away from Srinagar.

Throughout tormented hours of a long day Edith

was jolted ceaselessly upon the floor of the cart. She

lay passive, white-lipped. Resolutely she fought off

weariness, determined not to sleep.

It was evening when the cart at last halted again.

Into the Unknown

Edith was weak with hunger and fatigue. Iskander^s

bearded face peered in at her keenly and the Arab

gathered her up bodily in his arms. When she pushed

away from him and gained her feet on the ground,

he spoke gently.

'^Madame must have a bath. Then dinner win be

served."

Bewildered by the ordeal of the day and night, Edith

saw that she was being led to a small, whitewashed

dak bungalow. It was evening and she could barely

make out her surroundings ; but in a neat room stood

a tin tub filled with warm water. Iskander pointed to

a pile of clothing on a chair.

"It would be well to change," he suggested respect-

fully. "The night in the upper Hills will be cold, very

cold. We cannot stay here."

With that he left her, closing the door after him.

Edith's woman soul yearned for the tub, but she was

resentfully unwilling to bathe. She took up the

clothing and was surprised to see a stout walking suit

of her own, with shoes and woolen stockings. Her

tam-o'-shanter was there, as well as a linen waist.

Edith appreciated the advantage of changing from

the flimsy ball gown to a serviceable attire. Feeling

utterly weary, she even indulged in a hasty wash — and

donned the other suit.

Iskander smiled approval when he saw her changed

dress. He did up the discarded gown skillfully and

announced that dinner waited in the main room of the

bungalow. Food and the warmth of a fire at her back

brought irresistible drowsiness. Reaction claimed her

at last As she stared at the white figure of the Arab,

it seemed to grow until it filled the room. Iskander's

eyes peered into hers.

The House of the Falcon

*^YovL will sleep, madame/' she heard him saying.

The outlines of the room faded She felt herself slip-

ping into a comfortable void, deliciously restfuL

**You will not need opium — ^to-night," Iskander was

murmuring. Edith lifted her head in a^ effort to

shake off the overpowering drowsiness. And the Arab

again picked her up in his lean arms, carrying her out

into the cold night air to the waiting cart

Powerless, the girl subsided on the cushions, pillow-

ing her head on her arm. Again the native tucked

the blanket about her, and once more she felt the fa-

miliar shaking of the ekka. Edith tried desperately

to collect her thoughts.

The last thing she had seen was — she was certain —

the medicine pail of her aunt, as it was placed beside

her in the cart.

Surely she had been mistaken. She almost laughed

at the thought. Poor Aunt Kate without her medi-

cines! Why, she would be positively ill if they were

not returned to her. She must speak to Iskander about

it Then he would go back . • • back . • •

She slept

It was long before she wakened. Dimly she was

conscious of daylight and the monotonous rumble of

wheels. Edith asked for water sleepily. Instead, a

cup of cold coffee was presented to her lips. Strong

coffee, she thought, for it tasted bitter and made her

head swim. Swiftly, without effort, she slipped off

again into stupor.

Vague impressions crowded in on her. Always the

cart raced forward. She saw the scarred face biding

over her — ^heard the musical voice of Iskander. Once

she looked out into a sea of mist She was very

cold . • •

Into the Unknown

Another time the cart was standing still in what

seemed a red inferno. Demoniac forms peered at her

frcMn the walls of the inferno. Her lungs labored for

air. Edith hid her face, not knowing that she was in

a valley walled with red sandstone from which the

glare of the sun was reflected from rock pinnacles and

grotesque shapes carved by the erosion of water

throughout innumerable years.

She did not know that she was passing through a

lofty altitude where breathing was difficult, and that

the snow peaks she had once seen from a distance were

close overhead

Iskander understood well the uses of narcotics, and

was aware that sleep alone would retain the strength

of the woman through the continuous stages of a

racking journey.

When Edith climbed at last from the ekka, assisted

by Iskander, she saw that the cart was drawn up beside

the kneeling forms of a long line of camels. Near the

shaggy beasts stood natives staring at her. In the

hand of one she recognized the familiar black medicine

paiL

"So it wasn't a dream after all," she thought.

"Poor Aunt Kate. She will have to do without her

medicine pail I''

CHAPTER VIII

EVENTS OF A DAY

Methodically Major Fraser-Camie arranged the

papers on his desk and glanced from the distressed

countenance of Miss Catherine Rand to the handsome

features of Monscy and the grim, bearded face of the

Afghan driver of his own phaeton. The American

woman and the Russian were seated in front of him ;

the native stood at attention by the door.

For once the worthy major's ruddy cheeriness was

replaced by a keen and somber gravity. He had his

report to make to his superior officer, and — he was

very fond of Edith Rand.

Miss Rand sat very erect in the canvas-backed camp

chair. Double misfortune had descended upon her

within the space of a few hours.

"I did see her for a moment in the ballroom, Major,

Edith was standing with Mr. Monsey, Then Rawul

Singh came up and spoke to them. At that moment

the dancing began again.''

Almost absently Fraser-Camie nodded. Miss Rand

closed her thin lips severely, feeling that she had been

snubbed. She demanded that Fraser-Camie go at

once to the Maharaja and request that a search be made

for her niece. And she threatened to wire the Ameri-

can consul somewhere in India — ^she did not know

where.

I«Vaser-Camie answered her quietly, aware that she

had been under a strain.

Events of a Day

"My dear Miss Rand, the raja is quite ignorant of

the disappearance of your niece. I can assure you of

that. The servants at the carriage entrance did not

see Miss Edith leave die palace. But those at a side

entrance opening into the drive did see her. She went

very quickly along the roadway, following Rawul

Singh."

Monsey leaned forward.

"Your pardon. Major. Why do you not question

the orderly?"

For an instant Fraser-Camie glanced at the man who

had interrupted him, then continued calmly.

"That was just before the storm broke. A Kash-

miri horse boy gives evidence that a two-wheeled

vehicle left the drive at that time, going at a round

pace. The boy swears it was a covered, native cart,

without a lantern. Several men were in it. I have

had — ^ah — ^inquiries made among the guests of that

evening. No one claims knowledge of the cart."

"Rather, no one admits it, Major," put in Monsey

smilingly. "Now what does Rawul Singh say?"

He spoke lightly, as one entirely disinterested in the

proceedings. Major Fraser-Camie folded the paper

he had been scanning and met the other's stare fairly.

"Rawtd Singh was found dead in the rhododendron

bushes beside the carriage drive at the palace at dawn,!'

he responded.

"Oh!"

Miss Catherine Rand had recourse to the salts.

Monsey looked interested.

"You coimect the death of your orderly with the

disappearance of Miss Rand ?"

Fraser-Camie smiled, a trifle wearily. He had been

up all night with a patient at the bungalow.

The House of the Falcon

"Rawul Singh had his orders — ^not to leave Miss

Rand. He would obey orders, you know/'

"Yes, he would do that/' Monsey's voice was un-

certain, as if he were thinking quickly. "May I ask —

how he died?"

"Stabbed in the back, and his throat slashed. Quite

clearly he was attacked in the road, for we found blood

stains there. These led us to look for the body in the

bushes. It was thoroughly wet, having been exposed

to the rain during the night, so the murder must have

taken place during the time of the ball." The officer

took up his pen. "Dhar Beg !"

The figure of the Afghan stiffened

"Did Rawul Singh come to you among the carriages

last night?"

"Sahib, he did not come." Dhar Beg was the son

of chiefs and he had been a noncommissioned officer in

a native regiment. Wherefore, his words were prompt

and to the point.

"You did not see him sedcing the carriage ?"

^'Nay. A storm was arising, and I was leading the

horses to a covered place. Sahib, I thought Rawul

Singh called to me once. . I did not answer, being busy

with the beasts. But, later, I went to see if he had

called and I did not see him. There was much con-

fusion because of the coming storm."

"Know you aught of this cart ?" Fraser-Camie and

Dhar Beg were conversing in Hindustani. a

"A cart — ^nay." Dhar Beg plucked at his beard

shrewdly. "But a carriage passed before my sight,

rolling swiftly."

"What carriage?"

"The same, sahib, that nearly ran us down, owing

to the thrice-cursed arrogance of its driver, when we

Events of a Day

first entered the palace grounds. I knew the horses.''

''Do you know the owner of the carriage?"

Before the Afghan could answer, Monsey, who had

followed the conversation, broke in. ''It was mine^

I believe."

"Ah. But you were not in it?"

"You have heard my testimony."

Monsey was quite at his ease now. He had come

to the quarters of Major Fraser-Camie fully under-

standing that he must answer for his whereabouts the

evening before. And he had made it clear that he

had not left the palace until some two hours after

Edith Rand had been seen with him. What was more

to the point, his story was verified by certain native

dignitaries and British officers whose word was better

than a bond.

Well aware of the hostility of Fraser-Carnie, reticent

though the Briton was, Monsey enjoyed his advantage ;

his alibi was complete. Perhaps for this reason he

insisted on making his testimony as formal as possiUe

— as if he had been charged with complicity in the

matter of Edith Rand.

"Then," inquired Fraser-Camie, ignoring the other's

tone, "who was in your phaeton?"

For just an instant the black eyes of the Russian

flickered. Whereupon the Afghan drew a deep breath

and glanced at his master.

"The driver, my friend, Fraser-Camie," responded

Monsey carefully. "I had sent for the carriage to

escort Miss Raiid bade to the bungalow. Unfortu*

natdy," — ^he shrugged — ^"she chose to go with Rawul

Singh."

Dhar Beg waited until the speaker bad finished, then

let out pent breath.

The House of the Falcon

"Sahib," he addressed the major, "the carriage came

not to the palace entrance but went swiftly from the

stables out the gate.''

"After the two-wheeled cart had passed out'*

"As the sahib has said."

Fraser-Camie glanced inquiringly at Monsey.

"You said the phaeton called for you at the drive

entrance?"

"I did not enter it. Because Miss Rand — she had

gone." Just a trifle, Monse/s slight accent thidcened.

"So, I dismissed the driver."

"Who returned to the stables ?"

Monsey was quick of thought. At the card taUe

he seldom hesitated. Nor did he hesitate now.

"Yes, monsieur — ^I believe the chap drove around

the drive, however, to arrive at the stables."

Fraser-Camie glanced at Dhar Beg. It was not an

easy matter to give the lie to a white man; but an

Afghan has principles of his own and he generafly

lacks fear.

"Sahib, with my eyes I saw the carriage roll from

the palace gateway and it did not come back."

This time the major nodded slightly. By long ex*

perience he knew when Dhar Beg was telling the truth.

All that he had learned, however, was that the carriage

had left the palace grounds shortly after the cart

Monsey rose.

"My dear fdlow," he observed idly, "am I answer-

able for the route followed by that scoundrel who is

my driver ? Was I t)r was I not at the palace during

the whole of the evening?"

At this Miss Rand annouiKed that she must return

to the bungalow. Fraser-Camie ushered her to the

door and commanded Dhar Beg to escort her. Then

Events of a Day

he swting around on his remaining visitor, gnawing at

his white mustache.

"Monsey!" His full voice rang out sharply.

**Where was your friend Abbas Abad last night?*'

The Russian stared, and the skin of his face dark-

ened

''Abbas Abad? The Alaman drug seller of the

bazaar? Why do you call him my friend?*'

"On the testimony of Rawul Singh."

"Really ?" A hard smile crept across Monsey's thin

lips. "I fancy your orderly was mistaken." To him-

self he muttered : "Ley absents ont toujours tort!**

"Was Abbas at the palace last night?"

"Dear Major, where was your watchdog? I do not

follow the nightly prowling of the scum of the bazaar."

The British officer paced the narrow confines of his

quarters, glaring at the more nimble-witted man, much

as a caged lion glares at its keeper.

"I think you do, sometimes," he admitted frankly,

"when there's a chance of money in pocket"

Monsey's hand twitched toward his coat and his

smile was wiped out on the instant. But he had broken

the gentleman's code so often that he could well afford

to overlook one other insult. Besides, he realized that

he held the whip hand. Fraser-Camie was helpless to

accuse him of any wrongdoing. Nor could any blame

be affixed to Abbas. So he smiled, although his eyes

blinked.

"Each to his taste, my dear chap. You Englishmen

have a saying — Trade follows the flag.' VoiUif* He

lowered his voice earnestly. "Fraser-Camie, you can-

not afford to offend me. Have a care what you say.

Remember this : I did not kill your orderly nor did I

abduct Miss Rand. But, through this man Abbas I be*

The House of the Falcon

lieve I can trace her — ^perhaps. Do not forget that."

"Ah. You can find her?"

"I do not know — ^but — ^I will see. If you have —

patience — I will make inquiries, now."

He bowed to the steady-eyed Briton. "Is the in-

quisition over — ^the conc(7ttrx at an end? Yes? Then

I have your leave to depart."

"By all means/' growled the officer.

CHAPTER IX

ABBAS ARRANGES ^,

In the roadway without Monsey gritted his teeth

and spat heartily.

"Idiot! Donkey with ears a 3rard longl Cochqnl

Canaille! Oh, what a fool. By all the saints and the

ninety-nine holy names of Allah: his brain is trans-

parent as the monocle in his eye !"

Thus muttering he strode to the canal bank and

hailed a passing gondola. Making sure, without ap-

pearing to do so, that he was not followed, he directed

the paddler to the bazaar quarter.

Monsey did not go to the house where Abbas sold

hi^ poisons, but landed at the silk shop of a Bokharan.

Jew. Pushing impatiently through a splendid rug

hung as a curtain, he confronted the squatting pro-

prietor who was deep in talk with Abbas Abad. The

Alaman had buttoned the open flaps of his dirty drill

suit and boasted a new pair of English boots, but he

lolled over the spluttering water pipe, very much at

his ease. Like die Turkish dignitaries he sought to

ape, he was solidly fleshed and eager to gratify his

senses ; unlike the average Turk, he was active in the

brain cells, energetic wien it was necessary, and pos-

sessed of unusual strength in his massive figure.

Monsey dismissed the Bokharan with a jerk of the

head, and took the precaution to stand near the curtain

until he was satisfied that no one lingered on the other

side.

'^Z

The House of the Falcon

"What luck ?" he demanded of Abbas.

The Alaman grinned, picking at yellow teeth.

"Patience, my Excellency. Am I not a splendid man-

of -business ? By Allah, I am !" He slapped his girdle

until it chinke^ "Gold, silver. I would take no paper

bank notes, ^t have enough ^'

"For a good outfit — good horses, guides, and fol-

lowers?"

Abbas nodded ccHnplac^ntly. ^

"Am I not Abbas Abad, who once made a fortune

out of nothing in Khokand and Baku ? Nay, my own

men will guide us."

"How many ? Are they well armed T*

"Is a beetle ever without his shell? Eh? They are

as many as the fingers of two hands, less one — Sarts,

godless thieves — one or two Tartars, dogs without wit

but hardy — a cousin of mine who would, rip up his

grandfather for a silver ring. These will suffice until

we reach Kashgar." '

"And this Bokharan advanced funds?*' Monsey

nodded toward the curtain behind which their host had

disappeared.

Again Abbas patted his girdle.

*'Khosht I persuaded him, and he gave a letter to

his uncle in Kashgar who will aid us— with more

money. There we will have many friends, of other

days."

"All this without security. Abbas?"

"Aye, Timan is generous."

"Look here!" Monsey scowled at his companion.

"If you are lying, I'll stretch your hide over the door-

post of Yakka Arik."

"Excellency mine, would I embark upon a journey

where I did not smell a profit at the end? Would I

Abbas Arranges

have slain the rat of a Garhwali if I were not in

earnest Y*

"That was a blunder!"

"Now, by the prophet's beard/' growled the Maman,

"how was I to know that the woman would be wnisked

away from under my eyes while I wdl attending to

theaffairof thedogof a Rawul Singh? Eh? I have

not the eyes of a cat, so I did not see the cart drive

up.

Monsey shrugged his shoulders.

"You blundered. I brought you to the palace in my

carriage, so that you might seize this woman. You

saw the girl and the soldier otltside, in the roadway;

you were a rool to slay the man before seeking Miss

Rand."

"Ah-h-h." Abbas Abad grinned. "Shall I, who

am no man's fool, take a wolf cub from under the

teeth of a grown wolf before striking down the

stronger one? The Garhwali was active and swift

as a snake."

"But you saw the woman put into the cart ?"

"Aye."

"And the cart was that hired by Iskander ibn Tahir

in the relay station?"

"Aye. likewise — for my ears are keen — I heard

the Arab shout to his men." Abbas Abad paused to

spit, then nodded with greaf' self -approval. "Monsey,

my friend, verily your luck is good. For lo — the

woman is taken, and not by us. Now we have but

to take, her from those who hold her" — ^he laughed

gleefully — "and Iskander, that dog of a desertman,

he is a fox that I can trail. Maili barlikt (Every-

thing fe prosperous!)"

He leaned forward to slap the 1^ of his companion.

The House of the Falcon

"Monsey, effendi, in your carriage I followed the

ekka without the gatt, through the lanes of this ac-

cursed city, and up into the northern road to the first

relay ^ horses. By the winged horse of Afrasiab,

they went swiftly. Come, in the name of Allah, we

must lose no Ane. All is ready. Oh, I have not been

idle. I and you, also, know whither that fox of an

Iskander will run to earth. By riding certain sheq>

paths, we can overtake them.*'

"And then "

"The Arab will have but one o^: two men and the

woman will encumber them. O Most Generous and

Most Wise, have you forgotten that 'in the uplands

we have a mighty following who will come at our sum-

mons? That, and a little gold, of course. When I

sent the firman to the effendi, I sent also a little whisper

to these, our allies of the uplands, Vhere there is no

law save that of strength. Now they await our com-

ing. They know where the fairest women of the Sayak

village or the Kirghiz hamlets are to be found, and

where they may be sold at the highest price. Aye,

with the Americain khanum *'

"My wife. I tell you, I will marry her, and then

sell her back to her father, who will be fool enough to

take her."

Abbas nodded readily.

"The wisdom of Iskander was no greater thah that

of the effendi. Aye, by pretending to seek for the

woman on behalf of the British pig — for a little price,

to lull his suspicions — ^we will cause him to wait here

idly."

Attentively, Monsey had followed the complacent

words of the Alaman. Now he checked Abbas.

"Will you take Alai Bala?"

Abbas Arranges

"Nay." The Alaman took up the stem of his

hubble-bubble. "She abides here.''

"I could make a place for her in our party — she

rides welL'*

"Nay," said Abbas sullenly, "those sons of many

jackals, my men, would not respect her." He fancied

that Monsey f otmd the Georgian attractive.

"Well, then, where will you leave her?"

"With Timan, the Bokharan. He will keep her."

Monsey frowned irritably. It was significant of the

relations between the two that the Alaman was ob-

durate in trifles, whereas he recognized the superior

leadership of the Russian in weightier matters.

"So long as you are certain you can overtake

Iskander at Kashgar^ — ^well and good. We will leave

before sunset."

''Effendi mine, my men can trail a marmot through

helL They know the hills yonder as a Tartar knows

his sheep."

"But first," murmured Monsey, "I shall visit the

American father. Abbas, these American fathers have

nothing but their children in their hearts and their

purse strings are open to the touch. Be ready with

the horses in an hour and take heed that the British

major sees you not."

"Nay, the eyes of the man are closed, now that

Rawul Singh is dead ^"

But Monsey had stridden from the curtained cham-

ber. Abbas Abad yawned and stretched, binding his

girdle more tightly about his stout body. •

'^Sdaty he murmured, "it is the hour of commence

ment. Eh, but that Russian milor* has wits — ^little

else he haB, but wit — ^yess! He is not one to sleep

when the dogs are a-prowl, by Allah, no. He is useful.

The House of the Falcon

Ohe — ^Alai Bala! My parrakeet, my soft pigeon.

Have you forgotten the voice of your friend and

father?"

He stepped into an arched hallway leading into the

rear of the shop. At a Curtained recess he paused

prudently. Timan was a Bokharan, and the rooms

beyond were those of his womc;n: Even though the

two were firm f riends-^which was the case — it would

have been a mortal offense for the visitor to enter the

space beyond the curtain where the women lived. To

speak as he did was daring enough. Abbas heard

Timan curse in his beard, and grinned softly.

"Alai Bala," he called, "be kind to yoiu* new master.

He is a righteous man. Verily, an honorable man.

Abide here and think not of the hills and pathways

of the uplands."

Leaning forward, he listened shrewdly. He heard

a half-sob, then the growl of a man's voice in an angry

whisper. The whimper of Alai Bala came to him

faintly.

". . • you swore ... we were mounting to ride

to the hiUs ... I would ride to the hills and the val-

leys of Khorassan ..."

^'Kcbcb'dw'^ (have care), grumbled the heavy voice

of Timan.

"Dance lightly for Timan, my delightful pigeon,**

added Abbas. "Bathe in musk for his pleasure and

scorn not the kohl. O weep not, for I said to Timan

that you were a rose of beauty. But now we go — ^the

effendi and I — ^to take another rose." He muttered

to himself as he slipped away from the curtain : "May

you cost the Bokharan a pretty penny for your opium

— ^that he suspects not. However, a bargain is a bar-

gain." Whereupon he slapped his girdle and listened

Abbas Arranges

to the chink of coins, well pleased with himself and

the world.

He had been paid a good price for the woman. That

price he would double in his claim upon Monsey for

the money spent on their journey, and he would get a

half of tiie profit from the bladcmail received from

Rand.

So Abbas Abad was well content. Not so very often

had he been able to kill two birds with one stone and

pluck the feathers of both in this fashion.

'MaUi barlik/' he repeated.

«;

'^Missing?'* Arthur Rand was in bed with a high

fever in his room at Fraser-Camie's bungalow, but

he rose on an unsteady elbow. ''Edith is missing from

Srinagar and I wasn't told?*'

Monsey glanced around warily. He had taken

some pains to'find the American alone ; he feared that

the otiier's high voice might attract attention.

"Your daughter was carried off by some natives

at the Maharaja's ball last night. Fraser-Camie's

orderly was supposed to be with her. I have had some

dealings with a — ^trader of the bazaar, Mr. Rand. I

believe he can trace Edith "

Abruptly the American sat up, his face flushed and

his mouth drawn into a hard line.

"Mr. Monsey, I have heard you call yoursdf a

friend of my daughter. Yet you sit here and talk, while

natives no better than negroes — ^negroes — make away

with Edith! Damnation!"

At this Monsey stiffened in disagreeable surprise.

He had not counted on the hot anger of the Southerner.

"Indeed, sir," he hesitated and then smiled, "to

organize pursuit of these bandits it is necessary to

ft •.!-

The House of the Falcon

bribe and bribe well, also to get together horses and

men. Unfortunately, I have no ready funds. So I

was forced to come to you."

"Money," the American repeated slowly. "How —

how much will you need ?"

"Perhaps four hundred pounds. Better, six hun-

dred." Monsey was weighing his man in the bal-

ance, shrewdly.

"Three thousand dollars. Confotmd this fever!

Mr. Monsey, if I could straddle a ho'se I*d light ouf

after those scotmdrels with my gun in my hand. Why,

I've paid three thousand dollars for a single race ho'se

in my time."

He stretched out a trembling hand. **You don't

know, Monsey. I — ^IVe had news from home. I am

bankrupt"

Lying back on the pillow he pressed his hand against

his eyes. "A year ago I could have borrowed ten times

three thousand dollars on my word alone. But — \

reckon the/d want security now, and I have none.

Fraser-Camie — ^no, if he has not sent after Edith, I

cannot ask it from him."

Monsey's eyes hardened. The cards were not fall-

ing as he supposed. Rand could not pay blackmail or

ransom. "I wouldn't go to Fraser-Camie," he sug-

gested quickly. "But perhaps I can manage ^"

To be sure, he reasoned, blackmail was not to be

thought of now. But — ^there was Edith. Was it not

his luck that had taken the girl beyond the borders of

civilization, where a man could keep what he could

take?

"Perhaps I can borrow among my — my friends

here, Mr. Rand« Of course in time you will be able

to foot the bills. Your assurance ^"

Abbas Arranges

"Anything, anything!" cried the Southerner, a new

eagerness in his feverish voice. "Pay a ransom if

you must. I will make it good."

Monsey smiled fleetingly. Good! He would have

this to hold over Rand. Meanwhile he would find

Edith. She would be his.

Monsey's memory dwelt hotly on the girl's delicate,

friendly face, on her warm charm of manner — ^little

tricks of personality that carried intimate fascination

— and, most of all, her pride. After all, fate had been

kind to him.

CHAPTER X

CONCERNING A YASHMAK

"Whither?"

That was the question Edith Rand asked herself

ceaselessly, and there was no answer. More than two

weeks had passed^ she calculated, since her abduction.

Her first long sleep and the spell of unconsciousness

that followed had confused her count of the days.

She had asked Iskander the question, and he had re-

plied:

*To one who waits."

That was all. But Edith, watching keenly, had no-

ticed two things : this caravan, the one that had come

to meet her, was not an ordinary caravan ; and it trav-

eled in haste.

Moving upward along rocky defiles that skirted the

glacier slopes of the mountains where the route was

marked along by ibex horns upright in the snow and

by an occasional native shrine adorned with flutter-

ing rags, they had met at times other caravans.

Always the other caravan had made a detour into

screening timber, or down into blind gorges. More

than once the girl was sure she had seen native shq)-

herds fleeing away from them.

Again, a leper beggar sitting at the roadside had

groveled in the dust when he sighted the brown men

of the caravan.

Puzzling the matter, her quick eyes had noticed

Concerning a ^'Yashmak''

certain differences existing between her caravan and

the others, seen at a distance. While the approaching

strings of camels kept to the majestic, supercilious

gait of the loaded Bactrian animal, hers pressed onward

swiftly ; while the others were conducted invariably by

a patient, plodding Mongol, hers was led by Iskander

on his active horse; the others enjoyed a raucous es-

cort of mongrel dogs; no dogs followed Iskander's

beasts, nor were there any bdls to give out a rusty

clang^ling.

There was something methodical in the speed with

which the camels and the wiry, brown-skinned men

passed over the waste of the Himalayas, heads down

against the winds that buffeted them, drawing their

gray woolen garments closer when the sudden hail-

storms burst from an angry sky.

They were fearless, but fear was written in the

faces of those who saw them pass.

"It's so pitiless," she had murmured to herself —

wonderingly.

Iskander, sitting his peaked saddle with centaur-

like grace, seldom glanced behind. Often she searched

the back-trail down the gorges below which lay the

City of the Sun, and her heart sank when she saw

that they were not followed.

She hated Iskander.

In the soft-mannered Arab she recognized the per-

sonality that played the part of her master. To be

sure, it was Iskander's attentive care that kept Edith

so well. He seemed to understand her needs without

being told. Her food he inspected carefully j every

night he saw to the erecting of her stout fdt tent,

braced on willow poles, the earth beneath it covered

with splendid rugs and numdahs. A clean mattress

The House of the Falcon

had somehow been procured for her use, and the

blankets were of the softest Kashmir wool. Always,

men went ahead to pitch the tent and light therein a

fire among stones skillfully arranged — 2l fire that had

rid itself of smoke and subsided to comfortable embers

by the time she arrived at the camp site.

Edith knew, that while she slept, Aravang — ^the big

man with the scar— or Iskander himself watched be-

fore the entrance of her shelter. By now it was clear

to her that Iskander and the others intended no im-

mediate harm to her. In fact, the girl had never

feared them. Raised as she had been in an environ-

ment of total safety and comfort, it was inconceiv-

able to her that these men should molest a white

woman.

To Edith Rand they appeared as unruly servants

who had rebelled against their mistress — except for

Iskander. Aravang was a hideous sort of watchdog,

more her slave than guardian.

"So, kapra wallah/* she had ventured after long

pondering, "you are not even a merchant, a seller of

doth — ^but a slave, to Moiisey."

It was a bold stroke. Experience had taught Edith

that the Arab was most outspoken when angered ; her

own pride goaded her to anger him. Her scorn was

by no means a trivial thing, and more than once she

had fancied that the inscrutable Iskander had writhed

mentally under the lash of her words.

Now he had urged his horse to her camel's side —

a horse never willingly approaches a camel — and Edith

had found time to admire the splendid ability with

which the man handled the beast.

"No I God forbid I" he had scowled. "I am as

my father and his father before him — z, soldier.''

^ 82

Concerning a ^^Yashmak"

By this Edith was reasonably sure that Monsey had

had no hand in her abduction. At his ease, the liquid-

tongued Oriental baffled her ; provoked, Iskander was

an open book to the quick-witted girl.

If not Monsey — ^who? Who was the one that

awaited her? Iskander? Hardly. In spite of his

boast she felt that the Arab was the agent of another

man. Once, when she had overslept — ^the exertion in

the high altitude always made her intensely drowsy

from sunset to sunrise — ^he had upbraided her vehe-

mently through the tent.

"Are you a sultan's favorite, to linger in this man-

ner? By the honor of Tahir — ^uprise and haste ! On

the sword of my fathers have I sworn that I would

bring you, in time. We are late — ^late. If we are too

late you shall know sorrow."

It was the inborn arrogance of the Mohammedan,

who is monarch of his womenfolk, breaking through

the studied courtesy with which Iskander had sought

to ease her journey. And it stirred a thrill of revolt

in Edith's breast. She had remained where she was,

lying in the blankets.

Iskander's will matched her own. He had ordered

Aravang to take down the tent and to pack it; then

to remove her outer garments from her side.

Edith had watched this, dangerously quiet.

"Now," he had said calmly, "you will clothe your-

self in garments of my choosing. If you refuse, you

will ride as you are — ^tied to a camel's humps. De-

cide!"

The girl had stood up, in petticoat and undercloth-

ing, her long hair whipping about her in the wind

and the sun beating against her flushed face. Iskan-

der studied her with the measured glance of the Ori-

The House of the Falcon

lental philosopher who reads a woman's beauty as a

priest reads an open book.

"Coward!" she had gasped. "Boor! Thug!"

She had stamped her stockinged foot and Iskander's

dark face became a mask of stifled vindictiveness. The

word "thug" in India has a meaning deeper than in

our language and symbolizes something below human

caste. It acted upon the Arab as acid upon water.

He had thrust the apparel he held about her bare

shoulders. "Are you without shame, woman? Have

I read you wrongly?"

She saw that he had given her a cloak with a hood

to cover her hair — also a woman's veil for the lower

portion of her face.

Edith had promptly torn of¥ the offending articles.

She had never seen the usually emotionless Arab so

aroused. Fiery oaths fairly flew from his twisted

lips» and his black eyes snapped furiously.

"Once you were a European madame/' he observed,

"Now, you are otherwise. You will obey me, and I

command that you shall be robed in decency — thus.

In the path we follow a woman covers her face —

thus."

Whereupon Edith tossed the veil into the dying

camp fire.

"And I will not— thus!"

With tightly clenched hands and rigid lips she faced

Iskander, whose lean face darkened with anger. In

his hand he held a knotted whip. At once he lifted

the whip. Edith's eyes blazed. She did not shrink

back, but looked full into the Arab's eyes. For a long

second her gaze challenged him hotly, but his eyes did

not soften.

Then came Aravang between them. The big na-

Concerning a ^'Yashmak''

tive spoke vehemently to Iskander, gesturing much

with powerful hands. He seemed to be arguing

something feelingly.

The Arab lowered his whip and swung away, to

spring into the saddle of his horse. At this, Aravang

held out the cloak and hood to Edith, signifying by

dumb show that she should put them on. His dark,

oxlike eyes wheedled her mutely. He looked so ri-

diculously unlike a lady's maid that Edith smiled and

put on the garment. For the time being the ques-

tion of the veil was ignored. But, later, Edith donned

the Mohammedan yashmak of her own accord.

For a while she wondered at the necessity of the

doak. Being quick of thought, however, she did not

fail to see that Iskander wished to disguise her.

So it was to escape prying eyes as the caravan flitted

among the defiles — ^no longer ascending, as she no-

ticed — ^that Iskander had given her the cloak! Then

either one of two things had happened : they were pur-

sued, at last; or they were approaching some point

where Edith might be observed and her presence might

► provoke curiosity.

Drowsily Edith wondered whether she herself had

not changed in aspect ; the life of the caravan had be-

come her life. She wore the cloak quite naturally.

She was always sleepy. If it had not been for her

bodily strength, bred of an active outdoor life, the

y girl would have sickened and, perhaps, have died be-

f fore this. Cold head winds, the swaying motion of

I the clumsy beast, the inevitable smells— one by one

these things had stripped the softness of life's luxury

from the girl.

From day to day she had dreamed, in a kind of

stupor, of her other life, of the warmth and tranquil

The House of the Falcon

friendship of Louisville. Momentarily she had ex-

pected to awaken to see her servants about her —

but only the brown faces of the caravaneers met her

eyes, and she shrank from the camel and the rough

food.

In this coma of fatigue the girl's innate vitality

had come to her aid. Her cheeks became firmer, her

eyes brighter. The mocking illusions receded — ^thanks

to the constant care of Iskander.

One day she observed a box strapped on the side

of the camel in front of her. She knew that box.

It was the one containing the kit of Donovan Khan.

^'Iskander/' she smiled, ''are you a thief as well as

a— thug?''

The seller of rugs looked up wamingly. He saw

a rosy face, brown-tinted by sun and wind, turned

toward him under shadow of the bumoose hood — a

face rare as the wine-inspired art of a Persian painter.

So he looked away. The woman was unveiled and

she was npt for him.

"That box," challenged his prisoner. "You took

it from the house of Major Fraser-Camie."

"Yess, kfumum — ^madame."

"Why?"

No answer. Long ago Edith had discovered the

usdessness of asking direct questions. Dissimulation

is second nature to the Orient So she probed for

information as a skilled fisherman casts a light trout

fly.

"And you stole the medicines of the w^m-sahib, my

aunt So, you are no soldier, but a thief I"

Inwardly she was wondering what the seller of

rugs could want with two such articles as the box of

John Donovan and the medicines of Catherine Rand.

Concerning a ''Yashmak'^

If she knew this she would know something of Iskan-

der's purpos e

'Tfess, khanum, we took them, Aravang and I.

But it was not stealing. It is the word of God that

a thief must eat the dirt of his dishonor." He nodded

reflectively. The seller of rugs was in a philosoph-

ical mood that afternoon and his philosophy was a

trenchant thing. "We took them because we could

not buy them — in Srinagar or elsewhere. Likewise

— ^and it is different as day is^ from dark — ^we took

them not for ourselves but for another."

"Whor

No answer, except an indulgent smile. Edith had

committed a second breach of Moslem manners — ^the

question direct.

"The medicines are for you to use."

For her use! The girl wondered at first whether

the remedies of her aunt had been purloined against

possible sickness on her part. Yet she was conscious

of a d^per meaning in the man's words. The Arab

expected that the time would come when she herself

would have use for the medicines. Either that or she

must administer the remedies to another person.

"As for the other box," the scion of Tahir resumed,

"before our coming to the City of the Sun it was stolen

by a faithless servant Yess, Jain Ali Beg tasted

the punishment he had stored up for himself — ^Ara-

vang saw to it. We are carrying the box to him who

owned it, before Jain Ali Beg stole it. Am I, then, a

thief?"

"Why, perhaps not."

Here Edith had her first insight into a curious i

code of ethics — a code that was not her own, but one ^

that was ancient as the hills under which they were

The House of the Falcon

passing. The son of Tahir might regret stooping to

theft. His righteousness, however, was satisfied.

And his pride. Certain things — ^and they were many

— ^Iskander would have died rather than do.

Like the girl, he had an unyielding pride. 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 Mue 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 ? Sometimes is he called khalga timur

— ^the iron body — and sometimes "

"The Falcon?"

Iskander almost started. His words had recalled

to Edith the message received by Monsey in Quebec

— th^ Falcon has taken wing. Her response had been

intuitive. Why were men— certain white men —

termed eagles or falcons, in the Himalayas? It was

absurd.

Monsey*s letter had said that the Falcon was search-

ing Srinagar. For what? Fraser-Camie had related

that Donovan had been in the City of the Sun. A

sudden thought caused her to catch her breath.

"Tell me, Iskander," she cried. "You took the

Concerning a ''Yashmak''

medicines, because they could not be bought. Why

did you take me?"

They were rounding the broad base of a pine-clad

mountain — its summit invisible above vistas of bar-

ren cliffs, mist-shrouded. And above the mist

stretched expanses of moraine.

As they came to a bend in the trail Edith saw some

distance below and to the right the flat roofs of a

town, looking for all the world like miniature clay

blocks sprinkled in a sandy plain. Delicate minarets

rose over the roofs : she could discern the sweep of a

city wall.

Now, she had no means of knowing — for Iskander

did not see fit to enlighten her — that they were round-

ing Mustagh-Ata, the "father of moimtains,'* and were

looking down on the roofs of Kashgar.

"You were beyond price,'* observed the Arab

gravely. He seemed anxious to screen her view of the

town, and presently the vista of the roofs was blotted

out by clumps of dry tamarisks.

Edith leaned down and boldly caught his rein.

"You must answer," she insisted, hungry now for

a crumb of assurance. "Is this friend of Fraser-Car-

nie, sahib — ^this Donovan Khan— dead? Did he not

ride after a caravan of — of spirits?"

Iskander laughed, baring white teeth.

"Eh, I was in that caravan. And these"-^he in-

dicated the tired camels and the gnomelike natives —

"also. This is the caravan that came for Dono-van

Khan. Now," he gathered up his reins, "it is time to

halt."

Whereupon he trotted away to view the site se-

lected for that evening's camp. Edith gazed after him

hopelessly. So she was part of the caravan that had

The House of the Falcon

mystified beholders in the hills! Fraser-Camie had

said that Donovan Khan was a power in the hills.

Was he master or slave of the caravan? Where was

he? Was he alive or dead?

At all events, she reflected, Iskander and Aravang

were assuredly living men. And the camels and other

natives were alive. But what had the Arab meant

when he said that they might be too late ?

And why did the caravan hasten so— flitting among

the defiles of the silent mountains?

All at once she felt very lonely, very much dis-

turbed. It was a misty evening, but the sun did not

flame on the rolling clouds as at Srinagar. She had

the fleeting illusion of having stood on the mountain

slope before.

Immediately, as if it had been waiting for just this

moment, a sinister fancy gripped the mind of the girl.

This was the mountain slope of the dream — ^that night

in the Srinagar bungalow !

It fastened upon her vividly — she recalled the im-

placable grip of Iskander, the hidden forms lying on

the ground under the carpets, and the terrific voice

that had cried, "These are no longer alive."

And here before her was Iskander with his carpets.

Edith shivered, cramped and numbed by the long

day's ride. Yet the evening was far from chilly.

Waves of heat emanated from the plain of sand be-

low. The twilight air was hazy; somewhere behind

the great mountain she knew that the sun was setting

in a red ball of flame.

Bravely she tried to throw off the deep impression

of the dream as she approached the tents and the vague

shapes of the natives moving about through the smoke

of fresh fires. She thought of the hidden bodies of

Concerning a ^^Yashmak

the dream. Then a startling thing came to her.

Iskander, many days ago, had said :

"A life already has been spent."

Then another voice, this time not an echo of mem-

ory, came to her ears.

"Missy khanum. O, missy khanumr

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 tam-

arisks. The branches of the nearer bushes had be^n

carefully parted and she saw a native gazing at her

and beckoning. It was not one of the followers of

Iskander.

Seeing that he was noticed the newcomer put finger

to lips and held back the bush further so that Edith

could see a white horse, saddled and bridled but with-

out a rider. The man of the tamarisks pointed to the

horse and to her.

"Missy khanum (young lady mistress), you come

—come queek, bime-by, yess !*'

He was a stout, powerful fellow in a dirty white

suit with soiled crimson sash and a red fez. Grinning,

he released his hold on the tamarisk which flew back

into place, concealing him.

Edith saw that the native in front of her had moved

his head idly, not quite certain whether he had heard

an}rthing or not. She sat her camel rigidly, her pulse

pounding, and breathed a sigh of relief as the cara-

vaneer ahead of her, seeing nothing untoward in the

' The House of the Falcon

tamarisk clump, turned back to the more interesting

spectacle of the camp fire aild its heating pot of meat

— ^now near at hand.

She bit her lip from sheer excitement. Friends

were near at hand ! The native who had signaled to

her must have been sent by Major Fraser-Camie or

her father. They had managed to outstrip the cara-

van to the city that lay under the base of the mountain.

The man and the horse had been waiting in conceal-

ment for her coming.

Stiflfly the girl clambered down from the camel after

it had knelt. Every member of the caravan was busied

setting up the tents or unloading the beasts. Aravang

was making up her own bed. Iskander she saw be-

yond the camp engaged, after his custom, in evening

devotions at the simset hour. That she was watched

she knew ; but she had long been free to rove around

the camps, and the tamarisk clump was not more than

a hundred yards distant.

The depression caused by Iskander's speech and the

memory of her own dream made the unexpected pros-

pect of liberty all the more alluring. It did not occur

to Edith to hesitate, now that rescue seemed at hand.

Who could have sent the man with the white horse,

except her friends?

Walking to the fire, she picked up an empty water

jar and looked around, as if seeking the well that ex-

perience had taught her must be near the site of the

camp. As carelessly as her rigid limbs permitted,

she moved slowly in the direction of the tamarisk

grove.

A horse, and a real dty near at hand ! She wanted

to fling away the jar and run. Instead, the gir^

paused to glance back at the tents. Aravang, shad-

Concerntns d ^'Yashmak

ing his eyes against the sunset glow, was watching

her. As she looked he beckoned imperatively. Edith

measured the distance to the yeamed-for thicket and

decided that she was halfway to her goal. Where-

upon, drawing a deep breath she dropped the jar in

the sand and ran, blessing her short walking skirt.

Aravang's shout reached her ears, without inducing

her to look around. Gone was the stiffness she had

suffered on descending from the camel — ^gone, her

customary quiet. Edith fairly flew over the sand to

the tamarisks and darted in among them.

A hand reached out and grasped her arm. She

was drawn toward the waiting horse by the native and

assisted bodily in her leap into the saddle. The horse

reared, but Edith— expert horsewoman as she was—

had the reins in hand in a second. The man pulled

the beast's head about, and pointed down a gully hid-

den by the scrub and leading away from the camp.

"KashgarT' he cried. "You go queek as hell —

yess!" He slapped the horse on a hind quarter and

Edith started down the gully at a swift trot. She

saw the native turn aiid dive into the thicket on the

further side of the gully.

CHAPTER XI

EDITH RIDES ALONE

In the varied collection of guidebooks and tourist

schedules in the possession of Miss Catherine Rand

there had been one pamphlet that described briefly the

location, climate, picturesqueness, points of interest,

population, and means of travel of the mountain city

of Kashgar.

Four kingdoms, said the guidebook in florid phrases,

met at the center of the Himalayas. But the makers

of maps hesitated over the Himalayas. They were

a no man's land. Only in Kashgaria did the slovenly,

quilted, musket-bearing soldiers of the Celestial Re-

public emerge from guardhouses of mud and cry

"Halt!"

But the guidebook did say that there were two

Kashgars, two cities : the old and the new, some five

miles apart. In the new were progressive Chinese

merchants, silk-clad magistrates, and the Taotai with

all his pomp and power; likewise Samarkand and

Ptmjabi traders, two isolated but indefatigable Brit-

ish missionaries, and even a native officer of British

India who acted as a makeshift chargS d'affaires.

Edith Rand had not seen the guidebook. She was

ignorant of the nature of the two towns of Kashgar.

Iskander of Tahir would have said that destiny drew

her to the older city, away from the men of her owp

race.

Edith Rides Alone

To tell the truth, Edith came to the crossroads lead-

ing to the two towns and chose the walled town swiftly

— ^swiftly because she feared pursuit, and because the

wall suggested to the girl, who was not acquainted

with the vagaries of architecture in the Orient, more

of a sanctum than the rambling streets of the modem

Kashgar.

Not that she fancied, even in her agitation, that

the men of the caravan were immediately behind her.

Experience had taught Edith the utmost speed of the

powerful Bactrian camels, and the length of time

needed to propel, beat, and curse the protesting beasts

into momentum; and Iskander's horse, even if the

Arab had set out at once on her track, was tired. The

white stallion was fleet of gait. The high-peaked sad-

dle afforded the girl a rough pommel for her knee.

Her spirits rose as rider and horse swept downhill

through broken brush, past cypress clumps tranquil in

the quiet of evening, into the dust haze that hung over

the sandy expanse, with its spots of verdure lining

rough canals.

The beat of the white stallion's hoofs struck an echo

of joy in Edith's heart. She was free ! Surely, there

would be somebody in Kashgar to appeal to for pro-

tection from Iskander — ^local authorities, perhaps even

Arthur Rand.

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

The House of the Falcon

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.

It was by then the last afterglow of evening. Pur-

ple and velvety crimson overspread the sky. Stars

glimmered into being and slender minarets uprose

against the vista of distant mountains. There was

a great quiet in the atmosphere ; but in the streets of

the old city pf Kashgar pandemonium reigned.

Into a narrow alley, flanked with canopies stretched

across the odorous fronts of booths and stalls, the

horse paced protesting. Figures stepped aside reluc-

tantly, only to hasten after. Glancing back, the girl

saw that a crowd was following her — a crowd made

up of motley and grotesque forms: smocked, wizened

Chinamen; sheepskin-clad, swaggering youths, hide-

ously degenerate of face; bulky women with giant,

gray headdresses; half -naked urchins — ^all shrilling

and chuckling in a dozen tongues and with a hundred

gestures.

Laden donkeys pressed against her knees. She

heard the curses of the donkeys' owners. Peering

about for sign of a clean and European-looking house,

she saw only square gray and brown huts of dried

mud with some loftier edifices of blank stone walls.

A yelling lama, beating about him with a heavy

staff, his body grotesquely dressed in white and black

squares of cloth with a peaked cap of brightest orange,

pushed her horse back, staring at her with a louder

yell of surprise. Behind him grunted and squealed

a line of laden camels, tied nose to rump. Dust

swelled and swathed all in the alley.

In a fury of irritation at the camels, the white stal-

Edith Rides Alone

J"'t

lion backed obstinately against the open front of a

structure covered with grass matting from which lights

gleamed. In the reflection, Edith could see a leprous

beggar mouthing at her.

''Baksheesh — ^plentee baksheesh. O my God! J5afc-

sheesh. O my God!"

This parrotlike ritual emerging from lips half eaten

away from the toothless mouth was his one stock in

trade. Perhaps this unfortunate plied his trade solely

with the missionaries. But in Edith's appearance, he

sensed the opportunity of a declining life.

No!" she cried, motioning him away frenziedly.

No baksheesh/^ To the crowd she appealed eagerly.

"English! Where are the English? Don't you un-

derstand? Does any one speak English? Sahib

A Chinese merchant of the higher ranks would un-

doubtedly have gone to Edith's help, from various mo-

tives — ^perhaps from the instinctive good manners of

his race. A Punjabi would have defended the girl

against a mob, so strong is the bond between Briton

and Indian. Even a groups of Afghans might have

assisted her boldly, enjoying the excellent pretext for

beating the despised Sarts and Chinese and perhaps

letting a little blood. Later^ they would have claimed

a small ransom from the charge d^aifcmes.

But there was no Afghan to take the center of the

street against the throng of bazaar scum, indolent

Sartish townsmen, idiotic Taghlik shepherds, and star-

ing, ignorant Kirghiz, and all manner of diseased

filth.

All were intent on her, all gazing, all talking. She

could not move the white horse forward against these

trouards of the bazaar of a — ^to all intents — ^mediaeval

The House of the Falcon

city. Instead, her mount backed against the reed mat-

ting that covered the enclosure front.

A fat man in a fez ran out in his slippers and started

a tirade against the invader of his premises. Then,

seeing the American girl, he fell voiceless, with his

great jaws agape. He backed into the house, through

the matting, still staring.

'^English ! I will pay !" Edith faced her tormentors

stoically. "Oh, can't you understand? Go — Boro!

Boro!" — z, phrase borrowed from Iskander, in anger.

*'Take me to the sahibs, the eftendir

She paused, biting her lips. The bleared eyes stared

through the dust, emotionless. The passing camels

coughed and grunted. Vile odors swept into the girl.

From behind her through the matting billowed a pun-

gent scent of frying fish, mutton fat, dirt, smoke, stale

human breath wine-laden, and a penetrating, sweetish

aroma she did not recognize as opium.

''Nakir el kadrr

A voice bellowed near her. At once a snapping,

snarling chorus of dogs arose as the curs of the alley

felt encouraged to annoy the frantic horse. Edith saw

a beast with the body of a dachshund and the head of

a mastiff snap at the stallion's flank ; a brown mixture

of terrier and setter with a Pekingese tail slunk near

her. A giant wolfhound bared vicious teeth.

The mob paid no attention, never ceasing to watch

her.

It was hideous for Edith to think that in another

street Englishmen might be sitting down to dinner,

or the governor of the city dining upon his terrace.

Perhaps an American missionary was walking near

by. She could not move toward them — if, indeed, she

knew where to go.

Edith Rides Alone

For the first time in her life Edith knew the piean-

ing of real fear. Long-nailed hands felt of the Irilver

that ornamented the elaborate saddle of the horse;

a greasy, pudgy fist clutched suddenly the bracelet on

her arm and wrenched it off. A parchment-hued face,

wrinkled and evil as sin itself, peered up at her, a claw-

like hand holding a paper lantern to her face. Other

lanterns moved jerkily along the alley as their owners

joined the assembly of spectators.

Then the voice bellowed again behind her. The

wrinkled face spat, and vanished. The thieving hands

fell away reluctantly. She saw the man in the fez

bowing and holding her rein. He pointed into the

house. Edith shook her head. Bad as the alley was,

she preferred it to the walls of such a building.

Whereupon the fat man jerked down a portion of

the matting, revealing a spacious room with a stone

floor and a huge pot hung over a fire in the great

hearth. Shadowy figures of veiled women were vis-

ible, and one or two men, also stout, sitting against

the wdl on cushions. It seemed to be an inn, and

the perspiring proprietor made a herculean effort at

English, or rather European speech.

''Serai — ^yah! Entrrez, surre — ^verree good, my

word! Serai, good, yahP'

But Edith would not forsake the vantage point of

her horse. Her woman's wit assured her that afoot

she would be helpless in the hands of the mob.

Instead, she signed to the ^erof-keeper to send away

the mob. He nodded readily and pounced upon a

half-naked boy to whom he whispered urgently. The

youth slipped out into the shadows of the alley. Edith

noticed this byplay but could not judge whether evil

or good inspired it

The House of the Falcon

Then the fat innkeeper summoned the sitting men

with a single word. They leaped up, grasping staves,

and flew at the throng. It was fez against turban,

with objurgation rising to the roofs of the alley, slip-

pered feet planted against broad buttocks and staves

thrust into spitting faces.

Apparently the alley scum were not disposed to fight

for the chance of plimdering the girl. They seemed

listless in defense as well as attack. The men from

the inn cleared a small ring around the now passive

horse and squatted there, apparently to wait.

To Edith the pause was intolerable. She could not

ride free of the alley. The tired horse would not

budge— disliking, beyond doubt, the presence of skirts

upon his ba(jfc. The actions of the ^eroi^keeper sug-

gested that he had sent for some one. For whom?

Iskander ?

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. One of the

newcomers with bared scimitar remained at the en-

trance.

"Mees Randl" smiled the man at Edith's side,

adding to himself : "Verily is the luck of Monsey good,

loo

Edith Rides Alone

for here is the woman herself, alone and quite harm-

less/'

In this fashion he of the leadership, the soiled fez,

the immense shawl girdle and the very dirty drill suit-

ing introduced himself — Abbas Abad, just arrived in

Kashgar — ^and gave sharp commancj to one of his men

to seek out Monsey in the new Id^pl : *• /

a deaf

— if, indeed, he understood.

Her heart had leaped when she heard her name

spoken. Eagerly she stared at Abbas, trying to place

him. Then her heart sank.

The whole appearance of the man — oily Mack hair,

moist, bloodshot eyes, and flabby mquth-=-was against

him. He met her gaze boldly and grinned, mutter-

ing to himself.

"Who is your master?" she asked.

Abbas shrugged his shoulders, not understanding.

When Edith drew back, he gripped her arm in an iron

clasp and pulled downward. Instinct warned the girl

to keep to the saddle. Abbas only grinned the more

and dragged her down with the calm assurance of a

constrictor coiled about a gazelle. She slid from the

saddle. And Abbas passed a tentative hand across

her slim shoulders and the breast of her jacket, after

the manner of a skilled Kirghiz feeling a sheep.

"If the American father will not pay," he muttered

to himself, "you will be worth much — ^much, but other-

wise. A beautiful slave."

Edith shrank back from the smiling Alaman in an-

gry revolt. The followers of Abbas looked on

apathetically but with some curiosity at the dilemma

of the white woman. Usually in Abbas* seizure of

lOI

The House of the Falcon

women there had been wrangling and a price to pay.

This was different. They gazed idly at the girl's

flushed^ face and indignant eyes.

She saw the x^roif-keeper approach Abbas servilely

and the Alaman toss him some silver coins. It was

as if a price had been paid for her capture. The

ca6i*tepaiife^*«>f -the -wall touched her back and Edith

leaned against it 'wearily, as she understood the true

"ttaftite.'df thtf* ih^ a»d the futility of her escape.

Hopelessly, she scanned the smiling Abbas, the leer-

ing innkeeper, the two armed followers — and she saw

Aravang standing inside the matting.

It did not take an instant for the girl to make up

her mind which of her captors was preferable.

"Aravang!" she called appealingly.

The sentry at the matting touched the newcomer

wamingly and motioned to the alley. By way of re-

sponse 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 power-

ful Alaman.

For a moment the two muscular bodies swayed and

trampled across the floor, the men cursing and pant-

ing. One of Abbas' men gripped Aravang from be-

hind. Whereupon Edith's guardian — for now she

thought of him so— thrust Abbas away, to reel back

to the opposite wall. Then the other assailant,

gripped by the back of the neck, flew head over heels

102

Edith Rides Alone

to the floor. Aravang sprang to the hearth and flung

a blazing log at Abbas, who dodged. Seeking a new

weapon, the scarred champion of Edith bellowed de-

fiance and seized the great Mack pot from its rests.

"SayakI" he roared.

Abbas caught up one of the low tabourets that stood

in front of the cushions by the wall and advanced on

Aravang, knife in hand. The pot of steaming meat

and boiling water was hurled, but the table resisted it

and the next moment Abbas was on his foe, stabbing

and grunting with rage.

Aravang was thrust back, moaning, almost into the

fire. He looked over the shoulder of his assailant,

motioning, in spite of his own peril, to Edith to run

from the room. But even if she had had command

of her limbs, the two men of Abbas were hovering

about the hearth with drawn weapons. The sercA-

keeper lurked cautiously by the door, wishful to keep

intruders out, but with a keen eye for tiie safety of

his own skin the while.

With a cry Edith covered her eyes with her hands.

She had seen Abbas' knife flash red in the firelight

— ^with a redness that was not of the fire. She haA

seen the mute appeal in the eyes of struggling Aravang.

Two shots roared in the narrow confines of the

room.

Startled anew, Edith dropped her hands. ' She saw

Iskander's tall form framed against the mats, a smok-

ing revolver in his hand. The Arab's face was ut-

terly tranquil, save for a slight smile and a certain

alertness of the keen eyes.

The two followers of Abbas staggered and slumped

slowty to the stone floor, their hands groping and their

moudi3 wide in dumb amazement. Abbas himself

103

The House of the Falcon

turned from Aravang to hurl his knife. Seeing the

flash of sted, Iskander swayed aside, so that the

hurtled blade barely tore the skin of his side, pinning

his doak to the matting. He wrendied himself free

at once, but Abbas had vanished into a curtained arch-

way. Nor was the innkeeper any longer to be seen.

Iskander cast a brief glance at the two bodies, mov-

ing slowly on t^e floor and shot a question at Ara-

vang. The big native bared his fine teeth in a smile

and shook his head. Then the Arab took Edith by

the amik

Revolver in hand, he led her out of the sercA. The

white stallion had galloped free during the struggle.

Iskander strode through the alley, followed by Ara-

vang, whose strong frame seemed aUe to stand up-

right and walk in spite of the stabbing it had endured.

Edith was silent, feeling very much as she had f dt

once when her father caught her playing truant from

school and escorted her home. Dim forms emerged

to look at them and the dog pack gave tongue.

They passed under grotesque wooden arches, be-

tween tumble-down huts, across a turgid canal on one

of the curving Chinese bridges, and came to the shad-

owy bulk of a waiting carriage.

Into this Iskander thrust Edith with scant cere-

mony. There was a roomy space about the rear seat,

covered with straw. Aravang lay down at once and

Iskander, who had jumped upon the front seat beside

the driver, called back softly for Edith to sit in the

straw tmtil they were free of the town.

With Aravang beside her, she would have no chance

to leave the carriage. But Edith did not intend to

try. What she had seen in the eyes of Abbas and his

men had struck deep into her consciousness.

104

Edith Rides Alone

'^Allahr muttered the Arab impatiently.

But there was the flash of a match and the driver

" — ^a bearded giant with bronzed, high-cheeked face,

and enormous sheepskin hat — ^lit his pipe with care.

This done, the Kirghiz leaned back indolently and

cracked his whip.

The four-horse tarantass sped through the night,

under the stars. As they went, th© driver rumbled

a kind of song in his throat. He seemed utterly in-

different to the horses who plunged forward into

the dark. Again they were going up and by the feel

of the wind and sight of the stars Edith fancied they

were on their former course, to the north.

Once when they stopped long enough for a man

by the roadside to pass something to Iskander — ^some-

thing that very much resembled the medicine pail —

she ventured to speak.

"Poor Aravang,*' she observed to the Arab. "Can't

we stop at a house to see how badly he is hurt ?*'

"A house? Before long we will come to one that

is yours. Until then you must sleep. Sleep! Ara-

vang has said he will not die."

The callousness of the words chilled Edith more

than the growing cold into which they plunged head-

long. A hand touched her and she started. Then,

since her nerves had suffered, she almost cried — out

of pity. The injured Aravang was trying to place

his heavy coat about her as a covering against die

cold.

CHAPTER XII

THE COUNTRY OF THE FALCON

From the dawn of the next day Edith wore the

yashmak, the light veil that conceals a woman's face

from the eyes down.

She had put it on voluntarily, and she dressed Ara-

vang's wounds— deep gashes in the flesh of his body

— of her own accord. As she suspected, the medi-

cine pail had accompanied them. The big native was

immensely surprised and grateful at this attention; and

Iskander watched her efforts attentively, without mani-

festing disapproval. In fact, he seemed pleased.

A fortnight ago Edith would have sulked in the car-

riage—would have considered the injuries of the two

n»n — Iskander had wrapped a scarf about his middle

over the cut in his ribs, and refused curtly her offer of

aid — as only partial punishment for their crime in

carrying her off.

Now she had seen two men die in as many minutes.

The vision of the two men lying on the floor of the

serai would not leave her memory. And she did not

want Aravang to die. The native of the scar had be-

friended her, and she felt that she had an ally, even

if a humble one, in him. Iskander spoke of the inci-

dent only once.

*'That dog of an Alaman,^ you know him?'* He

glanced at her searchingly. Iskander had ceased re^

f erring to her as Khanum — ^lady. "He knows you?"

"Who?**

io6

The Country of the Falcon

"Abbas Abad, the Alaman slave dealer — ^he that did

this*' — ^pointing impatiently at Aravang. "You fled

to him. Whyr

"No, Iskander/' she had made answer quietly, "I

do not know of him. He offered me a horse. In the

serai he called me by name ^^

It was a short, bitter expletive, wrung from the

Arab. "Do not be so foolish again. You cannot es-

cape. So,^' he went on almost to himself, "Abbas

Abad knew that you were with the caravan. He must

have others with him, since he dared lift hand against

the caravan. For he has not forgotten our law — ^blood

for blood, a blow for a blow "

At this he fell silent, gazing keenly about the moun-

tain slopes. The aspect of the countryside had

changed. The barren gorges and black torrents had

given way to sparkling valleys where the early sun-

light glimmered on white carpets of dew. Occasionally

the yurts — around felt tents — of a nomad settlement

were to be seen, where small, muffled girls astride huge

oxen stared at them, and cattle, children, and dogs lit-

tered the lush grass in happy confusion.

Tranquil Kirghiz bargained with their driver for

relays of horses. They threaded sunny gullies, crash-

ing through willow clumps and shallow, pebbly fresh-

ets, following an invisible path that was not the least

semblance of a road. The rock shrines had given

way to tiny blue and red mosques.

Edith wondered whether they had crossed the roof

of the world to the region behind the Himalayas, and

decided they had. She had seen a corpulent Chinese

mandarin — ^at least he resembled the pictures she had

come across, of mandarins — ^joggling along behind a

107

The House of the Falcon

shaggy, miniature pony, with a coolie running ahead.

Endless flocks of sheep scampered away frmn 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 cotdd 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."

Stung, Edith sat up rigidly. ^

"I— a slave?"

Iskander shrugged.

"Or whatever your master wifls. How should I

know his mind?"

"And if" — Edith pondered former words of her

captor — "we should find that this man is dead ?"

"Then you would be less," the Arab indicated the

flying dust of sand under the carriage wheels, "than

that." Whereupon he turned his back deliberately,

and Edith sank back upon the straw, biting her lips.

A hand touched her sleeve and Aravang was upright

on his elbow, his scarred face close to hers.

"Dono-van Khan," he whispered.

It had not occurred to Edith that Aravang under-

stood thdr words. But there was an unmistakable

gleam of intelligence in the native's dark eyes.

"Whom are you taking me to ?" She bgurely breamed

the question.

io8

The Country of the Falcon

mmmmm^mmm^mmimmmmmmmimmmmm^immmmmmmmmmmm^mm^mm^mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmKmmmmmmmmimmmmmm

*'Dono-van Khan — ^John Dono-van."

"The man you call tiie Falcon ?"

Aravang hesitated as if pondering the meaning of

her words. Then, with a warning glance at Iskand-

er's back, he nodded

The tawny head of the girl sank upon her arms as

she tried to think. They were taking her to John

Donovan. Why? She did not know. The only cer-

tainty was that she was being carried to the house of

the white man who — so Fraser-Camie had said — ^had

allied himself with the natives and was a power in

these lawless hills.

The why burned into her thoughts. She felt very

helpless. It was as if a chain bound her, a chain pf

many links. The medicine pail that she was to use

was one link ; the death of Jain Ali Beg, who had been

called a faithless servant, was a link ; the jealous care

of her captors who slew men to safeguard her; the

anxiety of Iskander

There were so many links. Abbas Abad, who

seemed to be an enemy of Iskander. The Alaman

had been seeking her. Again the why confronted her.

But of oat thing she was certain.

Much as she hated Iskander, she dreaded more the

man called Abbas Abad. And she felt a greater hos-

tility toward the unknown Donovan Khan. As the

hours passed, she fed her anger against the white man

who luid been the cause of her abduction from the

world of her father and her aunt — the life of her own

people.

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

109

The House of the Falcon

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 de-

mand of the new life. The scornful indifference of

Iskander was a bitter tonic to her pride. False vanity

and the sense of security fell away frcrni her spirit

like tattered fabrics of last year's ball dresses, cast

from her body. It was well that this was so.

For Edith had entered the gates of the unknown

world of Central Asia, where she was to play her part

in a stem drama which was, after all, no drama but

inexorable reality. She had been one of the ruling

spirits of the world of civilization; here, she was no

more than a child, and a very ignorant child. • .. .

She started when she first heard the trumpets. They

had been out of Kashgar about two days when a dis-

tant blast of sound came to her in the still air of eve-

ning. At times very faint, now and then the sound

swelled strongly as if the hidden tnmipeters were

summoning her. A gigantic sound, vast and calm as

the cliffs under which they were passing once more.

Iskander glanced at her, his dark eyes alight tmder

the hood with a kind of grave, sardonic humor.

"They are calling you. Mees Rand, always they

call — ^these trumpets of Yakka Arik — ^to the stars, to

the earth, and to the spaces of air. Yess. But how

it is you they are calling." He touched the driver on

the arm. "Hasten. Oh, hasten. It is late, late, and

the sun sets."

To the girl he added:

"Dono-van Khan has a name for them. He caUs

them the trumpets of Je-richo."

They were rushing along the edge of a chasm.

The Country of the Falcon

Peering from the side of the carriage, Edith could see

only the darkness of a vast gorge, filled with clouds

of vapor. Faintly she distinguished the glimmer of

cascades and the black surfaces of pools. Vultures

hovered over the mist.

"Yonder is their home — ^the watchtower of the Vul-

ture/' said Iskander, who had been observing her.

She made out a gray, walled building, squat and ugly

on the summit of the cliff across the chasm to the

west From the walls a ruined tower uprose.

In the glow of the sunset the black bulk of the tower

was outlined distinctly. Edith fancied that it did re-

semble the nest of some bird of prey. An empty nest

For the wind-swept walls appeared desolate.

**No one is there," she murmured. The aspect of

the deserted tower had oppressed her.

"Once/' Iskander shaded his eyes, to gaze intently

into the sun, "our enemies, Abbas Abad and his mas-

ter, watched from the tower when they came to prey

upon Yakka Arik. Now the kites have flown far —

far. Yet it is in my thoughts that they will come

again, to settle upon the tower. If so, tiiere will be

war again ^"

Twilight closed its wings about them and the car-

riage plunged forward as the diff trail woimd down-

ward toward the ravine and they left the watchtower

on the heights behind them, to the left. When the

gray stone structure passed from view some two or

three miles to their rear, they came to a narrow, tim-

ber bridge spanning the rapids.

Out upon this bridge the carriage rumbled, guided

by the reckless skill of the Kirghiz. Midway across

it halted. Edith heard a sharp challenge from the

further side and saw lights move out to meet them

III

The House of the Falcon

as Iskander answered. The Arab signed for her to

step down and she faced a group of harsh-featured

men, some bearing torches and some a vehicle strange

to her — ^a palanquin.

An armed native waved the drowsy Kirghiz back,

and the girl was assisted into the chair which at once

moved forward. In its shuttered darkness Edith

could see nothing. But she had caught a glimpse of

what lay beyond — and above — ^the guarded bridge. In

the afterglow of sunset she saw the expanse of a sheet

of water open out, a lake ringed about by very high

mountains — on its shore the lights of a village.

Voices reached her ears, above the pad-pad of the

bearers. She was conscious of the scent of water, of

seaweed and even fancied that she heard waves lapping

along a shore. How could there be a seashore in the

mountains ?

Yet the murmur of water persisted, and the

fragrance of pines struck into her senses. "I reckon

IVe crossed the Rubicon," she reflected. "And I'm

going to Yakka Arik, Iskander says. I wonder if it*s

his home town ^"

A final, short blast of the trumpets interrupted her

thoughts.

"Hasten!" Iskander called angrily.

The palanquin moved forward more jerkily and

after an interval it halted.

Iskander opened the shutters and assisted her to

the ground.

She was in a garden of some sort, because directly

in front of her a white kiosk loomed, with flowers

clustered at its base. They had passed through the

wall, and now Iskander stalked to the kiosk, motioning

her to follow.

112

The Country of the Falcon

They entered the small, arched doorway of a house.

A red lamp, hanging overhead, revealed a stone hall,

the floor covered with fine rugs. At the end of the hall

the Arab drew back a damask curtain from a wide

aperture. He beckoned her impatiently, his lean face

rigid with anxiety. Edith walked forward slowly into

a lighted room.

Three men, seated on cushions, looked up at her.

Somewhat they resemWed Iskander, being more richly

clothed in heavy silks, wearing silver ornaments. One,

a withered bulk of a man whose voluminous cloak

dwarfed lean limbs, spoke to the Arab.

Iskander touched her arm and whispered:

'^Lookl"

She followed the direction of his eyes. On a couch

at one side of the chamber a man lay motionless. A

shrouded lamp at his head barely revealed a blanketed

form. Edith stepped nearer, peering at the face.

She saw a white man, whose cheeks were wasted,

whose eyes bore heavy circles. A brown beard cov-

ered his chin. The eyes were closed. The brow was

furrowed as if in pain. Edith held her breath and

watched, but she could see no movement of the chest

under the blanket. The man's face was marblelike in

its stillness.

^'Dono-van Khan," said Iskander.

CHAPTER XIII

A LAMP GOES OUT

There was complete stillness in the room as Edith

stood beside the form of the white man who was

called Donovan, and Khan.

She scanned the unconscious face again attentively,

noting the finely shaped head, the handsome mouth and

brow. The man was young, and very much wasted

by sickness. The lean cheeks still bore the brown hue

of exposure to the weather.

Edith turned to the Arab, forcing herself to speak.

."Is he— dead r

Before answering he bent over the sick body, his

eyes gleaming intently. He touched a finger to his

lips and held it over Donovan's mouth. Th#n he

turned to exchange a swift question and answer with

the withered watcher on the floor.

**If any can tell, he is the one." Iskander indicated

the seated man of the aged face and beadlike eyes.

^^He is the master of healing substances, who can

count the sands of life.**

''What does he say?** Edith framed the question

gently. She sensed the anxiety of Iskander, the pa-

tience 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 wirie

vessel that held the wine is not brdcen.'* Iskander

spoke slowly, with a kind of thoughtful exultation.

114 *-

A Lamp Goes Out

"He who knows the sickness of the spirit has tended

Dono-van Khan skillfully. We have come in time/'

Edith glanced swiftly at the Mohammedan physi-

ciaa He was regarding her st»dily, his dried lips

framing soundless words. The other two, heavier

men, b«iring the stamp of authority, waited patiently.

Edith's keen wit told her that they expected something

of her, particularly the physician.

"Mahmoud el Dar," Iskander spoke her thought,

"the hakim. He is wise, very wise. There is no wis-

dom like to his."

A breath of air passed through the stone chamber.

The candles in the lamps flickered. And the shrouded

light by the couch went out. It left the face of Dono-

van dark.

^'Hair muttered Iskander and two of the three

vtratchers echoed his exclamation. The fatalism inbred

in all followers of the Prophet had taken fire at the

darkening of the lamp. Edith was alert, sensitive to

all that passed in the chamber. She understood that

her own life, to these men, was a slight thing beside

the life of John Donovan.

In the stone room of the garden house, isolated in

the impenetrable hills, Mahmoud and those with him

had treasured the life in the sick man, guarding it

against her coming. Why?

. Mahmoud spoke.

"He says," interpreted Iskander, "that the lamp was

truly an omen. Yet not, of itself, an omen of death.

Mahmoud is very wise. He says that a new lamp must

be lit by your hand. Obey."

As if ^e had been a child obedient to an older per-*

son, Edith took the bronze lamp the Arab gave her,

and with a wisp of cotton ignited it from another

IIS

The House of the Falcon

candle. Then she removed of her own accord the

shrouding cloth. Holding the bronze lantern, she

turned to Iskander.

"Tell me what you want done," she observed.

By way of answer, the Arab gave a command and

Aravang appeared carrying a burden which he set

down beside Edith. It was the familiar medicine pail,

still covered with its black cloth.

"That is yours," Iskander pointed to it, "and you

• alone — ^among us four — ^understand its use. I have

seen you tend the wounds of yoiu^ servant, Aravang,

when he was hurt at the inn."

He nodded thoughtfully to himself, choosing his

words with care and speaking the precise English that

he had learned — ^as he had once admitted — ^when at-

tached to a native regiment of the British army during

the Persian campaigns of the Great War.

"Of his own accord, Mees Rand, did Dono-van

Khan come to Yakka Arik. No other ever came will-

ingly into the barriers — ^no other multam, foreigner,

at least Because of certain things unknown to you

it is necessary to kill those who spy upon Yakka Arik.

Yet we had heard of Dono-van Khan, and once be-

fore then he had aided us. So we bargained with

him, or he did with us, and we Sayaks helped him to

fulfill his mission in the Hills. Now, he must fulfill

his half of the bargain. He has given his word. We

are waiting. And he is very ilL He must be made

welL"

Edith was silent, looking at him questioningly. She

wondered why Iskander called the sick man "khan"

and why there was a barrier about Yakka Arik. The

casual manner in which the Arab mentioned death as

a poialty rather took her breath away. What manner

116

A Lamp Goes Out

of men were these who called themselves Sayaks?

And what was Donovan?

"In the time before the first of last winter," con-

tinued her interpreter, "Dono-van Khan again was

brought here by one of the caravans to this house

which is his hcmie. But this time there was a heavy

fever in him. An enemy of the Sayaks who knew that

he meant to aid us poisoned him in the Kashgar bazaar.

Because of the sickness, Mahmoud kept him here and

we sent Aravang for his belongings that were left

with a servant at Kashgar. The servant was faith-

less and it came to pass before long that Aravang

tracked him down and punished him fittingly."

Edith thought of Major Fraser-Carnie's narrative

and sighed. She was gaining a first insight into the

new world of Yakka Arik. It was hard for her to

understand.

*'When the winter was passing, the fever grew and

he was very weak. Mahmoud's remedies no longer

availed because of a strange thing. The sickness was

of spirit as well as body. Dono-van Khan had re-

ceived word that the doors of his home in England

were closed to him. He was very lonely and this

weakened his spirit"

Iskander stroked his beard thoughtfully, glancing

at her to make sure that she understood.

"Mees Rand, what do physics — even the substances

of Avicenna — avail when the mind itself is ailing?

Mahmoud desired above all things to save Dono-van

Khan, and I also — ^who am his friend — desired it.

But to the white man this house was not like his home.

Then out of the wisdom of the ancient Mahmoud came

a thought. It was that the spirit itself of Dono-van

Khan must be healed."

117

The House of the Falcon

Iskander Khan Edith regarded as a pagan, with

Uood 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 spin* that would drive away

the dark angel of death. The spur would be a woman

of his own race and rank. The sight of her would

make him wish to live. Aye — she would nurse him

and make this place a home.''

"And so "

"You are here." Iskander folded his arms, a brief

hiss of satisfied personal pride escaping his lips.

**Z(Ala 'Uahir akdhi wa salkm! The will of Allah is

all-in-all. Behold, the sickness is of the spirit and so

also is the spur. Hai — ^you are beautiful as a keen,

bright sword. I have watched you, and I know — ^I

know."

Mechanically Edith placed the lamp by the couch

and faced the Arab. She had been hurried hundreds

of miles over mountain paths to serve Donovan — the

man they called Dono-van Khan. At this thought she

flushed and bit her lip.

"Why did you choose — ^me?"

^H(d! Does the falcon pause when a thrush is in

sight ? I chose the first white woman, strong, and fair

of face. Likewise, it was said in Srinagar that you

were skilled in tending the sick m^m-sahib."

Edith smiled bitterly, reflecting how it would as-

tonish her worthy aunt to learn that her fancicxi ills

Ii8

A Lamp Goes Out

coupled with the exaggerated respect paid the medi-

cine chest had helped to cany off her niece. Iskander

had seized her — daughter of Arthur Rand and an

American citizen — ^as lightly as he would have pinioned

a struggling bird, as callously as he had slain the two

men in the Kashgar bazaar.

She looked into the faces of the three. Iskander

and the stout chieftain were conversing, utterly

oblivious of her. Only Mahmoud regarded her in-

tently, much in the manner of a surgeon surveying the

subject of an experimental operation. A surge of re-

bellion swept through her.

Another woman, less proud, might have congratu-

lated herself on the temporary respite offered. But it

was not in Edith's nature to be grateful for immunity

or to forget a wrong done her. She was the daughter,

young in years, of an aristocratic family, and her

pride was still to be reckoned with.

The pride of the Rands was not easily dealt with.

"The skill of Mahmoud guarded the life of Dono^

van Khan for the space that I was gone," Iskander

was saying, "and now that my task is finished, yours

is to begin."

The hands of the girl clenched at her side; her body

quivered, and her flushed face became all at once quite

pale.

"Do you think that I shall obey — ^you?"

Mahmoud looked up from his task, struck by the

change in her voice. Iskander rose from the stone flags

and took a silent stride toward her, snatching from

her the yashmak and cloak, baring her set face and

torn traveling dress. In front of her eyes he lifted

the whip that he still retained.

"Aye, you will obey."

119

The House of the Falcon

His burning glance probed her, angrily. Her re-

bellion had stirred his hot temper.

"You think I will be a — slave, Iskander ?"

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.

Edith felt all at once very unhappy and friendless.

Bodily weariness beset her; even the aspect of the un-

conscious sick man appeared to her threatening — ^as

the aspect of the other shrouded forms of the moun-

tain side that had once entered her dreams. And, as

in the dream, she wanted to cry out, to waken. The

room, with the cloaked figures of the men, seemed at

that instant as unreal as her dream of a month ago.

Iskander addressed her quietly.

"The master of wisdom has spoken anew. He says

that if you are unwilling to aid Dono-van Khan, you

will not avail to heal his spirit. Of what use is a

blunted spur ? Mahmoud asks that you look carefully

into the face of the sick Dono-van Khan and consider

that, if you do not heal him, he may die."

Still angered, she would make no response.

Iskander motioned to the bed and withdrew slightly,

eying the girl curiously — trying to understand the

mood of the white woman that brooked no mastery.

I20

A Lamp Goes Out

After a space his scowl lightened and he grunted to

himself.

"By Allah, the steel of my choosing is good/*

By the bright glow of the lantern she appeared as

an image of sheer beauty, her wide eyes fixed on the

sick man from the tangle of gleaming hair, her splen-

did body swaying with swift, troubled breathing.

As Edith studied the unconscious face, reading the

shadows under the closed eyes of Donovan and the

message of the set mouth through which breath barely

stirred, her mood changed. After all, the woman

was very much like a child.

And the instinct of womanhood— compassion at the

sight of pain — was strong. She saw the head of the

sick man move uneasily and his hand twitch on the

bla'nket. Hesitantly, she took the hand in her own.

Color flooded her cheeks and her eyes brightened.

"Tell me what I can do for him," she said to

Iskander.

Under his mustache the Arab smiled. Verily, he re-

flected, Mahmoud was the master of wisdom : he had

read with a single glance the heart of the woman.

But under the compassion that had come to Edith

Rand was another feeling. Donovan Khan seemed to

be a leader of these men — Sayaks, or whatever they

chose to call themselves. He had been the cause of

her seizure. On his account Iskander had made of

her what was little better than a tool, a slave.

If he lived, Donovan Khan must atone for the wrong

done htr.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BRONZE BOWL

"DoNO-VAN Khan lies in a stupor," explained

Iskander, "and Mahmoud knows that he must be

aroused, so that he will exert his strength — ^the strength

of the iron body — ^to live. When he wakens you must

speak to him, and make him understand."

Edith nodded. She had often heard physicians (Us-

cuss the benefits derived from the determination of a

patient to recover, in a dangerous stage of weakness.

She watched curiously while Mahmoud pottered about

his bowl.

She had always fancied that Arabian physicians and

Hindu yogis — she was somewhat vague as to the dif-

ference — practiced by means of native spells and in-

cantation and such things. Now she learned from

Iskander that the bronze bowl contained merely a

heart stimulant.

To Iskander, however, the arts of Mahmoud were

little short of miraculous. Later, Edith came to under-

stand that the physician's name was feared even in

Kashgar as being connected with the caravan that had

become a superstition in tVese regions.

While the Arab chieftain raised the head of the sick

man from the bed, Mahmoud calmly adjusted the lamp

to throw a strong light on Edith. Following out his

directions, she seated herself on the bed, taking Dono-

van's hands in hers.

"When Dono-van Khan drinks," ^ded Iskander^

122

The Bronze Bowl

"he will waken. Then you must speak, so that he will

desire to live."

Edith assented, appreciating the necessity for rous-

ing the patient She watched Mahmoud turning the

bowl of brown liquid in his fingers that were so thin

the wrinkled skin seemed stretched tight over the bones.

She held her breath as he pushed open the lips of the

unconscious man. Then, taking a strip of dean cotton

from his girdle, he dipped it in the bowl, squeezing

drops of the liquid through the set teeth.

Undeniably, she thought, the man was skillful. She

wondered faintly at the assurance of this wrinkled man

of medicine who used remedies not in the pharma-

copoeia of European doctors; the conviction grew on

her that Mahmoud, not Iskander, was master in Yakka

Arik. The other native had left the room.

Mahmoud uttered a low exclamation as Donovan's

teeth parted, and straightway fell to stroking the throat

and eyelids of his patient Edith saw a flush come into

Donovan's cheeks and perspiration start on his brow.

The eyelids flickered and Mahmoud drew back with

a sign to Iskander. "Dono-van Khan sees you," whis-

pered the latter to Edith. "Now you must speak to

him.*^

Gazing full into the blue eyes, heavy with fever,

that wavered as they sought her, the girl fumbled for

words.

"John Donovan!" she said faintly. "John Dono-

van!"

The eyes of the sick man fixed upon hers and she

thought his lips framed an exclamation. A sudden

impulse drew the girl nearer to her patient

"Please," shie breathed anxiously, "please hurrjr up

and get well I am going to nurse you."

123

The House of the Falcon

Iskander touched her arm.

"Say that you need his protection, Mees Rand/' he

whispered. "Then the spirit of Dono-van Khan will

fed the spur."

"I want you to help me, Donovan Khan,*' she cried.

"You will help me, won't you?"

Donovan raised his head slowly and lodced around

inquiringly at Mahmoud and Iskander, his gaze re-

turning to the girl. After a moment he closed his

eyes. At this, the physician motioned her away and

Iskander murmured.

"Inshallahr

Edith was aware that Mahmou^ worked steadily

over Donovan, rubbing his limbs skillfully, and moist-

ening his brow. Some of the candles had gone out,

leaving the stone chamber in semi-gloom except for

the couch. Time passed slowly while the phjrsician

hovered over the couch and Iskander remained sunk in

thought. Outside the curtained entrance she heard the

footfalls of some one, perhaps a guard. But no one

entered. Presently Mahmoud covered the sick man

very warmly with thick woolen robes and beckoned

her.

"Sit by the bed," instructed Iskander, "and when

the white man arouses, speak to him again. Do not

leave him. If he wakens and looks for you and sees

you not, he will believe that what has passed has been

a dream, what you call a vision, Mees Rand."

Mahmoud glanced at her wamingly.

With that the two left her in the stone chamber.

Edith did as she had been told, perching herself on

a carved tabouret to watch and wait She saw that

Donovan was breathing very slowly and weakly. He

seemed unconscious. One hand lay outside the cover-

124

The Bronze Bowl

let Edith r^[arded it tentatively, then took it in her

clasp.

Very insufficient and hesitating she felt, watching

the wasted face of the white maiu She distrusted her

own ability to help in any way. But she had come

to believe in Mahmoud's skill.

Hope was arising within her. Before her eyes

Donovan had emerged from the last stage of exhaus-

tion. She prayed that he would live.

The light across the bearded face before her was

changing. Looking up, Edith perceived that the em-

brasures of the room had turned from black to gray.

The room grew colder. Then she started upright.

So near it seemed almost over her head came the

blast of the trumpets.

The clarion note rose and fell, now beating at her

senses, now dwindling away into space.

The half light of early dawn was creeping into the

stone chamber. And Donovan's eyes had opened and

were fastened on her.

Edith caught her breath, uncertain whether to re-

main where she was or to call Mahmoud. She de-

cided to remain. Iskander had been positive. But

the girl was troubled by the great need to serve the

sick man. Mechanically, she patted the hand she

held.

Donovan looked at her steadfastly, at her face, and

the hand that stroked his gently. Soon she saw that

his lips were moving, and bent nearer to listen. Her

quick ears caught the words.

'Who— are--you?''

Edith wondered what to say, her pulse quickening

as she hesitated.

"Miss Rand,*' she ventured finally, and felt that it

125

The House of the Falcon

was absurdly formal and purposeless. Donovan ap-

peared to ponder it. She wondered if he had heard.

When his eyes closed she was alarmed, and tugged

at his hand. At this he looked up and she sighed

with relief.

"Please don't go to sleep again," she cried softly.

"Don't you understand ? You must get well — ^to help

me.''

He was silent at this, as if the words had been too

much for his weakened comprehension.

"Help you?" he murmured, eyes closed.

"Yes," she breathed

Silence followed, but she knew now that he was

awake, groping slowly for thoughts, striving to con-

nect ideas with a kind of patient, dogged determina-

tion. Edith understood now why Iskander had re-

marked upon the strength of John Donovan.

"You must rest," she warned.

He was quiet for a long time. Chin on hand, she

gazed out into the circle of the window over the bed

No glass was in the embrasure, and the morning breeze

swept mildly into the room. She could see the red

flame of sunrise painted on the shape of a wandering

cloud. The sky was fast becoming blue. Edith was

cold and very tired.

"Help you," the murmur reached her again. So

faint that she wondered if she really had heard it.

The brow of the man was puckered as if in an effort

of the mind. Edith realized that this must not be

permitted. So she began to stroke his forehead with

her free hand. This seemed to calm him. Before

long Donovan's breathing was regular and she knew

that he slept. But she did not leave his side nor re-

lease his hand.

126

The Bronze Bowl

^ The struggle of the past night had wrought upon

her strongly. The reality of John Donovan was be-

coming part of her life. A deep, contented glow was

in her breast, arising from the consciousness that she

had helped him. She had done what Mahmoud had

asked of her. She already felt a sense of ownership

i in the sick man.

She did not hear Mahmoud and Iskander approach

when the sun was well up. Mahmoud stood beside his

patient and peered long into the lean face of the white

man. Edith waited, with all the anxiety of a novice

nurse in the presence of a noted surgeon.

f Presently Mahmoud glanced at her, gestured idly,

almost contemptuously at the pail of medicines that

still rested by the bed, exchanged a few words with

Iskander, and walked from the room.

"Dono-van Khan is in your care," interpreted the

other. "And you may use the remedies of the white

men. Now you must eat and then sleep. Dono-van

Khan will live/*

CHAPTER XV

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

Edith Rand knew little of medical practice or the-

ory. In truth, she was aghast at the responsibility

that Mahmoud had thrust upon her woman's shoul-

ders. Vainly she appealed to Iskander, who came in

f rcMn day to day. The Arab shook his head.

"Mees Rand, the will of the hakim is not to be de-

nied. His work is done. Does a learned reader of

the Koran stoop to a book of verses ? Not so."

Left to herself, Edith ransacked the contents of flie

medicine pail and her memory at the same time, study-

ing labels, and trying to guess the condition of her

patient After long deliberation, she reached the de-

cision not to administer any drugs to Donovan tmtil

he should be stronger. Which was, perhaps, the wis-

est thing she could have done.

For days the stone chamber was her world. Ara-

vang had arranged a couch for her near the brazier.

He brought her meals to the door regularly, and the

girl was grateful for the fresh fruit, the light wines,

the well-cooked mutton and rice, even though sea-

soned in a manner strange to her.

It was quite clear that she was not expected to

kave the chamber, for a native remained aJways on

guard at the door. The masters of the house had

dedicated ller to the service of John Donovan.

128

Questions and Answers

And Edith devoted herself to her task. Racked by

the pangs of inexperience, she lived in fear that her

ignorance would result in harm to the sick man. So

she became doubly watchful.

Not many women, with Edith's heritage of luxuri-

ous life, would have entered whole-heartedly upon the

care of a man whose condition made constant demand

upon their strength. But Edith, remembering the

summer in Louisville when she had tended her father,

put thought of sdf aside. Her natural s)rmpathy was

touched by the spectacle of Donovan's effort of re-

, covery. Her pride spurred her on when she recalled

Iskander's curt command to her.

More than sympathy or pride, however, was the

new feeling of anxiety aroused in the girl. The

safety and health of a fellow being of her own race

rested in her hands. 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 Dono-

van. At times, too, the scarred native would appear

silently as always and offer by signs to assist her in

her work.

To Edith it seemed that Aravang was grateful for

the treatment she had given his wounds. But there

129

The House of the Falcon

W5ts no mistaking the devotion in the brown eyes of

the big attendant. Aravang had attached himself to

the girl, and from that time on he devoted himself

to her service as faithfully as the negro retainers of

the Rand family in former days.

Days passed — every twilight and simrise bringing

its melody of the great horns. At first the girl had

been startled. Later, she waxed curious as to the

meaning of the trumpet call. But, as yet, she felt

no desire to inspect what lay beyond the walls of her

room or to ponder upon the nature and situation of

Yakka Arik and its masters.

"He will know," she thought, of John Donovan.

Thus she gave freely of woman's tenderness — ^her

hands more gentle, perhaps, than the hands of experi-

ence. Feeling that her care was insufficient for the

need of the sick man, she frequently prayed at night,

brief prayers whispered into the darkness. And, un-

der Iskander's mask of unconcern, she knew that the

Arab longed for Donovan's recovery and that others

also waited patiently.

And day by day the shadow of death removed far-

ther from John Donovan. Came long hours of utter

lassitude when the flame of vitality glimmered low

and the man's pulse was barely to be felt. The heavi-

ness passed from the ^es that always watched Edith,

and he gathered strength before her eyes.

To Edith, unaware of the resiliency of these men

whose home had been the mountain heights, it seemed

more remarkable even than the stolid hardihood of

Aravang, whose wounds were barely healed.

The time came when Donovan insisted on talking.

Until then, he had been content to watch her. Now

130

Questions and Answers

he raised himself unsteadily, and Edith hastened to

place pillows behind his back.

"I never believed in miracles/* he murmured. "Will

you tell me^ — ^where you came from ?"

His voice still had the low note of weakness, and

he paused often. It was a quiet voice, deliberate,

musing — ^as if its owner was more accustomed to com-

muning with himself than others.

"Hush!" said Edith reprovingly. "You are not

well enough to talk." *s.

Donovan smiled, and when he smiled the gaunt face

lighted up and tiny wrinkles appeared at the eyes.

She liked his eyes.

"You are^ — well enough to answer. I want to know

why — ^you are in Yakka Arik."

Edith noticed that he pronounced the name in the

sonorous fashion of the natives. She smiled back.

"To take care of you."

"Me?"

A slight frown creased his brow as he pondered

this slowly. Almost to himself, he muttered.

"And I thought you were not here. A splendid

spirit. Angels might come to Yakka Arik — ^more eas-

ily than white women."

Worriedly, Edith surveyed him, chin on hand. For

comfort's sake she had dressed her hair low on her

neck, and she wore a silk scarf — a donation from Ara-

vang — about her much enduring shirtwaist In the

absence of mirrors — she had been unable to make

known her great need of such an article to her faith-

ful attendant by signs — ^she did not realize how becom-

ing the effect was. John Donovan looked at her long.

"Because," he resumed, "I thought those horns were

Gabriers, you know, when I wakened that time, and

131

The House of the Falcon

I was quite certain that you were an angeL Didn't

you wear a gold halo?"

Edith thought of the lamp that Mahmoud had held

close to her hair, and for the first time in many days

she laughed — from sheer amusement touched with real .

pleasure. "You worried me at first," she admitted

— "talking about spirits. Indeed, I'm nothing at all

angelic: Fm quite alive and real. I've told you my

name, to prove it — Edith Rand."

*^ou are Edith Rand?" Donovan looked up in

quick surprise. "Of course, I remember now you

told me the name, part of it" He was silent, occu-

pied with his thoughts. At such times, as the girl

was beginning to notice, he seemed to forget her en-

tirely. "But you are too young. Strange — I thought

you were dead."

This remark startled her and she wondered if her

patient was really free from fever. "Perhaps you

are thinking of my mother," she responded gently.

"She had my name and she left us many years ago.

But she was never in India."

"Fate plays strange tricks," he said, and was silent

again.

At this point Edith ended the talk by the simple ex-

pedient of leaving the couch.

It was the next day that Aravang brought an of-

fering — ^the box containing the kit of Donovan. He

set it down by the couch and departed. Edith had

not thought to ask for the box — did not know, in

fact, that it had reached Yakka Arik.

Donovan surveyed it curiously. It was a bright,

sunny day and the fresh breeze swept the room, bear-

ing with it the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle min-

gled with the fragrance of the pines. Something of

132

Questions and Answers

the vigor of the mountain air seemed to have entered

into John Donovan.

"Strange," he remarked "Now where did that

come from?''

"From the same place I did/'

But he was not to be put aside.

"I want to know, Miss Rand. This box was in the

care of a certain Jain Ali Beg."

The name recalled the story of Major Fraser-Car-

nie to the girl. She hesitated whether to tell her pa-

tient. He was growing petulant, however, at being

silenced.

"Jain Ali Beg was killed," she said, "by Aravang."

"Ah. Your servant?"

"No. One of the — ^the Yakka Arik men. The one

that brought the box."

"A Sayak, then. I think he introduced himself to

me in a Kashgar serai. Ah, perhaps he imagined Jain

Ali Beg poisoned me. It would be like Jain Ali

Beg." Donovan pondered.

"At Gilghit — Major Fraser-Camie's house. Iskan-

der stole — ^took — the box from Srinagar and brought

it here with me."

"So Iskander brought you." Donovan's eyes be-

came grave. "Miss Rand, I must know what has

happened. Much depends on it. More than you

know. You must tell me everything."

His insistence was more than the irritability of the

sick. It was authoritative, urgent. She related

briefly all that had passed from the night of the ball

in Srinagar until now, leaving out Monsey and the

hardships she had been forced to undergo; also, the

affray at Kashgar.

The story had the effect of silencing Donovan. He

133

The House of the Falcon

listened intently, almost avidly, interrupting fre-

quently. When she had finished, he lay back with

closed eyes, thinking.

Edith waited, idly trying to draw the scarf about

her shoulders so as to cover the rents in the worn

waist. It was a torment to the girl that she had noth-

ing to change to; because she had not wanted to ask

for native garments — ^had not thought of it, in fact,

during her care of Donovan.

'Oh, for a needle and thread," she sighed.

There should be a sewing kit, in my box. Look

and see."

Readily, the girl obeyed. Womanlike, she craved

the means of sewing. Likewise, investigation of the

box was not without its inducements in satisfjring

curiosity.

Various articles of corduroy clothing were on the

top of the box. Then a rusted telescope appeared,

the book of poems — Shelley. Edith was a trifle sur-

prised at this. She had not connected such reading

with the stem personality of the sick man of Yakka

Arik.

Followed a worn notebook, a bag of native money,

a complete shaving and toilet set in a handsome leather

case, and then the housewife. This Edith appropri-

ated gratefully. She would have liked, however, to

go to the bottom of the box.

"Was Iskander followed from Srinagar, Miss

Rand?"

The sudden question startled her. "Why — nor. I

don't think so. Certainly my father and the major

could not have known of my — ^trip." Tactfully she

refrained from the use of a harsher word.

"Yet you did not get off without a fight." Seeing

134

Questions and Answers

her surprise, he added : **Aravang and Iskander both

have been wounded. You see, Miss Rand, I have been

listening to the men talking outside the door."

Pressed in this manner, she described the events of

the Kashgar alley, trying to conceal her own peril.

She had the feeling, however, that Donovan was piec-

ing out frcnn his own mind the omitted portions of

the story.

"Describe the leader of the men at the serai — Ala-

mans, I fancy from your version.*'

Edith did so and was surprised anew at the effect

of her words. Donovan flushed, his eyes hardened,

and he drew a quick breath. Then his glance sought

that of the girl

"You say Ab— the man knew you."

"He called me by name."

"By name." Donovan shook his head moodily.

His lean face was still sharp with aroused feeling.

"Then the Vulture has marked you down and followed

you from Srinagar. He knows you are here."

"Now," Edith commanded, fearing that her patient

was beginning to talk wildly, "you must rest. I had

no idea you had been sitting up so long."

"The Vulture !" The word was torn from the lips

of the man. She stared at him in dismay. "Each

thing you have told me weighs — ^more than a hand-

ful of gold. I tell you, I must know. Send Iskander

to me."

"Indeed not!"

Donovan's broken phrases were curiously framed,

as if he employed a tongue partially forgotten. But

there waS no mistaking his interest, even concern.

By way of answer he summoned Aravang in the na-

tive's dialect

135

The House of the Falcon

Aravang left the room and before long Iskander

strode in, taking in the scene at a glance, and measur-

ing Donovan as swiftly. He paid scant heed to hen

"Please, you will overtire yourself l"

But Donovan shook his head impatiently. While

Iskander knelt on a convenient carpet, cigarette be-

tween his lips, the two men talked in a language the

girl recognized as that of the Arab. Donovan asked

many questions and Iskander replied deliberately.

"They will follow her to Yakka Arik," she heard

him say once, in English.

Seeing that she was temporarily forgotten, Edith

retired to her couch in the opposite comer, not with-

out a provoked pout. She busied herself with her new

trophy, the needle and thread. It was long before

Iskander left, as silently as he had come. Donovan

lay back, thoroughly tired.

"I don't understand," she heard him mutter. At

this, she went to him and adjusted the pillow and

blankets. Then she bathed his face and hands.

"If you try to think and— and worry, I'U be ever

so angry!" she warned.

His eyes met hers, and he smiled.

"Thanks, awfully. You're splendid, really. I

wouldn't trade you for — ^a real spirit of paradise."^

Early that evening Aravang entered and hung^ a

silk curtain about the comer where her bed was. Then

the native busied himself in cleaning out a square de-

pression in the stone flooring — something that had

puzzled Edith more than once.

Very soon she learned the purpose of the hollowed

* stone. Aravang carried in a full jar of fresh water

which he poured into it, then another and another

until the small tank was full. Edith surveyed the ad-

136

Questions and Answers

dition to her quarters with bewildered interest until

she heard Donovan's voice.

"You may not know a Sayak bathtub when you sec

one, Miss Rand It is somewhat chilly. You will

find some extra soap in my box.''

Edith pounced upon the prize. The attendant did

not cease his labors tmtil he had brought several long

and finely textured veils of many-colored silk. These

he laid on the bed, with a grin — adding thereto a pack-

age that Edith recognized as her discarded ball dress.

"Ladies* tailors are lacking in Yakka Arik, Miss

Rand/' Donovan explained from his side of the room,

"but you may be able to do something with this stuff

and a little sewing."

Then Edith understood that Donovan had thought

during his interview with Iskander to mention her

own needs.

That night the girl labored long by the light of a

lamp. Donovan's quiet breathing told her that he was

asleep S(»ne time before she had finished. The room

and tfie hall were quiet.

With a smile of whimsical appreciation she sur-

veyed the result of her efforts — ^a brilliantly colored

nightgown of priceless silk. Putting out the lamp»

she undressed and slipped into the tank.

It was, as Donovan had prophesied, rather chilly.

But it was water and she had soap. Edith did not

mind the cold. Two months ago she would have ex-

claimed at the thought of such a bath. Now it was

luxury.

Neverthdess, she was glad to scramble from the

tank and dry herself on some strips of dean cotton.

Then, with a sigh of satisfaction, she slipped into the

new nightgown and nestled among the blankets of the

137

The House of the Falcon

couch. She was refreshed and rested beyond words.

In spite of this she lay long awake, looking out from

the oval embrasure, her thoughts dwelling on many

things, the recovery of John Donovan, and the spirit

of mastery he had promptly exhibited. She puzzled

briefly and fruitlessly over his statement that a vul-

ture had pursued her from Srinagar. Uppermost in

her mind, drowsy by now, was the fact that he had

taken thought for her comfort.

So also had Iskander, in the past. And they were

both her foes. Had she not a reckoning to settiie

with them ? Undoubtedly I

CHAPTER XVI

PANDORA'S BOX

It was a breezy, sunny noon when the midday quiet

rested on the house that Edith had her first glimpse

of Yakka Arik.

Donovan had suggested smilingly that she might

not be so closely guarded as she susp^ed, and that

there was a fine view from a terrace opening from

the second story of the stone dwelling, also that she

looked peaked from long confinement indoors. It was

time, said he, she began to take care of herself a

little.

"Don't bother about the yashmak, either," he

laughed, his grave face lighting up, "you won't scan-

dalize Iskander and the rest. They are mostly at

church."

Vaguely, Edith wondered if he was jesting. Was

there a church in Yakka Arik? She asked Donovan.

His smile faded.

"Rather. Not much else."

So Edith ventured out into the hall, feeling a strong

sense of guilt — ^as once when she had been a girl in

short skirts and had stolen into an orchard forbidden

to her. It was. a relief that no one confronted her in

the hall or on the winding staircase. Her puls^ quick-

ened as she stepped through a pillared, cloisterlike

room and out upon a wide balcony. There she drew

a deep breath.

139

The House of the Falcon

Almost to the courtyard of the house stretched the

blue surface of a small lake. Its tranquil depths re-

flected the panoply of white wind clouds overhead, and

the lofty summits of the snow peaks that had closed

arotmd the woman since she had left Kashgar. Near

at hand, the mountain slopes were a dense mass of

pines. The fragrance of these woods had reached

into the sick room.

Around the border of the lake Edith caught

glimpses of flat-roofed stone dwellings, much like the

one she occupied. The lake and the houses, set in

the depths of the bowUike valley, were dwarfed by

the vast heights above. It was very warm, surpris-

ingly so, and peaceful.

Across the lake were stretches of pasture land. The

girl could make out flocks of sheep, tiny gray bodies

moving very slowly, watched by an occasional white-

tuniced native. Also horses, and a species of long-

haired oxen strange to her. (These were the yaks

of Central Asia.) Low wooden structures opening

upon the pastures revealed themselves as sheepfolds

and stables.

The valley extended north, beyond the lake, and here

were squares of tilled grotmd. A gusty breeze bent

the surface of ripened grain in long ripples. She

could not see above the tilled land because the ground

Iwoke up into trap rock, the outcropping of which ex-

tended 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.

140

Fandords Box

She had looked for the camels of the caravan. They

were not to be seen. Nor could she make out the

road by which she had come in the night. Paths nm

along the lake shore and from house to house; but

there was no trace of any road leading away to the

north.

"How stupid of me/' she reflected. "I must have

come up from the south."

The lake was not round ; it ran in a long oval under

the mountains. She looked to the south. At a dis*

tance of perhaps half a mile the valley turned shargly

around the shoulder of a mountain. At this point

was a building larger than any at the nearer lake shore.

It rose, however, from the water's edge.

It was a sheer walled edifice of gray stone. By

shading her eyes and straining her sight Edith could

make out a lofty arched entrance, a round dome, and

twin, spirelike towers rising from either side the arch.

She fancied it resembled the pictures she had seen

of Mohammedan mosques. The spires were like the

minarets she had glimpsed during the evening when

they approached Kashgar. But the walls merged into

the gray wall of a cliff behind the edifice. The deep

shadow of the lower gorge through which she had

been carried in the sedan shrouded the spot. If she

had not been looking intently at the {dace, she would

hardly have noticed the mosque at all. Edith realized

that, to reach the village, the palanquin must have

passed through the mosque.

A wide-winged bird swept low over the lake, cir-

cling around the skiflf of the fishermen. It moved

lazily on the air currents, a black and white creature

of the air. It was not a crow, nor an eagle. Yet it

must be very large

X4I

The House of the Falchn

Edith perched herself on the stone railing of the

balcony and gave herself up to the grateftd flood of

sunlight and the survey of her new surroundings.

Even now she felt that she was watched.

Coming from the long isolation of the sick room,

she felt as if she had reentered life itself. A new life,

tranquil, yet vitally significant. Srinagar and Que-

bec and Louisville were not a part of this world. Her

father and her aunt were incredibly distant She

tried to think of the place of the lotus-eaters, the

poem of Tennyson

"What is the verdict ?'*

Edith looked up, and was surprised to see Dono-

van, supported by Aravang. Over his free arm the

grinning servant carried a plaid steamer rug and a

takedown armchair. She did not know Donovan at

first.

During her absence he had managed to have himself

shaved, and his disordered hair trimmed. A clean

white shirt, a neat flannel jacket and white flannel

trousers completed the metamorphosis. His mus-

tache was altered into almost military smartness, and

the growth of beard was gone. Only the blue eyes

and the lean brown cheeks were the same.

"Oh," cried Edith, "you shouldn't be outdoors.

You will take cold."

Donovan smiled, or rather the lines in his cheeks

deepened and the wrinkles about his eyes crept into

being. "Really ? I'm quite accustomed to— outdoors.

Besides, I've had a cold bath."

She recalled his first speech, and clapped her hands.

"Bravo ! The verdict is : excellent. How did you

doit?"

"Do what? Oh." Donovan sank into the camp

142

^ Pandora* s Box

chair Aravang had adjusted. **1 meant Yakka Arik^

not myself, Miss Rand/'

"But you are wonderfully dean. I'm growing en-

vious."

"The explanation is simple. A good native bar-

ber may be had in Yakka Arik — thanks to the Sayak

rule of half-shaven mustaches and hair, following the

Mohammedan custom. I had my own kit."

"A mirror! Have you a mirror, Mr. Donovan?"

She held her breath.

"Oh, yes. And the rug and chair emerged from

my box."

But Edith had sprung to her feet. "I must have

the mirror!"

Donovan held up a protesting hand. His keen

glance dwelt briefly on her face, flushed by the sun.

Edith had been busy with her new-found sewing ma-

terials and had fashioned a light blue smock out of

Aravang's offerings of veils — also a loose girdle of

the same color and a light scarf.

These served to use in place of her outworn shirt-

waist. Her natural taste in dress made them becom-

ing. The girl was a splendid picture, her fine hair

hanging loose to her slender shoulders and her eyes

alight with good humor.

"Please!" Donovan said gravely. "Some women

may need a mirror, but you ^" He fell silent.

"You are ^"

His voice sank, yet Edith's quick ears — ^and it must

be confessed that she was listening acutely — caught

the word "matchless." It was her turn to pause.

Into the eyes of the man there had sprung a glow

that was not a reflection of the sunlight.

Your box is a regular treasure chest," Edith

143

The House of the Falcon

changed the topic, and did not know that her bare

throat and her face had turned a shade rosier. '^What

dse have you hidden in it?"

"Pandora ! I forbid yoti to look." Donovan spoke

lightly, his eyes still resting on the glory of her hair.

Yet he meant what he said. It was characteristic of

the man to expect attention and obedience when he

spoke. This naturally piqued the girl who did not

understand that those who have been much alone in

the waste places of the world have become a law unto

themselves.

Not that Donovan was silent with her. He loved

to hear her talk, enjoying her low, almost drawling

voice and her quick wit

The man was a puzzle to Edith. Seemingly an ally

of the natives of Yakka Arik, his name was still known

throughout India. When he shook off his mood of

silent introspection, his manners were those of a gen-

tleman. He was educated, possessed a taste for Shel-

ley, Lamartine, and Catullus — ^a combination of the

poets that took Edith out of her depth. Yet he

seemed to be little more than a wandering adventurer

—certainly without home ties.

"Don't you realize," she pointed out, "that it is dan-

gerous to forbid a woman to— look ?"

"But the box is my treasure house. I do not in*

tend to be plundered."

"What if I look for the mirror?"

"I cede that to you. Aravang has put it in your

— ^a^rtment."

They were speaking lightly, avoiding — ^as Edith

thought — ^the mention of the realities of Yakka Arik

- — ^her captivity, his status in the world, and what the

future held in store for her.

144

. Pandora's Box

A shadow passed quickly over the balcony. The

black bird had flown above them, circling idly. The

man noticed it, as he did everything. On first com-

ing to the balcony he had scanned the valley with the

interest of one who looks for other details than scenery.

"What do you think of this?" His hand swej^

along the valley, much in the gesture used by Iskan-

der. Edith surveyed the lake seriously, chin on hand,

perched on the balcony rail.

'It is quiet. It is so shut in by the mountains. I

think I have never seen an3rthing quite so wonder-

ful"

"Would you think so. Miss Rand, if you knew that

this Arcadia was in reality a kind of garden of Hes-

perides ?"

"A hidden garden? Or do you hint at forbidden

fruit?"

"Both, Miss Rand. The Sayaks guard the loca-

tion of Yakka Arik with blind zeal. The less you

know about the yalley, the better for you ^*

The fragrance of flowers clung to the balcony.

Edith could see the delicate blossoms of the wild rose

in the open meadows. Jasmine and acacia were

growing near the house. The whole vista was a gar-

den of some sort wherein life was warm. But the

Overhanging snow peaks seemed to mock the bright-

ness of the lake — ^as if the garden spot were flowering

only for a brief interval, and soon to be again in the

grip of winter.

Edith nodded, dwelling on Donovan's words. She

could hear the murmur of hidden cascades and the

purring of millstones in the village near by.

"The Sayaks believe that Allah — God — put the

warm springs here for their use. They bathe in

145

The House of the Falcon

them, you know. Their religion prescribes absolute

cleanliness, especially before prayer."

"Then Aravang isn't a Sayak." Edith turned to

him curiously. "What does tiie word Sayak mean?"

Instead of replying^ Donovan adjusted the folds of

the blanket thoughtfully.

"The Sayaks/* he said, "are followers of a certain

religious sect. Kind of Mohammedans, you might

say. That is their mosque."

He indicated the gray building at the lower end of

the lake. Edith had the feeling that he was putting

her question aside.

"As for Aravang," he added, "the beggar is a kid,

a servant or slave. He happens to be a Dungan — ^a

Chinese-Taghlik type."

Edith recalled the difficulty Major Fraser-Camie

had experienced in placing the man with the scar.

So Aravang was a man of two races, and most prob*

ably a murderer. She had not been able to forget

this.

"He is allowed a lot of liberty. Miss Rand, because

of his strength as a warrior and because he handles

falcons well."

At this Edith smiled provokingly. Donovan was

trying so palpably to lead her away from the subject

of Sayaks. "You don't answer my question at all,

Mr. Dono-van Khan" — ^watching him, she saw his

brows go up at mention of the name — "and Fm angry,

m give you another chance to redeem yourself.

What is Yakka Arik?"

Donovan pointed to the lake.

"That is Yakka Arik!"

"Indeed! Then I suppose the fish are Sayaks.'*

She frowned at him determinedly. "And that build-

146

Fandords Box

ing down at the end there is nothing more than the

village meeting house in spite of its being so carefully

camouflaged, and in spite of the fact that practically

all the men and women of this quite ordinary place

spend hours there every day?"

"It's my fault that I'm so bally poor at explaining.

Quite right. That's the church, and everybody ex-

cept the kids and the guards " he broke off hastily.

"Everybody, that is, of the Sayak creed is there.

Otherwise, you would have to put on your veil, and

I would be most unhappy."

Just a little her frown tmbent, and then tightened^

She would not let him change the subject again. Edith

was accustomed to find out what she wanted to know.

**You are not nice, at all. I want to know what

that mosque really is and why there are guards here.

Oh, I heard you."

At this^ the mask of moodiness fell over the man's

lined face. He surveyed the still surface of the lake

in silence. And when he q>oke^ he seemed commun-

ing with himself again.

"The mosque? Yes, that's the trouble, the mosque.

It's better, far better that you should not know aU

about that. I want you not to know. It's your best

chance Iskander and the rest woii't say anything.

Aravang can't — much. By the way, that fellow will

serve you faithfully. He worships you, as — many

do.''

Edith went straight to the point of this. Her in-

born sincerity yearned for plain words of truth ; like-

wise she wanted him to have confidence in her.

"Why don't you want me to know?"

"Because," he observed slowly, "I know. That'^

the reason I'm here. Not that I blame them. After

147

The House of the Falcon

all, it was my own doing. Curious thing, fate. It's

like black care behind the rider— can't escape it, you

know." His blue eyes brooded "After all, tiicy

have made me their friend. Mahmoud and the others.

But Mahmoud, of course, is the leader in brains.

And he, like the other Sayaks, is aflame with religious

zeal. No, Miss Rand. So long as you know nothing

of the mosque, its meaning, or the true location of

Yakka Arik, you have a good chance ^*

"To escape. And^ou?*'

Unconsciously she held her breath. At last tb^

were facing the question that was vital to both.

"I? Don't worry. Oh, they are fair, very fair.

Besides,** he was pondering aloud, "they need me. I

must do something for them. That's a card in our

hands to get you free. But you must not go to the

mosque or ask questions, as you are £^t to do."

Edith f dt aggrieved and not a little hurt Wcnnan-

like, she desired to hurt him in like measure. She

had been looking forward to the moment when they

could confide in each other. And now

"Mr. Donovan, I was carried here by these — friends

—of yours away from my father. I don't know why.

And now I'm kept here in Yakka Arik. Really, I'm

a prisoner. Why? I've been wanting to know, to

ask you about it all. I've waited all this time to hear

you explain everything. And now you say I'm ask-

ing too many questions.**

CHAPTER XVII

ARAVANG EXPLAINS

Donovan sat up suddenly and gripped the anns of

his chair as if confronted by a new and disturbing

thought.

'^You think, Miss Rand, that I am responsible for

bringing you here? No. Mahmoud and Iskander

{banned that while I was ill.**

Edith was well aware of this, but a provoking df

of obstinacy kept her from acknowledging it After

all, she thought, she had not accused him of it.

"Please understand," he said slowly, almost pain-

fully. "I would give an arm if you had not been

brought here. Miss Rand, you held me back from

death. I — ^I was probably headed for a Sayak grave

— so Iskander says. Tired, you know. When your

face came before my eyes and I felt your hands cling-

ing to mine "

**You didn't 1'* A rosy wave swept to the roots of

Edith's hair. "You — ^you must have dreamed that.

It was Mahmoud who saved you."

He was silent, bewildered. He had not meant to

hurt the girl, was longing instead to comfort her.

But his character was not schooled in the varying

moods of woman.

"No, you were the one. You asked me to hdp you.

It brought me back, to want to live. Don't you see?

You were an angd. God knows, I've cursed the men

149

The House of the Falcon

who brought you here/' Bitterness crept into his low

voice. "It's been another misfortune that came of

my mission here."

"Please don't say that." Edith did not like to see

Donovan so downcast. The man was strong— a

leader among his ^kind, she had felt. Now he seemed

to abandon his thoughts to moodiness on her account.

"It's the truth. * I've nothing left, no ties or hopes,

except one. And that you would despise, I think.

Yes, you would. You are too noble-hearted to do

anything else. But, then you don't understand." His

jaw thrust forward and one lean hand clenched.

"Still, I will give my life to get you out of Yakka

Arik and back — ^home. Yes, home. I haven't been

home for seven years. Well, no use thinking of that

or wanting to go, when I have no home. You have."

By a wayward twist of memory the thought of the

young British subaltern at the Maharaja's ball came

to Edith. The officer had craved sight of those he

had left in England. "It must be terrible — ^to have

no home," she murmured.

"TerriWe? No. It is just being alone." He re-

plied to her with an efJfort, his mind clearly on other

things. "But to lose the others — ^that is hard.'*

Donovan was speaking now with strong feeling held

in check. "During the War my father and brother

went West. There were only the three of us, you

know."

"OhT' Edith felt a quick impulse of s)mipathy.

She tried to think of a consoling word, and was si-

lent. John Donovan, gazing out forbiddingly at the

lake, seemed to repel any such advance.

The girl had realized for some time that he was an

Englishman. She wondered if he, like his brother,

150

Aravang Explains

had been in the army. She believed that was the case.

Certain mannerisms, a habit of authoritative speech,

attention to the little things that go to make comfort

out of hardships, indicated that this was so. But he

did not care to speak about himself.

Edith bent a tendril of hair about her finger and

released it — a habit of hers. Donovan watched her

passively. During his illness the two had been

brought closely together. A word, an inflection, or

a gesture meant much.

"You think, then," she mused, "that it will be hard

for me to leave Yakka Arik."

He pointed up at the hills that surrounded Yakka

Arik on three sides. "I must tell you how useless it

is to try, Miss Rand. A cordon of armed guards ex-

tends all arotmd us, each sentry within sight of his

neighbor. Where they are posted in the forest, a

swathe has been cut in underbrush from one to the

other. I have seen graves in those cleared spaces,

where visitors came unbidden to steal through the

lines."

"But at night — it might be possible to escape then."

"Nature has provided against that. Any one flee-

ing in the dark would fall into the ravines or be

caught by the cataracts. At best only a little ground

could be gained before morning. Then the men in

the upper lookouts on the summits would spot you.

After that, you would be tracked down."

It was hard for Edith to realize that she was ac-

tually .a prisoner, guarded by invisible eyes. She did

not know how bitter the tribal feuds of these moun-

tains had been, and how keen were the eyes of the

sheep hunters who nursed long muzzle-loaders on

dizzy elevations. Inexperienced in this new life, she

151

The House of the Falcon

■ ' I

refused to accept Donovan's warning, believing that

he had not been wholly frank with her. "There VMist

be some way in — ^and out— except across the bridge

at the lower gorge and through the mosque !"

Donovan smiled thoughtfully. "Once,** he ob-

served, "a man entered Yakka Arik through a sheep

path, that skirted the mosque by a ravine, under the

sentinel. The Sayaks call him *the Vulture.* Now,

his life is forfeit if they ever find him and his fol-

lowers. And I rather think they will."

Edith shivered, as the menace that lay behind the

stmny aspect of the valley assumed reality. "Oh, it

is terrible!'*

"Life itself is terrible sometimes, Miss Rand. But

Yakka Arik assumes the guise of terror only to pro-

tect itself. What is strange to you is commonplace

to these men. Really, they only follow tradition, and

the law and faith of Yaldca Arik are older than our

faith, and" — ^he spoke musingly — ^"the two are not so

different, after all."

The girl, gazing down the lake, saw a throng issue

from the arch of the mosque. A many-colored group

pf men, women and children emerged into the vil-

lage streets. The mosque did seem a little like a

church, with its Sunday worshipers. Only the wor-

shipers went every day. "It looks so like a big ca-

thedral," she reflected aloud. "I wish I could under;-

standi"

Donovan nodded sympathetically.

"Right! Only the whole of tte valley is the cai-

thedral, Miss Rand We are in one of the holy spots

of ancient Asia itself — ^as ancient as the Tartar hordes

that once were driven past here by the Chinese, who

built the tower on the lower ravine. Remember that

152

Aravang Explains

these inountaia places are considered sacred by the

natives," i

'*I thought no Mohammedans ever lived above the

Himalayas/' Edith was guilefully seeking the for-

Indden fruit of knowledge which Donovan had denied

hen

'*Your wisdom is too young, Miss Rand. The fore-

fathers of the Moslems, the Uigurs and the Tartars

had their birthplace in upper Central Asia. And they

had Yakka Arik. Now tiiey come here from Arabia,

Turkestan, and the comers of Asia. The Arabs, Per-

sians, Uigurs, Taghliks, and not a few Afghans ride

here in the {Hlgrimage caravans *^

"Sometimes called the 'caravan of the dead'?*' she

put in*

Donovan looked at her sharply, and a hard mask

settled on his lean face.

"Those who ride in the caravan of the dead have

offended against the law of Yakka Arik. God grant

you never come to know its meaning —

>»

He fell silent, his hands gripped tight together, sunk

in meditation. Edith was startled by the gravity of

his low voice. She half put out her hand to touch

his, then drew back.

"I am so glad that I fotmd you here^" she said im-

pulsively. "Mahmoud and the others frighten me.

They never even look at me, and I am sure they have

no S3rmpathy at all. No one, even, except Iskander,

comes to the house.*' It was her way of offering him

peace — ^with honors — of asking him to trust her.

Donovan replied abstractedly, without weighing the

possible effect of his words : "You see, ifs my house,

given me because tiie/ve made me fe/ia»— equal in

rank to Iskander. They don't look at you because you

153

The House of the Falcon

are unveiled in the house, and they don't come here

on that account — ^because, of course, they consider

that you are mine and it's contrary to the old Mos-

lem law to visit where the women of the house can be

seen."

Edith caught her breath. So she was merely the

property of Donovan Khanl The Sayaks thought of

her as his wife or — or slave ! She recalled the words

of Iskander.

"Indeed/* she observed frigidly, "haven't you told

them that I am an American? They must know I

have friends, who may trace me to Kashgar *'

Donovan shook his head thoughtfully.

"Any place but Kashgar, Miss Rand, where the

Vulture roosts just now. You are safer here. As

for jrour nationality, if you will pardon me, it is un-

known here or in Central Asia generally."

"Is it ?" Edith tossed away the tendril, feeling pro-

voked the more because instinct told her this was the

truth. "We shaU see. They may learn what an

American father will do for his daughter. But these

Sayaks — ^why do they keep me prisoner? For ran-

som?"

"Indeed not"

"As — ^as hostage?"

"Nearer right. Not exactly."

"Then what? You won't teU me!"

A shapely foot in a native sandal — ^Edith's shoes

were being preserved carefully against future need —

began to tap the stone floor of the balcony. Donovan

noticed it with appreciation. Everything about her,

he reflected, was dainty. He did not interpret the ani-

mation of the foot as a sign of danger.

"Your friends seem to me very much like heathens,

154

Aravang Explains

Mr. Donovan, in spite of your defense of them. And

I think that church is a had place."

"Well, they think of us as infidels. Yet, Miss Rand,

the mosque and the man who lives within it is one of

the safeguards of Christianity. He is the one more

than any other whose friendship I must keep."

Craftily she sought for information about this man.

"He is not a Christian, is he? You always say,

'Perhaps'." Edith wanted him to understand that he

had not made peace. "You never say what I want

you to."

Donovan smiled doggedly. He did not understand

the mood of the girl — ^that she wanted him to confide

in her, comfort her.

"Remember," he observed bluntly, "Mahmoud has

done much for me. And Iskander saved you — ^your

life at ICashgar. He did the same thing for me, too,

at Kashgar, when the Vulture's friends pretty nearly

succeeded in poisoning me."

"But they are murderers and — ^and brigands. Ara-

vang killed your servant."

He sighed. How was this girl, fresh from the out-

side world, to understand the mien of another race and

the rigid laws of Yakka Arik?

"They have their code. An old one. Miss Rand.

Before the coming of Christ it was that of Christians.

An eye for an eye — k blow for a blow." Donovan

pointed suddenly to the mosque. "That is not an

evil place. It is a temple of faith, and faith is not an

evil thing."

"Then why can't I go there? To this man who is

your friend?"

Anxiety flashed into Donovan's tense face. Edith

mistook it for anger.

155

The House of the Falcon

''Because I say so i You must not try to learn the

secret of the Sayaks."

The familiar ring of command was in his low voice.

The girl's chin went up stubbornly and the gray eyes

became cold.

''Very well/' she said.

Donovan nodded in relief. He did not understand

that, instead of consent, Edith's words meant that she

was fully determined to disobey him. She would go

to the mosque. Nothing would prevent her, now that

Donovan, who should — so she reasoned — ^have been

frank with her and trusted her instead of his Sayak

friends, h;ad forbidden it. And at the same time she

would appeal to the man of the mosque to hdp Dono-

van and herself.

Unaware that Edith had made up her mind to do

the very thing he was most anxious she should not do

— ^the thing that could ruin her prospect of escape

from the lake, Donovan proposed that they should go

below to their quarters.

"I'm devilishly hungry," he said dieerfully, "and

Aravang must have lunch ready. I think I smell baked

fish.''

"I'm not hungry," she assured him coldly.

The girl remained on her perch when Aravang ap-

peared for the sick man. Later, when Donovan sent

the native to convey to her by signs that lunch was

waiting, she shook her head.

For the first time she noticed that Aravang had a

large bird on his i/^rist It was a goshawk, hooded.

Its powerful claws gapped a glove on th^ man's hand.

The slave started at sight of the girl.

Aravang had evidently planned a little of his favor-

ite diversion, while his mistress was below stairs.

Aravang Explains

Edith stared at the falcon curiously, surprised at its

tameness. Hawks, she had always thought, were wild

and not subject to domestication. Its hooked beak

and sharp talons appeared menacing.

Suddenly she beckoned the native.

"Aravang," she said, "I know you are not as

ignorant as you want to seem. You know some Eng-

lish. Even if you can't speak it very well. Now,

please pay attention. No one else will tell me any-

thing. So you must."

The falconer grinned, one hand gently Stroking the

feathers of his pet. He could not have understood

Edith's words, but he was obedient to the diange in

her voice. She faced him, one finger raised, as if he

had been a child.

''Now listen." Edith spoke very slowly and dis-

tinctly. "Aravang, who is Dono-van Khan?" She

lifted her brows and pointed to the stairway. "Who

is he?"

"Dono-van Khan."

Edith was mcMnentkrily halted but not defeated* "Id

he a real khan? Is he a khan among the Sayaks?"

She nodded toward the distant mosque.

An expression of apprehension crossed the man's

open face. He cast a wary eye at the stairs. "Sayak,

no," he muttered. "Khan, yess."

Edith understood by this that Donovan was not a

member of the religious brotherhood of Yakka Arik,

but was held in esteem by them.

"What is a khan?" she whispered. "A chief?"

The last word did not penetrate to Aravang's tmder-

standing. He shifted his feet uneasily, handling tiie

bird. Then he made a vocular effort.

'Mees effendi, Mees Rrand." He planted a fist on

157

The House of the Falcon

his own chest. "Me — kuU Dono-van Khan—

numaps/*

'What is thatr

Aravang was stumped. He could not explain. He

shook his shaggy head and extended a pleading hand,

to show his helplessness and his desire to serve his

mistress. Then his broad face brightened.

'^Manaps/* he repeated and pointed to the hawk.

"A falcon?*' She recalled that Iskander had termed

him this, and she thought of the blue letter that had

come to Monsey — *The Falcon is on the wing."

So, Monsey had been warned that Donovan was

alive.

At this, Aravang excelled himself. He drew an

imaginary sword and swung it viciously at an invis-

ible enemy, repeating the native word, as if it were a

diarm. He darted a scarred finger at the mosque from

which the throng of men and women was still emerg-

ing.

"Iskander, Dono-van Khan, manaps. Mees effendi,

thus — ^you look !''

Abruptly, he whisked the hood off the goshawk and

slipped the silver chain from its claw. For a second

the falcon hesitated. Then, with a whirr of wings, it

soared up from the balcony.

Edith watched it circle into the sky with the velocity

of an arrow. The only other winged thing in sight

was the black vulture, a carrion bird. Ordinarily, per-

haps, the hawk would not have attacked such a thing.

But now it was ravenous, having been starved by

Aravang to the proper point And the native had

trained his birds well.

In the space of a few swift moments the falcon ha4

got above the vultiu'e, which now began to fly toward

158

Aravang Explains

the pines, evidently sensing some danger; and Ara-

vang's pet had flashed down, striking the black bird

with beak and tearing daws.

Edith saw the dying bird fall into a garden not far

away. The hawk circled down close upon it. She

looked up. Aravang had gone to redeem his pet.

In the room below the girl found Donovan standing

by the table where the lunch was set He had not

touched the food, waiting until she should ccwne.

His lean face, and bright, deep-set eyes made her

think of the hawk.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE STONE CHAMBER

For the next few days Edith was very busy with

needle and thread. She had Aravang bring her one

or two garments of the Sayak women, explaining to

Donovan that she needed a pattern for her dress-

making.

She would sit by the embrasure of the stone room

on an ebony bench, her slippered feet crossed on ^

splendid Persian rug, her loose blue smock stripped

back from her forearms. Softly, sh^ hummed under

her breath, wjbile thf^ needle flew.

Donovan, now able to walk with a makeshift cane,

was frequently absent. He had long talks with the

^ leaders of the Sayaks. Once Edith saw him from the

I window, passing through the garden with Mahmoud.

She returned to her singing and her new dress. Dono-

van sick had been the object of her care; Donovan

convalescent was quite a different propositioa

''Byjover •

It was the man himself, pipe in hand, leaning against

the doorpost, his eyes on her. Not often did he come

to the stone chamber during the daytime. He con-

sidered the room as Edith's, and he was careful not

to intrude unless some occasion warranted it. How

.was he to know that she missed him : at least, she as-

sured herself, it was the empty house she dreaded.

Nothing more.

i6o

The Stone Chamber

During the last days Donovan had been more silent

than ever. He walked much, sometimes with Edith,

in the garden. At such times^ he was shy and self •

contained. But now, his eyeS|had lighted up, and a

smile softened his clear-cut ^outh.

**By Jove, you do seem a medieval matron, with

your — ^ah — ^tapestry and your Ifair loose on your shoul-

ders like that. You have notidea how beautiful you

are!"

Edith drew a quick, startled breath, and her hands

jflew'to her hair. He watched her coil jt dexterously,

admiring the plfty of her slender arms and firm fingers. ^

How graceful she was, Ije thought! How child-» I

like in her clear-eyed honesty and friendliness. He

appreciated the sterling quality of her pride and fear-

lessness. Yet it was not for that he loved her.

John Donovatf worshiped the slender slippers on

Edith's feet. Sight of the woman's f aff^iess wrought

in the lonely man a silent longing ai^d, more tHan this,

an all-powerful awe. This was the reason he^^ad been *

absent from the stone room so much. He was afraid

his presence might disturb Edith, perhaps annoy heij

He was happiest when they walked in the garden. ,

Resolutely he tried to^ keep from thinking of her —

something that was as impossible as^to keep from

breathing — or dwelling on uie happiness that her stay

in the valley had brought to him. His t^sk was to

safeguard her. ,

To Edith, the long absences of the man and his si-

lence when with her were things that troubled her.

Frequently, when he was gone, she spent hours in

trying a new adjustment of her Sayak garb, or a fresh

manner of dressing her hair. She sang to herself at

times. Often she frowned, feeling so much out of

i6i

The House of the Falcon

Donovan's life and the events that passed in Yakka

Arik.

Now a tantalizing smile twitched her lips.

''Have I aged so much? I don't feel at all

matronly/'

"Oh, I say. The tableau resembled a sketch by

Tintoretto or Paul Veronese. Really, you are no more

than a child. Twenty-two, at the most '^

"Twenty," corrected Edith, biting off a thread tran-

quilly. She surveyed the nearly-completed garment

with satisfaction. Donovan watched her, drawing at

his pipe, which — ^unknown to him — ^had gone out.

Covertly Edith stole a glance at the precious mirror

that she had adjusted near her bed. A skilled finger

poked a straying hair into place. Outwardly she

ignored Donovan. Of course.

"You know Veronese, Mr. Donovan? I adore

Masaccio. His figures seem really like men and not

just splendid counterfeits." A subtle undercurrent of

^ meaning ran through her words. "They are — so hon-

est and — ^and frank."

"Really ?" He was absorbed in the turn of her wrist

as she drew the thread through. "Oh, that Masaccio

chap has strength, no end. But Veronese is — ah — ^lux-

urious."

"Am I, then, an image of luxury?" She laughed.

"Behold a poor beggar maid, forced to make her own

clothes, and wash them, too. And a prisoner in a

pagan castle. Just how much liberty have you and

Mahmoud and Company decided to allot me?"

"All you desire, within the barriers and outside the

mosque."

"Suppose I go climb the mountains?"

"In those?" His pipe stem indicated the slippers

162

The Stone Chamber

that barely covered the soles of her stockinged feet.

**Besides, you would be turned back by the guards

in the passes."

"Haven't you the password?"

"There is no password."

A shadow crossed his expressive face. "The Sayak

chiefs are in council and within a day or two there may

be fighting in the hills. There are rumors that the

Vulture is spreading his wings again. Until the —

uncertainty is over you are safest here. I want you

to trust me, Edith."

It was the first time he had called her that The

gray eyes glanced at him fleetingly, then fell to her

work.

"Who is this Vulture, Donovan Khan? A tribal

chief?"

"Rather more." He hesitated and Edith thought

of the black bird that had passed pv«r the lake.

"Aravang says you are a falcon."

"I wish I had wings."

"But falcons are horrid, destructive things."

"Sometimes they kill what is fitting." John Dono-

van fell into one of his frequent moods of introspec-

tion. "Certain things have no right to live. Destiny,

in its course of life, adjusts that. Now, a vulture,

flying over that sheej^lbld across the lake, should be

kifled."

A new thought startled her. "Donovan Khan, wiU

you be in this feud — in danger?"

He paused to light his pipe, and then spoke casually.

"Danger? Well, you have no cause to worry, Editii.

And after all this bother is over and I have made good

my promise to the Sayaks, I will ask your release

from Yakka Arik and learn what kistnet has in store."

163

The House of the Falcon

She started. Monsey had used that word Donovan

went on amiably :

"I'm awfully grateful to fate that you came instead

of — another." He frowned swiftly. "God knows,

I don't mean that I wouldn't have you here **

"So you don't like me, after all!" Edith laughed

whimsically. "I was just thinking^ Donovan Khan»

that my aunt would envy me. Behold, perscmally con-

ducted, I have visited and seen the sights and people

of Central Asia. Hotel accommodation was provided

me free of charge. I have toured what the guide-

books can the roof of the world, and in conveyances

that popr Aunt Kate never dreamed of."

So infectious were her high sinrits the man laughed

with her. Their eyes met and hdd. Each had a mes-

sage for the other. Edith's laugh ceased. She looked

away and as she did so, he saw that she had flushed.

In this one moment the two castaways were brought

together. They had read understanding in each odir

er's eyes. And this was the time when the girl needed

the comfort of the man's confidence.

It was the last moment of pleasant camaraderie.

Neither one could know of the shadow that was dos-

ing in upon Yakka Arik, or the events that were to be

set in motion by Edith's own willfulness. Nor did

they realize how gteat would be their need of each

other.

Womanlike, Edith hastened to speak of other mat-

ters.

"You are as bad as ever, Donovan Khan. You

have changed the subject altogether, with ruthless dam-

age to my curiosity. Now, how did you come to know

who I was when I first told yo\i lyy name?"

'That is not my story, Edith. But after I under-

164

*t»

The Stone Chamber

took this thing for the Sayaks ^" he broke off.

**After I started on this venture, I stopped at one of

our advanced posts, an English station, for supplies

and weapons. There I spent the night with a fine old

chap. He was practically alone at the station. We

fell to talking. First about the service, you know,

and then about ourselves. He seemed to be lonely."

Donovan paused, with his habitual rductance to ex-

plain an3rthing about himsdf.

"This man was a friend of your mother. He had

been often in your United States, and visited her home.

Said the hospitality he received was a kind of land-

mark in his life. He — loved your mother and asked

her to marry him. But he didn't win out Another

man, you know. It was a fair field and a good fight,

he said."

Edith was intensely interested.

She understood now why Fraser-Camie had be-

friended her, knowing that the old officer cherished

the memory of her mother. It was clear that he and

the adventurer — so she thought of her companion^ —

had met at Gilghit

"So Major Fraser-Camie was your friend, too,"

she mused, and then added impulsively, "I feel sure

he and my father will trace me to Kashgar, in time,

and then they will come here ^"

"Not without a guide from the Sayaks themselves.

From the tower itself, down the ravine, Yaldga Arik

can't be seen. And ttei there are the guards."

Edith was immersed in her new .thought.

"But you say that Iskander is master of the armed

guards and that you have equal rank with him. Dono-

van Khan, surely this man in the temple who has

authority, as you say, even over Mahmoud and

165

The House of the Falcon

Iskander, must be peacefully inclined — ^if he is really

a pri^t Can't you ask him to make peace with die

person you call the Vulture and to send word to Major

Fraser-Camie?"

"No, Edith. I have never tried to see the hadji of

the mosque/' Donovan did not want to explain that,

in her present situation, any attempt to get the girl

out of Yakka Arik must fail; and he knew that she

would not understand the impossibility of diecking

the feud of the Sayaks against the man he had called

the Vulture.

In the annals of the Moslem tribes of Central Asia

there is a wrong that calls for vengeance, calls for

what is termed in their own lang^ge the "pursuit of

blood." It is a wrong that is handed down from

father to son, and to grandson; a wrong that stains

the honor of a man — and they hold personal honor

very high — ^until it is wiped out

And Donovan, in making good the task that had

brought him from India, had paid a price. He had

given his pledge to the Sayaks to aid them in striking

down the Vulture and his mates. This had kept him

an outcast for the last years and once, at Kashgar,

had nearly resulted in his death.

Thus Donovan had widened the slight breach be-

tween him and the girl, without knowing it How

was he to understand her swift impulses and her yeam-^

ing to be trusted?

Periiaps if she had not loved John Donovan she

would not have sacrificed faun and hersdf to the anger

of the Sa3raks.

CHAPTER XIX

NEW ARRIVALS

The day after their talk, as soon as John Donovan

had left the stone chamber — Edith was careful to as-

certain this by intensive listening behind her silk par-

tition — ^the girl hurried through her breakfast

Then, moved by a long-considered impulse, she rifled

the forbidden box of its telescope. Putting on her

yashmak and concealing the fruit of her theft tuider

her cloak, she tripped out of the house, through the

courtyard and garden and up the slope that led to the

pine forest

Edith ascended the motmtain side steadily until she

reached the shadow of the great trees. Here she

pushed forward between rocks and thorn patches to an

open grove. Then she surveyed the trees with a specu-

lative frown. They veiled her view of the valley.

Lack of resourcefulness was not one of her failings.

She selected a sizable hemlock, with branches con-

veniently low to the, ground, tucked her skirt more

firmly about her waist, and began to climb.

The sticky surface of the hemlock stained her fin-

gers, and the loose needles fell into her hair. She kept

on until she reached a larger branch, where, through

an opening in the trees, a clear view down the valley

was afforded.

Edith breathed a sigh of satisfaction, and began to

adjust the tdescope. A ray of sunlight flashed on the

167

The House of the Falcon

lens. This flicker of light from the branches of the

hemlock caught the eye of a man who lay hidden in

the tamarisk dtmips a short way up the mountain

side.

He was a broad, squat fellow in dirty woolen garb,

a long musket slung over his shoulder. From the shel-

ter of the tamarisks he was keeping a keen watdi over

the valley. The man had seen a movement in the hem-

lock, but had attributed it to the flutter of birds. Now,

however, he pushed his gun further behind his back

and b^an to crawl quietly downward, passing from

thorn patch to tamarisk cltmip and gliding across the

stretches of open grass.

The watcher had not far to go. He moved with the

stealth of one whose fear of observation hdd ascend-

ancy over his desire to spy. A heavy-footed, evil-

faced native, evidently a Sart, and a Sart upon a mis-

sion.

Owing to her interest in the panorama of the valley,

Edith did not notice him. The telescope was power-

ful, and she could discern plainly the details of the

hidden mosque. Its doors were closed at this early

hour ; but she could see the crimson and blue coloring

of the gate arch, and certain robed figures moving on

the balcony over the arch.

From this she turned the instrument down the lower

valley. The gorge was revealed to her, and she drew

an excited breath at seeing the gray tower perched on

the cliff, rising over the steaming vapor that wdled

from the hot springs in the stream winding down the

ravine bottom.

The square, barren tower appeared as desolate as

ever, at first. The girl, however, had strong, young

eyes and the telescope brought the scene on the cliff

i68

New Arrivals

summit dose before her vision, even at the distance of

some three miles.

So she saw the small dots that came into view around

the foot of the tower. By gazing intently, she glimpsed

horses and men. It was impossible to make out the

clothing of the men, yet Edith fancied that they did

not resemble those she had seen in Yakka Arik.

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 scrutiniz-

ing 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 moun-

tain side had been inspired by the hope of inspecting

the mosque and its entrances without being seen bjr

the Sayaks.

The sight of men at the tower stirred her pulse. In-

stinct told her they were not men of the valley. Had

her father sent a seardi party as far as the gorge?

Was rescue at hand?

Europeans were at Kashgar — ^Donovan had ad-

mitted as much. Gnild not a party from Srinagar,

perhaps tmder Fraser-Gimie, have heard of the affray

in the alley, and have traced her from Kashgar to the

mountain wilds?

Edith could have clapped her hands with delight

Instead she became suddenly quiet, with a little sigh

of suspense.

Up the slope under the pines Iskander and Mahmoud

were walking. By the alert air of the manaps the gjrl

guessed that they had seen her departure from the vil-

lage and followed. Iskander moved silently through

the brush in his soft, morocco boots, holding up the

169

The House of the Falcon

folds of his burnoose. Mahmoud followed idly as if

uninterested in the proceeding.

Whereupon Edith giggled irresistibly and nestled

closer to her branch. It was not likely that they would

see her in her perch. She felt the pleasant thrill of a

fugitive, safe from pursuers, who watches the course

of the pursuit.

The two Sayaks moved nearer, evidently at loss

where to seek for her. Iskander muttered somethii^

angrily under his breath and halted beneath the very

tree in which she sat. Mahmoud followed more

leisurely.

Edith's bright eyes surveyed the scene with satis-

faction. Then her hand flew to her throat as she stifled

aery.

Not a hundred yards away from the hemlock, and

apparently nearer because of her elevated position, she

had seen the Sart. He lay prone behind a low screen

of ferns, and his long musket was trained upon

Iskander.

There was no mistaking the intent poise of the flat-

tened body, the purpose in the head pressed dose to

the gunstock. The ferns must conceal the native from

the keen glance of the Arab.

Iskander moved slightly, to draw a cigarette from

the packet he carried in his girdle. At this, the man

behind the ferns looked up, only to settle down to his

sight again. A brown hand closed upon the trigger

guard.

"Iskander!" she cried — almost screamed — ^**Look

out, in front of you !"

Startling as the girl's voice, coming from directly

overhead, must have been, the quick-witted Arab did

not look up. He slipped behind the bole of the tree

170

New Arrivals

while Edith was still speaking. There'he drew a long,

first puff at his cigarette and exchanged ^ low warn-

ing with Mahmoud — ^the hakim being still unseen by

^ the slayer behind the thicket. Not even then did

Iskander, experienced in the vicissitudes of mountain

warfare, raise his eyes from the surrounding forest

"How many men, Mees Rand?" he asked quickly.

"And where?"

"One, that I can see," breathed the girl. "Behind

the ferns under the tamarisks. He was going to shoot

you with* a rifle."

"Good. Is he a white man or a native ?"

For a fleeting instant Edith's newly cherished hope

flashed at this mention of the nearness of possible res-

cuers. Then she reflected that a follower of Major

Fraser-Camie or her father would hardly act in the

manner of the skulker behind the ferns.

At her answer, Iskander spoke briefly with

Mahmoud.

"It was the will of Allah that I should not have my

revolver this morning," he remarked indifferently to

the apprehensive girl. "But watch! You will see an

unbeliever taste his own fear."

He remained where he was. Mahmoud advanced

I swiftly from the underbrush, his slits of eyes flickering

over the ferns in front of him. He seemed to have no

fear. Edith glanced at the slayer, who by now had

seen Mahmoud. His broad, ugly face changed. His

mouth opened and he gaped as if in the fascination of

utter dread. The girl noticed that his hands trembled.

Then, with an animal-like grunt, the Sart sprang up

I* and ran plunging through the thickets up the mountain

side.

I Iskander smiled and placed his hand to his lips.

171

The House of the Falcon

"Sayak !'' he called, in a long, high note that carried

far. "Sayak! Zikrl'*

As if an echo, a wailing cry answered from the

tipper forest. Another took up the word, more dis-

tant. Still another voice repeated faintly from a far-

off height

"Sayak!"

"You see." Iskander shrugged his shoulders.

"Why should I bleed a dog that flees, when there are

those whose task it is? Presently you will hear the

death of the dog. AhT

He had noticed the telescope. Straightway he

swung himself up into the branches, climbing swiftly,

for all his loose robe. Edith waited, feeling like a

criminal caught red-handed. She wished ardently for

John Donovan, but the white man was below in the

village.

The Arab swung himself beside her on the branch

and took the telescope. Evidently he was familiar

with such things. For some time, while the girl ob-

served him and Mahmoud squatted patiently beneath

them, Iskander swept the valley. When the tower

came within his vision, his dark face tensed. His lips

bore a slight smile as he turned to the girl, who was

still nervous — an after-effect of the scene just enacted

tmder the pines.

^'Ohi, my little winged Krd,'' murmured the Arab.

"What do you think of those — ^riders upon the diff,

where you see the tower ?"

Edith fancied that he was trying to sound her, to

learn what she had seen.

With a snap Iskander closed the telescope and thrust

it into his girdle, drawing at the cigarette he had not

ceased to smoke.

172

New Arrivals

"A score of years ago to that tower came the beast-

like Russians, stupid and without right lo the lands.

They were strong men, but lustful and very greedy.

They put up a flag and made a speech about a bound-

ary. Because of the cold, they stayed close to the

Kurgan — all but one."

He nodded reflectively.

"All but one. He was like a vulture, and this Vul-

ture and his native allies alone knew of Yakka Arik.

They came to our valley — once. They took many of

our wcmien who were bathing in the women's pools

in the shadow of the mosque. They took my daughter

and her mother."

Iskander let the cigarette fall from his fingers. He

spoke calmly, but Edith saw the glow in his deep eyes

and the veins that pulsed in his temples.

"Yess. It was the Vulture, Mees Rand. When the

Sayaks came to the Kurgan and asked for their thirty-

nine women that had been taken away, the Russian

commandant said he knew nothing of the matter. He

said that the Alamans and Turkish followers had taken

them.

"An Englishman who was hunting mountain sheep

— ^although I think he was never seen to shoot very

many — ^had pitched his tent not far from the Kurgan

and to him I carried our grievance. He said very littie,

but he talked with the Russian commandant and after

that there was much confusion and sending of mes-

sages from the Kurgan. And presently the command-

ant and his men went away from the tower,

journeying back out of our sight. The Englishman

was Dono-van Khan and although his words were very

mild, the Russians feared that he could call upon

thousands of sword points from the British in India."

173

The House of the Falcon

The girl listened eagerly, gleaning for the first time

an insight into the character of the adventurer.

"And so," explained Iskander, "we called him khan.

Afterward, he became the friend of Yakka Arik. Yet

he would not admit that he was a soldier, like the Vul-

ture. Nay, but — ^Dono-van Khan knows the name of

the man who is the Vulture, and he alone can tell me

the name of my enemy. Soon Dono-van Khan will

tell it to me.

"Aiel My daughter had seen fourteen summers.

Her eyes were like twin moons and the scent of her

hair was like the jasmine flower. Her teeth were

white pearls. I did not see her again. It was told to

me that her mother was sold in the Yarkand bazaar.

But when I traced her to Khotan and the slave house

of a merchant, she had died. But I have not forgotten

the Vulture. Come, Mees Rand, I will help you."

He assisted her to the ground. Mahmoud rose and

stalked down toward the village. Edith glanced at

Iskander pityingly and curiously. Then she uttered a

stifled cry.

Gunshots had sounded from the mountain overhead.

Two quick reports were followed by another.

Mahmoud looked up and smiled.

"The dog is dead," said Iskander, with the assurance

of one who knew he was voicing the truth. "Come !"

He strode along restlessly, a gnawing fever in his

eyes. Edith had to run to keep up, and a slipper fell

from her foot. Iskander noticed it.

"Why," she asked, "did that — ^that man run when

he saw Mahmoud ? The hakim was unarmed ^"

"Fear is sharper than a sword. The dog looked

upon the face of him who is master of the caravan,

and feared lest he be sent awa y "

174

New Arrivals

Iskander broke off. Edith remembered that she had

heard him use that phrase before. What did it mean

— ^to be sent away? She did not know. But there

was no mistaking the dread in the Sart's face. The

man had feared something, and very greatly.

CHAPTER XX

IN THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE

That day was the one Edith finished her sewing.

The new garment was complete. Alone in the stone

r6om, safe behind the canopy, the girl surveyed it with

brightened eyes. She held in her hand a complete

Sayak dress, modeled after those brought by Aravang

at her request.

This was the task that had kept her busy. Donovan,

with a man's ignorance of such matters, had not no-

ticed the character of the garment. Now, making sure

that she was unwatched, Edith slipped out of her old

dress into the new.

Putting on a heavy yashtnak and placing another

veil across her tawny hair, the girl surveyed herself in

the mirror. To all intents, except for her gray eyes,

she appeared one of the women of Yakka Arik. To

add to the effect, she touched eyebrows and eyelids with

kohl, likewise obtained from the obedient Aravang.

She still wore the slippers instead of her shoes. The

long, black outer garment, which covered the thin

shirt and Oriental trousers, fell to her feet and con-

cealed her much-darned silk stockings.

Edith draped several jwetty neridaces — gffts from

Donovan — ^about her throat and felt that her mas-

querade was complete. Then she tiptoed to the door.

The hall was silent, and she saw that the outer court

with its tiny garden was empty. The Sayaks were

either in the mosque or on the way there.

176

In the Shadow of the Temple

Seeing this, the girl slipped through a postern door

in the wall into the larger flower garden beside the

house. Qpce there, she advanced boldly into the path

that ran through the village, her little slippers patting

the dust diligently until she remembered her new part

and endeavored to walk like one of the native women

she had watched from the balcony.

Perhaps the attempt was not altogether successful.

Edith's young body had never been obliged to bear such

burdens as grain sacks, or her head a water jar. But

nearly all the women and children of the valley were

in the temple. It was the hour before noon and only

a handful of belated men were hurrying along the

paths, responsive to the wailing call of the muezzin.

Edith was going to the mosque. She would see the

man Donovan called the hadji and appeal to him to

keep her friend from danger. Now that she knew

Donovan had aided the Sayaks she felt sure that this

priest, whatever his nature, would listen to her.

The thought of Donovan removed from her and in

danger was intolerable to this girl who had never loved

before, but who now loved Donovan with an abiding

strength that was part of herself.

Edith skipped along anxious only to be within the

temple. Then, as a bent Usbek peasant, withered and

toil-\\rom, glanced at her in some surprise, she moder-

ated her steps to a* more sober gait. She did not fear

being spoken to. Observation had shown her that the

strict privacy of women, a rule among all Mohamme-

dan races, obtained in the valley.

Iskander's tale had aroused her sympathy. She had

come to understand— or thought she had — ^the harass-

ing life of the mountain dwellers of Central Asia, the

raids upon settlements by men of other religious faiths,

177

The House of the Falcon

the counter-raids, the fierce religious zeal which led

men to slay each other.

But she did not know that Yakka Arik had been in-

violate from the surges of intertribal warfare, and

this because of one thing. Fear. Nor was she aware

of the deep spirit of protection for their womenfolk

that dwelt in the hearts of the Sayaks,

Edith, because she did not understand, did not make

allowance for the code of these men — ^an eye for an

eye, a blow for a blow, a life for a life.

Her heart was beating clamorously as she slipped

past scattered groups of turbaned, swarthy men who

scarcely looked at her, owing to the general reluctance

to gaze even upon a veiled woman who belonged to

another man.

So she walked slowly across the dusty space in

front of the mosque. The stone arch rose before her.

Armed men, standing beside the gigantic trumpets that

Donovan had called the ''horns of Jericho," looked

down at her grimly from the balcony over the en-

trance. For a second the girl hesitated, feeling the

eyes of the guards upon her.

For the first time she experienced an acute fore-

boding. Had the watching sentinels who scrutinized

each newcomer, fingering their weapons, succeeded in

penetrating her disguise?

Then she heard quick footsteps in the sand, and a

tiny figure drew near her, running toward the mosque.

A Sayak child, seven or eight years of age, had fallen

behind the groups of older worshipers. Realizing

that her hesitation was attracting the attention of the

watchers, Edith took the hand of the boy and ad-

vanced beside him toward the arch. He looked up at

her playfully and trotted on manfully, perceiving no

178

In the Shadow of the Temple

diflference in this tall woman from other Sayaks — gktd,

in fact, of the aid of her hand.

A moment the clear sunlight gleamed on the white

•embroidery of her headdress ; then she passed into the

shadow of the arch — ^and repressed an involuntary cry.

Some steps led into the door of the building itself,

within the arch, and on the lowest step a hooded Arab

was sitting, scimitar across his knee.

"Peace be with you," the man murmured, not ceas-

ing to look at her. Edith had often hear3 Donovan

employ this salutation and its reply, but as she fumbled

for the Turki words in quick alarm, she heard the

shrill voice of the child.

"And upon you, also, be peace!"

With that, woman and child passed^by the sentry of

the steps and entered the outer cburt where Edith was

surprised to see a multitude of slippers of all sizes and

colors. While she wondered at this she saw the boy

remove his small footgear and go forward barefoot.

She did likewise, trusting to the gloom of the inner

chambers to conceal her stockings.

The murmur of a sonorous voice reached her.

Edith advanced tirAidly between great pillars and stood

within the mosque itself. She saw a lofty space, half

in darkness, into which light descended from a single

aperture in the roof at the end opposite her. Slender,

ornamented pillars supported a balcony with a carved

wooden rail Gold and silver ornaments lined the

walls. The light reflected dully from broad gold plates

inscribed in a manner strange to Edith.

She had not known that the mosque, whidi must

have been built actually into a cleft in the face of the

cliff, was so huge.

Directly in front of the ray of light that fell from

179

The House of the Falcon

the round opening in the dome a turbaned priest in

clean robes was reading from a heavy volume, bound

in iridescent silk, a gold chain running from the clasp

of the book to the neck of the reader. It was the vcMce

of the priest she had heard.

Facing the reader was a silent multitude. Each

Sayak, man and woman and child, knelt upon a small

prayer rug. Edith had seen them carrying these rolled

strips of carpet to the mosque and wondered what they

mi§^t be. For a moment she feared they might notice

that she carried no rug.

But the eyes of the worshipers were fixed on the

hadji. The girl drew aside softly, walking forward

along the side of the nave. Here she was behind the

Sayak ranks, and sheltered somewhat by the row of

pillars that supported the round balcony. The gloom

was deeper in this spot. No one saw the standing girl.

While she listened to the sonorous voice, quavering^ a

trifle with age, she had the sensation of being present

in one of the old cathedrals of Europe.

Then she noticed for the first time the vapor. So

lofty was the opening in the dome and of such small

extent that the ray of sunlight moved steadily. When

she entered, it had rested on the pages of the book;

then it passed over the priest. Now, while still rest-

ing upon him, it touched a rising cloud that Edith had

supposed to be incense.

Where the altar of a cathedral would have been

placed there was a raised latticework of metal — ^bronze,

brightly polished, or gold. It resembled the delicate

marble kiosk of the garden of the stone house.

Through the apertures of the fretwork a cloud of heavy

vapor swirled up.

So heavy was the vapor, it might have been steam.

i8o

In the Shadow of the Temple

The mosque, in fact, was warmed by it. Edith had

fancied for a brief moment that it was incense, rising

from a gigantic censer. Then she recalled the hot

springs of the lower lake.

Evidently the mosque itself had been erected over

one of the sources, and the vapor welled from the hot

depths of the water.

The sunlight had just reached the vapor when the

priest ceased his reading and lifted both lean arms.

A high chant rose from his lips, and he turned to face

what Edith still fancied the white incense. And this

man, she felt, was the hadji of whom Donovan had

spoken.

^Wwri Muhammed /all Allah f*

And the multitude responded:

'Ta iVoha ill Allahr

As one, the heads bent downward toward the breasts

of the worshipers. Long folds of the white turbans

were detached and laid over the left shoulder. As if

perfonliing a well-learned ritual, certain lines of

Sayaks rose, with extended arms. Others remained

kneeling.

The sight of the concentric rings of multicolored

garments, the intent faces, and the lifted hands made

Edith draw back, fearful of observation. Utter si-

lence had fallen on the mosque.

In the silence, the worshipers appeared to be await-

ing something. She saw that they were gazing at the

vapor. By now Edith realized that this was no ordi-

nary Mohammedan mosque.

And then she saw John Donovan.

In the intervals between the Sayak lines he was

walking, looking closely at the figures of the kneeling

women.

i8i

The House of the Falcon

No one molested Donovan. Apparently he was en-

titled to enter the mosque. Edith felt that he had

missed her, and had come to seek her.

Then the lines of standing men began to move from

side to side. One voice, then another, took up a re-

frain :

"Hai—hai! Allah, hair

They placed their lifted hands on the shoulders of

their comrades and swayed their bodies in cadence.

They seemed to be moving toward her.

''Hair^hm! Allah, hair

It was a low chant that rose and echoed against the

lofty dome. It grew into a rush of sound, in which

the echoes were lost. Edith felt the beat of the pas-

sionate cry grip her senses.

Donovan did not halt He pushed through the

moving men toward her position. The chant changed,

as the men formed into long, sinuous lines that circled

before the priest and the ray of stmligfat.

''Yah hai yah Allah. AUah Akharr

At this the white man quickened his steps. He al-

most ran down the side of the nave, looking sharply

into the shadows. Edith wanted to call to him, but

did not dare. A fe^ moments before she would have

wished to keep her disguise a secret. Clothed as she

was, how was Donovan to know her?

Yet she wanted him to recognize her. She felt the

need of his protection, understanding how reckless she

had been in coming. And when he halted to peer at

her, she drew a deep breath.

For a long moment John Donovan was a man of

stone, so keenly he scrutinized every detail of her

clothing and figure. The girl trembled in the effort

to keep from speaking. Then he stepped casually

182

In the Shadow of the Temple

nearer to one of the pillars and leaned against it with

folded arms.

"Edith, why in the world did you come here?"

"I came — ^to see the priest, to try to end this war

with the Vulture,'* she whispered.

At that Donovan turned away, so that she could

not make out whether he was angered or not.

"Wait," she caught his answering whisper, "until

the Sayaks have passed out. The women would see

through you."

His face was expressionless as he watched the ac-

tions of the priest. Edith saw that the sun's ray had

fallen full on the swirling vapor. Color, limitless, im-

palpable, iridescent, flooded the vapor. A haze of

shimmering green and purple and red hung from dome

to well. It was as if a veil of supernatural softness

and beauty had been dropped from the sky.

And in the heart of the steaming vapor the hadji

had taken his stand. He had ascended the gold f ret-

woric by some hidden steps and now stood on the top

of the grille, with clouds of steam rising on all sides of

him.

CHAPTER XXI

A VEIL IS DRAWN

Edith gazed at the apparition in bewildered sur-

prise. The splendor of the flooding color had taken

away her breath* She did not understand how the old

priest, motionless in the stream of light, could survive

the heat. But his aged face was tranquil.

A murmur rose from the throng; dark eyes shone.

Then the vapor and the temple itself were plunged in

semidarkness. The aperture in the dome had been

closed. Edith could no longer see the priest

Following an interval of quiet, came the rustle of

many bare feet as the Sayaks began to pass out of the

mosque. Now that her eyes were more accustomed to

the dim light Edith could see them gathering up their

prayer rugs.

Her quick mind had caught the explanation of the

radiant color of the vapor clouds. It could have been

nothing less than a rainbow. Light, from the opening

in the dome, had fallen upon the steam and gathered

strength until the clouds of moisture reflected the pris-

matic coloring of the rainbow.

But the performance of the hadji was still beyond

her tmderstanding.

*Tt is a ritual,'* whispered Donovan, who had drawn

nearer in the shadow, "that occurs only two or three

times in a summer. Then the priest of Yakka Arik

184

A Veil is Drawn

steps into that confounded steam. It does not hann

him/'

"Whyr

He hesitated, unwilling to explain further, but

anxious not to reveal to her his growing anxiety.

*'You chose a bad time to come here, Edith. It is

what the Sayaks call 'the miracle of life.' This mosque

is their holy spot. The spring underneath has a good

deal of sanctity attached to it. Some old legend, you

know. Just at noon the sun pierces the hole in the

roof."

*Tt was beautiful," she murmured. "But to see the

hadji — ^it gave me the creeps."

Within, the gloom of the vast mosque weighed upon

the two. Edith found herself gazing from shadow

to shadow fearfully and listening for footsteps that

she fancied were moving toward them. Impulsively

she stepped to his side and took his hand, surprised to

find it so chill.

"Are we in such danger?" she whispered. Then:

"You came to find me."

This thought filled the woman with mute delight.

She wanted him to understand that she, also, had been

thinking of him. "I believed the hadji would help us

if I told him ever3rthing —

The dome opened again, letting the ray of sunlight

stream into the depths of the temple. They had heard

no movement, nor had they seen the hands that worked

the aperture. Donovan's hand closed on hers protect-

ingly as her eyes sought him shyly, seeing in his clean-

cut profile the gentleness and honesty of his race.

"Dear Edith, you must understand. The Sayaks

are not ordinary Mohammedans, but are outlawed by

the orthodox followers of the Prophet. They are

185

The House of the Falcon

preyed upon by Turk, Alaman, and Buddhist *'

"Why?"

"They worship the sua"

Edith was silent, thinking of the ray of light that

had descended upon the priest, and the praying throngs

that had raised Aeir eyes to it,

"The hadji is their saint, Edith. And they have

carefully concealed the location of his temple from their

enemies **

She saw that while he spoke he was watching the

folds of the heavy curtain that hung behind the vapor.

Seeing this, she felt an impulse to turn and flee from

the mosque that seemed to be closing in upon them.

We know — ^both of us, now," he went on quietly,

the secret of Yakka Arik. ^And every fanatical muilah

from Constantinople to Kashgar would willingly lose

his fingers and eyes if he could help tear down this

temple of the sun— older than San Sophia, and a thorn

in the side of Moslem political power "

The curtain folds swayed, as if a breath of air had

stirred them. The voices outside the entrance quick-

ened and Edith had the fleeting sensation of being

encompassed in a trap. She pressed dose to the man,

who smiled down at her.

"We'll make it, yet. Come, Edith."

The voices of the worshipers in the court were no

longer to be heard. Edith could not help glancing be-

hind her as they started from the shelter of the pillars.

She had fancied that the curtains had parted, drawn

back by a hand from within.

"How did you follow me?** she asked gently, wish-

ing to hear from his own lips why he had sought her.

"Aravang. Don't fear that he will give you away.

He lost track of you and became worried. He hunted

i86

A Veil is Drawn

me up. I knew if that beggar couldn't find you some-

thing must be wrong. Then we learned from an Usbek

peasant that he had seen a Sayak woman come from

the house "

Abruptly he thrust her back.

"Iskander and two others have come in/' he whis-

pered sharply. "Edith, go back to the wall. Hide."

The girl, her heart beating tumultuously, lost no time

in slipping back into the shadow of the wall. A slight

projection of the granite blocks offered a shallow nook

for her slender body.

John Donovan waited, while Iskander, Mahmoud,

and another — ^the Sayak chief — ^approached. They

had seen him and advanced to where he stood.

Iskander fronted him with folded arms. To the white

man's greeting he returned no answer.

**Where is Mees Rand ?" he asked slowly.

Donovan eyed him steadily, trying to guess how the

Arab had come to look for the girl and how much he

knew of her actions. The presence of Mahmoud and

the chieftain was ominous. Still, he was reasonably

sure that Edith's disguise had not been penetrated.

For a space the two measured each other silently.

Behind them the folds of the great curtain parted.

"Where is the white woman?" said Iskander again.

Donovan shrugged. "Does not Aravang know?"

"He knows nothing." The Arab tugged at his beard,

as was his habit when aroused. "Speak, Dono-van

Khan. I know that she is here. The guards at the

door brought me a pair of woman's slippers, left be-

hind when all had gone. I have seen the slippers be-

fore. They belong to Mees Rand."

Listening in her nook a dozen feet away, Edith

thought of the pair she had discarded at tiie gate.

187

The House of the Falcon

Why had she not kept them on ? She had instinctivdy

f oflowed the example set by the Sayak boy.

"The door is guarded/' observed the mandps softly.

"And there is but one door. If you do not summon the

woman, we will find her."

Donovan weighed the alternatives swiftly and made

up his mind. "Edith!'* he called, from set lips.

It was hard for Edith to step from her place of con-

cealment to face the three Sayaks. But she trusted

John Donovan.

When she neared the Arab, he tore the veil from her

face with his free hand, and scrutinized the native

garb of the girl, and his eyes narrowed.

"You came secretly," he said slowly. "You were

here during the festival of the sim."

"I was here," she said boldly.

The admission seemed to surprise the two others

when it was translated to them. For a moment they

stared at her. Then they conferred among themselves.

John Donovan stood. a little apart, waiting. To Edith

the situation seemed not so very serious because the

four men were so calm. She now heartily regretted

her foolishness in disobeying Donovan. She won-

dered why he was so silent. Surely he could speak,

assure the Sayaks that she had not meant to spy upon

their secrets !

Iskander addressed Donovan in the native tongue :

"O Dono-van Khan, this is a woman of your peo-

ple. You know the law. Perhaps you will think It

wise to leave the mosque rather than remain."

Donovan stiffened ; but he answered quietly :

"I shall remain."

"So be it. Yet, it is not wise. She is very fair.

Why should you see her die?"

i88

A Veil is Drawn

At this a short sigh escaped Donovan, the only si|;n

that he had had his gravest fear confirmed.

''Is this the wiU of Mahmoud?"

"Aye." The hakim answered for himself..

"Iskander would have let the woman go safely from

the mosque, under a pledge of silence. But I have

read the hearts of many women, I know that their

tongues cannot be silenced."

'"Yet I am free to go."

"That is the truth. But you we need. Likewise, it

is written that a strong man is faithful to his word.

We have no fear that you will voice the secrets of

others."

Edith glanced from one to the other, trying to read

their faces. All four were speaking quietly, as if dis-

cussing some small matter of common interest. Dono-

van knew that only in persuading the Sayaks to change

their minds was there hope for Edith.

It was the Sayak chief who spoke harshly.

"The task of the woman is finished now that she has

healed Dono-van Khan. 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 cluld. We will not set her upon the caravan. Be-

sides, she is a white woman, and it is best her body

should not be seen — ^without."

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

189

The House of the Falcon

alert Uue 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

paia'*

CHAPTER XXII

A PLEDGE

It was Mahmoud who signed for Edith to follow

him toward the rear of the mosque. As John Donovan

was silent, she obeyed hesitatingly.

Here was the bronze grating, raised some few feet

from the tiled floor, and behind it the damask curtain

that hung in dark folds from the edge of the dome to

the floor. Glancing up, the girl saw that the sun's ray

had vanished; overhead, through the dome's opening,

a long cleft, dividing solid rock was visible. Only for

an hour at midday did the sun strike down this natural

shaft in the rock.

Edith heard a dull, purring sound from beneath.

Underfoot there was a slight, continuous vibration as

the hidden springs seethed and boiled. The heat rose

from the vapor and touched her face.

"What is it?" she asked Donovan, her low voice

trembling in spite of her effort at control.

"Wait. Do not be afraid."

She tried to smile in answer, as Mahmoud took the

veil from Iskander, who still held it, and wound it

tightly about her arms and body. Then he looked up

and spoke to the manaps, who slowly removed his own

shawl girdle and handed it to the physician. Mahmoud

turned to Donovan, who was watching from smolder-

ing qres.

"In this way there will be no pain, Dono-van Khan.

191

The House of the Falcon

We will bind the white woman and lay tier upon the

raised place. Then the hot vapor will creep into her

throat Soon she will be dead/'

Donovan was smiling — a habit of the man when his

thoughts were racing and there was danger to be met

"Mahmoud," he began slowly, almost painfully, "you

must listen to what I have to say. 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 beauti-

ful 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. If she lives, she could reveal the site of Yakka

Arik to our enemies outside. Aye, and the hatred of

the wolf for the wolfhound is not greater than the

hate of the orthodox Mohammedans for us — ^who

worship the stm. She must be silenced, so that Yakka

Arik will be inviolate."

"The wolfhound hunts," smiled Donovan, "and he

has need of one who will put him upon the scent of

the wolf. The falcon is loosed — ^but a hand must first

release him. I am your friend, and the hour is near

when you will hunt Without me your plans will be

like water cast upon the hot sand at midday. You

need me." Donovan turned to Mahmoud. "You

know that a bargain between two righteous men is like

a signed bond. Very well. I will make a bargain.

192

I A Fledge

Let Miss Rand live, and I will pledge my honor as

surety that she will never speak of Yakka Arik outside

the valley. It is in my heart to marry Miss Rand if

she will consent."

The Sayak chief shook his head.

"It is not enough. We are no more than servants

of Hm" — he pointed to the curtain into which the

hodji had retired — "and the law of Yakka Arik is

binding. Miss Rand must die."

Donovan looked up at the circle of sky framed in

the dome-opening. He drew a long breath and his

shoulders stiffened He had lost his point.

He knew that there was no hope in resistance. Hid-

den eyes were watching from behind the great curtain.

Iskander and the chief were armed. A cry from

Mahmoud would bring a dozen Sayak guards from

the barred door. Even if he could account for the

three Sayaks, — ^and, weaponless, this was impossible —

he could not leave the mosque with the girl. Fleetingly

he thought of seeking the hadji, as a last card to be

played in the face of the Sayaks' will.

But, knowing the settled purpose of these men, he

did not dare leave Edith's side even for a moment.

Instead he turned swiftly upon the silent Iskander.

"Scion of Tahir," his words came with the ring of

command, "you have drawn sword in the army that

once was mine. You have shared the bread and salt

of the English. Will you remain passive and see this

woman slain?"

The Arab bent his handsome head ; his thin fingers

plucked at his beard

''EfFendi, it is written and what is written will come

to pass."

"Iskander, you are my brother in arms. Once I

193

The House of the Falcon

saved your life in battle, when we followed the trail

of him who killed your wife and daughter. Is the

mirror of your honor clouded ? Or will you grant me

the request that I will ask — the one thing I will ask of

you?^'

Iskander plucked forth his sword; his dark eyes

roved and the veins stood out on his forehead.

"Speak!" he moaned. "I will obey. May Allah,

the Generous, forgive!"

At this the Sayak chieftain glared, and gripped his

dagger in a powerful fist. So deep was the mosque in

shadow, so quiet the group by the vapor gate, they

might have been five worsWpers gathered in prayer —

except for the veil that boimd the limbs of the woman.

Edith was watching Donovan steadfastly, biting her

lips to quiet their trembling.

A slight breeze passed through the shadows, cooling

the damp foreheads of Donovan and Iskander and

touching the yellow curls of Edith Rand.

The white man put hand to belt. But, as the Sayak

chief looked up intently, he slipped loose the leather

strap at his waist and held it out to Iskander.

"Man of Tahir," he said, "here is a cord to bind me.

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 si-

lence, the balance of judgment was poised. Then scrnie

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

194

A Pledge

beard, was almost invisible under the loose folds of a

white turban. He looked from one to the other and

nodded slowly.

. "I have heard — I have seen."

The chief and Iskander released their weapons.

Donovan drew a deep breath.

"I have seen the life of a man offered with that of

the woman," went on the hadji, his sonorous voice

awaking echoes under the dome. "A life for a life.

It is sufficient. It fulfills the law, which is not alone

of revenge, but of mercy."

Edith fancied that he smiled.

"O, my foolish children! Did you think tiiat the

peace of Yakka Arik and its mosque rested upon the

tongue of one woman? Let the white man and the

woman go free from the mosque."

With that he turned, to disappear through the cur-

tain, and the Sayaks bent reverent eyes to the floor.

The master of Yakka Arik had spoken.

At the door Iskander touched Donovan on the ann.

"Do not forget the pledge," he whispered. "Miss

Rand must not attempt to leave the valley."

"I will not forget," said Donovan.

They found Aravang striding up and down outside

the guards, his broad face harassed. At sight of

them, he ran forward.

"Take the white woman to her house," commanded

Donovan. "I must go with the Sayaks. There is much

to be done."

Edith, once more in possession of her veil and slip-

pers, lingered. H^r eyes sought those of John Dono-

van. "TeU me," she begged. "I know we were — ^in

danger."

"Perhaps." He laughed, at the proscribed word.

195

The House of the Falcon

''After all, the mosque is not a safe place for inquisi-

tive young women/'

"I will never do anything you forbid again, Dono-

van Khan/' she promised contritely. "Never. What

did the hadji say ?"

"He said " Donovan paused. "Well, for a

heathen, he said a rather fine thing. Now, you must

go with Aravang, Lunch is waiting '■

"Not," responded Edith firmly, "until you assure

me that you are perfectly safe. And promise to come

right away and tell me everything."

His glance rested long on her anxious face. He

wanted to take her in his arms, to feel that she was

still whole, to press his lips against the tangle of her

hair. Edith did not look away. So, Donovan Khan

laughed just a little unsteadily.

" 'Everything* may mean more — ^than you think,"

he whispered.

Not until she had passed across the open space with

burly Aravang at her heels, both looking back at him

more than once where he stood among the Sayaks, did

he realize that he was trembling.

Edith sat on the small balcony overlooking the val-

ley, chin on hand. Her thoughts strayed willfully.

Detail by detail the scene at the mosque repeated itself

before her fancy; the impress of the light veil still

lingered on her limbs ; she visioned the Hash of Iskand-

er's melancholy eyes— rremembered the tranquil words

of the priest — ^words that she could not understand.

"It was some kind of a benediction, I think," she

mused.

What had it all been about ? Edith was aware that

she had been an onlooker at a grim struggle, the

meaning of which she would not know until Donovan

iq6

A Pledge

explained. In the conflict Donovan had emerged vic-

torious. But — so thought the giri — ^he must have paid

some price for his success.

Why did he not come? She wanted him to tell her

everything.

"Everything," she repeated, and the watching

Aravang saw her face brighten.

The sun declined behind the ridge that backed the

house. The coolness of its shadow recalled Edith to

herself. She went below and for the second time that

day changed her attire.

When she emerged from her curtained compart-

ment she wore the ball dress that had come with her

from Kashmir. A scarf covered her bare shoulders.

Her cheeks were rosy with the touch of the afternoon

sun, and the tawny hair was dressed low on her neck

in the manner Donovan admired.

Aravang gaped ; then grinned delightedly. His god-

dess had robed herself in a new aspect of divinity.

He announced importantly by signs that he had pre-

pared dinner — ^an excellent dinner. Edith shook her

head.

"Donovan Khan," she ordered. "Find him. Say

that I want him to come to me."

The servant hesitated, pretending diat he did not

understand. But Edith knew better, and waved him

away on his mission. Experience had taught Aravang

the advisability of obeying her; nevertheless, he went

slowly.

Meanwhile Edith bethought her tiiat her hair would

need a flower to set it off. She had made her toilette

as anxiously as a debutante at a first dance. It was

her wish that John Donovan should think her fair

when he came to the house,

197

The House of the Falcon

"The house of the Falcon," she repealed, and rather

liked the sound of it

Smilingly she reflected how once she had dreaded

the thought of coming to the house. Now the tiny

stone edifice, with its tinier kiosk, seemed to beckon

her. It was Donovan's.

It was a poor kind of garden, after all, the roses

thin and fast falling to the earth. Weeds overgrew

the paths and the stone walls. Edith knew, however,

where certain blue grass-flowers were still to be f otmd.

She sought for them in the swiftly gathering twilight

that falls upon the vaUeys when the sun is obliterated

behind the mountains. That morning she had read

Donovan's love in his eyes — ^truthful eyes that could

not lie.

Edith was stooping over a verdant tangle in a cor-

ner of the wall when she saw a tall, white-clad figure

moving toward her. With her flowers firmly grasped,

she rose and extended a hand, smiling not altogether

steadily. She had not expected Donovan so soon.

Thai the blue blossoms fell at her feet, and the hand

dropped to her side.

The man was Monsey.

Edith watched, bewildered, as he hastened to her,

stooping as he did so under the wall.

"Miss Rand," he said quickly under his breath, "I

did not mean to stjurtle you. We must be very quiet.

We must leave at once." He was breathing heavily

as if he had been running and a muscle twitched per-

sistently in his cheek.

Surprised, she faced him, trying to accotmt for his

appearance. Monsey had come from the direction

of the small gate through whidi she had passed to the

mosque. She saw him glance toward it anxiously.

198

A Pledge

"I have been watching you through glasses all this

afternoon* Yes, Miss Rand^ — from the hill behind

the hut. Now is our chance. The native guard in

the ravine behind the mosque has been slain, but the

devils are thick on the moimtain side ^"

Edith would have given much to read his face.

Monsey's coming had at first filled her with expecta-

tioa Had aid from Kashmir reached Yakka Arik ?

"Your father sent me." The man spoke impa*

tiently. *T have risked much to come here to-night

Do not wait to get any other clothing. 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 swote imder his breath and leaned nearer.

"No! He is sick. Come! You do not under-

stand. You must go or these devils will see us, and

that will be the end of us all. Nom (fun nomr

Edith strove to think, to decide. She had no rea-

son to doubt that Arthur Rand had sent the Russian.

The man's presence in the garden, which must be de-

cidedly dangerous to him, was evidence to back his

words. It was her instinctive distrust of Monsey that

made her pause — ^that, and another thought Donovan

had told her of his pledge that she would not leave

Yakka Arik without the consent of the Sayak diiefs.

"Your father will be at my camp soon," he urged.

"I have a friend," she said quickly. "He should

199

The House of the Falcon

be here any minute. I will not leave without him.

He has given his parole for me."

*'A friend !" Monsey hissed angrily. "Some native.

Have I come here to risk my neck for any one but

you? The valley is guarded —

Like a clarion from the skies, the long trumpet

blast of Yakka Arik devastated the twilight quiet

Monsey started, and caught the girl's wrist

**You hear? Ah." He fancied that he saw a

movement on the terrace overlooking the garden.

^Tfou must come, before the guard is changed —

now "

'Xet me think." Edith was trying to grasp the

situation. Reason told her that John Donovan, alone,

would find it easier to win free from Yakka Arik than

if burdened with her. Because they trusted him, the

Sayaks obeyed him. But the girl found that she did

not want to leave the valley without John Donovan.

"No," she said, "I can't explain it all"^ — she was a

trifle breathless with the ui^gent need of the situation

—"Donovan Khan will soon be here. I will not do

anything without him ^"

"A khan?" Monsey, intent on die balcony that was

shrouded in gloom, caught only vaguely the name.

"Edith, do you want them to find me here?" Under

his breath he muttered: "Don't think, young lady,

that I also am a fool."

He stepped nearer, his hand rising suddenly to her

face. He had caught the silk shawl in his fingers.

The girl, startled and suspicious, tried to draw away.

But Monsey wrapped the shawl quickly about her head,

holding it fast with an arm that he passed around

her shoulders. The other arm caught her close to

him, lifted her from the ground

200

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PLEDGE IS BROKEN

''Excellency, the night was coming and the gar-

den was a place of shadows. Even so, for the trum-

pets had blown. An owl could have seen. I am not

an owl. How was I to know? All unworthy, thou

despisest me. Truly, my sorrow has gripped me —

here/'

Aravang was speaking in his own tbngue. As he

ended he smote his muscled chest with a knotted fist

that made the hollow within his bones echo like a

drum. Air escaped his bearded lips in a long, hissing

breath.

Impatiently, Donovan moved. He was standing,

feet planted wide, at the edge of the balcony overlook-

ing the garden and the gray expanse that was the lake's

surface. Under impulse of a fresh breeze the water's

margin lapped against the stones.

"From the beginning," he said slowly, "tell me what

you did and what you saw. I da not blame you.

But I must know."

Aravang squatted on his heels, facing the lake, strug*

gling with the need of intelligent speech. Unlike

Iskander, he was a man of few words, and fewer

ideas. While the native talked, the white man bent

nearer to catch each syllable. His brain was afire with

the need of action. Yet men who have commanded

others in the armies of the world know the folly of

action upon insufficient information.

20I

The House of the Falcon

''Excellency, I am thy kul. Did I not slay the gig

of a Jain Ali Beg, who betrayed thee? And for the

white woman I would give the blood from my sev-

ered veins — ^aye. She sent me to seek thee. I passed

through the village, looking on all sides. An Usbdc

told me that the council had disbanded, and so I has-

tened back, thinking that thou wouldst be again at

the stone house, and hungry.

"Two I saw in the garden, but not the faces. One

was a woman."

"Are you sure it was your mistress ?*'

Aravang grunted a disconsolate affirmative.

"Aye. Should I not know the murmur of her voice,

even from afar? The other I thought to be thee, for

it was a white man. Dog that I am, I waited, listen*

ing, and fearful to speak to the higher ones. Then

she said thy name, Dono-van Khan, very loudly. The

white man made response, then took her in his arms.

I was glad. I have known the longing that is in your

veins for the white wcwnan. Aye, I have seen the

light of desire in her eyes **

"Aravang!" Donovan felt ashamed, as if he had

been caught spying on the woman he loved. Then a

hot exultation gripped him, to pass as swiftly as it

came and leave him cold.

"Spit upon thy unworthy slave, master! Call me

even a dog. Oh, I am unworthy. While I watched,

this man took her in his arms and bore her to the small

gate, the one that leads to the forest. The gate opened

before him and then closed ; this thing I heard.

"It was unwonted. Master, I knew thy custom to

go always alone. If the gate closed, thus, when the

white man held my mistress in his arms, another hand

must have closed it So, when I felt of the gate from

202

The Pledge is Broken

within and found it fast, I scented evil. Then I

climbed the wall. Donovan Khan, there is a sniall

moon to-night. By its light I saw shadows moving

into the forest. I followed.

"By the sound of their passage I traced them.

After a long time, at one of the upper goat paths I

heard the khanum cry out, (Mice. Am I not her

dog? I ran forward to strike and slay, even though

I held no weapon — ^not a knife. In the goat path

where the new moon struck through the trees stood

a dozen armed men with horses. They mounted and

spurred away, two by two.*'

"Which way?"

"To the lower vallqr. The bits of the horses were

muffled, likewise the hard leather of their hoofs. For

a space I ran behind, seeking to gain the side of my

mistress. They saw me and went faster Then the

thought came to me that I should seek thee with the

news. I waited until I knew they were riding beyond

the valley and not to the mosque. Then I ran down

the mountain side to the stone house, where thou wert

sitting ''

Aravang ceased, and fell into expectant silence. The

balcony was quiet, except for the native's deep breath-

ing and the broken murmur of the lake. Now and then

a gust sho<^ the pine branches high over their heads.

For five minutes John Donovan was immobile. In

that time he experienced the bitterness that comes to

a man with misfortune not of his deserving* Also,

with the necessary calmness of a trained soldier, he

revised the whole of the plans he had formed with

the Sayaks that afternoon, and made others. And,

gravely, he prepared to face the consequences of a

broken oath.

203

The House of the Falcon

Edith Rand had left Yakka Arik.

His only information was the story of Aravang.

Donovan could not know whether she had gone will-

ingly or not. Yet, he bdieved she had been taken

forcibly,

"Aravang," he voiced the result of hb thoughts,

run through the village, to the mosque. Summon

Iskander first, to come speedily here. Aye — ^bid all

the Sayak leaders and Mahmoud to come. Say that

I must speak with them. Go swiftly !"

"Excellency, I hear^' — ^the servant rose and dropped

from the rail of the balcony to the earth, mutterin^g^,

"It shall be done. I am a dog, but a dog can run — ^''

Donovan looked at the stars, to mark the hour.

He went below to the empty sleeping room. Ara-

vang had set the table, with lighted candles that flick-

ered in the passing breaths of wind. The sight of

Edith's empt^ chair stirred him strangely, and he

moved it away from the table.

The curtained recess that had been Edith's was dark.

He could make out vaguely the outlines of soft gar-

ments hanging in orderly array beside the bed. A

very faint scent of rose leaves came to him. Pushing

aside his untouched plate, Donovan buried his face in

his hands.

The room was chilly, in spite of the embers of the

fire Aravang had kindled in the grate. When the cur-

tains that screened Edith's quarters swayed, Donovan

looked up with a start to see only the dressing shelf

the girl had fashioned laboriously — ^the mirror fixed in

a chink in the stone, the silk-covered board bearing

comb and pins, sewing materials.

Everything that had belonged to Edith was in its

place. Could she have meant to leave him ? Had she

204

The Pledge is Broken

fashioned her disguise of the morning for this pur-

pose?

"After all," he murmured, "my house wouldn*t ap-

peal to hen Perhaps she guessed that I meant to ask

her to marry me. I wonder. Did you, Edith?"

Swift, poignant loneliness smote him. And as

quickly came the phantom of jealousy to mock at him.

"She knew you had given your word to the Sayaks,

gibed the imp in his brain. "Didn't she? Of course,

she did r

"But she wouldn't leave without speaking to me,"

reasoned the hope that would not forsake Donovan in

spite of Edith's disappearance.

"Ha!" mocked the imp. "Wouldn't she? How

do you know? Did the girl consult you before she

ran away to the temple ? And why did she go up the

mountain, before that — just when one of the Vulture's

Sarts sneaked through the lines? After all, my dear

fdlow, can you trust a woman? And the Vtdture's

handsome — Monsey, you know — ^he's devilishly hand-

some. Women trust him."

"Edith wouldn't listen to a scoundrel," maintained

Donovan's love.

"That's just the point," reasoned the imp logically.

"She doesn't know his record, nor that he is the Vtd-

ture. What did the Sayaks tell you in the council

this afternoon? They had information from Kashgar.

Monsey spread the news there that he is leading a party

to rescue Miss Rand. And that she is engaged to

marry him."

"He lied !" cried^ Donovan, aloud. "I trust her."

"But does she care for you?" The mocking voice

became fainter. "Didn't she leave you, of her own

accord '*

205

The House of the Falcon

"No !*' cried the faith that was in DonovaxL "She

was carried off !"

And now the voice was silenced.

Iskander strode in, swaggering and fully armed.

When the Arab saw that Donovan would not speak

he glanced curiously at Edith's empty chain

Others of the Sayaks came, among them the chief,

and finally Mahmoud. Each one looked at him fleet-

ingly, then knelt on cushions or against the wall, ad-

justing striped silk robes, and thrusting their hands

into the wide sleeves.

"You have summoned us and we are here. The

council of Sa3rak chieftains waits until you speak.''

Donovan leaned back in his chair and his glance

went from face to face along the wall — dark faces,

keen of eye, that did not turn from his scrutiny. His

lips moved wordlessly as he murmured to himself:

"Isn't it just my bally luck? Every minute we lose

before going after Edith is worth— well, there's no

price high enough. But I can't act — I can't think of

acting — ^until I've made a clean breast to these chaps

who trust me now as they always have, but whose na-

tures won't let them keep from suspecting me if I tdl

them Edith's gone. Iskander, of course, will back me

tp a certain extent — ^no farther. Won't do now to

strain his friendship or to bank on my word alone,

again."

His lined face was grave, his dear eyes purpose-

ful; but he was tired and his pulse throbbed heavily.

Edith's departure jeopardized the fruits of years of

work— of the mission that had taken him from the

army. Laboriously he had won the faith of tile Say-

aks. And now

He had made a pledge to the Sayaks and the pledge

206

The Pledge is Broken

had been broken, through no fault of his. Would

they understand? If they did not

"Edith's gone," he repeated to himself, "to the

Tower. After all, that's what matters."

The certainty of his love returned fourfold and un-

settled his reasoning. He could only think of one

thing — ^Edith was gone and he must go after her, but

was kept from doing that very thing. He straight-

ened in his chair and spoke to Iskander.

"Send a rider to the ravine behind the mosque to

learn what is to be seen there, where the guard stood.

Let the rider report here what he has seen."

Before assenting or refusing, the Arab consulted the

other Sayaks with a glance. One, a swaggering

Afghan whose evil-smelling wool was belted with a

priceless sword, rose and left the room.

From the road outside came a clatter of hoofs.

Donovan was gazing thoughtfully into the fire. "The

white woman has left Yakka Arik," he said.

The faces of the Sa3raks remained impassive, but

all eyes turned at once to him. Iskander, leaning

against the wall, played with a gold necklace at his

throat

"You made a pledge," he responded softly.

"I have not broken it, Iskander ^"

"Speak not in English," warned the Arab, "or these

others will suspect and grow angry."

"Bear witness," Donovan slipped easily into Turki,

"as to the truth of what I say ^"

"If it be truth," broke in one harshly. To inter-

rupt a sahib was insolence.

"A fool, out of an empty mind, questions wisdom,

and a jackal yelps from a pack." Donovan fastened

the surly spedcer with his blue eyes. "Have you not

207

The House of the Falcon

given me the rank of manapsT Have you known me

to lie, or to speak merely that I might hear the sound

of my voice?" The Sayak who had interrupted him

looked uncomfortable. ''Bear witness, Sayaks/' Don-

ovan raised his low voice a little. ''Was I not at the

council since the shadows have changed (since noon) ?

After that, you know that I came here, and that I sum-

moned you directly. Is this not so?"

Silence answered him, and Donovan's lips tightened.

"In that time," he pointed out, "I could not have

taken the white woman through the guards and re-

turned. Aravang knows that I was here."

Mahmoud spoke mildly, without raising his eyes.

"The kill is lowborn, Dono-van Khan: his word

we will not hear. Because of our trust in you, be-

cause you have aided Yakka Arik, and because your

word is the word of Dono-van Khan, we will listen.

Tell now how the woman came to depart from Yakka

Arik." He paused, weighing his words. "It is well

that you have spoken thus. For we knew that the

woman was free of our guards. A watcher on one

of the cliffs saw her ride hence, with several men

who were not sayaks."

Donovan saw into the trap Mahmoud's subtle mind

had set for him.

"You ask, O healer of the sick,'* he observed

slowly, "that I tell how the khamitn escaped. Nay,

when I saw it not, nor had a share in what came to

pass, what can I tell that you do not know ? Only this

I know. By force was the woman taken, not by her

own will."

Having fought out his own battle and having kept

his belief in Edith Rand, he could tdl them this with

assurance.

208

The Pledge is Broken

Some one — ^the native who had first matched words

with him — ^arose.

*'Dono-van Khan/' he said slowly, "well are you

named the Falcon, if yours is an all-seeing eye, if you

can see what passes upon the mountain slope when

your body is within the council hall." There was a

challenge and mockery in his words. "Why should

the khanum be loath to leave Yakka Arik? Does a

caged dove struggle against freedom?"

"I will explain that."

A sneer touched the thin lips of the native. Mah*

moud's beadlike eyes glittered.

"Does your explaining alter the fact that the veil

of secrecy, kept for ten generations, has been torn from

Yakka Arik?" he demanded harshly.

Donovan faced him frankly.

"The secret has not been revealed. It was known

before this — ^to the rider who carried off the khanumJ'

Mahmoud looked up sharply. "Twice, Dono-van

Khan, have you said she was carried off. Yet the

talk of Kashgar has come to our ears, as such things

do, through my servants ; and we know that the white

man who rode hither for the woman daims her as

his bride."

."He lied."

"How may we know it?"

"The khanum loved no man. And soon you will

see that this rider is a master of lies."

The hakim looked grave.

"Dono-van Khan, another thing have I heard — a

thing that is true beyond a doubt. On the heels of

this wilayaH soziHtr — foreign rider — ^who is named

Monsey in Kashgar, there came two other effendis, one

the father of this woman, the other an English offi-

20Q

The House of the Falcon

cer. From Kashgar they turned their reins to the

hills." Mahmoud spoke coldly. "Aye. In the ba-

zaars it was said that Rand effendi sent this one who

is called Monsey to seek the girl."

At this Donovan tose, carefully concealing the fact

that the news puzzled him. It was probably true.

Mahmoud had an uncanny way of being aware of all

that went on in the near-by hills. The tidings^ com-

ing at this point, dealt a blow to his hopes.

Under the leadership of Mahmoud, the Sayaks were

beginning to doubt him. Appearances were against

him. How could he convince them of his own cer-

tainty that Edith Rand had met with foul {Jay?

Without the help of the Sayaks he was powerless to

aid her.

Any hesitation on his part would be fatal. Swiftly

he surveyed the situation. Fraser-Camie, he was

sure, would not ally himself with a man of Monsey's

stamp. The fact that the two rescue parties were

separate seemed to prove this. But he — ^Donovan —

could not leave Yakka Arik to get word to the Eng-

lishman, even if there were time and Fraser-Camie

could be located in the gorges. Nor would Fraser-

Camie be able to find Yakka Arik without a Sayak

guide.

Nor would the Sayaks think of joining forces with

any outsiders. Moreover, they would hold him pris-

oner until certain he had kept faith with them. Mean-

while every minute was taking Monsey and Edith far-

ther from Yakka Arik.

Donovan had only one card to play. The kaiowl-

edge — ^unguessed as yet even by Mahmoud-^that Mon-

sey and the Vulture were the same man. And he

had OM friend — Iskanden

2IO

^ The Pledge is Broken

"Sayaks of the council !" He drew a long breathy

with a silent prayer for success. "I have said the

khanum wa^ taken by force from the valley. This

thing I know because the rider who came hither is a

stealer of women."

He walked to Mahmoud and raised his hand.

"Likewise, hakim, the rider knew the paths into

Yakka Arik because he had been here before.*'

Swinging about, Donovan held Iskander's e3res with

his own.

"Scion of Tahir, you, like myself, have felt the evil

of the slave dealer. Once a Vulture entered the val-

ley, sinking his talons into the hearts of Sayak fathers

and brothers — — "

"Aye,'' cried a Sayak. "He was a wilayti, base be-

yond words, such as Don '*

^ "Peace!" barked Iskander. "Who should know the

Vulture better than I — ^a father and a husband? Fools!

Will you not heed the wisdom of Dono-van Khan who

has shared our salt?"

The murmurs subsided and the warriors settled back

passively, only their dark eyes following every mo-

tion of the white maa

At a single throw Donovan cast the weight of his

influence against the uncertainty and su^icion of the

Sayaks.

"Three years ago during the Great War I came to

you when the mullahs of the Turks and the Tartars

urged the Sayaks to join the standard of war against

the Sirdar (the English govemi^ent). I asked you

to keep the peace."

"Aye," nodded Mahmoud, "the hadji of the temple

added his voice to yours. Thus, the Sayaks kept the

peace, and because of the fear of Yakka Arik, the

211

The House of the Falcon

tribes of Central Asia did likewise. Yet the agree-

ment was ^*

"That I was not to leave the Hills until your enemy,

the man you called the Vulture, was hunted down.

And at Srinagar I learned his name.''

At this every Sayak straightened and complete si*

lence fell

"The Vulture and the Alaman, Abbas Abad, were

the leader of the slave caravans. And the Vulture

was the real head of the slave merchants. He was

once a Russian officer: stripped of his rank because

of an intrigue with a Russian woman. Now, con*

cealed behind this name, he directs the activities of his

thousand servants, irota Kashgar to Samarkand. Oh,

he is powerful When he despoiled the hill villages of

our friends **

"We followed close upon the dust of his going.'*

So spoke a Sayak, a Pathan chieftain, who had been

silent until now.

"Aye," assented Donovan^ "frcwn the Mustagh Ata

to the Caucasus. Yet he escaped us. The tnirs of

the cities sold him their aid. Lawless Tartar and

Russian detachments, leaderiess after the end of the

Great War, took his gold for their services. And he

is the friend of Esad Pasha. When fear of the Say-

aks came upon him, he fled to America.''

"But now he is once more in the hills," murmured

Iskander. "And our vengeance ^"

**You stood within sword's reach of him in Srinagar,

son of Tahir. The Vulture is Monsey, the Russian."

"Ah!"

The Arab started, and his hand went to his scimitar

hilt. Fifty eyes turned to him. "Dares the dog re-

turn to the scene of his crime, to Yakka Arik?" he

212

The Pledge is Broken

questiofied harshly, probing the open countenance of

the white man.

^*Desire for the white khanum brought him/'

A murmtir that was like a sigh answered Donovan.

"A-a-h !*' Iskander drew his scimitar and threw away

the scabbard. "It was written. Oh, it was written.

Now the pursuit of blood will be ended and the mir-

ror of my honor will be cleansed *^

"Proof I" said Mahmoud abruptly. "Dono-van

Khan, we must know beyond a doubt Have you

proof of this thing?'

Donovan had played his card — ^had made his ap-

peal to the Sayaks' longing for revenge. Yet Ms^-

moud and some others had not regained confidence in

him. Glancing toward the door, he stilled the rising

tumult with a quick command and pointed to the tall

figure filling the entrance. Only a moment ago he

had seen that for which he had been watching — ^the

return of the Afghan messenger.

"Speak," he nodded at the warrior. "What did

you learn at the bridge below the mosque? Where

went the riders who entered Yakka Arik?"

"Dono-van Khan," the man growled, blinking at

the light, "the Sayak guard at the bridge was slain

when he oppoised their flight. Yet the venerable

hadji who was watching from the tower of the mosque

saw the riders go, not across the bridge, but up the

gorges toward **

"The Tower I" Donovan cut in crisply. "As I

thought, the Vulture has taken flight to his empty

nest Mahmoud, who but he would do that ?"

While the hakim meditated, the Afghan messenger

spoke again.

"Dono-yan Khan, the face of one of Ifae riders was

213

The House of the Falcon

seen, by the light of the torches at the bridge. Abbas

Abad was with the riders "

"Do you bdieve now?" Donovan swung savagely

around to face Mahmoud "Have I spoken the

truth r

As one man the Sayaks answered. "We believe.

We have never doubted.''

He did not smile. Half an hour ago these same

men would have killed first him and then Edith Rand

—if they could have found her — had not their suspi-

cions been dispdled. Now, as so often in the past,

the personality of the white man had won them to him.

Like children they were, jealous, arrogant, cruel,

and yet, withal, open-hearted and faithful. As their

multicolored robes crowded toward the door, his fist

smote on the table.

"Iskander, bahaderr

At the familiar command, coupled with his noncom-

missioned rank in the Anglo-Indian army, the Arab

halted and stiffened to attentioa Others half paused,

to listea

"Whither go you, son of Tahir?*'

"To tear out heart and bowels of the Vulture —

Monsey : aye, to sew the arrow stitches of vengeance.

The angd of God has opened the gate of justice —

we will not turn back. I go to the Tower, and with

me all men of the Sayaks who can bear swords. Dono-

van Khan, those swords will not be sheathed tm-

til ''

"I know." The white man cut short the other's

eloquence. Now, however, he spoke not as officer to

native, but as man to man. "You are the chieftain of

the Sa)raks ; you must f dlow the path of duty. Am I

less than you?"

214

The Pledge is Broken

Hereupon the Arab caught the other's hand and

pressed it to his forehead. *'Nay, Dono-van Khan,"

he said softly, "you are the sun of my world."

"And the w^w-sahib Rand, Iskander — she is to be

my wife. If there is a fight at the Tower — ^and there

will be — she will be in danger. I must reach her

first. Give me time, Iskander, before you attack Mou-

sey. A little time will be enough."

The Arab's muscular hand plucked at his beard.

"The woman beloved of Dono-van Khan is dear

to me as she who was the star of my life. What I

may do, I will do. Yet the fury of the Sayaks is like

to a torrent and who can stay the course of a torrent ?"

He lifted somber eyes to the tense face of the young

Englishman. "Sahib, we are all under the hand of

God."

"It is enough." Donovan smiled, his tired eyes

quizzical. He knew that he would need to ride a horse

to death to be at the Tower before the Sayaks. "Then

I will go alone, Iskander."

"With God," said the Arab sententiously. They

passed out together.

In the path by the lake shore Iskander halted with

a warning gesture. He could hear footsteps follow-

ing them. A shadowy figure, bulky and clumsy, was

outlined against the silvery-gray glimmer of the lake.

"Aravang," said Donovan.

Throughout the night the servant of Edith Rand

dogged the heels of John Donovan, not letting the

Englishman from his sight. His broad, good-natured

face wore a harassed look, and from time to time he

muttered to himself uneasily. When the white man

mounted one of the Sayak horses, Aravang promptly

laid hold of the stirrup, and trotted silently beside him.

215

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE VULTURE'S NEST

Tash-Kurgan, so caUed by the tribes of Central

Asia, had been erected out of the mountain rock by

an Imperial general of the Dragon Throne, to guard

the gorge and the caravan track along the opposite

cliff against the Tartar foes. This general and his

staff, with his foes, were dust in the valleys and gray

bones in forgotten tombs long before Tamerlane, the

Lame Conqueror, led his armies across the mountains

which had repelled so many invasions.

So, the Kurgan resembled roughly a medieval

stronghold. It was placed ahnost at the brink of the

cliff that led down into the valley with its steaming

riverlet. Its only entrance, consisting of a narrow

flight of stone steps running diagonally up the wall,

was on the western side, away from the ravine.

Around it ran a ditch, once a moat but now half filled

with pulverized sandstone and debris.

The sandstone walls with their crenelated tops were

much worn by rains and snows. In places the stones

had cascaded into the moat. The wall itself was some

dozen feet high and three feet in thickness. Within,

appeared a courtyard of beaten, level clay. Rude

stone shelters, roofless for the most part, were built

a|;ainst the inner ramparts.

Only at one end was there a solid sandstone struc-

ture resembKng, except for height, the keep of a medi-

216

The Vultures Nest

eval castle. In one comer of it rose the square tower,

much broader at the base than the summit — after the

fashion of the Tibetan lamaseries. Once a pagoda

roof of sturdy cedar logs had surmounted the tower

top. Now this had fallen in.

The Kurgan was very much like a bird's nest of

many years ago.

In one of the chambers of the hold itself Edith Rand

had been placed. It was walled with teakwood that

did not entirely keep out the drafts of cold air that

swept the Kurgan. But a kerosene stove gave out an

odorous heat, and heavy Kirghiz carpets had been

placed over the gaps in the teakwood.

Candle lanterns, hung from the beams, revealed a

hasty attempt to make the chamber habitable — z, mat-

tress and disordered blankets in one comer, saddle-

bags with their contents of cooking utensils and cloth-

ing piled in the center of the uneven flooring that was

littered with dust and ashes of former fires. In an-

other corner Edith noticed a heap of moldy boots, some

rusted tin lamps, and bits of military gear grouped

around a smashed samovar.

These, and the carpets, were the only relics of Rus-

sian occupancy that had been left by stray plunderers.

"Not much of a boudoir, my lady," Monsey had as-

sured her, ''but then we will not be here long. I hope

to make you more comfortable.*'

Edith had not answered. The room was Monsey's,

and she compared it without knowing just why she

did so with the neatness of Donovan's quarters. She

was oppressed by the aspect of the teakwood room.

The ride from Yakka Arik had taken long, involv-

ing, as it did, the crossing of the ravine, the climb and

descent of numerous heights and the passage through

217

The House of the Falcon

2i forest where the girl wondered how her captcM^

could find their way, not knowing that they had fa*

miliarized themselves carefully with the lay of the

countryside.

Above the low voices of the men she could hear the

stamp of horses near by, the crackle of a fire, and an

occasional footfall. Not until Abbas Abad had de-

parted — ^and Edith recognized in him, without espe-

cial surprise, the leader of the men in the Kashgar

serai— d\6, Monsey fling off his belt with its holster

and revolver and speak to her, seating himself on an

upturned packing case, and drawing another forward

for her. She remained standing.

"Still haughty, my lady? Ah, you do not know

the pains I have taken to save you from the devils of

Yaldca Arik. Well, I apologize for using joa roughly

in what you Americans call the 'get-away.^ It was

necessary. You are quite strong."

His glance went over her, and Edith turned her head

away. Monsey leaned back comfortably, stroking his

black, drooping mustache idly. He was well pleased

with himself, but he was curious as to what the girl

thought of him.

"You remember the dance at Srinagar, Edith — the

one you — ^ah — refused me? You see, it would have

been much better to have gone with me than that

Rawul Singh. But you did not trust me. Do you

trust me now?"

"No.''

"That is too bad. Why?''

Edith met his gaze with her honest gray eyes, and

Monsey looked away.

"I don't know."

Surprised at this unexpected retort, Monsey's brows

218

The Vultures Nest

went up. Other women had found it good policy to

please him. This American, wrapped in her pride,

was like an icicle, he thought. Well, he liked her all

the better for it

It would be a pleasant sensation to master her pride.

Monsey did not doubt his ability to do it. He did

not mean to allow Edith to return to her father for

some time. Money payment, even a large one, seemed

a small thing when he had the woman herself near

him. Life itself had ceased to bore him — ^and recently

there had been certain fears, certain unrest Abbas

Abad had said that he was a marked man in these hills.

Monsey had taken to using the Alaman's drugs, and

this had not helped jaded nerves.

'*You fear me, my handsome lady f*

"No."

There was no doubting the sincerity in Edith's low

voice. To tell the truth, she disliked and suspected the

former Russian officer partly because he was associ-

ated with Abbas Abad, partly because he had put aside

her own will in bringing her from Yakka Arik, but

more because of her own intuition. She read the in*

sincerity in his assertion that he was acting for Ar-

thur Rand.

Monsey's narrow mind, self-centered and suspicious,

sought for other reasons. He had the patient, con-

suming desire for the girl that masters all other im-

pulse in a man of his t3rpe.

"Let me see. You spoke of a friend in Yakka Arik

— ^a khan, was it not? So, you stoop to a native's —

friendship——"

His calculating words accomplished their purpose.

Edith flamed into swift retort, forgetting all caution.

"Donovan Khan is a white man, and I found him

219

The House of the Falcon

very much of a gentleman. He will follow you. Oh,

I hope ''

She broke ofF, at a strange light in the man's amber

eyes.

"Donovan Khan? Donovan. By all the images

of the Church! Not Captain John Campbell Dono-

van?" His hard eyes read her easily. ''Caiptain

Donovan — in Yakka Arik, alive."

For a moment he considered this, intently. Then

he laughed.

"Why, it is fate itself, my beautiful lady. No,

not that. It is my luck, my good luck. So, you found

a lover waiting in that Sayak pesthole ?"

Edith had mastered her impulse of anger as quickly

as it came. She wrapped her arms in the end of the

shawl, seating herself on the box, her back to Monsey.

"A beggarly Englishman, with a brown beard ? The

Falcon, as the Sayaks name him ? Yes, that is Dono-

van, who is a leader of these assassins, a renegade,

outcast from the British army ^"

"I don't believe your

^'Presently, you will believe." Somewhat uncer-

tainly he studied her, wondering at the change in the

girl since Srinagar. "Look here, my fine lady, you

can't afford to quarrel with me! Have not I said

that Arthur Rand sent me? You choose not to be-

lieve? Very well! I have made it known in Ka&hr

gar, and the Sayak spies have carried the news that

I am your friend to their murderers' nest. So, you

will see how Donovan and his allies conduct them-

selves against the agent of your American father."

Edith shook her head mutely, her faith in Donovan

strong within her; but Monsey smiled.

'My luck holds. A few hours and we will see the

220

tt^

The Vultures Nest

last act of this little play. I want you to watch it"

Monsey had begun to pace the room. His brown

face had been reddened by exposure to the sun; the

lines of his jaw were obscured by fat ; his heavy mus-

tache fell over the comers of his mouth. Under a bald

forehead, the eyes, revealing a network of red veins

and set too close together, were prone to wander. This

was the only indication of the hashish he used.

His powerful figure swelled tmder the short black

coat with its astrakhan collar. He had grown stouter,

more gross. His former careful politeness had al-

tered to an overbearing intimacy. The mask had

fallen, now that he no longer needed a mask. Edith

$aw that he^had changed, coarsened. In his face was

a faint, unmistakable resemblance to a vulture,

Monsey halted as Abbas stepped into the room with-

out knoddng. When the two had spoken briefly, he

turned to Edith.

"Horsemen have been seen in the passes around

here. I fancy the Sayaks mean to invade the privacy

of my abode."

Edith did not reveal the quickened hope that his

words aroused. She had learned by experience to

judge the events that thronged into this new world.

And she reasoned that Monsey expected this to hap-

pen. Otherwise, why was he not disturbed?

Presently, with a glance at Abbas, he went out,

carrying the holster and belt with him. For some

time he had not taken the drug that he now needed

at regular intervals. Abbas came nearer at once and

peered into the girl's face. He tried to take the shawl

from her shoulders, but she would not let him.

"Missy khanum/' the Alaman whispered in very

bad English, "you come with me, sometime. Oh, yas,

221

The House of the Falcon

by God." He pointed after Monsey. "Not him, no.

He is the Vulture. Me, I, Abbas Abad, Alaman,

kum dan! I give you — ^your fadder, for verree small

paying — ^yes."

Edith shook her head somewhat wearily. Abbas

stepped back as Monsey appeared silently in the door.

The Russian surveyed him suspiciously. Abbas

grinned as he saw the other's hand movfe toward the

revolver in his belt.

"Excellency," he observed in Turki, "would you

threaten your slave? Nay, it is not the part of wis-

dom. Besides, a thrown knife is swift — ^as you

know."

"This is not your place."

"Ah. Yet I came here to sleep." He yawned and

went to the mattress upon which he flung his fat body

with a grunt. Monsey scowled.

"Those are my blankets."

The Alaman closed his eyes. "And the hashish,

my Excellency? That is mine and not yours. If

you need some presently, I would not want to deny

you. Nay, I must sleep now."

Soon he began to snore, with an open mouth.

Edith noticed, however, that whenever there was a

noise outside the teakwood room Abbas ceased snor-

ing. Moasey had seated himself near her and tried

to take her hand. The drug had warmed his train

and he did not hide his exultation.

"You are beautiful, Edith," he whispered. "You

are worth a risk. Bah, what is risk or danger? You

do not believe I love you. Well, you will see what

I will risk for you. I tell you, there will be dead men

lying about Yakka Arik on your account. And you

will know how powerful I am."

222

The Vultures Nest

The girl had met his hot gaze steadily. Her scorn

only served to inflame his fancy the more.

"I would not have you otherwise, Edith. When

we leave Yakka Arik you will see the garden that I

have prepared near Kashgar. I am master there —

Edith laughed, her nerves high-strung.

"Are you?" She pointed to Abbas. The Alaman

had been studying them, one eye wide open. When

Monsey turned, the man appeared to be as soundly

asleep as before. "Aren't you called the Vulture by

the natives? Captain Donovan has been looking for

you."

All at once she felt very lonely, very much in need

of the Englishman's presence. Her life in the world

of Yakka Arik had been built around him. She could

not believe that he would desert her.

"Donovan?" Monsey swore under his breath.

"We will attend to him."

The sudden set to his full lips left no doubt of the

sincerity of this remark, at least.

Time passed. One of the lamps went out. Abbas

was snoring in earnest now. The chill that comes

with the last hours of the night crept into the teak-

wood chamber. Monsey, the stimulus of the drug

dose gone, paced the floor restlessly, pausing to fid^e

with the reeking stove. Edith gave herself up to the

inertia that comes with fatigue.

Quiet had settled upon the Kurgan.

To Edith, this silence was ominous of maturing

events. Out of this quiet she felt that something

would come to pass. Why had not Monsey tried to

leave the castle while the coast was free? He must

have expected to be followed. How was Abbas con-

223

The House of the Falcon

tent to sleep when the Sayaks had appeared in the vi-

cinity?

A glint of crimson light pierced one of the cracks

in the walls. Edith's ears had been strained for a

certain sound. Somewhere, beyond the mountains,

the sun was rising, and she had not heard the familiar

trumpet blast that resounded in Yakka Arik at dawn.

Its absence was vaguely disturbing.

She was conscious of the presence of unknown

forces mustering around her. This feeling was not

premonition or fear— it was certainty. The world of

Yakka Arik had been disturbed. The trumpets were

silent Out of this silence something would come

to the Kurgan. By and by Monsey noticed the evi-

dence of dawn. He buttoned his jacket at the throat

and beckoned her.

"Come ! You can see now."

Her limbs stiff with cold, Edith followed him out

into the still more desdate entrance chamber of the

castle hold. Gray light from the embrasures illu-

mined it. She saw a roughly made ladder of sap-

lings resting against the massive sandstone of the wall.

Up this Monsey motioned her to climb.

He followed the girl into a square hole in the ceil-

ing. Rotting timbers on the floor below afforded evi-

dence that once a stairway had penetrated where the

ladder led. They stood in a very small, dark space.

From above came a glimmer of light.

"The first floor of the tower itself," explained Mon-

sey. "Go oa"

A winding stair, broken down in places and illu-

mined only by thin arrow slits in the wall, conducted

them to the tower top — ^a nest of timibled cedar tim-

bers.

224

The Vultures Nest

Edith looked out upon the dawn.

Mountain ranges were tipped by vivid, ruddy light.

The ravine below was in darkness. The courtyard

of the Kurgan was a gray square with shadowy cor-

ners.

"Look/* said Monsey, pointing downward.

On one side of the enclosure some fifty horses were

lined with piles of forage at either end of the line.

On the other side, the roofless shelters and the open

clay of the court itself were filled with sleeping men.

Along the walls several sentries paced.

In the darkness, close to midnight, when they had

arrived at the castle, Edith had noticed little of this.

She had supposed that the only men in the Kurgan

were those who had been in Monsey's raiding party.

Now she realized that the place sheltered no fewer

than two hundred or more.

Monsey pointed out a dozen rifle stacks before the

shelters.

"A company of soldiers," he whispered. 'Tartars,

who were once part of the Turkish army. They know

that I am a leader who rewards his men. They came

with me from the Caucasus region — ^waited around

Khokand. Look there!"

He indicated a huddle of figures in shee|^kin coats

and black hats, each one sleeping with a tnusket in

hand, their dark faces upturned to the sky.

"Alamans, who came with Abbas from Kashgar.

And at the foot of the tower wandering Kurds and

Turkomans — all armed. The Tartars have Mauser

rifles, with magazines."

The men were sprawled about the clay, around some

ashes of fires, between piles of littered garments, bags

of grain, some stacks of women's silk garments, and

225

The House of the Falcon

an occasional heap of copper and silver vessels, can*

dlesticks, and glittering cloths.

"All good Mohammedans/' said Monsey compla-

cently.

"Then why are not they at sunrise prayers?" de-

manded Edith coldly, remembering the custom of the

devout Moslems of Yakka Arik.

"Prayers ?" Monsey stared at her in some surprise.

"Oh, my fellows are well enough. They are Mo-

hammedans now, because th^ are on a religious mis-

sion. If need be, I dare say they could be Jainists

or other things — anything but Sayaks, sun-worship-

ers. Every Mohammedan hates a Sayak. Now,

look there."

Below the wall on the side away from the cliff

Edith could see that the moat had been dug out to a

greater depth. In it was a tangle of dead tree

branches, with many pointed stakes uprising f rcmi the

ground.

"A lesson of the war," laughed the Russian. ''Open-

ings in the wall command that ^rsed ditch. My men

could dig there without being seen because it is below

the level of the surrounding ground. Oh, they made

a good job of it — rafter one or two of the lazy Tartars

had the soles of their feet touched up a bit by Abbas.

Now, why don't you ask how they got here ?"

Edith was silent.

"Well," he went on, pleased with his own clever-

ness, "you'll notice those nullahs to the south. They

lead in a roundabout fashion to Kashgar. I brought

in my fellows, fifty or so at a time, at night. No one

saw them. Only a dozen riders have been seen by the

Sayak devils. That's what I want."

As a matter of fact the wooded ravines running

226

The Vultures Nest

between the heights that led to the great southern

peaks of the Himalayas might have afforded shelter

to many times that number. To the west, facing the

prepared trench, was a level plain of some size, rocky

at the further end and leading to broken, rolling wood-

land. At a distance, on all sides, were the motm-

tains.

Nothing could be seen from here of Yakka Arik,

the villages, fields, or lake. Edith fancied, as the sun

topped the peaks behind them, that she could recog-

nize the snow summit of Mustagh^Ata standing

against the dawn in the direction of Kashgar, across

the river's gorge.

*'You see I've studied the defenses of this place,

my lady," grinned the Russian. "I've been here be-

fore, and by the beard of Allah and Satan's hoof, I

didn't want to come here again without a bodyguard."

At that Edith drew a quick breath, recalling the

tale of Iskander. So Monsey had been the Russian

who raided Yakka Arik ! But her companion saw no

reason for further concealment.

"You don't understand it all yet, my American."

He paused at a sound from below and went on in an

altered tone. "You were necessary to our plans. The

Sayaks will follow you because you know the secret

of their mosque. Abbas and I know that, too. And

when the Sayaks realize we're here, they will fall the

more easily into our trap. Then Abbas and I will

settle our reckoning. Oh, I know those fanatics.

Their fighting men will attack this castle like mad

dogs, thinking only a score of men are here. Then

they will find themselves in a pretty mess. I wonder

why they haven't tried it already. My outposts

haven't seen anything."

227

The House of the Falcon

Three or f oilr scattered groups were stationed on

knolls (Ml the plains. Monsey waved his hand at

them, and Abbas grinned.

"Now you understand, my lady. When we have

killed oflf the armed men of those brigands we'll move

against the valley. And there won't be so many to

kill, at that. Besides some Arabs and a handful of

Afghans those Sayaks are not much use in a fight.

They do not number a hundred able-bodied men. Then

we will take care of the mosque."

Abbas stretched powerful arms.

"Spoil," he grunted, "gcdd— ev'ryting, by Allah.

MaUi barlikr

"I thought," Edith faced Monsey, "you came to

Yakka Arik because my father sent you to rescue me."

Monsey scowled, then shrugged.

**Why keep up the appearances, ntademoisettef I

must have sometiiing to pay my men."

"And yourself!"

"Yes," he said softly, "mysdf." He nodded at

Abbas. "This merchant needs new goods —

"I thought slaves were a thing of the past"

"Not in Central Asia, to-day. Gold is power, and

women are gold. So much for Abbas. I tell you,

I am leader here. And I only came for you." He

touched a strand of her hair. "Do you think I would

tell you all this if I were not sure of my cards? I

want you to understand how you are fixed — ^with

only my word to keep you from these men. Think

about it. You won't be so haughty, then." He

paused as the Alaman touched his arm and thrust a

stocky forefinger out at the plateau. "Now, who is

that?"

From the rocks at the further end of the level space

228

The Vulture's Nest

a figure was advancing toward the castle. Edith saw

that it was John Donovan.

He had taken only a few steps before a patrol chal-

lenged and he halted while a pair of riflemen exam-

ined him. Presently the trio began to walk back to

the Kurgan. Donovan wore a sun helmet, and was

immaculate in his flannels and white jacket beside the

short, dingy natives. He strode sJiead carelessly,

hands in his pockets.

Edith had rejoiced at sight of the man she loved,

moving toward her out of the wilderness of rocks.

Her heart beat a brief refrain of exultation. Then

she bit her lip and repressed a cry of distress.

Apparently Donovan was unarmed. He seemed to

take no notice of the two guards. The light of the

newly risen sun was dead in his eyes. And he was

coming straight into the trap Monsey had set for him

and the Sayaks.

The Russian himself was more than a little sur-

prised. Quickly he scanned the near-by woods beyond

the rocks, where there was no sign of further move-

ment. "An Englishman, that's certain," he muttered

to himself. "No one else would walk or dress like

that — ^here. Now who?" — ^he glanced at Edith, then

peered at the visitcw. "By the sacred head of the

Prophet, it's Donovan himself without a beard! I

didn't know him at first. Look here!" He gripj)cd

the girl's arm viciously. "Silence, you hear? Not

a word out of you! Or I'll order my men to shoot

him down. Besides that. Abbas may skewer you with

his cursed knife on his own account"

He flung a word at the Alaman and scrambled

toward the stair.

"I'm going to welcome the khan who is your

229

The House of the Falcon

friend/' he called over his shoulder to Edith and dis-

appeared. She heard him mutter something about

his "holy luck." Abbas drew nearer her.

The girl stared at Donovan in utter dismay. He

had looked up coolly at the tower, but appeared not

to recognize her. The guards had halted him a few

paces from the ditch. She wanted to c^ to him, to

warn him. But she feared — ^not for herself — ^that it

would be fatal.

Presently Monsey appeared, going down the en-

trance steps. She watched him join the group and

search his visitor for weapons. After a moment Don-

ovan drew a handkerchief from his pocket and one of

the men secured it about his eyes. Then Mons^

guided the blindfolded man up the steps, across the

courtyard where the awakened natives stared at them

curiously, and into the Kurgan hold.

An explanation of Donovan's appearance flashed

upon her. He had reasoned that Mons^ would not

know him; perhaps, even, her protector was unaware

that Monsey was in the castle. He must have hoped

that Abbas and his men would not connect the ar-

rival of a well-dressed Englishman with the Sayaks.

And she had unwittingly revealed the identity of

the white man at Yakka Arik to Monsey. Knowing

the Russian, she understood how great was the peril

into which Donovan had walked unarmed. Her heart

told her why he had come.

It all seemed perfectly hopeless to Edith. She had

been comforting herself throughout the night with the

thought that Donovan, somehow, would manage to

aid her. Abbas signed to her.

**You come," he grinned. "Dotf you talk. No^

byGodr

230

The Vultures Nest

His hand moved swiftly to his girdle and Edith

caught the flash of steel. In the same instant, the

knife thudded into a beam, across the stairs. The

Alaman tugged it out, with a meaning glance at her.

He laid his hand on the beam.

"Dono-van Khan/' he assured her.

The girl passed down the stairs with Abbas be-

hind her. For this reason she did not see, across

the ravine, a horseman riding at full gallop along

the cliff path toward the south away from Yakka

Arik. It was a native, his long cloak fluttering, bend-

ing close to the horse and riding as no one but a hill-

bred native could ride. And she heard nothing be-

cause, although the opposite cliff was within easy rifle

range, Monsey had given strict orders to his sentries

not to shoot until he gave the word so that the firing

might not reveal the secret of the trap he had set so

cleverly with the as^stance of Abbas.

CHAPTER XXV

CARDS ON THE TABLE

A RICKETY table had been drawn against the wall of

the teakwood room. On two boxes, facing each other

across this table, sat John Donovan and Monsey. A

guard stood at the door. Near the stove Edith had

seated herself, with Abbas at her side.

"And so you want to know what I am doing with

this woman in the castle ?' M6nsey stroked his mus-

tadie complacently and surveyed his visitor. Donovan

had hardly looked at Edith. He sat erect, hands

clasped over crossed knees. He had been released

from the bandage and his tranquil gaze searched the

opposite wall, without in the least attempting to watch

his enemy.

"Well, I will tell* you." Monsey rested solid shoul-

ders against the teakwood, his nervous hand straying

about the revolver holster. "It's none of your damn

business."

Lower lip thrust out, eyes narrowed, he surveyed

Donovan. Monsey, also, had guessed that his enemy

came to the Kurgan hoping that he would not be rec-

ognized.

"Suppose," ventured Donovan, "I should make it

so?"

"Oh, fine words. Tell me who you are and what

you want."

He smiled, hoping to hear Donovan lie. It rather

232

Cards on the Table

grieved the Russian that the other had shown no sur-

prise at seeing him. Monsey had fancied his visitor

would be startled, afraid.

"You do well to be civil, Mr. Donovan Khan,

sometimes called the Falcon. I'll have you know I'm

master here. It's very convenient you walked in just

now. Miss Rand has been telling me about you —

how you deserted the army to be a renegade chief of

the Yakka Arik scum. I've heard you have a father

who is a knight and an uncle who is a minister of God.

They'll be proud of you —

"I didn't," cried Edith, heedless of Abbas' warning

mutter, "say anything of the kind."

"My father is dead." Donovan's words were very

cold. His brown, boyish face was quiet except for

the eyes that now held Monsey's wavering stare — ^the

Russian had had a sleepless night and his nerves were

none of the best.

The self-possession of good breeding was Dono-

van's; his was the high code of one who has been a

law to others for many years ; his also was the calm-

ness that comes through long contact with this other

world of the Orient.

"Answering the rest of your question, Monsey,"

he went on, "I have come to ask Miss Rand to marry

me."

Sheer surprise made the Russian gape. Edith's

glance flew to Donovan's honest eyes, then fell. She

had grown quite pale.

"So," Monsey grinned, "you still want her, after

she's been in the hands of the natives ? Or maybe you

have to marry her?"

Donovan took not the slightest notice of the other's

insulting remark.

233

The House of the Falcon

"Will you do me the honor, Edith" — ^and his voice

quivered — "to be my — ^wife?"

Not Abbas nor all the powers of the Tower could

prevent the girl from answering. "Yes." And she

was no longer pale.

"You don't happen to know, Donovan," sneered

Monsey, "that Rand, her father, has lost his money

— is bankrupt?"

Edith was surprised and could not keep from search-

ing Donovan's face. Money was such a slight thing

at this moment, and so Donovan plainly considered

it "Really?" His brows went up. "I was not

aware — ^as you seem to be — ^that Miss Rand possessed

wealth.

"You, Monsey, and this man, Abbas Abad," he went

on, "are marked down by the Sayaks. You know the

belief of the Moslems that each criminal has in Heaven

a stone marked with his name that will one day fall

upon him no matter where he is. The Sayaks have

condemned you to death; there will be fighting before

long. You cannot leave the tower. I wish to take

Edith Rand away from danger."

Monsey broke into a long laugh. "Oh, you are a

fool. Well, Edith Rand won't go away. She will

stay, with me. Is that clear?"

A slight shrug answered him. "I wanted to give

you the chance, Monsey, to play the gentleman, you

know."

The Russian flushed, biting his mustache. He

watched his visitor draw an object carefully from his

pocket. It was a heavy jade necklace of many folds,

set with some inferior turquoise. Donovan laid it

on the table, rolled into a ball.

"You remember this?" His words were cri^.

234

Cards on the Table

*'Well, perhaps Abbas does. It belonged to the wife

of Iskander ibn Tahir. He bought it back, in the

Kashgar bazaar. And he has kept it. You know

the fate in store for a man who violates the home of

an Arab of high birth?" While he spoke, he put his

hand on the necklace. Monsey's eyes widened a little,

and he licked his full lips. Then he shook his head.

"Not good enough. You can't bluff me."

"I am not bluffing. Whatever happens to Miss

Rand, your life is forfeit. It is beyond my saving."

So calmly he spoke, he seemed to be explaining the

inevitable. Edith felt this and Monsey was silent a

space. As if finished with the business of the neck-

lace, Donovan tossed it, still rolled tightly, into Edith's

lap.

"Presents from such a man as Iskander have a

meaning," he said.

Donovan had not looked at her. Monsey took the

words to himself, but the girl glanced up with awak-

ened curiosity. Abbas would have picked up the neck-

lace, but the Englishman turned to him sharply.

"Mahmoud is coming for you. Abbas," he said in

Turki. "Are you ready?"

The simple speech caused the Alaman to draw a

long breath and to step back instinctively. Edith won-

dered whether it was surprise at being addressed in

his own tongue. But she remembered the fear that

had flashed into the face of the Sart upon the moun-

tain side. The name of the physician seemed to carry

a potent spell.

Edith drew the necklace under her lace shawl. Here

her quick fingers explored its folds tentatively and she

felt a piece of paper crumpled within the jade orna-

ments. Eagerly she separated the wad of paper from

235

The House of the Falcon

the necklace and thru^ it into the bosom of her dress.

When the ornament of the wife of Iskander fell again

to her lap it revealed nothing but the stones, strung on

a gold chain. Abbas later claimed it, with an eye to

spoil.

Donovan turned to Monsey earnestly.

"I 'do not need to conceal my cards, Monsey. Be-

lieve it or not, the Sayaks hold you fast. Your men

have heard of them, and they are afraid. You know

the fear that centers about Yakka Arik."

Sure of himself again, Monsey laughed. He rose,

motioning the other to come to the door. There he

pointed through the outer entrance that gave on the

courtyard.

"Oh, I know the legends. Maybe if I had only a

handful of men" — ^he shrugged — "but look out there 1"

He watched, pleased, as Donovan stiffened at sight

of the numbers in the Kurgan and their weapons.

"Yoii see. Likewise, the old moat on the side away

from the cliff is dug out into a mantrap. Also, I

have had great pine flares made ready to light in case

of a night attack. Vous voyez que je suis en garde*

Naturally, I don't intend to let you leave with this val-

uable information."

"In spite of your assurance, given me outside the

castle?"

"Oh, that. Well, I wanted to let your men who

were watching from the wood think you and I were

on friendly terms." Monsey's lips writhed and his

hand darted to his weapon as Donovan made a quick

move toward him. "Stay where you are, my fine gen-

tleman. Now, have you any more cards to show?**

Donovan stared quizzically at the vista of the Kur^

gtm. His lips closed firmly under the light mustache*

236

Cards on the Table

Edith, watching him prayerfully, felt her heart sink.

He was her champion, and fighting against great odds.

"I think— not."

"Ah. That is too bad. You have given me a good

trump." He grinned, once more enjoying himself.

"You are worth more to me alive than dead. And

so is Miss Rand. Do you think your assassin friends

will attack the tower with the two of you helpless in

my hands?"

The lines in Donovan's lean face deepened. "I

don't tiiink — I know it.''

"Even if they are led to believe I will kill the woman

when they attack?"

"It would not change tiieir purpose." Donovan

flung out an eloquent hand. "Don't you see, man!

Those Sayaks will come, in spite of everything. The

Kurgan will be a shambles. That is why I came here

On the chance that you, who were once a Russian

nobleman, would have enough vestige of honor to

spare her that. It doesn't matter, you know, what you

do with me if you will release her."

Monsey relished his distress. He stepped back, still

fingering his heavy revolver.

^'Oh, I don't intend to play the saint — now." He

hesitated, as if wishing to say more. Then his eyes

gleamed and he smiled. "Besides, I can't afford to."

Edith glanced at him inquiringly. She had been

aroused by the scene at the table, where Monsey's char-

acter was laid bare brutally. Even now, she could

not believe that Donovan was powerless against the

men of the Kurgan.

"Mr. Rand and Major Fraser-Camie are approach-w

ing these hills," said Monsey agreeably. "They have

an escort of a half-troop of one of the native English

237

The House df the Falcon

cavalry. It seems the gentlemen, after comparing

notes, did not trust me/'

He paused, enjoying the effect of his words. "Un-

fortunately," continued the Russian, "they will arrive

too late."

Edith clenched her hands. Her father was near

Yakka Arik ! She had felt that he would come if he

was able. It was not in the nature of Arthur Rand

to leave his daughter's fate in other hands. She knew

now that Monsey had not been sent by Rand.

"English troopers in foreign territory." Monsey

shook his head. "A grave offense, if any serious

fighting results. The — ah — irregulars here might re-

sent it."

"It's a habit," observed Donovan mildly, "of the

English border forces to wander to the scene of a —

crime, for example."

"Once you paid hij^ ior that — ^habit. And ypu

will pay more."

"Oh, it's in the game. We always blunder in, you

know." Donovan smiled a little. "So the major and

his Garhwalis a»e in the hills ! As a matter of curi-

osity, do you intend to face him with your — irregu-

lars?"

Monsey tugged at his mustache, and glanced at

Abbas.

"No need, my fine gentleman. As you are a for-

mer ofiicer and a scion of a nohle house" — ^he tried

to mimic the Englishman's irony — "you will appreci-

ate the strength of my position. I don't think the

Rand-Fraser-Carnie forces will arrive before a day

or two. Meanwhile, the lawless Sayaks will assault

a Russian traveler and a peaceful merchant in their

camp— to the great loss of the Sayaks. Then, of

238

Cards on the Table

course, there will be some justifiable reprisals by my

men."

"Entirely to be expected/'

"You tjJce the point. Merely one of the mountain

feuds, if the worthy drill-book major tries to ask ques-

tions. The mosque may suffer, likewise the lawl^s

residents of Yakka Arik. But I will not be here nor

will Miss Rand."

^And my father?" Edith voiced her anxiety.

If he is curious, he will be told by some of these

natives" — Monsey nodded at the door — "that a cer-

tain renegade Britisher named Donovan Khan alias

the Falcon has disappeared with her. Of course Cap-

tain Donovan will not be here to cause further trouble.

The ravine, to the river, is very deep."

"Five hundred feet, I think," nodded Donovan.

"Exactly. I see you are not altogether a fool.

Presently you will be able to judge for yourself."

"I regret that I could not climb the cliff."

"Oh, yes. I believe you. I took pains to investi-

gate that. No, I think you are better apart — so!"

Edith had crept to Donovan's side and taken his hand

in hers. She was very near to tears. Brusquely, Mon-

sey thrust her aside, while Abbas grinned. 'That is

well. Now, Donovan Khan, I will ask you to let your

hands be bound behind your back and submit to an

armed guard, in a corner of this outer room."

"Let me stay with him," Edith pleaded. She felt

very weak, very helpless. She wondered why Dono-

van was so quiet.

"The air in the tower will benefit you. In case you

should want to converse, my lady, I will provide ycm

with another of my men. He will have orders."

CHAPTER XXVI

AN HOUR AFTER DARK

It was some time before Edith remembered the

crumpled paper concealed in her dress. • Then she sur-

veyed her surroundings cautiously. She was in the

chamber on the first tier of the tower. An Alaman

sat apathetically on the wooden steps over the aper-

ture that led below.

The footfalls of the sentry guarding Donovan be-

low reached her ears. The Englishman himself was

not visible. Nor was Edith permitted to look down

from the opening in the floor. Anxiously she felt

for the bit of paper, drawing near to one of the em-

brasures.

The guard, leaning against his rifle, kept only an

indifferent watch upon her as she slipped the paper

into a fold of her scarf where she could see it, and

smoothed out the wrinkles tenderly. It took some

time before this careful maneuver revealed the whole

of the missive to the girl. She saw a small square of

worn paper closely written in pencil. Eagerly, with

hearihg attuned for the approach of Monsey or Abbas,

she read:

Dearest GibL: It took hours to dissuade Iskander from

launching an immediate assault on the castle. I won my point—

a chance to get to you. The Sayaks will attack the night after

I reach you. I had no other- wav of helping you but this.

An hour after sunset, try ffc be at the eastern wall, nearest

the cliff. Aravaag will make thic attempt at the cliff. He is

240

An Hour After Dark

a regular mountain sheep and none of the other Sayaks would

dare it. I don't think A. would, for me. But he will for you.

He will bring my revolver. Take it, if he can't make the

climb into the Kurgan wall, which is unlikely. Try to reach

me with the weapon if you can. If not, use it as you may,

and God wills.

Watch out for the sentries on the rampart Monsey sta-

tions two there, I think, as he does not fear an attack from

that side. NoUiing will keep the Sayaks from a frontal at-

tack, although I have talked my head off trying to make

them see the sides to the north and south are more accessible.

If you can't get to me before the attack, don't try. I can look

out for myself. Iskander will look for you, perhaps. God

watch over you, you blessed woman.

DONOVAK.

If Aravang is not on time, he'll have fallen.

Darkness came less swiftly to the Kurgan than to

the valley of Yakka Arik. Looking from the tower

embrasure Edith could see the splendid curtains of

stmset drawing about a glowing orb that fired the

snow peaks with its life.

The aspect of the mountains, as shadows formed in

the ravines and crept up the rock surfaces, reminded

the girl of a vast painting — ^so utterly desolate and so

tranquil were these gigantic pinnacles.

It dwarfed her. Since her coming to the valley of

the Sayaks, Edith had never felt so insignificant

Life itself was a small matter, here, she thought —

and what was life if Donovan was lost to her? Dono-

van, whose love for her was to be read between the

lines of his message?

Edith wanted to sit down and wait. She was list-

less and chilled. Close beside her the Alaman brooded

over his rifle, passive as he had been all the day, ex-

cept to eat once a meal of fermented milk and black

bread. The bustle of subdued preparation, hastened

in the last light of evening, came to her ears from

the courtyard below. She was grateful that this activ-

241

The House of the Falcon

ity had kept Monsey or Abbas from coming to stare

at her during the afternoon.

It was with a start that Edith realized Aravang

must have begun his climb. The shadowy vapor of

the ravine would conceal him and he could still see

after a fashion to find his way up the face of the cliff,

clinging to the crevices and spurs of the almost sheer

rock.

"If Aravang is not on time, he'll have fallen."

The sentence returned to her mind with the force

of a Mow. Aravang was on his way and she must

be prepared to act. She did not know what to do.

How was she to reach the rampart over the diff?

Could Aravang, if he survived the dimb, gain the in-

terior of the Kurgan? What could a stupid native

and a helpless girl manage ta- do against two such

men as Monsey and Abbas and thdr armed followers?

Edith tried to think. They could not return — ^if

escape from the Kurgan were possible — down the face

of the cliff in the dark. Even if it had been possible,

she would not leave John Donovan.

Iskander, Donovan had said, might aid her. But

Iskander would not gain the interior of the Kurgan,

owing to the trap that had been set for tiie Sayaks.

No, Edith could not plan, could not see any way out

of the trap. Donovan himself had — so she thought

— ^merely taken a last chance, heedless of himself, —

had done his utmost to protect her until the end that

would come with the fighting and the revolver.

"He did it for me," she thought.

Edith found that she was unable to realize the truth

of the revolver, the Kurgan, and her enemies. The

whole thing was fantastic, impossible. It was another

evil dream, and she must surely waken. She, Edith

242

An Hour After Dark

Rand, could not be so severed from the reality of that

other life of home and Louisville and servants.

Was it possible that two men could have talked as

Monsey and Donovan had about her — ^accepting the

inevitability of this other world ? Could not her father

come to help her, as he had always done?

With this, she understood finally that Arthur Rand

could not reach her in time, Monsey's guards would

see to it The American and the English cavalry were

scouring the hills without knowing the location of

Yakka Arik, not realizing that the Sayaks were in a

way her friends, nor aware of the events that were

shaping about the Kurgan that night

Edith laughed uncertainly, with a twinge of self-

pity.

"Daddy," she murmured, "if you could only know!"

The sentry lifted his head. This movement brought

the reality of her situation sharply home to the girl.

She heard the steps of the guard below once more.

John Donovan had need of her !

At this thought Edidi Rand entered into the con-

flict that was being waged in the old tower of this

world that was so new to her. She smiled and her

pulse quickened.

Donovan loved her! She would be his wife. What

else in her existence was so momentous, so wonderful

as this ? He was not powerless. He — ^a trained soldier

— had taken the one step that would make it possible

for him to fight for her. It was not true that he had

been outwitted by Monsey. And Donovan trusted her.

He had staked everything on her courage. Well, she

would not fail him.

Iskander had said that in this American girl was a

weapon of tested steel. And he had judged truly.

243

The House of the Falcon

Thoughtfully she bound the ends of the shawl about

her shoulders, thus leaving her arms free. She faced

the Alaman with new intentness. After all, she told

herself, the native was a witless ruffian. Edith stepped

to the ladder, speaking authoritatively to her guard and

drawing upon her small stock of Turki.

''Sa'at/' she declared. (It is the time to start.)

'Take me to" — she pondered swiftly — "Abbas AbacL

Abbas, effendif

The man fumbled uneasily with his weapon. He

had not expected this, but the white woman seemed

to be certain of her purpose. What was he to do? He

rose.

She thrust him aside indignantly, with beating

heart.

''Kidr Edith cried. "I must go to Abbas— to

Abbas.''

The man hesitated. He was little better than a

slave. Greatly he dreaded punishment and the anger

of the higher beings, his superiors. And the name of

Abbas hinted at both these things. It would be well

to take her as she asked, lest the soles of his bare feet

be beaten. \

Watchfully he climbed down the ladaer, motioning

her to follow.

It was then that the kindred longing of two hearts

came near to defeating the girl's new purpose. See-

ing Donovan standing, tied fast by the wrists to the

table, brought hither appar^tly for this purpose, Edith

gave a low cry and ran to him.

Her arms went around his neck and his lips pressed

hers swiftly. Breathing quickly, her cheeks aflame and

her eyes soft, the girl looked up at him.

Donovan kissed her again, incredulous of the near*

244

An Hour After Dark

ness of this beautiftil woman and more than a little

dazed. Her hands touched his rough cheek shyly.

The sudden knowledge of Edith's love and the brief

possession of her lips were a miracle that rendered him

voiceless. Then a rifle stock thrust roughly against

his chest.

"Edith!" he whispered. "You must not bother

about me. Good luck !"

"Stupid !" she laughed.

Her Alaman escorted her vigilantly to the door.

Lanterns were already lit in the courtyard. Over-

head, the crimson of the sky outlined walls and tower.

Within a few paces of her by one of the lights Abbas

was distributing cartridges to a group of men.

"Wat you wan'?" he cried angrily. ^'Nakir el

kadr! You go ^"

Edith walked nearer quietly.

"Monsey sent for me — Mousey.'*

Abbas glanced at her and shrugged his plump shoul-

ders. He pointed to the entrance to the courtyard be-

yond which was the darkness of the plain.

"The Excellency, out there." Monsey was bring-

ing the patrols closer to the walls. "A fool. By God,

I am no fool. You stay near, yes, near."

He glanced at the darkening sky and turned irritably

to his work. There were certain pine torches to be

raised high over the walls. In the daylight these

flares had been kept carefully lowered behind the ram-

parts.

s Edith watched awhile as slouching Alamans and

Tartars received an allotment of cartridges and de-

parted. She drew back a little from the lantern.

Abbas, after satisfying himself that she was accom- ^

panied by her attendant, did not spare his attention

245

The House of the Falcon

from his task. The girl, he knew, could not eso^

from the castle.

So Edith attained the first point in her objective,

a tumbled pile of stone blocks against the raised walk

that ran inside the parapet nearest the cliff. The Ala-

man stood before her, leaning on his rifle, well content

that there had been no beating of his tender feet.

The eastern wall, together with that of the north

and south, was more battered by the weather than that

facing the plateau. The parapet was broken at in-

tervals. Edith moved her position casually until she

was abreast one of these breaks, and perched herself

upon the stone walk that had served as a fire step be-

fore the days when guns and cartridges had been in-

vented.

Here, she could look out through a gap in the

masonry, and glimpsed the dark space that was the

ravine. A distant murmur of running water reached

her ears. She watched the two sentinels pacing the

rampart and understood why Monsey had not posted

a stronger guard. This side of the Kurgan was im-

pregnable to attack.

A scant dozen feet of steep incline led to the brink

of the cliff. Below was the five-hundred-foot drop to

the river. Editfi cast an anxious glance at the western

horizon. Only a crimson and purple glow was visible.

The sun had set some time ago. Across the dark

bulk of the cliff facing her a few stars were visible.

In the courtyard, the lanterns had gained full strength.

Dark figures passed between her and the lights.

Heavy poles bearing a bundle at their ends were being

raised into place. Once she saw Monsey, and instinc^

tively shrank closer into her hest of rodcs — ^although

he could not now see her in the dark.

246

An Hour After Dark

She noticed that the two sentries kept to the cor-

ners, at quite a distance. The Alaman, however, was

very close, watching her. At times she heard the bull

voice of Abbas, lowered to a rumble, and wondered if

he were seeking her. Without her realizing it, the

need of preparation engaged the two leaders, so that

they had no time to seek her out, Monsey being un-

aware that she was not in the tower.

Even the numbers in the Kurgan were not free

from the dread that the name of Yakka Arik inspired

On the diff edge she heard the sotmd of a bird flut-

tering its wings. And then a chirp. Again came the

whirr of wings, like that of a falcon rising, and not

until then did Edith realize that Aravang had come and

was signaling her. She stiffened and glanced up at the

bulk of the Alaman. He had not noticed anything out

of the usual.

Whereupon Edith drew closer to the gap in the

mass of stones. The sound of the bird — ^imitated from

one of Aravang's falcons — ^had been some yards away.

Nothing was visible in tiie murk under the wall.

'^Kuir she uttered clearly. The guard moved closer

to listen. The noise on the cliff quieted at once, but

Edith thought she heard a pebble slide from its

place.

Unfortimately, the Alaman had heard or guessed

at something moving. He elbowed the girl to one

side, thrusting his head out into the opening, with his

rifle at the "ready."

''Aravang!" called Edith softly, and as she recol-

lected a native phrase : "Kahd-darr

The body of the crouching guard was pressed close

to her, and she wrinkled her nose at the scent of filthy

sheepskins. She thought quickly. Surely the form of

247

The House of the Falcon

the Alaman must be visible to some one without,

framed as it was against the afterglow in the west.

So Edith tightened her lips, and pushed suddenly

. with all the strength of her young arms. Taken un-

awares, the native, overbalanced, fell forward through

the gap. A grunt resounded. He did not fall far.

With strained ears, Edith heard a rifle rattle over

the stones. The next instant the legs and scrambling

feet of the guard disappeared as though drawn down-

ward. A cough sounded, then the rustle of a heavy

body following the rifle. Then silence.

The slight noises had resounded like miniature ex-

plosions. But apparently the two sentries still kept

their posts. The bustle in the court and the stamping

of hordes drowned the struggle outside the wall.

"My goodness !" Edith realized what had happened.

"Oh, the poor man —

She shivered as the powerful figure of Aravang

crawled up beside her, climbing over the debris of

rocks widiout She caught the pungent scent of sweat-

soaked wool.

"Missy khatiumr Aravang thrust a cold metal ob-

ject into her hand, fumbling for it in the dark. His

own paw was damp.

Edith pushed the revolver back, wishing ardently

that she could speak so that Aravang would under-

stand. On thinking the matter over, she realized

that it would be safe for her servant to enter the

Kurgan. No one there knew Aravang, and as far as

appearance went he was much like the motley men of

Monsey's forces.

"Come,'* she whispered, laying hand on his shoul-

der. The man was breathing hard, his giant shoulders

tensed, like a swimmer after a long battle with the

248

An Hour After Dark

waves. It had been no mean feat to climb the cliff

of Yakka Arik.

"Dono-van Khan," he growled beseediingly, and

again: "Dono-van Khan."

"Yes, Aravang," she whispered reassuringly, as she

would to a child

CHAPTER XXVII

SANCTUARY OF THE TOWER

By now the aspect of the courtyard had changed.

Alamans, Kurds, and Tartars were lying on their sides

behind the ramparts, mostly to the west. Others stood

by the horses^ and still others by the tmlit flares.

The trap was set.

Edith, as she made her way to the hold, saw Abbas,

lantern in hand, talking to one of the groups of men.

He looked at her keenly, but seeing the figure of a

native shadowing her, was content to call out *

"You don' forget me, Abbas Abad. You watch for

me, yess, by Allah !"

With a sigh of relief the girl gained the semi-gloom

of the room under the tower. In her absence a lan-

tern had been brought to the Tartar on guard — ^a broad

Mongol wearing a round black hat, a bandoleer of

cartridges over his shoulder.

Beside him Donovan leaned against the table.

Edith advanced toward the ladder slowly, wondering

how the armed sentry was to be dealt witih. Donovan

must be freed. It was for that she had come to the

room.

Apparently the prisoner had not noticed her ; but his

eyes had quickened and he stood with both feet planted

firmly cm the floor. Here, however, was a situation

which Aravang felt himself competent to master with-

out any assistance. He grinned and seated himself

250

Sanctuary of the Tower

on the sizable packing case on which the Tartar

loafed.

The man scanned him with some suspicion and with-

out making room for the burly native. Edith paused,

holding her breath. She saw Aravang turn toward the

guard as if to say something. The man stared at

him from slant, cruel eyes that widened and started

from their sockets as a steel-like hand flew up and

closed about his throat.

No cry was uttered. Aravang still sat on the box.

But in his two hands he held the writhing Tartar help-

less.

Releasing one hand, Aravang thrust the other's bul-

letlike head against the stone wall. There was a dull

crack and the figure of the guard slumped upon the.

box.

"Some one is coming," said Donovan quietly, first

in English then in Turki. Aravang stood up with

knotted hands, as if prepared to face and conquer new

enemies for the sake of his mistress. Edith, however,

had seen Monsey and a party of his men walking

toward the tower. They were armed and seemed in

haste.

Urgent need spurred the girl's aroused wit She

could explain nothing to Aravang. Instead, she sprang

forward, turned over the box and pointed into its

empty depths.

Donovan caught her purpose at once and barked a

short command at Aravang. Their powerful friend

moved slowly, but with two motions of his great arms

he had lifted the unconscious sentry from the floor

where the man had slipped into the box. Then he

turned the box right side up, over the body, concealing

all trace of his victim.

251

The House of the Falcon

Yet not before Edith had pulled the banddeer from

the Tartar's shoulder, and the round cap from his

head. She stripped off Aravang's heavy woolen hat

and flung it into a comer, planting the Tartar's cap

in its place and the cartridge belt over his arm. Mean-

while Aravang picked up the rifle, which he handled

clumsily — ^not being accustomed to possession of such

modem weapons.

Edith faced about as Monsey strode into the door,

flung her a quick glance and moved toward Donovan.

'1 can spare only a moment," the Russian smiled.

''But after I have kept an appointment with the Sayaks

I intend to return '* he broke off. "Where is the

other guard?"

He looked quickly from Donovan to the giri. His

men watched from tiie doorway. Aravang, not under-

standing, was mute. Before Donovan could speak,

Edith answered.

*'Ask Abbas," she said. "He wants me to wait for

him — ^after your ap{>ointment"

"The devil r

"I think he is," Edith smiled.

Knowing Abbas, Monsey did not question her. And

then there was the dull report of a rifle from the

I^teau. The Tartars stirred uneasily.

"Announcing our visitors," observed Monsey. He

felt Donovan's bonds, muttering that he liked to be

sure of his reception when he csJled again.

"One can never be too sure," nodded Donovan af-

fably.

The Russian ordered the girl curtly up the ladder

to the tower. "And no tricks, my lady." Edith

obeyed with surprising readiness. After glancing

around and making sure that all was as he wished,

252

Sanctuary of the Tower

Monsey strode toward the door as a scattered burst

of firing resounded nearer the KurgavL

When he left the room his men followed. Edith,

in the upper chamber, waited impatiently until Ara-

vang's shaggy head was thrust up into the opening.

Behind him came Donovan, stroking the wrists that

the cords had ntmtibed. The three faced each other

silently in the gloom. It was Edith who spoke first.

"Come," she said thoughtfully, "to the tower top."

Donovan had taken the native's weapon and the

bandoleer. He jerked open the breech, made sure that

a cartridge was inserted, and ordered Aravang to sur-

render his revdver to Edith.

"Why?" he frowned. "I rather like it here — ^as a

base of operations.'*

"Because I want you to," insisted the girl.

Familiar by now with the damaged stairway, she

advanced up to the open air. Donovan followed more

slowly.

Night had fallen. But splinters of light were thrust*

ing into the gloom of the Kurgan as the waiting men

began to light the kerosene-soaked flares. First one

and then another pine bundle crackled and blazed.

By the growing light they could see dark figures

running up the Kurgan's entryway, and the line of

Monse/s men standing behind die parapet. These had

not yet begun to fire. The reports Edith had heard

came from the patrols as they were driven back to the

moat

Near the rocks on the further plateau she thou^t

she saw the light robes of groups of men moving.

Overhead the stars had claimed the sky and the half-

moon was shedding a hazy light Donovan took it

aBin.

^53

The House of the Falcon

"Monsey is no man's fool/' he muttered. "He

knows his men are liable to stampede mider the old

fear of the Sayaks, in the dark. Those flares **

"Quick !" cried Edith. **We must do something be-

fore it is too late/'

The man paid her a tribute of admiration in a swift

glance. Then his eyes hardened with recollection of

the peril below. The whole vista of the courtyard

was fast being revealed by the sputtering flares. The

door leading to the hold and the tower where th^

stood must be clearly outlined to any one who chanced

to look that way. It would be diflicult, practically im-

possible, to escape from the door into the courtyard

without being seen.

Still, that was their only chance of safety, Donovan

reasoned. A quick sally, a rush to one of the breaks

in the wall on a side away from the Sayak attack— a

gantlet of bullets

He knelt down, resting his rifle on a fallen timber,

waist-high, and searched for Abbas. Edith tugged at

his shoulder vigorously.

"What, dear?" he asked, without shifting his posi-

tion* , \

"Not that, Donovan Khan/' the girl exclaimed.

"That is not why I brought you here.''

"Righto !" he murmured cheerily. "But it will hdp,

you know *'

"No— not that" She crouc^d beside him, her face

dose to his. "Don't you see ? We can do more than

that!"

A ragged volley came out of the glocnn, two hun-

dred yards across the plateau. Under cover of the

swirling smoke that rose over the ground, they saw

groups of Sayaks advandng. Behind the parapet the

254

Sanctuary of the Tower

waiting cohorts held their fire, as Monsey, running

back and forth, swore at them angrily. The English-

man knew that when an answering volley came from

the Kurgan it must do deadly execution among the

attackers, who, besides the disadvantage of numbers

and inferior arms, had the glare of the pine torches in

their eyes.

"We must warn the Sayaks, Donovan Khan.*'

His eye fixed on Monsey, he did not grasp at first

the full significance of her words. She shook him im-

patiently. ^'Call to Iskander. Or it will be too late.*'

"Too late? Ahr

The instant Donovan understood her purpose, its

whole meaning was clear to the mind of the soldier.

La3ring down his weapon he took the girl's hand in

his and studied her anxiously.

"Hurry!" she whispered.

"You do not know it all, Edith. Our warning might

check the Sayak attack, but it would bring all these

beggars of Monsey's on us, at the tower. It would

cut us off. Our only chance is a surprise sally — ^and

we would be throwing that chance away "

"I understand."

"During the fighting, if we keep silence, we might

slip away, Edith, I will not throw aside your

chance."

Her eyes held him. He could see every shade of

expression in her eager face by the glare below. And

he saw no fear — only pride and urgent need.

"Donovan Khan, you told me that the Sayaks would

continue to storm the Kurgan until they are utterly

cut to pieces." She did not wait for his answer. "Wc

can save the lives of a hundred men. And then Yakka

Arik "

255

The House of the Falcon

Edith sighed. '1 am thinking of the women of

Yakka Arik.

"We can save them, Donovan Khan, perhaps. Now,

hurry." The girl gave him a little push as a second

volley — ^harmless as the first— came from the scat-

tered muskets of the oncoming natives. "Don't you

see ? It doesn't matter — ^you and I. We will have eaidi

other ; they can't change that, now, can they ?"

Donovan had seen men, before now, fling their

bodies into the face of death. It was something of a

miracle to him, this settled purpose of the girl at his

side. He rose, with a laugh that had much gladness

in it

"By Jove ! You are pla)ring the game, Edith."

Donovan, once convinced, was a man of action. He

cupped his hands to his mouth and faced the gloom

of the plateau in which he could now make out the

Sayaks not a hundred yards away.

"Iskander, son of Tahir!" His shout rang out

clearly over the bustle below and the confused sounds

from the near-by natives. "Go backl"

He had spoken in Turki. Men stared up from the

courtyard at the tower in astonishment. Hands were

withdrawn from rifles. Monsey seemed turned to a

graven image of attention. Donovan continued in Eng- ]

lish. I

"Iskander, Donovan Khan is speaking. A trap has \

been set. Twice your numbers are in the Ki4rgan with

magazine rifles."

Crack-^rackt Monsey's revolver ^>at at the tower

sunMnit, the bullets thudding into the beams overhead.

Edith fancied that the Sayaks had halted. Donovan

paid no attention to the shots.

" 'Ware the ditch^!" he shouted, in Ae silence that

256

Sanctuary of the Tower

now held the castle. "It is dug out and staked, in

front of you. Monsey has prepared for you. Go

backr

A pause, in which Edith strained her ears. Then

came Iskander's answering hail out of the dark :

"Dono-van Khan, I hear."

In response to a command the girl could not distin-

guish, the forms of the Sayaks began to mdt bade

into the rocks and trees. As if to confirm the warning,

a heavy volley burst from the wall of the castle-^-too

late now to do serious harm. Confused firing was

kept up by Monsey's men, who seemed to have been

startled by the voice from the tower and were empty-

ing thdr weapons across the plateau. Faintly, Edith

heard the Arab's second hail

''I hear . . . and will not forget . . /*

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE VOICE OF MAHMOUD

As Donovan had anticipated, and as might have been ^

expected, the first rush of Monsey's men toward the

hold and the ladder leading to the tower was without

result except for certain casualties among the attackers.

Aravang, standing over the aperture in the floor

through which the ladder led, was armed only with a

short wooden pole. But with this weapon — ^which, in-

deed, the ktd favored over others — he sent the first two

or three who ventured up the ladder back with broken

heads.

Donovan, climbing alertly down the stairs frcHn

above, seconded his effort with the clip of cartridges

in the Mauser rifle — five shots that drove the attackers

back, dragging their wounded, from the ladder and the

lower room.

"Ah, that was well. Excellency !" grunted the burly

native, leaning on his staff. The reflected light from

the courtyard served to disclose the two men and the

woman to each other dimly.

"It was but the beginning," responded the English-

man in Aravang's tongue. "We must hold the tower

now. This is the only entrance."

He paused to cotmt the cartridges in the bandoleer.

Two or three dozen rounds, at the most. The six

chambers of the revolver were filled, but extra ammu-

nition was lacking. Aravang, experienced in such

warfare, was almost indifferent.

258

The Voice of Mahmoud

"We may meet another peril, Excellency/'

"They may try to climb the outside of the tower?*'

Aravang shook his head.

"It may be, Dono-van Khan. But this peril is

otherwise.'*

Edith spoke then and Donovan did not learn what

alternative the native had in mind.

"That was splendid," she cried. "Aren't we quite

safe in these stone walls — of the tower? If only we

can keep them away until my father comes ^"

"Our position, Edith," he smiled, "is excdlent

Aravang, alone, could hold this floor, at a pinch. And,

if you will be good enough to mount the stairs for a

flight and watch from the embrasures, we can check*

mate any attempt to put ladders against the tower it-

self." He added, however, to himself: "Of course,

we are without food or water, or necessary ammuni-

tion, and Major Fraser-Camie is at least twelve hours'

ride from this place ^"

"Indeed," Edith reproved him, "I won't think of

going upstairs without you. I think you are trying to

send me away !"

She pouted and Donovan shook his head guiltily.

A new outbreak of firing from the plateau, however,

took him halfway up the stairs at her side, to cme of

the arrow slits in the stone wall, giving on the court-

yard.

Hence tfa^ obtained a glimpse of an unexpected

development resulting from the withdrawal of the

Sayaks. Bundles of small pine branches bound to-

gether and soaked in part with kerosene — even that

poor brand of liquid brought by camelback from China

to Kashgar — ^when once ignited are not easily extin-

guished. As a consequence, the flares of Monsey were

259

The House of the Falcon

still blazing and crackling away alx>ve the courtyard,

shedding a Uoodlike flood of illumination over the

natives who were struggling to haul down the poles

supporting the flares and extinguish them. The men

worked hastily, with one eye on the tower.

Donovan looked for Abbas and Monsey; but the

masters of the Kurgan were keeping well without the

rangou^f fire from the summit Meanwhile the horses

had fallen into a semi-panic at the blazing masses near

their backs and were tugging at their halters, while

some Tartars struggled to secure them. This light

had given opportunity to Iskander to organize a snip-

ing fire from the branches of trees on the further side

of the plateau.

"Oh, do you think it will hurt these — ^these Alamans

and the rest?'' inquired Edith interestedly. She fdt

impelled to call attention to the brief advantage which

her strategy had secured for the Sayaks. "Surdy these

horrid men are worried by our bdng in the tower and

by this shooting-

f»

Donovan, intent on the panorama of the fight, un-

consdously dropped his mask of cheerfulness.

''Hardly, I think, Edith. That long-range fire has

little effect. And when the flares are out, the horses

will soon quiet down ; then we won't be aMe to see any-

thing that happens."

The girl was struck by the abrupt moodiness of his

words, understanding, however, that it was on her ac*

count and not his own that the Englishman was

troubled. Shyly, she nestled her hand in his, which

closed on it firmly.

Realizing that his enemies would soon be in dark-

ness, Donovan jerked his rifle to pick off scnne while

he could still see to do so* Then he sighed. Cartridges

260

The Voice of Mahmoud

were too few for such a maneuver. He must save

his fire for defense of the tower. Edith noticed his

act, and promptly questioned him.

"It would be unnecessary bloodshed/' he parried,

not wishing to explain the true reason.

Donovan was silent. He drew her close to his side,

his arm around the slender shoulder that pressed near

him. Edith's hair was against his cheek, and jbe felt

her wahn breath on his throat

The girl clung to him trustfully, her faith strong

that the man she loved would do what was best, under

all drctunstances.

They watched the flares splutter into smoky gloom

as the Tartars pulled down the poles. With this, the

shooting from the tree tops dwindled perforce. The

horses ceased their plunging, and an unnatural quiet

settled upon the castle.

Once Donovan caught up his rifle and took a snap

shot at a figure that explored the base of the tower

from the summit of the hold. The form sank to the

stone flooring and presently crawled away.

Again there was a brief clamor as the men below

tried to take the tower ladder by surprise, and Aravang

came into action. Donovan did not even think this

important enough to go down the stairs, well knowing

the advantages of position possessed by their burly

friend. Presently this new tumult also ceased, and

they knew that Aravang was still master of the stair.

The smoke currents eddied away from tiie court-

yard. The new moon brightened, casting a Ituninous

half light upon the plateau, the walls of the Kurgca/ir^

a light that Uurred all outlines and was more treach-

erous than helpful.

Edith and Donovan watched it from the shelter of

261

The House of the Falcon

the dismantled beams on the tower top. The girl

snuggled close to him.

"I don't like this — ^this silence," she whispered.

"Oh, it's quite to be expected, Edith. Monsey is

checkmated for a moment. Our side had a good in-

ning. His men probably are disturbed by the failure

of their plans and our appearance in the tower. These

natives are superstitious. They must have been startled

by my voice —

i\y vuitc— —

Please, you are just trying to say nice things. That

is what I tried to tell you a little while ago."

Donovan, however, had been reasoning aloud. His

mind was alert. He was disappointed by the complete

withdrawal of the Sayaks — ^as the quiet of the plateau

seemed to hint. What was Monsey doing ? He knew

the Russian would not leave them unmolested in the

tower.

If scaling ladders were being prepared, he would

have heard some noise. And if his enemies did not

plan to rush the tower summit from without, what

were their intentions? To wait for daylight?

It was not likely, Donovan thought.

Dawn would give an advantage to Monsey, for the

defenders of the tower would then be visible. On the

other hand, delay would bring Major Fraser-Carnie

and Arthur Rand nearer to Yakka Arik. No, Monsey

would hardly wait.

Edith did not try to think. She was resting against

Donovan, thankful for the interval of peace with him

at her side. The peril of the Kurgan seemed to draw

further off.

"Dearest, this is our hour of peace," she heard him

say. "God — it will be short Brave heart that you

262

The Voice of Mahmoud

His fingers trembled, touching the soft masses of

her hair. She looked up, reading the secret of the

steadfast eyes that were close to hers in the dark-

ness.

Sheer tritmiph thrilled the girl. He loved her.

Donovan Khan loved her. No matter how short their

hour of happiness, they would be together.

Bitterness was in the heart of the man. He had

brought the woman he loved to suffering and the

shadow of death.

"Sweetheart of mine, did you really say you would

— ^be my wife? Then I didn't dream it, did I?" His

arm tightened around her and his lips brushed her

closed eyes. He heard a soft, quivering laugh.

"Donovan Khan, you haven't said yet that you love

me?*'

'Tx)ve you — you, Edith? Why, I've done nothing

else but liiat since you came to Yakka Arik. Didn't

you know ?"

"But I wanted to hear you say it. Now everything's

all right."

"It must be so for you, Edith. This nightmare will

end; you'll sail to England with me, won't you,

darling? There's a jolly curate, my uncle-^a garden

that was made for you ^" something choked the

man's words.

"England is so far. There is an army chaplain at —

at ''

Edith's voice failed, and Donovan closed her lips

with a fierce kiss.

"Sreenugger, you darling!" He tried to look into

the face that was*pressed tightly against his shoulder,

and, failing, he murmured inarticulately into her ear,

his arm straining her to him.

263

The House of the Falcon

And so did these two voice their love that was to

Edith the most splendid gift of this other world of the

hiUs.

At a sound from below Donovan moved cautiously

to the edge of the parapet. Edith heard Monsey speak,

from the shadows that clung to the stone shelters of

the courtyard.

"A truce, Donovan/' he called. "Will you hold

your fire, while we talk terms?"

The man in the tower considered.

"If your men stay where th^ are — ^yes," he an-

nounced, keeping well behind the stone breastwork.

"No trickery, mind you!"

"Granted." The girl heard Monsey laugh. He

q)oke like one who held the situation well in hand.

"May I compliment you on the trick you played us —

warning off your Sayak friends? It was too bad,

though, to give your secret away. You will do well

to accept my terms."

"I was going to propose some of my own."

"No use, Mr. Donovan Khan."

"I'm afraid not. The Sayaks have marked you for

their own," Donovan shifted guilefully into Turki, for

the benefit of such of Monsey's men as might be within

hearing.

Edith caught an oath from the courtyard below.

Then the Russian responded something she could not

understand. She leaned back against the timbers, wait-

ing. Into her eyes crept the glimmer of cotmtless stars.

The heavens were afire, and in the dear mountain air

the jeweled radiance of the sky seemed very dose to

the wearied girl.

The murmur of the men's voices went on, and her

j^es dosed through sheer drowsiness. She had not

264

The Voice of Mahmoud

slept for nearly forty-eight hours. It \was Donovan's

return that roused her from her stupor.

He spoke grimly.

"I must tell you this, Edith. Monsey's men are

piling timbers and firewood under the entrance hole

of the tower — throwing the stuff in from the door. He

says that he will bum us out, if we don't siurender.'*

"Oh!" Edith sat up with sudden dread. "He

wouldn't do that!"

Donovan did not answer at once. "He would, dear,

to save his own skin. I wonder if it's come to that?

Somehow, I don't think so. Of course, if I were alone

here he'd jolly well start a bonfire at once —

"Then we won't surrender, not a bit. And I'll stay

right here, so there will be no bonfire, as you say," she

responded promptly. She knew Monsey better than

to ask — ^although she wanted to — ^whether Donovan

could be released, unhurt, if she gave herself up. She

dreaded parting with Donovan, even for a moment.

"You must think of yoursdf a little ^" he pro-

tested.

"I am. And I don't want you to talk to him any

more."

This ended the conference. Donovan reflected that

the danger of fire was the one that must have occurred

to Aravang. The Englishman and Aravang could not

prevent the piling up of wood. A large blaze started

under the entrance to the tower would soon catch in

the ruins of the staircase and the tower itself would

serve as a chimn^ for the draft. Nevertheless, he

fancied that this was Monsey's last card.

With Donovan's arm around her once more, the girl

subsided into the drowsiness she was powerless to

fight She tried vainly to keep her eyes open.

265

The House of the Falcon

In this state of half-wakefulness, the whole aspect of

her plight lost its reality. What were the tower, the

Ku/rgan, lionsey, but a bad dream, like the one in

Srinagar? Only Donovan was real. She rested her

cheek against his arm.

Dull sounds from thfe r^ons bdow failed to dis-

turb her as they did the man. He did not relish hear*

ing an incendiary pyre prepared. But he was powerless

to do anything save watch from the tower top.

His arm tightened about the woman. She was his.

Nothing must take her away f rcMn him no w

Presently he shook her gently into consciousness.

"Listen/' he said quietly.

A sound from the plateau had reached his keen ears.

He could not identify it Edith hearkened.

'^Why, it's camds/' she said at once. "I ought to

know their coughing by now. But what in the world

are camels doing around here?"

'1 fancy you're right" He rose and stepped to tibe

parapet. Something was moving in front of the

Kurgan. He strained his eyes through the haze of

moonlight Some shapes, clumsy and grot^ue, were

taking semUance.

The girl was not sure she was not still dreaming —

except for Donovan's aroused interest. Camels t

Why, that was absurd. Unless a wandering herd had

strayed there

"They are commg here," whispered Donovan.

She could hear the tinkle of rusty bells now, and the

protesting cough of the beasts— even the muffled calls

of the drivers, still veiled in the haze. Shadows were

passing over the ground.

The thought came to her that here was aid; but at

once she reflected that her father^s party must be

266

The Voice of Mahmoud

mounted on horses. The only camels in these moun-

tain passes were those of Yakka Arik.

"It's a carayan/' muttered Donovan. "Now, what

does that mean ?*'

Already Edith was conscious that movraient was

afoot in the Kurgan below them. Men were running

to the wall The cUhk of metal echoed faintly.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE SAYAK FURY

Edith was fully awake, but exhausted by her long

vigil and the events of the last hours. It was hard for

her to grasp all that came upon the beds of the cara-

van.

It W9s not long before she was conscious of a high

voice from the plain not far from the Kurgan. It

came o«t of the moonlight, wailing and shadowy as

the light itself in its substance.

She could not distinguish the words. Donovan,

every faculty bent into listening, breathed softly. An

attentive quiet had settled upon the castle. Edith

caught the drift of strange syllables, intoned after the

fashion of a chant. The voice came nearer and gi:ew

more distinct.

"By Jove!''

She took Donovan's arm. "What is it?"

"Mahmoud. It is some kind of message. Some-

thing about the caravan being prepared. Listen :

''The stars are setting!' he repeated, ''and the cara-

van . . . starts for the dawn of . . . nothing, O,

make haste/'

"It's queer." Edith shivered, not perceiving that

the night cold had gripped her in her sleep. "Why, he

is walking in front of the camels, and coming here."

Donovan was intent on what was passing. The

chant went on.

268

The Sayak Fury

^*Fof the men of faith a fitting grcwe is dugl* he

murmured. ^'Bat for some there is no grave.'' .\ .

Their seats are empty, in which they shall ride . . .

The master of the ca/ranmn calls, and they wiU

come . . . when what is written will come to

pass ''

Edith could see Mahmoud now. Wrapped in his

long cloaky the hakim moved through the moonlight

like some disembodied spirit. His lean arms were

raised. His voice shrilled into the air.

Owing to the waning moon and the shadows cast

by the moving forms of the camels, the appearance of

Mahmoud, as he shifted from shadow to shadow, from

place to place, was illusory. Long watching had

strained Edith's sight so that she experienced t)he phe-

nomenon known to those who have centered their fac-

ulties of attention throughout a night vigil — 2l blurring

of outlines and a disturbance of vision that cloaked

the vista of the plain with the aspect of a mirage.

But the caravan was no mirage.

Edith was not the only one in the Kurgan to be be-

wildered.

Flashes from the rampart lanced into the murk;

shattering reports assailed her ears. The firing grew

heavier — ^became thunderous. A camel squealed; the

voice of Mahmoud, heard in the brief intervals be-

tween shots, went x)n, although the cloaked figure

seemed to have suik to the gftmnd.

Donovan laughed through set teeth.

"So Monse/s men have nerves," he cried, *'even as

you and I. That shooting is out of hand."

He watched the scene under them keenly, hands

cupped beside his eyes. Swirling smoke eddied across

his vision, veiling the courtyard except for the rifle

269

The House of the Falcon

flashes. All the firing seemed to be directed at

Mahmoud.

''Not much good bombarding the landscape at night/'

he shouted to Edith cheerfully. "It excites the men

and makes a lot of smoke. IVe seen it before this.''

She pressed trembling hands to her ears, wonder-

ing whether his words were not intended merdy to

hearten her.

"What is . . . happening?*' ^ cried "And

Mahmoud?"

"Some mummery of the hakim . • . always means

something. . . . Wait."

His disjointed sentences barely reached her. Then

he gripped her arm and bent forward. «

New sotmds were adrift in the courtyard. Horses

neighed — ^hoofs beat upon stone. Men shouted and

cursed. To Edith, struggling with wavering senses,

the Kurgan and the plain alike were an ocean in whidi

shapes darted and a flood of plunging forms swq>t

under the tower. She heard Donovan cry :

"The Lorses are loosed.*'

In the smoky murk she could see nothing clearly.

A horrid sound rose from the further end of ^e

Kurgan — ^a man's scream. It seoned to her that new

forms, white and gray, pressed past the base of the

tower, on the broken roof of the hold, and swept over

the distant wall to the north.

Surety she caught the gleam of bare steel, against

the flash of a rifle. The shooting dwindled, but voices

growled and roared.

"Sayakr And again : "Sayak r

Then came the words, clearly to the girl:

''Tahir el kadr/' And again: "Dono-van Khan —

ho! — ^Dono-van Khan!"

270

The Sayak Fury

Dofiovan's lips almost touched her ear. "By Jove!

That was clever, what? The Sayaks have crq>t

through the breaches to the north and south and havie

cut loose the horses. They have launched a surprise

attack ''

With the word, he left her. The girl saw him dive

down the stairs. A fresh uproar had arisen in the

interior of the tower. There was a crashing of wood

and the impact of running feet, followed by the swift,

regular crack of a rifle.

Stunned, sh^ sought for Donovan. Peering over the

parapet, she saw a lantern flicker into light in the mid-

courtj^rd. Monsey and some of his Tartars were

visible beside it, the Russian hatless, his face wet with

perspiration, a smoking revolver in his hand.

On a pile of stones, Edith made out a Sayak boy,

sijghting a musket that was longer than his own body ;

behind the boy cloaked f^rms waved bare knives.

Surely these were women. Edith even fancied that she

saw tiie majestic form of the hadji of Yakka Arik

moving on tiie rampart

Monsey was shouting to his men. She caught the

flash of his revolver, before a mass of rushing Sayaks

swq)t toward him and the light went out suddenly,

leaving the Kurgan in its inurk. Cries of pain and

anger resounded. Edith recollected that Donovan must

have disappeared down the stairs and turned* after

him, her one thought to find him and keep close to his

side.

At the last lanoing where Aravang had been left a

struggle was progressing in the dark, revealed vaguely

by a lantern placed on the heap of logs, broken beams,

and firewood that had risen close to the opening in the

floor.

271

The House of the Falcon

Bodies thrashed about the stones, dark faces alight

with panic peered up into the opening from below,

while men fought to push themselves up through the

aperture.

On the lowest step of the stairs, just in front of

her, the girl recognized Donovan instinctively. He

was swinging a clubbed rifle at the tide of enemies.

Several bodies at his feet half choked the opening.

Then Edith realized that the men of the Kurgan had

not waited to light the pile under the tower, hit were

using it to storm their sanctuary. Two forms, locked

in conflict, rolled downward through the opening.

A body was pulled from the aperture which glowed

redly like the entrance to some purgatory. She saw

the evil face of Abbas peering up, as Donovan was

pressed back and grappled by a squat Tartar.

It seemed to the girl that the Alaman had ccmie to

sedc her, despite the fury that was raging without.

His purpose was reenforced by the terror of his men,

to whom the tower loomed as a refuge from the dead-

lier hatred without.

Her heart quickened as she saw Donovan struggling

silently with the native on the steps bdow her. Abbas

also had seen the Englishman, and his arm drew back,

a knife in its palm. Fire surged through the girl's

body and gripped her brain.

•She clasped the revolver she held in both hands,

pointed it at the Alaman's broad face and pulled the

trigger. The report bellowed in the confined sf)ace.

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 trfgger savagely. She was fighting for the man

she loved. To save Donovan, she would have gripped

272

The Sajiak Fury

Abbas with bare hands. So, since the first ages of

man, have women fought when peril faced their hus-

bands and children. And so were native wolnen fight-

ing that night in the Kurgcm.

Edith, her eyes still tight shut, continued to pull

the trigger of her revolver, even after it clicked fruit-

lessly and all the cartridges had sped from its cham-

bers, even the one that the girl, mindful of the Moham-

medan legend, had thought was marked for her. The

tower had grown quieter. Presently she was conscious

of a cheery voice :

'JCease firing, Edith."

She opened her eyes. The bodies still stirred on the

stone floor of the tower room ; the lantern flickered on

the logs below. Sounds of conflict swept in from with-

out. But the stair and the pile of wood were emgty

of foes, and Donovan was not to be seen.

"Where are you?" she exclaimed anxiously.

"Present." Donovan emerged from under the stairs,

directly beneath her feet and stepped swiftly to her

side. He was laughing. "I took to the first dugout

handy when you began to strafe the place. Brave

girir

His eyes were tender as he bent over her. She shiv-

ered, staring down at the lantern, unable to realize the

truth that he was still well and whole, at her si3e^

Then §he clung to him, burying her head in his

shoulder.

"Did— did I kill Abbas?" He heard her choked

voice from somewhere under his chin.

"Abbas?, No, you missed him, with something to

spare. Aravang was alive and kicking in the«melee

below. He pulled the Alaman down, I think. By

rights that native of yours ought to be dead a dozen

273

The House of the Falcon

times before now. But he isn't — thanks to some

Providence that looks after his kind. Edith, do you

realize you saved my life?'* He was talking quickly,

anxiously, his e)res fixed on the vista of the room be-

low, witii its array of broken men that he shielded

carefully from her sight.

"I? Howr

'*Well," he laughed again, not altogether steadily,

"your first shot knocked the brains out of that Tartar

on top of me. The others ran f rcwn your barrage after

Aravang tackled their chief. So did I — run. You

creased the back of my jaw just a little with a bullet,

besides singeing my neck. I fancy your last shot got

Aravang in the leg. I heard him swear ^"

"Oh, dear! I meant to shoot Abbas."

She looked up, her lips trembling with a smile. For

the first time she saw Donovan's tired face, spotted

with blood — from his slain antagonist — ^and with a

dark line running down from his own injured chin.

"Ohr

Edith fainted in his arms.

Aravang's mighty strength had held the stairs at

the head of the pile of wood until Donovan's rifle

came to his aid; but by then the 6u/ was g^ppling

with an agile Kurd who slashed at him with a knife

and tore at his face with fanglike teeth. The two had

rolled to the floor under Donovan's feet and out into

the opening through which the men of Abbas were

pressing warily against the swinging rifle butt over

their heads.

Fortunately for Aravang, his foes were half-mad

vrith panic bom of the peril that had overwhelmed the

walls of the stronghold. For not alone had the fighting

men of Yakka Arik come to the assault under cover

274

The Sayak Fury

of Mahmoud's s diversion in front of the tower.

Women, boys, and old men, the Sayaks had come, sum-

moned by Islander during the hours of quiet after

Donovan's warning, armed with whatever they could

lay hand on and ready to die in the defense of ;their

homes and the temple. And at their head the hadji

had advanced.

So the men about Abbas felt in their hearts a greater

fear than that of the mystery of Yakka Arik — ^the fear

of righteously angered wcMnen and aged men led by a

priest, of fathers and husbands who cared not for

their own lives so long as the marauders were slain —

and the struggling Aravang was unheeded until he

rose> swajring above the body of his victim, the Kurd

Just at that moment Abbas, standing above him on

the wood, reached for his knife. And Aravang, see-

ing this, groped for Abbas with teeth agria A paw-

like hand jerked the Alaman down, behind the pile,

and the bloody face t)f the kid glared in his.

"Aid!" Abbas Abad screamed: "Aid— O my

worthy friends — cleave me not **

But down through the aperture came the ragged

fusiHade from the revolver of Edith Ratid, 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. Taste then what thou hast

stored upl"

Aravang had taken a small log in his free hand,

and tipon this the eyes of the merchant fastened while

275

The House of the Falcon

prayers and offers of money flooded from his quiver-

ing lips. In the midst of his begging he flung his stout

body forward, seeking to upset the kul, his hand clutch-

ing for the precious knife. Aravang stepped back

swiftly and Abbas reached the knife — only to sink

down upon it, his skull shattered by a blow from the

log driven down with all the kul's weight behind it.

Then Aravang took up the body of his enemy in his

arms and strode over the massed wood, limping under

the hurt of Edith's wandering bullet, but inexorable in

his purpose.

He staggered forward among frantic horses toward

a group of Tartars who had flocked together in the

center of the courtyard, while the struggle ebbed about

them in the moonlight He stef^d over bodies that

writhed on the stones and pushed aside unheeding a

Sayak girl who was moaning out her life, a bayonet

in her breast

"Sayak!" he heard the battle cry of the trilJe:

"Sayak r

The darkness under the parapets was rife with

sound and movement as scattered Tartars and Ala*

mans sought vainly for leaders and gave back under

blows from swords that they could not see.

"They are devils !" cried one. "Flee — ^flee!"

Aravang headed toward where he could see two

robed Sayaks standing and a third kneeling. Beside

them a figure lay prone on the floor. As he approached,

the kul heard the kneeling Sayak speaking very quietly.

^'Tamanshud (it is finished)," Iskander was saying,

swaying upon his knees. '^Ohi, my enemy is slain by

my hand ... as I have sworn • • • it has come to

pass."

Then Aravang saw that the body on the stones was

276

The Sayak Fury

that of Monsey. Beside it he tossed the bulky form

that was Abbas, and turned to Mahmoud, who, with

the hadji, stood beside the Arab chieftain,

"The son of Tahir is dying/' said Mahmoud to

Aravang.

While the fury without ebbed through the Kwrgcm

Donovan sat passively on the lowest step, holding the

precious burden of the woman close to his chest. Hav-

ing assured himself that she was uninjured, he waited,

stroking the coils of heavy hair that had fallen loose

upon her shoulders.

And while he waited, for the fall of Ae dice of des-

tiny, the battling elements of this world of the hills

tore at eadi other, and parted.

The smoke lifted and drifted away from the walls

of the castle. In the heavens, the moon declined be-

hind the cloud bank to the west, and the stars alone

looked down upon the mountain top.

To the exhausted watcher on the stairs it seemed

as if his life and the life of the woman in his arms

were carried onward by a current he could no longer

resist. But he held her firmly, joyful in the knowl-

edge that they could not now be parted.

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 Englisfamaxt "Is the

fighting finished?"

"It is finished."

"And the son of Tahir?"

The House of the Falcon

"He is no more. He sought the man Monsey and

found him.'* The hcdHm beckoned. "Come, Dpno-wan

Khan. You must leave the castle. Your work here is

done."

With that, he turned away. The Englishman rose

stiffly and carried his burden into the courtyard, where

masses of Sayaks — ^men, women, and boys — ^were

gathered about the dark groups of prisoners. He

stepped over prone bodies and went down the steps to

the plain where the horses were being collected and a

string of camels waited. Aravang followed.

They went onward tmtil they came to tiie edge of

the woods, where the native led Donovan to an open

ravine where was the bed of a stream and pools of

fresh water. Here they bathed Edith's face, somewhat

hdplessly — ^being unskilled in caring for the needs of ^

a woman — and sat down to wait until she should re-

turn to her senses.

Presently a glimmer of fiery light crept through the

screen of trees between them and the plateau, smd

the crackle of flames came to their ears.

Donovan questioned the native with a glance.

"Mahmoud, the all-wise, has set fire to the Kurgcm,

Excellency. Thus will the bodies, all except two, be

buried and the nest of the dead Vulture will be no

more."

The white man nodded.

"So, Iskander led the Sayaks into the north and

south of the Kurgcen, Aravang," he mused, **while

Mahmoud drew their attention and fire to the west?

It was weU done. Yet whence came these numbers ?"

He spoke idly, his gaze on the unconscious giri, as

if merely confirming his belief as to what had passed.

Aravang was resting his head on his bent arms--botfa

278

The Sayak Fury

men numbed by |>ain and the relief from long sus-

pense.

"Excellency, during the pause between the first at-

tack and the end, thfe whole village of Yakka Arik

came to the Kurgan. You saw what followed, when

rifles were useless before daggers near at hand in the

dark. But it was the fear of Mahmoud that brought

it to pass/'

"Fear?'* Donovan dipped his hand into the water

and laid it on Edith's curls gently. "I wonder. Then,

after all, as Major Fraser-Camie might say, it was

merely a question of morale. But why did the camels

come?"

Aravang did not reply at once.

'Soon you will see," he muttered*

«<

CHAPTER XXX

THE PASSING OF THE CARAVAN

It was high midday when a tired American gentle-

man clad in a long black coat^ riding breeches, and a

flapping sombrero pushed his horse up the valleys to-

ward the height where a mounted guide conducted him,

followed by a string of impatient Garhwalis of whom

only those with the best horses were able to keep near

them.

Beside him Major Fraser-Camie was unnaturally ♦

cheerful, keeping at the same time an eye upon a faint

column of smoke that rose through the trees in front

of them and inwardly cursing the reticence of the

native guide who had joined them that morning and

whose vocabulary, whether by linguistic limitations

or personal inclination, was confined to the words :

"Dono-van Khan sent me," and "Missy khanum/'

Even the optimism and doggedness of the worthy

major that had enabled them to journey from Kash-

mir to Kashgar on Monsey's heds suffered when the

guide disappeared as if by magic, swallowed up in the

underbrush. He glanced back at the half dozen

mounted riflemen in their green tunics who were lash-

ing wearied beasts in the dread of being left behind

the sahibs should the fighting — for which they had

come expectantly half a thousand miles — ^be near at

hand.

*'Damn your ambuscades!" swore Arthur Rand.

280.

The Passing of the Caravan

"My girl is up there on the hill where we saw the fire

last night."

He rode very well, this lean American father with

the white hair and the slow drawL He spurred on into

a green ravine and the English major, armed only with

a valued riding crop, followed, in absolute defiance of

all rules of tactics for a small mounted patrol in hostile

country.

''Damned if I'll let you lead," he responded irri-

tably.

So the two came bridle to bridle to the bed of a

small brook and simultaneously reined in their mounts

at sight of Donovan and Edith cooking lunch very

carefully over a tiny camp fire, while Aravang stretched

his sheepskin-clad body beside them. One by one, the

best mounted troopers — ^all volunteers picked from a

native regiment — ^trotted up with carbines in hand

and eyes alert for the treachery which long experience

taught them was apt to follow close upon the heels of

foolhardy sahibs who rode, with no regard for the

danger of mountain muskets.

These veteran border warriors — ^and to tdl the

truth, their leader also— were astonished to see a tall

iM^m-sahib with hair much like spun gold and eyes that

gleamed like jewels from a smoke-stained face rise and

fly toward the horse of the American who had led them

from Kashgan

"Daddy I"

"My girir

Arthur Rand swung from his saddle with an ease

beyond his years and took Edith into his arms. Major

Fraser-Carnie said "My word!" and coughed. Then

he brought his horse up, to interview the tall man in

very soiled flannels who waited beside the fire.

281

The House of the Falcon

''So you had a hand in this, my young rascal!'' he

accused.

Donovan smiled, without taking his eyes from Edith

and her father.

"Not as much as you might think, Major/' he said.

"Remember, you said at Gilghit I was heading into

trouble in the Hills. Well, what are you doing here

yourself with an armed force on native soil ?"

Fraser-Camie looked guilty and muttered something

about old ties, and all that sort of thing. "Besides,

you see. Captain Donovan, I couldn't let that blooming

American — confoundedly game, you know— ccwne up

here on his own, of course. Dashed if I could.

Wouldn't have been a sporting thing, what ?"

"I see." Donovan's eyes twinkled, although he

spoke gravely. "I fancy I overstayed the leave given

me to go into the Hills. I had to make a bargain with

the tribes, and keep it '* /

The major nodded gravely, "An agreement, eh?

Why didn't you 'fess up, that night at my bungalow?

Can I help a bit?"

"Thanks, no. It's ended to-day. Fm free to leave,

with Miss Rand, provided we don't reveal certain pet

secrets of the tribes ^"

Whereupon Edith tripped up to them to demand

whether the British army h^d lunch sufficient for three

men and, oh, such a hungry girl. (And to bear Dono-

van off to her father, while Fraser-Camie hastened to

order tip his emergency rations and detail a man from

the troopers' mess to cook.)

Before sitting down to the lunch spread on white

cloths by the brook, nothing would content the major

but an observation patrol sent in the direction of the

still smoldering tower. When his men reported iM>th-

282

The Passing of the Caravan

ing at the Ktirgan except the embers of fires and some

camels feeding near by and scattered cartridge shells,

the only signs of the recent fight, he was palpably

downcast

"My Garhwalis will never forgive me, quite. I

promised them pukka fighting, and all we do, my dear

chap, is to drop in on you for tiffin. You might at

least tell us the whole story."

Donovan looked into Edith's eyes, over the can^p

fire.

"It might better keep," he said.

Fraser-Camie surveyed a teacup. "Until the Vice-

roy hears it, of course. And that means we'll never

have a whiff of it. Edith, my dear, you at least will

enlighten us as to what happened here."

"M-mh," said Edith, a jelly spoon in her mouth.

Flushed and happy and utterly worn out, she sat with

her father's hand in hers. "Captain Donovan says I

talk too much."

The major shook his head sadly.

"Rand," he observed, balancing a cigarette between

two fingers, "do you realize we are snubbed? By our

hosts, too. Deuced bad form, I call it. A cavalry of-

ficer — is it cavalry, Captain Donovan ? — goes off hunt-

ing in the Himalayas after a confidential chat with the

Viceroy of India, mind you. Just before war breaks.

And the Central Asian tribes, that we fellows in India

expected down on our backs momentarily, by some as-

tounding miracle do not side against us. Then, after

this same officer on his utterly foolish hunting trip,

which, it seems, was with the Viceroy's consent, is

mentioned for promotion he vanishes for a couple of

years, to bob up with your daughter — ^and we are to

ask no questions 1"

283

The House of the Falcon

Whereupon he emptied his cup with a sigh. Edith's

drowsy eyes glowed and she glanced quickly, proudly

at her father. Donovan aimed a covert kick at Fraser-

Camie which the major dodged. Only Arthur Rand

remained grave.

"Edith, I haven't told you — ^we have lost all our

money. I am bankrupt"

He was surprised to see how calmly he could say^ it

and how little effect the announcement had on his

daughter. Six months ago it would have broken his

heart to confess as much. Here, with Edith restored

to him and quite evidently in delighted possession of

a tattered, unshaven officer, it seemed a thing of minor

importance.

And to Edith herself six months ago the news would

have been the collapse of the world about her ears and

the loss of her birthright. Now, between mouthfuls

of splendid biscuit, it was a meaningless detail of the

world she had left long since.

"Yes, Edith," nodded Arthur Rand absently, "you

must get away from this inhospitable place. The

major will take you and Donovan back, I reckon.

Donovan, I hear, has earned a rest on his own estates

in England."

But his daughter was staring at Donovan uncom-

fortably.

"Estates?" She sat up accusingly. "Why — ^why, I

thought you had no money, like me."

Donovan glared at Fraser-Camie ; then his brow

cleared.

"I haven't, Edith. Because, of course, the family

holdings should go to the wife of my brother."

"My dear chap!" the major observed. "But, of

course, your uncle the curate ^"

284

The Passing of the Caravan

Unperceived by Edith, Donovan's powerful hand

closed upon the collar of the major's uniform and he

ceased with a cougk The girl was still surveying him

accusingly. "Are you certain/' she demanded, "that

you aren't the least rich ?" He smiled, without releas-

ing his grasp on his companion.

"Absolutely — as you can see, Edith."

"Quite so," amended the Major, adjusting his collar.

"Then, that's all right!" She nodded approvingly,

and then recalled her father's speech. "Dad! Aren't

you coming with us ? You are not thinking of staying

here?"

Arthur Rand's fine face hardened. "I reckon," he

drawled, "I'll look for that cur, Monsey."

Upon the gathering of these four wanderers who

had come to the world of the Hills each for sufficient

reason, and just now happy at being united, advanced

a smart Garhwali carrying a rifle. He stood at atten-

tion by Major Fraser-Camie.

"Sahib, the camels come hither with riders."

They rose, and the major spoke a brief word to his

men, seated at their meal some distance away. The

troopers took up their arms instantly. In the silence

that settled on the ravine Edith heard the clink-clank

of rusty camel bells and the familiar pad-pad of soft

feet Through the trees she saw the moving shapes of

clumsy beasts.

Donovan touched her arm, his eyes serious.

"Q)me, Edith." As he led her away from the brook,

he observed quietly to Rand :

"Monsey has been found by — others."

The bells came nearer. Edith and Donovan were

out of sight when a cloaked figure came down the

ravine from the Kurgan, leading a long string of

285

The House of the Falcon

camds walking patiently in the wake of their con-

ductor.

Seeing that only two men were seated on the beasts

and they unarmed, the Garhwalis drew back. The two

riders who were bound tightly between the humps of

the camels, their heads bobbing with the walk of the

animals, stared stolidly before them.

"Monsey !" said Rand under his breath.

^"And Abbas," nodded Fraser-Camie.

The rusty bells clanked; the beasts — ^indifferent as

ever — ^passed majestically by the watchers. Monsey

and Abbas swayed in their seats. When the last camel

had passed, wending its way among the trees, Fraser-

Camie turned to his friend:

"That was Mahmoud, the Sayak. So my*Garhwalis

say. Rand, these legends of l^e Hills sometimes as-

sume the form of rather ghastly reality. I'm glad

Donovan took your daughter away.'*

Arthur Rand replaced the revolver he had drawn.

"I know a dead man when I see one— or two, for that

matter. Is it a kind of burial?''

"It is," observed the major thoughtfully, "the cara-

van of the dead. It will go from hill village to hill

village. It is the custom of the Sayaks in dealing with

their enemies. The tribes, of course, say it comes from

nowhere and goes — ^nowh^re. Strange, what?"

On a hillock among the aspens that concealed the

brook and the passing of the caravan Edith had turned

to Donovan, pausing in her walk.

"Was it Iskander with his camels?" she asked.

"The son of Tahir," he responded gravely, "is no

more."

Edith made a little, sorrowing sound. Iskander had

286

The Passing of the Caravan

been her friend, and she had meant to thank him for

many things. Now that was impossible. She stood

on tiptoe, peering out over the trees, searching for

S(Hnething she could not see among tibe overhanging

mountain slopes. Nothing was visible except the dear

blue of the sky and the wandering, white douds that

seemed quite close at hand.

"What, dear?" he questioned gently.

"Our house," she lifted quiet eyes, in which lurked

a hint of tears. "We shan't ever see it again, shaU

wer

"Why, sweetheart," he tocdc her face between hands

that were not altogether steady, "did you — ^were you

happy there?"

"Too happy to tell you, Donovan Khan — ^if you

don't know."

And her eyes, bright under the tears, smiled up at

him.

The aspens at the edge of the dearing parted and

an ugly, scarred face looked out steadfastly upon the

two who had eyes only for each other. A hand was

lifted in yearning salutation. Then a shaggy, limping

figure moved away from them through the trees toward

the deft in the hills that was Yakka Arik.

Aravang had said farewell to his master and his

mistress.

(I)

THB END