Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 4).djvu/406

 The Arab came to where we were standing, and after watching the strange spectacle for a moment, he replied:—

"I can scarcely tell, sahib, unless he belongs to a different tribe to those pursuing him; if he is fleeing for shelter to the tent, the Englishmen will have good need of stout hearts during the next few minutes. Cowardly and treacherous as are those who follow him, in the frenzy of their fanaticism they will face the utmost perils unflinchingly once they are thoroughly aroused."

Denviers turned to the Arab, and said in the quiet tone which he invariably adopted when danger confronted him:—

"Bring out our rifles, Hassan." The Arab obeyed, and, as we took the weapons from him, he ventured to utter a few words of caution, which sounded strangely upon our ears:—

"Save the man, sahibs, if you can; but if possible avoid injuring one of the tribe of the Saduzai, for such indeed they are. The eyes of Hassan are keen, and see the flashing glances of dislike which are daily turned upon the Englishmen as they traverse this country. There is a tradition, indeed, that between Afghan and Feringhee one day war to the death will be proclaimed, when the former ally themselves with the white bear of the frozen north, which seeks to hug to its shaggy breast the border town which is the key to the golden plain of the sacred Ganges. To slay the Englishmen would be deemed by them a deed of glory, and their women's dark eyes would light up with a fierce joy when they returned home with the captured English sabres adorning Saduzai sashes!"

Yet, in spite of his vague words, Hassan prepared himself to help us if necessary, for on glancing into the tent for a moment, I saw him carefully feeling the keen edge of the weapon which he usually carried.

"Darak, the scapegoat!" "Darak, the nation's scorn!" "Death to Darak!" were some of the cries which we distinguished from the babel of sounds which arose from the lips of those who were following the fugitive. He was now within thirty yards of the tent, and we stepped forward and excitedly cheered him on.

"Refuge!" was the one solitary and appealing cry which burst from his lips as he ran towards us at a tremendous speed before the horde, which seemed fully bent on his destruction. When he was only a few yards distant from us, Denviers raised his rifle to his shoulder, and, taking steady aim, covered the foremost of the pursuers, while the fugitive darted past us, and, with an inarticulate cry, threw himself, utterly exhausted, upon the cushions of the tent. The howling mob halted and held a hurried conference for a moment, then one of them attempted to advance, as if for the purpose of holding a conversation with us. Denviers was howtoo resolute; he knew well the treacherous character of the race, and feared lest, in an unguarded moment, the Afghan's sword might be stealthily thrust into the man whom we had for the present saved from his foes. He raised his rifle again to his shoulder—a silent message which the man rightly understood; for, after a further discussion with the others, they all uttered a wild cry of baffled rage and ran swiftly back towards Ghuzni to rouse, as we conjectured, its inhabitants to join them in an attack upon us.

"We shall have some sort of a respite," said Denviers, as we entered the tent; "but I expect that the fugitive will bring us into conflict with these Afghans. It will be best