Gil the Gunner Part 65

"He will not, my lord. We could not have it. He might curse my lord, because he is an unbeliever."

"Well, never mind that," I said. "He knows no better. I trust he was more frightened than hurt."

"Yes, my lord; but those are ugly wounds."

"Yes," I said. "But what would the rajah say at your having people so near?"

"His highness may not know. He would be angry if he knew that the fakir was here. But if he does know--well, it was fate."

"Will he come to-day?"

"Thy servant knoweth not. It would be better that he stayed till the holy man has gone his way."

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

The rajah did not come that day, nor the next, and it troubled me sadly, for it made me feel that he thought he was sure of me, and the more I led that solitary life, and satisfied myself that I was most carefully watched, the more I dreaded my firmness.

For, in my greatest fits of despondency, I began asking myself why I should hold out. If the English were driven out of India, who would know or care anything about me?

But I always came back to the dirty slip of paper with the characters on that I could not read. They meant hope to me, and friends coming to help me, and this gave me strength.

The second day after the dirty old fakir came, I went for a walk, for my horse had not arrived; and, as I expected, the sentries were at hand, but they did not follow me, and I soon found out the reason. About a quarter of a mile from my tent, I came upon a fierce-looking man, sitting like a statue upon his horse, grasping his lance, and, whichever way I went, there were others.

To test this, I turned in several directions--in amongst the trees, and out toward the slope leading to the plain; but everywhere there were these mounted sentries ready to start out quietly from behind some tree, and change their position so as to be a hundred yards ahead of me wherever I went; and it was all done so quietly that, to a casual observer, it would have appeared as if they had nothing whatever to do with me, but were simply watching the country for advancing foes, an idea strengthened by the way in which signals were made with their tall lances.

They took no notice of me, and apparently, as in their case, I took no notice of them, but finished my stroll, after gathering in all I could of the aspect of the beautiful slope, the forest at its head, and the far-spreading plain below, thinking what a splendid domain the rajah owned, and then made for my tent, with the mounted men slowly closing in again.

I could only escape by night, I remember thinking, and I was getting close up to the trees that hid our little camp, dolefully pondering over my position and the hopelessness of succour from without, when all at once a hideous figure rose up from beneath a tree and confronted me; and as I stopped short, startled by the foul appearance of the man, with his long tangled hair and wild grey beard, I saw Salaman and two of his helpers come running toward us, just as the old fakir--for it was he-- raised his hands, and in a denunciatory way poured forth a torrent of wild abuse. His eyes looked as if starting out of his head; he bared his arms, and, as it seemed to me, cursed and reviled me savagely as an infidel dog whom he would deliver over to the crows and jackals, while he hoped that the graves of my father, mother, and all our ancestors, might be defiled in every possible way.

And all the time he looked as if he would spring upon me, but I did not much fear that, for he was very old, and as weak as could be from his wounds. This and his pa.s.sion, which increased as Salaman and the men came up, forced him to cling to a tree for support, but his tongue was strong enough, though his throat grew hoa.r.s.e, and his voice at last became a husky whisper, while Salaman and the others tried to calm him, though evidently fearing to bring the curses down upon their own heads, and shrinking from the old wretch whenever he turned angrily upon them, as they tried to coax him away.

These efforts were all in vain, and as I stood there quite firm, not liking to appear afraid, and caring very little for his curses, his voice grew inaudible, and he began to spit upon the ground.

"I pray my lord to go," said Salaman at last.

"Why should I go?" I said pettishly. "Drive the reviling old rascal away."

"No, no, my lord," he whispered; "we dare not."

"Then I shall complain to the rajah. I am sure he would not have me annoyed in this way if he knew."

"No, my lord," said Salaman, humbly; "but what can thy servant do?"

"Do? Send the dirty old madman off."

"Oh, hush, my lord, pray," whispered Salaman. "Thy servant loves to serve thee, and his highness is thy friend. If aught befel my lord from the holy man's curses, what should I do?"

"Do?" I repeated. "Send him about his business."

"But he will not go, my lord, until he pleases."

"Then I shall send one of the sowars with a message to the rajah," I said firmly. "I am not going to be insulted by that old dog."

"My lord, I pray," said Salaman, imploringly. "His highness would punish me, and my lord knows it is no fault of mine his coming."

"Look here, Salaman," I said; "if you call me 'my lord' again, instead of 'sahib,' I will send to his highness. There, get rid of the old fellow as soon as you can. We should have such a man put in prison in England. Come and give me some food, and let him curse his voice back again. I don't wonder that the tiger wanted to kill him."

Salaman shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you know why the fierce beast did not eat him?"

"Because he found out that he had made a mistake in striking down a holy man, my--"

"Ah!"

"Sahib," cried Salaman, hurriedly.

"That's better," I said. "No! The tiger did not touch him afterwards, because he was so dirty."

I walked away, hearing the fakir whispering wishes of evil against me to the attendants, and spitting on the ground from time to time, while Salaman followed me to my dinner under the tree, and brought me a cool, pleasant draught of lemon and water and some fresh fruit, leaving me afterwards to moralise on the difference between my religion and his, and afterwards to sit dejectedly waiting for my wound to heal, and to hope that the rajah would not come.

He did not come, and as I sat thinking, I was obliged to confess that I was too weak to make any attempt at escape for some time yet; and even when I grew stronger, the chances appeared to be very small.

"Never mind," I said at last, trying to be cheerful. "Some chance may come yet."

But my spirits did not rise, for there was always the black cloud which I could not pierce, behind which was hidden the fate of my friends, and all that were dear to me.

The next day I heard that the old fakir had not gone. His wounds were bad, and he had taken up his abode about a hundred yards away, amongst the roots of a large tree.

"Have you doctored his scratches?" I asked.

"No, my lor--sahib," said Salaman; "he will not have them bathed, and he has torn off all the bandages, and he made me guide his finger along them."

"Dirty finger?"

"Yes, sahib, it is a very dirty finger. At least it would be if it was mine; but his fingers are holy. They cannot be unclean, and he says that the touch will heal the wounds."

"I hope it will," I said; "but, I say, look here, Salaman, have you washed your hands since you touched him?"

"Oh yes, sahib, many times," he cried eagerly.

I laughed heartily for the first time for long enough, and Salaman looked puzzled, and then smiled.

"I know why, my--sahib laughs," he said. "These things are a puzzle. I cannot make them out."

"Never mind; only don't let the old fakir come near me."