Historical fiction; India -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Thugs (Indic criminal group) -- Fiction
"That I shall, my friend," said he, "when I dare show myself," and so
saying he shut the curtains.
Bhudrinath and I rode on some time in silence: at last we reached a
rising ground, which apparently led down to the bed of a river, for I
thought I saw the water glistening in the moon's rays. The jungle was
thicker than before, and I involuntarily turned to Bhudrinath. "Surely
this is the spot," cried I; "we must wait for the cart," for we had
preceded it a long way.
"We had better do so," he replied; "it will soon be up."
We had just heard the rumbling sound of the wheels, when the man I had
sent on with it came up to us. "What news?" I asked; "is all prepared?"
"By this time it is," said the man; "when I met the first scout I
returned to tell you: they have fixed on a beautiful spot, and I doubt
not that the band are waiting for you, having done their share of the
night's adventure."
"Well," said I, "we don't want you here, so go on again." But he begged
hard to remain, and I allowed him. As Kumal Khan passed us, Bhudrinath
gave the driver the signal; he nodded his head in compliance: and
telling the men who were to hold our horses to be near and in
readiness, we got behind the cart, and followed it down the descent.
About half-way down, the bank of the road sloped into it, and rose into
a small eminence. I marked the place, and saw that the driver had done
the same: the cart gradually diverged from the track; one wheel went
up the bank; it leaned fearfully over, and at last came down with a
terrible crash.
We were off our horses in an instant, and ran up: Kumal Khan was
groaning beneath it. We lifted it up and got him out; but he was either
so frightened or hurt he could not speak. At last he recovered; and the
first words he uttered were a volley of abuse at the driver.
"Look!" cried he; "a smooth road, not a stone or a pebble, and yet that
son of a base mother must needs drive up yonder bank, and has nearly
killed me."
"He shall be well punished for his carelessness," said I; "but are you
hurt, Khan?"
"My right arm is very painful," said he, holding it; "and I wish to
Alla I had a horse to ride, instead of going further in that concern."
"It cannot now be helped," said Bhudrinath; "and it is well none of
your bones were broken. We will keep nearer you in future, and see that
the fellow drives more carefully."
The cart had been by this time set fairly in the road again, and Kumal
Khan's mattress and pillow arranged. As he turned away from us, and
laid hold of one of the posts of the curtains, and had his foot on the
wheel to get in, I threw the handkerchief round his neck. "What--what
is this?" was all that escaped him; the rest was an indistinct gurgling
in his throat for an instant. The wrench I gave to his neck must have
extinguished life, for he relaxed his hold of the post, and fell to the
ground without sense or motion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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