Historical fiction; India -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Thugs (Indic criminal group) -- Fiction
occupied by my own situation), and that the Bhutteara was aware of it.
He stopped, and murmured in a low tone, "Strange that he should be
gone; but he knows the way and will not disappoint me." Another step,
and he was beyond the threshold, and in the rough grasp of Peer Khan,
Motee, and a dozen others.
"Capitally managed!" cried I, as I ran to the door and joined the
group: "strike a light, one of you; let us see the face of this Roostum
among thieves--a fellow who dares to rob a Thug's camp and defy him to
his beard."
A light was brought, and there stood the trembling wretch, with the bag
of rupees still on his shoulder, and clutching it as though it were
his own. "Ha!" said I, "so it is you, Peeroo, and the wolf who was so
wary has fallen into the hands of the shepherds at last; he would not
take the little bait, but the large flock was well watched, and he has
fallen into the trap. And now, rascal," I continued, "thou wouldst
have robbed us, and dost deserve to die, yet upon thy answers to the
questions I will put to thee depends thy life or death."
"Name them, oh name them!" said the wretch; "let me live,--I will set
off without delay, I will even accompany you; you may turn me out from
among you in the jungle, and if ever my face is seen in Saugor again or
on this road, deal with me as ye list."
"Very good," said I; "now answer the following questions. Is the bunij
you have promised false?"
"As true as that I breathe: ah, Meer Sahib, have not your men seen the
preparations, and will not you hear the same to-morrow from them? how
could you doubt it?"
"How much money will you give us to let you go? I want two thousand
rupees."
"Ai Méré Sahib! Méré Sahib!" cried the wretch; "two thousand rupees!
where am I to get them? I have not a cowrie in the world."
"It is a lie," said Motee and several others; "you have thousands
of rupees which you have bullied poor Thugs out of; we could name a
hundred instances in which you have taken money from us: how dare you
deny it?"
"Look here," said I, "here is the roomal, and you know the use of it;
say whether you will give the money or not."
"I will give it," said he; "I will swear on the pickaxe to do so, and
do you come with me and take it."
"Ay," said I, "and be taken too ourselves! no, no, friend Bhutteara, do
not try to throw dust on our beards after that fashion. Inshalla! the
people who could catch you have sharper wits than you seemed to give
them credit for: no, man, I was but joking with thee--where is all thy
wealth concealed?"
"You may kill me if you will," said he, "but I give no answer to that
question."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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