King--of the Khyber Rifles: A Romance of AdventureMundy, Talbot
History
King--of the Khyber Rifles: A Romance of Adventure
Mundy, Talbot
British -- India -- Fiction; Historical fiction; India -- History -- Sepoy Rebellion, 1857-1858 -- Fiction; Love stories; War stories
There was only one wild scream that went echoing and re-echoing to the
roof. There was scarcely a splash, and no extra ripple at all. No heads
came up again to gasp. No fingers clutched at the surface. The fearful
speed of the river sucked them under, to grind and churn and pound them
through long caverns underground and hurl them at last over the great
cataract toward the middle of the world.
“Ah-h-h-h-h!” sighed the crowd in ecstasy.
“Is there no other stranger?” asked Yasmini, searching for King again
with her amazing eyes. The skin all down his back turned there and then
into gooseflesh. And as her eyes met his she laughed like a bell at him.
She knew! She knew who he was, how he had entered, and how he felt. Not
a doubt of it!
Chapter XI
Long slept the Heart o' the Hills, oh, long!
(Ye who have watched, ye know!)
As sap sleeps in the deodars
When winter shrieks and steely stars
Blink over frozen snow.
Ye haste? The sap stirs now, ye say?
Ye feel the pulse of spring?
But sap must rise ere buds may break,
Or cubs fare forth, or bees awake,
Or lean buck spurn the ling!
“Kurram Khan!” the lashless mullah howled, like a lone wolf in the
moonlight, and King stood up.
It is one of the laws of Cocker, who wrote the S. S. Code, that a man
is alive until he is proved dead, and where there is life there is
opportunity. In that grim minute King felt heretical; but a man's
feelings are his own affair provided he can prove it, and he managed to
seem about as much at ease as a native hakim ought to feel at such an
initiation.
“Come forward!” the mullah howled, and he obeyed, treading gingerly
between men who were at no pains to let him by, and silently blessing
them, because he was not really in any hurry at all. Yasmini looked
lovely from a distance, and life was sweet.
“Who are his witnesses?”
“Witnesses?” the roof hissed.
“I!” shouted Ismail, jumping up.
“I!” cracked the roof. “I! I!” So that for a second King almost believed
he had a crowd of men to swear for him and did not hear Darya Khan at
all, who rose from a place not very far behind where had sat.
Ismail followed him in a hurry, like a man wading a river with loose
clothes gathered in one arm and the other arm ready in case of falling.
He took much less trouble than King not to tread on people, and oaths'
marked his wake.
Darya Khan did not go so fast. As he forced his way forward a man passed
him up the wooden box that King had used to stand on; he seized it in
both hands with a grin and a jest and went to stand behind King and
Ismail, in line with the lashless mullah, facing Yasmini. Yasmini smiled
at them all as if they were actors in her comedy, and she well pleased
with them.
“Look ye!” howled the mullah. “Look ye and look well, for this is to be
one of us!”
King felt ten thousand eyes burn holes in his back, but the one pair of
eyes that mocked him from the bridge was more disconcerting.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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