Afghanistan -- Fiction; British -- Afghanistan -- Fiction; Kings and rulers -- Fiction; Political fiction
“Then ten men with bows and arrows ran down that valley, chasing
twenty men with bows and arrows, and the row was tremenjus. They was
fair men—fairer than you or me—with yellow hair and remarkable well
built. Says Dravot, unpacking the guns—‘This is the beginning of
the business. We’ll fight for the ten men,’ and with that he fires
two rifles at the twenty men and drops one of them at two hundred yards
from the rock where we was sitting. The other men began to run, but
Carnehan and Dravot sits on the boxes picking them off at all ranges,
up and down the valley. Then we goes up to the ten men that had run
across the snow too, and they fires a footy little arrow at us. Dravot
he shoots above their heads and they all falls down flat. Then he walks
over them and kicks them, and then he lifts them up and shakes hands
all around to make them friendly like. He calls them and gives them the
boxes to carry, and waves his hand for all the world as though he was
King already. They takes the boxes and him across the valley and up the
hill into a pine wood on the top, where there was half a dozen big
stone idols. Dravot he goes to the biggest—a fellow they call
Imbra—and lays a rifle and a cartridge at his feet, rubbing his nose
respectful with his own nose, patting him on the head, and saluting in
front of it. He turns round to the men and nods his head, and
says,—‘That’s all right. I’m in the know too, and these old
jim-jams are my friends.’ Then he opens his mouth and points down it,
and when the first man brings him food, he says—‘No;’ and when
the second man brings him food, he says—‘No;’ but when one of the
old priests and the boss of the village brings him food, he
says—‘Yes;’ very haughty, and eats it slow. That was how we came
to our first village, without any trouble, just as though we had
tumbled from the skies. But we tumbled from one of those damned
rope-bridges, you see, and you couldn’t expect a man to laugh much
after that.”
“Take some more whiskey and go on,” I said. “That was the first
village you came into. How did you get to be King?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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