Gil the Gunner - George Manville Fenn (people reading books .TXT) 📗

tent, before my heart began to beat, and I felt that he was near, for there was a low rustling sound, a short distance off, beneath the great tree.

“Poor old Dost!” I said to myself; “he is a brave, true fellow;” and then it was on my lips to say in a whisper, “Quick! this way,” when I turned cold, for there was a low muttering, and I awoke to the fact that Salaman was talking to some one away there in the darkness.

Acting on the impulse of the moment, I said aloud, “What’s that? Who’s there?”

“It is I, my lord,” came in Salaman’s voice.

“Is there anything wrong?” I said hastily, vexed with myself now for speaking.

“No, my lord;” he would call me my lord; “but I dared not leave the new opening to the tent unwatched. There might be serpents or a leopard or tiger prowling near.”

“Poor Dost!” I said to myself, and I might have added, “poor me!” for mine seemed to be a very pitiable case, and after a minute or two’s thought, I called to Salaman, who came at once to the freshly cut opening.

“It is cooler to-night,” I said sharply, as I turned now upon my couch, to which I had crept silently. “Fasten up the place.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said eagerly, and summoning his people, he soon had the hole closed up.

“It does not matter,” I said to myself, “a sharp knife would soon make another way out or in.”

I felt that it was of no use to expect Dost that night, or rather early morning, and so I went to sleep, awaking fairly refreshed and ready to turn my thoughts to the invention of a plan to get into conversation with Dost.

But try as I would, no ideas came, and the day had nearly gone by, when, as I sat beneath my canopy tree where the divan had been formed, expecting at any moment to hear the trampling of horses heralding the coming of the rajah, to my astonishment I saw Dost coming across the opening, straight for where I sat.

He was stalking toward me slowly, and using a stout bamboo, about six feet long, to support his steps, while in his left hand he carried a bowl formed of a gourd, and this he tapped against his stick at every stride, while he went on half shouting, half singing, a kind of chant, and turning his head, and swaying it from side to side.

“How well he acts his part,” I thought, but I shivered at his daring, as I saw Salaman come from behind my tent watching him, and following closely as he saw the fakir making for where I was seated.

“He will be found out,” I thought, but directly after it struck me that Salaman was coming for my protection, and I sat watching the progress of the scene.

Dost came on mumbling and shouting his wild song, thumping down his staff and swaying his body from side to side while Salaman followed close up now; but, in his character of fakir, Dost ignored his presence entirely, and came on till he was not above a couple of yards from where I sat. Here he stopped short, scowling at me fiercely for some time before raising his staff and waving it in the air, as he burst forth into a fierce tirade against the English usurpers of the land, and me in particular, while I sat as if on my guard, but keeping a keener watch on Salaman, whose face was a study, I could not catch a tenth of what Dost said, far it was delivered in a peculiar way in a low, muttering tone for a long sentence, whose last two or three words he shouted, bringing down his staff with a bang, and then beginning again; but I found there was a great deal of repetition and comparison of my relatives to pigs and pariah dogs, and there were threats of what he would do, I think, to my great-great-grandfather if ever he came into his hands.

But he did not come a step nearer, only grew fiercer in his final utterances; and at last Salaman stepped forward, just as I was trying hard to keep from laughing, and plucked the supposed fakir by the garment.

Dost swung round and raised his staff threateningly, as if to strike, but contented himself with waving my attendant away, and turned and went on with his abuse.

“Let him be, Salaman,” I said quietly. “I’m not afraid of the old fellow. He will not hurt me.”

“I do not think his curses will hurt, my lord,” he replied, “but he might strike.”

“He had better not,” I said sharply, in Hindustani, as if for the fakir to hear. “If he does, holy man or no, I’ll knock him over. I’m growing stronger now.”

Salaman came close behind me, and whispered, “No, no, my lord, don’t strike him; push him away, he is very old and mad; but he must not be hurt.”

At that moment Dost began in a very low voice and went on, with his declamation growing louder, till it was a roar, when he suddenly ceased, and dropped down on the ground with his legs under him in the position of an Indian idol, and, with his chin upon his breast, sat there perfectly silent, and as if in rapt contemplation.

Salaman seemed puzzled, and Dost looked like a statue that had been very much knocked about.

“What shall I do, my lord?” he whispered. “I do not like to touch him; he would begin to curse again.”

“Then pray don’t touch him,” I said testily. “He will go to sleep now; he is tired.”

“It is not sleep,” whispered Salaman. “He goes into a state that may last for hours or days. Will my lord come to his tent?”

“No,” I said emphatically; “if I move, perhaps it will set him off again. Let him stay and curse the rajah when he comes.”

“I pray he may not,” said Salaman hurriedly; “his highness is soon angry. But, no: he would not curse him.”

“Never mind,” I said; “get me a melon. I am thirsty.”

Salaman glanced at the motionless figure with its head bent down, and then hurried away to obey my command.

Dost did not stir, but sat there staring hard at the ground, and I saw his ears twitch. Then, in a quick whisper, he said—

“I could not come near your tent. Watched, sahib. Was obliged to do this. Turn your head away, and do not look at me, but hiss, hiss, like a snake, when you see him coming.”

“Yes,” I said, as I threw myself sidewise on the pillows. “Tell me what you propose doing.”

“Going away to-day to find the captain, and tell him all. He may come to your help at once. If he does not, it is because the country is full of enemies.”

“Can’t you take me with you, Dost?”

“No, sahib, you are growing stronger, but you could not sit a horse for long enough yet, and you have not strength enough to fight and defend us both. I am not a fighting man.”

Hiss!

Salaman was on his way back with a silver dish, on which lay a melon and knife, while one of the bearers carried a plate and sugar.

The former glanced at Dost, as he paused, and then placed the melon before me.

“It is beautifully ripe, my lord,” he said, “and will quench your thirst.”

I laughed.

“It is good to see my lord smile,” said Salaman, “he is better, and it makes my heart glad.”

“I was laughing,” I said, “because the old fakir must be thirstier than I. All those hot words must have burned his throat.”

Salaman smiled, but became solemn again directly.

“Truly his words were hot, my lord,” he said.

“Then cut him a big piece of the melon, and give him, before I touch it, and he thinks it is defiled.”

Salaman looked pleased, and obeyed my words, placing the melon in Dost’s lap; but the latter did not move or unclose his eyes, but sat there perfectly motionless, with the piece of the fruit in his lap, while I partook of mine, which was delicious in the extreme, and I enjoyed it as I saw how completely the people about me were deceived.

Salaman and the bearer stood humbly close at hand till I had finished, and then took plate and tray with the remains of the melon.

“Will my lord return to the tent?” asked Salaman.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said indifferently.

“But my lord might be sleeping when the holy man comes back to himself. You see, he is not there now. It is only his body.”

“How these old impostors of fakirs do deceive the people,” I thought, as I glanced at Dost; then aloud—

“Well, suppose I were sleeping?”

“The holy man might harm my lord.”

“Not he,” I said, in a voice full of contempt. “Words do no harm whatsoever.”

Salaman bowed and went his way, and I took up a palm-leaf fan, and began to use it, not as a wafter of cool wind, but as a screen to hide my face when I spoke to Dost, and from behind which I could keep an eye on the tents, and see when any one was coming.

As soon as I gave him a signal, Dost began again, but without stirring a muscle; in fact, so rigid did he look that it would have puzzled any one to make out whence the low muffled voice came with such a peculiar whispered hiss, caused by its passing through the thick beard which muffled his lips.

“You understand, sahib,” he said. “I shall be gone before morning, and if you do not hear anything, be not afraid, for if I get safely to the captain sahib, he will be making plans to come and save you as soon as he can.”

“Tell me one thing,” I said quickly. “What about Major Lacey?”

“Ah! at Rajgunge, sahib. I do not know. I was not able to go there again, but he will be well. Those with whom he was placed would not let him come to harm.”

“And Sergeant Craig?”

“His wounds were healing fast, sahib. But now listen. When I come back to you to get you away to your friends, who will be waiting close by, I shall let you know I am there by making a hiss like a snake—so—in a quick way, twice.”

He gave the imitation, but so softly that it could not have been heard.

“Now,” he said, “go, and take no more notice of me. If the servants suspect anything, my work must be begun all over again, and it is hard to deceive them.”

“But have you nothing more to say?”

“Nothing, sahib; there is no time, and this is not the place. Be patient, and grow strong. The captain sahib will save you, and all will be well. Go.”

I hesitated for a few minutes, being reluctant to leave, but satisfied at last that Dost’s advice was right, and that I must wait patiently for my release, I covered my face with the great palm fan, and said in a low tone—

“Mind and tell Captain Brace that the rajah may have taken me to his city.”

“Yes, yes; but go, sahib, pray. I must wake up now. It is too hot here to bear it much longer.”

In spite of my trouble, I wanted to laugh, but I managed to control it, and rising slowly, I said in a low voice—

“Good-bye, old friend. I trust you, for you are a true, brave man. Tell Captain Brace I will be patient, and that I am nearly well.”

I could say no more, but sauntered slowly away under the shade of the trees, to find that my guards sprang into sight, ready to follow me, the first one so near that I was startled. I had not known of his proximity, and I trembled for Dost’s safety. This man might have heard us talking, and he would of course repeat it to his head.

But I could only go on hoping and