XXV

MRS. LOGAN'S BALL

When Lewis had finished breakfast next morning, and was sitting idly on
the verandah watching the busy life of the bazaar at his feet, a letter
was brought him by a hotel servant. "It was left for you by Marker
Sahib, when he went away this morning. He sent his compliments to the
sahibs and regretted that he had to leave too early to speak with them,
but he left this note." Lewis broke the envelope and read:

DEAR MR. HAYSTOUN,

When I was thinking over our conversation last night, chance put a piece
of information in my way which you may think fit to use. You know that
I am more intimate than most people with the hill tribes. Well, let
this be the guarantee of my news, but do not ask how I got it, for I
cannot betray friends. Some of these, the Bada-Mawidi to wit, are
meditating mischief. The Forza camp, which I think you have visited--a
place some twenty miles off--is too near those villages to be safe. So
to-morrow at latest they have planned to make a general attack upon it,
and, unless the garrison were prepared, I should fear for the result,
for they are the most cunning scoundrels in the world. What puzzles me
is how they have ever screwed up the courage for such a move, for lately
they were very much in fear of the Government. It appears as if they
looked for backing from over the frontier. You will say that this
proves your theory; but to me it merely seems as if some maniac of the
Gromchevtsky type had got among them. In any case I wish something
could be done. My duties take me away at once, and in a very different
direction, but perhaps you could find some means of putting the camp on
their guard. I should be sorry to hear of a tragedy; also I should be
sorry to see the Bada-Mawidi get into trouble. They are foolish
blackguards, but amusing.

Yours most sincerely,

ARTHUR MARKER.


Lewis read the strange letter several times through, then passed it to
George. George read it with difficulty, not being accustomed to a
flowing frontier hand. "Jolly decent of him, I call it," was his
remark.

"I would give a lot to know what to make of it. The man is playing some
game, but what the deuce it is I can't fathom."

"I suppose we had better get up to that Forza place as soon as we can."

"I think not," said Lewis.

"The man's honest, surely?

"But he is also clever. Remember who he is. He may wish to get us out
of the way. I don't suppose that he can possibly fear us, but he may
want the coast clear from suspicious spectators. Besides, I don't see
the good of Forza. It is not the part of the hills I want to explore.
There can be no frontier danger there, and at the worst there can be
nothing more than a little tribal disturbance. Now what on earth would
Russia gain by moving the tribes there, except as a blind?"

"Still, you know, the man admits all that in his letter. And if the
people up there are going to be in trouble we ought to go and give them
notice."

"I'll take an hour to think over it, and then I'll go and see Thwaite.
He was to be back this morning."

Lewis spread the letter before him. It was a simple, friendly note,
giving him a chance of doing a good turn to friends. His clear course
was to lay it before Thwaite and shift the responsibility for action to
his shoulders. But he felt all the while that this letter had a
personal application which he could not conceal. It would have been as
easy for Marker to send the note to Thwaite, whom he had long known.
But he had chosen to warn him privately. It might be a ruse, but he had
no glimpse of the meaning. Or, again, it might be a piece of pure
friendliness, a chance of unofficial adventure given by one wanderer to
another. He puzzled it out, lamenting that he was so deep in the dark,
and cursing his indecision. Another man would have made up his mind
long ago; it was a ruse, therefore let it be neglected and remain in
Bardur with open eyes; it was good faith and a good chance, therefore
let him go at once. But to Lewis the possibilities seemed endless, and
he could find no solution save the old one of the waverer, to wait for
further light.

He found Thwaite at breakfast, just returned from his travels.

"Hullo, Haystoun. I heard you were here. Awfully glad to see you. Sit
down, won't you, and have some breakfast." The officer was a long man,
with a thin, long face, a reddish moustache, and small, blue eyes.

"I came to ask you questions, if you don't mind. I have the regular
globe-trotter's trick of wanting information. What's the Forza camp
like? Do you think that the Bada-Mawidi, supposing they stir again,
would be likely to attack it?"

"Not a bit of it. That was the sort of thing that Gribton was always
croaking about. Why, man, the Bada-Mawidi haven't a kick in them.
Besides, they are very nearly twenty miles off and the garrison's a very
fit lot. They're all right. Trust them to look after themselves." "But
I have been hearing stories of Bada-Mawidi risings which are to come off
soon."

"Oh, you'll always hear stories of that sort. All the old women in the
neighbourhood purvey them."

"Who are in charge at Forza?"

"Holm and Andover. Don't care much for Holm, but Andy is a good chap.
But what's this new interest of yours? Are you going up there?

"I'm out here to shoot and explore, you know, so Forza comes into my
beat. Thanks very much. See you to-night, I suppose."

Lewis went away dispirited and out of temper. He had been pitchforked
among easy-going people, when all the while mysterious things, dangerous
things, seemed to hang in the air. He had not the material for even the
first stages of comprehension. No one suspected, every one was
satisfied; and at the same time came those broken hints of other things.
He felt choked and muffled, wrapped in the cotton-wool of this easy
life; and all the afternoon he chafed at his own impotence and the
world's stupidity.

When the two travellers presented themselves at the Logans' house that
evening, they were immediately seized upon by the hostess and compelled,
to their amusement, to do her bidding. They were her discoveries, her
new young men, and as such, they had their responsibilities. George,
who liked dancing, obeyed meekly; but Lewis, being out of temper and
seeing before him an endless succession of wearisome partners, soon
broke loose, and accompanied Thwaite to the verandah for a cigar.

The man was ill at ease, and the sight of young faces and the sound of
laughter vexed him with a sense of his eccentricity. He could never,
like George, take the world as he found it. At home he was the slave of
his own incapacity; now he was the slave of memories. He had come out
on an errand, with a chance to recover his lost self-respect, and lo!
he was as far as ever from attainment. His lost capacity for action was
not to be found here, in the midst of this petty diplomacy and
inglorious ease.

From the verandah a broad belt of lawn ran down to the edge of the north
road. It lay shining in the moonlight like a field of snow with the
highway a dark ribbon beyond it. Thwaite and Lewis walked down to the
gate talking casually, and at the gate they stopped and looked down on
the town. It lay a little to the left, the fort rising black before it,
and the road ending in a patch of shade which was the old town gate.
The night was very still, cool airs blew noiselessly from the hills, and
a jackal barked hoarsely in some far-off thicket.

The men hung listlessly on the gate, drinking in the cool air and
watching the blue cigar smoke wreathe and fade. Suddenly down the road
there came the sound of wheels.

"That's a tonga," said Thwaite. "Wonder who it is."

"Do tongas travel this road?" Lewis asked.

"Oh yes, they go ten miles up to the foot of the rocks. We use them for
sending up odds and ends to the garrisons. After that coolies are the
only conveyance. Gad, I believe this thing is going to stop."

The thing in question, which was driven by a sepoy in bright yellow
pyjamas, stopped at the Logans' gate. A peevish voice was heard giving
directions from within.

"It sounds like Holm," said Thwaite, walking up to it, "and upon my soul
it is Holm. What on earth are you doing here, my dear fellow?"

"Is that you, Thwaite?" said the voice. "I wish you'd help me out. I
want Logan to give me a bed for the night. I'm infernally ill."

Lewis looked within and saw a pale face and bloodshot eyes which did not
belie the words.

"What is it?" said Thwaite. "Fever or anything smashed?"

"I've got a bullet in my leg which has got to be cut out. Got it two
days ago when I was out shooting. Some natives up in the rocks did it,
I fancy. Lord, how it hurts." And the unhappy man groaned as he tried
to move.

"That's bad," said Thwaite sympathetically. "The Logans have got a
dance on, but we'll look after you all right. How did you leave things
in Forza?"

"Bad. I oughtn't to be here, but Andy insisted. He said I would only
get worse and crock entirely. Things look a bit wild up there just now.
There has been a confounded lot of rifle-stealing, and the Bada-Mawidi
are troublesome. However, I hope it's only their fun."

"I hope so," said Thwaite. "You know Haystoun, don't you?"

"Glad to meet you," said the man. "Heard of you. Coming up our way? I
hope you will after I get this beastly leg of mine better."

"Thwaite will tell you I have been cross-examining him about your place.
I wanted badly to ask you about it, for I got a letter this morning from
a man called Marker with some news for you."

"What did he say?" asked Holm sharply.

"He said that he had heard privately that the Bada-Mawidi were planning
an attack on you to-morrow or the day after."

"The deuce they are," said Holm peevishly, and Thwaite's face
lengthened.

"And he told me to find some way of letting you know."

"Then why didn't you tell me earlier?" said Thwaite. "Marker should
know if anybody does. We should have kept Holm up there. Now it's
almost too late. Oh, this is the devil!"

Lewis held his peace. He had forgotten the solidity of Marker's
reputation.

"What's the chances of the place?" Thwaite was asking. "I know your
numbers and all that, but are they anything like prepared?"

"I don't know," said Holm miserably. "They might get on all right, but
everybody is pretty slack just now. Andy has a touch of fever, and some
of the men may get leave for shooting. I must get back at once."

"You can't. Why, man, you couldn't get half way. And what's more, I
can't go. This place wants all the looking after it can get. A row in
the hills means a very good possibility of a row in Bardur, and that is
too dangerous a game. And besides myself there is scarcely a man in the
place who counts. Logan has gone to Gilgit, and there's nobody left but
boys."

"If you don't mind I should like to go," said Lewis shamefacedly.

"You," they cried. "Do you know the road?"

"I've been there before, and I remember it more or less. Besides, it is
really my show this time. I got the warning, and I want the credit."
And he smiled.

"The road's bound to be risky," said Thwaite thoughtfully. "I don't
feel inclined to let you run your neck into danger like this."

Lewis was busy turning over the problem in his mind. The presence of
the man Holm seemed the one link of proof he needed. He had his word
that there were signs of trouble in the place, and that the Bada-Mawidi
were ill at ease. Whatever game Marker was playing, on this matter he
seemed to have spoken in good faith. Here was a clear piece of work for
him. And even if it was fruitless it would bring him nearer to the
frontier; his expedition to the north would be begun.

"Let me go," he said. "I came out here to explore the hills and I take
all risks on my own head. I can give them Marker's message as well as
anybody else."

Thwaite looked at Holm. "I don't see why he shouldn't. You're a wreck,
and I can't leave my own place."

"Tell Andy you saw me," cried Holm. "He'll be anxious. And tell him to
mind the north gate. If the fools knew how to use dynamite they might
have it down at once. If they attack it can't last long, but then they
can't last long either, for they are hard up for arms, and unless they
have changed since last week they have no ammunition to speak of."

"Marker said it looked as if they were being put up to the job from over
the frontier." "Gad, then it's my turn to look out," said Thwaite. "If
it's the gentlemen from over the frontier they won't stop at Forza.
Lord, I hate this border business, it's so hideously in the dark. But I
think that's all rot. Any tribal row here is sure to be set down to
Russian influence. We don't understand the joint possession of an
artificial frontier," he added, with an air of quoting from some book.

"Did you get that from Marker?" Holm asked crossly. "He once said the
same thing to me." His temper had suffered badly among the hills.

"We'd better get you to bed, my dear fellow," said Thwaite, looking down
at him. "You look remarkably cheap. Would you mind going in and trying
to find Mrs. Logan,