style="font-size:15px;"> “Nonsense Ernest” – laughed his wife. “How can you talk such a lot of rubbish? To talk sense now. I wonder when Mr Campian will turn up?”
“Any day or no day. Campian’s such an uncertain bird. He never knows his own plans himself. If he didn’t know whether he was coming overland from Bombay or round by sea to Karachi, I don’t see how I can. Anyway, I wrote him to the B.I. agents at Karachi telling him how to get to Shâlalai, and left a letter there for him telling him how to get here. I couldn’t do more. Khola, cheroot, lao.”
Dinner was over now, and very snug the interior of the tent looked in the cheerful lamplight, as Upward, selecting a cheroot from the box the bearer had just deposited in front of him, proceeded to puff away contentedly. The rain pattered with monotonous regularity on the canvas, and, reverberating among the crags, the thunder rolled in deep-toned boom.
“Beastly sort of night,” said Upward, flicking the ash from his cheroot. “The storm’s passing over though. By Jove! I shouldn’t wonder if it brought the tangi down. It must be falling heavy in that catchment area.”
A shade of alarm came into Nesta Cheriton’s face.
“Should we be – er – quite safe here if it did?” she asked.
“Rather,” said Upward. “The water comes through the tangi itself like an express train, but the nullah widens out below and runs off the water. No fear. It has never been up as high as this. In fact, it couldn’t. By George! What was that?”
The two younger girls had got out cards and were deep in some game productive of much squabbling. The conversation among their elders had been carried on in an easy, placid, after-dinner tone. But through all there came, distinctly audible, the sound of a sharp, heavy report, not so very distant either.
“That’s a shot, I’ll swear!” cried Upward excitedly, rising to his feet and listening intently. “Thunder? No fear. It’s a shot. No mistaking a shot. But who the deuce would be firing shots here and at this time of night? Shut up Tinkles – shut up you little soor!” as the little fox terrier charged savagely towards the purdah, uttering shrill, excited barks.
Various emotions were manifest on the countenances of the listeners – one or two even expressing a shade akin to fear. As they stood thus, with nerves at tension, a new sound rushed forth upon the silence of the night – a sort of hollow, bellowing roar – nearer and nearer – louder and louder.
“The tangi!” cried Upward. “By George! the tangi is down.”
“Hurrah! hurrah!” crowed Lily, clapping her hands. “Let’s go and look at it. Come along, Nesta. Here’s some excitement at last!”
“Wait for the lantern. Wait – wait – do you hear?” cried her mother. “It’s very dark; you might tumble in.”
“Oh, hang the lantern,” grumbled Lily. “The water will have passed by that time, and I want to see it rush out.”
She had her wish, however, for the lantern being quickly lighted, the whole party stepped forth into the rain and the darkness. At first nothing was visible, but as the radius of light struck upon the vertical jaws of the great black chasm, they stopped for a moment, awed, appalled – almost instinctively stepping back.
Forth from those vertical jaws vomited a perfect terror of roaring, raging water. It was more like a vast spout than a mere stream was this awful flood; of inky blackness save where the broken waves, meeting a projection, seethed and hissed; and, amid the deafening tumult, the rattle of rocks, loosened from their bed, and shot along like timber by the velocity of the waters, mingled with the crash of tree trunks against the smooth cliff walls of the rift. In a moment, with a roar like a thunder burst, it had spread itself over the dry face of the nullah, which was now rolling many feet deep of mountainous swirling waves.
For a few moments they stood contemplating the wild tumult by the light of the lantern. Then Mrs Upward, her voice hardly audible through the bellowing of the waters, said:
“Now girls, we’d better go in. It’s raining hard still.”
This drew a vehement protest from Hazel and Lily. It was such fun watching the flood, they urged. What did it matter about a little rain? and so forth. But Tinkles, the little fox terrier, was now barking furiously at something or other unseen, keeping, however, very close to her master’s legs, for all her expenditure of vocal ferocity. Then a voice came out of the darkness – a male voice which, although soft and pleasing, caused Nesta Cheriton to start and cling involuntary to Upward’s arm.
“Huzoor!” (A form of greeting more deferential than the better known “Sahib.”)
“What is it, Bhallu Khan?” said Upward, as the voice and the light of the lantern revealed the chief forest guard.
The latter now began speaking quickly in Hindustani. Had the Huzoor heard anything? Yes? Well there was something going on yonder. Just before the tangi came down there was a shot fired. It was on the other side of the nullah. Something was going on.
Now Bhallu Khan was inclined to be long-winded in his statements. It was raining smartly, and Upward grew impatient.
“I don’t see what we can do,” he bellowed through the roar of the water. “We can’t even go and see what’s up. The tangi is down, and the tumasha, whatever it is, was on the other side.”
“Not all the time, Huzoor,” urged the forest guard. “While the roar of the water was yet distant, we heard a strange noise – yes, a very strange noise – It was as the clatter of hoofs in the bed of the dry nullah, of shod hoofs. And then there was another shot – and the hoof-strokes seemed to cease. Then the water came down and we could hear no more of anything.”
“Eh! another shot!” cried Upward, now thoroughly startled. “Why, what the devil is the meaning of it?” This last escaped him in English – and it brought the whole party around him, now all ears, regardless of the rain. Only Nesta was out of it – not understanding Hindustani.
It was where the road crosses the nullah, Bhallu Khan explained. He could not tell what it might be, but thought he had better inform the Huzoor. It might even be worth while going that far to see if there was anything to find out.
“Yes, let’s go!” – cut in Lily. “Hurrah! here’s a new excitement!”
“Let’s go!” echoed her father sharply. “To bed, you mean. So off you go there, both of you. Come – clear in – quick! Likely one wants a lot of children fooling about in the dark on a night like this.”
Heedless of their grumbling protest, Upward dived into his tent, and, quickly arming himself with his magazine rifle and revolver, he came forth. Bhallu Khan he instructed to bring another of the forest guard to accompany them while a third was left to look after the camp.
In the darkness and rain they took their way along the bank of the flood – Upward hardly knowing what he was expecting to find. The country was wild, and its inhabitants wilder still. Quite recently there had been an upheaval of lawlessness among a section of the powerful and restless Marri tribe. What if some bloody deed of vendetta, or tribal feud, had been worked out here, almost at his very door? He stumbled along through the wet, coarse tussocks, peering here and there as the forest guard held the lantern before him – his rifle ready. He hardly expected to find anything living, but there was a weird creepiness about this nocturnal quest after something sinister and mysterious that moved him by sheer
