Chapter VI: The Mountain Child

Walter was startled from his meditations by a sudden rustling in the bushes, followed by a cry of pain or terror, not many yards from the spot where he was reclining. In an instant he was on his feet; and turning towards the point whence the sound came, Walter saw a very large cheetah (leopard), that had sprung from its covert on an Afghan child, and was trying to carry her off. The little girl was struggling and resisting with all her might, striking at the savage beast with her small clenched hand, while she loudly cried out for help. It was well that help was near, or the struggle would have been short, and its fatal issue certain. Walter had no weapon in his hand; but unarmed as he was, he dashed through the brushwood to the rescue of the poor child. His short and sudden rush was enough to alarm the cheetah, which seldom, if ever, attacks a man. The wild beast dropped its hold of its prey, and bounding off, escaped by some unseen outlet from the copse.

Walter went up to the child, and beheld the most beautiful girl on whom his eyes had ever rested. Excitement and the effort of the struggle had added a deeper crimson to her cheeks; her face was scarcely darker than that of a European. Large blue eyes, dilated with fear, fringed with long soft dark lashes, were raised towards her preserver with an eager wistful gaze. The girl's hair, in long rich plaits, fell over her bright red _hurta_, and was adorned with many a silver ornament. Walter was too well accustomed to Oriental taste to think the child's loveliness lessened by the numerous rings which weighed down her little ears, or even the jewel on one side of the delicately formed nose. The child was evidently no poor man's daughter.

The girl did not appear to be seriously injured; her loose sleeve was very much torn, and a few drops of blood fell from one of her arms. The attack and rescue had been the work of but a few seconds.

"You are wounded, my poor lamb!" cried Walter in the Pushtoo tongue, and drawing out his handkerchief he tore it into shreds to bind up the bleeding arm.

"Not a lamb--for I fought it; I struck it! If I'd had a dagger I would have killed it!" cried the girl with a fierceness which seemed strange in one so young and fair. "I'm an eagle, for I live in the Eagle's Nest!"

With childlike confidence the little Afghan let Walter bind up her arm, looking at him with a curiosity which seemed to overpower every other emotion.

"They say you're a Kafir," she observed; "you're not a dog of a Kafir, you are brave and you are kind."

"How came you to be in the jungle, my child?" asked Walter; "I never saw you till you cried out."

The child smiled as she answered: "You did not see me, nor did you see the cheetah. Wild beasts know how to hide, and so does the wild Afghan."

"Why did you hide?" asked Walter.

"I crept down to see what Kafirs are like. They told me that rich white Feringhees were going through the pass, one riding on a beautiful horse. I hope that the horse is not yours?" she added in a tone of inquiry.

"No, the horse is not mine," replied Walter.

"I am glad of that," said the girl.

"And why?" inquired the Englishman.

"Because I should not like to loot you."

"Ha! a secret let out!" thought Walter. "Do you think that poor travellers ought to be looted?" he said aloud.

"No, but _rich_ ones should," was the naive reply. "My father says there are big boxes all filled with treasure. He promised to change my silver bracelets for gold ones from the Feringhee's spoils."

Walter was almost as much amused by the frankness of the child, as alarmed by the information which she gave.

"What is your name?" he inquired.

"Sultána," replied the child, whose queenly manner suited her name. "Sometimes my father calls me his little eagle."

"And who is your father, Sultána?"

"My father is a bold chief, a _bara bahadar_ (great hero)," replied the girl proudly. "His foes all dread Assad Khan. When last he came back to the Eagle's Nest from a foray, I saw that two heads hung from his saddle-bow."

"You did not like to see those ghastly heads? you turned away?" said the English youth, his soul revolting from the idea of that beautiful child being connected with scenes of slaughter.

"Why should I turn away? Afghans like to see dead foes. I wish, when I'm old enough, that I could ride about and fight like the Turkystan women!"

"Now, Sultána, you say that your father is a chief. If we travellers came to his fort and asked for food and shelter, would he not give them?" asked Walter, who had almost finished his surgical task."

"Yes, Assad Khan would kill a sheep; he would feast the strangers; Afghans are kind to strangers," replied the girl.

"And your father would send them on their way in safety?" inquired Walter, who had a personal interest in the reply to the question.

"Yes, they would be safe, till they had gone a little distance," said Sultána, a smile rising to her rose-bud lips.

"And then?"

"Then, if they were rich, he would follow and loot them; if they fought--he would kill them."

"Oh, what fearful darkness broods over this land!" thought Walter, "when the very children are trained to delight in deeds of rapine and blood;" and he sighed.

"Why do you sigh?" said Sultána, more gently, laying her little hand upon Walter's. "My father would not cut off your head. You saved his little Eagle. I like you--I thank you!" and soft moisture rose in her large blue eyes as she uttered the words.

"Sultána, you have not thanked Him who sent me to save you," said Walter, gently caressing the small, sun-burnt hand.

"Who sent you?" exclaimed Sultána, glancing suspiciously around.

"The great God,--He whom you call Allah."

"Did He send you,--did He speak to you? when? how?" exclaimed Sultána, in great surprise, withdrawing her hand as she spoke.

"I did not hear His voice with my mortal ears; and yet, Sultána, I feel sure, quite sure, that He sent me here to save you. I came into this jungle thinking to be quite alone, that I might talk with God."

"How can you talk with Allah?" cried Sultána, the mystery exciting her curiosity, almost her fear.

"I tell him all my troubles," replied Walter; "I have had many troubles of late, and I thank Allah for helping me through them. I shall thank Him to-night for saving you from the cheetah."

"And does Allah answer?" inquired Sultána, her large eyes fixed inquiringly on the speaker.

"Yes, but in a way that you cannot understand. O Sultána, I am so glad that the Lord both hears me and loves me. I wish that you too would talk with God."

"The Moullahs don't teach us anything like that," observed Sultána; "they teach us to say 'There is one God, and Mohammed is His prophet.'" She repeated this moslem confession of faith with the enthusiasm with which its very sound seems to inspire the followers of Islam. "Is that what you want me to say?"

"No, my child," said Walter, very gently; "I want you to say such words as these: 'Allah! teach me to know Thee! Allah! teach me to love Thee!'"

"Love!" repeated the young Afghan, as if her mind could scarcely take in an idea so new. "We must obey Allah, and fast in the Ramazan (though my father doesn't), and those who want to be saints should go and walk round the black stone at Mecca. But _love!_ why should I love Allah?"

"Because He loves you," replied Walter; "I can tell you, for I _know_ it, what your Moullahs never have told you, that _God is love_."

At this moment, a peculiar sound, something like a whistle, was heard from the height above. Sultána started at the sound.

"They've missed me--they're seeking me!" she exclaimed, and with the rapidity of a fawn she sprang away, and disappeared as the cheetah had done, by some unperceived outlet.

It was useless to attempt to follow the child, especially as the sunset glow had given place to deepening twilight. With rapid steps Walter returned to Denis, whom he found smoking by the fire.

"What on earth were those strange noises that I heard a little while ago?" asked Denis, taking the cigar from his lips; "I heard something like a scramble and a cry, and you shouted from the thicket yonder, and there was, I think, a crashing of bushes. I'd half a mind to come and see what you were after. Did you rouse some wild beast from his lair?"

Walter gave a short account of Sultána's adventure, to which Denis listened with keen interest, bursting into laughter when he heard of the little maiden's intended appropriation of his horse; it was a very brief laugh, however, and by no means one of unmingled mirth.

"And now, Dermot, you see that we are watched, waylaid, that we shall certainly be attacked and robbed by these fierce mountaineers; you must resolve at once on what course to pursue."

"Sell my life as dearly as I can," muttered Denis, grasping one of his pistols.

"No; mount your horse, your good fleet horse, and make your way back with all speed, under the cover of night. Your animal is not knocked up like ours. He may at least bear you far enough to place you beyond immediate pursuit. You must of course abandon your property, and it may serve to satisfy for a time the rapacity of these wolves. I do not think that the muleteers, who will not attempt to fight, run any serious risk; they will merely lose the beasts. But you--you must not delay for an hour your escape back to India."

"Escape back to India!" exclaimed Denis, indignantly starting to his feet. "What do you take me for, boy? Do you think that I, Dermot Denis, am the man to run off from the shadow of danger like a cur that flies yelping away if you do but lift up a stone. Do you think that I am the man to endure being twitted with having begun an enterprise which I had not the spirit to carry out, a man to save his own neck by leaving his comrade to be murdered by these brutal Afghans!"

"My danger is less then yours," observed Walter. "In the first place I have the protection of poverty; in the second I have made friends with the child of a chief."

"What a bit of luck for us!" exclaimed Denis, in a completely altered tone, throwing himself again on the ground beside the glowing embers of the fire. "I certainly was born under some auspicious star! No sooner do I lose my rogue of a guide, than up starts a powerful chief to act both as guide and protector. Of course I'll be hand and glove with this Assad Khan; he'll introduce me at Kandahar as his most particular friend. Of course I'll make him no end of promises,--one must never be sparing of them. I'll tell the chief that when I get back to India, I'll send him my horse--a free gift--and half-a-dozen others loaded with jewels for pretty Sultána. I'll make it the chief's interest to stand my friend. I'll see more of Afghan life than any being in the world ever saw before. Stay, stay, I must write up my journal; where have I put my ink-bottle?"

Denis, now in wild spirits, wrote for about five minutes as if writing for life; he then threw down his pen, and pushed the paper from him. "That's enough for to-night, I shall have plenty of time to-morrow to write up my story."

"Will he have plenty of time?" thought Walter to himself. "Is not my gay, bold comrade beset with dangers not the less real because he chooses to shut his eyes as he takes the leap which may land him--one shrinks from asking _where_! I am the only Christian near him, the only being who can speak to him of that soul which may so soon be required. And yet, coward and faithless friend that I am, I sit, as it were, with lips sealed, watching his career towards the precipice over which he so soon may plunge with a laugh on his lips!"

"Dermot," said Walter, aloud; "even you must own that our lives are uncertain."

"Yes; it's a toss up whether you and I ever see old Ireland again."

"Is it not well to be prepared for whatever may happen?"

"Yes; I've looked both to my guns and pistols," was Denis's reply.

"It was not that which I meant. I was thinking of what follows death."

"You don't want me surely to set about making my will?" exclaimed Denis. "It is not needed; if I die my estate must go to my brother."

"I am not speaking of worldly property. I was thinking that you--that we both--need to know more of God's will, that we may be ready, should He please to call us suddenly." Walter took his small pocket Testament from his bosom. "I am going to read my evening chapter; would you have any objection to my reading aloud?"

"None in the world," replied Denis, lightly; "but I can't promise to listen."

Walter selected his chapter, and selected well. Never before had he so realised the force of the expression, "Preaching as a dying man to dying men." Walter knew that at that moment stealthy foes might be creeping towards them under the cover of darkness, or that his reading might be interrupted by a sudden volley from the thicket or the heights above it. But the feeling of peril which solemnised the young Englishman did not at all un-nerve him; Walter drank in the meaning of each life-giving verse which he read. His companion's perfect silence encouraged Walter, till--when he closed the book--he turned to look at Dermot Denis, and saw him sunk in a deep slumber.