Chapter XXXIII: Asiatic Honor

Luchman the guide was expecting treachery, and he therefore took no chances.

Observing the fixedness of the chieftain's gaze and the spell that held his senses captive, he felt that it was an appropriate time for him to leave. The majority of the Ghoojurs were some yards distant, and they were not likely to interfere, when they had noticed the consideration he received from their leader.

As noiselessly as an Apache he rose to his feet, and, without attracting attention, moved back among the trees until beyond sight of them all. So it came about that, when Wana Affghar spoke the words, Luchman was too far off to hear them.

The latter started toward the river, in the hope of finding his friends with the least possible delay, but before going far he paused.

"Wana Affghar offered me his horse to ride; I will borrow him for the elder lady."

The project was a good one, but its success was not worth the risk involved. He resolved, however, to secure the tough little pony.

It will be recalled that there was but the one animal with the Ghoojurs, and that belonged to the leader himself. Luchman noticed, while in camp, that it was tethered a short distance away, where there was a slight growth of grass. If the animal was still there, he was confident of getting him without difficulty.

Guided by the twinkling light of the camp fire, he approached the spot by a circuitous route. The ground was favorable, and he stealthily crawled through the high jungle grass, which shut him from sight so long as he was flat on the ground. His chief fear was that when the pony saw him, it would utter a whinny or neigh that would warn the Ghoojurs that an enemy was in camp.

He was within twenty feet or so of the animal, when it did the very thing he dreaded. It neighed, and Luchman, who was in the act of rising to his feet, lay down again, until he could learn whether the outcry had attracted the notice of the brigands.

It did not seem to have done so, and, while he was peering through the gloom, he discovered that one of the Ghoojurs was with the steed. Luchman could not understand why he should be there, but the fellow patted his haunches, and spoke soothingly to the animal. A closer view showed the guide that the man was a syce, whose business it was to look after his master's horse.

Finding everything right, the syce moved back in the direction of the camp. The course which he took led him so close to where Luchman crouched that discovery seemed inevitable. The guide silently drew his pistol and awaited him.

But the Ghoojur was not looking for interlopers, and, striding back to camp, he lit his hookah and joined the rest of the smokers, never dreaming by what a narrow chance he took his life with him.

The coast was now clear, and the couchant native in the jungle grass rose upright with a quickness that would have startled the bravest man. Then, without pause or hesitation, he walked to the steed, which probably took him for the syce who had just left, for he merely raised his head, and then resumed grazing.

A rope around his neck was fastened to a stake, a rod or so distant, so that he had all the pasturage needed.

Without stopping to untie the thong, Luchman cut it with his knife, and the pony was at his disposal. Wana Affghar sported a large saddle, which he must have stolen. A minute later Luchman had mounted, and turned the head of the steed away.

The guide had reached a point where it may be said he would have been justified in dismissing all thought of the Ghoojurs, when he checked the animal.

"I have stolen him," he muttered with a feeling akin to dismay, "and though Wana Affghar is my enemy, I have no right to do this thing."

He was holding audience with his conscience.

It did not last long. He wheeled about, rode back, refastened the horse to the stake, and started off again in a much happier frame of mind, since he carried the approval of the inward monitor with him.

During this little by play the Ghoojurs had made search for the native whose death Wana Affghar had commanded, but he was safely beyond their reach, even while still in the vicinity of the camp fire.

Looking up in the moonlit sky, Luchman gave fervent thanks to his Heavenly Father for His protection and care.

"They are far on their way to Kurnal," was his thought of his loved friends; "they have had more than four hours' start; they have walked fast, though the night is very warm. They must be almost a dozen miles on the road; I shall have to hasten, for the distance is long, but I hope to reach them by sunrise."

Less than an hour was occupied in passing the four miles which brought him back to the ruined temple, where he parted with his friends when he went forth to ransom them.

"Can anything have happened to them?" he asked himself, drawing near and conscious of the same vague uneasiness that had troubled him more than once since he saw them.

When he left Ghoojur camp, it was with no thought of stopping at the ruins, but now when they loomed up in the moonlight the desire to enter was irresistible. He strode across the plain until he stood in front of the shaded entrance, through which he, Dr. Avery and Harkins had fled in such hot haste before the pursuing Ghoojurs. The silence of death rested upon them, and the hot air did not rustle a leaf.

"They have gone," reflected Luchman, walking slowly through the arched way; "that which resistance could not do has been done by the Star of India. They have been led out of the valley of death and Heaven will deliver them from further trouble."

His soft footstep gave out a faint echo as he walked toward the interior. A few seconds took him to the larger apartment, where most of the time had been spent by the besieged. The interior was dark, and he guided himself by the sense of feeling.

He pronounced the names of the missionary and Dr. Avery, but there was no answer, as he did not expect there would be. However, as he carried a small box of lucifer matches, brought all the way from Calcutta, he struck one and held it above his head.

The apartment was empty, the prostrate idol lying where it had been overturned by the visitors. There was hardly a sign that the place had been trodden by human feet for a hundred years.

By the aid of the flickering light, Luchman looked at the door opening into the other room--the tomb of George Harkins.

Should he enter that?

Not often did Luchman waver, for he was quick to make up his mind on any matter; but he now hesitated.

Finally he pushed the door aside and struck another match, which he also raised above his head and peered into the breathless darkness, waiting for the tiny flame to illuminate the interior.

Then with a horrified gasp he recoiled.

"Wana Affghar has betrayed us all!"

Only the dead body of poor Harkins was there, and that had been plundered by the Ghoojurs.

It was true: Wana Affghar had played them false.