Hussein. Patrick O’Brian

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ recognised Ismail Khan, a notorious dacoit.

      The man salaamed. ‘Pray do not threaten a poor honest thief, huzoor,’ he said; ‘we will be peaceable.’

      ‘Then call your men out one by one, and tell them to lay down their arms: if anything else happens, I’ll shoot you as you stand.’

      Ismail Khan obeyed: as each man came out from his hut Hussein covered him with the shot-gun. They laid down their weapons — ancient blunderbusses and matchlocks for the most part — in a pile by Jehangir, who stood quite still, breathing heavily.

      ‘We should have been able to entertain you more like men,’ said Ismail Khan, with a grin — for he held his hereditary and ancient profession to be no shame — ‘if we had not run out of powder. Will it be a hanging or only the jail-khana?’

      ‘That depends,’ said Gill; ‘now you will get me a very long rope. Let no other man move. Hussein, follow that man, and shoot him if he tries to escape.’

      Hussein followed Ismail Khan, scowling fiercely to show that he was not at all afraid. The dacoit led the way into a hut where there were various jars of grain and stores. He paused for a moment, and Hussein raised his gun.

      ‘That jar is full of rupees,’ remarked the dacoit. ‘Get the rope,’ replied Hussein.

      ‘Handsome young mahouts can do a lot with a jar of rupees.’

      ‘That is true, but I do not believe that there are any there.’

      ‘Look and see for yourself — I am very liberal to my friends.’

      ‘Yes, and put my gun down: I am not quite a fool,’ said Hussein.

      The dacoit turned the jar on its side: a stream of silver coins came out on to the mud floor. ‘Help yourself,’ he said. Hussein said nothing.

      The dacoit showed another jar — smaller this time. ‘Gold,’ he whispered, opening a leather bag from inside the jar, ‘you understand?’ Hussein nodded; the dacoit threw the bag, and Hussein caught it in one hand, keeping his distance from the dacoit.

      ‘Now look the other way,’ said Ismail Khan, ‘so that you can swear by the Beard of the Prophet that you did not see me go.’

      ‘No,’ said Hussein.

      ‘What in Jehannum?’

      ‘I said no; now get that rope.’ He pointed the gun at the dacoit — he had tucked the little bag into his dhoti.

      ‘O son of Eblis — incredibly base leper …’

      ‘Silence, soor-ka-butcha. Get the rope.’ Hussein scowled ferociously. With no more words, but with an evil look, Ismail Khan brought out a coil of rope. Coming out of the door he made a rush at Hussein, flinging the heavy coil. Hussein ducked, and jabbed the dacoit in the stomach with the gun — he was not sure how to fire it. When Ismail Khan got his breath again, he picked up the rope and walked back quietly to the square where Gill sat on Jehangir, guarding the other prisoners. Gill dismounted and took the rope: as he put his rifle under his arm to take it, someone threw a knife: it knocked his topi off, but did no harm. Ismail Khan gathered himself together for a spring, and Hussein clubbed him from behind with the butt of the shot-gun. Before his topi had reached the ground, Gill fired from his hip, killing the man who had thrown the knife.

      After that the dacoits were quite meek. They stood in a line with their hands behind them, and Hussein bound them, linking them all together.

      They bound Ismail Khan and put him across Jehangir’s back. Before the dacoits were bound it had been touch and go whether Gill and Hussein would get out alive; but no man cared to be the first to move, although if several had attacked together they would have been certain of victory; yet no one wanted to be the first to get shot. Also, they were cowed by the ease with which Jehangir had crushed their wall, and some even made remarks about people who employed djinn to fight for them.

      Now Gill, having discovered the dacoits’ village by accident, did not wish to remain in a part of the country that might be swarming with their friends, nor did he want them to have time to recover from their despondency, so he asked Hussein if it were possible for Jehangir to make the journey back again at once.

      ‘Yes,’ replied Hussein, ‘when I have got this thorn out, and provided he is given a great jar of arrack; I saw some where the rope was.’

      ‘Go and get it, then,’ replied Gill.

      Hussein went, and returned with the jar: his dhoti seemed curiously swelled, and he clanked gently as he walked.

      Jehangir lifted up his foot, and Hussein soon got the thorn out. Then the elephant sniffed at the jar, picked it up with his trunk, and emptied it down his throat. He flapped his ears, and seemed brighter in a few minutes, for the immensely powerful spirit gave him heart. Leaving Hussein to guard the bound prisoners, Gill searched the huts, finding nobody until he came to the last and biggest. He opened the door of this one with some effort, for it was being held closed from within. He poked his head in; there were piercing screams. He slammed the door. ‘Oh Lord,’ he said, ‘women.’

      There was a passable horse in the village; he commandeered it, so as to relieve Jehangir, and rode out with his prisoners over the ruins of the shattered wall. They were tied in a string, and as he had forbidden them to speak, they were quite easy to manage. As they were crossing the Jhelunga they made a faint-hearted effort to escape when Gill’s horse became skittish and nearly threw him in, but a shot over their heads quietened them at once.

      By keeping them at a sharp trot, Gill managed to reach the road-head before nightfall, which was fortunate, as they would have had more chance to escape in the dark. It was a very good thing to have got them all at once, as this band had spoiled the countryside for years, and in spite of the most determined efforts of the police, their hiding-place had never been found.

      The villagers were really grateful, and they showed it by sending messengers for miles to Gill to report remarkable heads of deer, or good-sized leopards.

      When he got in, Gill sent his policemen back for the women, and got his arm bound up. Then, after food, he went round to the elephant lines to see Hussein and Jehangir.

      The elephant was surrounded by a crowd of mahouts, all dealing with his hundreds of small wounds with their strange remedies.

      Mustapha was attending to Jehangir’s tail, and Gill asked where Hussein was. Mustapha guided him to their hut, where Hussein was squatting before a great pot of steaming saffron stew, made from the tails of sheep, and between mouthfuls he was telling the tale to a gaping circle.

      Gill paused outside the door, in the shadows. ‘And so,’ said Hussein, ‘I plucked a branch from a tree, and cleared my way through these dholes, thus rescuing Jehangir and the Sahib, who were beset on all sides. Then I guided them to this village, and — with a little help, it is true — I overset the walls of it. After a long fight — I killed some four of them, I believe — we subdued them, and having tied them cunningly, one after the other, I brought them back, the Sahib being unconscious from a blow on the head. He only recovered just before we arrived, and he pressed gold on me: I would have refused, but he said that it might seem to imply that his life which I had saved (or so he was good enough to say) was of no value.’

      ‘Inshallah! But surely the youth deceives us?’ said a young man, enviously.

      ‘Yes, СКАЧАТЬ