: The Sirdar's Oath: A Tale of the North-West Frontier by Mitford Bertram - India History British occupation 1765-1947 Fiction

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fateful consequences that rebuff was destined to entail upon his master, upon others--and, perchance, upon himself.

For what they gazed upon here was but a beginning. It was the mark of Murad Afzul.

A LEGACY OF VENGEANCE.

The Nawab Mahomed Mushim Khan, commonly known as Mushim Khan, Chief of the Gularzai, was seated beneath the shade of an apricot tope, discussing affairs of state with his brother and vizier, Kuhandil Khan.

The hour of prayer was just over, yet here and there a group of belated worshippers was still engaged in the prescribed ceremonial, bowing down, low and oft, in the direction of the Holy City, while others were wending their way towards the gate in the long low mud wall behind which stood the village. Here and there, too, knelt camels, in process of being loaded for a journey, eternally snarling and roaring, as is the way of those cross-grained, hideous, but essentially useful animals, and flocks of black goats and of fat-tailed Persian sheep moved lazily off to their browsing grounds attended by tall, shaggy herdsmen armed with their long-barrelled, sickle-stocked guns--and accompanied by great savage dogs, a match for wolf or panther, and far more dangerous than either to any human being not well armed, who should incur their hostility. Even as Raynier had set forth, there was not anything here of the jewelled gorgeousness and architectural splendour popularly associated with the conventional Nawab, yet it was Mushim Khan's principal and favourite place of abode.

It lay in a basin-like hollow. Overhead and around, a grim array of chaotic peaks towered to a considerable height--the slopes lined with cliffs, and strewn with tumbled rocks, representing a vastness of area which the unaccustomed eye took some time to appreciate. Through this valley a small river flowed, having for its outlet a narrow, cliff-hung pass, which was, in fact, the principal access to the great natural amphitheatre.

In describing the chief's personal appearance Raynier had not exaggerated. Mushim Khan was unquestionably a fine-looking man. Tall and straight, his powerful frame was well set off by the flowing whiteness of his garments, and the symmetrical folds of his snowy turban made an effective framework to the strong and dignified face. It was a finer face than those possessed by most of his countrymen, being somewhat fuller, and, though regular of feature, yet had not that hawk-like and predatory expression engendered by the lean and exaggeratedly aquiline cast of profile of the rest. His full beard and the two long tresses hanging low down on either side of his broad chest were jet black, but in view of the custom of dyeing such his age would be hard to determine approximately. His brother, the Sirdar Kuhandil Khan, was scarcely his inferior in appearance--in fact, there was so strong a family likeness between them that they might easily have been mistaken for each other.

"And our people are being inflamed by unrest, brother?"

"Are they not?" answered Kuhandil Khan. "Murad Afzul is here among them again, and it seems that he is drawing all men with him."

"Murad Afzul?" and the chief's brows darkened. "Murad Afzul! I have a mind to make an end of that robber. To what purpose should we allow such as he to draw us into war with the Feringhi? And what should come of such war? Will our land grow fat beneath it or our people increase?"

"It would not be good to make an end of him at this moment," said the vizier. "His following is large and powerful, and our people are ever turbulent. For long has he been teaching them to cast eyes upon Mazaran, whose garrison is weak, and where there is much plunder."

"Then Murad Afzul is chief of the Gularzai," said Mushim Khan, bitterly. "Well, we shall see, for I will order him to take his possessions and depart."

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