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Updated: June 8, 2025
The Afridi screamed like a wild beast as he wrenched himself away, leaving the bandages in the trooper's hand; and for an instant the trooper half turned to succor his comrade. "Nay, after him!" urged the wounded man in the Jat tongue; and, seeing a crowd come running from four directions, the Sikh let him lie, to race after the Afridi.
He watched him for ten minutes, until at last their eyes met. Then he sat down and kicked the box back to its owners. He looked again at Ismail. With teeth clenched and eyes ablaze, the Afridi was smashing his knuckles together and rocking to and fro. There was no need to fear him. He turned and touched the Pathan's broad shoulder. The man smiled and bent his turbaned head to listen.
At the beginning of his great grief, when nothing could console him for the loss of Madge, the Illustrated Universe, a weekly journal, had asked him to go out to India and represent them pictorially in the Afridi campaign on the Northwest frontier. He accepted readily, with a desperate hope in his heart that he did not confide to his friends.
"I did not effect my escape at all," Lisle said, as he mounted the chair; "I was released without any terms being made and, for the past three months, have been treated as an honoured guest by the Afridi chief into whose hands I fell." "Well, tell the story from the beginning," the colonel said; "what you have said only adds to our wonder."
She showed him a cave in which boxes were stacked in high square piles. "Dynamite bombs!" she boasted. "How many boxes? I forget! Too many to count! Women brought them all the way from the sea, for even Muhammad Anim could not make Afridi riflemen carry loads. I have wondered what Bull-with-a-beard will say when he misses his precious dynamite!" "You've enough in there to blow the mountain up!"
One Afridi is beginning things, and where is one Afridi with a long knife are many more kinds of trouble!" The babu was recovering his breath, and with it his yearning to behold a regiment careering through the barrack gate to the rescue.
Havildar Ali Gul, of the Afridi Company of the Guides, seized a canvas cartridge carrier, a sort of loose jacket with large pockets, filled it with ammunition from his men's pouches, and rushing across the fire-swept space, which separated the regiment from the Sikhs, distributed the precious packets to the struggling men. Returning he carried a wounded native officer on his back.
Their fall was greeted by strange little yells of pleasure from the native soldiers. These Afridi and Pathan companies of the Guides Infantry suggest nothing so much as a well-trained pack of hounds. Their cries, their movements, and their natures are similar.
Montresor had pulled me into a corner of the room, away from the rest of the party, nominally to look at a picture, really that I might answer a confidential question he had just put to me with regard to a disputed incident in the Afridi campaign. We were in the dark and partly behind a screen. Then the door opened. I confess the sight of Lady Henry paralyzed me.
"Nay, who am I that I should know?" "But she sent thee?" "Aye, she sent me." "To what purpose?" "To her purpose!" the Afridi answered, and King could not get another word out of him. He fell behind. But out of the corner of his eye, and once or twice by looking back deliberately, King saw that Ismail was taking the members of his new band one by one and whispering to them.
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