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Updated: June 1, 2025
She heard a shot behind her, another and another; but she kept on firing into and about the keyhole till the revolver was empty. A firm hand drew her aside. "The lion?" "Gone to sleep. Let me have a whack at that door." "Where's Ramabai?" "Went back over the wall. Probably to warn Ahmed; maybe gone directly off toward camp. Anyhow, he has faith in me." "And, oh! so have I, so have I!"
"My friend Ahmed is bitter," replied Ramabai patiently. "Ai, ai! I had Umballa in my hands and let him go! Pardon me, Ramabai; I am indeed bitter." "But who will suggest this animal scheme to Umballa?" inquired Bruce. "I." Ramabai salaamed. "You will walk into the lion's den?" "The jackal's," Ramabai corrected. "God help me!
You and I know; we have traveled." "Batteries, here, in this wilderness?" "Even so. To you, Ramabai, the powder; to me, the spitting wires; to you, Bruce Sahib, patience. Umballa shall yet wear raw the soles of his feet in the treadmill. He shall grind the poor man's corn. I know what I know. Now I must be off.
A dark frown began to settle over Umballa's face. If the colonel refused the last candidate for nuptial honors, he should die. But as Ramabai lifted the veil of this last woman the colonel nodded sharply; and Kathlyn, for a brief space, gazed into her father's eyes. The same thought occurred to both; what a horrible mockery it all was, and where would it lead finally?
Well, there were worse things than a woman who could not talk. Thus they gabbled in the bazaars, round braziers and dung fires. And some talked of the murder. The proud Ramabai had been haled to prison; his banker's gold had not saved him. Oh, this street rat Umballa generally got what he wanted. Ramabai's wife was one of the beauties of Hind.
She gave it to her father to read; and it hurt her to note the way his eyes took fire at the contents of that letter. The filigree basket of gold and gems; the trinkets for which he had risked his own life, Kathlyn's, then Winnie's. In turn Bruce and Ramabai perused the letter; and to Ramabai came the inspiration. They would seek this treasure, but only he, Ramabai, and Pundita would return.
I think a smoke would brace me up." Bruce laughed and passed up a broken cigar, which the colonel lighted carefully. The weariness seemed to go out of his face magically. "This Bala Khan should be Mohammedan," said Bruce. "The Pathan despises the Hindu." "There are Hindus in yonder city; quite as many," said Ramabai, "as there are Mohammedans.
We shall have to hide in the jungle to-night. And there is my sister. You should have thought, Ahmed." "Umballa will not harm a hair of her head," replied Ahmed, lifting his head. "Your work has filled his heart with venom," declared Bruce hotly. "And my words, Sahib, have filled his veins with water," replied Ahmed, now smiling. "What do you mean?" demanded the colonel. "Ask Ramabai.
The next morning while the council and Umballa were in session relative as to what should be done with Kathlyn in the event of her refusal to bend, two soldiers entered, bringing with them a beautiful native young woman, one Pundita, wife of Ramabai, found in murder. Umballa wiped his betel stained lips and salaamed mockingly.
Ramabai was first to discover the deserted palanquin, and proceeded to investigate. It did not take him more than a minute to understand what had happened. It was not an accident; it was cold-blooded murder, and back of it stood the infernal ingenuity of one man. Thus fate took Allaha by the hair again and shook her out of the pastoral quiet. What would happen now? This!
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