Danger at Dahlkari (6 page)

“Back off!” Sally cried, waving the pistol.

“Be—be careful with that thing,” I cautioned her. My voice sounded hoarse, barely audible. “You've never fired it. It might go off. I don't believe he understands English, Sally.”

“He understands this pistol well enough. Back off, you fiend!”

“He doesn't—he doesn't look like any of the others. None of them wore a robe like that. He might not be a Thug after all. He might just be a—someone who happened to come along.”

“Thug or no, look at that face! I know a killer when I see one. He's a cold-blooded, merciless heathen. Look at that twisting mouth and that beaklike nose. Look at those
eyes
! Hold it, you brigand! Don't make a move!”

“He does look—rather savage,” I agreed, “but we mustn't make snap judgments. He might well be our salvation. He might be able to take us to Dahlkari.”

“Dahlkari,” he said in a harsh, gutteral voice.

“See, he—he understood that word. Dahlkari,” I repeated. “We want to—to go to Dahlkari. Do—do you understand? Dahl-ka-ri. Mc—McAllister.”

A deep crease formed above the bridge of his nose as he frowned. “McAllister,” he said, nodding slowly. “Eng-lish. So-jour.” He spoke with great effort, obviously finding the words difficult to pronounce.

“He knows who Reggie is, Sally. He knows he's an English soldier. I don't think he's a Thug. Let me talk to him. I—perhaps I can make him understand what we want.”

“I don't trust him, Miss Lauren.”

“I—I don't either, but we—we haven't much choice.”

Most of my fear was gone now, and my voice was steady. I pushed a damp brown wave from my brow and stepped a bit closer, standing beside Sally. I saw the large leather canteen hanging from his saddle horn, and the rider noticed me looking at it. He grimaced and reached for the canteen, tossing it toward us. It landed at my feet. Sally's arms had begun to droop a little, as though the pistol were too heavy for her to hold. She watched me pick up the canteen and unfasten the top.

“You drink first,” I told her. “Take—just a few little sips. I don't think you're supposed to drink too much at first.”

“You go ahead,” she said, “I'll keep him covered while you drink. I don't like the sly look in his eye. He—he looks like some bloodthirsty pirate on horseback, probably has a dagger concealed under that robe. You finished?”

With one hand Sally held the pistol pointed shakily at the rider, taking the canteen with the other. She drank cautiously, her eyes never leaving the man, then returned the canteen to me. I took one more tiny sip before fastening the top back on. Nothing, I knew, would ever taste better than those few sips of cool, lovely water. Already I could feel the dizzy weakness leaving, some of my strength returning.

“I—I think he's friendly, Sally. If he planned to murder us, he'd hardly have given us the water. Let me try to make him understand. Just because he has a—a treacherous face doesn't necessarily mean he
is
.”

“Talk to him then,” Sally said, “but I'm keeping him covered. If he tries anything I'll blow him to kingdom come—” Sally was beginning to enjoy herself, the pistol giving her considerable confidence.

“Dahl-kari,” I said carefully. “We want to go to Dahlkari, to Lieutenant Colonel McAllister. Do you understand? Dahl-kari, Mc-Al-lis-ter. Look, Sally, he's nodding. I think he understands. Will you take us to Dahlkari?” I used appropriate gestures, pointing first to him, then to us, then to the east as I said “Dahlkari,” speaking as I might speak to a particularly dense child.

“Mc-Allister,” he growled. “English soldier. Dahlkari.”

“Let him try something,” Sally muttered, “just let him try.”

“McAllister will—will give you much money. Money? Rupees. Many, many rupees. You—take—us—to—Dahlkari. McAllister—pay—many—rupees.”

He nodded again, a terse, abrupt nod, and I felt certain that he understood. He slung one leg over the saddle and slid to the ground in one quick movement. He was extremely tall, well over six feet, with a powerful build. He resembled no Indian I had ever seen. Though deeply tan, his complexion was not the smooth, creamy tan of the Indians, and his features had none of the softness of the race. Could he possibly be an Arab? That's what he looked like, a savage, virile Arab sheikh with scowling mouth and glowering black-brown eyes.

“Don't come any closer!” Sally cried.

“I don't think he means any harm, Sally. I think he wants to help us get to Dahlkari.”

“Stand back, ruffian!”

The man paid no attention to her. He moved toward us in long, brisk strides, seized Sally's wrist and took the gun out of her hand, slipping it into the waistband of his trousers. Sally was dumbfounded, and her bluster vanished completely, leaving her much too terrified to protest. He stood there in front of us with his legs spread wide apart, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, a towering, intimidating figure in his striped robe and boots. Sally swallowed and seized my hand, gripping it tightly. Some of my own confidence vanished, but I tried to maintain some semblance of composure, knowing it would be an error to show fear. Those dark black-brown eyes glared at us with a fixed intensity, and he seemed to be contemplating exactly what he should do with us.

“Miss Lauren—” Sally began shakily.

“He's not a Thug, Sally. I'm convinced of it.” My own voice wasn't nearly as steady as it had been earlier.

“He'll murder us both! Look, he's
leer
ing—maybe he intends to rape us first. I've never
been
raped.”

“Be quiet,” I said sharply.

“We go Dahlkari,” the man said, pronouncing each word slowly and with considerable difficulty. “McAllister soldier pay many rupees.”

“Yes, that—that's right,” I encouraged him. “He
does
understand, Sally. He's going to take us to Dahlkari.”

“He's not taking
me
anywhere, thank you. If you think I'm going to go traipsing off with a cold-blooded fiend like this one, you're out of your mind, Miss Lauren. I know something about men, and this one—why, he'd as soon slit our throats as—”

“Be quiet!” the man growled, parroting my earlier admonishment.

Sally cut herself short, her lips parted, her eyes wide with fright and bewilderment. With her damp, tangled gold curls and the stained and dusty yellow dress she looked like some wretched waif. I knew I must have looked just as bad. I had put the parasol down earlier when I picked up the canteen, and the sun was merciless on my exposed face.

“We go,” the man said.

He pointed toward the horse, and then fastened strong brown fingers around my wrist. Still nervous, I tried to pull back. He gave my wrist a savage tug, causing me to stumble forward, and it was then that Sally flew at him with balled fists, pounding viciously at his chest. The man sighed heavily and gave her a shove, brushing her away as he might have a bothersome gnat. Sally stumbled and fell to the sand on her backside, giving an outraged yell. Ignoring her, he pulled me across the sand to the horse and then lifted me up, swinging me into the saddle with no effort whatsoever, as though I were weightless. Returning to Sally, he pulled her to her feet, and when she tried to hit him again he swung her up over his shoulder like a sack of feed. She kicked and struggled and pounded at his back with her fists, but his face remained utterly impassive as he sauntered back over to the horse.

“Unhand me, you brute!” Sally yelled. I began to suspect that she had not only discovered my cache of novels but had read them as well.

The man deposited Sally up on the horse behind me, showing no emotion when she seized a handful of raven hair and began to pull it violently. He reached up, caught hold of her wrist and freed himself, giving her a look that caused her to be still instantly. Emitting a little sob, she placed her arms around my waist and held on for dear life. The man sauntered back to the place where we had been standing and kicked at the bag of fruit with the toe of his boot, frowning when the red and brownish-orange balls rolled out. He picked up one of the leaf parasols and brought it over to me, indicating that it should serve for both of us, and then, taking the reins in his hand, he began to lead the horse over the sand, heading east.

The parasol was large enough to shield both of us from the sun. I held it over my shoulder, holding on to the saddle horn with my free hand. I had clung to the precious canteen throughout all this, and I slung it back over the saddle horn now, feeling it would be wiser to wait awhile before we drank more. I could feel Sally relaxing, her grip not as tense as it had been before.

“I just know he's got something dreadful in store for us,” she remarked after a while.

“Nonsense.”

“Rape,” she said chattily. “One of the girls at the orphanage—this was years ago—
she
was raped, and she said the best thing to do is just relax and
enjoy
it.” I could tell the minx was beginning to warm to the idea. “Of course, he might be a white slaver,” she continued. “We might end up in some dreadful
house
!”

“I do wish you'd hush, Sally.”

“It
is
rather exciting,” she admitted, “and I must say riding on the back of this splendid horse beats trudging over the sand. My poor feet! Do you really think he'll take us to Dahlkari, Miss Lauren?”

“I feel sure he will. He knows Reggie will give him a large amount of money for rescuing us.”

“You're probably right,” Sally agreed, sounding almost disappointed. “This has been quite a day. At least I'll have something to tell my grandchildren. Not that they'll be
lieve
it. Who would? It's like something out of one of those books you were always reading on the sly.”

“So you did find them?”

“'Course I did. Read a couple of 'em, too. They were a lot more interesting than those dreary foreign things you read the rest of the time. I couldn't make head nor tails of
those
.”

Sally was her old cheerful self again, and I felt my own spirits rising. It had indeed been an incredible day, but things were definitely looking up now. Our guide was fierce and sullen, but at least he hadn't whipped out a yellow scarf and strangled us. He knew that the English soldier McAllister would give him many rupees, and I felt confident that his desire for the reward would make him think twice about doing anything uncivilized. He
did
look quite capable of rape, but, after all, Sally and I were English.

The hood of his burnoose pulled up over his head, the native moved at a steady pace, leading horse and riders over the burning sand and showing no sign of weariness. An hour passed, then another, the sun beginning to move gradually west, the rays not quite so intense now, the hard blue sky softening to blue-gray. Sally and I drank more water, almost emptying the canteen. Both of us were ravenously hungry, and I wished our guide hadn't been so disdainful of the fruit. Hot, hungry, weary and worn, both of us grew silent, although Sally made an occasional comment about her backside. She was certain it had been bruised when that vicious brute had knocked her down, and bouncing up and down on the back of the horse didn't help a bit. The sky had taken on a pale violet hue and deep crimson banners were beginning to smear the horizon when our native guide turned the horse toward the jungle and, reaching its edge, stopped and indicated that we should dismount.

Sally slipped off the horse with considerable alacrity, rubbing her posterior with both hands as soon as she was on the ground. I thought I saw a smile play on the native's lips, although it might have been a grimace. He reached up and took my hand, helping me dismount, and, bone-weary, I was grateful for the assistance. I noticed again how very tall he was, how strong and powerful that lean, muscular body was. He made me feel exceedingly vulnerable, exceedingly feminine, and I was horrified by the realization. The man was a native, a brutal rogue if not an out-and-out villain, and I suddenly realized that he looked exactly like one of those wildly unprincipled gypsy-vagabond-highwaymen who swaggered through the pages of the romantic novels I had consumed so avidly. Certainly not handsome, the man had a ruthless virility and a raw, primitive magnetism that was much more powerful than good looks could possibly have been. I was shocked at myself for even noticing it.

“What now?” Sally said grumpily, still rubbing briskly.

“I suppose we'll make camp for the night,” I told her.

“In the jungle? With all those cobras and jackals?”

“I—I imagine it'll be safer. The Thugs might return, Sally. We mustn't forget that.”

“I haven't,” she said, serious now. “All the time we were bouncing along I kept my eyes peeled. Truth to tell, I feel a bit safer with Laughing Boy here at our side. I fancy he could take on any number of Thugs with his bare hands. They wouldn't send back more than two or three to—to tidy things up, and, if worse came to worse, I'd put my money on Chuckles. He
is
grim, isn't he?”

“Rather,” I agreed.

“Regular barrel of laughs. I'm
still
not convinced he isn't planning something perfectly foul—he certainly looks the type. Sure, he wants the gold he'll get for rescuing us, but his unbridled lust might be stronger than his greed.” There was a wistful note in her voice.

“You're outrageous, Sally.”

“I know
men
,” she retorted.

Taking the reins again, the tall native motioned for us to follow him and led the horse into the jungle. It was denser here than it had been near the campsite last night, and there was no visible pathway, but our guide moved briskly and with great confidence, obviously very familiar with this particular area. Sally and I trudged along behind him, frequently stumbling, thorny shrubs and low-hanging branches making it an obstacle course. Although it was rapidly fading, there was still plenty of light. Monkeys chattered noisily overhead, swinging from tree to tree, and the birds were shrill. Complaining vociferously, Sally freed a lock of hair from a branch, kicked a rock out of her way and made highly unflattering remarks about our leader.