第6章 THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KINGBY RUDYARD KIPLING(6)

"There starts a caravan from Peshawar to Kabul in twenty days,/Huzrut/," said the Eusufzai trader."My camels go therewith.Do thou also go and bring us good luck.""I will go even now!" shouted the priest."I will depart upon my winged camels, and be at Peshawar in a day! Ho! Hazar Mir Khan," he yelled to his servant, "drive out the camels, but let me first mount my own."He leaped on the back of his beast as it knelt, and, turning round to me, cried, "Come thou also, Sahib, a little along the road, and I will sell thee a charm--an amulet that shall make thee King of Kafiristan."Then the light broke upon me, and I followed the two camels out of the Serai till we reached open road and the priest halted.

"What d' you think o' that?" said he in English."Carnehan can't talk their patter, so I've made him my servant.He makes a handsome servant.'T isn't for nothing that I've been knocking about the country for fourteen years.Didn't I do that talk neat? We'll hitch on to a caravan at Peshawar till we get to Jagdallak, and then we'll see if we can get donkeys for our camels, and strike into Kafiristan.Whirligigs for the Amir, O Lor'! Put your hand under the camelbags and tell me what you feel."I felt the butt of a Martini, and another and another.

"Twenty of 'em," said Dravot, placidly."Twenty of 'em and ammunition to correspond, under the whirligigs and the mud dolls.""Heaven help you if you are caught with those things!" I said."A Martini is worth her weight in silver among the Pathans.""Fifteen hundred rupees of capital--every rupee we could beg, borrow, or steal--are invested on these two camels," said Dravot."We won't get caught.We're going through the Khaiber with a regular caravan.Who'd touch a poor mad priest?" "Have you got everything you want?" I asked, overcome with astonishment.

"Not yet, but we shall soon.Give us a momento of your kindness,/Brother/.You did me a service yesterday, and that time in Marwar.Half my Kingdom shall you have, as the saying is." I slipped a small charm compass from my watch-chain and handed it up to the priest.

"Good-bye," said Dravot, giving me hand cautiously."It's the last time we'll shake hands with an Englishman these many days.Shake hands withhim, Carnehan," he cried, as the second camel passed me.

Carnehan leaned down and shook hands.Then the camels passed away along the dusty road, and I was left alone to wonder.My eye could detect no failure in the disguises.The scene in the Serai proved that they were complete to the native mind.There was just the chance, therefore, that Carnehan and Dravot would be able to wander through Afghanistan without detection.But, beyond, they would find death-- certain and awful death.

Ten days later a native correspondent, giving me the news of the day from Peshawar, wound up his letter with: "There has been much laughter here on account of a certain mad priest who is going in his estimation to sell petty gauds and insignificant trinkets which he ascribes as great charms to H.H.the Amir of Bokhara.He passed through Peshawar and associated himself to the Second Summer caravan that goes to Kabul.The merchants are pleased because through superstition they imagine that such mad fellows bring good fortune."The two, then, were beyond the Border.I would have prayed for them, but that night a real King died in Europe, and demanded an obituary notice.

The wheel of the world swings through the same phases again and again.Summer passed and winter thereafter, and came and passed again.The daily paper continued and I with it, and upon the third summer there fell a hot night, a night issue, and a strained waiting for something to be telegraphed from the other side of the world, exactly as had happened before.A few great men had died in the past two years, the machines worked with more clatter, and some of the trees in the office garden were a few feet taller.But that was all the difference.

I passed over to the press-room, and went through just such a scene as I have already described.The nervous tension was stronger than it had been two years before, and I felt the heat more acutely.At three o'clock I cried, "Print off," and turned to go, when there crept to my chair what was left of a man.He was bent into a circle, his head was sunk between his shoulders, and he moved his feet one over the other like a bear.I couldhardly see whether he walked or crawled--this rag-wrapped, whining cripple who addressed me by name, crying that he was come back."Can you give me a drink?" he whimpered."For the Lord's sake, give me a drink!"I went back to the office, the man following with groans of pain, and I turned up the lamp.

"Don't you know me?" he gasped, dropping into a chair, and he turned his drawn face, surmounted by a shock of gray hair, to the light.

I looked at him intently.Once before had I seen eyebrows that met over the nose in an inch-broad black band, but for the life of me I could not tell where.

"I don't know you," I said, handing him the whisky."What can I do for you?"He took a gulp of the spirit raw, and shivered in spite of the suffocating heat.

"I've come back," he repeated; "and I was the King of Kafiristan--me and Dravot--crowned Kings we was! In this office we settled it--you setting there and giving us the books.I am Peachey,--Peachey Taliaferro Carnehan,--and you've been setting here ever since--O Lord!"I was more than a little astonished, and expressed my feelings accordingly.