Hawk of the Hills | Page 7

and the
caravans will pass freely over this road again. If Afdal Khan should
win-- Why did this feud begin in the first place? I'll tell you! Afdal
wants full control of the wells in this region, wells which command the
caravan route, and which have been in the hands of the Afridis for
centuries. Let him get possession of them and he'll fleece the merchants
before they ever get to Kabul. Yes, and turn the trade permanently into
Russian territory."
"He wouldn't dare--"
"He dares anything. He's got backing you don't even guess. Ask him
how it is that his men are all armed with Russian rifles! Hell! Afdal's
howling for help because I've taken Akbar's Castle and he can't
dislodge me. He asked you to make me agree to give up the Castle,
didn't he? Yes, I thought so. And if I were fool enough to do it, he'd
ambush me and my men as we marched back to Kurram. You'd hardly
have time to get back to Kabul before a rider would be at your heels to
tell the Amir how I'd treacherously attacked Afdal Khan and been
killed in self-defense, and how Afdal had been forced to attack and
burn Kurram! He's trying to gain by outside intervention what he's lost
in battle, and to catch me off my guard and murder me as he did Yusef
Shah. He's making monkeys out of the Amir and you. And you want
me to let him make a monkey out of me--and a corpse too--just because
a little dirty trade is being deflected from Kabul!"
"You needn't feel so hostile to the British--" Willoughby began.
"I don't; nor to the Persians, nor the Russians, either. I just want all
hands to attend to their own business and leave mine alone."
"But this blood-feud madness isn't the proper thing for a white man,"
pleaded Willoughby. "You're not an Afghan. You're an Englishman, by

descent, at least--"
"I'm Highland Scotch and black Irish by descent," grunted Gordon.
"That's got nothing to do with it. I've had my say. Go back and tell the
Amir the feud will end --when I've killed Afal Khan."
And turning on his heel he vanished as noiselessly as he had appeared.
Willoughby started after him helplessly. Damn it all, he'd handled this
matter like an amateur! Reviewing his arguments he felt like kicking
himself; but any arguments seemed puerile against the primitive
determination of El Borak. Debating with him was like arguing with a
wind, or a flood, or a forest fire, or some other elemental fact. The man
didn't fit into any ordered classification; he was as untamed as any
barbarian who trod the Himalayas, yet there was nothing rudimentary
or underdeveloped about his mentality.
Well, there was nothing to do at present but return to Fort Ghazrael and
send a rider to Kabul, reporting failure. But the game was not played
out. Willoughby's own stubborn determination was roused. The affair
began to take on a personal aspect utterly lacking in most of his
campaigns; he began to look upon it not only as a diplomatic problem,
but also as a contest of wits between Gordon and himself. As he
mounted his horse and headed back up the gorge, he swore he would
terminate that feud, and that it would be terminated his way, and not
Gordon's.
There was probably much truth in Gordon's assertions. Of course, he
and the Amir had heard only Afdal Khan's side of the matter; and of
course, Afdal Khan was a rogue. But he could not believe that the
chief's ambitions were as sweeping and sinister as Gordon maintained.
He could not believe they embraced more than a seizing of local power
in this isolated hill district. Petty exactions on the caravans, now levied
by the Afridis; that was all.
Anyway, Gordon had no business allowing his private wishes to
interfere with official aims, which, faulty as they might be, nevertheless
had the welfare of the people in view. Willoughby would never have let

his personal feelings stand in the way of policy, and he considered that
to do so was reprehensible in others. It was Gordon's duty to forget the
murder of his friends--again Willoughby experienced that sensation of
helplessness. Gordon would never do that. To expect him to violate his
instinct was as sensible as expecting a hungry wolf to turn away from
raw meat.
Willoughby had returned up the gorge as leisurely as he had ridden
down it. Now he emerged from the mouth and saw Suleiman and the
Pathans standing in a tense group, staring eagerly at him. Baber Ali's
eyes burned like a wolf's. Willoughby felt a slight shock of surprise as
he met the fierce intensity of the old chief's eyes. Why should Baber