No wonder the Pathans needed banditry to survive. For centuries, their chief source of income had been charging travelers for the right to pass unmolested.
Following the sparse clues in Pyotr's notes, Ian and Laura had swung south from the main route, which ran through the Khyber Pass. Now they had run out of information and were on their own. Though they must be within a dozen miles of the eastern end of the Shpola Pass, it would take months or years for them to find it without help. They must find someone who could guide them to it.
The trick was to find a guide before the location of the pass was revealed by an avalanche of Afghans.
* * *
Zafir could hardly believe his eyes when the dusky evening light revealed an encampment of Company cavalry just off the road. He squinted at the banners snapping in the dry Punjabi wind. Allah be praised, it was even a regiment headquartered at Cambay, the 39th Native Lancers.
A pity Zafir had no personal friends in the 39th because the regiment had only recently been posted to Cambay. But it should be easy to establish his identity, and finding a cavalry regiment already on the march to the northwest meant that several priceless days had been saved.
Zafir turned into the camp. When guards stopped him, he identified himself as a sepoy of the 46th Native Infantry and asked to be taken to the commanding officer of the regiment.
The guard in charge sneered, "You think we allow any badmash that wanders in to see the Colonel Sahib? Be off with you!"
Zafir hadn't expected this. For a furious moment he was tempted to raise his rifle and force his way past the guards. But military discipline paid off and he managed to repress his Pathan instincts.
He snarled, "You misbegotten spawn of a pig and a scorpion, I am the orderly of Major Ian Cameron and I carry the future of India in my hands. Summon an officer!"
The guards conferred and Zafir heard the name "Cameron" mentioned several times. One man left, and the other said, "We'll see if you're telling the truth. Wait right here and keep your hands away from your jezzail."
For ten interminable minutes, Zafir paced restlessly. Then an authoritative voice said, "You have a message from Major Cameron?"
Zafir recognized the voice with a burst of relief. Turing, he saw David Cameron striding toward him.
The captain recognized him at the same moment. "Zafir—it really is you. Has something happened to my brother?"
"He was in good health when we parted, huzar, and if Allah is merciful he continues to be." Zafir extracted the papers from under his shirt. "Here is the major's message. I was to take it first to you, then to General Rawdon."
The captain opened it and skimmed it by the light of the guardpost lamp, his face hardening as he read. When he was done, he said, "Come along, Zafir. We're in luck—General Rawdon is traveling with the 39th."
"Yes, huzar." When they were out of earshot of the guards, Zafir said, "Why are you with the 39th rather than the 46th?"
"Because I've been in Afghanistan and know Pashto. None of the officers of the 39th have such experience, so I was temporarily seconded to the regiment," the captain explained. "Word of the massacre in Afghanistan reached Cambay several days ago, along with news that the fort at Jallalabad is besieged.
"Rather than wait for orders from Bombay, General Rawdon decided to dispatch reinforcements immediately. Several infantry regiments, including the 46th, are also marching this way, but of course they're several days behind."
"May Allah preserve Rawdon Sahib," Zafir said reverently.
"I resented being taken from my own men, but it appears this will work out for the best." The captain looked at the message that he still carried. "Trust Ian to go off on his honeymoon and find a hornet's nest instead."
General Rawdon lived up to his reputation for decisiveness by instantly grasping the significance of this new information, then issuing orders to deal with it. First thing in the morning, a detachment of cavalry would leave and ride to the frontier at top speed with instructions to locate and close the Shpola Pass. And at his own request, David Cameron was placed in command.
* * *
They rounded a bend in the road and came on another small, straggling Pathan village, no more than half a dozen houses. Laura considered putting on the burqa, then saw that it was too late, for a man had seen them. She slouched in her saddle, trying to look tired and nondescript. It wasn't difficult. For several days they had been looking for a guide to the Shpola Pass, but without success. Though all of the men Ian had questioned had heard of the pass and several had a vague idea of the location, precise information had been lacking, or deliberately withheld.
The Pathan who had spotted them was sitting on the ground, leaning lazily back against a mud wall as he sharpened a wicked-looking knife. When the strangers halted their horses, he got to his feet and ambled into the road, his expression not unfriendly but his long-barreled rifle lying over his arm. Laura would sooner expect to see a Pathan naked than without his jezzail.