The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [437]
There was unlikely to be another shot, but that one, though well off target, showed that the pursuit must be gaining on them; and also reminded him that he carried a revolver. Knowing that Dagobaz would answer to the least pressure of his leg, he fumbled in the breast of his robes and guiding Dagobaz by knee, swerved to avoid the dust-cloud behind him, and telling Anjuli to hold close, turned in the saddle and fired at a man on a rangy, country-bred grey who was leading the field by several lengths.
There was no luck about the shot: Koda Dad Khan had been too good a teacher for that, and Ash did not watch to see if it took effect. He looked to his front again, hearing the fall and the hoarse yells of rage from behind, and Sarji's exultant shout as the riderless grey careered past them.
Ahead of them loomed the triple-fanged ridge with the wide, arrow-shaped fall of shale immediately below it: a pale landmark that pin-pointed the position of a tall grass-plumed, white-streaked rock near which – please God! Bukta the shikari would still be waiting for them. Bukta with a spare shot-gun and two boxes of cartridges, and another fifty rounds of rifle ammunition.
If only they could increase their lead and reach the passage through the rockfall with even a minute to spare, they would be able to hold off any number of pursuers, and inflict such damage in the process that by the time darkness fell the survivors would be unlikely to follow them into the hills. But the shouts and the thunder of pursuing hooves were becoming nearer and louder… and of a sudden, uncannily familiar, until with a violent sensation of shock and incredulity Ash realized that this was the dream…
It had all happened before. Many times. Only this time he was not dreaming. This time he was awake and it was real – the flat, stony plain, the low hills, the sound of pursuing hoof-beats on hard ground and the girl on the crupper who had once been Belinda – except that even then her hair had been black.
The nightmare had come true at last, and as if to prove it, Juli began urging him to go faster – faster. But when he turned, revolver in hand, he found that he could not fire, because she had lost her turban when she fell, and now her loosened hair streamed out behind her like a black silk flag on the wind and made it impossible for him to see the men who galloped behind him.
This was far worse than any of the dreams had been, because he knew that he would not awake from it to find himself sweating with fear, but safe. And he had no idea how it would end. He could only urge Dagobaz to greater speed and pray that they would reach the haven among the rocks in time.
The sun vanished with the abruptness of a snuffed candle as they rode into the shadow of the high ridges; and now they were nearing their goal. Half a mile to go… a quarter… four hundred yards… The white streaks of bird-droppings showed clearly against the purple hillside, and there was someone standing near the grass-crowned rock: a man with a rifle. Bukta, his dun-coloured shikari's clothing almost invisible among the shadows. So he had not gone. He had waited for them; and now he was here and sighting along the barrel of his beloved Lee-Enfield.
Ash had seen Bukta hit a tree-rat at fifty paces and bring down a galloping leopard at twice that range in thick grass; and with the light in his favour and the pursuing soldiery ignorant of his presence, he should be able to pick off at least one of them before they realized their danger, and thereby sow enough confusion among the rest to enable their quarry to reach cover.
There was barely two hundred yards to go now, and Ash found himself laughing exultantly as he waited for the flash: but it did not come – and suddenly he realized that it would not, because he and Sarji and Gobind were in the line of fire, and together they masked the enemy so effectively that the old shikari did not dare risk a shot.
They had