The current carries me some little distance
down stream, when I find footing on the lower extremity of the sand-bar,
and on it, wade up; stream again with some difficulty against swiftly
rushing water four feet deep. The khan thinks I have had the narrowest
possible escape, and in tones of desperation he shouts out and begs me
not to attempt to cross the other channel without assistance. "The
receipt!" he shouts, "the receipt! Allah preserve us! the receipt; Hesh
met-i-Molk." The worthy khan is afflicted with a keen consciousness of
coming punishment awaiting him at Beerjand, should I happen to come to
grief while under his protection, and he, no doubt, suffers an agony of
apprehension during the fifteen minutes I am battling with the rapid
current of the Harood.
The second channel is found less swift and comparatively easy to ford.
The sturdy nomads, having transported all of my escort's damageable
effects, those three now stark-naked worthies mount with fear and
trembling their equally stark-naked steeds-naked all, save for the
turbans of the men and the bridles of their horses. Whatever of
intrepidity the khan possesses is of a quantity scarcely visible to the
naked eye, and it is, therefore, scarcely surprising to find him trying
to persuade, first the mudbake and then the mirza, to take the
initiative.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274