HOW YUSSEF REACHED THE SUMMIT OF TIIE MOUNTAIN SOONER THAN HE WISHED.
DIRECTLY above the spot where the two travellers separated, near the border-line of clouds and snow, arose an enormous rock. On its flattened top men and horses found refuge.
Sixteen Tartars and one Lesghian were lying around a fire; as many horses as there were men were eating grass that had been mowed with poniards.
A few steps away, lying on a rug, was a man of about forty years, distinguished by the beauty of his countenance and its serenity of expression.
He was dressed very simply; yet — and this was indicative, not of wealth, but of the customs of a warlike life — gold and silver gleamed from his gunstoek and from the sheath and blade of his kandjiar.
He was smoking a chibouk, and fondly regarding a sleeping youth, whose head was resting on his knees. At times ho sighed, shaking his head, and again he would sigh heavily, casting an anxious glance around.
It was Mullah Nour, the scourge of Daghestan; the brigand, Mullah Nour, and his band.
Suddenly, a thousand feet below, he caught sight of Yussef, who, still seeking a path by which to scale the heights of Schach Dagh, was cautiously advancing amid the rocks.
Mullah Nour, resting on his elbow, watched the traveller’s movements a little while; then he smiled, and bending down to the youth’s ear, he said, —
“Awake, Goulchade.”
Goulchade, in Tartar speech, means the rose.
The youth opened his eyes, smiling also.
“Goulchade,” said Mullah Nour, “would you like me to bow down to the earth before you?”
“I should like it very well,” said the young man, “and it would be a strange sight to see you at my feet.”
“Softly, softly, Goulchade! Before the bee’s honey is the sting. Look down there.”
The young man lowered his gaze in the direction indicated by Mullah Nour.
“Do you see that traveller riding along!”
“Of course I see him.”
“I know his name and his courage. He is as fearless as a leopard; he is the best shot in Derbend. Go down, disarm him, and bring him to me. If you do that, I will be your slave the whole evening, and before all your comrades will I do you homage. Come, do you consent!”
“Gladly,” returned Goulchade.
And the young man leaped upon a wiry little mountain horse and set off by a narrow trail, which seemed rather a line traced with a crayon than a road channelled in the rock.
The stones could still be heard rolling from under his horse’s hoofs, when the rider himself was no longer visible.
Mullah Nour’s entire band peered over the rock, curious to see what would happen.
The chief was more intent than all the rest.
Perhaps he regretted that he had exposed the youth to this danger; for, when Goulchade was but a few paces from Yussef, his chibouk fell from his hands, and anxiety was portrayed on his countenance.
Hadji Yussef had no idea of what was happening, or rather, of what was about to happen. Stimulated by the few swallows of brandy that he had taken, he was endeavoring to keep his courage up by talking aloud, and was putting on as bold a front as Shinderhannes or Jean Shogar.
“Oh! ho!” he was saying. “No, it is not for nothing that my gun bears the inscription: ‘Beware! I breathe flame.’ I will burn the beard of the first bandit that dares to cross my path. Besides, I have nothing to fear; my breastplate is proof against bullets. But where are these brigands now? They are hiding, the cowards! Doubtless they can see me. Allah! for my part, I detest cowards!”
And suddenly, having reached a turn in the path, as the last syllable came thundering from his mouth, he heard a gruff voice cry out, —
“Halt! and dismount!”
And as he lifted his head in great dismay, he perceived, ten feet distant, the muzzle of a gun pointed at his breast.
“Come, come, down from your horse, and speedily!” was ordered a second time, in a tone that seemed gruffer than the first. “Make no attempt to put your hand to your gun or schaska! If you try to fly, I shall fire. The gun first!”
“Not only my gun, but my soul, master bandit,” replied Yussef, quaking. “I am a good fellow, incapable of harming any one whatever. Don’t kill me, and I will be your slave. I will take care of your horse and brush your clothes.”
“Your gun! your gun!” repeated the voice.
“There it is,” said Yussef, laying it down upon a rock with trembling hand.
“Your other arms, now, — schaska! kandjiar! pistol!”
“Here it is,” faltered the unhappy Yussef at each item of the command, simultaneously casting on the ground the weapon designated by the bandit.
“Now turn your pockets.”
Yussef flung all his money down beside the arms, imploring the bandit’s mercy while executing his orders.
“I will cut off your tongue and throw it to the dogs if you do not hold your peace,” said Goulchade. “Be silent, or I will silence you forever!”
“Excuse me, master bandit; I will not speak another word, if that is your desire.”
“Silence, I tell you!”
“I hear and obey.”
But not until Goulchade had pointed a pistol at Yussef did he cease to talk.
Goulchade bound his hands, took up his arms, and made him walk in the direction of the plateau where Mullah Nour and his comrades were awaiting the end of the comedy.
After a quarter of an hour’s climbing, Yussef stood before the chief of the brigands.
His comrades formed a circle round him; all maintained an ominous silence.
Goulchade laid Yussef’s weapons at the feet of Mullah Nour.
Then Mullah Nour saluted Goulchade three times, bowing down to the ground, and the third time, he kissed the youth’s forehead.
Then turning to Yussef, he demanded, —
“Do you know who disarmed you, Yussef?”
Yussef’s whole frame shook at the sound of that voice.
“The bravest of the brave, the mightiest of the mighty! How could I prevail against him, before whom a lion would become a hare, and Goliath be as a child but eight days old?”
The bandits burst into laughter.
“Behold, then, the bravest of the brave, the mightiest of the mighty,” said Mullah Nour, as he lifted the white papak from Goulchade’s head.
And the long black locks fell down upon the shoulders of a girl, who became as pink as the flower whose name she bore.
Mullah Nour held open his arms to her, and she threw herself on the brigand’s breast.
“Yussef,” said Mullah Nour, “I have the honor to present my wife.”
A wild burst of laughter greeted the ears of the unhappy prisoner.
He turned purple with shame, and yet, recovering himself, he said, —
“Do me a favor, master; do not sell me in the mountains. I can pay you a noble ransom.”
Mullah Nour’s eyebrows drew together as black as two thunder-clouds.
“Do you know to whom you are offering a ransom, skin of a hare?” he cried to Yussef. “Think you, wretch, that I am a Derbend butcher that I should sell spoiled meat for fresh? Do you suppose that I would demand gold for you when you are not worth an ounco of lead? Why should I sell you in the mountains? Tailless dog that you are, what are you good for? Not even to root the earth with your nose. You will tell me that yon can, as well as any nurse or old governess, tell tales of ogres and giants to the little ones; but, for that, you must dress like a woman, and, instead of amusing the poor innocents, you would frighten them. Well, Yussef, you see that I know you; you see that I am not a flatterer. Now, do you in turn tell me what you think of me. I am Mullah Nour.”
Upon hearing that terrible name, Hadji Yussef fell on his face to the earth, as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt.
“Allah!” said he, “you wish me to say what I think of you, how I regard you, — I who would be proud to perform my ablutions with the dust of your feet? May Hussein and Ali preserve me!”
“Listen, Yussef,” said Mullah Nour, “and bear this in mind: I have an abhorrence of giving the same command twice. I have asked you once what you think of me; I ask you a second time, but know that it is the last. I am listening.”
“What do I think of you? May the devil crack my head like a nut, if I think anything of which you could complain. I, think ill of you? I, a cipher! I, a mere atom of dust!”
“Yussef,” said Mullah Nour, stamping his foot, “I tell you that I have never repeated the same order thrice.”
“Be not angry! be not angry, mighty Mullah Nour! Consume me not with the fire of your wrath. Your wish has transformed the ideas of my brain into pearls, but these pearls are mere glass in comparison with your endowments. What do I think of you, illustrious Mullah Nour? Well, since you insist, I will tell you.
I think that your mind is a gun adorned with silver and gold; its charge is wisdom; it never misses fire and always hits the mark; I think that your heart is a flask of attar of roses, diffusing the perfume of your virtues on all around you; I think that your hand dispenses good broadcast, as the husbandman scatters grain; I deem your tongue a branch bearing flowers of justice and fruits of mercy. Even now I hear you say: ‘Go home, my good Yussef, and remember Mullah Nour as long as you live.’ Well, am I right, mighty man?”
“It were nothing to say that you are a great orator. But you are a false seer, and, to prove that you have lied, hero is my decision: Because you, a beg, allowed yourself to be disarmed, bound, and taken prisoner by a woman—”
“Is not Death herself a woman also,” interrupted Yussef, “and more terrible than the most terrible of men?”
“Let me finish, Yussef; I shall not be long. Since whoever is afraid of death is unworthy of life, you shall die.”
Yussef gave a groan.
“To-morrow will be the last morning of your life, and if you say a single word, if you put forth a single plea, if you utter one complaint,” added Mullah Nour, putting his hand to his poniard, “you will not even see to-morrow. Come, let him be more securely bound, let him be taken to the cave, and leave him there alone. There he can talk at will and as much as he pleases.”
Mullah Nour gave the signal, and poor Yussef was picked up and carried off like a sack of meal.
“He will die of terror before to-morrow,” said Goulchade to her lover. “Do not frighten him so, my beloved.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Mullah Nour, “this will be a lesson for him; he will learn, the craven, that fear saves no one. The coward dies a hundred deaths; the brave man only one, and even then he goes to meet it.”
Then, turning again to the bandits, he said, —
“My children, I am leaving you for an hour; if anything should happen to me, — if, by chance, I do not return, — well, Goulchade could lead you. She has proved to-day that she is worthy to command men. Ill betide him who does not obey her! Adieu, Goulchade,” he added, straining the young woman to his heart and kissing her brow; “and I bid you adieu and embrace you because I anticipate an encounter somewhat more serious than yours. For a long time I have wished to measure my skill with Iskander Beg’s, and, thanks to my noukar, I know where to find him. If I do not return before night, follow my trail in the mountains and endeavor to recover my body, that I may not be eaten by jackals, like a dead horse. If you hear shots and voices, let no one stir. If Iskander kills me, let no one avenge my death. Let the man that kills Mullah Nour be sacred to you, for he will be a brave man. I go in pursuit; adieu.”
He slung his gun across his back and departed.