The golden sands, the purple cliffs, the translucent blue of the
heavens, and the group of picturesque rascals jabbering and
gesticulating and pressing about their chief, made a picture Kathlyn
was never to forget.
"Patience, my little ones!" said the chief, showing his white strong
teeth in what was more of a snarl than a smile. "There is plenty of
time."
Bruce leaned toward Kathlyn.
"Stand perfectly still, just as you are. I believe I can reach the
knot back of your hands. This squabbling is the very thing needed.
They will not pay any attention to us for a few minutes, and if I can
read signs they'll all be at one another's throats shortly."
"But even if we get free what can we do?"
Kathlyn was beginning to lose both faith and heart. The sight of her
father being led back to Allaha by Durga Ram, after all the misery to
which he had been subjected, shook the courage which had held her up
these long happy weeks. For she realized that her father was still
weak, and that any additional suffering would kill him.
"You mustn't talk like that," said Bruce. "You've been in tighter
places than this. If we can get free, leave the rest to me. So long
as one can see and hear and move, there's hope."
"I'm becoming a coward. Do what you can. I promise to obey you in all
things."
Bruce bent as far as he could, and went desperately to work at the knot
with his teeth. Success or failure did not really matter; simply, he
did not propose to die without making a mighty struggle to avoid death.
The first knot became loose, then another. Kathlyn stirred her hands
cautiously.
"Now!" he whispered.
She twisted her hands two or three times and found them free.
"Mine, now!" said Bruce. "Hurry!"
It was a simple matter for her to release Bruce.
"God bless those rupees!" he murmured. "There'll be a fine row in a
minute. Keep perfectly still, and when the moment comes follow me into
the cave. They have left their guns in there."
"You are a brave and ready man, Mr. Bruce."
"You called me John once."
"Well, then, John," a ghost of a smile flitting across her lips. Men
were not generally sentimental in the face of death.
"There are nine of us!" screamed one of the brigands.
"And I claim one bag because without my help and brains you would have
had nothing," roared the chief. "Who warned you against the opium?
Ha, pig!"
The first blow was struck. Instantly the chief drew his knife and
lunged at the two nearest him.
"Treachery!"
"Ha! Pigs! Dogs! Come, I'll show you who is master!"
"Thief!"
The remaining brigands closed in upon their leader and bore him upon
his back.