Evening Star Newspaper, May 16, 1937, Page 96

10 HERE'S only one thing worse than corruption when it comes to enforc- ing the law, and that’s sentiment,” said Quinn. He glanced through my library window at the distant grove of eucalyp- tus. “If I weren’t your friend, I'd have raided that queer group at the end of your garden long before this. They're all tramps. Now I have a warrant for the one they call Sirdar — his right name is Duleep Singh. What makes you think he’ll be here tonight?”’ “Because I have been invited to go down and hear him talk.” “What do youknowabout him?”’Quinnasked. “Many months ago,”’ I said, “‘the Sirdar and three other men came to my front door. I in- vited them in and they introduced themselves as an ex-officer of the British Indian Army, an ex-sheepherder named Whittlesea, an ex-tramp- steamship captain named Jones, and a French ex-circus clown named Lamont. They called themselves a committee of the Exiles Club, which, they said, has fewer than a hundred members scattered all over the United States. They asked permission to use the shed by the eucalyptus grove in the hollow at the end of my garden, and I hadn’t the hardihood to refuse.” “No,” said Quinn, “you wouldn’t have. What do they use it for?” “A sort of clubhouse. They drop in from time to time, build a bivouac fire, listen totheSirdar, and admit new members. Their ages range all the way from eighteen to eighty.” Quinn snorted. “Have you listened in to what they talk about? Hell! If you'd stolen up on them once or twice, as a sensible man would do, you’d have phoned me long ago to come and pinch the whole gang. Listen here: “Some months ago a man was found dead on a lonely road about fifty miles north of here. He'd been killed by one blow with a heavy weapon — killed and robbed. He’d been dead several days, but the body was more or less identified by a couple of Hindu fruit-pickers. Said they had known him in India. Said his name was” — Quinn referred to his note- book — ‘“Yussuf bin Ibraim. “This identification was unreliable, but we gent out a tracer, with full particulars. Nothing came of it, except a report from several states that a foreigner, who did sword tricks and gave his name as Duleep Singh, had gone to the police in quite a number of places asking for the whereabouts of Yussuf bin Ibraim. “Get that? It began to look like one of these feuds that have their origin abroad but come over here to get finished. Your Sirdar makes his living doing sword tricks. Did you know that? It’s my belief that he’s the head man of a gang of cutthroats, who are using your garden as headquarters. I've some men posted. When the " THIS WEEK THE SIRDAR RAISED HIS HAND HIGH. “DID | SPEAK THE TRUTH? YUSSUF BIN IBRAIM, ANSWER!" Sirdar comes, we'll bag the lot of ‘em and find out what’s what. Who did you say was in charge of the camp?”’ “Old Whittlesea. They all call him Mr. Whittlesea. He’s the ex-sheepherder. He de- spises houses and beds — lives, like Diogenes, in a big ship’s water-butt that he rolled all the way from the wharf. He’s gardener for the group — raises vegetables, keeps the place tidy and buries the trash.” - “I will bet you,"” said Quinn, “that he buries the loot. We’ll find out.” “You're in plain-clothes,” I said. “Why not come down to the bivouac with me and listen in before you make your arrest.” “Why?"” “The word ‘sirdar’,” 1 answered, “is an Indian title of distinction. You say you've a warrant, but your case against him sounds rather vague. If you're sure he can’t escape, why not gather all the evidence you can — ” Quinn’s eyes were watching the window. An automobile headlight flashed on and off three times down by the front gate. He interrupted: “That'’s the signal from the men I've posted. It means that the Sirdar’s come. Your idea is good. If you and I should overhear 'em talking, you’d be a good witness. Something might come of that. I can whistle for my men when I'm ready to take him.” So I wrote a note to the Sirdar, saying I had a guest whom I should like to bring if he had no objection. I gave the note to my dog Bosco to take down to the bivouac, and I opened the window screen to let him jump out. We sat in silence for several minutes. Then Bosco jumped back through the window. He lay still, whining soffo voce and thumping his tail on the floor to announce a visitor of whom he approved. It was too dark to see much, because the moon was on the other side of the house, but Mr. Whittlesea’s limp was unmis- takable. As if the house were a trap, he came no nearer than he needed to without having to raisehis voice. “Mister, ef you an’ y'r comp’ny’d care to jine us a while, there’s corfey. Tea for them as likes it.” There were twenty-two of them around the fire. I introduced Quinn as John O’Connor and he sat down at my left hand on an upturned box. I sat on a roughly carpentered bench, be- tween him and Joe Abram, who is a trainer of vicious horses. He looks like the Merchant of Venice in overalls. But he smells of old leather and horse, and they say he can gentle savage brutes that no one else can handle. We sat for I don’t know how long, drinking good coffee out of very clean tin mugs and gaz- ing through the vista of eucalyptus trees at the moonlight silvering the slowly heaving kelp on by TALBOT MUNDY the Pacific. Quiet: soft, slow wind in the trees, the cry of insects, the rustle of quails on a date palm, the far-off murmur of the sea, the fire- light, the immensity of heaven — and the butt of Quinn’s revolver bulging just exactly where his hand could reach it in a fraction cf a second. “Sirdar,” 1 said, “my friend and I have been wondering why you ever came to America. Will you tell us?”’ Over beyond the fire the Sirdar stood up, bearded, erect, in an ancient beach-robe that in moonlight resembled a toga: His right hand was on the hilt of the saber with which, for a dollar or two, he does what look like superhuman tricks. “It is a long tale,” he said. “But will you listen?” There was a chorus of grunts. Mr. Whittle- sea spoke: “Night’s yours. Cut the pologies.” The Sirdar drew a long breath. For about a minute, as if searching memory, he gazed along the moonlit glade. Then he looked at us one by one; I think he was suspicious. But his voice, when at last he spoke, was firm and resonant: . “Such as this was the night of the justice that fell upon Yussuf bin Ibraim, Khan of the Abazai. I had served my time and was no longer a soldier on the night when Yussuf bin Ibraim the Afridi, on a black mare lifted from the horse lines of the Bengal Lancers, stole my son’s wife. Through the darkness, with her on his saddle- bow - she willing -— he spurred for Kalat — with my son at his heels on a Kathiawari geld- ing. “Fleet and stanch was the black mare, hard to see or to hear in that darkness. Nowhere is it darker and more trackless than at night in the howling gorges beyond Quetta on what is known as Allah’s Slag Heap. But anger, like a magnet, drew the one toward the two. The mare was overburdened. The gelding gained. My son, being not yet eighteen or experienced in border warfare, let fly. Nine shots with an old Martini rifle. All wild but the last. That slew the woman. She fell from Yussuf bin Ibraim’s saddle, lifeless. “Then Yussuf bin Ibraim reined the foun- dered mare and waited in the dark. He was reckoned the deadliest swordsman from Duaz- ab to Shal Kot. None was better than he with a tulwar. A left-handed man. As tricky as a devil. My son, whom Allah blessed with more courage than brains, had at him with the clubbed Mar- tini, having used his last shot. Yussuf bin Ibraim slew him and wiped the tulwar. Upon me fell duty.” “Corfey, anyone?’’ asked Mr. Whittlesea. He passed the pot around and broke thespell. 1 ne Sirdar looked now like a gray-haired druid. He raised the tin mug to his lips, set it down, and resumed: “I, with my own hands, dug their graves. As I have told you, though a Moslem born, I have been blessed by higher teaching. To the Guru I went, at whose feet I had sat when sol- diering was done. “I asked him: ‘What shall I do?’ “He answered: ‘I have taught much. You have learned a little. Now is the time for you to reap what I sowed.’ “So I asked him: ‘Though I seek not ven- geance, since 1 may not, shall I sit submissive to the will of Yussuf bin Ibraim? Shall I accept the name of coward? Shall I beg his mercy, lest he come and slay me also?’ “My Guru answered: ‘Who has taught you that a coward’s cloak might possibly redeem the killings that you did when you were under oath to kill? When you were a soldier, did I blame you? Did I forbid you to slay at the word of command?’ *“1 answered: ‘You bade me be true to my soldier’s oath. I was. Until that soldier’s oath, which I had freely given, had been fulfilled to the last obedience and the last minute, you re- fused me the teaching I sought. But I am no longer a soldier. Now I am under oath to you, to abstain from bloodshed and to be a servant of peace.’ “He answered: ‘Have I taught you to fear death iIn the service of peace?’ Magazine Section “I said he had not taught that; or, that if had, I had not listened. “Then said he: ‘Have I taught you that it wise or manly to let theft and murder go u answered? Of a truth this is on your head a on the slayer’s. He has slain your son. You, your own free will, have pledged yourself nev again to slay, for any reason; never to seek ve geance. But have I taught that you shall tell t slayer that you will not slay? Consider th: And since you may not curse, then bless, for it just as easy. Use what you have, though its u shall take you to the earth’s end.’ I answered: ‘I have nothing to use but n hands and my skill with the sword.’ *He answered: ‘Use what you have.’ “So [ went after Yussuf bin Ibraim, who sle my son and mocked me from the hills. He fle Week after week I hunted him, village to v lage and fort to fort, until by accident I learn: how vainly 1 was spending strength. The S dar's - - that is to say the Indian Government —- agents had sent forth word that Yussuf b Ibraim was an outlaw. It was known he carri¢| money in his belt. So all men’s hands h: turned against him. Even in that lawless bc derland there was no safe refuge. He had shave He had changed his name. He had fled, no: knew whither. “I returned to Quetta. Presently I learn: that Yussuf bin Ibraim had been seen to tal ship from Karachi. I followed — to Bushire, Aden, to Egypt. He had more money than It was no light task to follow him. In Cairo saw me on the street, and fled -— to Alexandri France, London, with a forged passport. “Knowing it was forged, I could have him arrested, deported to India — hanged. B could a hangman do my duty? Could he co fort me? Or could he keep my oath? The Quet hangman would have been my substitute, r lieving me of what? Of my responsibility f having taught my son so ignorantly that died by the hand of a border thief? I pray that the arm of God might otherwise empl the guardians of peace — and leave it to me deal with Yussuf bin Ibraim! “But I had to wait in Cairo for my pensi money. When it came, I followed Yussuf b Ibraim to London, where I earned a living feats of swordsmanship for shillings — aye, when shillings failed, for ha’pence. Seekin| seeking, seeking. And at last I learned th Yussuf bin Ibraim had gone with horses New York. “ followed. It was months before I learn that he had joined a circus. When I ove! the circus he had been discharged. He was sai to have gone westward. I hunted and I hun until I found his trail Teaching sword ship, performing feats in side shows, sharpe ing razor blades, earning my way as I went, followed Yussuf bin Ibraim. He had chang his name thrice in three years since he slew son. But there is a magic that guides migrati birds, and a magic that guides determination its goal. At last I found him, on a weste ranch, where he was putting horsemanship use. “] watched. It was a marvel how a whose sword had been so swift to slay sho have such patience for a brute whose onl purpose was to kill him if it could. I saw hi tame that stallion. He used no violence. wore down violence, until the brute’s intel gence came forth from baffled passion, and obeyed the man. But me he saw not. “That night — it was a night like this on calm with the peace of the beauty of God — followed Yussuf bin Ibraim along a windi track. I overtook him where he rested, in a h low, sitting gazing along a fold between ti foothills at the moonlit sea. “I had brought two sabers wrapped in bundle — this one, and another that I use wh I split sticks in mid-air. These sticks are throwglé at me by anyone who thinks the trick worth h money. The sabers were of equal length, b that other was better suited to a man used the Afghan tulwar. “I stood silent, until he raised his head fro! (Continved on page 14) _