Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1931-01-15

with herds and crops. The orchards
were a revelry Of fruit. Wild birds
swarmed in the heather; o man could
dip his creel into any of a dozen pools
and bring out salmon or trout rolling
with fat; food piled richly at the poor
est peasants very door; and it was
pleasant to see, in the evening, the
smoke wreaths from clean, happy
hearths linger on the quiet air-to
hear. later at night, the villagers,
gathered in the hujra, sing the ancient
ballads of their clan.
Singing these same ballads they
were. No longer living them Here
Hirfa was right-and that she alone
should be regretting the days when
men had followed the sword trade was
not altogether strange.
For her father. Mehmet Var, was
not of the Kara-Bayrak tribe. He was
not ever an Afghan, but q Tartar from
the far northern steppes-
A good many years earlier he had
been a freebooter who had slaShed
through the land with a tail OF thirty
men and thirty grand, crooked blades
demanding and obtaining tribute. Then
misfortune had overtaken him. Thrown
by his horse, he had smashed his right
leg: and, with blood poisoning setting
in, it had been amputated at the knee.
His followers had shrugged their
shoulders. What good-they had de-
manded-was a o~ne-legged man when
it came to riding and raiding?
So they had left him behind; and-'
for the love of Allah the King and
because OF the pity in their soulEthe
Kara-Bayrak, the very people whom
Mehmet Var had robbed, had given
him asylum. He had married a girl
of the tribe; had become the village
butcher.
Today he was bent and wizened.
with barely enough strength to WELD
his cleaver and quarter a sheep. To-
day he was quite as mild as the other
peasants-though his lips would curl
in a thin, hard smile when he heard
his daughter jeering at peace and
longing for strife, as she did tonight.
SHOW me a man." she exclaimed,
who does not cringe and fawn and
swallow insults! Show me a man who
has a fidget in his scabbard and his
sword arm!"
Again she turned to the young men.
Again she Knocked them; accused them
nor unjustly:
Did you not eat dirt last month
and pay gold on clicking gold when
the Amir's ta~x-gatherers came and de-
manded twice what they had the right
to demand? And when the black
bearded captain rode through u hills,
recruiting, asking you to try a trip
with the Amir's soldiery to the foreign
wars-ah-was there a single one
amongst you who listened to the red
thump Of the drums and rode along
with him?"
Hamdi Cur Khan was-honestly puz-
zled.
Why should We listen to the drums
he demanded, when we might listen
to the song Of the plow-the song of
the harrow-the song of lowing cattle?'
Cattle are bred to the yoke. And
the pillow squeaks. And the harrow
CRATES on my ear :"
And yet we are happy, Hirfa. We
are content :"
Because you are cowards!" she in
terrupted. "And you dare to speak of
love-to me! Show me the lad who
is fearless, the lad who can roar, the
lad who can Highland I'll trot, like a
good hound, at the heel Of him :"
Then, suddenly, she was silent, as a
loud, cultural voice came from the
door:
Hereby the teeth of Mohammed
the Redeemer-is such a lad, oh moon
of the world! For I am the one who
picks his enemies as he goes along
wah-who Stays them and eats them
raw-without salt or pepper or pun
gent onion juice!"
And the villagers were startled.
They turned.
They saw a stranger on the thresh-
old.
He was tall, six foot Of bone and
Drawn, apple colored, hook nosed, blue
eyed. His clothes were Of leather and
rough, earth brown wool. His shaggy
fur cap was immense and cooked ar
rogantly over his left ear. He was
armed with a great, straight, naked
sword which he held in both hands.
So here he stood, as big as-let us
admit it-as handsome a rogue as you
might meet in seven years, winking a
brazen eye at Hirfa and saying to her
in a heavy whisper that carried clear
across the room:
Presently, oh rejoicer, l shall at
tend to the matter of your slender
red lips!"
Then he faced the tribesmen.
II want food-nor let it be scanty,'
he declared in a bullying sort Of
trumpet. Il want drink-and the best
Of it. I want a couch to rest on soft
ly. And in the morning let me have
two fine horses. One to carry this
lusty man who is myself and the other
to carry whatever trinkets and jewels
l may decide to take away from you"
He took a step forward.
"By the honor Of my nose!" he an
nounced, swelling out his chest.
"'Grab-the-Purse' is my title! Cut
he-Throat' was my fathers title!
Blood-and-Bones is my sloganl Hack
and Hew' is my creed-and 'Spare-not-
Observation-Disclosures my evening
prayer!"
Here were amazing words-though
words even more amazing were vet