There was no word from Yasin, as indeed he had expected, for the tribes on the highlands about Hunza and Punial were the most disaffected on the Border, and doubtless the first to be tampered with.  Probably his own message had never gone, and he could only pray that the men there might by the grace of God have eyes in their heads to read the signs of the times.  There was a brief word from Jackson at Boonji.  There attacks had been made on the terminus and the engine-sheds since sunset, which his men had luckily had time to repulse.  A large amount of rolling-stock was lying there, as five freight trains had brought up material for the new bridge the day before.  Of this the enemy had probably had word.  Anyhow, he hoped to quiet all local disturbances, and he would undertake to see that every station on the line was warned.  He would receive reinforcements from Abbotabad by the afternoon of the next day; if Bardur and Gilgit, or Yasin as it might be, could delay the attack till then everything might be safe—­unless, indeed, the whole nexus of hill-tribes rose as one man.  In which case there would be the devil to pay, and he had no advice to give.

Thwaite read and laughed grimly.  It was not a question of a day’s delay, but of an hour’s, and the hill-tribes, if he judged Marker’s cleverness rightly, would act just as Jackson feared.  The business had begun among the navvies at Bardur and Gilgit and Boonji.  In a little they would have news of real tribal war—­Hunzas, Pathans, Chitralis, Punialis, and Chils, tribes whom England had fought a dozen times before and knew the mettle of; now would be the time for their innings.  Well supplied with money and arms—­this would have been part of Marker’s business—­they would be the forerunners of the great army.  First savage war, then scientific annihilation by civilized hands—­a sweet prospect for a peaceful man in the prime of life!

He returned to the fort to find all quiet and in order.  It commanded the north road, but though the eye might weary itself with looking on the moonlit sandy valley and the opaque blue hills, there was no sight or sound of men.  The stars were burning hard and cold in the vault of sky, and looking down somewhere on the march of an army.  It was now close on midnight; in five hours dawn would break in the east and the night of attack would be gone.  But death waited between this midnight hour and the morning.  What were Haystoun and the men from Khautmi doing?  Fighting or beyond all fighting?  Well, he would soon know.  He was not afraid, but this cursed waiting took the heart out of a man!  And he looked at his watch and found it half-past twelve.