Page:Alien Souls by Achmed Abdullah (1922).djvu/92

seemed stiff and motionless in the quivering heat as if forged out of metal. Only at the bank were signs of life—the men pulling in the nets sagging with their shimmering load. Occasionally, a high-pitched, exultant yell drifted thinly across.

"Our bellies are empty, Chief," the young man whose name was Babar, said sulkily, "while they—" he spat—"the people of the Red Village—"

Ebrahim Asif rose, picked up his rifle by the shoulder strap, and walked toward the door.

"The old feud, eh?" he asked. "The feud over a potful of stinking khirli fish? By the teeth of the Prophet—on whom peace—I shall spice their mid-day meal with a couple of bullets and a rich sluicing of blood!"

But Jarullah stepped into his path and laid a trembling hand on his shoulder.

"There is the law, Chief!" he cried in a cracked, excited whine. "The fishing rights of the southern bank belong to the Red Village. Remember the law of the Kafiri!"

"There is no law for Afghans," smiled Ebrahim Asif.

"Right!" shrieked the old man. "There is indeed no law for Afghans! But you are a Kafiri, Chief. You must keep sacred the ancient law of the tribes—" and an angry, clucking chorus rose from the squatting clansmen.

"The ancient law! The ancient law!"

Ebrahim Asif was utterly astonished.

Quite instinctively he had picked up his rifle. Quite instinctively he had decided to send a few bullets whiz zing to the opposite shore. It would be perfectly safe. For the only firearms that ever came into Kafiristan