It was late by the time Frank returned to the temple, where he found his
uncle and Mr Waldron engaged in an animated discussion upon the subject
of the untapped resources of China. The boy had taken some time to
climb down the mountain-side. Having no wish to fall into the hands of
the scarlet-coated band who had descended into the valley to the south,
he had given the bridle-path a wide berth, with the result that he had
been obliged to go down upon all fours, and descend stealthily foot by
foot.
He lost no time in relating to his uncle all that he had seen. The
judge was somewhat surprised, but he did not show any signs of being
nervous.
"I trust they didn't see you, Frank?" he asked.
"I have no doubt as to that," replied the boy. "I remained hidden all
the time. Besides, they were immediately below me, and I should have
noticed if any man had looked up."
The judge shrugged his shoulders.
"All's well that ends well," said he. "Nevertheless we may consider
ourselves lucky. There can be no question that the party you saw was
one of the brigand bands that are said to infest these mountains. We
are far from civilisation. We could expect neither mercy nor
consideration if we fell into the hands of such desperate rascals."
"Judge," said Mr Waldron, "it looks as if I may have a use for my
six-shooter after all."
"I don't think so," said the judge. "Frank was wise enough not to show
himself, and the men went down into the valley. There is no reason why
they should know anything about our presence in the neighbourhood."
It was then that Yung How appeared, silently, from the midst of the deep
shadows beneath the temple ruins. He moved stealthily and with
something of the supple grace of a cat.
"Master," said he, "dinner is served."
"Thank you," said the judge. But Yung How remained, his features calm
and expressionless, a table-napkin thrown over his left forearm, after
the manner of waiters all the world across.
"Guess," said Mr Waldron, "I shall sleep with my gun ready loaded."
"That is no more than a wise precaution," said the judge, "and we should
be well advised to post a sentry. We could divide the night into three
watches of three hours each. Frank, as the youngest, shall take the
first watch, from nine to twelve; I myself propose to take the middle
watch, from twelve to three--unless you, Mr Waldron, would prefer it?"
"As you like, Judge," replied the American. "Early morning suits me
well enough. In the old days in Texas, six days out of seven I was in
the saddle before sunrise."
"Master," repeated Yung How, "dinner is served."
The judge whipped round upon his servant. "What are you doing here?" he
demanded. "You have announced dinner already. We are all hungry enough
not to forget it."
"Very good dinner," said Yung How, lapsing into pidgin-English, and
without moving a muscle of his face. "Hot soup, all belong one piece
tin; number one fish, all belong river; two piece chicken and top-side
apricots, all belong tin, all same soup."
"And a very good dinner too," said the judge. "The sooner we get to
work the better."
They dined by the light of a Chinese lantern suspended from one of the
branches of an almond-tree, beneath the temple wall, where they were
sheltered from the cool evening breeze that was blowing from the west.
The thin mountain air, after the insufferable, humid atmosphere of the
river valley, had served to give them a healthy appetite. The soup was
half cold, the chickens were very tough, and the West River fish tasted
horribly of mud; for all that, hungry men, encamped in a wilderness many
miles from the nearest outpost of civilisation, will regard such fare as
delicacies. They ate with a relish everything that Yung How placed
before them, and washed down their meal with pannikins of crystal-clear
water from the mountain spring that flowed past the temple.
After dinner the judge lighted his pipe, and Mr Hennessy K. Waldron one
of his choice Manila cheroots. They talked of many things, but above
all of China, of its immensity and mystery, its wealth, vitality, and
future. And then the judge and Mr Waldron spread their blankets and
laid them down to sleep.
There is no life in the world to compare with that which is lived in the
open air. A moss-grown bank supplied a bed as comfortable as any spring
mattress. The wind, gently stirring the leaves of the trees, the
distant croaking of the frogs, and the singing of the crickets, combined
to form a sort of lullaby that soothed and enticed the wayfarers to
slumber. There was no moon that night; but in a sky unbroken by a
single cloud, a gorgeous canopy of stars illumined a scene that might
have made a fitting setting for a fairy-tale.
Frank Armitage selected his sentry-post at the foot of a great tree
immediately before the temple steps. Hence he was able to obtain a fair
view both of the bivouac and the mountain slope to the south. Knowing,
however, that it would be wise not to neglect the northern side of the
temple, he decided to patrol the entire building at least once every
quarter of an hour. Armed with Mr Waldron's revolver, he kept well in
the shade, knowing that a good sentry is one who observes without
himself being seen.
An hour passed and then another hour, without the occurrence of anything
unusual. The judge and Mr Waldron were both sound asleep, the latter
snoring loudly. Yung How and his companion lay in the shadow of the
temple wall: the former curled up in his blankets, the coolie lying flat
upon his back, his mouth wide open, dreaming, perhaps, that he was back
in the Chinese quarter of Hong-Kong, where lived his wife and seven
children, all of whom he supported upon the astonishing sum--expressed
in English coinage--of nineteen shillings a month.
Frank, as he went his rounds, frequently paused to listen. The frogs
and the crickets continued their uproar. The wind murmured in the
trees; once or twice he could hear wild-duck flying high in the night
sky towards the north, towards the great marshes of the Yangtsi and the
Yellow River. But no other sound disturbed the silence of the night.
In course of time he came to consider the utmost vigilance unnecessary.
He began to interest himself in trivial things. Mr Waldron had ceased
to snore and Yung How was engaged in a kind of duet with the coolie.
They snored alternately, the one on a deeper note than the other. Frank
paused upon one of his rounds and stood for a moment looking down upon
the two sleeping Chinese, thinking how vastly different from himself
they were. Then he passed on upon his way, conscious that as the hour
grew later the air was becoming colder. On that account, it was
advisable to keep moving. He walked round the front of the temple,
across the great stone steps leading to the entrance, and found himself
on the farther side of the ruined, rambling building. There, in the
deep shadow of a tall, gabled gateway, he stopped quite suddenly,
thinking that he had heard a twig snap underfoot.
He was so sure of this that almost at once he became aware that his
heart was beating rapidly. He held the revolver in his hand, gripping
the handle tightly. The starlight enabled him to see a considerable
distance, except where the shadows were deep under the temple wall
itself and beneath the trees.
At his right hand was a massive stone pillar that supported the roof of
the gateway. He stood stock-still, listening; and then, close to him,
he heard a sound that might have been the wind, but which, on the other
hand, might have been the heavy breathing of a man. As quick as
thought, he stepped behind the pillar, and at once, quite suddenly, and
yet without noise or violence, his revolver was taken from his hand.
For the fraction of a second he was too astonished to cry out. He took
a quick step backward, which brought him into the starlight, and at that
moment both his wrists were grasped, and he beheld before him a face,
sinister, fierce, and yet expressionless. It was the face of Yung How,
his uncle's servant.
He let out a shout, a loud cry for help--a shout that was stifled in a
second. Someone had seized him from behind. The palm of a hand was
placed so tightly upon his mouth that he found it difficult to breathe.
For a moment he endeavoured to struggle, but soon realised the
uselessness of an attempt to extricate himself by physical force. He
had been seized by at least three men; and almost before he had time to
recover from his surprise, he was thrown violently upon the ground, his
hands bound behind his back, and a gag thrust between his teeth.
He lay quite motionless, wondering what had happened, and what would
happen next. Men were talking in whispers in harsh Cantonese voices,
but too softly for him to catch the meaning of their words.
He was bidden rise. He hesitated a moment, and was then lifted bodily
to be dumped down upon his feet. He found himself confronted by a
Chinaman who was small in stature, the skin of whose face was wrinkled
and weather-beaten. This man wore a scarlet coat, richly embroidered
with gold thread that glittered in the starlight. He came quite close
to Frank, and peered into the boy's face, grinning from ear to ear,
showing dirty, fang-like teeth--teeth that resembled those of a dog.
The boy turned away in disgust, and looked straight into the face of
Yung How. Yung How neither smiled nor lowered his eyes. He appeared to
be neither delighted nor ashamed. His features were expressionless; his
eyes looked straight into Frank's. Behind Yung How stood some twenty
men, all dressed in scarlet coats. Frank took them in at a glance, and
the thought flashed across his mind that it would be difficult to select
from the party the one who appeared the greatest villain, whose
countenance was the most hideous and repulsive. They were Cantonese of
the coolie class, high of cheek-bone, with low, receding foreheads, and
cruel, snake-like eyes.
The man who was wearing the gold embroidered coat turned and walked
rapidly towards the temple steps, ordering the others to follow him.
Frank was led forward, a great raw-boned Chinaman on either side of him,
each of whom grasped him tightly by an arm. He was made to ascend the
steps, and was brought to a halt in the shadow of the porchway of the
temple.
Hence he could look down upon the sheltered glade where he and his
friends had been encamped for two days. In the starlight he could see
the figures of his uncle and Mr Waldron, both of whom were still fast
asleep.
So far, all that had happened had come to pass so rapidly that Frank had
not had time to feel alarmed. But now, when he beheld his uncle--as he
had every reason to believe--in the greatest danger, he was filled with
apprehension. He made a lurch forward as if he would escape--for his
feet had not been bound--but he was at once roughly thrown back by the
men who guarded him, one of whom struck him a violent blow in the face.
At that moment it was as if the boy was incapable of feeling physical
pain or moral indignation. He was filled with remorse. He had been
given a position of responsibility and trust--and he had failed
pitifully. And now, perhaps his uncle's life was in danger.
He was obliged to remain an impotent and conscience-stricken spectator
of the scene that followed. He could neither cry out nor hasten to the
assistance of his friends. He saw both his uncle and Mr Waldron seized
whilst they were sound asleep, handled roughly by savage, lawless men;
gagged and bound, and then led into the great hall of the temple.
As soon as they were all inside, about a dozen torches were lit, and
these were planted upright between the stone flags that paved the floor;
so that they resembled as many candles, illuminating that fantastic,
mediaeval chamber.
Indeed, it is almost impossible to imagine a scene more weird and
dream-like. The three captives in the centre of the hall; the
evil-looking, criminal faces of the brigands, made to look even more
alarming and sinister by the flickering light of the torches; and around
that great, dingy room, the implacable, sedate, inevitable figures of
the Chinese gods and goddesses, over whom presided the huge Buddha,
seated cross-legged upon a stone plinth, immediately opposite the
entrance.
Frank Armitage caught his uncle's eye. He tried his utmost to convey in
a glance the remorse and anguish he endured. Sir Thomas must have
understood him, for he slowly shook his head. Then someone from the
back of the room commanded that everyone should be seated; and when this
order had been complied with, one man alone remained upon his feet.
This was he whose scarlet coat was embroidered heavily with gold, who
now stepped into the centre of the circle, where he stood in the full
light of the torches.
"I am Cheong-Chau," he cried. "And those who fall into the hands of
Cheong-Chau must pay in silver _taels_ or else in blood."