There is little doubt that Cheong-Chau would have killed the boy then
and there had he not been alive to the fact that he himself stood in
immediate danger of a sudden onslaught from Ling, who lay in hiding
somewhere amidst the shadows of the wood.
It was now almost dark. It was scarce possible to see across the glade.
Cheong-Chau turned to Tong--the man who had endeavoured to kill the boy.
"You were a fool to fire," said he. "How so?"
"You have betrayed our whereabouts to the tiger. He cannot be far
away."
"Let us keep together," whispered Chin Yen. "It will be as much as the
three of us can do to overpower him."
It was quite plain to Frank that the three brigands stood in mortal fear
of the mighty Honanese. They had not forgotten their experience in the
opium den, when Ling had accounted for four of them in less than a
minute. They knew their opponent, and they were well aware that he was
the last man in the world to beat a hasty retreat. Indeed, Ling had
deliberately attacked them, charging blindly like an infuriated beast
into the darkness of the wood.
For the time being they could give little attention to the boy. They
remained for a few minutes perfectly still, holding their revolvers in
their hands, keeping a sharp look-out in all directions.
And then the mighty Ling descended into their very midst. Small wonder
that they had not discovered him, for the man had climbed up a tree, and
had for the last four or five minutes been seated upon a branch,
immediately above their heads, listening to every word that was said.
They had looked to the right and to the left; their sharp eyes had
pierced the dark shadows beneath the underwoods and the crumbled ruins
of the ancient temple; but never for a moment had any one of them
dreamed of looking upward.
Like a thunderbolt, Ling descended to the ground. His great weight fell
upon Chin Yen. The man let out a loud cry, prompted by acute and sudden
pain. Then he lay upon the ground, groaning and writhing with a broken
arm.
Ling himself staggered, and with difficulty maintained his balance.
Indeed, he only succeeded in doing so by laying hands upon the terrified
Tong.
The man had no time to fire. He was snatched from off the ground. He
endeavoured to struggle, but his efforts were hopeless. His revolver
was wrenched from his hand and thrown far across the glade. Then he
himself was hurled after it, thrown away like a half-filled sack. In
his descent his head struck the side of one of the fallen images, and he
lay upon the ground, motionless and stunned.
[Illustration: "HE HIMSELF WAS HURLED AFTER IT."]
In the meantime, Cheong-Chau had made the most of the only chance he was
ever likely to have. He had fired at Ling at almost point-blank range.
Frank, who still lay upon the ground, heard a loud groan issue from the
lips of Ling, and a moment after he was just able to perceive the dark
blood flowing slowly from the man's side and staining his long silken
robe.
Cheong-Chau, thinking that he had done his work, turned with the
intention of seeking safety in flight. He was caught by the pigtail,
and jerked backward, as a boy might flick a top. A moment after he
found himself held by the great hands of Ling, gripped by both forearms,
so that he felt as if he were wedged in a mighty vice.
Fear took strong hold upon him. He knew, no doubt, that his last hour
had come. He shrieked in pain and in terror, calling upon his followers
to hasten to his help. But Tong lay senseless, and Chin Yen had already
gathered himself together and taken to his heels like one possessed.
Let it be said for Cheong-Chau that he made no plea for mercy. On the
contrary, he reviled his adversary, making use of a string of Chinese
oaths to which the boy was a stranger. And then he kicked, his legs
being the only part of him which was free. The more violently he kicked
and struggled, the greater became the pressure upon his arms; until at
last he was obliged to desist, lest his very bones should be broken.
Suddenly he became limp from exhaustion and despair.
"Have you done?" asked Ling. His voice was deep and very low, and there
was in it something of a tremor that made it plain to Frank that the man
suffered considerable pain.
Cheong-Chau made no answer.
"Listen," said Ling. "Last night, had I wished, I might have killed
you. I did not do so. The more fool I! And now, you have shot me. I
am wounded, perhaps mortally--I cannot say."
"We are old enemies," said Cheong-Chau.
Ling laughed. In his laugh there was something of his old boisterous
manner; but at the same time, it was manifest from his voice that he was
already weak from loss of blood.
"The wolf," said he, "was never an enemy of the tiger, nor can the rat
be the foe of the dog. You, Cheong-Chau, are vermin. I would lose all
pride in myself, in my strength and dignity, if I killed you otherwise
than with my hands."
A shudder ran through the thin frame of the brigand chief. He had lived
a life of crime; he had sinned, time and again, against the gods and his
fellow-men, but he was no coward; he had always known that, sooner or
later, he must die a violent death.
He had thought that fate would bring him to the dreadful Potter's Yard,
the public and official place of execution in the city of Canton. The
inevitable conclusion of the West River pirate is the block. So
Cheong-Chau was prepared to die.
"You will not torture me?" he asked.
"I would," said Ling, "if I meted out to you the fate you have more than
once prepared for others. But I am no such fiend. Moreover, I have no
time to spare. I go down-stream to-night on your own junk, with the
ransom money that you thought was yours. I go where tide and current
take me--perhaps to live for the remainder of my days upon the fatness
of the earth; perhaps to find my way amidst the stars in search of the
Unknowable."
"What do you mean?" asked the other.
"I mean that--for all I know--the sands of life are running out. The
blood issues from my wound. It may be that the breath of life goes with
it. And now, you die, by what strength remains in me."
Frank Armitage was not able to see how it was done--indeed, he turned
away, and covered his eyes with a hand. It seems that Cheong-Chau was
taken by the throat and that either he was strangled or his neck was
broken. At any rate, it was all done in silence. The lifeless body of
the man was allowed to fall to the ground, and then Ling turned to the
boy.
"Are you safe?" he asked.
Frank rose to his feet, but did not answer. Ling placed a hand upon his
shoulder. The boy felt that he was called upon to sustain much of the
man's great weight.
"You must help me," said Ling. "I am hurt badly. You must help
me--back to the junk."
Together they left the wood and came out into the starlight. The moon
was already risen. It was crescent-shaped and very thin. Ling was
breathing heavily.
"In two days," said he, "it will be a new moon, but I do not think I
shall behold it. There is something to be said for the creed of the
Mohammedans, who hold the belief that the lives of us all, down to the
most insignificant details, are written in an unalterable Book of Fate.
I wonder," said he. "I wonder."
They walked slowly upon the river bank, Ling still leaning upon his
young companion. Presently they came to the boat, which they had hidden
amongst the rushes. Ling seated himself in the bows, and as he did so
he groaned again. Frank, placing himself in the stern, took hold of the
little oar.
"Come," said Ling, "row me to the junk."