INTRUDERS
It was a hot night.
Gray, naked except for shirt and socks, lay under the mosquito
netting and wished that he had brought double the amount of insect
powder he had. Across the room Delabar had subsided into fitful
snores. The night was not quiet.
In the courtyard of the hotel some Chinese servants were at their
perpetual gambling, their shrill voices coming up through the
shutters. On the further side of the street a guitar twanged
monotonously. Somewhere, a dog yelped.
The warm odors of the place assaulted Gray's nostrils unpleasantly.
They were strange, potent odors, a mingling of dirt, refuse, horses,
the remnants of cooking. Gray sighed, longing for the clean air of
the plains toward which they were headed.
They were still far from the Gobi's edge. The distance seemed to
stretch out interminably. It is not easy to cross the broad bosom of
China.
He wondered what success they would have. What was the city of
Sungan? How had it escaped observation? How did a city happen to be
in the desert, anyway?
What was the pale sickness Brent had spoken of? Brent had died.
From natural causes, of course. Gray gave little heed to Delabar's
wild surmises. But the conduct of Wu Fang Chien afforded him food
for thought.
Had the vice-governor actually known of their mission? His words
might have had a double meaning. And they might not. The silk
scroll meant little. Delabar had read warning into it; but was not
that a result of his imagination?
Gray turned uncomfortably on his bed and considered the matter. How
could Wu Fang Chien have known they were bound for Sungan? Their
mission had been carefully kept from publicity. Only Van Schaick and
his three associates knew of it. Men like Van Schaick and Balch
could keep their mouths shut. And Delabar was certainly cautious
enough.
Gray cursed the heat under his breath, with added measure for the dog
which seemed bound to make a night of it. The chatter at the hotel
door had subsided with midnight. But the guitar still struck its
melancholy note, accompanied by the intermittent wail of the
sorrowing dog.
No, Gray thought sleepily, Wu Fang Chien could not have known of
their mission. He had let Delabar's nerves prey on his own--that was
all. Delabar was full of this Asia stuff, especially concerning the
priests----
Gray's mind drifted away into vague visions of ancient and forgotten
temples. The guitar note became the strum of temple drums, echoing
over the waste of the desert. The dog's plaint took form in the
wailing of shrouded forms that moved about gigantic ruins, ruins that
gave forth throngs of spirits. And the spirits took up the wail,
approaching him.
A green light flamed from the temple gate. The gongs sounded a final
crash--and Gray awoke at the noise of the stick and coins falling to
the floor.
He became fully conscious instantly--from habit. And was aware of
two things. He had been asleep for some time. Also, the door had
been thrown open and dark forms were running into the room.
Gray caught at his automatic which he always hung at his pillow. He
missed it in the dark. One of the figures stumbled against the bed.
He felt a hand brush across his face.
Drawing up his legs swiftly he kicked out at the man who was fumbling
for him. The fellow subsided backward with a grunt, and the officer
gained his feet. His sight was not yet cleared, but he perceived the
blur of figures in the light from the open door.
He wasted no time in outcry. Experience had taught him that the best
way to deal with native assailants was with his fists. He bent
forward from the hips, balanced himself and jabbed at the first man
who ran up to him.
His fist landed in the intruder's face. Gray weighed over a hundred
and seventy pounds, and he had the knack which comparatively few men
possess of putting his weight behind his fists. Moreover, he was not
easily flurried, and this coolness gave his blows added sting.
At least four men had broken into the room. The other two hesitated
when they saw their companions knocked down. But Gray did not.
There was a brief rustle of feet over the floor, the sound of a heavy
fist striking against flesh, and the invaders stumbled or crawled
from the room.
Gray was surprised they did not use their knives. Once they
perceived that he was fully awake they seemed to lose heart. The
fight had taken only a minute, and Gray was master of the field.
He had counted four men as they ran out. But he waited alertly by
the door while Delabar, who had remained on his bed, got up and lit
the lamp. Gray's first glance told him that no Chinamen were to be
seen.
He was breathing heavily, but quite unhurt. Having the advantage of
both weight and hitting power over his light adversaries, he took no
pride in his prompt clearing of the room. Delabar, however, was
plainly shaky.
"What did they want?" the professor muttered, eyeing the door.
"How----"
"Look out!" warned Gray crisply.
From the foot of his bed a head appeared. Two slant eyes fixed on
him angrily. A Chinaman in the rough clothes of a coolie crawled out
and stood erect.
In one hand he held Gray's rifle, removed from the case. With the
other he was fumbling at the safety catch with which he seemed
unfamiliar.
Gray acted swiftly. Realizing that the gun was loaded and that it
would go off if the coolie thought of pulling the trigger, inasmuch
as the safety catch was not set, he stepped to one side, to the head
of the bed.
Here he fell to his knees. The man with the rifle, if he had fired,
would probably have shot over the American, who was feeling under the
pillow.
As it happened the coolie did not pull the trigger of the gun. A
dart of flame, a _crack_ which echoed loudly in the narrow room--and
Gray, over the sights of the automatic which he had recovered and
fired in one motion, saw the man stagger.
Through the swirling smoke he saw the coolie drop the gun and run to
the window.
Gray covered the man again, but refrained from pressing the trigger.
There was no need of killing the coolie. The next instant the man
had flung open the shutters and dived from the window.
Looking out, Gray saw the form of his adversary vaguely as the coolie
picked himself up and vanished in the darkness.
The street was silent. The guitar was no longer to be heard.
Gray crossed the room and flung open the door. The hall was empty.
He closed the door, readjusted the stick and string of coins and
grinned at Delabar who was watching nervously.
"That was one on me, Professor," he admitted cheerfully. "The coolie
who bobbed up under the bed must have been the one I kicked there.
Fancy knocking a man to where he can grab your own gun."
Delabar, however, saw no humor in the situation.
"They were coolies," he said. "What do you suppose they came after?"
"Money. I don't know." Gray replaced the shutters and blew out the
light. "We'll complain to our landlord in the morning. But I don't
guess we'll have much satisfaction out of him. The fact that my shot
didn't bring the household running here shows pretty well that it was
a put-up job."
His prophecy proved true. The proprietor of the hotel protested that
he had known nothing of the matter. Asked why he had not
investigated the shot, he declared that he was afraid. Gray gave up
his questioning and set about preparing to leave Honanfu.
"The sooner we're away from Wu Fang's jurisdiction the better," he
observed to Delabar. "No use in making an investigation. It would
only delay us. Our baggage came this morning, and you've engaged the
muleteers. We'll shake Honanfu."
Delabar seemed as anxious as Gray to leave the town. Crowds of
Chinese, attracted perhaps by rumor of what had happened in the
night, followed them about the streets as Gray energetically
assembled his two wagons with the stores, and the men to drive the
mules.
He made one discovery. In checking up the list of baggage they found
that one box was missing.
"It's the one that had the rifles and spare ammunition," grunted
Gray. "Damn!"
He had put the rifle that had been intended for McCann with his own
extra piece and ammunition in a separate box. In spite of persistent
questioning, the drivers who had brought the wagons to Honanfu denied
that they had seen the box.
A telegram was sent to the railway terminal. The answer was delayed
until late afternoon. No news of the box was forthcoming.
"It's no use," declared Delabar moodily. "Remember, you told Wu Fang
Chien that our rifles were with the luggage. Probably he has taken
the box."
"Looks that way," admitted Gray, who was angered at the loss. "Well,
there's no help for it. We'll hike, before Wu Fang thinks up
something else to do."
He gave the word to the muleteers, the wagons creaked forward. He
jumped on the tail of the last one, beside Delabar, and Honanfu with
its watching crowds faded into the dust, after a turn in the road.
From that time forth, Gray kept his rifle in his hand, or slung at
his shoulder.
While they sat huddled uncomfortably on some stores against the side
of the jogging cart--nothing is quite so responsive to the law of
gravity as a springless Chinese cart, or so uncomfortable, unless it
be the rutted surface of a Chinese imperial highway--both were
thinking.
Delabar, to himself: "Why is it that an imperial road in China is not
one kept in order--in the past--for the emperor, but one that can be
put in order, if the emperor announced his intention of passing over
it? My associate, the American, who thinks only along straight
lines, will never understand the round-about working of the oriental
mind. And that will work him evil."
Gray, aloud: "Look here, Delabar! We can safely guess now that Wu
Fang would like to hinder our journey."
"I have already assumed that."
"Hm. Think it's because the Wusun actually exist, and he wants to
keep us from the Gobi?"
Delabar was aroused from his muse.
"A Chinese official seldom acts on his own initiative," he responded.
"Wu Fang Chien has received instructions. Yes, I think he intends to
bar our passage beyond Liangchowfu. By advancing as we are from
Honanfu, we are running blindly into danger."
Gray squinted back at the dusty road, nursing his rifle across his
knees. His brown face was impassive, the skin about the eyes deeply
wrinkled from exposure. The eyes themselves were narrow and hard.
Delabar found it increasingly difficult to guess what went on in the
mind of the taciturn American.
"I've been wondering," said Gray slowly, "wondering for a long time
about a certain question. Admitting that the Wusun are there, in the
Gobi, why are they kept prisoners--carefully guarded like this? It
doesn't seem logical!"
The Syrian smiled blandly, twisting his beard with a thin hand.
"Logic!" he cried. "Oh, the mind of the inner Asiatic is logical;
but the reasons governing it, and the grounds for its deductions are
quite different from the motives of European psychology."
"Well, I fail to see the reason why the Wusun people should be
guarded for a good many hundred years."
"Simply this. Buddhism is the crux of the oriental soul. Confucius
and Taoism are secondary to the advent of the Gautama--to the great
Nirvana. Buddhism rules inner China, Tibet, part of Turkestan, some
of India, and--under guise of _Shamanism_, Southeastern Siberia."
Gray made no response. He was studying the face of Delabar--that
intellectual, nervous, unstable face.
"Buddhism has ruled Central Asia since the time of Sakuntala--the
great Sakuntala," went on the scientist. "And the laws of Buddha are
ancient and very binding. The Wusun are enemies of Buddhism. They
are greater enemies than the Manchus, of Northern and Eastern China.
That is because the Wusun hold in reverence a symbol that is hateful
to the priests of the temples."
"What is that?"
Delabar hesitated.
"The symbol is some barbarian sign. The Wusun cherish it, perhaps
because cut off from the world, they have no other faith than the
faith of their forefathers." The scientist's high voice rang with
strong conviction. "In the annals of the Han dynasty, before the
birth of Christ, it is related that an army under the General Ho
K'u-p'ing was sent on plea of the Buddhists to destroy the
Huing-nu--, the 'green-eyed devils' and the Wusun--the Tall Ones,' of
the west. The military expedition failed. But since then the
Buddhists have been embittered against the Wusun--have guarded them
as prisoners."
"Then religious fanaticism is the answer?"
"A religious feud."
"Because the Wusun will not adopt Buddhism?"
"Because they cling to the absurd sign of their faith!"
Gray passed a gnarled hand across his chin and frowned at his rifle.
"Sounds queer. I'd like to see that sign."
Delabar settled himself uneasily against the jarring of the cart.
"It is not likely, Captain Gray," he said, "that either of us will
see it."
Whereupon they fell silent, each busied with his thoughts, in this
manner.
Delabar, to himself: My companion is a physical brute; how can he
understand the high mysteries of Asian thought?
Gray: Either this Syrian has a grand imagination, or he knows more
than he has been telling me--the odds being the latter is correct.