SIR LIONEL
When Gray returned to the _yurt_, he found the table set with silver
and china containing a substantial amount of curried rice, mutton and
tea. This reminded him that he was ravenous, since he had not eaten
for twenty-four hours. He did not notice that the girl's hair
appeared adjusted more to a nicety, or that she had exchanged the
shawl for the jacket of her dress.
"You like your tea strong?" she asked politely.
In spite of his hunger, Gray felt awkward as he ate sparingly of the
food under her cool gaze. She was non-committally attentive to his
wants. He wished that she would say something more or that Ram Singh
would cease glaring at the back of his neck like a hawk ready to
pounce on its prey.
The food, however, refreshed him. His curiosity concerning his
hostess grew. He had seen no other white man in the camp. It was
hardly possible that the Englishwoman had come alone to the Gobi.
Whither was she bound? And why did she reside in a Kirghiz _yurt_
when the caravan was outfitted with European luxuries?
When the natives had removed the plates, he took out his pipe from
force of habit, and felt for matches. Then he reflected that he
should not smoke in the woman's tent.
He would have liked to thank her for her hospitality, to assure her
of his regret for the tactics of Mirai Khan, to ask her some of the
questions that were in his mind. Especially, if she were really
alone in the desert. But while he fumbled for words, she spoke
quickly.
"I've never taken a prisoner before, Captain Gray. A white man, that
is. I believe the correct thing to do is to question you. That fits
in most nicely, because I am unusually curious by nature."
He had pulled out a match which he struck absently, then extinguished
it. She noted the action silently.
"You are an army officer?"
"In the reserve. Acting independently, now, of course."
"Acting?" She smiled lightly and held out something to him. "So you
are a big game hunter? I did not know this was good country for that
sort of thing."
"It isn't," he acknowledged bluntly. "That is--not in the ordinary
sense. But I have already some trophies bagged. Mirai Khan is my
guide----"
"Please do smoke," she said, and he saw that what she offered him was
a box of matches. One of the servants struck a light.
"I am quite used to it. My uncle, Sir Lionel, smokes much worse
tobacco than yours."
Gray considered her over his pipe.
"Would you mind telling me," he asked gravely, "Miss Niece of Sir
Lionel, what you are going to do with me? I'm fairly your prisoner.
Your patrol under Ram Singh captured me within your lines."
The girl nodded thoughtfully. Gray wondered if he had caught a glint
of laughter in the demure eyes. He decided he was mistaken.
"You are an officer, Captain Gray. You know all prisoners are
questioned closely. I still have two more questions, before I decide
your case. Are you really alone? And where are you bound?"
"I am," stated Gray methodically. "Ansichow."
"Really? I am going there. I should introduce you, as my prisoner,
to Sir Lionel, but he is tired out and asleep, leaving me with Ram
Singh."
"Who is an excellent guardian, Miss Niece----"
"Mary Hastings," said the girl quickly. "I have no reason to conceal
my name." Gray thought she emphasized the _I_. "My uncle, Sir
Lionel Hastings, is head of the British Asiatic Society in India. He
is bound for the Gobi."
Gray stared at her. The British Asiatic Society! Then this must be
the expedition in search of the Wusun. Van Schaick had said that it
was starting from India.
"I begged Sir Lionel to take me," continued Mary Hastings calmly,
"and he finds me very useful. I record his observations, you know,
keep the journal of the expedition, and draw the maps. That gives
him time for more important work."
"But the desert----" Gray broke off.
"The desert is no place for a woman. I suppose that is what you
meant. But I am not an ordinary woman, I warn you, Captain Gray.
Sir Lionel is my only relative, and we have traveled together for
years. He did say that he anticipated some opposition from the
Chinese authorities. But I refused to be left behind." The rounded
chin lifted stubbornly. "This is the most important work my uncle
has undertaken, and he is always visited with fever about this time
of year."
Gray was secretly envious of Sir Lionel. What an ally this girl
would make! Yet, in their present positions, she was apt to be his
most ardent foe. He glanced up, measuring her, and met her look.
For a long moment the slate-green eyes of the man searched hers.
They reminded him of the surface of water, sometimes quiet to an
infinite depth and then tumultuous.
For a discerning man, Gray was at a sad loss to fathom Mary Hastings.
"To avoid attention from the Chinese," she continued, looking down,
"we came up from Burma, along the Tibetan border. Rather a boring
trip. But by going around the main towns at the Yang-tze headwaters,
and by using these serviceable native huts--which can be taken down
and put up quickly--we escape questioning."
So that was the explanation of the clumsy _yurts_.
"You were not quite so fortunate, Captain Gray? Curious, that, isn't
it--when you are only a big game hunter?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to make a clean breast of it, and say
that he, also, was seeking Sungan. But it seemed absurd to confess
to her that the sole member of the American expedition had been found
among the camels of the Hastings caravan. Perhaps he was
unconsciously influenced by his desire to be on friendly terms--even
such as at present with Mary Hastings.
Every moment of their talk was a keen pleasure to him--more so than
he was aware. He reflected how lucky it was that he had run into the
other expedition. It was not altogether strange, since they had both
started at the same time, and Ansichow was the mutual hopping-off
place into the Gobi.
"Will you tell me," he evaded, "how you came to call me Captain Gray
before you saw my papers?"
Mary Hastings smiled pleasantly.
"It was an excellent guess, wasn't it? But now I'm quite through my
questions." She paused, her brow wrinkled in portentous thought. "I
think I shall not burden myself with a prisoner. You are quite free,
Captain Gray. You and Mirai Khan. Doubtless you wish to return to
your caravan."
Gray thought of the two waiting mules and the rain-soaked blanket
that constituted his outfit, and laughingly mentioned it to her.
"You are very kind," he said, rising.
"Captain Gray," she said impulsively, "it's raining again. If you
would care to spend the night with us, I am sure Ram Singh can spare
you a cot and blanket. Mirai Khan can fetch your outfit in the
morning, and you can go on with us to Ansichow. It's only a day's
trek."
Gray hesitated, then accepted her offer thankfully.
"You will find your rifle on your cot. Ram Singh cleaned it himself.
It needed it. He said it was a 30-30 model, but then you are
probably using it for big game because you are accustomed to it."
She held out her hand with a quizzical smile. Gray took it in his
firm clasp, awkwardly, and released her fingers quickly, lest he
should hold them too long. She nodded.
"Good night, Captain Gray."
Not until he was without the tent did he reflect that he had admitted
that he was bound for Ansichow. And Ansichow meant the Gobi.
For a space after his departure Mary Hastings remained in her tent.
She had dismissed the native servant. She was thinking, and it
seemed to please her. But thought, with the girl, required
companionship and conversation.
Abruptly she left her chair and stepped through the door of the tent.
It was still drizzling without; still, there was a break in the heavy
clouds to the west. Mary noted this, and skipped to the entrance of
the _yurt_ nearest her.
"It's me, Uncle Singh," she called, not quite grammatically. "Can I
come in?"
"Of course," a kindly voice answered at once. "Anything wrong?"
A man sat up on the cot, snapping on an electric torch by the head of
the bed and glancing at a small clock. He was a tall, spare
individual, with the frame of an athlete, polo shoulders, and the
high brow of a scholar.
He was well past middle age, yellow-brown as to face, deep hollows
under the cheek bones, his scanty hair matching his face, except
where it was streaked with white.
The girl installed herself snugly on the foot of the bed, sitting
cross-legged.
"You've been sleeping heavily, _Sher Singh_," she observed
reproachfully, giving the man his native surname, "and that means you
aren't well. I have news." She paused triumphantly, then bubbled
spontaneously into speech.
"Such news. _Aie_. Captain Robert Gray is here, in Ram Singh's
tent. He is alone, with a servant. He is a big man, not
ill-looking, but awkward--very. He stands so much on his dignity.
Really, it was quite ridiculous"--she laughed agreeably--"and I was
very nicely entertained. He was brought in by the Sikhs, after
trying to steal our ponies----"
"Lifting our horses!" Sir Lionel sat bolt upright and flushed.
"Why, the scoundrel----"
"I mean his servant was. Captain Gray was innocent, but I was not
inclined to let him off easily----"
Mary's conception of important news did not satisfy the explorer's
desire for facts. A peculiarly jealous expression crept into the
man's open face.
"Has he a well-equipped caravan?"
"Two mules, a gun and a blanket."
"How extraordinary!" Sir Lionel stared at his niece. "No camels?"
"Not one." Mary yawned, and, with a glance at the clock, began to
unbind her heavy hair. It was very late. Her fingers worked
dexterously, while Sir Lionel weighed her words. Unlike his niece,
he was an individual of slow mental process, perhaps too much
schooled by routine.
"Mary! How did you--ah--behave to Captain Gray?"
"I took him prisoner." The girl smiled mischievously. "He was so
humiliated, Uncle Singh."
"I hope," observed Sir Lionel severely, "you warned him of our
identity."
"Rather. But he implied he was after big game."
Sir Lionel reached to the light stand and secured a cigarette, which
he lit. His eyes hardened purposefully.
"I'll _trek_ for Ansichow, at once. I must buy up all the available
camels. If you will retire to your tent, and send my _syce_----"
"Indeed, no." She frowned worriedly. "You haven't had your sleep
yet."
Sir Lionel caught her hand in his.
"No, Mary. You must be aware what this expedition means to me. I
must be first in Ansichow, and into the Gobi. Failure is not to be
thought of. Dear girl, I have thrown my reputation into the dice
bowl----"
"I know." She patted his hand lightly, and her eyes were serious.
"Only I wish you would let me help a little more." She shook free
the coils of her bronze hair and placed a small hand firmly over his
lips. "I know what you want to say--that you are being ever so kind
and indulging to let me come at all. As if I could be left at Simla
when you went on your biggest hunt, Uncle Singh. Well," she sighed,
"if you must go buy camels, you will. But"--she brightened--"please
leave the wandering American to me. I saw him first."
Sir Lionel removed the hand that restricted his speech, and frowned
portentously. Mary beamed, twining her hair into twin plaits.
"Mary!" he said gravely, "please do not annoy Captain--ah--Gray. We
must be perfectly fair with him, you know."
"Of course," she assured him virtuously. "Haven't I been? He may
not think so when he learns how you've gone camel buying when I
offered him sleeping quarters. He'll forever fear the Greeks bearing
gifts----"
"_Oolu ka butcha!_" (Child of an owl!)
"But he shouldn't try to deceive me, should he, Uncle? I fancy he'll
have a rather wretched time of it. He seems somewhat out of his
environment here."
She nodded decisively.
"It's his own fault altogether for coming where he has no business to
be and wanting to deprive my _Sher Singh_ of what you worked a
lifetime for."
"Merely his duty, Mary."
"But he shall not hinder you in yours."
She fell silent, no longer smiling. There was a great tenderness in
the glance she cast at the gaunt Englishman. Sir Lionel was her
hero, and, lacking father and mother, all the warmth of the girl's
affection had been bestowed on the explorer.
She said good-night softly and slipped from the tent. That night she
slept lightly, and was afoot with the first streak of crimson in the
east.