The First Clue
Jack Hudson looked up from his desk as Muscles, the powerful mechanic,
came in. For a few moments the two men stared at one another, saying
nothing. Muscles, hands on hips, broad shoulders squared, chest thrust
out, looked like an angry bull about to charge.
“Okay, Muscles, let’s have it,” Jack said.
“About those kids. What are we going to do?”
“I wish I knew. We’ve got to do something.”
“You’re darn tootin’ we have,” Muscles bellowed. “I’m sick and tired of
just sitting around here, waiting. We got to act.”
“Take it easy, Muscles. I’ve been thinking about it as much as you
have.”
“Now look, Jack. Charlie Keene’s been gone almost a month. The kids
nearly two weeks.”
“I know. I know. But what can we do? You know what it means to go in
after them.”
“You think you know where they are?”
Jack nodded his head. “I’ve got a pretty good idea where the boys are
heading. I just hope Charlie’s in the same general area. I just hope
they’re not all scattered over the face of China.”
“What bugs me most is Biff being spotted by now. An American kid among
all those Chinese—bound to be!”
“I don’t think so, Muscles. Biff and Chuba worked out a disguise that
made Biff look more like a Chinese than Chuba does. Biff not only fooled
me, but fooled Ti Pao as well.”
“He fooled Chuba’s father? That’s really something.”
Jack nodded his head. “Yeah. Both of those kids are plenty smart. I
think they’ll make it in. They might even get a line on Charlie’s
whereabouts. But getting back out—” Jack shook his head soberly.
“That’s where we get into the act,” Muscles said quickly. “Look, I got
the Cessna tuned up so she’s purring like a kitten. Extra fuel tanks
installed. We can go in, pick up Charlie and the kids—”
“_If_ we could find them.”
“We can find them. Look, here’s my idea. We go in together. At night.
You drop me. I locate Charlie and the kids, then I make a signal on the
shortwave transmitter, and bang, you come, pick us up, and all’s well.”
Jack didn’t answer at once. He was considering Muscles’ idea. “You make
it sound so easy. But I don’t know. Give me a little time to think it
over.”
“We can take off at dusk tonight.”
“I haven’t said we would yet, Muscles. I’ll let you know.”
Muscles glowered at Jack and pounded one huge fist into the palm of his
other hamlike hand.
Biff didn’t hesitate. This was real trouble. If he didn’t get to his
friend at once, Chuba might go under for good. Finding him beneath the
surface of the muddy river would be impossible. Biff’s body split the
air as he dived toward the sinking Chuba. Powerful strokes of his arms
pulled Biff swiftly through the water. He reached Chuba.
“Take it easy. Take it easy, Chuba. I’ve got you. You’ll be all right.
Don’t fight me.”
Biff crooked his left arm around Chuba’s neck.
“Just lie on your back, Chuba. I’ll do the rest.”
At Biff’s words Chuba stopped thrashing. He forced himself to relax,
buoyed both in body and spirit by the firmness of Biff’s arm.
Slowly, with a one-armed backstroke, Biff towed the native boy toward
the shore. The current slackened below the falls, making Biff’s task
possible. Foot by foot, Biff propelled himself and Chuba toward the
riverbank. At long last, he felt one of his kicking feet touch bottom.
“Okay, Chuba. I think you can stand up here. Try it.”
Chuba’s feet touched bottom. The two boys staggered through the shallow
water to safety. Chuba stretched out on the bank, gasping and trembling.
“You save my life, Biff. How can Chuba ever thank you?”
“Skip the thanks, Chuba. You’ve done plenty for me. And I know you’ll do
plenty more. But how come you never learned to swim?”
“Not many Chinese boys swim. Not in rivers where I grow up. Crocodiles.”
“I get it. Too dangerous.”
Chuba nodded his head.
“Look, Chuba. You rest here. I’ve got to get the boat. All our supplies
are in it.”
Biff jumped up and ran along the bank downstream. The boat was drifting
slowly, lazily toward the bank. Biff plunged back into the water. He
reached the boat, pulled himself in over the side, and rowed to shore.
Chuba had moved down the bank, and waded out to grab the boat’s bow. He
pulled it up on the bank.
Half an hour later the boys reembarked. For the rest of the day they
traveled in smooth water. By dark, they reached Sundhiango, last stop of
their river voyage.
From Sundhiango they headed northwest, toward the foothills of Mt. Minya
Konka, west of Chungking and Chengtu. Once clear of the river city, the
boys moved along a dirt road until weariness overtook them. Off the
road, they built a small fire, ate a mixture of flour and rice Chuba
dreamed up, and then slept.
In the morning, Chuba inspected Biff carefully.
“What’s the matter?” Biff demanded.
“You almost America boy again. More like fish called carp, though. All
streaky.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your swims in river. Make betel juice fade. You look at self. We got to
make you Chinese beggar boy again.”
Chuba took out his bottle of juice, and smeared Biff’s body and face.
“Now, all good again. We move out.”
“And up,” Biff said, looking toward the mountains.
By late afternoon, Biff and Chuba reached a town in the foothills. They
had been climbing steadily all day. Several times Biff had to swallow to
clear the pressure in his ears, brought on by the higher altitude.
“You have some money, Biff?” Chuba asked.
“Yep. Got a bunch of Burmese rupees. Can you spend them in China?”
“Spend them like you say like water. Rupees much good. Better than
Chinese money. Chinese money now called _jin min piao_. Takes many
_jins_ to make one rupee.”
Biff dug into his bundle and brought out several coins. “This enough?”
“Is plenty. We go into town to market. Chuba buy some food. You like
dried fish? Lichee nuts good, too.”
“Ugh. I’d rather have a hot dog.”
“Ah, hot dog?” Chuba nodded wisely. “Muscles tell me in America you eat
the dogs but like them hot.”
“By the millions, Chuba. Especially at baseball games. But not the kind
that bark.”
“Not real dogs?”
“Nope. These are sort of like a sausage—shaped like sausage. You know
sausage?”
Chuba nodded his head. “Oh sure, stuffed with rice, shark fins, and
sesame seeds, is real tasty.” Biff shrugged. Might as well give up.
Chuba would just have to eat a genuine frankfurter some day.
The boys walked on to the edge of the town. Biff stopped before they
passed through the gate. “Hold it a minute, Chuba. Something I want to
ask you.”
Biff had decided to make the first move toward locating his Uncle
Charlie. He considered showing Chuba the green ring. Should he do so
now, or hold on to it for an ace in the hole, for a time when the ring
might be the means of getting them out of a really tough jam. He’d wait.
“What you want to ask Chuba?”
“I want to know if you ever heard of a big and well-known Chinese
family. It was called the House of Kwang.” Biff studied the native boy’s
face.
“Sure. Chuba hear about them. Once they rich. Big rich. Own many, many
acres for wheat fields. Many many acres for rice. They own big grain
sheds where other people bring wheat and rice to sell them for to store
it. But now no more rice. Not rich and powerful any more. Revolution and
new government get rid of all big landowners.”
“Did the House of Kwang have any property, any acres around here?”
“No own acres here. But once they own big warehouse, like I say, for to
buy and sell wheat and rice and all kinds clothes and things.”
“Here in this town?”
Chuba nodded his head.
“Well, look, Chuba. I think maybe my Uncle Charlie came into this part
of China because of something he had to do with the House of Kwang. I
don’t know exactly what. Do you think any members of that family would
be around here?”
Chuba thought about Biff’s question. “I don’t know, Biff. But can find
out. Although family no longer strong and rich, Chuba has heard they
still stick close together. Help each other out. If one member of family
get in bad with government bosses, others get him out if he put in
prison.”
“Okay. That’s what I wanted to know from you. When we get to the market,
think you could ask some questions without giving us away? I mean
without letting the people you ask know that we’re in here looking for
Uncle Charlie?”
“Think so, Biff. I ask if anyone hear about big bird—American bird with
much roaring noise. Lots people in this part of China still call
airplane big bird.”
“If you find anyone who seems to have the kind of information we’re
looking for, see if there’s any talk about a plane cracking up around
here. I feel sure Uncle Charlie would have come back long ago if there
weren’t something wrong with his plane.”
“You trust Chuba, Biff. He find out everythings.”
The boys passed the gate of the walled town. This town was the largest
one they had yet gone through. The dirty streets again were filled with
people milling back and forth. Children stared at them wide-eyed and
curious. Dogs darted in and out, looking for scraps of food. Pigs roamed
the streets, paying no more attention to the people than the people did
to them.
Biff could tell they were nearing the market place. His nose knew.
Inside the market, an open-air market filling one long block, the boys
passed booths selling everything from hot soups to shiny silks. Strings
of garlic hung on racks in all the food booths. The Chinese chew garlic
the way Americans chew gum. Small cakes made of chopped vegetables and
fruits were piled high on trays. There were fried peanuts and
sugar-covered orange peels. Strings of dried fish swung in the air.
Smoked ducks were suspended by their necks from long, slender bamboo
rods.
Chuba made several purchases. Biff, having to remain silent, was unable
to protest against some of the foods Chuba added to his cloth sack. But
he knew he’d have to be mighty hungry to eat them.
At one booth, where Chuba made several purchases, the native boy had a
long talk with the owner. During the conversation, Chuba once extended
his arms straight from his sides, and gave out with a sound like an
airplane engine, an engine that sputtered.
The Chinese only shook his head.
The boys walked along. “I think he know something, but no tell me,”
Chuba said quietly. “When first I ask about big bird, a look on his face
tell me he has heard of something. But when I ask more, and become
airplane myself, he say no, he hear of nothing. I ask more people.”
Biff tagged along, silent, watchful, amazed at many of the strange
things sold in the market. He saw a goose egg and watched a shopper
haggle with the owner over its price. Later, Chuba told him the egg was
four years old and uncooked.
“Most delicious,” Chuba said.
Biff shuddered.
Every store sold dried watermelon seeds. Chuba bought some, gave a
handful to Biff. Biff chewed on them, but found little taste to the
small morsel inside the shell.
It had become dark. Flares lighted the market place. Chuba turned to
Biff, a discouraged look on his face. “Buying things fine. Finding out
about Sahib Charlie not fine. Chuba learn nothing.”
The boys retraced their steps back to the city gates. Again they were
going to sleep in the open. Biff much preferred this to sleeping on the
floor of an airless room.
Just as they passed through the gate, a figure came out of the shadows.
He touched Chuba on the arm and in a hissing whisper, spoke into the
boy’s ear.
“Man say for me to come back with him. Maybe can help me. Say I must
come alone. You stay right here, Biff. Chuba be all right. Be back
quick.” Chuba and the stranger headed back toward the market.
But Chuba didn’t come back quickly. The minutes seemed to drag along.
Biff was becoming worried. He had just about made up his mind to seek
Chuba out when he saw his friend running toward him.
Chuba was breathless, more from excitement than from his short run.
“Chuba has news. Big news. Man takes me back to another fellow. This
other fellow much wise. Say he hear big American plane make force
landing. Near mountains. Maybe fifty miles from here.”
“Did he tell you how long ago, Chuba?”
Chuba nodded his head up and down rapidly. “He say maybe three, maybe
four weeks ago.”
“Hey. That _is_ good news. That could be Uncle Charlie. Did he know what
happened to the pilot? Was he hurt?”
“I ask that. But fellow say he don’t know.”
Biff was thoughtful for a few moments. “It’s a good lead, Chuba. You
know which way to go?”
“Sure. Fellow tell Chuba.”
“Seems to me this fellow told you a lot. I wonder why. Particularly
since no one else seemed to know what you were talking about.”
“I don’t know, Biff. Fellow very nice. But funny-looking fellow.”
“What do you mean, funny looking?”
“One eye closed like door. No see out of it. Fellow have only one good
eye.”
Biff’s thoughts raced back to the Chinese passenger on the plane from
Indianapolis to Chicago—a Chinese with a drooping eyelid.