Edward's elation vanished when he thought of his sister shut
helplessly in the temple from which he had got free. He stood
irresolute, unable to think. Then he realized that Nancy's safety
depended upon him. But there was no vigorous response of energy
because he knew, if he ran the whole distance home, Nancy might be
ravished and murdered or carried far into the mountains before he
could bring help. To go or to stay, the question daunted his powers
of decision. But he felt, after a mental debate which seemed to
protract minutes to hours, that he must know something more of what
was threatening Nancy.
Warily he grasped his bow and tiptoed through the trees toward the
monastery. He listened like a scout for every sound. The crackle of
twigs beneath his own feet set his heart beating. He came at last to
a place where he could survey the front of the temple. The gates
were shut. Birds screeched in the trees above him but not a murmur
issued from the building.
Edward was perplexed. The silence frightened him. He went
cautiously round to the side. In this direction must lie the room
into which he had seen Nancy disappear. But the temple was like a
fortress; its tall vacant walls mocked scrutiny. There were a few
windows at the back, but too high to be reached without a ladder. He
dared not come close enough to stand beneath them and call for Nancy.
There were the trees, however, and they suggested the expedient of
climbing, a feat for which the boy was thoroughly adept. He scaled a
smaller pine and swung himself, despite the entangling encumbrance of
his bow and quiver, into one of the lower branches of a gigantic
silver-barked tree which he realized, with a thrill of joy, must
overlook the courtyards of the temple. Higher and higher he climbed,
happy to be active; the strong boughs were like steps. But when he
got far above the ground and could look down upon the walled
buildings he saw nothing that could tell him what had become of
Nancy. The courtyards were empty. They had the vacant look of a
deserted place.
Perhaps the monks had run away, he thought; perhaps they had carried
Nancy with them. They had not intended him to escape, that was
certain. Their plans had been so sure that Edward hoped the accident
of his slipping free from the trap, the knowledge that he would
expose their knavery and was summoning help, might have driven the
frustrated monks into flight. Edward decided on greater risks. He
climbed back to the earth and walked softly across the open space
till he stood beneath the first window.
"Nancy," he called carefully.
There was no answer.
He called again. Still no answer. The white paper which filled the
tiny square panes gave blank response to his whispered cries.
He moved on to the second window and repeated his call. Just as he
was on the point of trying the next, he heard a faint "Yes." He
could hardly control himself for joy.
"Is that you, Nancy?" he whispered in English.
"Yes."
"This is Edward. I got away. Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"Can you get out?"
"No, the windows are too high. I haven't anything to stand on."
"Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"Have they tried to get in?"
"No, they haven't made a sound for a long time. And, besides, I've
locked myself in."
"I think they've run away. Don't be afraid, Nancy. I'll get you
out. Shout if you hear them."
Edward scarcely could contain his feelings of relief.
Returning to the cover of the trees, he stepped slowly round to the
back. There he stopped. The little back gate of the temple was
open. He must have guessed correctly: the monks had fled. The boy
would have thrown caution to the winds and rushed to the door if some
whispering sense of discretion had not restrained his movements,
causing him to turn in bare time to see a gray cloak withdrawn behind
a neighboring tree. Edward stopped still in alarm, then he gave a
shriek of fright and took swiftly to his heels as the monk abandoned
his futile ambush and came thundering in pursuit. The other monk
emerged from the door within which he had been hiding and joined in
the chase.
Edward ran as he had never run before, throwing away his bow in his
haste and tearing madly past the front gate of the monastery. The
men behind him were fast. He dared not turn his head to see if they
were gaining, but he knew this time they were staking all on his
capture. They must catch him and close this one mouth which could
babble their secret. They were desperate men; if Edward's powers of
endurance were trebled by fear, their own fleetness of foot was
enhanced not only by the sense that Nancy was the prize of their
victory, but also that the loss of the monastery where they had lived
might be the price of defeat.
But the race was never run to its finish. Before he was aware of
approaching them, Edward, scampering madly, head-down, had crashed
between the burly figures of two men. Cold with dismay, certain that
he had been intercepted, he was trying to shake himself free from the
hand which detained him when he heard a voice exclaim in English:--
"Slowly, slowly, my lad! What's all this about?"
For the first time he looked up to see with amazement that he was not
in the hands of ill-met friends of the two monks, but held by the
very two foreigners who once had applauded his cricket; he was a
captive of the Western barbarians whom, in his mock wars, he had been
defying--and very happy to be their captive after the real warfare of
this unlucky afternoon.
"My sister!" he cried. "They have got her up there."
He pointed to the monks, who had stopped, evidently chagrined by this
new turn of affairs.
"Where?" said one of the men, who had a vivid memory of Nancy's
beauty.
"In the temple," said Edward breathlessly; "they want to make her
their slave."
The men chuckled, despite themselves, at Edward's earnestness.
"They look like a harmless old pair," said the second. "I shouldn't
accuse them of being so naughty."
He approached the two monks and tried to address them in none too
fluent Chinese. But the yellow-toothed priest, who had picked up
pidgin English in a temple at Peking where the increase of tourists
made it both profitable and necessary for him to express his
importunity in terms his visitors understood, now interrupted the
foreigner.
"Him b'long plenty bad boy," he said, pointing an accusing finger at
Edward; "his sister plenty bad girl. Drink much tea, no pay money.
So lock up, wanchee make pay money."
The foreigner smiled to see Edward's blank look at hearing this
unfamiliar idiom.
"You availed yourself of this gentleman's hospitality, my young sir,
without making due recompense, and he has gone to the extreme length,
rather too extreme I admit, of locking up your sister. Am I stating
the case correctly?"
The boy looked even more amazed. This was a tongue far beyond the
bounds of his comprehension. The man laughed again.
"Well, never mind, I don't think there's anything worse than a
twenty-cent piece at stake. Follow me and we'll soon have your
sister out of the dragon's clutches."
Edward divined that his intentions were helpful. He himself was too
fully charged with emotion to take up the task of explaining their
adventures in English. He was content to walk quietly between his
two new friends, glad of their protection, even ready for the moment
to overlook the impudent defense of the priest. The other monk had
slipped away during their colloquy and had made good use of the few
minutes thus gained, for the little party, when they arrived, found
the front gate opened and their host prepared with a kettle to pour
out more tea for his visitors.
"No, we must release the beleaguered damsel first," said the
Englishman. "Where is she?"
The older monk, understanding his gestures, led the way to the door
behind which Nancy was confined. It had been unbolted too and
plausibly confirmed the monk's tale.
"He much frightened. No come out."
The man felt the door which Nancy was still keeping securely fastened.
"Ah, she doesn't trust you ecclesiastical gentry," he said. "Call
her, my lad; tell her she's safe."
"Nancy," shouted Edward in Chinese, "it's all right now! You can
open the door. There are two big foreigners here. The old turnip
doesn't dare hurt us."
The monk gave Edward a wicked look. The boy rejoiced to see that his
thrust had gone home and referred to the priest in several other
terms of choice abuse, a partial revenge which his enemy had no means
of countering. The Englishmen stood innocently by, unconscious of
how Edward was settling scores with the monk, till at last the
grating of bars told them that the prisoner was reassured. The door
opened and Nancy stood before them, white and startled.