watching the launch and Yu, might even have got their spy aboard her, and doubtless Kohler himself was surrounded by spies; but here they could not reach. Indeed, O’Grady and I saw several armed men at various points, and from the veranda of the bungalow I rather fancied that I discerned a line of barbed-wire forking out amid the trees, but was not certain.
When Yu summoned us to the launch, aboard which was a new and augmented crew of five men, he squatted down before us and spoke frankly, addressing me but speaking to O’Grady as well.
“Master, we shall have trouble passing Nanfu. Schneider is three hours ahead of us. Fifteen miles the other side of Nanfu, he will fall into a trap that I have set for him, but he has also set snares for us. The influence of Dubonnet & Cie. is very strong here. I suggest that you gentlemen separate and take different boats here.”
At this, O’Grady started slightly, and eyed Yu. Despite the message I had received, I shook my head.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Yu. Let’s go ahead.”
“Very well, master.” Yu rose. “We will not go aboard the same launch, but another, to which your things have been transferred.”
There was no getting around this fellow. He led us to the landing slip, toward which another craft was being fetched from a boathouse. Meantime, our first launch got under way. I noticed that beneath the after awning two of the crew were sitting; they wore whites and helmets, and might easily pass at a distance for me and O’Grady.
“Clever head,” murmured the Irishman. “Decoy, eh? It’s a smart lad he is, that chap Yu!”
We got aboard the second launch, which was a replica of the first in every respect, and in five minutes were heading out into the river. Then, at Yu’s suggestion, O’Grady and I went below. Before we went, however, we saw the first launch, well ahead of us, go toward the other side of the river, while upon her converged several craft that had been lying in wait, apparently.
Of Nanfu or what happened to the other launch, we saw nothing; the small cabin ports gave us no view at all, being obscured by waves most of the time.
When Yu at length summoned us above, the river was empty save for a couple of salt junks, and we settled down beneath the after-awning with a cold drink apiece. Before that drink had disappeared, we rounded a sweeping curve of the river and came into sight of our old friend Schneider.
A big launch was laid up, well heeled over, too, in some bad white-water to the left. We headed over that way and ran to within a hundred feet of her, the engines slowing down. Schneider, who had been waving for help, recognized us and desisted; he stood staring, in furious dismay and consternation.
“Nice day, old chap!” shouted O’Grady, lifting his glass. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye!”
Yu, standing beside us, chuckled. Schneider shook his fist and shouted something that was lost on the wind. Later, I was to regret not having listened to his words.
“Sorry we can’t stop,” I shouted, for we were upwind. “Take your time, Schneider! No hurry at all, so far as you’re concerned.”
He shouted something else that was lost, although O’Grady’s name reached us, and shook his fist again. Then we were past and churning upriver once more, and I judged that we had left all enemies behind us.
Late that afternoon we landed, found mules and a complete camping-equipment waiting for us, and started into the mountains.
IV
When darkness fell that night, with the promise of the full moon ahead, we were toiling along a narrow and winding mountain road, which was no more than a trail. I thought in my folly that all our troubles were past, little reckoning what country we were in, and little knowing what this thirty miles of mountain road was to bring.
I was now definitely in command. Our six mafus had come from farther up the river, with their mules, to meet us, and knew nothing about our business; they were faithful men, however, armed with rifles. Two of them knew the way to Kiuling and served as guides. Yu was of course with us, also the steward from the launch, who acted as cook. There was a small tent for O’Grady and me, but little other baggage.
We expected to reach Kiuling sometime the following night, depending of course on the moon to light our way. Also, the roads would be deserted after dark, since tigers were plentiful in the district. Hearing this, O’Grady joyfully demanded a rifle, which was provided, and took the lead with one of the guides.
The trail was nothing short of vile, and I marveled that French should have come to such a place as Kiuling. Nowhere was there any road that a horse could have managed; we continually wound along steep, rocky hillsides, circling valleys which were pits of blackness in the moonlight, crossing swaying bamboo suspension bridges one at a time. The path wound about and meandered insanely, for there were no towns between us and Kiuling; but a straight trail would of course be open to devils, and so we curved.
A little after midnight, clouds which had gradually swept up the sky overspread the moon. Yu, just behind me, sniffed the air uneasily.
“Rain,” he commented. I shrugged and dismissed the prophecy.
The mafus wanted to stop with the darkness, but I ordered them to keep going for three hours, then halt for hot tea and food. We went on, O’Grady still in the lead, and after a bit, at a wide spot, I came up and fell in beside him. Then the trail narrowed and we had to go single file again.
It was no easy matter riding along that path in the darkness. We had to trust solely to the mules and the guide. Now we would be skirting some narrow ledge above a precipice, and again the trail would zigzag up a hillside of loose shale and talus. Yet, by a miracle, we kept forging ahead.
It was two o’clock—I had just glanced at my watch. We were scrambling up one of those cursed slopes, with a long treeless fall of rock below us, when my mule lost his footing. His hind legs went over the edge, and he scrambled there for a moment, snorting wildly. I had absolutely no warning, could not get out of the saddle; I could feel the poor beast slipping backward, his fore hooves hanging to the rock.
Then O’Grady’s voice was in my ear. “Steady does it, me lad. Now, then, up with ye!”
He was out of his saddle, standing there before me, hauling the mule back by sheer strength. An instant later, with a laugh, he was gone to his own beast once more, leaving me more shaken than I cared to confess.
This was the second time O’Grady had saved my life.
It was bitter cold that night. At three o’clock, coming to a fairly wide stretch of road between trees, I ordered a halt until dawn. The weather looked more like snow than rain to me, but so far there was no sign of either, save the heavy clouds.
Within ten minutes we had roaring fires going, for the uneasiness of the mules showed that tiger were nearby; besides, if we had beaten our opponents this far, we would certainly beat them into Kittling, and there was no object in freezing to death from too much precaution.
As we were about to open the packs, O’Grady sauntered up to the fire with a package.
“Here’s some first-chop tea for all hands,” he said, “as a contribution. Bought it in Fuchow; remember, Breck?”
I nodded, smiling at thought of how we had seen the sights that afternoon. I recalled that the Irishman had insisted on buying some extra
