She looked at me.
“Why, rain! I never before saw a girl who could sit in a driving rain and look prettier than ever!”
A flush crept up into her dripping cheeks and then a smile into her eyes.
“You haven’t red hair for nothing, have you?” she retorted. “May I tie up your shoulder?”
“You may not—just yet. But I wish you’d retrieve that swagger stick of mine; it’s kicking around in the bottom there—”
She got the swagger stick safely, and I stuck it into my hip pocket, under my coat, to brace up my backbone. I was beginning to need stiffening. But Rosoff was worse off than I, for the poor devil was reeling on his feet, and despite the anguish was clinging with his shattered hand to the gunnel.
And behind us the other boat still came on, a little closer if anything.
“Some boats ahead!” cried out Mary suddenly. “At anchor!”
“’Ware boats!” I yelled at Groot. He leaned forward, squinted fearfully, and then nodded. We were going at a pretty good clip by this time, and I was beginning to wonder how long the mast and sail would stand the strain.
“We’re almost at the mouth of the river!” exclaimed Mary. The rain came in swooping gusts, thicker than ever. “I remember those boats were anchored there when we came before.”
“Then we’re safe,” I returned, and added to myself: “None too soon, either! If I go out before the baron, I’ll make sure of him first!”
I did not need to bother, for at this instant Rosoff swayed, and then went down in a heap and lay quiet. Pain and loss of blood had put him under. There was no danger now, for the rain was so thick that even Wan Shih’s boat was indistinct.
Suddenly Mary swayed upright. A frightful cry burst from her lips. At the same instant, I saw Groot put the tiller hard down, straining at it with all the power of his body—too late! Something struck the mast, and down she came; I saw the yard catch Groot and knock him overboard like a fly, before the sail dragged over me and sent me sprawling.
CHAPTER VIII
In the Net
If you’re ever been upcountry in China, where there are no game laws, you know how those fishing craft are built. A thirty-foot craft will have what looks like a pronged bowsprit—two great bamboo poles fifty feet long, jutting up from the bows in a great Y, and curving again to the water, far apart at the outer ends. Between these poles are slung the nets.
Alan Groot had seen the bunch of boats herded side by side, and had steered to clear them, not by too great a margin lest we strike a shoal. What we had not seen, however, were those damnable bamboos sticking out like huge spider legs. We went slap into them, the mast was knocked out of us, and the springy bamboos brought us to a cradled halt.
I was trying to get out from under that infernal matting sail, and to find my pistol, when there came an exultant yelling from Wan Shin’s boat, and then a tremendous crash as they sailed bang into us. That crash settled me. It flung me across the boat, I brought up against my wounded shoulder, and the last thing I heard was the crack of a gun.
When I came to myself, things were different again. We were on solid ground.
Groot, looking considerably the worse for wear, was holding me while Mary Fisher bound up my shoulder. They had cut away half my coat, which made me rather a sight. However, Mary pinned on the sleeve after lashing my arm to my side. My feet were bound. So, I perceived, were those of Alan Groot.
The shock of the two craft slamming into them had dislodged the fishing boats from their crude moorings, and they were strewn along the shore, where Wan Shih’s men were drawing them up stern first for safety.
We were on the shore also, sitting on the sand in the driving downpour like castaways. The rain was beating down in sheets, hard as ever; but it was warm summer rain and nobody cared particularly. In front of us stood a priest, rifle in hand, watching us. At a little distance, Wan Shih and two other priests were giving first aid to Rosoff.
“Damn those boats!” said Alan Groot energetically. “If I’d seen the things—”
“Hello!” I contrived to grin. “Sounds as though you’d wakened up, Alan? Where did you get that bump on the jaw?”
Waked up? I’ll say he had! Mary informed me that he had been drawn aboard fighting and had fought until they downed him. Wan Shih, I was glad to observe, had a black eye.
“And I’m afraid,” she said steadily, while she pinned up my sleeve again, “that I shot somebody—”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “We’ve played a good game, and we’ve lost. Did they get your gun?”
She nodded, unable to speak. She had caught the gun knocked out of my hand when the sail bore me down.
I reflected that things were not so bad after all. Groot and I would be out of the way, of course, and it would probably be done without any great loss of time. Mary, however, had gained quite a reprieve.
It would be some time before Baron Rosoff would be in any shape to molest her, and by then, I trusted, the worthy baron would be translated to another sphere. Somebody in Cheng-tu was certain to recognize the body of John Li. Besides, I had sent word where I was going. When I failed to show up, the Heart-resting-place was due for an investigation. If I knew the military governor, and I knew him pretty well, he would have started some action by this time.
I said as much to Alan.
“Now that you’ve got on your fighting clothes,” I said, “keep wearing them and we’ll go down game! Mary’s all right. In two or three days, at the outside, there’ll be a sound of revelry by night, and the Heart-resting-place will be raided.”
“Oh!” Alan blinked at me. “All I’m sorry for is that I shan’t be there to see it!”
“Well,” I said reflectively, “maybe we’ll be sticking around. If there’s anything to this table-tipping stuff, you and I may be floating around to twang a harp when they string up the baron. If we can hunt up a slate in Cheng-tu, maybe we can jot down a message about hanging him instead of shooting him. That was my idea all along. The main thing will be to get hold of a good honest medium who can get the message proper—”
“Stop it—stop it!” cried out Mary, so suddenly that the guardian priest jumped and threw up his gun in alarm. Tears were blending with the rain on the girl’s face. “Oh, how can you talk that way when—”
“What do you want us to do?” growled Alan. “Hold a lodge of sorrow?”
“Don’t use slang, Alan,” I reproved him. “What would they say in Berkeley if they heard such language on your chaste lips?”
“Shut your blamed mouth!” snapped Groot. “If I could get this confounded cord off my feet, I’d make ’em sorry yet that they picked on me!”
“If that’s all you want, it’s easy,” I responded. “You twist over so you’re facing me, with your feet conveniently near. Mary, be so kind as to get that swagger stick out of the small of my back. It’s made of steel, so unfortunately
