Held by Chinese Brigands

Like a thunderbolt, Ling descended to the ground. His great weight fell upon Chin Yen. The man let out a loud cry, prompted by acute and sudden pain. Then he lay upon the ground, groaning and writhing with a broken arm.

Ling himself staggered, and with difficulty maintained his balance. Indeed, he only succeeded in doing so by laying hands upon the terrified Tong.

The man had no time to fire. He was snatched from off the ground. He endeavoured to struggle, but his efforts were hopeless. His revolver was wrenched from his hand and thrown far across the glade. Then he himself was hurled after it, thrown away like a half-filled sack. In his descent his head struck the side of one of the fallen images, and he lay upon the ground, motionless and stunned.

In the meantime, Cheong-Chau had made the most of the only chance he was ever likely to have. He had fired at Ling at almost point-blank range. Frank, who still lay upon the ground, heard a loud groan issue from the lips of Ling, and a moment after he was just able to perceive the dark blood flowing slowly from the man's side and staining his long silken robe.

Cheong-Chau, thinking that he had done his work, turned with the intention of seeking safety in flight. He was caught by the pigtail, and jerked backward, as a boy might flick a top. A moment after he found himself held by the great hands of Ling, gripped by both forearms, so that he felt as if he were wedged in a mighty vice.

Fear took strong hold upon him. He knew, no doubt, that his last hour had come. He shrieked in pain and in terror, calling upon his followers to hasten to his help. But Tong lay senseless, and Chin Yen had already gathered himself together and taken to his heels like one possessed.

Let it be said for Cheong-Chau that he made no plea for mercy. On the contrary, he reviled his adversary, making use of a string of Chinese oaths to which the boy was a stranger. And then he kicked, his legs being the only part of him which was free. The more violently he kicked and struggled, the greater became the pressure upon his arms; until at last he was obliged to desist, lest his very bones should be broken. Suddenly he became limp from exhaustion and despair.

"Have you done?" asked Ling. His voice was deep and very low, and there was in it something of a tremor that made it plain to Frank that the man suffered considerable pain.

Cheong-Chau made no answer.

"Listen," said Ling. "Last night, had I wished, I might have killed you. I did not do so. The more fool I! And now, you have shot me. I am wounded, perhaps mortally-I cannot say."

"We are old enemies," said Cheong-Chau.

Ling laughed. In his laugh there was something of his old boisterous manner; but at the same time, it was manifest from his voice that he was already weak from loss of blood.

"The wolf," said he, "was never an enemy of the tiger, nor can the rat be the foe of the dog. You, Cheong-Chau, are vermin. I would lose all pride in myself, in my strength and dignity, if I killed you otherwise than with my hands."

A shudder ran through the thin frame of the brigand chief. He had lived a life of crime; he had sinned, time and again, against the gods and his fellow-men, but he was no coward; he had always known that, sooner or later, he must die a violent death.

He had thought that fate would bring him to the dreadful Potter's Yard, the public and official place of execution in the city of Canton. The inevitable conclusion of the West River pirate is the block. So Cheong-Chau was prepared to die.

"You will not torture me?" he asked.

"I would," said Ling, "if I meted out to you the fate you have more than once prepared for others. But I am no such fiend. Moreover, I have no time to spare. I go down-stream to-night on your own junk, with the ransom money that you thought was yours. I go where tide and current take me-perhaps to live for the remainder of my days upon the fatness of the earth; perhaps to find my way amidst the stars in search of the Unknowable."

"What do you mean?" asked the other.

"I mean that-for all I know-the sands of life are running out. The blood issues from my wound. It may be that the breath of life goes with it. And now, you die, by what strength remains in me."

Frank Armitage was not able to see how it was done-indeed, he turned away, and covered his eyes with a hand. It seems that Cheong-Chau was taken by the throat and that either he was strangled or his neck was broken. At any rate, it was all done in silence. The lifeless body of the man was allowed to fall to the ground, and then Ling turned to the boy.

"Are you safe?" he asked.

Frank rose to his feet, but did not answer. Ling placed a hand upon his shoulder. The boy felt that he was called upon to sustain much of the man's great weight.

"You must help me," said Ling. "I am hurt badly. You must help me-back to the junk."

Together they left the wood and came out into the starlight. The moon was already risen. It was crescent-shaped and very thin. Ling was breathing heavily.

"In two days," said he, "it will be a new moon, but I do not think I shall behold it. There is something to be said for the creed of the Mohammedans, who hold the belief that the lives of us all, down to the most insignificant details, are written in an unalterable Book of Fate. I wonder," said he. "I wonder."

They walked slowly upon the river bank, Ling still leaning upon his young companion. Presently they came to the boat, which they had hidden amongst the rushes. Ling seated himself in the bows, and as he did so he groaned again. Frank, placing himself in the stern, took hold of the little oar.

"Come," said Ling, "row me to the junk."

CHAPTER XXVI-OF GREED OF GOLD

When they reached the junk, Ling was not able to ascend by means of the rope up which he had swarmed so easily before. Frank went on deck, and finding a rope ladder, lowered it over the side of the ship.

By means of this Ling climbed to the deck, whence he descended to the cabin below, where the paraffin lamp was still burning brightly.

He asked Frank to procure for him a bucket of river water; and whilst the boy was absent, the man took off his coat and the thin under-vest that he wore. The bullet had passed under his ribs, on the left side of his body. The wound, which was still bleeding profusely, was a great, ugly rent. When Frank returned with water he was at once shocked and astonished to observe the expression upon the man's face.

His features were pinched and drawn and haggard. The agony he suffered had caused deep lines to appear upon his forehead and about his mouth, and his eyes seemed to have sunk into his head. Beyond doubt, any other man would have fainted; but Ling was possessed of something of the vitality of a cat. He was able to speak with difficulty, yet his mind was perfectly clear. Assisted by the boy, he washed and dressed his wound.

He had evidently small regard for antiseptics, for in place of lint and iodoform, he utilised ordinary ship's tow, which he held in place by means of a silk sash tied tightly round his waist. Then he ordered Frank to search the ship for opium.

The boy found a bowl of the treacle-like substance upon a table in the cabin. This he brought to Ling, together with an opium pipe and a spirit-lamp.

The man smiled, at the same time thanking the boy for his kindness.

"I am too far gone to smoke," said he. "I desire to be released from pain."

At that, he dipped his hand into the bowl and proceeded to eat the contents. The boy stood by, amazed. He knew enough of the potency of the drug to believe that Ling had swallowed enough to kill himself. He knew nothing, however, of the man's capacity for consuming poisonous doses of morphine.

In a few minutes the drug began to work. His eyes, which had become dull, grew brighter; the wrinkles slowly vanished from his face. When he spoke, his voice was stronger.

"You may think," said he to Frank, "that the tables are turned, that you are now master of the situation. It may have occurred to you that you have but to go into the other room to release your European friends, and then it will be an easy thing to overpower a wounded man. I assure you, that is not the case."

"I had no such thought," said Frank.

Ling smiled again, regarding the boy even kindly-if such an expression may be used in regard to a man whose face was like that of a hawk.

"You are my friend," said he. "I know not why I like you. I think, because you are brave. I am not fool enough to believe for a moment that you love me; but I am sure that you have always realised that I am a just man, whereas Cheong-Chau was no better than a fiend. I would have you to understand-lest I be forced to harm you-that, wounded as I am, I am still master of this ship and master of you. My strength is going rapidly from me, as the tide goes down upon the margin of the sea, or as the sun sets when the day draws to its close. But I can still shoot, and if you play me false I shall kill you. Whilst the breath of life is within me, you will be wise to obey my orders."

He got to his feet, and walking more briskly than before, ascended to the upper deck, followed by Frank. There they hoisted the sail, and going to the forepart of the ship, hauled up the anchor. A minute later, the junk was sailing slowly down the river in the starlight, Ling holding the tiller.

With a skill that proved that he had spent a portion of his life upon the sea, he steered the junk into the narrow creek which had been entered by the launch. There Ling, assisted by Frank, lowered a gangway, conducting from the deck to the shore. The sail had been hauled down and the ship secured by hawsers made fast to the trunks of trees that grew upon the edge of the water.

Frank Armitage is never likely to forget that tragic night, its grim work and pitiful conclusion. He was led by Ling to the Glade of Children's Tears-so named, perhaps, because, in a barbarous age, the murdered infants had been buried there, and the temple erected so that men might pray to the heathen gods of China for those young souls who had passed so soon into the Celestial Kingdom.

The faint, cold light of the dying moon here and there pierced the branches of the trees, so that it was possible to distinguish the old moss-clad ruins, the great fallen images, and the lifeless body of the man whose very name had once spread terror from the Nan-ling Mountains to the sea. There was no sign of Tong; the man had evidently recovered consciousness and taken to his heels.

Frank stood by, a mute and wondering spectator of the fruitless efforts of the wounded giant. The air was heavy with the scent of the blossom which was on the trees; no sound disturbed the silence save the heavy breathing of Ling, becoming shorter and shorter as he worked, and the ceaseless washing of the water against the river bank.

Ling walked to the centre of the glade. His gait was steady, though his stride shorter than usual. He stood at his full height; and had he not once or twice carried a hand to his left side, the boy might have forgotten that the man suffered grievous pain and was weak from loss of blood.

He stood for a moment, thinking. It may have been that then he prayed to the god he worshipped, the god of Confucius and Mencius and the sages of all China: the Eternal Spirit of the Universe, the Incomprehensible Wisdom of the world.

Then he passed on to the great stone, which, not without difficulty, he rolled from its place. That done, he descended into the vault below, where he struck a match, lighting a candle he had brought with him from the junk.