Held by Chinese Brigands

Frank turned and looked towards the south. In this direction were green trees, green fields-a plain, rich, fertile, well-watered and thickly populated. It was almost impossible to believe that a narrow watershed could divide landscapes so different that they might have been scenes from different planets. He glanced again at the dark sinister valley; and as he did so he caught a glimpse of something red, moving slowly across the spur that formed the angle of the two valleys immediately below.

He could not at first make out what this could be, for the moving object almost at once disappeared behind a hillock. When it appeared again, however, it was in mid-valley; and he recognised a party of men dressed in scarlet coats, who were marching in close formation, making in the direction of the pass across the range.

Frank knelt down behind a boulder and watched with interest, and not without apprehension, the approaching figures. A natural instinct warned him that it would not be wise to show himself. There was something in the forbidding nature of the valley itself that warned him that its sole occupants were not likely to be men whom one could trust.

They climbed the bridle-path, gaining at last the pass whence Frank himself had ascended to the hill-top. They were now easy to distinguish. The party numbered about thirty. They were brown-skinned Chinese, evidently mountain-born; all were armed with scythe-like spears or long, curved knives, and one or two carried pistols in their belts. All wore scarlet coats, some of which were bright and new, others being so faded that they were a kind of dirty pink. At the head of the party marched a little shrivelled man, whose scarlet coat was trimmed with gold. Frank Armitage did not know it-though within eight hours he was to learn the truth-but this was the redoubtable Cheong-Chau himself-the brigand chief who plundered the southern provinces from the Nan-ling Mountains to the sea.

As they passed, swinging on their way, these men sang a low, wailing chant that might have been a funeral dirge, but which was, in fact, a pirate song of blood and lust and murder. At the rear of the party was an old man, seated upon the back of a short-necked Mongolian pony. This was Men-Ching, who had ridden post-haste from the city of Canton, bringing greetings to Cheong-Chau from Ah Wu, who kept an opium den in the vicinity of the Mohammedan mosque.

Men-Ching had seen Yung How in the city of Wu-chau, and had there heard news of the ancient Taoist temple upon the southern slopes of the mountains. And Cheong-Chau had shaken off the sleep of opium and, gathering his men, had issued from the town of Pinglo, and had marched by night into the mountains, the sovereignty of which he shared with the eagles and the kites.

CHAPTER V-HOW CHEONG-CHAU STRUCK AT DEAD OF NIGHT

It was late by the time Frank returned to the temple, where he found his uncle and Mr Waldron engaged in an animated discussion upon the subject of the untapped resources of China. The boy had taken some time to climb down the mountain-side. Having no wish to fall into the hands of the scarlet-coated band who had descended into the valley to the south, he had given the bridle-path a wide berth, with the result that he had been obliged to go down upon all fours, and descend stealthily foot by foot.

He lost no time in relating to his uncle all that he had seen. The judge was somewhat surprised, but he did not show any signs of being nervous.

"I trust they didn't see you, Frank?" he asked.

"I have no doubt as to that," replied the boy. "I remained hidden all the time. Besides, they were immediately below me, and I should have noticed if any man had looked up."

The judge shrugged his shoulders.

"All's well that ends well," said he. "Nevertheless we may consider ourselves lucky. There can be no question that the party you saw was one of the brigand bands that are said to infest these mountains. We are far from civilisation. We could expect neither mercy nor consideration if we fell into the hands of such desperate rascals."

"Judge," said Mr Waldron, "it looks as if I may have a use for my six-shooter after all."

"I don't think so," said the judge. "Frank was wise enough not to show himself, and the men went down into the valley. There is no reason why they should know anything about our presence in the neighbourhood."

It was then that Yung How appeared, silently, from the midst of the deep shadows beneath the temple ruins. He moved stealthily and with something of the supple grace of a cat.

"Master," said he, "dinner is served."

"Thank you," said the judge. But Yung How remained, his features calm and expressionless, a table-napkin thrown over his left forearm, after the manner of waiters all the world across.

"Guess," said Mr Waldron, "I shall sleep with my gun ready loaded."

"That is no more than a wise precaution," said the judge, "and we should be well advised to post a sentry. We could divide the night into three watches of three hours each. Frank, as the youngest, shall take the first watch, from nine to twelve; I myself propose to take the middle watch, from twelve to three-unless you, Mr Waldron, would prefer it?"

"As you like, Judge," replied the American. "Early morning suits me well enough. In the old days in Texas, six days out of seven I was in the saddle before sunrise."

"Master," repeated Yung How, "dinner is served."

The judge whipped round upon his servant. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You have announced dinner already. We are all hungry enough not to forget it."

"Very good dinner," said Yung How, lapsing into pidgin-English, and without moving a muscle of his face. "Hot soup, all belong one piece tin; number one fish, all belong river; two piece chicken and top-side apricots, all belong tin, all same soup."

"And a very good dinner too," said the judge. "The sooner we get to work the better."

They dined by the light of a Chinese lantern suspended from one of the branches of an almond-tree, beneath the temple wall, where they were sheltered from the cool evening breeze that was blowing from the west. The thin mountain air, after the insufferable, humid atmosphere of the river valley, had served to give them a healthy appetite. The soup was half cold, the chickens were very tough, and the West River fish tasted horribly of mud; for all that, hungry men, encamped in a wilderness many miles from the nearest outpost of civilisation, will regard such fare as delicacies. They ate with a relish everything that Yung How placed before them, and washed down their meal with pannikins of crystal-clear water from the mountain spring that flowed past the temple.

After dinner the judge lighted his pipe, and Mr Hennessy K. Waldron one of his choice Manila cheroots. They talked of many things, but above all of China, of its immensity and mystery, its wealth, vitality, and future. And then the judge and Mr Waldron spread their blankets and laid them down to sleep.

There is no life in the world to compare with that which is lived in the open air. A moss-grown bank supplied a bed as comfortable as any spring mattress. The wind, gently stirring the leaves of the trees, the distant croaking of the frogs, and the singing of the crickets, combined to form a sort of lullaby that soothed and enticed the wayfarers to slumber. There was no moon that night; but in a sky unbroken by a single cloud, a gorgeous canopy of stars illumined a scene that might have made a fitting setting for a fairy-tale.

Frank Armitage selected his sentry-post at the foot of a great tree immediately before the temple steps. Hence he was able to obtain a fair view both of the bivouac and the mountain slope to the south. Knowing, however, that it would be wise not to neglect the northern side of the temple, he decided to patrol the entire building at least once every quarter of an hour. Armed with Mr Waldron's revolver, he kept well in the shade, knowing that a good sentry is one who observes without himself being seen.

An hour passed and then another hour, without the occurrence of anything unusual. The judge and Mr Waldron were both sound asleep, the latter snoring loudly. Yung How and his companion lay in the shadow of the temple wall: the former curled up in his blankets, the coolie lying flat upon his back, his mouth wide open, dreaming, perhaps, that he was back in the Chinese quarter of Hong-Kong, where lived his wife and seven children, all of whom he supported upon the astonishing sum-expressed in English coinage-of nineteen shillings a month.

Frank, as he went his rounds, frequently paused to listen. The frogs and the crickets continued their uproar. The wind murmured in the trees; once or twice he could hear wild-duck flying high in the night sky towards the north, towards the great marshes of the Yangtsi and the Yellow River. But no other sound disturbed the silence of the night.

In course of time he came to consider the utmost vigilance unnecessary. He began to interest himself in trivial things. Mr Waldron had ceased to snore and Yung How was engaged in a kind of duet with the coolie. They snored alternately, the one on a deeper note than the other. Frank paused upon one of his rounds and stood for a moment looking down upon the two sleeping Chinese, thinking how vastly different from himself they were. Then he passed on upon his way, conscious that as the hour grew later the air was becoming colder. On that account, it was advisable to keep moving. He walked round the front of the temple, across the great stone steps leading to the entrance, and found himself on the farther side of the ruined, rambling building. There, in the deep shadow of a tall, gabled gateway, he stopped quite suddenly, thinking that he had heard a twig snap underfoot.

He was so sure of this that almost at once he became aware that his heart was beating rapidly. He held the revolver in his hand, gripping the handle tightly. The starlight enabled him to see a considerable distance, except where the shadows were deep under the temple wall itself and beneath the trees.

At his right hand was a massive stone pillar that supported the roof of the gateway. He stood stock-still, listening; and then, close to him, he heard a sound that might have been the wind, but which, on the other hand, might have been the heavy breathing of a man. As quick as thought, he stepped behind the pillar, and at once, quite suddenly, and yet without noise or violence, his revolver was taken from his hand.

For the fraction of a second he was too astonished to cry out. He took a quick step backward, which brought him into the starlight, and at that moment both his wrists were grasped, and he beheld before him a face, sinister, fierce, and yet expressionless. It was the face of Yung How, his uncle's servant.

He let out a shout, a loud cry for help-a shout that was stifled in a second. Someone had seized him from behind. The palm of a hand was placed so tightly upon his mouth that he found it difficult to breathe.

For a moment he endeavoured to struggle, but soon realised the uselessness of an attempt to extricate himself by physical force. He had been seized by at least three men; and almost before he had time to recover from his surprise, he was thrown violently upon the ground, his hands bound behind his back, and a gag thrust between his teeth.

He lay quite motionless, wondering what had happened, and what would happen next. Men were talking in whispers in harsh Cantonese voices, but too softly for him to catch the meaning of their words.

He was bidden rise. He hesitated a moment, and was then lifted bodily to be dumped down upon his feet. He found himself confronted by a Chinaman who was small in stature, the skin of whose face was wrinkled and weather-beaten. This man wore a scarlet coat, richly embroidered with gold thread that glittered in the starlight. He came quite close to Frank, and peered into the boy's face, grinning from ear to ear, showing dirty, fang-like teeth-teeth that resembled those of a dog.

The boy turned away in disgust, and looked straight into the face of Yung How. Yung How neither smiled nor lowered his eyes. He appeared to be neither delighted nor ashamed. His features were expressionless; his eyes looked straight into Frank's. Behind Yung How stood some twenty men, all dressed in scarlet coats. Frank took them in at a glance, and the thought flashed across his mind that it would be difficult to select from the party the one who appeared the greatest villain, whose countenance was the most hideous and repulsive. They were Cantonese of the coolie class, high of cheek-bone, with low, receding foreheads, and cruel, snake-like eyes.

The man who was wearing the gold embroidered coat turned and walked rapidly towards the temple steps, ordering the others to follow him. Frank was led forward, a great raw-boned Chinaman on either side of him, each of whom grasped him tightly by an arm. He was made to ascend the steps, and was brought to a halt in the shadow of the porchway of the temple.

Hence he could look down upon the sheltered glade where he and his friends had been encamped for two days. In the starlight he could see the figures of his uncle and Mr Waldron, both of whom were still fast asleep.

So far, all that had happened had come to pass so rapidly that Frank had not had time to feel alarmed. But now, when he beheld his uncle-as he had every reason to believe-in the greatest danger, he was filled with apprehension. He made a lurch forward as if he would escape-for his feet had not been bound-but he was at once roughly thrown back by the men who guarded him, one of whom struck him a violent blow in the face.

At that moment it was as if the boy was incapable of feeling physical pain or moral indignation. He was filled with remorse. He had been given a position of responsibility and trust-and he had failed pitifully. And now, perhaps his uncle's life was in danger.

He was obliged to remain an impotent and conscience-stricken spectator of the scene that followed. He could neither cry out nor hasten to the assistance of his friends. He saw both his uncle and Mr Waldron seized whilst they were sound asleep, handled roughly by savage, lawless men; gagged and bound, and then led into the great hall of the temple.

As soon as they were all inside, about a dozen torches were lit, and these were planted upright between the stone flags that paved the floor; so that they resembled as many candles, illuminating that fantastic, mediæval chamber.

Indeed, it is almost impossible to imagine a scene more weird and dream-like. The three captives in the centre of the hall; the evil-looking, criminal faces of the brigands, made to look even more alarming and sinister by the flickering light of the torches; and around that great, dingy room, the implacable, sedate, inevitable figures of the Chinese gods and goddesses, over whom presided the huge Buddha, seated cross-legged upon a stone plinth, immediately opposite the entrance.

Frank Armitage caught his uncle's eye. He tried his utmost to convey in a glance the remorse and anguish he endured. Sir Thomas must have understood him, for he slowly shook his head. Then someone from the back of the room commanded that everyone should be seated; and when this order had been complied with, one man alone remained upon his feet. This was he whose scarlet coat was embroidered heavily with gold, who now stepped into the centre of the circle, where he stood in the full light of the torches.

"I am Cheong-Chau," he cried. "And those who fall into the hands of Cheong-Chau must pay in silver taels or else in blood."

CHAPTER VI-HOW CHEONG-CHAU STATED HIS TERMS

The situation in which the judge and his companions found themselves was certainly not of the pleasantest. It so happened that Sir Thomas knew nothing of the reputation of the redoubtable Cheong-Chau. However, the man's character was made evident upon every feature of his face.

Standing in the centre of the hall, gesticulating wildly, he harangued his audience for the better part of twenty minutes without once pausing for breath. Sir Thomas was sufficiently acquainted with the Cantonese language to follow the drift of the man's speech, whereas Frank was able to understand every word. Mr Waldron, of course, comprehended nothing.

The American was under the impression that he was about to be put to death. He regarded, with a kind of timorous curiosity, the murderous weapons of the bandits and the villainous facial contortions of Cheong-Chau. The man held forth in the flowery language of the Chinese of the southern provinces. He talked a great deal about his own power and cruelty. He did not seem to care in the least whether or not anyone listened to him. He boasted in regard to his past crimes; he spoke of his courage and audacity; he uttered innumerable threats. And in the end the captives were led away into one of the smaller rooms that gave upon the great hall of the temple.

There they remained until late the following evening, when the whole party-with the exception of Yung How, who returned to Canton-set out across the mountains, traversing the narrow pass from above which Frank Armitage had first beheld the brigands. They entered, at dead of night, the bleak, desolate valley extending towards the north. Cheong-Chau himself led the way, following a path, carrying in his hand a large Chinese lantern suspended from a pole about six feet long.

Daylight found them still upon the line-of-march. They had by then ascended to a high altitude, where the atmosphere was both cold and damp. The crests of the mountains were wreathed in a thin white mist, similar to that which is found in Scotland, which drenched them to the skin.

They were brought to a halt at the mouth of a certain cave, in a very desolate, inhospitable region-a country of sheer barren slopes, rugged peaks and turbulent mountain streams that descended thousands of feet in series of roaring cataracts. They had been conducted to a spot upon the globe's surface where, in all probability, no white man had ever been before.

The entrance to the cave was hidden behind an enormous boulder, almost as big as a fair-sized house, which balanced itself upon the very brink of a steep slope that descended at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Upon these slopes a few withered shrubs were growing: leafless, twisted things, tortured by the bitter east winds that swept those cheerless valleys.

Inside, the cave was comparatively comfortable. In the centre a wood fire was burning brightly, and though this filled the place with smoke, it served to introduce both light and warmth into that gloomy prison; for indeed the cave was destined, for many days to come, to play the part of a prison. For all that, some attempt had been made to give this place a homely aspect. Several Chinese mats were spread upon the floor, and there were wooden shelves loaded with provisions: dried fish, rice, and bags of green China tea.

To give so redoubtable a rogue as Cheong-Chau the little justice he deserves, it must be stated that his captives were treated with every consideration. They were well fed, on simple Chinese food, which must have been carried miles across the desolate mountains upon the backs of coolies. They were given straw mattresses upon which to sleep, and were allowed to warm themselves by the fire. Mr Waldron-as the only member of the party who was a stranger to the country-expressed the greatest anxiety in regard to their fate. His mind was filled with vague fears to the effect that their lives were being preserved in order that they might eventually be tortured. He had interested himself in all manner of gruesome subjects; he had heard of the "death by a thousand cuts," the Chinese "corkscrew," and the wholesale manner in which Cantonese executions were usually carried out. None the less, he was not afraid. He was a man who had led a hard life, who had faced danger more than once, and who had learnt-in spite of his riches-to regard his own existence as by no means an essential part of the great scheme of universal things. He speculated in regard to his destiny after the manner of a man who backs horses without knowing anything whatsoever about what-for some reason or other-has been called "the sport of kings."

"Say, Judge," said he, "I don't cotton to this notion of a thousand cuts. Guess one cut's enough for me. If they're going to kill us, why don't they do it and have done with it, instead of stuffing us full of rice and rotten fish?"

Sir Thomas shook his head.

"There is every reason to suppose," he answered, "that this is a case of ransom. If this rascal had meant to murder us he would have done so before emptying our pockets of all the money, watches and valuables in our possession. You may be sure, Mr Waldron, he has brought us here for a purpose. That is not troubling me in the least."

"It troubles me," said the American. "I left Paradise City with the idea of seeing the world; but I guess, Judge, this is one side of human experience that it was not my original intention to investigate. Wish I was back in Nevada."

Frank Armitage laughed aloud. It was the first time he had done so since the calamity had befallen them. Sir Thomas sat cross-legged by the fire, stirring the embers with a stick, his brows set in a frown.

"Even now," said he, in a quiet voice, "even now I can't realise that Yung How is the unmitigated villain he is."

Frank bit his lip. "If I ever get the chance," said he, "I'll be even with that scoundrel."

"He has been in my service," continued Sir Thomas, "for nearly seven years. During the whole of that period he has never once given me cause to suspect or to mistrust him. That shows you very clearly, Mr Waldron, what a subtle rascal a Chinaman can be. For seven years he has been obedient, faithful, and even honest; and yet-it is now apparent-all that time he was but waiting his chance."

Mr Waldron made a wry face.

"Guess he might have waited another seven years," said he, "or at least till I was clear of Hong-Kong. Why his chance should have come the moment I arrive in the colony is a mystery to me."

"I am sorry to say, Mr Waldron," said Sir Thomas, "I can't regard that coincidence in the light of a mystery. I have a very shrewd suspicion that your wealth is the sole cause of all our trouble."

"Not the first time," added Mr Waldron, "by a long chalk, that money has led to disaster. I tell you frankly, I was a happier man in the old days-when I lived on fifteen dollars a week-than after I had made my pile."

"I can very well believe it," said Sir Thomas. "That, however, doesn't alter the situation in the least. Mark my words, very soon Cheong-Chau will show his hand."

It is clear that the judge had correctly estimated both the circumstances of the case and the character of Cheong-Chau; for scarcely had the last words left his lips when the brigand chieftain himself entered the cave, accompanied by Men-Ching, his second-in-command.

Cheong-Chau seated himself cross-legged upon the ground, and for a few moments warmed his hands by the fire, without uttering a word. Then he spoke in the Cantonese language, addressing himself to the judge:

"Those who fall into the hands of Cheong-Chau," said he, "must purchase their freedom in silver taels or in blood."

The judge did not reply. After a pause Cheong-Chau continued. Though he was a little man, his voice was both deep and guttural. He spoke slowly and with great deliberation, as if particularly desirous that his words should not be misunderstood.

"I make you a fair offer," said he. "It is not my habit to mince matters. I hold you captive. You are my prisoner. I can do with you what I like. No one will ever find you here. Neither can you escape; day and night there are sentries at the mouth of the cave. They tell me that you have the reputation of being a wise man. If that is so, you cannot fail to see that you and your companions are in my power-birds caught in the fowler's net."

He paused again and looked at the judge, who merely nodded his head.

"This is my offer," he continued. "After I have explained matters I shall give you ten minutes in which to make up your mind. You are to write a letter to the Governor of Hong-Kong, or to anyone else you may choose. In that letter you are to say that your life, and the lives of those who are with you, are in the hands of Cheong-Chau, and that Cheong-Chau demands, as the price of your freedom, the sum of twenty thousand Hong-Kong dollars, to be paid in cash before the new moon."