Meng Hu called to his heels for assistance. He ran and ran, till the hills were far behind. Every now and again he murmured sadly: “How wise were the old men. They said that an animal would be my downfall. A wolf. A mock wolf was my undoing.”
The lowland was a pleasant country, with here and there a ripening field, and here and there a forest. Young Meng stood at the edge of a wood, casting about for a bed to serve him the night. A clatter of hoofs broke the silence. Some twenty men or more dashed into view. From their weapons and general swashbuckling appearance Meng knew them to be robbers. And knowing—he swiftly clambered up a tree.
The robbers halted and gazed about them right and left. Their chieftain said: “I thought I saw a man here. If you find him, kill him, for the people hereabouts are fierce enemies. Ho. . . . What’s That in Yonder Leafy Tree?”
Meng Hu could imagine a knife at his throat. He shook the tree with his trembling. Nevertheless, his wits worked faithfully. From his lips came the scolding chatter of hou erh (the monkey). It was exceedingly well done. The robber chieftain laughed. “Only a monkey—and what vile names he seems to call us. Ho. Ho. Ho. Only a silly monkey.”
Meng Hu tossed down a ripened fruit from the tree—that being the way of all monkeys. The fruit spattered its juices in the chieftain’s eyes. “What a sweet-tempered old brute,” complained the chief. “Hurry on. We’ve no time to waste with a monkey.”
The robbers rode deeper into the forest and under a spreading tree dismounted. Meng Hu, now feeling that he was a match for forty robbers, followed the trail and spied upon the camp. He saw the knaves divide their booty—gold and jewels flashing in the firelight. There were bales of rich silk; brocades and moires—all rich stuffs. The eyes of Meng popped with amazement. He wished that some day he might own such treasure. But why not own it at once—why wait for some day? Could there be any way to take it from the robbers? He shut his dazzled eyes and thought.
The night was at its most eerie hour—the hour when whitened ghosts appear—when the yao mo (the ghosts that have no chins) appear. A monkey chattered in frantic warning. The robber chief awoke and said to his men: “Do you hear that sound? Monkeys always make such alarm when danger is near. That monkey warns us—a tiger is near. Get to your horses.”
Before the thieves could mount their horses, the horror-striking, the flesh-chilling roar of a tiger filled the forest. Instantly the horses dashed away. Shrieking with fear the brigands followed. Three roars emptied the camp. Six roars emptied the forest. Between roars Meng Hu found breath enough to murmur: “How wise were the old men of the village. They said that an animal would bring me my fortune. A tiger. A pretty tiger am I. Ho. Ho. Ho.” And he roared again for good measure.
Morning’s glow was still faint in the east when Meng rounded up the horses. Those that had strayed too far he ignored. No telling when the robbers would return. Besides, the boy had plenty, in all conscience. As blithe as any bobolink he bobbed up and down, pounding the road toward Chang An, the capital city.