Under the Chinese Dragon: A Tale of Mongolia

by F. S. Brereton

'Don't mind what sort o' governor he is any way,' laughed Dick, who was feeling wonderfully jolly and facetious. 'Let's call him Hi for short. This Hi, we'll suppose, hates foreign devils like poison; but there's always Twang Chun, ain't there? There's always this jolly old boy Twang, who, we're told, is ready to wring the neck of any fellow who doesn't offer us hospitality. Bien! as Alphonse says. There we are, safe as houses.'

'Just so,' agreed David, curtly. 'All the same, I shall watch to-night. I've got a kind of feeling that something may happen.'

'Indigestion!' cried Dick. 'Better let me dose you, my boy. One of those pills of the Professor's'll make you feel as right as a hay-stack—A1, in fact. A good sleep'll put you right by morning.'

But though David enjoyed his friend's chaff, and indeed laughed heartily at his last suggestion, he shook his head when invited to turn in. Why, he could not explain. But the fact remained, indigestion or no indigestion, the lad was filled with a sense of insecurity. Perhaps it was the roughness of the Tartar under-officer, perhaps it was the sounds of brawling which had come lately to his ear—who knows? It may have been a genuine premonition. He saw Dick plump himself on the narrow kang in his room, and bade him good-night. Then he lay down on his own, his eyes wide open and staring.

'Suppose it must be indigestion,' he said after a while, 'or is it the face of this Tsu-Hi? I didn't like him. I swear I caught him scowling and muttering.'

As is so often the case with those who lie awake in the silence, David's busy brain was occupied with a vast number of things—matters some of little moment, passed and done with, others of greater interest, his own aims and ambitions in this country of China. He wondered what his stepmother was doing, and sighed when he thought of how things might have been had she been a different woman. Then his mind branched off to the sturdy sergeant of police who had lodged him, to his pleasant little wife, and to Mr. Jones, staunchest of friends and solicitors. Then he gave his thoughts to the matter always uppermost in his mind, the finding of his father's papers; perhaps the discovery of some evidence which would prove or disprove his death. Perhaps even an agreeable surprise was awaiting him. Stranger things had occurred before. It might be even that Edward Harbor was still living. Ah! there was a noise of shouting out in the street. David rose and went to the window. Gently pushing back the wooden frame, with its oiled-paper covering in lieu of glass, he stood in the moonlight listening.

'Nothing,' he told himself. 'Some brawlers, perhaps. I suppose even in this country of placid people, there are men who return late to their houses, and who make a noise in doing so. I'll leave 'em to it.'

He lay down once more, his head on his hands, and gave himself again to thinking. It seemed but a minute later when he awoke with a start, for he had been sleeping. There were men in the room, though none of them uttered so much as a syllable. Four or more gripped his hands and feet, while another thrust something between his teeth with decided roughness. Then David pulled himself together; he strained every muscle to throw off his silent attackers. He struggled, kicking one man to the end of the room, and causing the kang to topple over; but, in spite of his strength and the rage which added to it, he was helpless. The men held him as if he were in a vice. In a trice he felt ropes being tied about his hands and feet, while one of the attackers secured the gag in its place with a strip of linen, thereby almost smothering our hero. A minute later he was being carried from the room, and before he could realise what was happening, was tossed like a bundle into what was evidently a basket. And then how he kicked! He made the basket roll on its side with his efforts, while he himself was pitched half out of it; but a moment later he was hustled into the depths again, while something pricked his chest, causing him a twinge of pain.

'Lie still, fool,' he heard in English, though the man who spoke was decidedly a foreigner. 'Lie still, else will I plunge the blade home here and now. A dog of an Englishman deserves no mercy.'

Bewildered and utterly confused by all that had happened, and not a little exhausted after his efforts, David lay still as he was ordered, and presently the silent band lifted the basket and bore it between them. A gust of cool air came through the wicker, while David fancied he could see stars overhead. Or was it the light of the moon? He could not be certain, for a length of cotton matting had been thrown over the basket. He found himself counting the almost noiseless footfalls of his bearers, then he eagerly strained his ears to catch the sound of rescuers; but none came. The street was silent, silent but for the slither of the padded soles of the attackers, silent save for that and the almost soundless tread of others following bearing a similar burden.