Under the Chinese Dragon: A Tale of Mongolia

by F. S. Brereton

'That fellow going along to interview Chang and the deputy-governor. Going to put in a word for himself,' muttered David. 'In that case he should be absent sufficiently long to let me take a look round. Let me see. Dick was in the next cell. Right! I'll make straight away for him.'

He crept across the stone-flagged floor, making direct for the doorway, and thrust his head round the edge so as to obtain a good view of the passage. It was empty as far as he could see. Almost directly overhead a huge paper lantern swung in the breeze, emitting a soft light, and casting its rays on either side. It was possible, in fact, to see as far as the end of the passage in one direction, where it evidently turned abruptly to the left and swept round the other side of the building. In the opposite direction shadow and gloom obscured the passage, but it made little difference to our hero.

'Runs along past all the cells into which I have already looked,' he told himself. 'I don't need to take any notice of it. Now for the one in which Dick is imprisoned. It ought to be just here on my right. No harm in searching for him at once. There doesn't seem to be a soul about this part of the building.'

He stepped into the passage promptly, and crept cautiously towards the bend where it turned along the other face of the prison. At the very corner there was a door, and the sight set his heart fluttering. But he did not venture to touch the bolts before taking the precaution to look along the gallery after it had turned. He craned his head round the corner, caught a view of a second elaborately painted lantern swaying like the first, for if this building lacked many comforts it was at least well-ventilated. The winds of heaven had free access to the interior by way of the unglazed windows, and gusts came sweeping down the gallery, beautifully cooling gusts which set the lanterns swinging slowly, twisting them upon the plaited ropes by which they were suspended, till they twirled this way and that, presenting a most picturesque appearance. But there were other things to remark on. This second lamp was hung some twenty paces along the gallery, at the foot of a flight of stone steps, by which, no doubt, the gaoler and the Tartar soldier had disappeared. David even noticed that the centre of each step was badly worn, probably with the coming and going of many people, proving either that the prison was of ancient construction, as was extremely probable, or that the stone was of a soft nature and readily worn. But here again was food only for passing interest. A man situated as he was does not find time for delaying, when his life and that of his friend are in the balance. The door just behind him had far more attractions for David, and at once he turned to it, casting his eye over the strong bolts with which it was secured.

'Done!' he groaned. 'The gaoler has the keys. How on earth am I to effect an entry?'

Then he suddenly bethought him of the window by which he had made good his own escape. Why should he not climb outside again, and creeping along the roof gain entrance to Dick's cell by way of the window? He turned to retrace his steps, and then stepping swiftly to the door he examined the lock. A second's inspection proved to him that the bolt was not shot. It was easy to make sure of that matter, for the huge, clumsy affair, the work of centuries before perhaps, was placed so far from the catch into which it should glide that one could see at once that it was not in order.

'Good! Then there are only the bolts shot by hand. This lock seems to be out of order.'

Up went his hand to the topmost bolt, and very slowly he drew it out of its socket, shivering lest the grating which was inevitable with such a rusty affair should be heard along the passage. Then he suddenly leaped round the corner of the gallery, for his ears had detected a sound. It was the slip, slip, slip of a native footstep, the slither of a cotton-padded sole coming down the flight of stone steps. The perspiration started to David's forehead, his heart beat against his ribs as if it were a sledge hammer, while the blows dinned into his ears till he felt deafened. And his eyes almost bulged from their sockets as he stared in the direction from which the sounds were coming. For though only the legs of the oncomer were as yet visible, they were sufficiently distinctive. The high boots, with their thick, white soles, could belong only to the Tartar under-officer. The colour of the garment coming into view was the same as that worn by the soldier, while, as the man's girdle came within David's vision, he saw the hilt of his sabre, heard the rattle of the scabbard as it dragged on the steps, and then caught a glimpse of the revolver which the ruffian carried. Yes, of the revolver, for if China to-day still lags behind western nations in much which appertains to learning and commerce and a host of other matters, there have been outside influences at work giving her subtle advice, and urging her to arm her soldiery not as before, with swords and lances and useless bows and arrows, but with modern rifles, with revolvers, and with the latest cannon. In that particular at least the efforts of some western nation have been successful. Careless of those of her own colour who in days to come, days perhaps very close at hand, may find themselves arrayed against the celestial nation, they have forced a market here for the surplus output of their arsenals, and have gathered Chinese gold for modern weapons which may well be employed to slay their own people. But here was only a single illustration. David had remarked when entering this walled city of Hatsu upon the modern rifles of the Tartar-guard. His sharp eyes had detected the weapon carried by their under-officer. And here it was again, proof positive that the man who was descending the last few steps was this very individual, than whom he would have rather encountered any one. What was he to do? Rush back into the cell and clamber up the dangling rope?

'No,' he told himself promptly, though he retraced his steps at once and darted into the cell. 'There's no time for that. He'd catch me half-way up, and besides, even if he didn't I couldn't get the rope hauled out of sight before he entered. I might slip along the passage, but I should be no better off, for still he would see the rope. I'll chance a meeting.'

As if it were the old days at school, and he were about to engage in a tussle with the gloves on, he gripped at the baggy sleeves which were such a constant nuisance to him, and folded them up near his shoulders, leaving his arms exposed. Then he stood stiffly upright behind the half-closed door to listen, holding his breath, trying vainly to still the beating of his heart. Suddenly as the Tartar's steps were heard outside the cell, David became as calm as he had ever been in his life before; for after all, he was by no means different from many men of the same temperament as himself. To worry before trouble came along, as Dick was so fond of saying, was only natural to our hero. He was by instinct cautious and careful, and as is the case with many of similar disposition, there was always a tendency to fluster and unusual excitement prior to a struggle. David had been all of a tremble before now, although he had acquitted himself right well when blows were actually falling. And the same thing had happened here. Like the man who enters an action with his knees knocking, and who readily admits that he is nervous, David had prepared for this inevitable meeting with a fast-beating heart, with trembling limbs, and with a forehead from which the moisture was dripping. One who did not know him might almost have accused him of cowardice. But now that the struggle was about to begin he was a different individual. His eyes were bright, his mouth fast closed, and his muscles braced and ready. Not the smallest sound escaped his attention. He heard the Tartar enter the cell, then saw his fingers close on the door and caught the creak of the rusting hinges. Then he stepped forward.