CHAPTER IV. THE ATTACK OF THE RONINS.
"What on earth is the matter with you?" repeated Nattie, for the third time. "What have you seen?"
"Sh-h-h! there he is now," replied Grant, peeping out from behind the screen. "I thought as much."
The younger lad followed his brother's example, and peered forth. A few rods down the crooked street was a small tea house which bore the worst reputation of any in Yokohama. It was noted as being the resort for a class of dissolute Samurai, or Ronins, as they are generally termed.
These men, relics of the Ancient Order of Warriors, are scattered over the country in cities and towns. Some have finally exchanged the sword for the scales or plowshare, but there are others wedded to a life of arrogant ease, who have refused to work.
Too proud to beg, they are reduced to one recourse—thievery and ruffianism. The strict police laws of Japan keep them in general control, but many midnight robberies and assassinations are properly laid to their door.
On glancing from his place of concealment, Nattie saw three men, whose dress and air of fierce brutality proclaimed them as Ronins, emerge from the tea house.
They were immediately followed by a stocky-built young man, clad in English costume. It was Ralph Black. He cast a cautious glance up and down the street, then set out at a rapid walk for the Bund, or foreign settlement.
Nattie gave a low whistle of surprise.
"Well, I declare!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible he has fallen so low as to frequent such a place?"