We were scarcely halfway from the edge of the city to the moated summer palace when a small hell of gunfire broke out around Kazu's feet. He jumped, with a roar of pain, and then lashed out with one foot, sweeping away a whole city block and demolishing the ambush. Limping slightly, he made the remaining distance by a less direct route and at last stood at the moat before the palace. The ancient building, and, indeed, everything about, was quite dark. Kazu peered about uncertainly, and then raised our box to ask for advice. Baker was pessimistic.
"I don't think you'll find General Mao here. But at this stage of things, I don't believe it would matter if you did. The decision will be made tomorrow by the armies."
Kazu stepped carefully over the moat and wall, and sat down wearily in the gardens of the summer palace. We peered with interest at the foliage, marble bridges and the graceful buildings, illuminated only by ghostly moonlight. With Kazu squatting among them, they looked like models, a toy village out of ancient China. I wished that a picture might be taken, for surely never before had Buddha been in so appropriate a setting.
While Kazu rested, we examined his feet. A number of machine gun bullets had entered his foot thick hide, and there was one wound a yard long from which oozed a sticky gelatinous blood. There did not appear to be any serious damage, although the chances of infection worried us. In any event, there was nothing we could do except douse it with buckets of water from the moat. Kazu thanked us formally, as befitted a deity, and added, as though talking to himself,
"Now is the most difficult time. How can I bring peace without the use of violence? I can appear before these armies and command them to stop. But what if they do not obey? Should I use force? Oh, that I were really the Great Lord Buddha—then I would have the wisdom, the knowledge that is a thousand times more potent than giant size. Oh Buddha, grant me wisdom, if only for a moment, that I may act rightly."
Presently the giant stretched out full length in the garden and, while we kept guard, slept for a time.
The first pale glow of dawn appeared soon after five, and we were preparing to awaken Kazu when Martin held up a warning hand. We listened. At first we heard nothing, and then there came a deep drone of jets. Not a single plane, not even a squadron. Nothing less than a great fleet of heavy aircraft was approaching Peking from the west. Baker fired his automatic repeatedly near Kazu's ear, and presently his rumbly breathing changed and he opened his eyes.
"Planes," said Baker briefly. "It's not safe here. Better get moving."
Kazu sat up, yawning, and we climbed into the box. The giant took a long draught from the nearest fishpond and tied our cage to his neck and shoulder so that both of his hands would be free.
By this time the noise of the planes had increased to a roar, which echoed through the silent city. Kazu arose to his full height and waited. A pinkish line of light had now appeared along the eastern horizon which, I realized with consternation, must silhouette the mighty tower of Kazu's body to whomever was coming out of the western shadows.