We had got beyond the region of bridges, I suppose in the summer the floods come down and sweep them away, and everybody was crossing on a wupan, a long, shallow, flat-bottomed boat that had been decked in the middle to allow of carts being taken across. The mules were taken out, and the carts with the help of every available man about, except the fat restaurant-keeper, were got on the boat.
“Must make haste,” repeated Tuan, distributing with a liberal hand my hard-earned cents. I used to think a cent or two in China didn't matter, but I know by bitter experience they mount up.
And then just as we were all ready, my leading mule, a fawn-coloured animal of some character, expressed his disapproval of the mode of transit by a violent kick, and broke away. The dust was blowing in heavy clouds, but every now and then I could see through the veil a dozen people racing after him, while he kicked up his heels in derision, and in a fashion of which I should not have thought any beast that had brought a Peking cart so far over such roads was capable. Then a brilliant idea occurred to the younger “cartee man.” He decided to mount the white mule that led the other cart. This was a meek-looking beast who I presume always did exactly as he was told; but a worm will turn, and to be ridden after all the long journey was more than even he would stand. With a buck and a kick he got rid of the “cartee man,” and then there were two mules careering about in the wild dust storm. It looked highly probable that they would take advantage of their liberty to go back to Peking, and I crossed that river wondering very much how I was to get any farther on my journey, and whether lost mules were a part of the just expenditure expected of a foreign woman. After about two hours, however, they were brought in, the fawn-coloured mule as perky as ever, but the white one so depressed by his only taste of freedom that he never recovered as long as I had the pleasure of his acquaintance.
Before we were on our way again the dust storm had subsided, and I was shaking the mountains, or the Gobi Desert, or whatever it was, out of the folds of my clothes and out of my hair and eyes, and Tuan was once more urgent.
“Must make haste.”
But it was no good, we had lost too much time, we could not possibly reach the little town we had planned to reach, and before the sun set we turned into the yard of a little hostelry in a small mountain hamlet underneath the holy mountain that was crowned with the temple I had been looking at all the afternoon.
And then to my joy I found that this place was clean, actually clean!! Two notes of exclamation do not do proper justice to it. The yard bore little traces of occupation, the room I was shown into had a new blue calico curtain at the door, it was freshly whitewashed, a clean mat was on the k'ang, the wood that edged it was new, and there was clean tissue paper over the lattice-work of the windows. The floor, of course, was only hard, beaten earth, but that did not matter. I would sit on the k'ang, and besides this place smelt of nothing but whitewash. I rejoiced exceedingly as I had the paper torn off the top of the window to let in the fresh air, but Tuan looked at it from another point of view.
“Must take care,” said he, “this new inn. 'Cartee man' no know she. Must take care,” and he looked so grave that I wondered what on earth was the penalty I ran the risk of paying for cleanliness.
They evidently were afraid, for all the luggage, which as a rule stayed strapped on the carts in the inn yard, was taken off and brought in. I was worth robbing, for I had about seven-and-twenty pounds in dollars in my black box, and that, judging by what I saw, would have bought up all the villages between Jehol and Peking. However, it was no good worrying about it, however agitated Tuan might be. Besides, anyhow he was something of a coward, all Chinese servants are, it seems to me.
His fear didn't seem to last very long, for presently he came bustling in, all excitement.