A Yankee Flier in the Far East

by Rutherford G. Montgomery

Mentally Stan tried to check his course so that he might be able to escape if he should get loose. The yellow men followed a twisting course and the light was very dim. After a time they came out into a garden and Stan could see stars overhead. He was led across the garden and pushed into a room. A grease lamp burned on a stone table. Its light revealed one barred window, a wooden bench and a stool.

The yellow men chattered excitedly as they untied Stan’s hands. Stan braced himself for another fight with the little men. He drew back his fists to punch the man in front of him as the first move for a bid for freedom. The man ducked and drove his shiny head into Stan’s stomach. Stan went back and fell over another man who apparently was crouched behind him.

By the time Stan had leaped to his feet, the door had slammed and a bolt had shot into place. Stan could hear the little men laughing uproariously outside. He stood looking at the door. It was smooth teakwood and Stan knew it was as strong as steel. He moved to the window and tried the bars. They were a full inch in thickness and embedded in rock.

Stan seated himself on the stool. He stared at the grease lamp. Slowly a grin spread over his face. The little yellow men had pulled an old school trick on him, one he had not seen used since he was a youngster. He wondered what O’Malley and Allison would do when he did not show up. They might get a clue from Munson’s black eye. He rubbed his sore knuckles thoughtfully.

Stan put out the light. The lamp gave little illumination and its smell was very bad. There was no guard at his door and he could see no one in the garden. He stretched out on the hard bench and closed his eyes. He slept fitfully but he did get a little rest.

Daylight found Stan sitting by the window. He had given up trying to sleep on the hard bench. He watched the garden come to life. There were palms, cinnamon trees and mulberry, and flowering shrubs growing in clumps and beds. The air was heavy with the scent of gardenia and crimson hibiscus blossoms. From behind a green shrub came the plaintive notes of a native flute.

Men and women began moving about in the garden. They were dressed in white cotton or flaming colors. They did not seem aware that the corner room held a prisoner who was condemned to die. If they knew Stan was there, they showed little curiosity.

The people seemed in no hurry at all. They moved languidly toward the arches of stone which formed openings in the high garden wall, or they came in and wandered about, then went out again. A young woman dressed in a flowered kimono crossed the garden. She was carrying a tray with a white cloth over it. Behind her walked four little men, naked except for yellow silk loin cloths. The girl walked to Stan’s door and tapped.

“Come in,” Stan called.

The door did not open but a panel slid back making an opening some six inches square. Stan was startled. He had not suspected there was a panel in the door. The girl’s face appeared and she gave Stan a red-lipped smile as she shoved the tray toward the opening. He took the tray in through the hole.