He had hardly made the aforementioned resolution when it and even the object of his thoughts were driven out of his mind altogether. From a high bank beside the road, covered with a thicket of bamboo, a native boy of fourteen or fifteen years dropped into the middle of the pathway at Sinclair's feet. His face was drawn with fear. His eyes had a strained, hunted look. Without any of the customary salutations, he poured forth a stream of nervous, fluent Chinese, in which Sinclair could catch nothing but his own title of "I-seng" and "Kai Bok-su" (Pastor MacKay).
"Here, Gorman, can you make anything out of what he says? There is evidently trouble somewhere, and Dr. MacKay is in it."
"Hould on, boy! Go aisy! Fwhat the divil wud you expect a Christian man to make out of such a jabber as that?"
Then in Chinese:
"You talk too fast. Speak slowly. Don't be afraid. If there is any trouble, we'll help you out."
Getting a grip of himself, the excited boy told them that he was the son of one of the Christians of Sintiam. He related the events of two days before. He said that Dr. MacKay had heard of what had taken place and, in spite of the pleadings of his converts, had insisted on going to the help of those who were still in danger. He was already there, and if the black-flags caught him they would assuredly kill him. He, the boy, had been sent out to look for some Chinese troops, but had found them instead. Would they come to Pastor MacKay's rescue?
"Begorra, an' that we will!" exclaimed Gorman, as he gave his heavy stick a couple of fancy twirls around his head, felt for his revolver to assure himself that it was there, and plunged into the carrier coolie's basket to get more cartridges.
"Tell the coolie to go on to Taipeh and wait for us there. Tell this boy to guide us to Sin-tiam by the shortest route. He needn't try to hide us. We don't care if those devils do see us."
Sinclair spoke in sharp, incisive tones. Instinctively the sergeant came to attention and saluted. It was the accent of command.
In another moment they had left the main road, which they had been following, plunged through the bamboos, and headed directly south. Soon their guide picked up a blind pathway which zigzagged through a labyrinth of rice-fields, dropped into shady ravines, or climbed a projecting spur of rock. The afternoon sun blazed down upon them. But with relentless energy they pressed on. Peasants working in their fields uttered loud cries of wonder, not unmixed with alarm, as the two foreigners strode silently, determinedly past. The native boy never ceased from his steady run. The long, powerful strides of the two whites pressed continually on his heels.