The Project Gutenberg eBook of Marching Sands, by Harold Lamb

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
using this eBook.

Title: Marching Sands

Author: Harold Lamb

Release Date: July 11, 2021 [eBook #65825]
[Most recently updated: October 14, 2021]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

Produced by: Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING SANDS ***






  MARCHING SANDS

  BY

  HAROLD LAMB



  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

  NEW YORK : LONDON : 1920




  COPYRIGHT, 1920,
  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

  Copyright, 1919, by
  Frank A. Munsey Company




  CONTENTS

  I.  The Lost People
  II.  Legends
  III.  Delabar Discourses
  IV.  Warning
  V.  Intruders
  VI.  Mirai Khan
  VII.  The Door Is Guarded
  VIII.  Delabar Leaves
  IX.  The _Liu Sha_
  X.  The Mem-Sahib Speaks
  XI.  Sir Lionel
  XII.  A Message from the Centuries
  XIII.  The Desert
  XIV.  Traces in the Sand
  XV.  A Last Camp
  XVI.  Gray Carries On
  XVII.  The Yellow Robe
  XVIII.  Bassalor Danek
  XIX.  Concerning a City
  XX.  The Talisman
  XXI.  Mary Makes A Request
  XXII.  The Answer
  XXIII.  The Challenge
  XXIV.  A Stage Is Set
  XXV.  Rifle against Arrow
  XXVI.  The Bronze Circlet




MARCHING SANDS



CHAPTER I

THE LOST PEOPLE

"You want me to fail."

It was neither question nor statement.  It came in a level voice, the
words dropping slowly from the lips of the man in the chair as if he
weighed each one.

He might have been speaking aloud to himself, as he sat staring
directly in front of him, powerful hands crossed placidly over his
knees.  He was a man that other men would look at twice, and a woman
might glance at once--and remember.  Yet there was nothing remarkable
about him, except perhaps a singular depth of chest that made his
quiet words resonant.

That and the round column of a throat bore out the evidence of
strength shown in the hands.  A broad, brown head showed a hard
mouth, and wide-set, green eyes.  These eyes were level and slow
moving, like the lips--the eyes of a man who could play a poker hand
and watch other men without looking at them directly.

There was a certain melancholy mirrored in the expressionless face.
The melancholy that is the toll of hardships and physical suffering.
This, coupled with great, though concealed, physical strength, was
the curious trait of the man in the chair, Captain Robert Gray, once
adventurer and explorer, now listed in the United States Army Reserve.

He had the voyager's trick of wearing excellent clothes carelessly,
and the army man's trait of restrained movement and speech.  He was
on the verge of a vital decision; but he spoke placidly, even coldly.
So much so that the man at the desk leaned forward earnestly.

"No, we don't want you to fail, Captain Gray.  We want you to find
out the truth and to tell us what you have found out."

"Suppose there is nothing to discover?"

"We will know we are mistaken."

"Will that satisfy you?"

"Yes."

Captain "Bob" Gray scrutinized a scar on the back of his right hand.
It had been made by a Mindanao _kris_, and, as the edge of the _kris_
had been poisoned, the skin was still a dull purple.  Then he smiled.

"I thought," he said slowly, "that the lost people myths were out of
date.  I thought the last missing tribe had been located and
card-indexed by the geographical and anthropological societies."

Dr. Cornelius Van Schaick did not smile.  He was a slight, gray man,
with alert eyes.  And he was the head of the American Exploration
Society, a director of the Museum of Natural History--in the office
of which he was now seated with Gray--and a member of sundry
scientific and historical academies.

"This is not a _lost_ people, Captain Gray," He paused, pondering his
words.  "It is a branch of our own race, the Indo-Aryan, or white
race.  It is the Wusun--the 'Tall Ones.'  We--the American
Exploration Society--believe it is to be found, in the heart of
Asia."  He leaned back, alertly.

Gray's brows went up.

"And so you are going to send an expedition to look for it?"

"To look for it."  Van Schaick nodded, with the enthusiasm of a
scientist on the track of a discovery.  "We are going to send you, to
prove that it exists.  If this is proved," he continued decisively,
"we will know that a white race was dominant in Asia before the time
of the great empires; that the present Central Asian may be descended
from Aryan stock.  We will have new light on the development of
races--even on the Bible----"

"Steady, Doctor!"  Gray raised his hand.  "You're getting out of my
depth.  What I want to know is this: Why do you think that I can find
this white tribe in Asia--the Wusuns?  I'm an army officer, out of a
job and looking for one.  That's why I answered your letter.  I'm
broke, and I need work, but----"

Van Schaick peered at a paper that he drew from a pile on his desk.

"We had good reasons for selecting you, Captain Gray," he said dryly.
"You have done exploration work north of the Hudson Bay; you once
stamped out dysentery in a Mindanao district; you have done unusual
work for the Bureau of Navigation; on active service in France you
led your company----"

Gray looked up quickly.  "So did a thousand other American officers,"
he broke in.

"Ah, but very few have had a father like yours," he smiled, tapping
the paper gently.  "Your father, Captain Gray, was once a missionary
of the Methodists, in Western Shensi.  You were with him, there,
until you were four years of age.  I understand that he mastered the
dialect of the border, thoroughly, and you also picked it up, as a
child.  This is correct?"

"Yes."

"And your father, before he died in this country, persisted in
refreshing, from time to time, your knowledge of the dialect."

"Yes."

Van Schaick laid down the paper.

"In short, Captain Gray," he concluded, "you have a record at
Washington of always getting what you go after, whether it is
information or men.  That can be said about many explorers, perhaps;
but in your case the results are on paper.  You have never failed.
That is why we want you.  Because, if you don't find the Wusun, we
will then know they are not to be found."

"I don't think they can be found."

The scientist peered at his visitor curiously.

"Wait until you have heard our information about the white race in
the heart of China, before you make up your mind," he said in his
cold, concise voice, gathering the papers into their leather
portmanteau.  "Do you know why the Wusun have not been heard from?"

"I might guess.  They seem to be in a region where no European
explorers have gone----"

"Have been permitted to go.  Asia, Captain Gray, for all our American
investigations, is a mystery to us.  We think we have removed the
veil from its history, and we have only detached a thread.  The
religion of Asia is built on its past.  And religion is the pulse of
Asia.  The Asiatics have taught their children that, from the dawn of
history, they have been lords of the civilized world.  What would be
the result if it were proved that a white race dominated Central Asia
before the Christian era?  The traditions of six hundred million
people who worship their past would be shattered."

Gray was silent while the scientist placed his finger on a wall map
of Asia.  Van Schaick drew his finger inland from the coast of China,
past the rivers and cities, past the northern border of Tibet to a
blank space under the mountains of Turkestan where there was no
writing.

"This is the blind spot of Asia," he said.  "It has grown smaller, as
Europeans journeyed through its borders.  Tibet, we know.  The
interior of China we know, except for this blind spot.  It is----"

"In the Desert of Gobi."

"The one place white explorers have been prevented from visiting.
And it is here we have heard the Wusun are."

"A coincidence."

Van Schaick glanced at his watch.

"If you will come with me, Captain Gray, to the meeting of the
Exploration Society now in session, I will convince you it is no
coincidence.  Before we go, I would like to be assured of one thing.
The expedition to the far end of the Gobi Desert will not be safe.
It may be very dangerous.  Would you be willing to undertake it?"

Gray glanced at the map and rose.

"If you can show me, Doctor," he responded, "that there is something
to be found--I'd tackle it."

"Come with me," nodded Van Schaick briskly.

The halls of the museum were dark, as it was past the night hour for
visitors.  A small light at the stairs showed the black bulk of
inanimate forms in glass compartments, and the looming outline of
mounted beasts, with the white bones of prehistoric mammals.

At the entrance, Van Schaick nodded to an attendant, who summoned the
scientist's car.

Their footsteps had ceased to echo along the tiled corridor.  The
motionless beast groups stared unwinkingly at the single light from
glass eyes.  Then a form moved in one of the groups.

The figure slipped from the stuffed animals, down the hall.  The
entrance light showed for a second a slender man in an overcoat who
glanced quickly from side to side at the door to see if he was
observed.  Then he went out of the door, into the night.




CHAPTER II

LEGENDS

That evening a few men were gathered in Van Schaick's private office
at the building of the American Exploration Society.  One was a
celebrated anthropologist, another a historian who had come that day
from Washington.  A financier whose name figured in the newspapers
was a third.  And a European orientologist.

To these men, Van Schaick introduced Gray, explaining briefly what
had passed in their interview.

"Captain Gray," he concluded, "wishes proof of what we know.  If he
can be convinced that the Wusun are to be found in the Gobi Desert,
he is ready to undertake the trip."

For an hour the three scientists talked.  Gray listened silently.
They were followers of a calling strange to him, seekers after the
threads of knowledge gleaned from the corners of the earth, zealots,
men who would spend a year or a lifetime in running down a clew to a
new species of human beings or animals.  They were men who were
gatherers of the treasures of the sciences, indifferent to the
ordinary aspects of life, unsparing in their efforts.  And he saw
that they knew what they were talking about.

In the end of the Bronze Age, at the dawn of history, they explained,
the Indo-Aryan race, their own race, swept eastward from Scandinavia
and the north of Europe, over the mountain barrier of Asia and
conquered the Central Asian peoples--the Mongolians--with their long
swords.

This was barely known, and only guessed at by certain remnants of the
Aryan language found in Northern India, and inscriptions dug up from
the mountains of Turkestan.

They believed, these scientists, that before the great Han dynasty of
China, an Indo-Aryan race known as the Sacæ had ruled Central Asia.
The forefathers of the Europeans had ruled the Mongolians.  The
ancestors of thousands of Central Asians of to-day had been white
men--tall men, with long skulls, and yellow hair, and great fighters.

The earliest annals of China mentioned the Huing-nu--light-eyed
devils--who came down into the desert.  The manuscripts of antiquity
bore the name of the Wusun--the "Tall Ones."  And the children of the
Aryan conquerors had survived, fighting against the Mongolians for
several hundred years.

"They survive to-day," said the historian earnestly.  "Marco Polo,
the first European to enter China, passed along the northern frontier
of the Wusun land.  He called their king Prester John and a
Christian.  You have heard of the myth of Prester John, sometimes
called the monarch of Asia.  And of the fabulous wealth of his
kingdom, the massive cities.  The myth states that Prester John was a
captive in his own palace."

"You see," assented Van Schaick, "already the captivity of the Wusun
had begun.  The Mongolians have never tolerated other races within
their borders.  During the time of Genghis Khan and the Tartar
conquerors, the survivors of the Aryans were thinned by the sword."

"Marco Polo," continued the historian, "came as near to the land of
the Wusun as any other European.  Three centuries later a Portuguese
missionary, Benedict Goës, passed through the desert near the city of
the Wusun, and reported seeing some people who were fair of face,
tall and light-eyed."

Van Schaick turned to his papers.

"In the last century," he said, "a curious thing happened to an
English explorer, Ney Elias.  I quote from his book.  _An old man
called on me at Kwei-hwa-ching, at the eastern end of the Thian Shan
Mountains, who said he was neither Chinaman, Mongol, nor Mohammedan,
and lived on ground especially allotted by the emperor, and where
there now exist several families of the same origin.  He said that he
had been a prince.  At Kwei-hwa-ching I was very closely spied on and
warned against asking too many questions_."

Van Schaick peered over his spectacles at Gray.

"The Thian Shan Mountains are just north of this blind spot in the
Gobi Desert where we think the Wusun are."

The historian broke in eagerly.

"Another clew--a generation ago the Russian explorer, Colonel
Przewalski, tried to enter this blind spot from the south, and was
fought off with much bloodshed by one of the guardian tribes."

Gray laughed frankly.

"I admit I'm surprised, gentlemen.  Until now I thought you were
playing some kind of a joke on me."

Van Schaick's thin face flushed, but he spoke calmly.

"It is only fair, sir, that you should have proof you are not being
sent after a will-o'-the-wisp.  A few days ago I talked with a
missionary who had been invalided home from China.  His name is Jacob
Brent.  He has been for twenty years head of the college of Chengtu,
in Western China.  He heard rumors of a captive tribe in the heart of
the Gobi.  And he saw one of the Wusun."

He paused to consult one of his papers methodically,

"Brent was told, by some Chinese coolies, of a tall race dwelling in
a city in the Gobi, a race that was, they said, 'just like him.'  And
in one of his trips near the desert edge he saw a tall figure running
toward him over the sand, staggering from weariness.  Then several
Chinese riders appeared from the sand dunes and headed off the
fugitive.  But not before Brent had seen that the man's face was
partially white."

"Partially?" asked Gray quizzically.

"I am quoting literally.  Yes, that was what Brent said.  He was
prevented by his native bearers from going into the Gobi to
investigate.  They believed the usual superstitions about the
desert--evil spirits and so forth--and they warned Brent against a
thing they called the pale sickness."

Gray looked up quietly.  "You know what that is?"

"We do not know, and surmises are valueless."  He shrugged.  "You
have an idea?"

"Hardly, yet--you say that Brent is ill.  Could he be seen?"

"I fancy not.  He is in a California sanitarium, broken down from
overwork, the doctors informed me."

"I see."  Gray scrutinized his companions.  The same eagerness showed
in each face, the craving for discovery which is greater than the
lust of the gold prospector.  They were hanging on his next words.
"Gentlemen, do you realize that three great difficulties are to be
met?  Money--China--and a knowledge of science.  By that I mean my
own qualifications.  I am an explorer, not a scientist----"

At this point Balch, the financier who had not spoken before, leaned
forward.

"Three excellent points," he nodded.  "I can answer them.  We can
supply you with funds, Captain Gray," he said decisively.

"And permission from the Chinese authorities?"

"We have passports signed, in blank, for an American hunter and
naturalist to journey into the interior of China, to the Gobi Desert."

"You will not go alone," explained Van Schaick.  "We realize that a
scientist must accompany you."

"We have the man," continued Balch, "an orientologist--speaks Persian
and Turki--knows Central Asia like a book.  Professor Arminius
Delabar.  He'll join you at Frisco."  He stood up and held out his
hand.  "Gray, you're the man we want!  I like your talk."  He laughed
boyishly, being young in heart, in spite of his years.  "You're equal
to the job--and you can shoot a mountain sheep or a bandit in the
head at five hundred yards.  Don't deny it--you've done it!"

"Maps?" asked Gray dryly.

"The best we could get.  Chinese and Russian surveys of the Western
Gobi," Balch explained briskly.  "We want you to start right off.  We
know that our dearest foes, the British Asiatic Society, have wind of
the Wusun.  They are fitting out an expedition.  It will have the
edge on yours because--discounting the fact that the British know the
field better--it'll start from India, which is nearer the Gobi."

"Then it's got to be a race?" Gray frowned.

"A race it is," nodded Balch, "and my money backs you and Delabar.
So the sooner you can start the better.  Van Schaick will go with you
to Frisco and give you details, with maps and passports on the way.
We'll pay you the salary of your rank in the army, with a fifty per
cent bonus if you get to the Wusun.  Now, what's your answer--yes or
no?"  He glanced at the officer sharply, realizing that if Gray
doubted, he would not be the man for the expedition.

Gray smiled quizzically.

"I came to you to get a job," he said, "and here it is.  I need the
money.  My answer is--yes.  I'll do my best to deliver the goods."

"Gentlemen," Balch turned to his associates, "I congratulate you.
Captain Gray may or may not get to the Wusun.  But--unless I'm a
worse judge of character than I think--he'll get to the place where
the Wusun ought to be.  He won't turn back."

Their visitor flushed at that.  He was still young, being not yet
thirty.  He shook hands all around and left for his hotel, with Balch
and Van Schaick to arrange railroad schedules, and the buying of an
outfit.

This is a brief account of how Robert Gray came to depart on his
mission to the Desert of Gobi, as reported in the files of the
American Exploration Society for the summer of 1919.

It was not given to the press at the time, owing to the need of
secrecy.  Nor did the Exploration Society obtain authority from the
United States Government for the expedition.  Time was pressing, as
they learned the British expedition was getting together at Burma.
Later, Van Schaick agreed with Balch that this had been a mistake.

But by that time Gray was far beyond reach, in the foothills of the
Celestial Mountains, in the _Liu Sha_, and had learned the meaning of
the pale sickness.




CHAPTER III

DELABAR DISCOURSES

Gray had meant what he said about his new job.  Van Schaick pleaded
for haste, but the army officer knew from experience the danger of
omitting some important item from his outfit, and went ahead with
characteristic thoroughness.

He assembled his personal kit in New York, with the rifles, medicines
and ammunition that he needed.  Also a good pair of field glasses and
the maps that Van Schaick furnished.  Balch made him a present of
twenty pounds of fine smoking tobacco which was gratefully received.

"I'll need another man with me," Gray told Van Schaick, who was on
edge to be off.  "Delabar'll be all right in his way, but we'll want
a white man who can shoot and work.  I know the man for the
job--McCann, once my orderly, now in the reserve."

"Get him, by all means," agreed the scientist.

"He's in Texas, out of a job.  A wire'll bring him to Frisco in time
to meet us.  Well, I'm about ready to check out."

They left that night on the western express.

Gray was not sorry to leave the city.  Like all voyagers, he felt the
oppression of the narrow streets, the monotony of always going home
to the same place to sleep.  Wanderlust had gripped him again at
thought of the venture into another continent.

He took his mission seriously.  On the maps that Van Schaick and
Balch had given him they had pointed out a spot beyond the known
travel routes, a good deal more than a thousand miles into the
interior of China.  To this spot Gray was going.  He had his orders
and he would carry them out.

Van Schaick talked much on the train.  He explained how much the
mission meant to the Exploration Society.  It would give them
world-wide fame.  And it would add enormously to the knowledge of
humankind.  Gray, he said, would travel near the path of Marco Polo;
he would tear the veil of secrecy from the hidden corner of the Gobi
Desert.  It would be a victory of science over the ancient soul of
Mongolia.

It would shake the foundation of the great jade image of Buddha, of
the many-armed Kali, of Bon the devil-god, and the ancient Vishnu.
It would strengthen the hold of the Bible on the Mongolian world.

If only, said Van Schaick wistfully, Gray could find the Wusun ahead
of the expedition of the British Asiatic Society, the triumph would
be complete.

Gray listened silently.  It was fortunate, in the light of what
followed, that his imagination was not easily stirred.

He looked curiously at the man who was to be his partner in the
expedition.  Van Schaick introduced them at the platform of the San
Francisco terminal.

Professor Arminius Delabar was a short, slender man, of wiry build
and a nervous manner that reminded Gray of a bird.  He had
near-sighted, bloodshot eyes encased behind tinted glasses, and a
dark face with well-kept beard.  He was half Syrian by birth,
American by choice, and a denizen of the academies and byways of the
world.  Also, he spoke at least four languages fluently.

The army man's respect for his future companion went up several
notches when he found that Delabar had already arranged competently
for the purchase and shipment of their stores.

"You see," he explained in his room at the hotel to Gray, "the fewer
things we must buy in Shanghai the better.  Our plan is to attract as
little attention as possible.  Our passport describes us as hunter
and naturalist.  Foreigners are a common sight in China as far into
the interior as Liangchowfu.  Once we are past there and on the
interior plains, it will be hard to follow us--if we have attracted
no attention.  Do you speak any Chinese dialects?"

It was an abrupt question, in Delabar's high voice.  The Syrian spoke
English with only the trace of an accent.

"A little," admitted Gray.  "I was born in Shensi, but I don't
remember anything except a baby white camel--a playmate.  Mandarin
Chinese is Greek to me."

Some time afterward he learned that Delabar had taken this as a
casual boast--not knowing Gray's habit of understating his
qualifications.  Fortune plays queer tricks sometimes and Gray's
answer was to loom large in the coming events.

Fortune, or as Gray put it, the luck of the road, threw two obstacles
in their way at Frisco.  Van Schaick had telegraphed ahead to the
sanitarium where the missionary Brent was being treated.  He hoped to
arrange an interview between Brent and Gray.

Brent was dying.  No one could visit him.  Also, McCann, the soldier
who was to accompany them, did not show up at the hotel,--although he
had wired his officer at Chicago that he would be in Frisco before
the appointed time.

Gray would have liked to wait for the man.  He knew McCann would be
useful--a crack shot, a good servant, and an expert at handling
men--but Delabar had already booked their passage on the next Pacific
Mail steamer.

"Van Schaick can wait here," Delabar assured Gray, "meet McCann, and
send him on by the boat following.  He will join you at Shanghai."

"Very well," assented Gray, who was checking up the list of stores
Delabar had bought.  "That will do nicely.  I see that you've thought
of all the necessary things, Professor.  We can pick up a reserve
supply of canned foodstuffs at Shanghai, or Hankow."  He glanced at
Van Schaick.  "There's one thing more to be settled.  It's important.
Who is in command of this party?  The Professor or I?  If he's to be
the boss, all right--I'll carry on with that understanding."

Van Schaick hesitated.  But Delabar spoke up quickly.

"The expedition is in your hands, Captain Gray.  I freely yield you
the responsibility."

Gray was still watching Van Schaick.  "Is that understood?  It's a
good thing to clear up before we start."

"Certainly," assented the scientist.  "Now we'll discuss the best
route----"

Van Schaick stood at the pier-head the next day when the steamer cast
off her moorings, and waved good-by to the two.  Gray left him behind
with some regret.  A good man, Van Schaick, an American from first to
last, and a slave to science.

During the monotonous run across the Pacific when the sea and the sky
seemed unchanged from day to day, Delabar talked incessantly about
their trip.  Gray, who preferred to spend the time doing and saying
nothing, listened quietly.

The officer was well content to lie back in his deck chair, hands
clasped behind his curly head, and stare out into space.  This was
his habit, when off duty.  It satisfied him to the soul to do nothing
but watch the thin line where the gray-blue of the Pacific melted
into the pale blue of the sky, and feel the sun's heat on his face.
It made him appear lazy.  Which he was not.

The energetic professor fancied that Gray paid little attention to
his stream of information about the great Gobi Desert.  In that, he
did the other an injustice.  Gray heeded and weighed Delabar's words.
Ingrained in him from army life and a solitary existence marked by
few friendships was the need of reticence, and watchfulness.  Nor was
his inclination to idle on the voyage mere habit.  Unconsciously, he
was storing up vital strength in his strongly knit frame--strength
which he had called on in the past, and which he would need again.

"You don't seem to appreciate, my young friend," remarked the
professor once, irritably, "that it is inner Asia we are invading.
Also, we are going a thousand miles beyond your American gunboats."

"The days of the _Ih-hwo-Ch'uan_ are past."

Delabar shrugged his shoulders, surprised at his companion's
pertinent remark.  "True.  China is a republic and progressive,
perhaps.  But the Mongolian soul does not change overnight.
Moreover, there are the priests--Buddhists and Taoists.  Fear and
superstition rule the mass of the Dragon Kingdom, my friend, and it
is these priests who will be our enemies."

Gray had spoken truly when he said he remembered nothing of China,
except a white camel, but, subconsciously, many things were familiar
to the soldier.

"At the border of the Gobi Desert, where we believe the Wusun to be,"
continued the scientist warmly, as Gray was silent, "a center of
Buddhism existed in the Middle Ages.  The three sects of Buddhist
priests--Black, Yellow and Red--are united in the effort to preserve
their power.  They preach the advent of the Gautama in the next few
years.  Also, that the ancient Gautama ruled the spiritual world
before the coming of Christianity.

"So you can see," he pointed out, "that the discovery of a white
race--a race that did not acknowledge Buddha--in the heart of China
would be a blow to their doctrine.  It would contradict their book of
prophecy."

Gray nodded, puffing at his pipe.  Presently, he stirred himself to
speak.

"Rather suspect you're right, Professor.  You know the religious
dope.  And the religions of Asia are not good things to monkey with.
But, look here."  He drew a map from his pocket and spread it out on
his knee.  "Here's the spot where Van Schaick located the Wusun--our
long-lost but not forgotten cousins.  Well and good.  Only that spot,
which you and your friends call the 'blind spot' of Asia, happens to
be in the middle of the far Gobi Desert.  How do you figure people
existed there for several centuries?"

Delabar hesitated, glancing up at the moving tracery of smoke that
rose from the funnel, against the clouds.  They were on the boat deck.

"The Ming annals mention a city in that place, some two thousand
years ago.  A thousand years later we know there were many palaces at
this end of the Thian Shan--the Celestial Mountains.  Remember that
the caravan routes from China to Samarcand, India and Persia are very
old, and that they--or one of the most important of them--ran past
this blind spot."

"Marco Polo trailed along there, didn't he?"

"Yes.  We know the great city of the Gobi was called Sungan.  The
Ming annals describe it as having 'massive gates, walls and bastions,
besides underground passages, vaulted and arched.'"

"European travelers don't report this city."

"Because they never saw it, my friend.  Brent, who was at the edge of
the Gobi near there, states that he saw towers in the sand.  And the
Mohammedan annals of Central Asia have a curious tale."

"Let's have it," said Gray, settling himself comfortably in his chair.

"It was in the sixteenth century," explained Delabar, who seemed to
have the myths of Asia at his tongue's end.  "A religious legend.  A
certain holy man, follower of the prophet, was robbed and beaten in a
city near where we believe Sungan to be.  After his injury by the
people of the city--he was a mullah--he climbed into a minaret to
call the hour of evening prayer."

Delabar's voice softened as he spoke, sliding into more musical
articulation.

"As he cried the hour, this holy man felt something falling like snow
on his face.  Only it was not snow.  The sky and the city darkened.
He could not see the roofs of the buildings.  He went down and tried
the door.  It was blocked.  Then this man saw that it was sand
falling over the city.  The sand covered the whole town, leaving only
the minaret, which was high.  The people who had done him the injury
were buried--became white bones under the sand."

"That story figures in the Bible," assented Gray, "only not the same.
You don't consider the myth important, do you?"

"The priests of Asia do," said the professor seriously.  "And I have
seen the memoirs of Central Asian kingdoms which mention that
treasure was dug for and found in ruins in the sands."  He glanced at
his companion curiously.  "You do not seem to be worried, Captain
Gray, at entering the forbidden shrine of the Mongols."

Having been born thereabouts, the idea amused Gray.

"Are you?" Gray laughed.  "The Yellow Peril is dead."

"So is Dr. Brent."

"You don't connect the two?"

"I don't attempt to analyze the connection, Captain Gray.  Remember
in China we are dealing with men who think backward, around-about,
and every way except our own.  Then there are the priests.  All I
know is that Dr. Brent entered on forbidden ground, fell sick, and
had to leave China.  Do you know what he died of?"

"Do you?"

Delabar was silent a moment; then he smiled.  "I have
imagination--too much, perhaps.  But then I have lived behind the
threshold of Asia for half my life."

"I suspect it's a good thing for me you have," Gray admitted frankly.

Before they left their chairs that afternoon a steward brought the
officer a message from the wireless cabin.

Van Schaick had sent it, before the steamer passed the radio limit.
Gray read it, frowned, and turned to Delabar.

"This is rather bad luck, Professor," he said.  "McCann, the fellow I
counted on, is not coming.  He was taken sick with grippe in Los
Angeles on his way to Frisco.  It looks as if you and I would have to
go it alone."




CHAPTER IV

WARNING

The news of McCann's loss, so important to the officer, Delabar
passed over with a shrug.  Gray wondered briefly why a man obviously
inclined to nervousness should ignore the fact that they were without
the services of a trustworthy attendant.  Later, he came to realize
that the scientist considered that McCann's presence would have been
no aid to him, that rifles and men who knew how to use them would
play no part in meeting the hostile forces surrounding the territory
of the Wusun.

From that moment he began to watch Delabar.  It was clear to him that
the professor was uneasy, decidedly so.  And that the man was in the
grip of a rising excitement.

It manifested itself when the steamer stopped at a Japanese port.
Gray would have liked to visit Kyoto, to see again the little brown
people of the island kingdom, to get a glimpse of the gray castle of
Oksaka, and perhaps of peerless, snow-crowned Fujiyama.

But Delabar insisted on remaining aboard the steamer until they left
for China.  The nearing gateway of Asia had a powerful effect on him.
Gray noticed--as it was unusual in a man of mildly studious
habits--that the scientist smoked quantities of strong Russian
cigarettes.  Indeed, the air of their cabin was heavy with the fumes.

"We must not make ourselves conspicuous," Delabar urged repeatedly.

At Shanghai they passed quickly through the hands of the customs
officials.  Their preparations progressed smoothly; the baggage was
put on board a waiting Hankow steamer, and Delabar added to their
stores a sufficient quantity of provisions to round out their outfit.
In spite of this, Delabar fidgeted until they were safely in their
stateroom on the river steamer, and passing up the broad, brown
current of the Yang-tze-kiang--which, by the way, is not called the
Yang-tze-kiang by the Chinese.

Gray made no comment on his companion's misgivings.  He saw no cause
for alarm.  There were a dozen other travelers on the river boat,
sales agents of three nations, a railroad engineer or two, a family
of missionaries, several tourists who stared blandly at the great
tidal stretch of the river, and commented loudly on the comforts of
the palatial vessel.  Evidently they had expected to go up to Hankow
in a junk.  They pointed out the chocolate colored sails of the
passing junks with their half-naked coolies and dirty decks.

For days the single screw of the Hankow boat churned the muddy waste,
and the smoke spread, fanwise, over its wake.

The Yang-tze was not new to Gray.  He was glad he was going into the
interior.  The fecund cities of the coast, with their monotonous,
crowded streets, narrow and overhung with painted signs held no
attraction for him.  The panorama of Mongolian faces, pallid and
seamed, furtive and merry was not what he had come to China to see.
In the interior, beyond the forest crowned mountains, and the vast
plains, was the expanse of the desert.  Until they reached this, the
trip was no more than a necessary evil.

Not so--as Gray noted--did it affect Delabar.  The first meeting with
the blue-clad throngs in Shanghai, the first glimpse of the
pagoda-temples with their shaven priests had both exhilarated and
depressed the scientist.

"Each stage of the journey," he confided to Gray, "drops us back a
century in civilization."

"No harm done," grunted the officer, who had determined to put a
check on Delabar's active imagination.  "As long as we get ahead.
That's the deuce of this country.  We have to go zig-zag.  There's no
such thing as a straight line being the shortest distance between two
points in the land of the Dragon."

Delabar frowned, surprised by these unexpected displays of latent
knowledge.  Then smiled, waving a thin hand at the yellow current of
the river.

"There is a reason for that--as always, in China.  Evil spirits, they
believe, can not move out of a straight line.  So we find screens put
just inside the gates of temples--to ward off the evil influences."

"Look at that."  Gray touched the other's arm.  A steward stood near
them at the stern.  No one else was in that part of the deck, and
after glancing around cautiously the man dropped over the side some
white objects--what they were, Gray could not see.  "I heard that
some fishermen had been drowned near here a few days ago.  That
Chink--for all his European dress--is dropping overside portions of
bread as food and peace offering to the spirits of the drowned."

"Yes," nodded Delabar, "the lower orders of Chinamen believe the
drowned have power to pull the living after them to death.  Centuries
of missionary endeavor have not altered their superstitions.  And,
look--that does not prevent those starved beggars in the junk there
from retrieving the bread in the water.  Ugh!"

He thrust his hands into his pockets and tramped off up the deck,
while Gray gazed after him curiously, and then turned to watch the
junk.  The coolies were waving at the steward who was watching them
impassively.  Seeing Gray, the man hurried about his duties.  For a
moment the officer hesitated, seeing that the junkmen were staring,
not at the bread in their hands, but at the ship.  Then he smiled and
walked on.

In spite of Delabar's misgivings, the journey went smoothly.  The
banks of the river closed in on them, scattered mud villages appeared
in the shore rushes.  Half naked boys waved at the "fire junk" from
the backs of water buffaloes, and the smoke of Hankow loomed on the
horizon.  From Hankow, the Peking-Hankow railway took them
comfortably to Honanfu, after a two-day stage by cart.

Here they waited for their luggage to catch up with them, in a fairly
clean and modern hotel.  They avoided the other Europeans in the
city.  Gray knew that they were beyond the usual circuit of American
tourists, and wished to travel as quietly as possible.

"We're in luck," he observed to Delabar, who had just come in.  "In a
month, if all goes well, well be in Liangchowfu, the 'Western Gate'
to the steppe country.  What's the matter?"

Delabar held out a long sheet of rice paper with a curious expression.

"An invitation to dine with one of the officials of Honan, Captain
Gray--with the vice-governor.  He asks us to bring our passports."

"Hm," the officer replaced the maps he had been overhauling in their
case, and thrust the missive on top of them.  He tossed the case into
an open valise.  "A sort of polite invitation to show our cards--to
explain who we are, eh?  Well, let's accept with pleasure.  We've got
to play the game according to the rules.  Nothing queer about this
invite.  Chinese officials are hospitable enough.  All they want is a
present or two."

He produced from the valise a clock with chimes and a silver-plated
pocket flashlight and scrutinized them mildly.

"This ought to do the trick.  We'll put on our best clothes.  And
remember, I'm a big-game enthusiast."

Delabar was moody that afternoon, and watched Gray's cheerful
preparations for the dinner without interest.  The army man stowed
away their more valuable possessions, carefully hanging the rifle
which he had been carrying in its case over his shoulder under the
frame of the bed.

"A trick I learned in Mindanao," he explained.  "These towns are
chuck full of thieves, and this rifle is valuable to me.  The
oriental second-story man has yet to discover that American army men
hang their rifles under the frame of their cots.  Now for the
vice-governor, what's his name?  Wu Fang Chien?"

Wu Fang Chien was most affable.  He sent two sedan chairs for the
Americans and received them at his door with marked politeness,
shaking his hands in his wide sleeves agreeably when Delabar
introduced Gray.  He spoke English better than the professor spoke
Chinese, and inquired solicitously after their health and their
purpose in visiting his country.

He was a tall mandarin, wearing the usual iron rimmed spectacles, and
dressed in his robe of ceremony.

During the long dinner of the usual thirty courses, Delabar talked
with the mandarin, while Gray contented himself with a few customary
compliments.  But Wu Fang Chien watched Gray steadily, from bland,
faded eyes.

"I have not known an American hunter to come so far into China," he
observed to the officer.  "My humble and insufficient home is honored
by the presence of an enthusiast.  What game you expect to find?"

"Stags, antelope, and some of the splendid mountain sheep of Shensi,"
replied Gray calmly.  Wu Fang Chien's fan paused, at the precision of
the answer.

"Then you are going far.  Do your passports permit?"

"They give us a free hand.  We will follow the game trails."

"As far as Liangchowfu?"

"Perhaps."

"Beyond that is another province."  The mandarin tapped his well-kept
fingers thoughtfully on the table.  "I would not advise you, Captain
Gray, to go beyond Liangchowfu.  As you know, my unhappy country has
transpired a double change of government and the outlaw tribes of the
interior have become unruly during the last rebellion."  He fumbled
only slightly for words.

Gray nodded.

"We are prepared to take some risks."

Wu Fang Chien bowed politely.

"It might be dangerous--to go beyond Liangchowfu.  Your country and
mine are most friendly, Captain Gray.  I esteem your welfare as my
own.  My sorrow would greaten if injury happen to you."

"Your kindness does honor to your heart."

"I suggest," Wu Fang Chien looked mildly at the uneasy Delabar, "that
you have me _visé_ your passports so that you may travel safely this
side of Liangchowfu.  Then I will give you a military escort who will
be protection against any outlaws you meet on the road.  In this way
I will feel that I am doing my full duty to my honored guests."

"The offer is worthy," said Gray, who realized that the sense of duty
of a town official was a serious thing, but did not wish an escort,
"of one whose hospitality is a pleasure to his guests."

Wu Fang Chien shook hands with himself.  "But we have little money to
pay an escort----"

"I will attend to that."

"Unfortunately, an escort of soldiers would spoil my chances at big
game.  We shall pick up some native hunters."

Wu Fang Chien bowed, with a faint flicker of green eyes.

"It shall be as you wish, Captain Gray.  But I am distressed at the
thought you may suffer harm.  The last American who went beyond the
Western Gate, died."

Gray frowned.  He had not known that one of his countrymen had
penetrated so far into the interior.

"Without doubt," pursued the mandarin, stroking his fan gently across
his face, "you have a good supply of rifles.  I have heard much of
these excellent weapons of your country.  Would you oblige me showing
them to me before you leave Honan?"

"I should be glad to do so," said Gray, "if they were not packed in
our luggage which will not be here before we set out.  But I have two
small presents----"

The gift of the clock and electric light turned the thread of
conversation and seemed to satisfy Wu Fang Chien, who bowed them out
with the utmost courtesy to the waiting sedan chairs.  Then, as the
bearers picked up the poles, he drew a small and exquisite vase from
under his robe and pressed it upon Gray as a token, he said, to keep
fresh the memory of their visit.

At their room in the hotel Gray showed the vase to Delabar.  It was a
valuable object, of enamel wrought on gold leaves, and inscribed with
some Chinese characters.

"What do you make of our worthy Wu Fang--hullo!" he broke off.
Delabar had seized the vase and taken off the top.

"It is what the Chinese call a message jar," explained the scientist,
feeling within the vase.  He removed a slim roll of silk, wound about
an ebony stick.  On the silk four Chinese characters were delicately
painted.

[Illustration: four Chinese symbols]

"What do they mean?" asked Gray, looking over his shoulder.

The Syrian glanced at him appraisingly, under knitted brows.  His
companion's face was expressionless, save for a slight tinge of
curiosity.  Delabar judged that the soldier knew nothing of written
Chinese, which was the truth.

"Anything or nothing, my friend.  It reads like a proverb.  The
oriental soul takes pleasure in maxims.  Yet everything they do or
say has a meaning--very often a double meaning."

"Such as Wu Fang's table talk," smiled Gray.  "Granted.  Is this any
particular dialect?"

"Written Chinese is much the same everywhere.  Just as the Arabic
numerals throughout Europe."  He scanned the silk attentively, and
his lips parted.  "The first ideograph combines the attribute or
adjective 'clever' or 'shrewd' with the indicator 'man.'  A shrewd
man--_hua jen_."

"Perhaps Wu Fang: perhaps you.  Go on."

"The second character is very ancient, almost a picture-drawing of
warning streamers.  It is an emphatic 'do not!'"

"Then it's you--and me."

"The third character is prefixed by _mu_, a tree, and signifies a
wooden board, or a wall.  The fourth means 'the West.'"

"A riddle, but not so hard to guess," grinned Gray, taking up his
maps from the table and filling his pipe preparatory to work.  "_A
wise guy doesn't climb the western wall_."

"You forget," pointed out Delabar sharply, "the negative.  It is the
strongest kind of a warning.  _Do not, if you are wise, approach the
western wall_.  My friend, this is a plain warning--even a threat.
To-day Wu Fang Chien hinted we should not go to Liangchowfu.  Now he
threatens----"

"I gathered as much."  Gray took the slip of fine silk and scanned it
quizzically.  "Delabar, do you know the ideograph for 'to make' or
'build?'"

The scientist nodded.

"Then write it, where it seems to fit in here."

Delabar did so, with a glance at his companion.  Whereupon the
soldier folded the missive and replaced it in the jar.  He clapped
his hands loudly.  Almost at once a boy appeared in the door.

To him Gray handed the vase with instructions to carry it to His
Excellency, the official Wu Fang Chien.  He reënforced his order with
a piece of silver cash.  To the curious scientist he explained
briefly.

"Wu Fang is a scholar.  He will read our reply as: _A wise man will
not build a wall in the west_.  It will give him food for thought,
and it may keep His Excellency's men from overhauling our belongings
a second time during our absence."

Delabar started.  "May?"

"Yes.  Remember I left that message of Wu's on top of these maps.  I
find it underneath them.  The maps are all here.  We locked our door,
carefully.  Some one has evidently given our papers the once over and
forgotten to replace them in the order he found them.  I say it _may_
have been at Wu's orders.  I think it probably was."

"Why?"  Delabar licked his thin lips nervously.

"Because nothing has been taken.  A Chinese official has the right to
be curious about strangers in his district.  Likewise, his men
wouldn't have much trouble in entering the room--with the landlord's
assistance.  The ordinary run of thieves would have taken something
valuable--my field glasses, for instance."

Delabar strode nervously the length of the room and peered from the
shutters.

"Captain Gray!" he swung around, "do you know there are maps of the
Gobi, of Sungan, in your case.  The person who broke into our room
must have seen them."

"I reckon so."

"Then Wu Fang Chien may know we are going to the Gobi!  I have not
forgotten what he said about the last American hunter.  What hunter
has been as far as the Gobi?  None.  So----"

"You think he meant----"

"Dr. Brent."

Gray shook his head slowly.  "Far fetched, Delabar," he meditated.
"You're putting two and two together to make ten.  All we know is
that Wu has sent us a polite motto.  No use in worrying ourselves."

But it was clear to him that Delabar was worried, and more.  Gray had
been observing his companion closely.  Now for the first time he read
covert fear in the professor's thin face.

Fear, Gray reflected to himself, was hard to deal with, in a man of
weak vitality and high-strung nerves.  He felt that Delabar was
alarmed needlessly; that he dreaded what lay before them.

For that reason he regretted the event of that night which gave shape
to Delabar's apprehensions.

At the scientist's urging, they did not leave the room before turning
in.  Gray adjusted Delabar's walking stick against the door, placing
a string of Chinese money on the head of the stick, and balancing the
combination so a movement of the door would send the coins crashing
to the floor.

"Just in case our second-story men pay us another visit," he
explained.  "Now that we know they can open the door, we'll act
accordingly."




CHAPTER V

INTRUDERS

It was a hot night.

Gray, naked except for shirt and socks, lay under the mosquito
netting and wished that he had brought double the amount of insect
powder he had.  Across the room Delabar had subsided into fitful
snores.  The night was not quiet.

In the courtyard of the hotel some Chinese servants were at their
perpetual gambling, their shrill voices coming up through the
shutters.  On the further side of the street a guitar twanged
monotonously.  Somewhere, a dog yelped.

The warm odors of the place assaulted Gray's nostrils unpleasantly.
They were strange, potent odors, a mingling of dirt, refuse, horses,
the remnants of cooking.  Gray sighed, longing for the clean air of
the plains toward which they were headed.

They were still far from the Gobi's edge.  The distance seemed to
stretch out interminably.  It is not easy to cross the broad bosom of
China.

He wondered what success they would have.  What was the city of
Sungan?  How had it escaped observation?  How did a city happen to be
in the desert, anyway?

What was the pale sickness Brent had spoken of?  Brent had died.
From natural causes, of course.  Gray gave little heed to Delabar's
wild surmises.  But the conduct of Wu Fang Chien afforded him food
for thought.

Had the vice-governor actually known of their mission?  His words
might have had a double meaning.  And they might not.  The silk
scroll meant little.  Delabar had read warning into it; but was not
that a result of his imagination?

Gray turned uncomfortably on his bed and considered the matter.  How
could Wu Fang Chien have known they were bound for Sungan?  Their
mission had been carefully kept from publicity.  Only Van Schaick and
his three associates knew of it.  Men like Van Schaick and Balch
could keep their mouths shut.  And Delabar was certainly cautious
enough.

Gray cursed the heat under his breath, with added measure for the dog
which seemed bound to make a night of it.  The chatter at the hotel
door had subsided with midnight.  But the guitar still struck its
melancholy note, accompanied by the intermittent wail of the
sorrowing dog.

No, Gray thought sleepily, Wu Fang Chien could not have known of
their mission.  He had let Delabar's nerves prey on his own--that was
all.  Delabar was full of this Asia stuff, especially concerning the
priests----

Gray's mind drifted away into vague visions of ancient and forgotten
temples.  The guitar note became the strum of temple drums, echoing
over the waste of the desert.  The dog's plaint took form in the
wailing of shrouded forms that moved about gigantic ruins, ruins that
gave forth throngs of spirits.  And the spirits took up the wail,
approaching him.

A green light flamed from the temple gate.  The gongs sounded a final
crash--and Gray awoke at the noise of the stick and coins falling to
the floor.

He became fully conscious instantly--from habit.  And was aware of
two things.  He had been asleep for some time.  Also, the door had
been thrown open and dark forms were running into the room.

Gray caught at his automatic which he always hung at his pillow.  He
missed it in the dark.  One of the figures stumbled against the bed.
He felt a hand brush across his face.

Drawing up his legs swiftly he kicked out at the man who was fumbling
for him.  The fellow subsided backward with a grunt, and the officer
gained his feet.  His sight was not yet cleared, but he perceived the
blur of figures in the light from the open door.

He wasted no time in outcry.  Experience had taught him that the best
way to deal with native assailants was with his fists.  He bent
forward from the hips, balanced himself and jabbed at the first man
who ran up to him.

His fist landed in the intruder's face.  Gray weighed over a hundred
and seventy pounds, and he had the knack which comparatively few men
possess of putting his weight behind his fists.  Moreover, he was not
easily flurried, and this coolness gave his blows added sting.

At least four men had broken into the room.  The other two hesitated
when they saw their companions knocked down.  But Gray did not.
There was a brief rustle of feet over the floor, the sound of a heavy
fist striking against flesh, and the invaders stumbled or crawled
from the room.

Gray was surprised they did not use their knives.  Once they
perceived that he was fully awake they seemed to lose heart.  The
fight had taken only a minute, and Gray was master of the field.

He had counted four men as they ran out.  But he waited alertly by
the door while Delabar, who had remained on his bed, got up and lit
the lamp.  Gray's first glance told him that no Chinamen were to be
seen.

He was breathing heavily, but quite unhurt.  Having the advantage of
both weight and hitting power over his light adversaries, he took no
pride in his prompt clearing of the room.  Delabar, however, was
plainly shaky.

"What did they want?" the professor muttered, eyeing the door.
"How----"

"Look out!" warned Gray crisply.

From the foot of his bed a head appeared.  Two slant eyes fixed on
him angrily.  A Chinaman in the rough clothes of a coolie crawled out
and stood erect.

In one hand he held Gray's rifle, removed from the case.  With the
other he was fumbling at the safety catch with which he seemed
unfamiliar.

Gray acted swiftly.  Realizing that the gun was loaded and that it
would go off if the coolie thought of pulling the trigger, inasmuch
as the safety catch was not set, he stepped to one side, to the head
of the bed.

Here he fell to his knees.  The man with the rifle, if he had fired,
would probably have shot over the American, who was feeling under the
pillow.

As it happened the coolie did not pull the trigger of the gun.  A
dart of flame, a _crack_ which echoed loudly in the narrow room--and
Gray, over the sights of the automatic which he had recovered and
fired in one motion, saw the man stagger.

Through the swirling smoke he saw the coolie drop the gun and run to
the window.

Gray covered the man again, but refrained from pressing the trigger.
There was no need of killing the coolie.  The next instant the man
had flung open the shutters and dived from the window.

Looking out, Gray saw the form of his adversary vaguely as the coolie
picked himself up and vanished in the darkness.

The street was silent.  The guitar was no longer to be heard.

Gray crossed the room and flung open the door.  The hall was empty.
He closed the door, readjusted the stick and string of coins and
grinned at Delabar who was watching nervously.

"That was one on me, Professor," he admitted cheerfully.  "The coolie
who bobbed up under the bed must have been the one I kicked there.
Fancy knocking a man to where he can grab your own gun."

Delabar, however, saw no humor in the situation.

"They were coolies," he said.  "What do you suppose they came after?"

"Money.  I don't know."  Gray replaced the shutters and blew out the
light.  "We'll complain to our landlord in the morning.  But I don't
guess we'll have much satisfaction out of him.  The fact that my shot
didn't bring the household running here shows pretty well that it was
a put-up job."

His prophecy proved true.  The proprietor of the hotel protested that
he had known nothing of the matter.  Asked why he had not
investigated the shot, he declared that he was afraid.  Gray gave up
his questioning and set about preparing to leave Honanfu.

"The sooner we're away from Wu Fang's jurisdiction the better," he
observed to Delabar.  "No use in making an investigation.  It would
only delay us.  Our baggage came this morning, and you've engaged the
muleteers.  We'll shake Honanfu."

Delabar seemed as anxious as Gray to leave the town.  Crowds of
Chinese, attracted perhaps by rumor of what had happened in the
night, followed them about the streets as Gray energetically
assembled his two wagons with the stores, and the men to drive the
mules.

He made one discovery.  In checking up the list of baggage they found
that one box was missing.

"It's the one that had the rifles and spare ammunition," grunted
Gray.  "Damn!"

He had put the rifle that had been intended for McCann with his own
extra piece and ammunition in a separate box.  In spite of persistent
questioning, the drivers who had brought the wagons to Honanfu denied
that they had seen the box.

A telegram was sent to the railway terminal.  The answer was delayed
until late afternoon.  No news of the box was forthcoming.

"It's no use," declared Delabar moodily.  "Remember, you told Wu Fang
Chien that our rifles were with the luggage.  Probably he has taken
the box."

"Looks that way," admitted Gray, who was angered at the loss.  "Well,
there's no help for it.  We'll hike, before Wu Fang thinks up
something else to do."

He gave the word to the muleteers, the wagons creaked forward.  He
jumped on the tail of the last one, beside Delabar, and Honanfu with
its watching crowds faded into the dust, after a turn in the road.

From that time forth, Gray kept his rifle in his hand, or slung at
his shoulder.

While they sat huddled uncomfortably on some stores against the side
of the jogging cart--nothing is quite so responsive to the law of
gravity as a springless Chinese cart, or so uncomfortable, unless it
be the rutted surface of a Chinese imperial highway--both were
thinking.

Delabar, to himself: "Why is it that an imperial road in China is not
one kept in order--in the past--for the emperor, but one that can be
put in order, if the emperor announced his intention of passing over
it?  My associate, the American, who thinks only along straight
lines, will never understand the round-about working of the oriental
mind.  And that will work him evil."

Gray, aloud: "Look here, Delabar!  We can safely guess now that Wu
Fang would like to hinder our journey."

"I have already assumed that."

"Hm.  Think it's because the Wusun actually exist, and he wants to
keep us from the Gobi?"

Delabar was aroused from his muse.

"A Chinese official seldom acts on his own initiative," he responded.
"Wu Fang Chien has received instructions.  Yes, I think he intends to
bar our passage beyond Liangchowfu.  By advancing as we are from
Honanfu, we are running blindly into danger."

Gray squinted back at the dusty road, nursing his rifle across his
knees.  His brown face was impassive, the skin about the eyes deeply
wrinkled from exposure.  The eyes themselves were narrow and hard.
Delabar found it increasingly difficult to guess what went on in the
mind of the taciturn American.

"I've been wondering," said Gray slowly, "wondering for a long time
about a certain question.  Admitting that the Wusun are there, in the
Gobi, why are they kept prisoners--carefully guarded like this?  It
doesn't seem logical!"

The Syrian smiled blandly, twisting his beard with a thin hand.

"Logic!" he cried.  "Oh, the mind of the inner Asiatic is logical;
but the reasons governing it, and the grounds for its deductions are
quite different from the motives of European psychology."

"Well, I fail to see the reason why the Wusun people should be
guarded for a good many hundred years."

"Simply this.  Buddhism is the crux of the oriental soul.  Confucius
and Taoism are secondary to the advent of the Gautama--to the great
Nirvana.  Buddhism rules inner China, Tibet, part of Turkestan, some
of India, and--under guise of _Shamanism_, Southeastern Siberia."

Gray made no response.  He was studying the face of Delabar--that
intellectual, nervous, unstable face.

"Buddhism has ruled Central Asia since the time of Sakuntala--the
great Sakuntala," went on the scientist.  "And the laws of Buddha are
ancient and very binding.  The Wusun are enemies of Buddhism.  They
are greater enemies than the Manchus, of Northern and Eastern China.
That is because the Wusun hold in reverence a symbol that is hateful
to the priests of the temples."

"What is that?"

Delabar hesitated.

"The symbol is some barbarian sign.  The Wusun cherish it, perhaps
because cut off from the world, they have no other faith than the
faith of their forefathers."  The scientist's high voice rang with
strong conviction.  "In the annals of the Han dynasty, before the
birth of Christ, it is related that an army under the General Ho
K'u-p'ing was sent on plea of the Buddhists to destroy the
Huing-nu--, the 'green-eyed devils' and the Wusun--the Tall Ones,' of
the west.  The military expedition failed.  But since then the
Buddhists have been embittered against the Wusun--have guarded them
as prisoners."

"Then religious fanaticism is the answer?"

"A religious feud."

"Because the Wusun will not adopt Buddhism?"

"Because they cling to the absurd sign of their faith!"

Gray passed a gnarled hand across his chin and frowned at his rifle.

"Sounds queer.  I'd like to see that sign."

Delabar settled himself uneasily against the jarring of the cart.

"It is not likely, Captain Gray," he said, "that either of us will
see it."

Whereupon they fell silent, each busied with his thoughts, in this
manner.

Delabar, to himself: My companion is a physical brute; how can he
understand the high mysteries of Asian thought?

Gray: Either this Syrian has a grand imagination, or he knows more
than he has been telling me--the odds being the latter is correct.




CHAPTER VI

MIRAI KHAN

Near Kia-yu-kwan, the western gate of the Great Wall, the twin
pagodas of Liangchowfu rise from the plain.

In former centuries Liangchowfu was the border town, a citadel of
defense against the outer barbarians of the northern steppe and
Central Asia.  It is a walled city, standing squarely athwart the
highway from China proper to the interior.  Beyond Liangchowfu are
the highlands of Central Asia.

In exactly a month after leaving Honanfu, as Gray had promised, the
wagons bearing the two Americans passed through the town gate.

Gray, dusty and travel-stained to his waist, but alert and erect of
carriage, walked before the two carts.  He showed no ill effects from
the hard stage of the journey they had just completed.

Delabar lay behind the leather curtain of one of the wagons.  His
spirits had suffered from the past month.  The monotonous road, with
its ceaseless mud villages had depressed him.  The groups of natives
squatting in the sun before their huts, in the never-ending search
for vermin, and the throngs of staring children that sought for horse
dung in the roads to use for fuel, had wrought on his sensitive
nerves.

They had not seen a white man during the journey.  Gray had written
to Van Schaick before they left Honanfu, but they expected no mail
until they should return to Shanghai.

"If we reach the coast again," Delabar had said moodily.

The better air of the hill country through which they passed had not
improved his spirits, as it had Gray's.  The sight of the forest clad
peaks, with their hidden pagodas, from the eaves of which the wind
bells sent their tinkle down the breeze, held no interest for the
scientist.

Glimpses of brown, spectacled workmen who peered at them from the
rice fields, or the vision of a tattered junk sail, passing down an
estuary in the purple quiet of evening, when the dull yellow of the
fields and the green of the hills were blended in a soft haze did not
cause Delabar to lift his eyes.

China, vast and changeless, had taken the two Americans to itself.
And Gray knew that Delabar was afraid.  He had suspected as much in
Honanfu.  Now he was certain.  Delabar had taken to smoking
incessantly, and made no attempt to exercise as Gray did.  He brooded
in the wagon.

The calm of the army officer seemed to anger Delabar.  Often when two
men are alone for a long stretch of time they get on each other's
nerves.  But Delabar's trouble went deeper than this.  His fears had
preyed on him during the month.  He had taken to watching the dusty
highway behind them.  He slept badly.

Yet they had not been molested.  They were not watched, as far as
Gray could observe.  They had heard no more from Wu Fang Chien.

The streets of Liangchowfu were crowded.  It was some kind of a feast
day.  Gray noted that there were numbers of priests who stared at
them impassively as he led the mule teams to an inn on the further
side of the town, near the western wall, and persuaded the proprietor
to clear the pigs and children from one of the guest chambers.

"We were fools to come this far," muttered Delabar, throwing himself
down on a bamboo bench.  "Did you notice the crowds in the streets we
passed?"

"It's a feast, or bazaar day, I expect," observed Gray quietly,
removing his mud caked shoes and stretching his big frame on the clay
bench that did duty as a bed.

"No."  Delabar shook his head.  "Gray, I tell you, we are fools.  The
Chinese of Liangchowfu knew we were coming.  Those priests were
Buddhist followers.  They are here for a purpose."

"They seem harmless enough."

Delabar laughed.

"Did you ever know a Mongol to warn you, before he struck?  No, my
friend.  We are in a nice trap here, within the walls.  We are the
only Europeans in the place.  Every move we make will be watched.  Do
you think we can get through the walls without the Chinese knowing
it?"

"No," admitted Gray.  "But we had to come here for food and a new
relay of mules."

"We will never leave Liangchowfu--to the west.  But we can still go
back."

"We can, but we won't."

Gray turned on the bed where he sat and tentatively scratched a clear
space on the glazed paper which formed the one--closed--window of the
room.  Ventilation is unknown in China.

He found that he could look out in the street.  The inn was built
around three sides of a courtyard, and their room was at the end of
one wing.  He saw a steady throng of passersby--pockmarked beggars,
flaccid faced coolies trundling women along in wheelbarrows, an
astrologer who had taken up his stand in the middle of the street
with the two tame sparrows which formed his stock-in-trade, and a few
swaggering, sheepskin clad Kirghiz from the steppe.

As each individual passed the inn, Gray noticed that he shot a quick
glance at it from slant eyes.  An impressive palanquin came down the
street.  A fat porter in a silk tunic with a staff walked before the
bearers.  Coming abreast the astrologer, the man with the staff
struck him contemptuously aside.

As this happened, Gray saw the curtain of the palanquin lifted, and
the outline of a face peering at the inn.

"We seem to be the sight of the city," he told Delabar, drawing on
his shoes.  "The rubberneck bus has just passed.  Look here,
Professor!  No good in moping around here.  You go out and rustle the
food we need.  I'll inspect our baggage in the stable."

When Delabar had departed on his mission, Gray left the inn
leisurely.  He wandered after the scientist, glancing curiously at a
crowd which had gathered in what was evidently the center square of
the town, being surrounded by an array of booths.

The crowd was too great for him to see what the attraction was, but
he elbowed his way through without ceremony.  Sure that something
unusual must be in progress, he was surprised to see only a
nondescript Chinese soldier in a jacket that had once been blue with
a rusty sword belted to him.  Beside the soldier was an old man with
a wrinkled, brown face from which glinted a pair of keen eyes.

By his sheepskin coat, bandaged legs and soiled yak-skin boots Gray
identified the elder of the two as a Kirghiz mountaineer.  Both men
were squatting on their haunches, the Kirghiz smoking a pipe.

"What is happening?" Gray asked a bystander, pointing to the two in
the cleared space.

Readily, the accents of the border dialect came to his tongue.  The
other understood.

"It will happen soon," he explained.  "That is Mirai Khan, the
hunter, who is smoking the pipe.  When he is finished the Manchu
soldier will cut off his head."

Gray whistled softly.  The crowd was staring at him now, intent on a
new sight.  Even Mirai Khan was watching him idly, apparently
unconcerned about his coming demise.

"Why is he smoking the pipe?" Gray asked.

"Because he wants to.  The soldier is letting him do it because Mirai
Khan has promised to tell him where his long musket is, before he
dies."

"Why must he die?"

The man beside him coughed and spat apathetically.  "I do not know.
It was ordered.  Perhaps he stole the value of ten _taels_."

Gray knew enough of the peculiar law of China to understand that a
theft of something valued at more than a certain sum was punishable
by death.  The sight of the tranquil Kirghiz stirred his interest.

"Ask the soldier what is the offense," he persisted, exhibiting a
coin at which the Chinaman stared eagerly.

Mirai Khan, Gray was informed, had been convicted of stealing a horse
worth thirteen _taels_.  The Kirghiz had claimed that the horse was
his own, taken from him by the Liangchowfu officials who happened to
be in need of beasts of burden.  The case had been referred to the
authorities at Honanfu, and no less a personage than Wu Fang Chien
had ruled that since the hunter had denied the charge he had given
the lie to the court.  Wherefore, he must certainly be beheaded.

Gray sympathized with Mirai Khan.  He had seen enough of Wu Fang
Chien to guess that the Kirghiz' case had not received much
consideration.  Something in the mountaineer's shrewd face attracted
Gray.  He pushed into the cleared space.

"Tell the Manchu," he said sharply to the Chinaman whom he had drawn
with him, "that I know Wu Fang Chien.  Tell him that I will pay the
amount of the theft, if he will release the prisoner."

"It may not be," objected the other indifferently.

"Do as I say," commanded Gray sharply.

The soldier, apparently tired of waiting, had risen and drawn his
weapon.  He bent over the Kirghiz who remained kneeling.  The sight
quickened Gray's pulse--in spite of the danger he knew he ran from
interfering with the Chinese authorities.

"Quick," he added.  His companion whispered to the soldier who
glanced at the American in surprise and hesitated.

Gray counted out thirteen _taels_--about ten dollars--and added five
more.  "I have talked with Wu Fang Chien," he explained, "and I will
buy this man's life.  If the value of the horse is paid, the crime
will be no more."

The blue-coated Manchu said something, evidently an objection.

"He says," interpreted the Chinaman, who was eyeing the money
greedily, "that thirteen _taels_ will not wipe out the insult to the
judge."

"Five more will," Gray responded.  "He can keep them if he likes.
And here's a _tael_ for you."

The volunteer interpreter clasped the coin in a claw-like hand.  Gray
thrust the rest of the money upon the hesitating executioner, and
seized Mirai Khan by the arm.

Nodding to the Kirghiz, he led him through the crowd, which was
muttering uneasily.  He turned down an alley.

"Can you get out of Liangchowfu without being seen?" the American
asked his new purchase.  He was more confident now of the tribal
speech.

Mirai Khan understood.  Later, Gray came to know that the man was
very keen witted.  Also, he had a polyglot tongue.

"Aye, Excellency."  Mirai Khan fell on his knees and pressed his
forehead to his rescuer's shoes.  "There is a hole in the western
wall behind the temple where the caravan men water their oxen and
camels."

"Go, then, and quickly."

"I will get me a horse," promised Mirai Khan, "and the Chinese pigs
will not see me go."

Gray thought to himself that Mirai Khan might be more of a horse
thief than he professed to be.

"The Excellency saved my life," muttered the Kirghiz, glancing around
craftily.  "It was written that I should die this day, and he kept me
from the sight of the angel of death.  But thirteen _taels_ is a
great deal of wealth.  It would be well if I found my gun, and slew
the soldier.  Then the Excellency would have his thirteen _taels_
again.  Where is he to be found?"

"At the inn by the western wall.  But never mind the Manchu.  Save
your own skin."

Gray strode off down the alley, for men were coming after them.  In
the rear of an unsavory hut, the Kirghiz plucked his sleeve.

"Aye, it shall so be, Excellency," he whispered.  "Has the honorable
master any tobacco?"

Impatiently Gray sifted some tobacco from his pouch into the hunter's
scarred hand.  Mirai Khan then asked for matches.

"I will not forget," he said importantly.  "You will see Mirai Khan
again.  I swear it.  And I will tell you something.  Wu Fang Chien is
in Liangchowfu."

With that the man shambled off down an alley, looking for all the
world like a shaggy dog with unusually long legs.  Gray stared after
him with a smile.  Then he turned back toward the inn.

That night there was a feast in Liangchowfu.  The sound of the temple
drums reached to the inn.  Lanterns appeared on the house fronts
across the street.  Throngs of priests passed by in ceremonial
procession, bearing lights.  In the inn courtyard a group of
musicians took their stand, producing a hideous mockery of a tune on
cymbals and one-stringed fiddles.  But the main room of the inn,
where the eating tables were set with bowls and chop-sticks, was
deserted except for a wandering rooster.

"I'm going out to see the show," asserted Gray, who was weary of
inaction.

"What!"  The Syrian stared at him, fingering his beard restlessly.
"With Wu Fang Chien in the town!"

"Certainly.  There's nothing to be done here.  I may be able to pick
up information which will be useful--if we are in danger."

Delabar tossed his cigarette away and shrugged his shoulders.

"We are marked men, my young friend.  I saw this afternoon that a
guard has been posted at the town gates.  Those musicians yonder are
spies.  The master of the inn is in the stable, with our men."

"Then we'll shake our escort for a while." Gray's smile faded.  "Look
here, Professor.  I'm alive to the pickle we're in.  We've got to get
out of this place.  And I want to have a look at that hole in the
wall Mirai Khan told me about.  For one thing--to see if horses can
get through it."

Delabar accompanied him out of the courtyard, into the street.  Gray
noted grimly that the musicians ceased playing with their departure.
He beckoned Delabar to follow and turned down the alley he had
visited that afternoon.  Looking over his shoulder he saw a dark form
slip into the entrance of the alley.

"Double time, Professor," whispered Gray.  Grasping the other by the
arm he trotted through the piles of refuse that littered the rear of
the houses, turning sharply several times until he was satisfied they
were no longer followed.  As a landmark, he had the dark bulk of the
pagoda which formed the roof of the temple.

Toward this he made his way, dodging back into the shadows when he
sighted a group of Chinese.  He was now following the course of the
wall, which took him into a garden, evidently a part of the temple
grounds.

He saw nothing of the opening Mirai Khan had mentioned.  But a murmur
of voices from the shuttered windows of the edifice stirred his
interest.

"It is a meeting of the Buddhists," whispered Delabar.  "I heard the
temple messengers crying the summons in the street this afternoon."

Gray made his way close to the building.  It was a lofty structure of
carved wood.  The windows were small and high overhead.  Gray scanned
them speculatively.

"We weren't invited to the reunion, Professor," he meditated, "but
I'd give something for a look inside.  Judging by what you've told
me, these Buddhist fellows are our particular enemies.  And it's
rather a coincidence they held a lodge meeting to-night."

He felt along the wall for a space.  They were sheltered from view
from the street by the garden trees.

"Hullo," he whispered, "here's luck.  A door.  Looks like a stage
entrance, with some kind of carving over it."

Delabar pushed forward and peered at the inscription.  The reflected
light of the illumination in the street enabled him to see fairly
well.

"This is the gate of ceremony of the temple," he observed.  "It is
one of the doors built for a special occasion--only to be used by a
scholar of the town who has won the highest honors of the Hanlin
academy, or by the emperor himself--when there was one."

Gray pushed at the door.  It was not fastened, but being in disuse,
gave in slowly, with a creak of iron hinges.  Delabar checked him.

"You know nothing of Chinese customs," he hissed warningly.  "It is
forbidden for any one to enter.  The penalty----"

"Beheading, I suppose," broke in Gray impatiently.  "Come along,
Delabar.  This is a special occasion, and, by Jove--you're a
distinguished scholar."

He drew the other inside with him.  They stood in a black passage
filled with an odor of combined must and incense.  Gray took his
pocket flashlight from his coat and flickered its beam in front of
them.  He could feel Delabar shivering.  Wondering at the state of
the scientist's nerves, he made out an opening before them in which
steps appeared.

They seemed to be in a deserted part of the temple.  Gray wanted very
much to see what was going on--and what was at the head of the
stairs.  He ascended as quietly as possible, followed by the Syrian
who was muttering to himself.




CHAPTER VII

THE DOOR IS GUARDED

A subdued glow appeared above Gray's head, as the narrow stairs
twisted.  The glow grew stronger, and he caught the buzz of voices.
Cautiously he climbed to the head of the steps and peered into the
chamber from which came the light.

He saw a peculiar room.  It was empty of all furniture except a
teakwood chair.  The light came through a large aperture in the
floor.  An ebony railing, gilded and inlaid, ran around this square
of light.  The voices grew louder.

It was clear to Gray that they were in some kind of gallery above the
room where the assembly was--for the voices seemed to be rising
through the floor.

He walked to the chair--and stopped abruptly.

The opening in the floor was directly above the temple proper.  Gray
and Delabar could see the shrine, with the usual bronze figure of the
almond-eyed god, the burning tapers and the incense bowls.

On the floor by the shrine the gathering of priests squatted.  They
were facing, not the image of Buddha, but a chair which stood on a
daïs at one side.  On this chair an imposing mandarin was seated with
the red button and silk robe of officialdom.

"Wu Fang Chien!" whispered Delabar.

Gray nodded.  It was their friend of Honanfu, with his thin beard,
placid face and spectacles.

"What are they doing?" asked Gray softly.

The murmur of voices persisted.  For some time Delabar listened.
Then he pointed out a man in beggar's dress kneeling beside the
mandarin's chair.

"It is some kind of trial," he said doubtfully.  "The priest by Wu
Fang Chien is an ascetic--what they call a _fakir_ in India.  But he
is not the criminal."

They moved nearer the opening, being secure from observation from
below.  Gray wrinkled his nose at the mingled scent of incense and
Mongolian sweat that floated up through the opening.

"Wu Fang Chien is saying that he has come to Liangchowfu to sit in
judgment on the evildoers who are enemies of the god," interpreted
Delabar.  "He has called the priests to witness the proceedings."

Gray looked at Delabar curiously.  He had caught a word or two of the
talk.

"Does he name the offenders?" he asked.

"No.  He says the priesthood has been informed that two men plan to
desecrate a holy place.  He has come to catch them red-handed."

Wu Fang Chien, Gray reflected, could not know they were in the
gallery of the temple, by the seat reserved for a distinguished
student, or the emperor.  The mandarin must have discovered their
mission, as Delabar feared.  He peered over the rail.

Directly underneath three priests were stripped to the waist.  They
held a bronze bowl of considerable size.

As Gray watched, a silence fell on the room below.

"They are going to try divination," whispered Delabar, and Gray saw
that his face was strained.  "The divination of the ivory sticks and
the bowl.  That is a custom of the sorcerers of the interior.  The
priests believe in it implicitly.  I have seen some wonderful
things----"

He broke off as the ascetic prostrated himself before Wu Fang Chien,
holding out a sandalwood box.  Gray saw the mandarin lean forward and
draw what looked like a short white stick from the box.

"That is to determine the distance the criminals are from the
temple," explained Delabar.  "It is a very short stick--representing
perhaps a _li_ or one-third of a mile."

"That would include the inn," was Gray's comment.  "Hello, the bowl
boys are coming into action."

The three priests were turning slowly on their feet, supporting the
bronze bowl above their heads.  They moved in a kind of dance, and as
they revolved, came nearer to the shrine--then retreated.  Delabar
watched intently.

"They will keep up the dance for twenty-four hours," he said,
"without stopping.  Meanwhile the other priests will watch, without
taking food or drink.  It induces a kind of hypnotism.  They believe
that at the end of the twenty-four hours, the god will enter the
bowl."

Gray nodded.  Wu Fang Chien had sat back and was eyeing the dance
complacently.

"When this happens," Delabar went on, "the priests will leave the
temple, holding the bowl in front of them.  They will be followed by
the townspeople who do not doubt that the god will conduct them to
the criminals."

"I guess we're nominated for the guilty parties."

Gray surveyed the scene curiously, the revolving trio of brown
bodies, the silent mandarin and the watching priests.  He followed
idly the smoke fumes that eddied up from the shrine of the bronze
god.  Wu Fang Chien, he mused, had decided that it was time to
strike.  And the mandarin was going about it with the patience of the
Mongol, sure of his victim, and his own power.

Wu Fang Chien had warned them.  They had not heeded the warning.  The
attack in Honanfu had been a prelude--possibly to get Gray's weapons
away from him.  It had failed, but Wu Fang Chien had formed another
plan.  Why else had he come to Liangchowfu?

Watching the whirling priests, Gray guessed at the plan.  In
twenty-four hours the sorcery of the bowl would come to a head.  The
three priests would bear it to the inn--in a state of semi-hypnotism
themselves, and followed by a fanatical crowd.  They would confront
Gray and Delabar.  They would search the belongings of the white men,
and find the maps of Sungan--the maps that had been seen by the
intruder at the Honanfu inn.  After that----

Delabar gripped his companion's arm.  "Some one is coming," he
whispered.

Gray listened, and heard a faint sound of footsteps.  It came from
the stairs--the soft pad-fad of slippered feet ascending the steps.
Gray shot a quick glance into the temple below.  The scene had not
changed, except that the priest in the tattered robe was no longer at
Wu Fang Chien's side.

"We are caught," muttered the scientist.  "There is no other door."

Gray was aware of this.  The only openings in the chamber where they
stood were the door and the aperture in the floor.  The _pad-pad_
came nearer, but more slowly.  He was reasonably sure that they had
not been seen.  It was abominably bad luck that some one should visit
the gallery just then.

"We left the temple door open," Delabar whispered, staring at the
dark stairs behind them.  "One of the priests observed it and
came----"

"Steady," Gray cautioned him.  He drew the trembling Syrian back into
the shadows at one side of the door.  Here they were in
semi-obscurity.  Stepping quietly to arm's reach of the head of the
stairs, Gray waited.

He heard the steps approach, then become silent as if the intruder
was looking into the room.

A moment passed while Gray silently cursed the heavy breathing of
Delabar who seemed possessed by uncontrollable excitement.  Then a
shaven head appeared in the doorway, followed by a naked shoulder.  A
pair of slant, evil eyes flickered around the gallery, failing to
notice the two white men in the shadow.

Gray's hand went out and closed on the throat of the priest.  His
grip tightened, choking off a smothered gasp.  The man fell heavily
to his knees.

The floor echoed dully at the impact.  Gray realized that it must
have been heard by those in the temple below.  Snatching up the frail
priest by throat and leg, he lifted him easily and started down the
stairs headlong.

"This way, Professor," he called.  "Better hurry."

Concealment being useless now, they plunged down the steps.  By the
time the lower floor was reached, Gray's grip had stilled the
struggles of the man--whom he recognized as the ascetic.

The sound of running feet came to him as he waited for Delabar to
come up.  The professor shot through the temple door like a
frightened rabbit.

Gray tossed the unconscious priest on the doorsill, and pushed the
heavy portal nearly shut, wedging the man's body in the opening.
Then he trotted after Delabar through the garden.

"Let's hope you're right about the penalty for opening the door
there," he laughed.  "That priest will have his hands full explaining
how he happens to be lying on the emperor's threshold--when he comes
to.  Probably he'll say that devils picked him up."

Looking back at the edge of the temple garden, Gray saw a crowd with
lanterns standing inside the door, over the form of the priest.  They
were some distance away by now.  Following the circuit of the city
wall, Gray succeeded in gaining the alleys back of the inn without
being observed.

Once safely in their room, Delabar threw himself on the bed, panting.
Gray took up his rifle and laid it across his knees, placing his
chair so that he could command both door and window.

He did not want to sleep.  And he feared to trust Delabar to watch.
Throughout the remaining hours until daylight whitened the paper of
the window, he sat in his chair.  But nothing further happened.  The
festivities in the streets had ended and the inn itself was quiet,
unusually so.


Daylight showed Delabar lying on the bed, smoking innumerable
cigarettes.  The scientist had maintained a moody silence since their
arrival at the inn.  The sound of excited voices floated in from the
courtyard.  Vehicles could be heard passing along the street.  But
the ordinary pandemonium of a Chinese hostelry at breakfast time was
subdued.

Gray tossed his rifle on the bed, yawned and stretched his powerful
frame.  He was hungry, and said so.  He brushed the dirt from his
shoes, changed to a clean shirt, looked in the pail for water.
Finding none, he picked up the pail, strode to the door and flung it
open.

On the threshold, his back against the doorpost, was sitting a
Buddhist priest.  It was an aged man, his face wrinkled and eyes
inflamed.  His right shoulder and his breast were bared.  In one hand
he clasped a long knife.  His eyes peered up at the white man
vindictively.

Gray recognized the ascetic of the temple.  He could see the dark
marks where his hands had squeezed the scrawny throat.

He reached for his automatic with his free hand.  The priest did not
stir.  The man was squatting on his heels, fairly over the threshold;
the knife rested on one knee.  How long he had been there, Gray did
not know.

Priest and white man stared at each other intently.  Gray frowned.
Plainly the man at the door did not mean well; but why did the fellow
remain seated, holding the knife passively?  He noted fleetingly that
the main room of the inn was vacant.

"Don't move!"  Delabar's voice came to him, shrill with anxiety.
"Don't take a step.  Shut the door and come back here."

"Why?" Gray asked curiously.  "I want to go out for water, and I'm
blessed if this chap is going to keep me in----"

"It's death to move!"

"For me?"

"No, the priest will die."  Delabar clutched his companion's arm.
"You don't understand.  The priest is here on a mission.  If you step
through the door, he will stab himself with the knife.  And if he
commits suicide at our door, we'll have the whole of Liangchowfu down
on us."

Gray pocketed the automatic with a laugh.  "I don't see why we are to
blame if this yellow monkey sticks himself with his own knife."

Delabar crossed to the door and closed it on the watching Buddhist.

"You know very little of China, my friend," he said gloomily.  "One
of the favorite methods of revenge is to hire a priest to sit at a
man's door, like this.  Then, if any one leaves the house, the priest
commits suicide.  That fixes--or the Chinese believe it fixes--a
crime on the man in the house.  It's a habit of the Chinese to kill
themselves in order to obtain vengeance on an enemy."

Gray whistled.  "I've heard something of the kind.  But, look here, I
could grab that fellow before he can hurt himself."

"It would be useless.  As soon as he was free, he'd commit suicide,
and the blame would fall on us.  By now, all the Chinese in the town
know that this priest is here.  If he should die, it would be a
signal for a general attack on us."

Meditatively, Gray seated himself on the bucket and considered the
situation.

"You know the working of the yellow mind, Professor," he observed.
"Do you suppose this fellow has marked us out as the guilty parties
who manhandled him in the temple and left him in the sacred door?"

"It's more likely that Wu Fang Chien guessed we were the intruders.
We were probably watched more closely than you knew.  Then, according
to the temple law, this priest is guilty of sacrilege in crossing the
emperor's door.  So Wu Fang Chien has ordered him to guard our door,
to wipe out his own sin, and incriminate us at the same time."

Gray grinned cheerfully.

"The working of the Mongol mind is a revelation, Delabar.  I guess
you're right.  This is Wu Fang Chien's way of keeping us quiet in
here while the boys with the bowl get their magic primed.  Also, it
will help to make the townspeople hostile to us."

Slowly, Wu Fang Chien's plan was maturing.  Gray saw the snare of the
Mongol mandarin closing around them.  It was a queer, fantastic
snare.  In the United States the situation would have been laughable.
Here, it was deadly.

Wu Fang Chien had made his preparations carefully.  The temple
festival had stirred up the Buddhists; the arrival of the bronze
bowl, borne by the priests, would implicate the two white men; the
discovery of the maps of the forbidden district of the Gobi would do
the rest.

Gray could destroy the maps.  But then he would have no guide to the
course to be followed, if they should escape from Liangchowfu.  He
was not yet willing to destroy all prospect of success.

He sought out the maps, in one of their packs, and pocketed them.

"Does this hocus-pocus of the bowl in the temple always take
twenty-four hours?" he asked Delabar.

"Always."

"Well, Wu Fang won't want to break the rules of the game--not when he
has the cards so well in hand.  Professor, we have fourteen hours to
think up a line of action.  We have food enough here to make a square
meal or two.  Also wine--as a present to the city mandarins--that
will keep us from becoming too thirsty."

Delabar shrugged his bent shoulders.  He looked ill.  His hand was
trembling, and it was clear to Gray that the man was on the verge of
a breakdown.

"What can we do?" the Syrian asked plaintively.  "Except to destroy
the maps, which would incriminate us."

"We won't do that."

There comes a time when fatigue undermines weak vitality.  Delabar
complained, begged, cursed.  But Gray refused to burn the papers
which meant the success or failure of their expedition.

"You're sick, Delabar," he said firmly.  "You seem to forget we're
here on a mission.  Now, pay attention a minute.  I've been getting
ready, after a fashion, for a move on Wu Fang's part.  I've paid our
coolies four times what was owing them, and promised 'em double that
if they stick by us.  I think they may do it.  If so, we stand a good
chance of getting clear with our necessary stores--emergency rations,
medicines, a few cooking utensils and blankets.  But we can't start
anything until it's dark.  Sleep if you can.  If you can't--don't
worry."

He cast a curious glance at the scientist--a glance of mixed
good-natured contempt and anxiety.

"This guardian of the gate trick works both ways," he concluded.  "If
we can't get out, no one will want to get in."

He took a few, sparing swallows of the strong wine, a mouthful of
bread and rice and tilted his chair back against the wall.  The room
was hot and close, and he soon dropped off into a nap.  Delabar did
not sleep.

Gray, from habit, dozed lightly.  He was conscious of the sounds that
went on in the street.  Several times he wakened, only to drop off
again, seeing that all was as it should be.  Once or twice he heard
Delabar go to the door and peer out to see if the priest was still at
his post.  Evidently he was, for the Syrian maintained his brooding
quiet.

As time wore on, Gray thought he heard Delabar laughing.  He assured
himself that he must have been mistaken.  Yet the echo of the laugh
persisted, harsh, and bitter.  Delabar must have been laughing.

The officer wondered drowsily what had been the cause of the other's
mirth--and sat up with a jerk.  He caught at the hand that was
stealing under his coat, and found himself looking into Delabar's
flushed face, not a foot from his own.  The scientist drew back, with
a chuckle.  There was no mistaking the chuckle this time.

Gray felt at his coat pocket and assured himself the maps were still
there.

"So you lost your nerve, eh, Professor?" he said, not unkindly--and
broke off with a stare.  "What the devil----?"

Delabar staggered away from him, and fell on the bed, rocking with
mirth.  He caught his head in his hands and burst into the laugh that
Gray had heard before.  Then he lay back full length, waving his
hands idiotically.

Gray swore softly.  He noticed the wine bottles on the table, and
caught them up.  He assured himself grimly that one was empty and
another nearly so.  He himself had taken only a swallow of the liquor.

Delabar had drunk up approximately two quarts of strong wine.  And
Gray knew that the man was not accustomed to it.

The scientist was drunk, blindly, hopelessly drunk.

The room was dark.  A candle, probably lighted by Delabar on some
whim, guttered on the floor.  Outside the room, the inn was very
still.

Gray regretted that his sleep had enabled Delabar to drink up the
liquor.  But the harm was done.  His companion was helpless as a
child.  He looked at his watch.  It was after eight.  As nearly as he
could remember, the proceedings at the temple had started about ten
o'clock.  Not quite two hours of quiet remained to them.

Delabar sat up and regarded him with owl-like wisdom.

"Drink, my friend," he mumbled, "you are a strong man, and it will be
hard for you to die if you are not drunk.  You were a fool to come
here.  You are a child before the ancient wisdom of China.  The
secrets of the Mongols have been before your God had eyes to see the
earth.  Why did you pry into them?"

A laugh followed this, and Delabar made a futile grab at one of the
bottles.

"You think I am afraid of Wu Fang Chien?" the mumble went on.  "No, I
am not afraid of him.  He is only a servant of the slave of Buddha,
who is Fate.  We can not go where Fate forbids--forbids us."

Gray surveyed him, frowning.

"Look outside the door," chuckled Delabar.  "Look--I stepped outside
the door, my friend.  And I saw----"

Waiting for no more, Gray crossed to the door and opened it.  At his
feet lay the priest.  The slant eyes stared up at him.  The knife was
fixed in the man's throat, and a dark circle had gathered on the
floor behind his head.




CHAPTER VIII

DELABAR LEAVES

Gray stooped and felt the dead man's face.  It was still quite warm.
The priest could not have killed himself more than a few minutes ago.
Probably Delabar, in his drunken wandering, had put his foot across
the threshold.

With a tightening of the lips, Gray straightened and surveyed the
inn.  It was empty and dark except for a lantern with a crimson shade
that hung over the door.  Either the people of the place had seen the
dead Buddhist and fled to spread the news, or they had given the room
a wide berth since that afternoon.

He could not know which was actually the case.  Gray, however, could
afford to waste no time in speculation.  He went back into their
chamber, fastened his rifle over his shoulder by its sling, and
jerked Delabar to his feet.

"It's time we got out of here, Professor," he said, "if you haven't
settled our hash for good."

The man was muttering and stumbling--hardly able to keep his feet.
He could give no assistance to Gray.

They crossed the main room of the inn without hindrance, and left the
building by the rear.  The stable yard was dark, and apparently
empty.  Gray's flashlight disclosed only a mild-looking donkey,
nibbling at the leaves of a plane tree.

"Guess the place isn't exactly popular just now," thought Gray.

Beside the stable, concealed by the manure piles, he found his wagons
and mules, hitched up as he had ordered.  A glance and a flicker of
his light showed him that the surplus supplies were loaded.  He
pushed Delabar into the stable and whistled softly.

A coolie crept from a pile of dirty straw under the wall against
which several mules were standing patiently.

"Where are the others?" demanded Gray sharply.

The other men, said the coolie, had gone.

"Why are not the fresh mules loaded, as I commanded?"

The man kow-towed.  "I was afraid.  This is an evil place.  The
priests are saying that the black mark of ill-omen has descended from
Heaven----"

"Five _taels_," broke in the white man crisply, "if you help me to
load the mules.  The priests will kill you if they find you here.  If
you come with me you will live.  Choose."

From some quarter of the city came the dull thrum of temple gongs.
The coolie whined in fear, and hastened to the mules.

It is no easy task to strap the packs on four mules in the dark.
Gray let Delabar, who had subsided into slumber at contact with the
cool outer air, slump on the dirt floor of the stable.  He adjusted
his flashlight in the straw so its beam would help them to see what
they were about.

He found as he expected that the other coolies had made away with
many of the stores.  They had taken, however, the things most
valuable to them, which were least necessary to Gray--such as
clothing, cooking utensils, and the heavy boxes of Chinese money.

These last were a grave loss, but Gray had a good deal of gold in his
money belt, and he knew that Delabar had the same amount.

The two men loaded the remaining boxes on the animals--the provisions
that Delabar had purchased in San Francisco, with medicines and
several blankets that had been overlooked by the thieves.

This done, Gray left the stable for a survey of the field.  The inn
yard was still quiet.  Even the street on the further side was
tranquil.  Turning back, he helped the coolie place Delabar astride a
mule, and tied the scientist's feet firmly together under the
animal's belly.  Throwing a blanket over him, Gray gave the word to
start.

The Chinaman went ahead by the first animal, for Gray did not want to
trust him out of sight.  He followed beside the mule that carried
Delabar, giving directions as to their course.

"The loaded wagon at the inn will be a fair puzzle to the searching
party from the temple," he thought.  "We could never get free of
Liangchowfu with the carts.  Here's hoping my friend Mirai Khan was
right when he said there was a hole in the city wall behind the
temple."

It was a slender chance--to work their way through the alleys in the
darkness.  But, as Gray reasoned, it was the only thing to do.  And
two things were in their favor.  The inn was undoubtedly watched,
front and back.  The priests' spies would see the mules leaving, and
probably decide the coolies were making off with them--especially as
the wagons were still in the stable yard.

Also, the attention of the Liangchowfu population--or the most
dangerous part of it--would be centered on the temple and the
divination in progress there.

Gray had reasoned correctly.  By following the odorous and muddy
by-ways that he and Delabar had investigated previously, he was able
to gain the wall without attracting attention.

Here the lights were fewer, and the trees sheltered them.  The
coolie, who was badly frightened, could give Gray no information as
to the location of the break in the city wall.  It was useless, of
course, to try a dash for the city gates which would be guarded.

Gray pushed ahead steadily at a slow trot, scanning the bulk of the
wall for signs of an aperture.  They were well behind the temple by
now, at the further side of the garden they had entered the night
before.  So far they had been very lucky, but Gray's heart sank as he
sighted buildings ahead--a huddle of thatched huts, evidently in the
poorer section of the town.  Still no break in the stone barrier was
visible.

"Keep on," he whispered to the coolie, "and don't forget if we are
discovered you'll be caught in the act of aiding me to escape."

The man broke into a faster trot, with a scared glance over his
shoulder.  The sound of the temple gongs was louder, swelling angrily
in the wind.  Voices came from the huts ahead, and Gray fancied that
he heard shouts in the street they had left.

He swore softly.  If only they could find the exit he was seeking!
Once out on the plain beyond Liangchowfu, their chances of escape
would be good.  If only Delabar had kept sober----

He swung around alertly at the sound of horses' hoofs.  In the faint
light a mounted man appeared beside him.

"That was very well done, Excellency," a voice whispered in hoarse
Chinese.  "I know, for I watched from the dung heaps by the inn
stable.  One of the men who fled I caught and took the money he
carried."

"Mirai Khan," whispered Gray.

"Aye," admitted the Kirghiz complacently.  "I swore that you would
see me again, and it has come to pass.  I have heard talk in the
town.  I knew that the priests--may they swallow their own fire--seek
you.  So I waited for I had the thought you would not easily be
snared.  Lo, it has happened so.  Verily my thought was a true
thought.  Follow where I lead."

He urged his pony ahead of the mules, motioning Gray to the side of
the small caravan away from the huts.  Dim faces peered from window
openings at them.  But the white man was in the shadow of the wall,
and Mirai Khan appeared too familiar a figure in this quarter of
Liangchowfu to excite comment.  Probably the mules bore out the
character of the horse-thief, retiring to the plain with a load of
ill-gotten spoil.

They passed through the huts in silence, the coolie too frightened to
speak.  Delabar was muttering to himself under the blanket, but the
swaggering figure of the Kirghiz, with his rifle over his arm, seemed
to insure them against investigation.  Still, Gray breathed a
thankful oath as they dipped into a gully through which flowed a
brook.

Mirai Khan rode forward, apparently into the very wall.  But here the
crumbling stone divided--an opening wide enough to permit of the
passage of a pack animal with its burden, walking in the bed of the
stream.

Once clear of the wall, the sound of the temple gong dwindled and
ceased entirely.  They pressed ahead at a quick trot, until, glancing
behind, Gray saw that the lights of Liangchowfu had disappeared.  As
nearly as he could tell by the stars he guessed that Mirai Khan was
leading them north-west.

When the sky paled behind them and the dawn wind struck their faces,
Gray made out that they were in a nest of hillocks.  No house was
visible.  It was waste land, with only an occasional stunted cedar
clinging to the side of a clay bank.  They had put more than a dozen
miles between them and Liangchowfu.

It was now light enough to discern his companions' faces, and Gray
halted the cavalcade.

"We will let the mules breathe a bit," he informed the Kirghiz who
glanced at him inquiringly.  "I will speak with my friend."

He led the animal the scientist was riding a few paces to one side,
and tossed off the blanket that enveloped Delabar.  The man had
awakened, half blue with cold and with retarded circulation due to
his cramped position and the effect of the liquor.  He peered at Gray
from bleared eyes, sobered by the exposure of the past night.

The officer undid the rope that confined Delabar's legs, then seated
himself on a stone and lit his pipe.

"Professor," he said meditatively, "you don't know it, but I've been
thinking over things in the last few hours.  And I've come to a
decision.  I'll tell you what I've been thinking, because I want you
to understand just why I'm doing this."

Delabar was silent, peering at him inquisitively.

"Back on the steamer," resumed Gray, "you showed me that you had
nerves--quite a few.  Well, lots of men have 'em.  Under the
circumstances, I can't say I blame you.  But at Honanfu your nerves
had a severe jolt.  Back there"--he jerked his head at
Liangchowfu--"you had a bad case of fright.  You're all in now."

"I am hungry," complained the scientist.  "Why did you tie me to the
mule?"

"That skirmish with Wu Fang Chien," continued the officer, ignoring
the question, "wasn't more than a good sample of what we may have to
face in the Gobi Desert.  It showed me you aren't able to go ahead
with the trip.  You'd be as sick in body as you are now in mind."

"I am not a horse," snapped Delabar.  "The Buddhist priests----"

"Precisely, the Buddhist priests.  They've got you scared.  Badly.
Let me tell you some more I've been thinking.  Intentionally or not,
you have done all you could at Liangchowfu to hinder me.  Only luck
and Mirai Khan got us out of the place with a whole skin.  In the
army where I served for a while they shot men who became drunk when
on duty."

"This is China, another world," retorted the man moodily.

"China or not, it's my duty to go to the Gobi Desert and find the
Wusun if I can.  I promised Van Schaick that, and drew up a contract
which I signed.  I'm going ahead.  You, Professor, are going back to
the coast and to the States.  You can report our progress to Van
Schaick."

Mingled relief and alarm showed in the Syrian's keen face.

"You can complain that I sent you back, if you want to.  I'll answer
to Van Schaick for this."  Gray held up his hand as the other tried
to speak.  "You'll be all right.  I've been quizzing Mirai Khan.  The
coolie can guide you back, to the north of Liangchowfu, where you'll
meet some missionaries.  Wu Fang Chien will be looking for us to the
west, not in the east.  You'll take the money you have on you, and
two mules with half the supplies.  Promise the coolie enough gold,
and he'll stick by you--as he'll be safer going back than forward.
Any questions?"

It was a long speech for Gray to make.  Delabar studied him and
shivered in the cold breeze that swept the plain.  Hardship brings
out the strength and weakness of men.  In his case it was weakness.
Yet he seemed curiously alarmed at leaving Gray.  Twelve hours ago he
had implored his companion to give up the venture into the Gobi.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"For two reasons.  I don't want a sick man on my hands.  And--you
tried to destroy the maps.  There's another reason----"  Gray
hesitated, and broke off.  "I don't claim to be your judge.  Every
man follows his own course in life.  But yours and mine don't fit any
longer.  It's good-by, Professor."

He rose, knocking the ashes from his pipe.  Delabar gave an
exclamation of alarm.

"Suppose the men of Wu Fang Chien find me?"

"You'll be safer than here with me."

Delabar stared into the steady eyes of his companion, and his gaze
shifted.  "I can't go back.  I must go with you."

"I've said good-by.  Your coolie knows what he's to do.  Choose your
two mules."

"No.  I'll be better now----"

Gray smiled slightly.

"I doubt it.  I've been watching you.  Closer than you thought.
Which mules do you want?"

Delabar flushed, and turned his animal back to the waiting group.  He
was muttering to himself uncertainly.  Gray walked beside him.  Once
he spoke.  "Buddhism, Professor, is a bad thing to think about.  As
Wu Fang Chien said, it is bad to enter forbidden ground.  Well, good
luck, Delabar.  It's better to part now--than later----"

But Delabar passed out of hearing.  He did not look again at Gray,
who remained talking to the Kirghiz.  Later, Gray regretted that he
had not watched Delabar.

The Syrian wasted no time in selecting two animals, and turned back
at once.  Mirai Khan followed the cavalcade with puckered brows as
they passed out of sight among the hillocks.  Gray waved his hand
once when he thought Delabar looked back.  But the man did not turn,
humping himself forward over his beast, his head between his
shoulders.

"It is a pity," said Mirai Khan, stroking his gray beard
reflectively, "to lose the two mules, and so much money.  However,
what will be, will be.  Come, I know a davan nearby where we can rest
until we are ready to go forward, at night."

He conducted Gray along a sheep track for some miles to a ravine well
into the hillocks.  Here there was a grove of cedars, and a small
spring.  While Gray built a fire, Mirai Khan, acting on the white
man's instructions, unburdened the two remaining mules.

"We have little food, Excellency," he observed suggestively.

"Open one of the boxes," said Gray.

Presently Mirai Khan appeared beside the fire, carrying a heavy
object.

"What manner of food is this?" he asked contemptuously.  "I have
tasted and the flavor is a mingling of salt and sour wine."

Gray stared at the object in surprise.  It was one of the boxes, with
the cover removed.  It was filled with an array of long bottles.  One
of these had the cork removed, and effused an acrid odor.  Gray
picked it up.

It was a bottle of a very good kind of vinegar.

Hastily Gray went to the other boxes and opened them, after noting
that the fastenings and the seal were intact.  They were all filled
with vinegar.

Gray gave a soft whistle of bewilderment.  These were the boxes that
were supposed to contain their emergency rations, that Delabar had
purchased in San Francisco.  The Syrian's name was written on them.

He wondered fleetingly if Wu Fang Chien had been tampering with their
baggage.  But the boxes had clearly not been opened since they were
packed.  Also, the vinegar was of American make, and bore the name of
a San Francisco firm.

Had there been a mistake in shipping the order?  It might be.  Yet
Delabar should have checked up the shipment.  No, the Syrian must
have known what was in the boxes.  He had chosen the other two
mules--knowing these few boxes were worthless.

"I should have looked at 'em before I let Delabar go," thought Gray.
"He is too far away now to follow.  Now why----"

That was the question--why?  Delabar, from the first, had placed
every obstacle in the way of the expedition.  Even to buying bogus
supplies.

Delabar had not wanted Gray to succeed.  He had used every means to
keep the American from the Gobi Desert.  He had tried to instill into
Gray the poison of his own fear.  He had attempted to seize the maps,
showing the location of Sungan, which were of vital importance.

Delabar had been Gray's enemy.  Why?

Gray had guessed much of this, when he ordered the other back to the
coast.  But he did not know the answer to this "why?"  He puzzled
over it much in the following days, and gleaned some light from his
reasoning.

It was long before he knew the answer to the "why?"  It did not come
until he had gained the desert, and seen the _liu sha_.  Not until he
had met with Mary Hastings and seen the guards of Sungan.  Not until
he had learned the explanation of much that he as yet dimly imagined.




CHAPTER IX

THE _LIU SHA_

Mirai Khan agreed with Gray that it would be useless to stay where
they were until dark.  They had no food.  In spite of the risk of
discovery, they must go forward.

"If we sleep," the hunter agreed, "we will waken with empty bellies
and our strength will be less than now.  The time will come when we
shall need meat; and there is none here.  To the west, we may see a
village or shoot a gazelle."

Without further delay they unhitched the mules, packing the small
remainder of Gray's outfit--a tent, and his personal kit--on one
animal.  The American mounted the other, not without protest from the
beast, who scented water and forage.

With Mirai Khan leading on his shaggy pony they made their way
westward out of the hillocks to the plain.  They were now on the
Mongolian plain--a barren tableland of brown hills and stony valleys.
No huts were to be seen.

They had left teeming China behind, and were entering the outskirts
of Central Asia and the Gobi Desert.  A steady wind blew at their
backs.  The blue sky overhead was cloudless.

Gray had left the useless boxes of vinegar behind.  And as he went he
puzzled over the riddle of Arminius Delabar.  It was a riddle.  Van
Schaick and Balch had said little about the man, for they had been in
a hurry to get Gray started on his voyage.  He remembered they said
Delabar was a Syrian or Persian by birth, an inveterate traveler who
had been in most of the corners of the earth, and--the only man in
America who could speak Chinese, Turki, Persian and Russian, the four
languages a knowledge of which might be necessary on their
expedition, and who thoroughly understood anthropology, with the
history of Central Asia.

This being the case, Gray had taken a good deal on himself when he
sent Delabar back.  But he had done right.  The vinegar boxes proved
it.

Gray had a steady, logical mind which arrived at decisions slowly,
but usually accurately.  He now reasoned out several things.

Delabar, he guessed, had not come willingly on the expedition.  Even
on the steamer he had shown fear of the Gobi.  Why?  He must have
known something about the desert that he did not tell Gray.  What was
that?  Gray did not know.

This led to another question.  Why, if the man was afraid, had he
come at all?  He might have refused to start.  Instead he had bought,
purposely, a shipment of worthless stores; he had worked on Gray's
mind to the best of his ability.

Gray suspected that Delabar had come because he wanted to prevent
him--Gray--from reaching the Gobi.  But Delabar might have stated his
objections before they left San Francisco.  Why had he not done so?

Possibly because, so reasoned Gray, Delabar had thought if he
prevented Gray from starting on the mission, Van Schaick and Balch
would engage another man.

Gray checked up the extent of his reasoning so far.  He had decided
that Delabar had been bent on preventing not him but any American
from undertaking the trip to the Gobi.  And to do that the Syrian had
come along himself, although he was afraid.

Yes, Delabar had certainly been afraid.  Of what?  Of Wu Fang Chien
for one thing; also the Buddhists.  He had been on the verge of a
breakdown at the inn at Liangchowfu after their experience in the
temple.

Gray recalled a number of things he had passed over at the time:
Delabar's pretext of purchasing supplies at Shanghai.  The scientist
had been absent from him for many hours, but had bought nothing.
Then the incident of the Chinese steward on the river steamer of the
Yang-tze.  Something had been thrown overboard which a passing junk
had picked up.  Had this something been information about Gray's
route?  It was more than possible.

And the attack at Honanfu.  How had the Chinese known that Gray kept
a rifle under his bed--unless Delabar had so informed them?  Delabar
had been frightened at the attack.  Perhaps, because it failed.

Lastly, at Liangchowfu Delabar had tried to steal the all-important
maps.  Failing that, the man had, literally, collapsed.  And--Gray
whistled softly--it might have been Delabar who gave the information
that led to the delayal of McCann, whom Gray needed, at Los Angeles.
No one else, except Van Schaick and Balch, had known that Gray had
sent for McCann.

It was reasonably clear that Delabar had sought to turn back Gray.
When the American had ordered him back, instead, the man had
protested.  Obviously, he dreaded this.  Yet he was safer than here
with Gray.  Delabar had said, in an unguarded moment, that he feared
to be caught by Wu Fang Chien.  Why?

What was Delabar's relation to Wu Fang Chien?  When drunk, he had
said that the mandarin was only a slave of an unknown master.  Who
was the master?  Obviously a man possessing great power in Central
Asia--if a man at all.

This was what Delabar had feared, the master of Wu Fang Chien.  Was
Delabar also a slave?  Gray laughed.  His reasoning was going beyond
the borders of logic.  But he was convinced that his late companion
had been serving not Van Schaick but another; that he feared this
other; and that his fear had increased instead of diminished when
Gray ordered him back.

Gray looked up as Mirai Khan turned, with a warning hiss.  The
Kirghiz had reined in his mount and Gray did likewise.

A short rise was in front of them.  Over this the hunter had
evidently seen something that aroused him.

"Look!" he growled.  "Take the windows of long sight and look."

It took a moment's puzzling before the American realized that his
companion referred to the field glasses slung over his shoulder.  He
dismounted and crept with Mirai Khan to the top of the rise.  Through
the glasses he made out, at the hunter's directions, a pair of
gazelles moving slowly across the plain some distance away.

Immediately Mirai Khan became a marvel of activity.  He tethered the
beasts to a stunted tamarisk, loaded his long musket, cut himself a
stick in the form of a crotch, and struck out to one side of the
trail, beckoning the American to follow.

The gazelles had been feeding across the trail, and Mirai Khan
trotted steadily to the leeward of them, keeping behind sheltering
hummocks.  It was a long run.

From time to time Mirai Khan halted and peered at the animals.  Then
he pressed forward.  Gray was not easily tired; but he had been long
without food and he stumbled as he ran after the hardy Kirghiz who
was afire with the spirit of the chase.

"Allah has given us meat for our pot this night," he whispered to
Gray, "if we are clever and the animals do not get wind of us."

Gray understood how important their quest was.  Their shadows were
lengthening swiftly on the sand, and the sun, like a red brazier, was
settling over the horizon in front of them.  If they did not bag a
gazelle, they would have no food that night, and--both men were
weakened by hunger.

Mirai Khan stalked his prey with the skill of long experience,
pushing ahead patiently until the wind blew from the gazelles to
them.  But darkness falls fast at the edge of the Gobi.  The sky had
changed from blue to purple when Mirai Khan threw himself in the sand
and began to crawl to the summit of a rise, pushing his crotched
stick in front of him.

Following, Gray made out the gazelles feeding some hundred and fifty
yards in front of them.  The light brown and white bodies were barely
discernible against the brown plain, but Mirai Khan arranged his
stick, and laid the musket on it carefully.

Gray, stretched out beside him, hazarded a guess as to the distance.
The hunter touched him warningly.

"Let me have the shot, Excellency," he whispered.  "If I cannot
slay--even at this distance--no other man can."

He said a brief prayer and sighted, gripping his long weapon in a
steady hand.  He had removed his sheepskin cap and his white hair and
bushy eyebrows gave him the appearance of a keen-eyed bird of prey.

Gray waited, watching the gazelles.  As Mirai Khan had claimed the
first shot, Gray humored him, but at the same time threw a cartridge
into the chamber of his own weapon.

The gazelles had sighted or smelled something alarming, for they
quickened their pace away from the hunters.  Mirai Khan fired, and
swore darkly.  Both animals were unhurt, and they had broken into a
swift run, gliding away into the twilight.

Gray had laid his own sights on the game, and when the Kirghiz missed
the difficult shot, the American pressed the trigger.

A spurt of dust this side of the fleeing animals told him his
elevation was wrong.  Calmly, he raised his rear sight and fired
again, as the gazelles appeared in the eye of the sun on a hillock.

The animal at which he had aimed stumbled and sank to earth.  It had
been a difficult shot at three hundred yards in a bad light, but Gray
was an expert marksman and knew his weapon.

A wild yell broke from Mirai Khan.  He flung himself at Gray's feet
and kissed his shoes.

"A miracle, Excellency!" he chattered joyously.  "That was a shot
among a thousand.  Aye, I shall tell the hunters of the desert of it,
but they will not believe.  Truly, I have not seen the like.  By the
beards of my fathers, I swear it!  I did well when I followed you
from Liangchowfu----"

Still babbling his exultation, he hurried to the slain animal and
whipped out his knife.

By nightfall, the two had made camp in a gully near the tethered
animals.  Mirai Khan had dug a well, knowing that water was to be
found in this manner, and, over a brisk fire of tamarisk roots, was
cooking a gazelle steak.

Gray stretched a blanket on the sand near the fire, watching the
flicker of the flames.  The gully concealed them from observation.
He was reasonably sure by now that they had escaped any pursuing
party Wu Fang Chien had sent from Liangchowfu--if one had been sent.

Mirai Khan ate enormously of the steak.  When the hunger of the two
was satisfied and the white man's pipe was alight, he turned to the
Kirghiz thoughtfully.

"Have you ever heard," he asked, "of the city of Sungan?"


Mirai Khan, Gray gathered, was a Mohammedan, a fatalist, a skilled
horse-thief, and a dweller at the edge of the Gobi, where life was
gleaned from hardship.  He was a man of the _yurts_, or tents, a
nomad who ranged from the mosques of Bokhara to the outskirts of
China.  Somewhere, perhaps, Mirai Khan had an _aul_, with a flock of
sheep, a dog, and even a wife and children.

The Kirghiz glanced at him keenly and shook his head.

"I have heard the name," he responded.  "It was spoken by my father.
But Sungan I have never seen."

"It is a city a week's ride beyond Ansichow," persisted Gray, "in the
Desert of Gobi."

"That is in the sands," Mirai Khan reflected.  "No game is found
there, Excellency.  Why should a man go to such a place?"

"Have you been there?"

"Does a horse go into a quicksand?"

"Have you known others who went there?"

"Aye, it may be."

"What had they to say of the desert?"

"It is an evil place."

The Kirghiz nodded sleepily.  Having eaten heavily, he was ready for
his blanket.

"Why did they call it an evil place?"

"How should I know--who have not been there?" Mirai Khan yawned and
stretched his stocky arms and legs, as a dog stretches.  "It is
because of the pale sickness, they say."

Gray looked up quickly from his inspection of the fire.  He had heard
that phrase before.  Delabar had used it.

"What is the pale sickness?" he asked patiently.  Mirai Khan ceased
yawning.

"Out in the sands, in the _liu sha_, hangs the pale sickness.  It is
in the air.  It is an evil sickness.  It leaves its mark on those who
go too near.  I have heard of men who went too far into the _liu sha_
and did not return."

"Why?"

"It is forbidden."

"By the priests of the prophet?"

"Not so.  Why should they deal with an evil thing?  Is it not the law
of the Koran that a man may not touch what is unclean?  The rat
priests of China, who worship the bronze god, have warned us from the
region.  I have heard the caravan merchants say that men are brought
from China and placed out in the sands, the _liu sha_."

Gray frowned.  Mirai Khan spoke frankly, and without intent to
deceive him.  But he spoke in the manner of his kind--in parables.

"Three times, Mirai Khan," he said, "you have said _liu sha_.  What
does that mean?"

The Kirghiz lifted some sand in his scarred hand, sifting it through
his fingers to the ground.

"This is it," he explained.  "We call it in my tongue the _kara
kum_--dark sands.  Yet the _liu sha_ are not the sand you find
elsewhere.  They are the marching sands."

Gray smiled.  He was progressing, in his search for information, from
one riddle to another.

"You mean the dust that moves with the wind," he hazarded.

Mirai Khan made a decisive, guttural denial.  "Not so.  It is the
will of Allah that moves the sands.  Once there was a city that
sinned----"

"And a holy mullah."  Gray recalled the legend Delabar had related on
the steamer.  "He alone escaped the dust that fell from the sky.  It
was long ago.  So that is your _liu sha_!"

The hunter's slant eyes widened in astonishment.  "By the beard of my
father!  Are you a reader of the Koran, to know such things as this?
Aye, it is so.  The _liu sha_ came because of a sin, and without
doubt that is why the place is still inhabited of a plague.  The
Chinese priests bring men there--men who are already in the shadow of
death."

"Then, Mirai Khan, there must be a city or an encampment, if many men
live there."

"I have not seen it.  Nor have those who talked to me."

"But you have not been there?"

"How should I--seeing that the place is inhabited of a sin?  No
Mohammedan will go there."

"What manner of sickness is this--the pale plague?"

"I know not.  But for many miles, aye, the space of a week's ride, no
men will bring their _yurts_ for fear of it."

Gray gave it up with a shrug.  The Kirghiz was speaking riddles,
twisted recollections of legends, and tales doubtless exaggerated.
While Mirai Khan snored away comfortably, the American went over what
he had said in his mind.

The night had grown cold, and he threw the last of the wood on the
fire, tucking his blanket about his feet.  Their camp was utterly
silent, except for the occasional splutter of the flames.

Mirai Khan had said positively that he had seen no city in the Gobi
where Gray was bound, nor heard of one.  The American knew that if
buildings existed on the immense plain of the Gobi they would be
visible for miles around.  Even if the comrades of Mirai Khan had
kept away from the place which they considered unhealthy, they would
have sighted the buildings, at one time or another.

Yet Brent had declared that he saw the summits of towers.
Imagination, perhaps.  Although missionaries were not as a rule
inclined to fancies.

Here was one contradiction.  Then there were the _liu sha_.  Mere
legend, doubtless.  Central Asia was rife with tales of former
greatness.

But one thing was clear.  The Chinese priests came to this spot in
the desert.  And the legend of the plague might be framed to keep the
Mohammedans away from the place.  Since the late rebellion Mohammedan
and Chinese had frequently taken up arms against each other--they had
never been on friendly terms.  Evidently the Buddhists, for some
reason, took pains to keep this part of the desert to themselves.

They even guarded it against intrusion--as Brent had discovered.

And Brent had died of sickness.  What was the pale sickness?  Were
men inflicted with it brought to the Gobi--the dreariest stretch of
land on the surface of the earth?

Gray nodded sleepily.  The riddles presented no answer.  He
determined that he would learn the truth for himself.  Wearied with
his exertions, he was soon asleep.  Silence held the camp, the
brooding silence of great spaces, the threshold of infinity which
opens before the wanderer in the Gobi.  The wind stirred the sand
into tiny spirals that leaped and danced, like dust wraiths across
the gully, powdering the blankets of the sleeping men and the rough
coats of the mules.

Along the summit of the ridge a shadow passed across the stars.  It
hesitated to leeward of the embers of the fire, and the jackal crept
on.  The crescent moon moved slowly overhead, throwing a hazy
half-light on the surface of the sand, and picking out the bleached
bones of an antelope.

Night had claimed the Mongolian steppe.




CHAPTER X

THE MEM-SAHIB SPEAKS

It was nearly a week later, on the border of the Gobi, that Gray and
Mirai Khan sighted the caravan.  The day was rainy.  During a space
when the rain thinned, the Kirghiz pointed out a group of _yurts_
surrounded by camels and ponies a mile away.

Gray scanned the encampment through his glasses, and made out that
the caravan numbered a good many men, and that the _yurts_ were being
put up for the night.  The rain began again, and cut off his view.

It was then late afternoon.  Both men were tired.  They had pushed
ahead steadily from Liangchowfu, killing what they needed in the way
of game, and occasionally buying goat's milk or dried fruit from a
wayside shepherd.  The few villages they met they avoided.  Gray had
not forgotten Wu Fang Chien, or the fears of Delabar.

"They are Kirghiz _yurts_," said Mirai Khan when the American
described what he had seen.  "And it is a caravan on the march, or we
would have seen sheep.  Many tribes use our _yurts_.  They are taken
down and put up in the time it takes a man to smoke a pipe.  But
these people are not Kirghiz.  My kinsmen have not wealth to own so
many camels."

"What do you think they are?"

"Chinese merchants, Excellency, or perhaps Turkestan traders from
Kashgar."

Mirai Khan's respect for his companion had increased with the last
few days.  Gray's accurate shooting inspired his admiration, and the
fortitude of the man surprised him.

On his part, Gray trusted the Kirghiz.  If Mirai Khan had meant to
rob him, he had enjoyed plenty of chances to do so.  But the
Kirghiz's code would not permit him to steal from one who was sharing
his bread and salt.

"If they are Chinese," meditated the American, "it will not be wise
to ride up to their camp.  What say you, Mirai Khan?"

The Kirghiz puffed tranquilly at his noisome pipe.

"This.  It is the hour of sunset prayer.  When that is ended you and
I will dismount, Excellency, and stalk the encampment.  By the favor
of God we will then learn if these people are Chinese or Turkomans.
If the last, we shall sleep in a dry _aul_, which is well, for my
bones like not the damp."

Whereupon Mirai Khan removed his pipe and kneeled in the sand, facing
toward the west, where was the holy city of his faith.  So
poverty-stricken was he that he did not even own a prayer carpet.
Gray watched, after tethering the three animals.

"Remember," he said sternly when Mirai Khan had finished the prayer,
"there must be no stealing of beasts from the camp, whatever it may
be."

The Kirghiz's weakness for horseflesh was well known to him.  The
hunter agreed readily and they set out under cover of the rain.  By
the time they were half way to the caravan the sudden twilight of the
Gobi concealed them.

Guided by the occasional whinny of a horse, or the harsh bawl of a
camel, Mirai Khan crept forward, sniffing the air like a dog.
Several lights appeared out of the mist, and Gray took the lead.

He could make out figures that passed through the lighted entrances
of the dome-shaped felt shelters.  Drawing to one side he gained the
camels which rested in a circle, apparently without a watcher.

Mirai Khan had been lost to view in the gloom and Gray walked slowly
forward among the camels, trying to gain a clear glimpse of the men
of the caravan.  The few that he saw were undoubtedly servants, but
their dress was unfamiliar.

Gray could almost make out the interior of one of the _yurts_,
lighted by candles, with silk hangings and an array of cushions on
the floor.  He rose to his full height, to obtain a better view, and
paused as he saw one of the figures look toward him.

The camels were moving uneasily.  Gray could have sworn he heard a
muffled exclamation near him.  He turned his head, and a form uprose
from the ground and gripped him.

Gray wrenched himself free from the man and struck out.  The newcomer
slipped under his arm and caught him about the knees.  Other forms
sprang from among the camels and lean arms twined around the American.

"Look out, Mirai Khan!" he cried in Chinese.  "These are enemies."

A powerful white man who can handle his fists is a match for a round
half dozen Mongolians, unarmed--if he has a clear footing and can see
where to hit.  Gray was held by at least four men; his rifle slung to
one shoulder by a sling hampered him.  He was cast to earth at once.

His face was ground into the sand, and his arms drawn behind his
back.  He heard his adversaries chattering in a strange tongue.  Cold
metal touched his wrists.  He felt the click of a metal catch and
realized that handcuffs had been snapped on him.

He wondered vaguely how handcuffs came to be in a Central Asian
caravan, as he was pulled roughly to his feet.  In the dark he could
not make out the men who held him.  But they advanced toward one of
the tents--the same he had been trying to see into.

Gray, perforce, made no further resistance.  He was fully occupied in
spitting sand from his mouth and trying to shake it from his eyes.

So it happened that when he stood in the lighted _yurt_, he was
nearly blind with the dust and the sudden glare.  He heard excited
native gutturals, and then----

"Why, it's a white man."

It was a woman's voice, and it spoke English.  Moreover the voice was
clear, even musical.  It reflected genuine surprise, a tinge of
pity--inspired perhaps by his damaged appearance--and no little
bewilderment.

"Yes, _chota missy_," echoed a man near him, "but this, in the dark,
we knew it not.  And he cried out in another tongue."

Gray reflected that his warning to Mirai Khan had been ill-timed.
His eyes still smarted with the sand.  It was not possible for him to
use his hands to clear them, because of the handcuffs which bound his
wrists behind his back.  Not for the world would Gray have asked for
assistance in his plight.

He winked rapidly, and presently was able to see the others in the
tent clearly.  The men who had brought him hither he made out to be
slender, dark skinned fellows.  By their clean dress, and small,
ornamented turbans draped over the right shoulder he guessed them to
be Indian natives--most probably Sikhs.  This surprised him, for he
had been prepared to face Dungans or Turkomans.

A portable stove gave out a comfortable warmth, beside a take-down
table.  The rough felt covering of the _yurt_ was concealed behind
hangings of striped silk.  Gray stared; he little expected to find
such an interior in the nomad shelter.

The table was covered with a clean cloth.  Behind it hung a canvas
curtain, evidently meant to divide one corner from the rest of the
tent, perhaps for sleeping purposes.  In front of the partition,
behind the table, was a comfortable steamer chair.  And in the chair,
watching him from wide, gray eyes was a young woman.

He had not seen a white woman for months.  But his first glance told
him that the girl in the chair was more than ordinarily pretty--that
she would be considered so even in Washington or Paris.  She was
neatly dressed in light tan walking skirt and white waist, a shawl
over her slender shoulders.

She was considering him silently, chin on hand, a slight frown
wrinkling her smooth brow.  The bronze hair was dressed low against
the neck in a manner that Gray liked to see--at a distance, for he
was shy in the presence of women.

The eyes that looked into his were clear, and seemed inclined to be
friendly.  Just now, they were dubious.  The small nose tilted up
from a mouth parted over even teeth.  She was deeply sunburned, even
to throat and arms.  Ordinarily, women take great pains to protect
their skin from exposure to the sun.

There was the stamp of pride in the brown face, and the head poised
erect on strong young shoulders.  Gray knew horses.  And this woman
reminded him of a thoroughbred.  Later, he was to find that his
estimate of her pride was accurate; for the present, he was hardly in
the mood to make other and stronger deductions concerning the girl.

He flushed, hoping that it did not show under the sand.

"Right," he admitted with a rueful smile.  "Beneath the mud and dirt,
I happen to be an Aryan."

"An Englishman?" she asked quickly, almost skeptically, "Or American?"

"American," he admitted.  "My name is Robert Gray."

Her glance flickered curiously at this.  He was not too miserable to
wonder who she was.  What was a white woman doing in this stretch of
the Gobi?  A white woman who was master, or rather mistress of a
large caravan, and seemed quite at home in her surroundings?

He wondered why he had flushed.  And why he felt so uncomfortable
under her quiet gaze.  To his utter surprise the frown cleared from
her brow, and her lips parted in a quick smile which crept into her
eyes.  Then she was serious again.  But he found that his pulses were
throbbing in wrist and throat.

"Where did you find this _feringhi_, Ram Singh?" she asked curiously.

"Among the camels, _mem-sahib_," promptly answered the man who had
spoken before.  "His servant was making off the while with our
horses."

Gray looked around.  At the rear of the group, arms pinioned to his
sides and his bearded face bearing marks of a struggle, was Mirai
Khan.  The Kirghiz wore a sheepish expression and avoided his eye.

"The servant," explained Ram Singh in stern disapproval, "had
untethered two of the ponies.  One he had mounted when we seized him.
Said I not the plain was rife with horse thieves?"

Gray glared at Mirai Khan.

"Did I not warn you," he asked angrily, "that there was to be no
stealing of animals?"

The Kirghiz twisted uneasily in his bonds.

"Aye, Excellency.  But the ponies seemed unguarded and you had need
of one to ride.  If these accursed Sikhs had not been watching for
horse lifters we would have gone free."

The officer swore under his breath, beginning to realize what an
unenviable position Mirai Khan had placed him in.  Robbing a caravan
was no light offense in this country.  And the horses had belonged to
the woman!

Gray silently thrust his manacled hands further out of sight, wishing
himself anywhere but here.  Covered with the grime of a week's hike
across the plain, with a stubby beard on his chin, eyes bleared with
sand, and his hat lost, he must look the part of a horse lifter--and
Mirai Khan's appearance did not conduce to confidence.

"Is this true?" the girl asked.  Again the elfin spirit of amusement
seemed to dance in the gray eyes.

"Every word of it," he said frankly.  Searching for words to explain,
his shyness gripped him.  "That is, Mirai Khan was undoubtedly taking
your ponies, but I didn't know what he was up to----"

He broke off, mentally cursing his awkwardness.  It is not easy to
converse equably with a self-possessed young lady, owner of a
damaging pair of cool, gray eyes.  Especially when one is battered
and bound by suspicious and efficient servants.

"Why didn't you come direct to the _yurt_?" she observed tentatively.

"Because I thought you might be--a Chinaman."

"A Chinaman!"  The small head perched inquisitively aslant.  "But I'm
not, Captain Gray.  Why should I be?  Why should you dislike the
Chinese?"

Two things in her speech interested Gray.  She seemed to be an
Englishwoman.  And she had given him his army rank, although he
himself had not mentioned it.  Most certainly there could be nothing
in his appearance to suggest the service.

"I have reason to dislike one Chinaman," returned Gray.  "So I was
obliged to take precautions," he blundered, and then strove to remedy
his mistake.  "If I had known you were the owner of the _yurt_, I
would have come straight here."

Too late, he realized that he had made his blunder worse.  The girl's
brows went up, also her nose--just a trifle.

"Why should you be so cautious, Mr. Gray?"

The civilian title was accented firmly.  Yet a minute ago she had
addressed him as "captain." "Surely"--this was plainly ironical--"the
Chinese are harmless?"

Gray thought grimly of Liangchowfu.

"Sometimes," he said, "they are--inquisitive."  The girl glanced at
him.  Surely she did not take this as a personal dig?  Gray did not
understand women.  "Miss"--he hesitated--"_Memsahib_"--she
stared--"you see, I've gone beyond the limits mentioned in my
passport."  He was unwilling, placed in such circumstances, to tell
the whole truth of his mission and rank.  So he compromised.  Which
proved to be a mistake.  "And the governor fellow of Liangchowfu is
anxious to head me off."

"Really?  Perhaps the official," and she glanced fleetingly at Mirai
Khan, "thinks you do not keep good company.  Will you show me your
passport?  You don't have to, you know."

No, he did not have to.  But in his present plight he felt that a
refusal would be a mistake.  He moved to reach the papers in his
breast pocket, and was checked by the handcuffs.  He glanced at Ram
Singh angrily.  The native looked at him complacently.  It was an
awkward moment.

"Ram Singh!"  The girl spoke sharply.  "Have you bound the white
man's hands?"

The Sikh grunted non-committally.  She pointed at Gray.

"Undo his hands.  Is a white man to be tied like a horse-stealing
Kirghiz?"

Reluctantly, Ram Singh obeyed, and stood near vigilantly.  Gray felt
in his pocket with stiffened fingers and produced his passport.  This
the girl scanned curiously.

"I want to apologize," ventured Gray, "for Mirai Khan's attempt on
your horses.  He was acting contrary to orders.  But I take the blame
for what he did."

He spoke formally, even stiffly.  The woman in the chair glanced at
him swiftly, studying him from under level brows.  He felt a great
wish that he should be absolved from the stigma of guilt before her.
And, man-like, he pinned his trust in formal explanation.

She seemed not to heed his words.  She returned his papers, biting
her lip thoughtfully.  He would have given much to know what she was
thinking about, but the girl's bright face was unreadable.

"Ram Singh," she ordered absently, "the _Sahib's_ rifle must be
filled with sand.  See that it is cleaned.  Take him to the store
tent where he can wash the sand from his eyes.  Will you come back
here, Captain Gray?  I would like ever so much to talk to you."

While Gray washed gratefully, and while the natives brushed his coat
and shoes, his mind was on the girl of the _yurt_.  He told himself
savagely that he did not desire to be sympathized with.  Like a
woman, he thought, she had taken pity on his discomfort.  Of course,
she had to treat him decently, before the natives.

In this, he was more right than wrong.




CHAPTER XI

SIR LIONEL

When Gray returned to the _yurt_, he found the table set with silver
and china containing a substantial amount of curried rice, mutton and
tea.  This reminded him that he was ravenous, since he had not eaten
for twenty-four hours.  He did not notice that the girl's hair
appeared adjusted more to a nicety, or that she had exchanged the
shawl for the jacket of her dress.

"You like your tea strong?" she asked politely.

In spite of his hunger, Gray felt awkward as he ate sparingly of the
food under her cool gaze.  She was non-committally attentive to his
wants.  He wished that she would say something more or that Ram Singh
would cease glaring at the back of his neck like a hawk ready to
pounce on its prey.

The food, however, refreshed him.  His curiosity concerning his
hostess grew.  He had seen no other white man in the camp.  It was
hardly possible that the Englishwoman had come alone to the Gobi.
Whither was she bound?  And why did she reside in a Kirghiz _yurt_
when the caravan was outfitted with European luxuries?

When the natives had removed the plates, he took out his pipe from
force of habit, and felt for matches.  Then he reflected that he
should not smoke in the woman's tent.

He would have liked to thank her for her hospitality, to assure her
of his regret for the tactics of Mirai Khan, to ask her some of the
questions that were in his mind.  Especially, if she were really
alone in the desert.  But while he fumbled for words, she spoke
quickly.

"I've never taken a prisoner before, Captain Gray.  A white man, that
is.  I believe the correct thing to do is to question you.  That fits
in most nicely, because I am unusually curious by nature."

He had pulled out a match which he struck absently, then extinguished
it.  She noted the action silently.

"You are an army officer?"

"In the reserve.  Acting independently, now, of course."

"Acting?"  She smiled lightly and held out something to him.  "So you
are a big game hunter?  I did not know this was good country for that
sort of thing."

"It isn't," he acknowledged bluntly.  "That is--not in the ordinary
sense.  But I have already some trophies bagged.  Mirai Khan is my
guide----"

"Please do smoke," she said, and he saw that what she offered him was
a box of matches.  One of the servants struck a light.

"I am quite used to it.  My uncle, Sir Lionel, smokes much worse
tobacco than yours."

Gray considered her over his pipe.

"Would you mind telling me," he asked gravely, "Miss Niece of Sir
Lionel, what you are going to do with me?  I'm fairly your prisoner.
Your patrol under Ram Singh captured me within your lines."

The girl nodded thoughtfully.  Gray wondered if he had caught a glint
of laughter in the demure eyes.  He decided he was mistaken.

"You are an officer, Captain Gray.  You know all prisoners are
questioned closely.  I still have two more questions, before I decide
your case.  Are you really alone?  And where are you bound?"

"I am," stated Gray methodically.  "Ansichow."

"Really?  I am going there.  I should introduce you, as my prisoner,
to Sir Lionel, but he is tired out and asleep, leaving me with Ram
Singh."

"Who is an excellent guardian, Miss Niece----"

"Mary Hastings," said the girl quickly.  "I have no reason to conceal
my name."  Gray thought she emphasized the _I_.  "My uncle, Sir
Lionel Hastings, is head of the British Asiatic Society in India.  He
is bound for the Gobi."

Gray stared at her.  The British Asiatic Society!  Then this must be
the expedition in search of the Wusun.  Van Schaick had said that it
was starting from India.

"I begged Sir Lionel to take me," continued Mary Hastings calmly,
"and he finds me very useful.  I record his observations, you know,
keep the journal of the expedition, and draw the maps.  That gives
him time for more important work."

"But the desert----"  Gray broke off.

"The desert is no place for a woman.  I suppose that is what you
meant.  But I am not an ordinary woman, I warn you, Captain Gray.
Sir Lionel is my only relative, and we have traveled together for
years.  He did say that he anticipated some opposition from the
Chinese authorities.  But I refused to be left behind."  The rounded
chin lifted stubbornly.  "This is the most important work my uncle
has undertaken, and he is always visited with fever about this time
of year."

Gray was secretly envious of Sir Lionel.  What an ally this girl
would make!  Yet, in their present positions, she was apt to be his
most ardent foe.  He glanced up, measuring her, and met her look.
For a long moment the slate-green eyes of the man searched hers.
They reminded him of the surface of water, sometimes quiet to an
infinite depth and then tumultuous.

For a discerning man, Gray was at a sad loss to fathom Mary Hastings.

"To avoid attention from the Chinese," she continued, looking down,
"we came up from Burma, along the Tibetan border.  Rather a boring
trip.  But by going around the main towns at the Yang-tze headwaters,
and by using these serviceable native huts--which can be taken down
and put up quickly--we escape questioning."

So that was the explanation of the clumsy _yurts_.

"You were not quite so fortunate, Captain Gray?  Curious, that, isn't
it--when you are only a big game hunter?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to make a clean breast of it, and say
that he, also, was seeking Sungan.  But it seemed absurd to confess
to her that the sole member of the American expedition had been found
among the camels of the Hastings caravan.  Perhaps he was
unconsciously influenced by his desire to be on friendly terms--even
such as at present with Mary Hastings.

Every moment of their talk was a keen pleasure to him--more so than
he was aware.  He reflected how lucky it was that he had run into the
other expedition.  It was not altogether strange, since they had both
started at the same time, and Ansichow was the mutual hopping-off
place into the Gobi.

"Will you tell me," he evaded, "how you came to call me Captain Gray
before you saw my papers?"

Mary Hastings smiled pleasantly.

"It was an excellent guess, wasn't it?  But now I'm quite through my
questions."  She paused, her brow wrinkled in portentous thought.  "I
think I shall not burden myself with a prisoner.  You are quite free,
Captain Gray.  You and Mirai Khan.  Doubtless you wish to return to
your caravan."

Gray thought of the two waiting mules and the rain-soaked blanket
that constituted his outfit, and laughingly mentioned it to her.

"You are very kind," he said, rising.

"Captain Gray," she said impulsively, "it's raining again.  If you
would care to spend the night with us, I am sure Ram Singh can spare
you a cot and blanket.  Mirai Khan can fetch your outfit in the
morning, and you can go on with us to Ansichow.  It's only a day's
trek."

Gray hesitated, then accepted her offer thankfully.

"You will find your rifle on your cot.  Ram Singh cleaned it himself.
It needed it.  He said it was a 30-30 model, but then you are
probably using it for big game because you are accustomed to it."
She held out her hand with a quizzical smile.  Gray took it in his
firm clasp, awkwardly, and released her fingers quickly, lest he
should hold them too long.  She nodded.

"Good night, Captain Gray."

Not until he was without the tent did he reflect that he had admitted
that he was bound for Ansichow.  And Ansichow meant the Gobi.

For a space after his departure Mary Hastings remained in her tent.
She had dismissed the native servant.  She was thinking, and it
seemed to please her.  But thought, with the girl, required
companionship and conversation.

Abruptly she left her chair and stepped through the door of the tent.
It was still drizzling without; still, there was a break in the heavy
clouds to the west.  Mary noted this, and skipped to the entrance of
the _yurt_ nearest her.

"It's me, Uncle Singh," she called, not quite grammatically.  "Can I
come in?"

"Of course," a kindly voice answered at once.  "Anything wrong?"

A man sat up on the cot, snapping on an electric torch by the head of
the bed and glancing at a small clock.  He was a tall, spare
individual, with the frame of an athlete, polo shoulders, and the
high brow of a scholar.

He was well past middle age, yellow-brown as to face, deep hollows
under the cheek bones, his scanty hair matching his face, except
where it was streaked with white.

The girl installed herself snugly on the foot of the bed, sitting
cross-legged.

"You've been sleeping heavily, _Sher Singh_," she observed
reproachfully, giving the man his native surname, "and that means you
aren't well.  I have news."  She paused triumphantly, then bubbled
spontaneously into speech.

"Such news.  _Aie_.  Captain Robert Gray is here, in Ram Singh's
tent.  He is alone, with a servant.  He is a big man, not
ill-looking, but awkward--very.  He stands so much on his dignity.
Really, it was quite ridiculous"--she laughed agreeably--"and I was
very nicely entertained.  He was brought in by the Sikhs, after
trying to steal our ponies----"

"Lifting our horses!"  Sir Lionel sat bolt upright and flushed.
"Why, the scoundrel----"

"I mean his servant was.  Captain Gray was innocent, but I was not
inclined to let him off easily----"

Mary's conception of important news did not satisfy the explorer's
desire for facts.  A peculiarly jealous expression crept into the
man's open face.

"Has he a well-equipped caravan?"

"Two mules, a gun and a blanket."

"How extraordinary!"  Sir Lionel stared at his niece.  "No camels?"

"Not one."  Mary yawned, and, with a glance at the clock, began to
unbind her heavy hair.  It was very late.  Her fingers worked
dexterously, while Sir Lionel weighed her words.  Unlike his niece,
he was an individual of slow mental process, perhaps too much
schooled by routine.

"Mary!  How did you--ah--behave to Captain Gray?"

"I took him prisoner."  The girl smiled mischievously.  "He was so
humiliated, Uncle Singh."

"I hope," observed Sir Lionel severely, "you warned him of our
identity."

"Rather.  But he implied he was after big game."

Sir Lionel reached to the light stand and secured a cigarette, which
he lit.  His eyes hardened purposefully.

"I'll _trek_ for Ansichow, at once.  I must buy up all the available
camels.  If you will retire to your tent, and send my _syce_----"

"Indeed, no."  She frowned worriedly.  "You haven't had your sleep
yet."

Sir Lionel caught her hand in his.

"No, Mary.  You must be aware what this expedition means to me.  I
must be first in Ansichow, and into the Gobi.  Failure is not to be
thought of.  Dear girl, I have thrown my reputation into the dice
bowl----"

"I know."  She patted his hand lightly, and her eyes were serious.
"Only I wish you would let me help a little more."  She shook free
the coils of her bronze hair and placed a small hand firmly over his
lips.  "I know what you want to say--that you are being ever so kind
and indulging to let me come at all.  As if I could be left at Simla
when you went on your biggest hunt, Uncle Singh.  Well," she sighed,
"if you must go buy camels, you will.  But"--she brightened--"please
leave the wandering American to me.  I saw him first."

Sir Lionel removed the hand that restricted his speech, and frowned
portentously.  Mary beamed, twining her hair into twin plaits.

"Mary!" he said gravely, "please do not annoy Captain--ah--Gray.  We
must be perfectly fair with him, you know."

"Of course," she assured him virtuously.  "Haven't I been?  He may
not think so when he learns how you've gone camel buying when I
offered him sleeping quarters.  He'll forever fear the Greeks bearing
gifts----"

"_Oolu ka butcha!_" (Child of an owl!)

"But he shouldn't try to deceive me, should he, Uncle?  I fancy he'll
have a rather wretched time of it.  He seems somewhat out of his
environment here."

She nodded decisively.

"It's his own fault altogether for coming where he has no business to
be and wanting to deprive my _Sher Singh_ of what you worked a
lifetime for."

"Merely his duty, Mary."

"But he shall not hinder you in yours."

She fell silent, no longer smiling.  There was a great tenderness in
the glance she cast at the gaunt Englishman.  Sir Lionel was her
hero, and, lacking father and mother, all the warmth of the girl's
affection had been bestowed on the explorer.

She said good-night softly and slipped from the tent.  That night she
slept lightly, and was afoot with the first streak of crimson in the
east.




CHAPTER XII

A MESSAGE FROM THE CENTURIES

In his snug quarters Gray slept well for the first time in many
nights, feeling the reaction from the constant watchfulness he and
Mirai Khan had been forced to exercise.  When he turned out in the
morning the sun was well up, and the men were breaking camp under the
direction of Ram Singh who greeted him coldly.

When he inquired for Miss Hastings he found that she had gone on to
join her uncle, on a camel with a single attendant.  He was forced to
ride with the caravan, after sending Mirai Khan back for the animals.
Ram Singh proved an uncommunicative companion and Gray was glad when
the flat roofs of the town showed over the sand ridges in the late
afternoon.

The caravan halted at the edge of the town, where the Englishman had
prepared his encampment.  The place was a lonely settlement,
populated by stolid Dungans and a few Chinese who ministered to the
wants of merchants passing from Liangchowfu to Kashgar and the cities
of Turkestan.  Gray failed to see either the girl or her uncle and
learned that they had gone to pay a visit of ceremony to the
_amban_--the governor--of Ansichow.

He went to seek out Mirai Khan.  The meeting with the Hastings had
put him in a delicate situation.  In spite of his own plight, he
determined to confess his mission to the Englishman, having decided
that was the only fair thing to do.  He could not accept aid from the
people who were bound to be his rivals in the quest for the Wusun.

He reflected ruefully that Van Schaick had urged him to reach the
spot in the Gobi before the expedition from India.  Van Schaick and
Balch were counting on him to do that--not knowing that Delabar had
been working against him.

As it stood, both parties had gained the town on the Gobi edge at the
same time.  But the Hastings possessed an ample outfit, well chosen
for the purpose and ready to go ahead on the instant.  Gray had only
Mirai Khan and two mules.  He would need to hire camels, and bearers,
to stock up with what provisions were available, and to obtain a
guide.

This would take time, and much of his small store of money.
Moreover, if he made clear his purpose to Sir Lionel, it was probable
the Englishman would start at once, thus gaining four or five days on
him.  Gray knew by experience the uselessness of trying to hurry
Chinese through a transaction.  And he was not sure if Mirai Khan
would go into the desert.

The Kirghiz had served him faithfully, to the best of his ability so
far.  But Mirai Khan had said that the tribesmen shunned this part of
the desert.  Then there was the _amban_.  It was more than possible
that Wu Fang Chien had sent word to Ansichow to head off Gray.

It was a difficult situation, and Gray was pondering it moodily when
he came upon Mirai Khan in the bazaar street of the town.  The
Kirghiz, who seemed to be excited over something, beckoned him into
one of the stalls, after glancing up and down the street cautiously.

"Hearken, Excellency," he whispered.  "Here I have found a man who
knows what will interest you.  He has been much into the desert and
has dug up writings and valuable things which he will sell--at a good
price.  His name is Muhammed Bai."

Gray glanced into the stall, and saw a bent figure kneeling on the
rugs.  It was an old Turkoman, wearing spectacles and a stained
turban.  Muhammed Bai salaamed and motioned his visitor to be seated.
Gray scanned him with some interest.  It was quite possible the man
had some valuable information.  Mirai Khan had a way of finding out
things readily.

"Will the Excellency rest at ease," chattered the Turkoman, peering
at him benevolently, "while his servant shows him certain priceless
treasures which he has dug from the sand among the ruins.  Mirai Khan
has said the Excellency seeks the ruins."

"You have been there?" Gray asked cautiously.  He knew the penchant
of the Central Asian for exaggeration.

"Without doubt.  Far, far to the west I have been.  To the ruins in
the sand.  Other Excellencies have asked concerning them from time to
time but none have been there except myself, Muhammed Bai."

"What are the ruins like?"

The merchant waved a thin hand eloquently.  "Towers of stone, great
and high, standing forth like guide posts.  My father knew of them.
One of the sultans of his tribe dug for treasure there.  He found
gold.  Aye, he told me the place.  I, also, went and dug.  Look----"

With the gesture of a _connoisseur_ displaying a masterpiece, the
Turkoman drew some objects from under a silk rug.  Gray stared at
them.  They were odd bits of wrought silver and enamel ware, stained
with age.  These Muhammed Bai spread before him.

"They came from the ruins.  The Excellency is undoubtedly a man of
wisdom.  I need not tell him how old these things are.  There is no
telling their value.  But I will sell the lot for a very few
_taels_--a ten _taels_."

The American fingered the fragments curiously.  They meant nothing to
him.  They might be the relics of an ancient civilization.  Muhammed
Bai watched him keenly, and pushed a piece of parchment under his
eyes.

"Here is a greater treasure.  The Excellency will see the worth of
this at a glance.  Other foreign merchants have asked to buy this.
But I told them that a high price must be paid.  Who would sell a
sacred object to a dog?  See, the strange writing----"

Gray held up the parchment to the light.  It was a small sheet, much
soiled.  It was covered with a fine writing in characters unknown to
him.  He wished that Delabar might be here to tell him its meaning.
If it had come from that section of the Gobi, it was possible that it
shed some light on the Wusun.

"Mirai Khan, who is my friend, said that the Excellency sought
tidings of the ancient people.  Here is such a scroll as may not be
found elsewhere.  Perhaps it is priceless.  I know not."

"Can you read it?"

"Can a servant such as I read ancient wisdom?" Muhammed Bai elevated
his hands eloquently.  "But I will sell----"

He looked up as a shadow fell across the stall.  Gray saw that Mary
Hastings was standing in the entrance.  Beside her was a tall man,
well dressed.  He rose.

"This is my uncle, Major Hastings, Captain Gray," she smiled.  "We
heard that you were in the bazaar.  Are you buying curios to take
back with your trophies?"

Sir Lionel returned the American's bow politely, glancing from
Muhammed Bai to him curiously.  Then his eye fell on the parchment.
He leaned forward and uttered a sharp exclamation of interest.

"Whence came this?" he asked Muhammed Bai, in the dialect of Western
Shensi.

The Turkoman peered up at him from tufted brows, looking like an
aged, gray hen guarding one of its brood.  "From the desert yonder.
I, Muhammed Bai----"

"What language is the writing?"

"How should I know, Excellency?"

"It would be hard to tell."  Sir Lionel frowned thoughtfully.  "The
characters on the parchment are certainly not the cuneiform of
Behistun; equally, they are no dialect of the older Kashgaria, or
Chinese.  These two languages are the only ones we would expect to
find here, except possibly----"

He broke off, glancing curiously at Gray.

"Have you a claim to this manuscript, sir?  Are you planning to
purchase it?"

Gray hesitated, feeling the cool gaze of the girl on him.  Should he
buy the parchment it would be useless to him, as he could not
interpret the writing.  On the other hand, if he let Sir Lionel have
it, the parchment might prove an aid to the English expedition.
This, naturally, he was bound to prevent.

"I will buy it," he concluded, and added quickly, "as a curio."

"To add to your big game trophies?" asked Mary Hastings calmly.

While he tried to think of an answer, Sir Lionel handed him the
parchment.

"It might serve as a curio, Captain Gray.  But, in all fairness, I
must warn you.  The writing is a counterfeit, cleverly done.  You
see, it is my life's business to know the ancient languages of
Central Asia.  This is adapted from some inscription which Muhammed
Bai has doubtless seen.  The parchment is skillfully colored to
appear aged.  But the black ink is freshly laid on."

Gray smiled grimly, while the Turkoman stared at the white men,
endeavoring to guess what they were saying.

"And these bits of silver?"  The American motioned to the relics that
lay on the rug.

"Are worthless, except--as curios.  Being a hunter, Captain Gray, I
presume the authenticity of the objects will not affect your desire
to purchase them."

Sir Lionel spoke dryly, and the girl scrutinized him with frank
amusement.

"My uncle has heard of Muhammed Bai," she volunteered.  "He is an old
impostor who makes a living selling false manuscripts to travelers in
Khotan and Kashgar.  Perhaps he had heard we were coming to Ansichow.
I rather think your precious Kirghiz is in league with Muhammed Bai."

Mirai Khan caught the drift of what she said--having a slight
knowledge of English, and retired discreetly to the bazaar alley.
Gray reflected on the curious ethics of Central Asia which permitted
a servant to take money from his master by trickery, while he still
served him faithfully.  It was one of the riddles of Asian
ethics--which he had encountered before.  He knew that the girl was
probably right.

He tossed down the money for the parchment and pocketed it, as he had
said that he would buy it.  Sir Lionel checked him, as he rose.

"That manuscript is--interesting," he observed thoughtfully.
"Because Muhammed Bai must have had a model to copy this writing
from.  The characters resemble Sanscrit slightly, but they suggest
Tokharian, with which this man can not be acquainted."  He turned on
the blinking merchant sharply.  "Tell me, writer of false missives,"
he said in Turki, "from what did you copy these letters?"

There was something eager and threatening in the face of the tall
Englishman that choked off Muhammed Bai's denial.

"It is as I said, Excellency.  The writings were found in the desert."

"Where?"

"A week's ride from here, to the west."

"Near Sungan--eh?  How did you find them?"

The Turkoman was sullenly silent.  Sir Lionel dropped a coin on the
rug.  It was gold.

"Ah, the Excellency is generous as a prince of the royal household!"
cried Muhammed Bai.  "It was on a stone--a boundary stone at the
place I said--that I found the writings.  See, here is the stone."

He scrambled to his feet, bowing, and hastened to the rear of the
stall.  He cast off some rugs from the top of a pile, disclosing a
piece of brown sandstone some three feet high and a foot in
thickness.  On the surface of the stone Gray saw characters engraved,
characters that were strange to him.

But not to Sir Lionel.  The Englishman dropped to his knees with an
exclamation, whipping out his eyeglasses.  He ran his finger over the
writing on the sandstone.

"A form of Sanscrit!" he cried.  "By Jove--three centuries old, at
least.  Four, I should judge.  And here is the character
corresponding to the Chinese word Wusun, the Tall Ones.'  Remarkable!
This evidently was one of the boundary marks of the Wusun land."

He peered at the inscription intently, forgetting the American in his
enthusiasm.

"Hm--it was erected by one of the khans of the Tall People.  _By a
slave of the Chinese Emperor_.  It speaks of the captive race of the
Wusun.  Plainly they were even then under the _kang_ of the Chinese
priests.  'In the city of Sungan are the captive people ... greatly
fallen since the age when they were conquerors ... they cling to
their hearths and towers ... in the sand.  There they will always
be----'"

He broke off his reading and glanced up at Gray.  "Splendid!  I must
take a rubbing of this."

He ordered Muhammed Bai to bring charcoal and a clean sheet of paper.
The charcoal he rubbed over the stone.  Then he pressed the paper
firmly against it, beating the sheet with his fists until the outline
of the inscription was imprinted on the paper.  This he surveyed
triumphantly.

"Excellent!  Captain Gray, I am indebted for your"--he
smiled--"involuntary assistance.  Will you dine with us?  Mary will
be glad of company, I am sure.  I must place this where it will be
safe."

He hurried off, followed by the girl and Gray.  Neither spoke during
the walk to the outskirts of Ansichow.  The American was regretting
the bad fortune that had concealed the truth of his mission from the
Hastings.  He was in the position of a culprit obtaining valuable
information from his rivals, without intending to do so.  This
information he was in duty bound to use to his own advantage.

He had determined to set matters right by revealing to his host his
purpose in seeking the Gobi.  And the dinner would afford him an
opportunity to do so.


The camp of the Hastings was located in a garden which surrounded a
spring near the caravanserai of Ansichow.  Sir Lionel, disliking the
filth of the caravanserai which bore evidence of much use by not
over-fastidious Chinese travelers, had pitched his tents in the
garden, making his own _dak_ bungalow, as he called it.

It was late evening, and the table had been set under the fly of the
main tent, used by the girl.  It was the quiet hour of evening
prayer.  Sheep boys were driving their flocks homeward for the night
along the road a short distance away.  There was a slight
breeze--enough to clear the air of the ever-present dust--which
barely shook the sides of the tent.  Two Indian servants laid an
appetizing meal before their masters.

Sir Lionel, elated by his discovery, talked of the city of Sungan.
Once or twice he checked himself, as if he feared he was saying too
much.  But his eagerness was not to be restrained.

"The stone proves the existence of Sungan, and gives us a rough idea
of its location.  Judging from the inscription, the Wusun have clung
to their heritage.  I think we shall find some survivors in Sungan."

"I thought you said the inscription was a form of Sanscrit," objected
Gray.  "And the Wusun are Chinese----"

"Ah, that is just the point."  Sir Lionel reared his blond head, like
a setter at scent of game.  "Sanscrit is an Aryan language.  The
white race buried here in the Gobi called themselves the Tall People.
Wusun is the Chinese translation of that term.  Their own written
tongue is probably the dialect we saw on the boundary stone, which is
Aryan.  A clear chain of proof, Captain Gray."

"But," the American objected honestly, "my follower, Mirai Khan, has
hunted the borderland of the Gobi and he says positively no city is
to be seen.  The stone is four centuries or more old----"

"Mirai Khan," said the girl quickly, "can not see under the sand, can
he?  He seems to be bent chiefly on stealing horses."

Sir Lionel, however, was not to be turned from the discussion which
filled his mind.  "You forget the sand that Mary mentions, Captain
Gray," he retorted warmly.  "This is, literally, a sea of sand.  And
the waves are rising.  We are sure that certain towns in the
foothills of the Thian Shan have been buried by these waves.  You
see, the prevailing winds here are from the east.  They drive the
sand dunes before them.  I have noted that the dunes march
westward----"

"Before you go on, Sir Lionel----" protested the American,
remembering his intention to make a clean breast of things.

"Not a word, sir.  Not another word.  Be quiet, Mary"--as the girl
started to speak--"I will not be contradicted.  It is a scientific
fact that the sands march.  During the _kara burans_ or black
wind-storms they will progress many feet a day.  Sungan was built on
the great caravan route from China to Samarcand and Persia, many
centuries ago.  Marco Polo followed this route when he visited the
court of Kubla Khan."

"But," Gray broke in, "I want----"

"I say, it is a fact, sir.  Prove the contrary.  You can't!"  Sir
Lionel glared at him hostilely.  "I am right.  Without doubt, I am
correct.  Sungan has been buried by the marching sands.  Only the
towers remain."

Gray thought of the tale Delabar had mentioned--of the sand that came
down on the city of the Gobi, as retribution for some sin against the
religions of Asia.  Also, Mirai Khan had said no city was to be seen.
And Brent had claimed to see some isolated towers.

"These towers," he started to explain what was in his mind.

"Are the summits of the palaces of Sungan, sir.  In them I shall find
the white race of Asia, the captive people of the Wusun."

"But, Uncle," protested the girl, "the stone was erected four hundred
years ago.  If the Chinese had wanted to, they might have killed off
the remaining Wusun since that time."

"The ancient Chinese annals," observed Sir Lionel tolerantly, "state
that the Wusun, the 'Tall Ones,' were formidable fighters.  The Sacae
or Scythians from whom they are descended were one of the conquering
races of the world.  It is this heritage of strength which has
preserved the remnant of the Wusun--for us to find."

Gray faced the Englishman across the table.  Sir Lionel had changed
to a neat suit of clean duck for the meal.  Mary was fastidiously
dressed in white, a light shawl over her slender shoulders.  He felt
keenly his own untidy attire.  Moreover, the girl seemed bent on
making fun of him.

"Captain Gray is a hunter, you know, Uncle," she remarked, glancing
coolly at the uncomfortable American.  "Really, your talk about the
Wusun must bore him.  He has come to shoot antelope.  Or is it wild
camels, Captain Gray?"

Gray met her glance steadily.  He saw that she was heart and soul
with Sir Lionel in the latter's quest, and guessed that his own
confession must terminate any possibility of friendship between them.

"Neither," he said gravely.  "I have meant to tell you before this.
But at first I was so surprised at finding----"

"That we guarded our ponies, Captain Gray?"  The girl's eyes twinkled
and she bit her lip.

"A white woman instead of a Chinaman--I didn't confess, as I should
have done."

"But Mirai Khan confessed."

Gray flushed.  "I was sent to the desert, Sir Lionel, to find the
Wusun.  I am employed by the American Exploration Society.  And I am
going to do my best to get to Sungan--ahead of you, if possible."

The effect of his words was curious.  The girl studied him silently.
Sir Lionel stroked his blond mustache, plainly ill at ease.  Neither
seemed surprised.

"So you see," Gray made the statement as blunt as possible, "I am
your rival.  I meant to tell you before.  Naturally, it is my duty to
use the information you have given me.  But I want to make my
position clear before we go any further."

Sir Lionel's first words were not what Gray expected.

"You are not a scientist, sir?"

"I am not.  Professor Delabar, who was to have come with me, was
forced to turn back at Liangchowfu."

"Then you are alone?  Without a caravan?"

"For the present.  I'm going to do my best to outfit at Ansichow and
get ahead of you, Sir Lionel."  Gray rose.  "I suppose I'm not
exactly welcome here, after what I've told you----"

The Englishman waved his brown hand tolerantly.

"I like your frankness, Captain Gray.  Pray be seated.  We are
rivals, not enemies, you know.  But"--the zeal of the enthusiast
shone from his mild eyes--"I shall never permit you to reach Sungan
ahead of me.  I have studied the Wusun for years.  I persuaded the
British Asiatic Society to send me here.  It is the crowning venture
of my life, sir."

The girl looked up proudly.

"Indeed, that is true, Captain Gray.  My uncle has spent our money on
the trip.  His reputation is at stake.  Because few of the directors
of the Asiatic Society believe the Wusun are to be found----"

"They are mistaken, Mary," Sir Lionel assured her.  "I know that I am
right.  The fact that Captain Gray was sent here is proof of it.  I
shall reach Sungan--the first white man to penetrate the forbidden
region of the Gobi.  The boundary stone has indicated our course, and
I will not yield the right of way to Captain Gray, or any one.  Any
one, I repeat, sir!"

He struck the table forcibly and rose, mastering his emotion in a
moment.

"I pray, sir," he said with the fine courtesy of the English
gentleman, "if we are to be rivals, you will not deny us the pleasure
of your company while we are at Ansichow.  After that, you know, it
is each man for himself.  Now, I will go to read over my rubbing----"

He bowed stiffly and walked into the adjoining tent.  Gray found that
the girl was watching him curiously.

"So Delabar went back," she said musingly.  "I wondered why he was
not with you when you came to my _yurt_ after Ram Singh----"

She colored slightly.  Gray noticed how the fading sunlight glinted
on her copper hair, and set off the fine lines of her slender figure.
A thoroughbred, he thought--like her uncle.

"Ram Singh did exactly right," he admitted.  "But how----"

"Did I expect Delabar?"  She hesitated.  "Well, I have a confession,
too, Captain Gray.  I knew all along--or rather suspected--what you
were.  At Calcutta Sir Lionel received this letter."

She felt in her belt and drew out a square of folded paper.  This she
handed silently to Gray.


Captain Gray, an American army officer, and Professor Delabar are on
their way to the Gobi.  It will be useless for you to attempt the
expedition, as they will be there before you.  Do not waste your time
by going into China.


This was the letter.  It was written in a neat hand and unsigned.

"Did the envelope have a postmark?" he asked.

"Yes, San Francisco."

He handed it back to her.  The writing he recognized as Delabar's.
The Syrian, then, had tried to prevent the Hastings from setting out.
As he had done his best to keep Gray from reaching the Gobi.  Why?




CHAPTER XIII

THE DESERT

The next day Gray dispatched Mirai Khan to the _amban's_ yamen to try
to hire the necessary camels.  He thought it better not to go
himself.  Without the consent of the Chinese official nothing could
be done, as the _amban_ would expect a liberal commission on every
transaction in Ansichow.  Also the official had a dozen ill-armed and
ill-minded soldiery in the town barracks--enough to enforce his
authority on Gray, although the Hastings' party was numerous enough
to be independent of the Chinese.

Gray himself wandered moodily through the few streets of the village.
Since the conversation of the evening before he had been restless.
He had slept badly.  Although he would not admit it to himself, the
thought of Mary Hastings had preyed on him.

So it happened that his wandering took him to the camp of the
Hastings.

He found Mary seated under the fly of the stores tent, inspecting and
tallying a stock of provisions that Ram Singh had purchased.  She
looked up and nodded coolly at his approach.

"You are busy, Miss Hastings," he observed.  "But I want to ask a
favor.  A half hour of your time."

The girl poised a pencil over her accounts doubtfully.  Ram Singh
scowled.

"We can talk here, Captain Gray," she compromised, "while I work.
Sir Lionel wants these stores----"

"We can't talk here very well," objected Gray.  "What I have to say
is important.  Last night your uncle gave me some valuable
information.  I want to give you return value for it."

"Where?"

Mary Hastings had the brisk manner of one accustomed to transacting
business.  Gray learned later--after the disaster that came upon them
in the Gobi--that she handled the routine work of her uncle's
expeditions, and very capably, too.

"Outside here, in the garden," he suggested.  She hesitated; then
rose, reaching for her sun helmet.  A dilapidated wall encircled the
camp, and a few aloes struggled for existence by the tumble-down
stones.

Mary climbed the stones, refusing assistance from the American, until
she perched on the summit of the garden wall.  Here she could
overlook the activity in the camp as she listened.

A haze hung in the air--born of the incessant flurries of fine sand
that burden the atmosphere in the Gobi.  But from their small
elevation, beyond the low buildings of Ansichow, Gray could see the
plain of dunes that marked the desert.  A dull brown they were,
stretching to the long line of the horizon in the west.

Gray was silent, admiring the girl's profile.  There was something
slender and boyish about her.  Her dress was plain, and excessively
neat.  Under the crown of her helmet a few strands of copper hair
curled against her tanned cheek.

Mary glanced at the watch on her wrist significantly.

"I'm afraid you are very lazy, Captain Gray," she said frankly.  "I
warn you that we are going to lose no time in starting from Ansichow."

"I am lazy," he agreed.  "But I don't want you to start at all."

She looked at him calmly.  "Why?"

"That's what I wanted to tell your uncle.  I'm going to be as frank
with you as I intended to be with Sir Lionel.  Miss Hastings, the
Gobi Desert--"

"Is not safe for a woman, I presume?"

"Exactly.  If Sir Lionel knew all that I do, he would not want you to
go with him.  He'll have to go, of course.  So will I.  But you can
stay here with Ram Singh until we get back.  The Sikh is a good
watchman.  Sir Lionel can join you when he returns."

Mary rested her chin on her hands and scrutinized the aloes with
friendly interest.  "Why do you think it is dangerous for me to go
to--Sungan?"

"I have a good reason for my warning, Miss Hastings.  Two reasons.
One--Sungan seems to be guarded by the Chinese priests.  You have
avoided them by coming up through Burma into Mongolia.  I've had a
taste of their kindly disposition."

He told her briefly of the opposition of Wu Fang Chien, the episode
of the inn at Liangchowfu, and the fears of Delabar.

"So your companion turned back because he was afraid?"  She smiled
curiously.  "What is your other reason, Captain Gray?"

"Sickness.  That was what Delabar chiefly dreaded, I think.  Brent, a
missionary, went past the Gobi border here--and died of sickness.  I
don't say he was killed.  He died."

"We are equipped to deal with that.  I have means to purify the water
we may have to use in the oases."

"It's not a question of water, in this case.  Brent had his own.  You
may think I'm running to fancy a bit, Miss Hastings.  But there's
Mirai Khan.  I've sounded him thoroughly.  He is clearly afraid of
the Sungan region, and of the pale sickness.  I don't know what it
is--don't even know that it exists.  Still, the fact remains that
Mirai Khan, who is a fearless sort of rascal, says his countrymen
avoided this part of the Gobi on account of the plague--whatever it
may be."

"All Kirghiz are liars by birth and environment.  Really, you know,
Captain Gray, the Buddhist priests invent such stories to keep
visitors from their shrines.  The coming of foreigners weakens their
power."

"That may be true."  Gray felt he was stating his case badly.  "But
you haven't established contact yet with the amiable Wu Fang Chien.
Having a woman along would handicap Sir Lionel."

Her brows arched quizzically.

"Really?  The _amban_ of Ansichow and his men do not seem to be
trying to prevent us from going ahead."

"Because they couldn't very well if they wanted to.  But, did it
strike you that you have already come so far that the Chinese are not
worrying about you?  That, if you go into the Gobi, they will count
you lost.  I've gathered as much, and Mirai Khan has listened in the
bazaars.  Won't you stay at Ansichow, Miss Hastings?"

His blunt appeal had a note of wistfulness in it.  The possible
danger to the girl had haunted him all that day.  It would be useless
he felt, to appeal to Sir Lionel.  Mary Hastings was not in the habit
of obeying her uncle's commands in matters affecting her own comfort
or safety.

"And leave Sir Lionel to go alone into the Gobi?"

"Yes.  He's bound to take the risk.  You are not.  I'm afraid your
uncle is too wrapped up in his researches to pay much heed to
possible danger.  I don't think a white woman should take the risk."

Mary Hastings smiled slowly.  She had a way of looking directly at a
man--unlike most women--that disturbed Gray.  He felt that he was
blundering.

"Sir Lionel," she replied, "has set his heart on being the first
white man in Sungan.  He has staked his reputation as a scientist on
this expedition.  You do not know how much it means to him.  If he
finds the Sungan ruins and the descendants of the Wusun, he will have
vindicated his judgment.  If he fails it will be his last expedition.
It is hard for a man of his age to fail.  He has many rivals, at home
and--in America."

"But you----"

"Sir Lionel needs me.  I attend to the management of the caravan.
And he can not spare Ram Singh."

She tossed her small head.

"Don't you think, Captain Gray, you've tried enough to spoil our
chances of success?  Isn't it rather mean of you to try to frighten
me into leaving _Sher Singh_?"  Mary Hastings was suddenly growing
angry.  Gray was committing the unpardonable sin of endeavoring--so
she assured herself--to separate uncle and niece.

She wanted to be angrier than she was.  But the wall perch was a bad
strategic position for a display of temper, which she considered he
had earned.

"You know that it would weaken our chances of success to divide our
caravan!" she accused, feeling for foothold on the stones beneath.

Gray was unable to account for the swift change in mood.  What had he
said to offend her?  He had meant it only for her good.

"No, Miss Hastings," he flushed.  "I simply wanted to warn you of
real danger."

The girl slid down the rocks to the earth.  She stamped a neatly shod
foot disdainfully.  Gray was oblivious of the fact that the maneuver
had been planned for this purpose.  She was plainly very angry.  He
wondered why, miserably.

"I thought you were a sportsman, Captain Gray--even if you were not a
big game hunter as you pretended.  I find I am mistaken.  Good
afternoon."

"Good Lord!"  Gray watched her slight figure return to the tent and
set his teeth.  "Good Lord!"  He smiled ruefully.  "Horse
thief--schemer--I wonder if there's anything else that she thinks I
am.  Guess there's nothing else bad enough."

He climbed down from his rocks and left the encampment, avoiding Ram
Singh who was ushering in a line of coolies as he did so.  The Sikh
strode by with a scowl.

So easily are quarrels made.  And a woman, so fate has ordained, has
the first voice in their making.  But it is doubtful if Mary Hastings
herself could have explained why she treated Gray as she did.
Divinely is it decreed that a woman may not be asked to explain to a
man.

Gray hesitated, half minded to seek out Sir Lionel and ask that the
girl be kept in Ansichow.  Realizing that this would be useless, he
returned to his tent on the further side of the town.  Mirai Khan was
not there.

It was a good three hours before the Kirghiz appeared.  Three hours
in which Gray smoked moodily.  Mirai Khan had news.

"Come, Excellency," he observed importantly.  "Yonder is a sight you
should see.  Verily, it is a fine sight."

Gray took his hat and followed his companion to a knoll, where the
Kirghiz pointed out to the plain.

Half a mile away a caravan of a dozen camels in single file was
making its way into the sand dunes, leaving a dense haze of dust in
its wake.  He could see through his glasses Sir Lionel and Ram Singh
on the leading beasts.

Near the end of the caravan he saw Mary Hastings.  He thought that
she turned and looked back at him.  He could not be sure.  He watched
the slight figure with its veil about the sun helmet pass from view
in the dust.

Then he walked back silently to the tent, beckoning Mirai Khan to
follow.

"Have you the camels?" he asked when they were seated on the tattered
rug that formed the tent floor.

"No, Excellency.  The camels may not be hired."

"Then buy them."

Mirai Khan yawned and regarded his master with the benevolent
scrutiny of the fatalist.

"It may not be.  There were but eight two-hump camels in Ansichow,
and these the Englishman bartered when he first came, in exchange for
his tired beasts.  He paid well."

"Well, buy the camels he left."

"That would be folly.  A week must pass before these eight can bear
burdens.  They are nearly dead with hard use.  The Englishman did not
spare them."

Gray frowned meditatively.  He must have beasts of burden, to carry
at least ten days' stock of water, with necessary food.  The Gobi was
a barren land.

"Do you think a trader's caravan may visit Ansichow, Mirai Khan?"

"Perhaps.  In another moon, or possibly three or four.  Why should
they come to this dung-heap in the sand?"

"Coolies might carry our supplies--if we paid them enough."  Gray
knew that this would be risky; but he was not in a position to
choose.  Time was pressing.  Mirai Khan smiled, showing yellow,
serried teeth.

"No, Excellency.  An ounce of gold apiece will not bribe these
Chinese to come into the Gobi."

"The Kirghiz?"

Mirai Khan squinted thoughtfully at the glare of sunlight without the
tent.  "Is the Excellency determined to go into the Gobi?"

"Yes."

"What God wills, will come to pass.  I, Mirai Khan, have helped you
to safety.  For the space of ten days I have eaten the food you have
killed.  Because of this, I shall go a part of the way into the Gobi.
Also, a tribe of Kirghiz should be here within four days, from the
northern steppe.  It may so happen that some of these will come with
us.  I know not."

"Four days!" Gray groaned.

"Likewise, the men of this tribe will not be carriers of burdens.  It
is not their custom."

"Mirai Khan: why is it that you fear the city of Sungan?  I thought
you were a brave man."

Gray's purposeful taunt failed of its effect.  Mirai Khan stared at
him and spat out into the sand.

"The region of Sungan is unclean.  It is the law of the Prophet that
no one shall touch what is unclean."

"But you do not know that," cried the exasperated white man.  "You
are running from a shadow."

"A shadow may betoken evil.  My father said it, and it is so."

Gray sighed.  "Then buy a half dozen mules.  They can carry our
stores.  Watch for the coming of the tribe you spoke of.  When they
are here let me know.  Meanwhile, purchase water jars, flour, rice
and tea sufficient for six men for three weeks."

The Kirghiz blinked understandingly.

"It is written that a white man shall go into the desert from here,"
he assented.  "What is written will come to pass.  It is also said by
our priests that a white man's grave is waiting in the Gobi.  If this
thing also comes to pass, I and my comrades will bury you, so the
kites will not make a meal of your eyes--for once you saved my life."

Whereupon the hunter turned over on his side and went to sleep,
leaving Gray to his own thoughts.  They were not cheerful.

The Hastings had left for Sungan.  They had camels and would make
good time.  With luck, if they escaped the black sand-storms, they
should be at their destination in seven or eight days.  No wonder, he
thought, Sir Lionel had spoken frankly to him about the inscription,
when he had all the camels bought.

Camels could move faster than mules, over the bad footing.  Gray
would make his start four days--three if the Kirghiz arrived
promptly--later than Sir Lionel.  And he would fall behind steadily.

If it had been possible, he would have gone alone.  But he could not
carry the necessary food and water for ten days.  For a moment he
pondered the advisability of pushing on alone as soon as the mules
could be bought.

This plan he dismissed as useless.  Mirai Khan had assured him that
it would take at least two days to get the animals and the needed
supplies.  Also, he would be without a guide--for Mirai Khan would
not start until the tribesmen arrived.

It would be tempting providence for one man to venture with a string
of mules into the Gobi.  Even so, Gray might have attempted it if he
had a guide.

There was nothing for it but to wait.  And Gray passed the time as
best he could, overhauling his rifle and small stock of ammunition,
and packing with the help of Mirai Khan the food the latter bought
for him.

Fate moves in strange ways.  If Gray had started before the four days
were up, the events that took place in the Gobi would have shaped
themselves differently.  For one thing, he would not have seen the
tracks of the wild camel in the sand.

Nor would he have heard the story of the pale sickness.

As Mirai Khan had assured him, the Kirghiz tribe appeared at Ansichow
the evening of the third day.  The hunter took Gray to their _aul_
near where Sir Lionel's encampment had been.

Acting as interpreter, he harangued the newcomers.  Moreover, as he
informed the American later, he did not translate what Gray said
literally.  If he had done so, he asserted, they would not have gone
into the Gobi.

The reason that Mirai Khan set forth seemed sufficient, for after
long debate, the elder of the tribe and two evil looking hunters
consented to accompany Gray.  They agreed to go on foot.  Somewhat to
the American's surprise nothing was said about turning back.

He broke camp at dawn, and the cavalcade of mules passed out of
Ansichow with Mirai Khan leading.  By the time the sun had broken
through the mist they were well into the sand dunes.

There had been no wind-storm since the Hastings passed that way and
Mirai Khan was content to follow the camel tracks.




CHAPTER XIV

TRACES IN THE SAND

It was monotonous work climbing the dunes that rose to meet them out
of the ocean of sand.  Added to this was the feeling of isolation,
which is never so great as in the wastes of Central Asia.  There were
no birds or game to be met with.  Only once did they hit on water.
This was at their third camp, and the camel tracks showed that the
Hastings had visited the oasis.

Owing to the high altitude, the exertion affected Gray; but he made
the best of this necessary evil and pressed ahead.  On the fourth day
they lost the trail of the other caravan and Gray shaped his course
by compass.  He knew that Sir Lionel had planned to strike due west.

It was that night they discovered the tracks of the wild camel.

Gray had turned out from his blankets at sun-up and was warming his
stiff limbs over the fire the others had kindled--for the autumn
chill was making itself felt in the nights.  He found Mirai Khan and
the Kirghiz excited.

They had seen tracks about the encampment.

The hunters showed them to Gray, who thought at first the imprints
were left by the Hastings' caravan.  Mirai Khan, however, assured him
that the tracks had not been there the evening before.  Also, the
hoof marks were smaller than those of the domestic camel, and not
quite as deep in the sand.

Mirai Khan showed him where the tracks appeared, and passed around
the camp twice, then led away over the dunes.

"It is the mark of a wild camel, Excellency," he said.  "Of one that
has come to look at us."

"And why should this not happen?"

Mirai Khan scratched his thin beard, plainly uneasy.

"It is a good omen," continued Gray, perceiving this.  "For by this
wild camel we may have meat."

He had heard that these animals, although rare, were sometimes seen
in the southern Gobi.  Beyond wishing that this particular camel had
waited until the light was good enough for a shot, Gray thought
little of the matter.  Not so the Kirghiz.  The hunters conferred
earnestly with Mirai Khan and appeared reluctant to go on.

"If you see the beast," he added, impatient at the delay, "we shall
try a stalk.  We need meat."

Mirai Khan grunted and spat stolidly.

"Never have I shot a wild camel, Excellency.  My father has said that
when we sighted the tracks of one, it is well to return quickly."

Inwardly, Gray consigned the spirit of Mirai Khan's ancestor to
another region.  Approaching the tether of the leading mule, he
motioned to the Kirghiz to set out.  They obeyed reluctantly.

"Are you men or children?" he asked.  "You will have no pay until we
sight the ruins of Sungan."

He wondered, as he trudged forward, whether this speech had been a
mistake.  The Kirghiz were clearly sulky.  Mirai Khan was more silent
than usual.  Gray noticed that whenever they topped a rise he scanned
the plain intently.  The behavior of his guides at this point
mystified him.  The Kirghiz were naturally far from being cowards.
Certainly they had neither fear nor respect for the Chinese of
Ansichow.  Being Mohammedans they were indifferent to the Buddhist
priests.

Yet the glimpse of wild camel tracks had set these men--hunters by
birth--into a half panic.

Gray gave it up.  He was walking moodily by the leading mule,
pondering his failure--for he could no longer conceal from himself
the fact that he must reach Sungan a good week after the
Hastings--when he saw Mirai Khan pause on the top of a dune.  The
hunter's figure stiffened alertly, like a trained dog at gaze.

Gray scrambled up the slope to the man's side.  At first he saw only
the brown waste of the dunes.  Then he located what Mirai Khan had
seen.  He raised and focussed his glasses.

Some distance ahead a man was moving toward them.  It was a white
man, on foot and walking very slowly.  Gray recognized Sir Lionel
Hastings.

Followed by the Kirghiz, he approached the Englishman.  Sir Lionel
did not look up until they were a few paces away.  Then he halted,
swaying from the weariness of one who has been walking for a long
time.

He was without coat, rifle, or sun helmet.  His lean face was lined
with fatigue.  The hand that fumbled for his eyeglasses trembled.
His boots and puttees were dust stained.

"Is that you, Captain Gray?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, Sir Lionel.  What's up?  Where's the caravan?"  Gray had been
about to ask for Mary, but checked himself.  "You'll want a drink.
Here----"

The Englishman shook his head.  Gray observed that his bald forehead
was reddened with the sun; that his usually well-kept yellow hair was
turned a drab with the dust.

"I had water, thanks.  Back there, by the tamarisk tree.  The caravan
camped there for the night, two--or three days ago.  I don't remember
which."  He wheeled slowly in his tracks.  "Come."

A moment's walk took them to the few bushes and the tamarisk.  There
a well had been dug.  Sir Lionel refused to mount one of the mules,
although he was plainly far gone with exhaustion.  At the time Gray
was too preoccupied to notice it, but the Kirghiz--as he recalled
later--were talking together earnestly, looking frequently in their
direction.

The Englishman moved, as he spoke, automatically.  He walked by dint
of will power.  When Gray, knowing the strength of the sun, placed
his own hat on the man's head Sir Lionel thanked him mechanically.

It was this quiet of the man that disturbed Gray profoundly.  There
was something aimless and despairing in his dull movements.  Gray,
seeing how ill he was, refrained from asking further questions until
they were seated in the small patch of shadow.  The Kirghiz retired
to a neighboring knoll with their rifles.

"It was near here we discovered camel tracks--wild camel tracks."

The words startled Gray, coming on top of the dispute with Mirai Khan
that morning.

"Did you lose the caravan?" he exclaimed.  "Good Lord, man!  Where is
Mary?"

"I've lost the caravan," said Sir Lionel.  "And Mary as well."

Sudden dread tugged at Gray's heart.

"At Sungan."

Sir Lionel looked up at the American, and Gray saw the pain mirrored
in his inflamed eyes.

"Was she with Ram Singh?"

"Ram Singh is dead."

"The others?"

"Killed.  I do not think that Mary was killed."

Gray drew a deep breath and was silent.  From the knoll the hunters
watched intently.

"I will tell you what happened."  Sir Lionel drew his hand across his
eyes.  "The sun--I'm rather badly done up.  No food for two days.
No----" as Gray started to rise.  "I'm not hungry."

He lay back on the sand with closed eyes.  His face was strained with
the effort he made to speak.  Yet what he said was uttered clearly,
with military brevity.

"The night after we sighted the camel tracks we were attacked in
force.  I think that was four nights ago.  There was a crescent moon.
Of course I had stationed sentries.  They gave the alarm.  There was
a brisk action."

"Who attacked you?"

"Ram Singh said they might have been a party of wandering Kirghiz.
We did not see them clearly in the bad light.  Peculiar thing.  They
seemed to be afoot.  When they beat a retreat, after exchanging
shots, we looked over the ground.  No footprints.  Only camel tracks.
And they carried off their wounded."

Gray wondered briefly if Sir Lionel's mind had been affected by the
sun.  But the Englishman spoke rationally.  Moreover, Mirai Khan had
been alarmed when they first sighted the imprints in the earth.

"Our guides--Dungans, you know--said attackers were guards of Sungan.
We did not see them again.  Late the next afternoon a _kara buran_
passed our way.  We pitched tents when the wind became bad, inside
the circle of our beasts.  When the storm cleared off, I made out
through my glasses the towers of Sungan."

Sir Lionel looked up with a faint flash of triumph.

"I was right.  Sungan is a ruined city, buried in the sand.  Only the
towers are visible from a distance.  We were about a half mile from
the nearest ruins."

He sighed, knitting his brows.  He spoke calmly.  Gray was familiar
with the state of exhaustion which breeds lassitude, when long
exposure to danger, or the rush of sudden events, dulls the nerves.

"It was twilight when Mary and I started to walk to the towers, with
two servants.  I was eager to set foot in the ruins.  And I did
actually reach the first piles of debris.  You won't forget that,
will you, old man?  I was the first white man in Sungan."

Gray nodded.  He felt again the zeal that had drawn Sir Lionel
blindly to the heart of the Gobi.  And had perhaps sacrificed Mary to
the pride of the scientist.  But he could not accuse the wearied man
before him of a past mistake.

"Go on," he said grimly.

"It was late twilight.  I forgot to add that our Dungans deserted
after the first skirmish.  Frightened, I expect.  Well, Mary and I
almost ran to the ruins.  She was as happy as I at our success--what
we thought was our success.  So far, we had seen no human beings in
the ruins.  There were any number of tracks, however, and vegetation
that pointed to the presence of wells."

"Then Mary and I discovered the Wusun."  Sir Lionel laughed suddenly,
harshly.  He gained control of himself at once.  "They came--these
inhabitants of Sungan--from behind the stone heaps and out of what
seemed to be holes in the ground.  As I said, it was late evening,
and I could not see their faces well.  Still, I saw----"

He checked himself, and fell silent, as if pondering.  Gray guessed
that he thought better of what he was going to say.

"They were unarmed, Captain Gray, but in considerable force.  They
ran forward with a lumbering gait, like animals.  They were dressed
in filthy strips of sheepskin, which gave out a foul smell.  I had my
revolver.  Still, I hesitated to shoot down these unarmed beggars.
They did not answer my hail which was given in Persian, then in Turki.

"Seeing that they were plainly hostile, I began to shoot.  They came
on doggedly, apparently without fear of hurt.  And my two men ran.
One was a brave boy, Captain Gray--a syce who had been with me for
several years.  Yet he threw away his rifle and ran.  I saw two of
the men of Sungan pull him down."

Gray shivered involuntarily, thinking of the girl that Sir Lionel had
brought to this place.

"I do not understand why it happened," the Englishman observed
plaintively.  "We had given these men no cause to attack us.  I
believe they were not the same fellows who rushed us the night
before.  For one thing, these had no arms.  There were women among
them.  They gave me the impression of dogs, hunting in a pack.  They
must have been waiting for us in cover."

"What happened to the caravan?"

"Rushed.  The Sungan people got to it before Mary and I could gain
the camp.  Our boys were surprised.  Only a few shots were fired.
The camels took fright and ran through the tents.  I saw Ram Singh
and another try to get out to me with spare rifles.  The Sikh, who
had the rank of Rifleman, shot very accurately.  But the Sunganis
came between us, and I saw him go down fighting under a pack of men.
Mary and I turned aside and tried to escape into the sand dunes."

Sir Lionel raised himself unsteadily on an elbow.

"Do not think, Captain Gray, that I abandoned Mary of my own will.
It was dark by then.  We could hear the men hunting us through the
dunes.  A party of them descended on me from a slope.  My revolver
was emptied by then.  I knocked one or two of them down and called
out for Mary.  She did not answer.  They had taken her away.  If they
had killed her, I would have come on her body.  But she was gone."

"Did you hear her call to you?" Gray asked from between set lips.

"No.  She is a plucky girl.  In my search for her, I passed out of
sight of the men who were tracking me.  I could not remain there, for
they were tracing out my footprints.  They have an uncanny knack at
that, Captain Gray.  As I said, they reminded me of dogs."

He looked at his companion, despair mirrored in his tired eyes.

"I had two alternatives after that--to stay near Sungan, unarmed, or
to return, in the hope of meeting you.  I knew you would be likely to
follow our tracks as far as you could.  Possibly you would sight this
brush.  I made my way back here.  A little while ago I sighted the
dust of your caravan."

Gray was silent, breaking little twigs from the bush under which they
sat and throwing them from him as he thought.  Sir Lionel's story was
worse than he had expected.  Mary Hastings was in the Sungan ruins.
She might even now be dead.  He put the thought from him by an effort
of will.

The full force of his feeling for the girl flooded in on him.  From
the night when her servants had seized him in the _aul_ she had been
in his thoughts.  It was this feeling--the binding love that
sometimes falls to the lot of a man of solitary habits, whose
character does not permit him to show it--that had led him to warn
her against going into the Gobi.  And it was this that had urged him
after her with all possible haste.

Now the Hastings' caravan had been wiped out and Mary was in the
hands of the men of Sungan.

"We'll start at once," he said quietly.  "That is, if you feel up to
it."

The Englishman roused with an effort and tried to smile.

"I'm pretty well done up, I'm afraid, Captain Gray.  But put me on a
mule, you know.  I'll manage well enough."  Gray knew that he was
lying, and warmed to the pluck of the man.  "I must not delay you."

"We should be at the ruins in thirty-six hours."

"Right!  Where's the mule----" he broke off as Mirai Khan appeared
beside them.

"Excellency!"  The Kirghiz's eyes were wide with excitement.  "I have
seen men with rifles approaching on two sides."

"Bring your mules into the brush, Captain Gray," said Sir Lionel
quickly.  "And place your men behind the boxes of stores.  You will
pardon my giving orders?  These are undoubtedly the same fellows who
exchanged shots with us a little further on.  If you can spare a
rifle----"

The American handed him the piece slung to his shoulder, with the
bandolier of cartridges.  The Kirghiz hunters were already leading
the mules to the brush.




CHAPTER XV

A LAST CAMP

Gray had no means of knowing who the newcomers were, but experience
had taught him the value of an armed front when dealing with an
unknown element.  And Sir Lionel's story had excited his gravest
fears.

Under the American's brisk directions the Mohammedans unloaded the
animals and tied them near the well.  The stores they carried to the
outer bushes.  Mirai Khan primed his breechloader resignedly.

"Said I not the wild camel tracks were a warning?" he muttered in his
beard.  "Likewise it is written that the grave of a white man shall
be dug here in the Gobi.  What is written, you may not escape.  You
could have turned back, but you would not."

"Take one man," ordered Gray sharply, "and watch the eastern side of
the brush."

"A good idea," approved the Englishman, who had persuaded one of the
hunters to place the roll of the tent in front of him.  He laid the
rifle across the bundle of canvas coolly.  "We must beat off these
chaps before we can go ahead."  He nodded at Gray, calmly.

Gray left one of the hunters with Sir Lionel, well knowing the value
of the presence of a white man among the Kirghiz.  He himself took
the further side of the triangle to the north.  The knoll was on a
ridge that ran roughly due east and west.  The nearest sand ridges
were some two hundred yards away.  Behind them he could see an
occasional rifle barrel or sheepskin cap.

By this arrangement, at least three rifles could be brought to bear
in any quarter where a rush might be started; likewise, they could
watch all menaced points.  But their adversaries seemed little
inclined to try tactics of that sort.  They remained concealed behind
the dunes, keeping up a scattering fire badly aimed into the knot of
men in the brush.

This did small damage.  The Kirghiz, once the matter was put to an
issue, proved excellent marksmen, and gave back as good as they
received.  Gray, watching from his post under a bush, fancied that
two or three of Mirai Khan's shots took effect.  He himself did not
shoot.  An automatic is designed for rapid fire at close range, not
for delicate sniping.

But Sir Lionel was at home with a rifle.  Glancing back under the
tamarisk Gray saw him adjust his eyeglass calmly, lay his sights on a
target, and press the trigger, then peer over his shelter to see if
his effort had been successful.  The Englishman evidently had seen
action before--many times, Gray guessed, judging the man.

"A reconnoissance in force, I should call it, old man," the
Englishman called back at him.  "I think we are safe here.  But the
delay is dangerous."

He paused to try a snap shot at the dune opposite.  Gray scanned the
ground in front of him, frowning.  He knew that Sir Lionel was as
impatient as he to start for Sungan.  There was no help for it,
unless the attacking party could be driven off.

Gray had been pondering the matter.  Their adversaries appeared to be
a small party, and they had suffered at least three or four
casualties in the first hour.  Gray's force was still intact.

As nearly as he could make out the men behind the dunes were
Chinese--border Chinese, and ill armed.  Why they attacked him, he
did not know.  Mirai Khan had taken it for granted.

"Any one who enters this part of the Gobi seems to be marked for
execution," he thought grimly.  "If that's the case, two can play at
it.  And we've got to start before nightfall."

Cautiously he wormed his way back into the bushes to the side held by
Mirai Khan.  To this individual he confided what was in his mind.
The Kirghiz objected flatly at first.  But when Gray assured him that
unless they did as he planned, night would catch them on the knoll,
and they would be unable to fight off a rush, he yielded.

"If God wills," he muttered, "we may do it.  And I do not think I
shall die here."

Blessing the fatalism of his guide for once, Gray summoned one of the
hunters.  He removed a spare clip of cartridges from his belt and
took it in his left hand.  This done, he nodded to the two Kirghiz,
straightened and ran out along the ridge, on the side away from Sir
Lionel.

The maneuver took their enemies by surprise.  One or two shots were
fired at the three as they raced along the dune and gained the summit
behind which the Chinese had taken shelter.  Gray saw four or five
men rise hastily and start to flee.

He worked the trigger of his automatic four times, keeping count
carefully.  Accurate shooting is more a matter of coolness than of
skill.  Two of the Chinese fell to earth; another staggered and ran,
limping.  The survivors picked up the two wounded and disappeared
among the dunes.

"_Hai!_" grunted Mirai Khan in delight, "there speaks the little gun
of many tongues.  Truly, never have I seen----"

"Follow these men," commanded Gray sternly.  "See that they continue
to flee."  Motioning to the other Kirghiz, he trotted back across the
ridge to the further side.  Here he was met with a scattering fire
which kicked up some dust, but caused no damage.

The Chinese on this side of the white men's stronghold had learned
the fate of their fellows and did not await the coming of the "gun of
many tongues."

Gray saw a half dozen figures melting into the dunes, and emptied the
automatic at them, firing at a venture.  He thought at least one of
his shots had taken effect.  Pressing forward, he and the Kirghiz
--who had gained enormous confidence from the display of the
automatic--drove their assailants for some distance.  When the
Chinese had passed out of sight, Gray hurried back to the knoll.

There he found Sir Lionel seated with his back against the roll of
canvas with the excited Kirghiz.

"The coast seems to be clear," observed Gray.  "We can set out----"

The Englishman coughed, and tried to smile.  "I stay here, I'm
afraid," he objected.  "It's my rotten luck, Captain Gray.  One of
the beggars potted me in that last volley.  A chance shot."

He motioned to his chest, where he had opened the shirt.  The cloth
was torn by the bullet.  "Touched the lung, you know"--again he
coughed, and spat blood--"badly."

Gray made a hasty examination of the wound.  It was bleeding little
outwardly; but internal bleeding had set in.

"We'll have to get you back to Ansichow," he said with forced
cheerfulness.  "A mule litter and one of the Kirghiz will do the
trick."

"No, it won't, old man."  Sir Lionel shook his head.  "I'd never get
there.  One day's travel would do me up.  I'll stick--here."

Mirai Khan, who had rejoined the party, drew his companions aside and
talked with them earnestly.  Gray did what he could to make the
Englishman comfortable.  Assisted by the hunters, who worked
reluctantly, he had the tent pitched, and laid the wounded man on a
blanket, where he was protected by the canvas from the sun.

This done, he filled and lighted his pipe and sat beside his friend,
smoking moodily.

"You'll find a cigarette in my shirt pocket," said Sir Lionel
quietly.  "Will you light it for me?  I've enough lung--to smoke,
and----" he cleared his throat with difficulty.  "Thanks a lot.  I've
something to say to you.  Won't take--a minute.  Fever's set in.
Must talk.  Last message, you know."

He smiled with strained lips.

"Strange," he added.  "Thought it only happened--in books."

Gray watched the shadows crawling across the knoll, and frowned.  Sir
Lionel, he knew, could not survive another day.  With the death of
his friend, he would be alone.  And he must find Mary Hastings.  He
wondered what the Englishman wished to tell him.

"You know," began the other, seizing a moment when his throat was
clear, "I said I'd seen the faces of the men of Sungan.  They had
their hands on me, and I saw them close.  I did not tell you at first
what I deduced from that."

Gray nodded, thinking how the explorer had broken off in the middle
of a sentence in his story of two hours ago.

"Don't forget, Captain Gray----" a flash of eagerness passed over the
tanned face--"I was the first in Sungan.  I want the men who sent me
to know that.  Well, the faces I saw were white--in spots."

Gray whistled softly, recalling the words of Brent.  The missionary
had said that the man he saw in the Gobi was partially white.  Also,
Mirai Khan had said the same.

"Those men, Captain Gray, were not white men.  They were afflicted
with a disease.  I've seen it too often--to be mistaken.  It is
leprosy."

Mechanically, Gray fingered his pipe.  Leprosy!  This sickness, he
knew, caused the flesh of the face to decay and turn white in the
process.  And leprosy was common in China.

"I've been thinking," continued the Englishman, "while I was waiting
to sight your caravan.  There are lepers in the ruins of Sungan.
That may be why the spot is isolated.  The Chinese have leper
colonies."

"Yes," assented Gray.  Neither man voiced the thought that was
uppermost in his mind, that Mary had been seized by these men.
"Mirai Khan told me that Sungan was an unclean place.  The
Kirghiz--who are fairly free from the disease--avoid Sungan.
Delabar, my companion, feared it, I think."

"This explains the myth of the white race in the Gobi--perhaps.  And
the guards."

"Mirai Khan said that men were brought from China, from the coast, to
the sands of Sungan," added Gray grimly.  "God--why didn't they warn
us?"

"You were warned, Captain Gray.  Our caravan traveled as secretly as
possible.  I--I paid no attention to what the Chinese said.  They
have their secrets.  I should have been more cautious.  I made the
mistake of my race.  Overconfidence in dealing with natives.  I
wanted to be the first white man in Sungan."

He paused, reaching for a cup of water that Gray had filled for him.
The American watched him blankly.  So the talk of the pale sickness
had proved to be more than legend.  And he had discovered the root of
Delabar's dread of the Gobi.  Why had not the scientist said in so
many words that Sungan was a leper colony?  Doubtless Delabar had
known that Gray would not turn back until he had seen the truth of
the matter for himself.

Had Wu Fang Chien reasoned along similar lines?  It was natural that
the Chinese authorities had not wanted the American to visit one of
the isolated leper colonies.  Wu Fang Chien had discovered Gray's
mission.  And the mandarin had been willing to kill Gray in order to
keep him from Sungan.  The Asiatic had tried to keep the white man
from probing into one of the hidden, infected spots of Mongolia.  Was
this the truth?  Gray, heart-sick from what Hastings had told him,
believed so.  Later, he came to understand more fully the motives
that had actuated Wu Fang Chien.

"Remember," continued Sir Lionel wearily, "we learned that the Wusun
were captives.  The stone itself--the boundary stone we found at
Ansichow--said as much."

"But the stone referred to the Wusun as conquerors."

"Some legend of a former century.  Another of the riddles--of Asia.
I'm afraid, Captain Gray, we've failed in our mission.  And it has
cost--much."  He coughed, and raised his eyes to Gray.  "We have
found the lepers of Sungan.  And we have let them take Mary.  I'm out
of the game, rather.  And I'd prefer to die here than in a mule
litter.  You've done all for me you can."

Gray made a gesture of denial.  The pluck of the Englishman, facing
inevitable death, stirred his admiration.  Lack of vitality, more
than the wound, made it impossible to get Hastings out of the Gobi
alive.  Knowing this, Sir Lionel treated his own situation as
indifferently as he might have disposed of a routine question of
drill.

"I didn't tell you about the lepers at first," he continued, "because
I was afraid you might lack the nerve to go on.  I wouldn't blame
you.  But I've seen you under fire--and I know better."

"I'm going after Mary," said Gray grimly.

Sir Lionel nodded.

"Of course.  Not much of a chance; but--I'm glad."  He coughed and
wiped his lips.  "You were right, Captain Gray.  She--she told me
what you said at Ansichow.  I regret that she--offended you.  I have
spoiled her, you know.  A dear girl----"  His cough silenced him.

Gray sought for words, and was silent.  Neither man liked to reveal
his feelings.

"My heedlessness brought Mary to Sungan, Captain Gray.  Now I'm
asking you to make good my mistake, if possible----"

"Excellency!"  The shaggy head of Mirai Khan appeared between the
tent flaps.  "I must speak with you."

Gray went outside, to find the Kirghiz scowling and ill at ease.  In
their faces the sun was vanishing over the plain of the Gobi, dyeing
the bare, yellow hillocks with deep crimson.  A brown lizard trailed
its body away from the two men, leaving the mark of its passage in
the sand.

"Excellency, the hour of our parting is at hand.  I go no further.
The debt I owed you for saving my life I still owe, but--you will not
turn back from Sungan.  Hearken, hunter of the mighty little gun.  I
and my comrades followed the tracks of our enemies.  They were camel
tracks."

"Nonsense," growled Gray.  "Those were men with guns.  You saw them."

"And I saw the prints in the sands.  They were not the tracks of men,
but of camels.  It is an evil thing when men are like to animals.  My
comrades were filled with a great fear.  They have departed back to
Sungan, taking the mules, for their pay----"

Gray glanced quickly about the encampment.  It was empty, except for
the tent.

"What is written may not be changed," uttered the Kirghiz
sententiously.  "The others are gone, and I will follow.  God has
forbidden that we remain in this evil spot.  Because of my love for
you, I have left you the rifle, standing against the wall of the
cloth house, with its strap.  If it is your will, you may shoot me
with the little gun of many tongues, because I am leaving you.  But I
think you will not.  I could have gone without your knowing."

Gray surveyed the hunter moodily.  Mirai Khan smiled affectionately.

"Even if you had threatened to shoot us, Excellency, we would not
have taken another pace nearer Sungan.  The spot is unclean.  And why
should you shoot us--for saving our lives?  My comrades said that
soon you will be dead, and would not need the mules, so they took the
animals.  I do not know if you will die, or not.  You have the quick
wits of a mountain sheep, and the courage of a tiger.  But I fear
greatly for you.  He who is inside----"

Mirai Khan pointed to the tent.

"He who is inside will die here.  Did I not foretell a white man
would die?  But you will go on, for the men of Sungan have taken the
white woman who warmed your heart.  I have eyes, and I have seen your
love for the woman."

Gray walked to the rifle and inspected it.  The chamber was empty,
and the cartridges had gone from the bandolier.  Sir Lionel had used
up the small supply in the belt.  Gray had no reserve ammunition.  Wu
Fang Chien had taken that.  He handed the weapon to Mirai Khan.

"I have no more bullets for it," he said briefly.  "Take it.  Also,
send word to the nearest white missionary behind Ansichow.  Tell him
what has passed here, and that I set out to-night for Sungan.  Ask
him to send the message back to my country, to this man."

On a sheet of paper torn from a corner of the maps he still carried,
Gray wrote down Van Schaick's name and address.

"It shall be done as you say," acknowledged the hunter, placing the
paper in his belt.  "The gun is a fine gun.  But the little one of
many tongues is better.  Remember, we could have fallen upon you in
the house of cloth and taken all you had.  My comrades wished to do
it, but I would not, for we have eaten salt together."

Mirai Khan lifted his hand in farewell, caught up the precious rifle,
and hurried away, calling over his shoulder, "I must come up with the
hunters before dark, or they will take the mule that is mine and
leave me.  As you have said, your message shall be sent."

He vanished in the dunes to the east, his cloth-wrapped feet moving
soundlessly over the sand.  Gray watched him go.  He could not force
the Kirghiz to continue on to Sungan.  Even if he tried to do so, he
had seen enough to know that from this point on Mirai Khan would be
useless to him.

Before returning to Sir Lionel he made a circuit of the ridge and
inspected the footprints where their enemies of the afternoon had
passed.  He saw a network of curious prints, marks of broad, splay
hoofs.  Occasionally, there was a blood stain.

He had been too far from the attacking party to notice their
feet--and too busy to think about any such matter.  But, undeniably,
as Mirai Khan had said, here were camel tracks and nothing else.

"The devil!" he swore.  "I certainly saw those Chinese--and they were
men.  Probably a trick--it certainly worked well enough to scare my
guides."

He dismissed the matter with a shrug and made his way back to the
tent.

"Anything gone wrong?" asked the Englishman.

"Nothing new," Gray evaded, unwilling to distress Sir Lionel with the
truth.

"Then you'll be setting out, I fancy."  He spoke with an effort.
"I'll do nicely here--if you'll fill my water jar, and light the
candle I see beside it.  Don't leave me food--can't eat, you know.
Deuced hemorrhage----"

Gray left him coughing, and filled the jar at the well.  Also his own
canteen which was slung at his belt.  He lit the candle and placed it
in the sand by the Englishman.  Sir Lionel counted the cigarettes
that lay beside the candle.

"They'll last--long enough," he whispered.  "Close the tent, please,
when you go out."

As if a giant hand had blotted out the light, the tent became darker.
Sir Lionel looked up.  "Sunset," he muttered, "no parade.  I'll keep
to my barracks."

Gray turned away.  He could see that the man was nerving himself to
be alone, and mustering his strength for the coming ordeal.  The
Englishman was utterly brave.

The American adjusted the blankets, and placed the remaining
food--some flour cakes--in his shirt.  Sir Lionel forced a smile.

"Right!" he whispered.  "Strike due west--moonlight will show you
compass bearings.  Watch out for the ruins.  Know you'll get Mary
out, if it can be done.  Good-by and good luck!"

"You're game!" exclaimed Gray involuntarily.  "Good-by."

The Englishman adjusted his eyeglass as they shook hands.
"Remember--due west."

Gray glanced back as he closed the curtains of the tent and tied the
flap cords.  Sir Lionel was lighting himself a cigarette at the
candle.

That was the last he saw of Major Hastings.  Sir Lionel died without
complaint, a brave man doing his duty as best he could.




CHAPTER XVI

GRAY CARRIES ON

As his friend had predicted, Gray was able to watch his compass by
moonlight, within an hour.  It was a clear night.  The stars were out
in force with a trace of the white wisp clouds that hang above a dry,
elevated plateau.

Sir Lionel was out of the game, and with him the Kirghiz hunters.
Gray was alone for the first time since his visit to Van Schaick the
evening that he had contracted to find the Wusun.  He smiled grimly
as he thought how matters had changed.

Here he was at the gate of the Wusun, the captive race.  But Sir
Lionel had found them hardly what Gray expected.  A leper's colony is
not a pleasant thing to visit.  And this one was unusually well
guarded.  Behind these guards, in the ruins of Sungan, was Mary
Hastings.

This thought had gnawed at the American's heart for the past twelve
hours.  The girl he loved--he could no more conceal that fact from
himself than he could lose sight of the Gobi--was among the lepers.
Was she alive?  He did not know.  The guards of Sungan did not seem
overmerciful.  But why should they kill her?

No, he reasoned, she was alive.  She must be alive.  And she was
waiting for help to come.  She might have discovered that her uncle
had escaped in the fight before the ruins.  And she knew that Gray
was coming to Sungan in their tracks.

What Gray was going to do after he found the girl, he did not know.
He had long ago discovered that a multitude of difficulties confuse
and baffle a man.  He had trained himself to tackle only one thing at
a time; not only that, but to think of only one thing.  If he found
Mary, there would be time to consider what would come next.

The thought of the girl urged him on, so that it was hard to keep an
even pace.  But he was aware of the uselessness of blind haste.  He
struck a steady gait which he could keep up for hours, a swift walk
that left the dunes behind rapidly.

These dunes, he noticed, were not as high as at first.  The desert
was becoming more level, the soil harder.  At some points the clay
surface appeared between the sand ridges.

Gray did not try to eat.  Nor did he drink, knowing the folly of that
at the beginning of a march.  In time he would do both, not now.

The man's powerful frame enabled him to keep up the pace he had set
without fatigue or loss of breath.  This was the secret of Gray's
success as an explorer--his careful husbanding of his great vitality,
and his refusal to worry over problems that lay in the future.

When the vision of Mary flashed on him as he watched the summits of
the dunes, silvered by the cold moonlight, he put it aside
resolutely.  The last sight of the girl--the slender figure perched
jauntily on the camel as she rode away after their quarrel--tormented
him from time to time.  In spite of himself an elfin chord of memory
visioned the friendly gray eyes, and the delicate face of Mary
Hastings.

Gray set himself to considering his situation, realizing that he had
desperate need of all his wits if he was to face Sungan and its
people.

First there was the puzzle of the camel tracks that had frightened
Mirai Khan.  These tracks had been left by the party that had
attacked Sir Lionel and himself.  They had been sighted the day
before.

It was possible that the first prints they had seen were those of one
of their enemies, and that this man had carried the news of their
coming to his companions.  It would have been easy for the men of the
camel feet--as Gray thought of them--to trail his party without being
seen among the dunes.  Or else, they might have been following Sir
Lionel.

Gray decided that this was what had happened.  The men of the camel
feet had been tracking the Englishman.

This deduction led to another.  The Hastings party had been attacked.
Failing to turn them back, their assailants might have sent word of
their approach to Sungan.

"Let's see what I know," mused Gray methodically.  "Camel feet armed
with guns beaten off by Hastings' caravan--send news to Sungan.
Ambuscade prepared at Sungan ruins for Sir Lionel.  He walks into it.
After attack by lepers, camel feet take up pursuit of him, tracking
him back to well, where they engage us."

Then the camel feet constituted a kind of outer guard of Sungan.
They were poor fighters and seemed to have no heart for their work.
The men who had wiped out the caravan were another kind.  Sir Lionel
had distinctly said they were not armed.  They were lepers.

There was then an outer and an inner guard of Sungan.  The
outer--composed of an indifferent soldiery--had been seen by the
missionary Brent.  The captive these guards had been pursuing had
undoubtedly been a leper, escaped from the colony.

Had Brent been done to death by the Chinese who knew what he had
seen?  If so, then Mary----

Gray groaned at the thought and the muscles of his jaw tightened.

"I'm through the outer guards," he forced himself to reason.  "But
there's one thing that calls for an answer.  Why do the Chinese force
the lepers to drive off intruders?  The poor devils are not good
fighters.  No better than the driven dogs Sir Lionel pictured them.
They must have a hard master."

It was possible, of course, that the Chinese priests who were masters
of Sungan had forced the lepers to attack the caravan as a last
resource, after Sir Lionel's men had driven off the outer guards.  In
China human life has a low value, and that of a leper is a small
matter.  Such a proceeding would be in keeping with the cruelty of
the priests--who saw their own power and the prestige of ancient
Buddha waning with the inroads of civilization.

He was growing physically tired by now, to some extent.  This growing
weariness took toll of his thoughts, and brought the image of Mary
before his memory.

He pictured her as he had first seen her--a slender figure in the
bright tent, mistress of well-trained servants.  Gray had loved her
from the first.  It seemed to him it had been a long time.  As nearly
as he had ever worshiped anything, he worshiped the girl.

There had been no other women in his life.  He smiled ruefully,
reflecting upon his blundering effort to help the girl.  And she was
now far removed from his help.  It appalled him--how little he might
be able to aid her.

With another man, this fear might have turned into reckless haste, or
blind cursing against the fate that had befallen Mary Hastings.  Gray
pressed on silently, unhurried, the flame of his love burning
fiercely.

In this manner he would go on until he had found her, or those who
had taken her.  There was no alternative.  Mirai Khan would have said
that Gray was a fatalist, but Mirai Khan did not know the soul of a
white man.

"If only I am not too late," he thought.  "I must not be too late.
That could not happen."

Gray had no words to frame a prayer.  But, lacking words, he
nevertheless prayed silently as he walked.

The stars faded.  The moon had disappeared over the plain in front of
the American.  The dunes turned from black to gray and to brown, as
the sunrise climbed behind him.

Gray sat down on a hillock, and drew out his flour cakes.
These--some of them--he chewed, washing them down with water from his
canteen.

Had Sir Lionel lived to see that day?  Gray thought not.  Mirai
Khan's prophecy had born fruit.

A few feet away an animal's skull--a gazelle, by the horns--peered
from the sand.  Gray watched it quietly until the sun gleamed on the
whitened bone.  Then he rose, stretching his tired limbs, and pressed
on.

Late that afternoon he sighted the towers of Sungan slightly to the
north of his course.


Working his way forward, Gray scanned the place through his glasses.
He was on the summit of a ridge about a half mile from the nearest
towers.  The ruins lay in the center of a wide plain which seemed to
be clay rather than sand.

At intervals over the plain sand drifts had formed.  Gray wondered if
it was from behind these that the lepers had advanced on the
Hastings' caravan.  In the center of the plain trees and stunted
tamarisks grew, indicating the presence of water.

Throughout this scattered vegetation the ruins pushed through the
sand.  Sir Lionel had been correct in his guess that the desert sand
had overwhelmed the city.  Gray could see that only the tops of the
tumble-down walls were visible--those and the towers which presumably
had been part of the palaces and temples of ancient Sungan.  Even the
towers were in a ruined state.

They seemed to be formed of a dark red sandstone, which Gray knew was
found in the foothills of the Thian Shan country, to the north.  He
judged that the structures were at least five or six centuries old.
He saw some portions of walls which were surmounted by battlements.
And the towers--through the glasses--showed narrow embrasures instead
of modern windows.

The sight stirred his pulse.  Before him was the ancient city of the
Gobi that had been the abode of a powerful race before it was invaded
by the advancing sands.  Past these walls the caravan of Marco Polo
had journeyed.  The great Venetian had spoken of a city here, where
no modern explorers had found one.  He had called it Pe-im.

And in the ruins Mary Hastings might be still living, in desperate
need of him.

What interested Gray chiefly were the people of the place.  He was
too far to make them out clearly, and only a few were visible.  This
puzzled him, for Sir Lionel had mentioned a "pack of lepers."

He was able to see that the people were of two kinds.  One was robed
in a light yellow or brown garment.  Several of these men were
standing or sitting on ridges outside the ruins.  Gray guessed that
they were sentinels.

Furthermore, he believed them to be priests.  The other kind wore
darker dress and appeared from time to time among the ruins.  They
were--or seemed to be, at that distance--both men and women.

The thought of the girl urged Gray to action.  It would be the part
of wisdom to wait until nightfall before entering the city.  But he
could not bring himself to delay.

He was reasonably sure, from the conduct of the men acting as
sentinels, that he had not been seen as yet.  He had planned no
course of action.  What he wanted to do, now that he had an idea of
the lay of the land, was to get hold of one of the men of Sungan,
leper or priest, and question him about the white woman who had been
taken prisoner.

Mary had been in Sungan at least three days and nights.  Surely the
people of the place must know of her.  Once Gray had an idea where
she was kept, he would be able to proceed.

The venture appeared almost hopeless.  How could he enter the ruins,
find the girl, and bring her out safely?  What would they do then?
How was he to deal with the lepers, whose touch meant possible
contagion?

But he was hungry for sight of Mary--to know if she was still alive.
He could not wait until night to learn this.  He marked the position
of the nearest men in his mind, returned the glasses to their case,
loosened his automatic in its sheath, and slipped down from his
lookout behind the ridge.

"I've cut out sentries," he mused grimly, "but not this kind.  They
don't seem to be armed."

In fact, the men of Sungan were not armed--with modern weapons.  But
they had a deadly means of defense in the disease which bore a
miserable death in its touch.

Gray, for once, blessed the continuous dunes of the Gobi.  He went
forward cautiously, keeping behind the ridges and edging his way from
gully to gully, crawling at times and not daring to lift his head for
another look at the sentinels he had located.

His sense of direction was good.  He had crawled for the last half
hour and the sun was well past mid-day when he heard voices a short
distance ahead.

Removing his hat, Gray peered over the sand vigilantly.  He found
that he had come almost in the line he had planned.  A hundred yards
away two figures were seated on a rise.  They wore the yellow robes
he had first noticed.

As he watched, one rose and walked away leisurely toward the ruins.
The other remained seated, head bent on his clasped arms which rested
on his knees.  There was something resigned, almost hopeless, in the
man's attitude.

Gray waited until the first priest had had time to walk some
distance.  Then he wriggled forward alertly.

He had no means of knowing that others were not on the further side
of the ridge where the sentry sat.  But he heard no further voices,
and he had ascertained carefully before he set out that these two
were isolated.

Reasonably certain of his prey, Gray pulled himself from stone to
stone, from depression to depression.  Once the man looked
up,--perhaps at a slight sound.  Then his head fell on his arms
again.  Gray rose to his feet and leaped toward the ridge silently.

Eyes bent on the still figure of the priest, he gained the foot of
the dune.  The man stiffened and raised his head, as if he had sensed
danger.  Gray was beneath him by now, and stretched out a powerful
arm.

His hand closed on a sandaled foot and he pulled the priest down from
his perch.  Gray's other hand clamped on the man's mouth, preventing
outcry.  They were sheltered from view from Sungan by the ridge, and
the American believed no one would notice the disappearance of the
priest.

"If you cry out, you will die," he said in Chinese, kneeling over the
other.  Cautiously he removed his hand from the priest's mouth.

"Tell me--" he began.  Then--"It's a white man!"

He peered at the dark, sunburned face, and the newly shaven skull.

"Delabar," he said slowly.  "Professor Arminius Delabar, minus a
beard.  No mistaking your eyes, Professor.  Now what, by all that's
unholy, are you doing here in this monkey rig?"




CHAPTER XVII

THE YELLOW ROBE

The man on the sand was silent, staring up at Gray in blank
amazement.  It was Delabar, thinner and more careworn than before.
Shaven, all the lines of his face stood out, giving him the
appearance of a skull over which yellow skin was stretched taut--a
skull set with two smoldering, haggard eyes.

"Speak up, man," growled Gray.  "And remember what I said about
giving the alarm.  I don't know if this costume is a masquerade or
not, but--I can't afford to take chances this time."

Delabar did not meet his gaze.  He lay back on the sand, fingers
plucking at his thin lips.

"I can't speak," he responded hoarsely.

"You can.  And you will.  You'll tell me what I want to know--this
time.  You lied to me before.  Now you'll deal a straight hand.  This
is not an idle threat.  I must have information."

Delabar glanced at him fleetingly.  Then looked around.  No one was
in sight, as they lay in a pocket in the sand.

"What do you want to know?"

"A whole lot.  First--how did you get here?  I thought all white men
were barred."

"Wu Fang Chien," said Delabar moodily.  "He caught me the day after I
left you.  He shot the coolie and had me brought here."

"What's the meaning of that?"  Gray nodded contemptuously at the
yellow robe.

"Wu Fang Chien punished me.  He forced me to join the Buddhist
priests who act as guards of Sungan.  He did not want me to escape
from China.  Here, I was safe under his men."

"Hm.  He trusts you enough to post you as one of the sentries."

"With another man.  The other left to attend a council of the
priests.  My watch is over at sunset.  In two hours."

Gray scanned his erstwhile companion from narrowed eyes.  He decided
the man was telling the truth, so far.

"Will these Buddhist dogs come to relieve you at sunset, Delabar?"

"No.  The priests do not watch after nightfall.  Some of the lepers
we--Wu Fang Chien can trust make the rounds."

"Is Wu Fang Chien in control here--governor of Sungan?"

Delabar licked his lips nervously.  Perspiration showed on his bare
forehead.  "Yes.  That is, the mandarin is responsible to the Chinese
authorities.  He has orders to keep all intruders from Sungan--on
account of the lepers."

Gray smiled without merriment.

"You say the priests stand guard.  Are they armed?"

"No.  Not with guns.  Any one who tries to escape from here is
followed and brought back by the outer guards--if he doesn't die in
the desert."

"I see."  Gray gripped the shoulder of the man on the sand.  "Did you
hear me say I wanted the truth, not lies?  Well, you may have been
telling me the letter of the truth.  But not the whole.  Once you
said 'we' instead of Wu Fang Chien.  Likewise, I know enough of
Chinese methods to be sure Wu wouldn't punish a white man by
elevating him to the caste of priest.  You're holding something back,
Delabar.  What is your real relation to Wu?"

Delabar was silent for a long time.  Staring overhead, his eyes
marked and followed the movements of a wheeling vulture.  His thin
fingers plucked ceaselessly at the yellow robe.

"Wu Fang Chien," he said at length, "is my master.  He is the
emissary of the Buddhists in China.  He has the power of life and
death over those who break the laws of Buddha.  I am one of his
servants."

Delabar raised himself on one elbow.

"A decade ago, in India, I became a Buddhist, Captain Gray.
Remember, I am a Syrian born.  I spent most of my youth in Bokhara,
and in Kashgar, where I came under the influence of the philosophers
of the yellow robe.  I acknowledged the tenets of the Buddha; I bowed
before the teachings of the ancient Kashiapmadunga and the wisdom
that is like a lamp in the night--that burned before your Christ.
And I gave up my life to 'the world of golden effulgence.'"

A note of tensity crept into his eager words.  The dark eyes
reflected a deeper fire.

"Earthly lusts I forswore, for the celestial life that is born by
ceaseless meditation, and contemplation of the _Maha-yana_.  I was
ordained in the first orders of the priesthood.  That was the time
when foreign missionaries began to enter China in force, in spite of
the Boxer uprising and the revolt of the Tai-pings.  The heads of the
priesthood wanted information about this foreign faith, and the
peoples of Europe.  They wanted to know why the white men sought to
disturb the ancient soul of China."

Gray whistled softly, as Delabar's character became clear.

"I was sent to Europe.  At first I kept in touch with the priesthood
through Wu Fang Chien.  Then came the overthrow of the Manchus, and
the republic in China.  But you can not cast down the religion of
eight hundred million souls by a _coup d'état_.  The priesthood still
holds its power.  And it is still inviolate from the touch of the
foreigner."

Gray knew that this was true.  The scattered foreigners who had
entered the coast cities of China, and the missionaries who claimed a
few converts in the middle kingdom were only a handful in the great
mass of the Mongolians.  In the interior, and throughout Central Asia
and India, as in Japan, the shrines of Buddha, of Vishnu, and the
temple of the Dalai Lama were undisturbed.  And here, not on the
coast, was the heart of Mongolia.  Delabar continued, almost
triumphantly.

"Word was sent to me from Wu Fang Chien--who had heard the news from
a Chinese servant of the American Museum of Natural History--that an
expedition was being fitted out to explore Central Mongolia.  I was
ordered to volunteer to accompany it."

"And you did your best to wreck the expedition," assented Gray.

"I liked you, Captain Gray.  I tried to persuade you to turn back.
At Liangchowfu it was too late.  When you escaped from Wu Fang Chien
there, he held me responsible for the failure.  The priesthood never
trusted me fully."

"In my religion," said Gray grimly, "there is a saying that a man can
not serve two masters and save his own soul."

Delabar shivered.

"The priesthood," he muttered, "will not forgive failure.  Wu Fang
Chien is watching me.  You can do nothing here.  Go back, before we
are seen together.  Sungan is nothing but a leper colony.  You were a
fool to think otherwise."

"And the Wusun?"

"Lepers!  They are the only ones here except the priests."

Gray's eyes hardened.

"A lie, Delabar.  Why should Wu Fang Chien kill a dozen men to keep
the English caravan and myself from Sungan?"  He caught and held
Delabar's startled gaze.  "Where is Mary Hastings?"

"I--who is she?"

"You know, Delabar.  The girl who came with the caravan.  She was
taken prisoner.  Where is she?"

"I don't know."

Gray touched his automatic significantly.

"I want to know," he said quietly.  "And you can tell me.  It is more
important than my life or your miserable existence.  _Where is Mary
Hastings?_"

Delabar cowered before the deadly purpose in the white man's eyes.

"I don't know, Captain Gray.  Wu Fang Chien ordered that when the
caravan was attacked, she should be brought to him.  Not killed, but
taken to him.  Some of the priests seized her and took her to one of
the inner courts of the city.  At the time, Wu Fang Chien was
directing the attack on the caravan.  I have not seen her since."

"Where is this inner court?"

"You are a fool.  You could not possibly get into the ruins without
being seen.  Wu Fang Chien would be glad to see you.  I heard him say
if the girl was spared, you would come here after her.  He knew all
that happened at Ansichow----"

"Then she is alive!"  Gray's pulses leaped.  "So my friend Wu is
keeping the girl as bait for my coming.  A clever man, Wu Fang Chien.
But how did he know Sir Lionel had told me what happened at Sungan?"

"The Englishman was followed, back to where he met you.  If he had
been killed in the fighting here, I think Wu Fang Chien planned to
send me to bring you here----"

"Yes, he is clever."  Gray studied the matter with knitted brows.
"So Wu wants to kill me off, now that I have come this far--as he did
the men of the caravan?  Look here!  Does he know I'm near Sungan?
Were you put here as--bait?"

"No," Delabar shook his head.  "The men who were sent to attack
you--the Chinese soldiers hired by Wu Fang Chien--lost track of you.
Wu Fang Chien does not know where you are--yet.  If he should find
you here talking to me, it would be my death.  I--I have learned too
much of the fate of the Hastings.  Oh, they were fools.  Why should
your people want to pry into what is hidden from them?  Go back!  You
can do nothing for the girl."

Gray stared at the Buddhist curiously.

"You haven't learned much decency from your religion, Delabar.  So
the outer guards failed to make good, eh?  By the way, how is it that
they leave camel tracks in the sand?"

"They wear camels' hoofs instead of shoes.  Hoofs cut from dead wild
camels that the Chinese hunters kill for our food--for the lepers.
It helps them to walk on the sand, and mystifies the wandering
Kirghiz.  Why do you want to throw your life away----?"

"I don't."  Gray sat down and produced some of his flour cakes.  "I
want to get out of Sungan with a whole skin, and with Mary Hastings."
He munched the cakes calmly, washing down the mouthfuls with water
from his canteen.  "And I'm going to get into the inner courts of
Sungan.  You're going to guide me.  If we're discovered, remember
you'll be the first man to die.  Now, Delabar, I want a good
description of Sungan, its general plan, and the habits of your
Buddhist friends."




CHAPTER XVIII

BASSALOR DANEK

Nightfall comes quickly after sunset on the Gobi plain.  Waiting
until the shadows concealed their movements, Gray and Delabar started
toward the city of Sungan.

The moon was not yet up.  By keeping within the bushes that grew
thickly hereabouts, Delabar was able to escape observation from a
chance passerby.  The man was plainly frightened; but Gray allowed
him no opportunity to bolt.

"You'll stay with me until I see Mary Hastings," he whispered
warningly.

A plan was forming in the American's mind--a plan based on what
Delabar had told him of the arrangement of the buildings of Sungan.
The lepers, he knew, lived in the outer ruins, where he had seen them
that afternoon.  In the center of the Sungan plain, Delabar said, was
a depression of considerable extent.  Here were the temples and
palaces, the towers of which he had seen.

This, the old city, was surrounded by a wall.  Delabar said it was
occupied by the priests.  And in this place Mary Hastings might be
found.  It was a guess; but a guess was better than nothing.

When they came to the first stone heaps, Gray halted his guide.

"You told me once," he whispered, "that Sungan had a series of
underground passages.  Take me down into these."

"Through the lepers' dwellings?"

Gray nodded silently.  Delabar was shivering--an old trick of his,
when nervous.

"It is madness, Captain Gray!" he chattered.  "You do not know----"

"I know what you told me.  Likewise that you don't want me to get
into these temples.  Step out!"

Delabar glanced around in despair and led the way through the bushes.
Once the American caught the gleam of a fire and saw a group of
lepers squatting about a blaze in which they were toasting meat.  At
the edge of the firelight starved dogs crouched.

They came to an excavation in the ground, lined with stone.  Delabar
pointed to steps leading downward into darkness.

"An old well," he whispered.  "It is dry, now.  A passage runs from
it to the inner buildings."

He seemed familiar with the way, and Gray followed closely.  The
steps wound down for some distance, the air becoming cooler.  They
halted on what seemed to be a stone platform.

"Here is the entrance to the passage," Delabar muttered.  "It was
used to carry water to the temple."

Gray put his hand on the man's shoulder and urged him forward, making
sure at the same time that the other did not seize the opportunity to
make his escape.  He did not trust Delabar.  He was convinced that
the Buddhist had not made a clean breast of matters.  For one thing,
he was curious as to why the priests should take such elaborate
precautions to guard the lepers.  Elsewhere in China there were no
such colonies as Sungan.

Why were armed guards stationed around Sungan?  Why were the lepers
barred from the inner walled city?  Where was Wu Fang Chien?

The answer to these questions lay in the temple toward which they
were headed.

They went forward slowly.  Complete silence reigned in the passage.
Occasionally Gray stumbled over a loose stone.  Then he heard for the
first time the chant.

It came from a great distance.  It was echoed by the stone corridor,
swelling and dying as the gust of air quickened or failed.  A
deep-throated chant that seemed to have the cadence of a hymn.

"What is that?" he whispered.

"The sunset hymn," Delabar informed him.

Gray, who had forgotten the council of the priests--which must be
nearby--wondered why the man shivered.

"Does this passage lead direct to the council?" he demanded.

Delabar hesitated.

"It leads to a cellar where two other corridors join it," he
muttered.  "The chant is carried by the echoes--the council is still
far off."  He moved forward.  "Come."

This time he advanced quickly.  The song diminished to a low murmur,
confused by distance.  Gray reflected that there must be many
singers.  If all the priests were at the council, the corridors might
be clear.  Wu Fang Chien would be with the Buddhists.

A glimmer of light showed ahead.  It strengthened as they drew
nearer.  Delabar broke into a half trot, peering ahead.  By the glow,
Gray saw that the passage they were in was a vaulted corridor of
sandstone carved in places with inscriptions which seemed to be very
old.

The chant swelled louder as they reached the end of the passage.
Before them was a square chamber resembling a vault.  Two large
candles stood in front of another exit.  Gray thought he noticed a
movement in the shadows behind the candles.  His first glance showed
him that the only other opening was a flight of stone steps, across
from them.

He reached out to check Delabar.  But the man slipped from his grasp
and ran forward into the room.  Gray swore under his breath and
leaped after him.

"Aid!" screamed Delabar.  "Aid, for a follower of Buddha!  A white
man has come into the passages----"

He flung himself on his knees before the candles, knocking his shaven
head against the floor.  Gray halted in his tracks, peering into the
shadows behind the candles.

"Help me to seize the white man!" chattered the traitor.  "I am a
faithful servant of Buddha.  I have come to give warning.  The white
man forced me to lead him."

One after another three Buddhist priests slipped from the shadows and
stared at Delabar and Gray.  The former was in a paroxysm of fear,
his knees shaking, his hands plucking at his face.  Gray, silently
cursing the trick the other had played, watched the three priests.
They had drawn long knives from their robes and paused by Delabar, as
if waiting for orders.

The alarm had been given.  Footsteps could be heard coming along the
hall behind the candles.  Gray was caught.  In the brief silence he
heard the deep-throated chant, echoing from a quarter he could not
place.

Still the priests waited, the candlelight gleaming from their white
eyeballs.  Gray cast a calculating glance about the chamber.  Two
exits were available.  The stairs, and the passage down which he had
come.  Which to take, he did not know.  But he was not minded to be
run down at the well in the dark.

A broad, bland face looked out from the corridor by the candles.  He
saw the silk robe and luminous, slant eyes of Wu Fang Chien.

"So Captain Gray has come to Sungan," the mandarin said calmly, in
English.  "I have been expecting him----"

"I did not bring him," chattered Delabar.  "I gave the alarm----"

Terror was in his broken words.  Wu Fang Chien scrutinized the
kneeling figure and his eyes hardened.

"Who can trust the word of a mongrel?" he smiled, speaking in
Chinese.  "Slay the dog!"

Delabar screamed, and tried to struggle to his feet.  Two of the
Buddhists stepped to his side and buried their weapons in his body.
The scream ended in a choking gasp.  Again the priests struck him
with reddened knives.

He sank to the floor, his arms moving weakly in a widening pool of
his own blood.  Wu Fang Chien had not ceased to smile.

Gray jerked out his automatic.  He fired at the priests, the reports
echoing thunderously in the confined space.  Two of the Buddhists
sank down upon the body of Delabar; the third wheeled wildly,
coughing as he did so.

Gray laid the sights of his automatic coolly on Wu Fang Chien.  The
mandarin reached out swiftly.  His wide sleeves swept against the
candles, extinguishing them.  Gray pressed the trigger and caught a
glimpse of his foe's triumphant face by the flash that followed.
Again he pulled the trigger.

A click was the only answer.  The chamber of the weapon had been
emptied.  And Gray had no more cartridges.  He threw the useless
automatic at the spot where Wu Fang Chien had been and heard it
strike against the stone.

He had no means of knowing if he had hit the mandarin with his last
shot.  He suspected that the trick of Wu Fang Chien had saved the
latter's life.  For a moment silence held the vault, a silence broken
by the groans of the injured priests.  The distant chant had ceased.

Gray turned and sought the stairs behind him.  He had made up his
mind to go forward, not back.  He would not try to leave Sungan
without Mary Hastings.

He had marked the position of the steps, and stumbled full upon them
in the dark.  Up the stairs he scrambled, feeling his way.  What lay
before him he did not know.

A light appeared behind him.  He heard footsteps echo in the vault.
The glow showed him that he was at the top of the stairs.  Into a
passage he ran.  It resembled the one that led from the well.

By the sounds behind him he guessed that the priests were following
him.  Either Wu Fang Chien had decided that Gray had taken to the
stairs, or the mandarin was sending parties down both exits.

The feel of the air as well as the continued coolness told Gray that
he was still underground.  He ran forward at a venture.  The passage
gave into another vaulted room in which a fire gleamed in a brazier.
The place was empty, but skins scattered around the brazier showed
that it had been occupied not long since.

Gray took the first opening that offered and ran on.  Glancing over
his shoulder, he saw the Buddhists emerge into the room.  He
quickened his pace.

His pursuers had gained on him.  Gray was picking his way blindly
through the labyrinth of passages.  He blundered into a wall heavily,
felt his way around a corner and was blinded by a sudden glare of
lights.

Gray found himself standing in a lofty hall in which a multitude of
men were seated.

His first impression was that he had come into the council of the
Buddhist priests.  His second was one of sheer surprise.

The hall had evidently been a temple at one time.  A stone gallery
ran around it, supported by heavy pillars.  The embrasures that had
once served as windows were blocked with timbers, through which sand
had sifted in and lay in heaps on the floor.

The temple was underground.  Openings in the vaults of the ceiling
let in a current of air which caused the candles around the walls to
flicker.  Directly in front of Gray was a daïs.  Around this, on
ebony benches, an array of men were seated.

The floor between him and the daïs was covered with seated forms.
All were looking at him.  On the platform was, not the figure of a
god, but a massive chair of carved sandalwood.  In this chair was
seated an old man.  A majestic form, clothed in a robe of lamb's wool
which vied in whiteness with the beard that descended to the man's
waist.  Each sleeve of the robe was bound above the elbow by a broad
circlet of gold.  A chain of the same metal was about the man's
throat.

What struck Gray was the splendid physique of the elder in the chair.
A fine head topped broad shoulders.  A pair of dark eyes peered at
him under tufted brows.  High cheek bones stood out prominently in
the pale skin.  The figure and face were suggestive of power; yet the
fire in the eyes bespoke unrest, even melancholy.  The man addressed
Gray at once, in a full voice that echoed through the hall.

"Who comes," the voice said in broken Chinese, "to the assembly of
the Wusun?"

Gray started.  He glanced from the figure in the chair to the others.
There were several hundred men in the room.  All were dressed in
sheepskin, and nankeen, with boots of horsehide or red morocco.  The
majority were bearded, but all showed the same light skin and
well-shaped heads.  They appeared spellbound at his coming.

Footsteps behind him told him that his pursuers were nearing the
hall.  Gray advanced through the seated throng to the foot of the
daïs.  They made way for him readily.

Mechanically Gray raised his hand in greeting to the man on the
throne.

"A white man," he answered.

At that moment several of the Buddhist priests entered the hall.  He
saw Wu Fang Chien appear.  At the sight there was a murmur from the
throng.

Gray was still breathing heavily from his run.  He stared at the
majestic form on the daïs.  The Wusun!  That was the word the other
had used.  The word that Van Schaick had said came from the captive
race itself.

He glanced at Wu Fang Chien.  The Chinaman was different from these
men--broader of face, with slant eyes and black hair.  The eyes of
the man in the chair were level, and his mustache and beard were
full, even curling.  He resembled the type of Mirai Khan, the
Kirghiz, more than Wu Fang Chien.

So this was the secret of Sungan.  Gray smiled grimly, thinking of
how Delabar had tried to conceal the truth from him--how the Buddhist
had chosen to betray him rather than run the risk of his seeing the
Wusun.  And this explained the guards.  The Wusun were, actually, a
captive race.

Gray was quick of wit, and this passed through his mind instantly.
He noticed another thing.  Wu Fang Chien had left the other priests
at the entrance and was coming forward alone.  The mandarin folded
his arms in his sleeves and bowed gravely.  For the first time he
spoke the dialect of the West.

"Greetings, Bassalor Danek, Gur-Khan of the Wusun," he said gravely.
"It was not my wish to disturb the assembly of the Wusun during the
hour of the sunset prayer, in the festival of the new moon.  I came
in pursuit of an enemy--of one who has slain within the walls of
Sungan.  You know, O Gur-Khan, that it is forbidden to slay here.
When I have taken this man, I will leave in peace."

Bassalor Danek stroked the arms of the chair gently and considered
the mandarin.

"Within the space of twelve moons, O Wu Fang Chien, the foot of a
Buddhist priest has not been set within the boundary of my people.
Here, I am master, not you.  That was agreed in the covenant of my
fathers and their fathers before them.  You have not forgotten the
covenant?"

"I have not forgotten," returned the mandarin calmly.  "It is to ask
for the person of this murderer that I come now.  When I have him, I
will go."

"Whom has he slain?"

"Two of my men who watched at one of the passages."

"Have the Wusun asked that guards be placed in the passages?"

Wu Fang Chien scowled, then smiled blandly.

"We were waiting to seize this man--a foreign devil.  An enemy of
your people as well as mine."

Gray watched the two keenly.  He had observed that many of the Wusun
near Bassalor Danek were armed, after a fashion.  They carried bows,
and others had swords at their hips.  The followers of Wu Fang Chien
seemed ill at ease.  Moreover, their presence in the hall appeared to
anger the Wusun.

Thrust suddenly into a totally strange environment, Gray had only his
wits to rely upon.  He was unaware of the true situation of the
Wusun, as of their character.  But certain things were clear.

They were not overfond of Wu Fang Chien.  And they were bolder in
bearing than the Chinese.  Bassalor Danek, who had the title of
Gur-Khan, had spoken of a covenant which seemed to be more of a
treaty between enemies than an agreement among friends.

On the other hand, Wu Fang Chien spoke with an assurance which
suggested a knowledge of his own power, and a certainty that he held
the upper hand of the situation.

The Wusun had risen to their feet and were pressing closer.  They
waited for their leader to speak.  The Gur-Khan hesitated as if
weighing the situation.

"This man," Wu Fang Chien pointed to Gray, "has come to Sungan with
lies in his mouth.  He has pulled a veil over his true purpose.  And
he is an enemy of Mongolia.  You will do well to give him up."

Bassalor Danek turned his thoughtful gaze on Gray.

"You have heard what Wu Fang Chien has said," he observed.  "You
speak his tongue.  Tell me why you have come through the walls of
Sungan.  In the lifetime of ten men no stranger has come to Sungan
before this."

Gray's head lifted decisively.

"Wu Fang Chien," he responded slowly, "has said that I killed his
men.  Is this a crime in one man, when it is not such in another?
Just a little while ago the soldiers of the Chinese surprised and
destroyed a caravan of my people without warning and without cause."

"They had no right to come where they did," asserted the mandarin
blandly.

"They were coming to Sungan."

Wu Fang Chien smiled and waved his brown hand, as if brushing aside
the protest of a child.

"Foreign devils without a god.  You were warned to keep away."

The white man's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I came to find a woman of my people that you seized.  She is here in
Sungan."

Bassalor Danek looked up quickly.  "When did she come to Sungan?"

"Several days ago.  And Wu Fang Chien kept her.  He planned to bring
me here, in order to kill me."  Gray met the gaze of the old man
squarely.  "This woman and I, Bassalor Khan, are descended from the
same fathers as your race.  We were coming to Sungan to seek you.
And this man has tried to prevent that.  A score of men have lost
their lives because of it."

The mandarin would have spoken, but the Gur-Khan raised his hand.

"This is a matter, Wu Fang Chien," he said with dignity, "that cannot
be decided in a wind's breath.  I will keep this stranger.  I will
hear his story!  At this time to-morrow, after sunset, come alone to
the hall and I will announce my decision.  Until then I will think."

Wu Fang Chien frowned, but accepted the verdict with the calmness
that was the mark of his character.

"Remember, Bassalor Danek," he warned, "that these people are devils
from the outer world.  And remember the covenant which spares your
people their lives.  Sungan is in the hollow of the hand of Buddha.
And Buddha is lord of Mongolia."

The Gur-Khan seemed not to hear him.

"Truly it is strange," he mused.  "Twice in one moon strangers have
come before me, with the same tale on their lips.  This man, and the
woman that my young men took from your priests because she had the
face and form of one of our race.  She, also, is in my dwelling."




CHAPTER XIX

CONCERNING A CITY

Contrary to general belief, a man does not sleep heavily after two
days and nights of wakefulness.  Gray had been without sleep for that
time, but he was alert, although very tired.  Continuous activity of
the nervous system is not stilled at once.

As soon as Wu Fang Chien left the hall of the Wusun, the American had
asked to be permitted to see Mary Hastings.

His request was refused by Bassalor Danek.  The woman, said the
Gur-Khan, was under his protection and could not be seen until
daylight.  Gray was forced to acquiesce in this.  He felt that Mary
would be safe in the hands of the elder, who seemed to enjoy complete
authority in the gathering.  This belief proved to be correct.

The knowledge that the girl was near him and reasonably protected
from harm brought a flood of relief, and eased the tension which had
gripped him for the past forty hours.  He was exhilarated by the
first good news in many hours.

As a consequence, he now became acutely hungry.  Bassalor Danek
directed that he be taken from the hall and fed.  Two of the younger
men with the bows conducted him through a new series of corridors, up
several flights of winding steps and into a small, stone compartment
which, judging by the fresh air that came through the embrasures, was
above the level of the sand.

Here they supplied him with goat's milk, a kind of cheese made from
curdled mare's milk and some dried meat which was palatable.  Gray
fell asleep quickly on a pile of camel skins, while the men--Bassalor
Danek had referred to them as _tumani_[1]--watched curiously.


[1] Possibly derived from the Tatar word _tuman_, a squadron of
warriors, hunters.


Gray awakened with the first light that came into the embrasures.  He
found that he was very stiff, and somewhat chilled.  At his first
movement the _tumani_ were up.  One of them, a broad-shouldered youth
who said his name was Garluk, spoke broken Chinese, of a dialect
almost unknown to Gray.

He explained that they were in one of the towers of the temple which
projected well above the sand.  Gray, for the first time, had a fair
view of Sungan from the embrasures.

It was a clear day.  The sky to the east was crimson over the brown
plain of the Gobi.  The sun shot level shafts of light against the
ruins.  Gray saw the wall of the old city--the abode of the Wusun.
Later in the day he wrote down some notes of what he observed on the
reverse side of the maps he carried.  They were roughly as follows:

The old city had been built in an oasis, apparently four or five
centuries ago.  Willows, poplars and tamarisks lined narrow canals
which had been constructed through the ruins from the wells.  By
walling these canals with stone, the Wusun had kept them intact from
the encroaching sand.  There was even grass near the canals, and
several flocks of sheep.  The trees afforded shade--although the sun
is never unendurable in the Gobi, owing to the altitude.

The buildings of the city had been more than half enveloped by the
moving sand which was swept into the walled area--so Garluk
said--with each _kara buran_.  Owing perhaps to the protection of the
wall, the sand ridges around the inner city were higher than the
ground within.  So it was difficult to obtain a good view of the city
from the surrounding country.

Gray reflected that this must be why the Kirghiz had reported seeing
only the summits of some towers; also, why he himself had taken the
foliage that he made out through his glasses for bushes.

The buildings of Sungan were ancient, and fashioned of solid
sandstone so that although partially covered with sand, their
interiors--after the embrasures had been sealed--were reasonably
comfortable and warm dwellings.  Delabar had been correct in quoting
the legend that there were extensive vaults and cellars in Sungan.
The underground passages communicated from vault to vault--a system
that was most useful in this region where the black sand-storms occur
every day in the spring, early summer and throughout the winter.

"Mighty good dugouts, these," thought Gray.  "The Wusun have
certainly dug themselves in on their ancestral hearths.  Wonder how
they manage for food?"

He asked Garluk this question.  The Wusun responded that he and
certain of his companions--the _tumani_--were allowed to go out on
the plain through the lines of lepers and hunt the wild camels and
gazelles of the plain.  Also, the Buddhists maintained several
shepherd settlements near the River Tarim, a journey of three or four
days to the west.

Some citrons, melons and date trees grew by the canals of Sungan.  At
times a caravan would come to Sungan from China bringing other food.

Through his glasses Gray made out the figures of lepers outside the
wall.  Garluk explained that these were "the evil fate of the Wusun."
They were put there to keep the Wusun within the wall.  For centuries
he and his people had been pent up.  They were diminishing in
numbers, due to the captivity.  Occasionally some adventurous man
would escape through the lepers and the Chinese soldiers, cross the
desert to Khotan or Kashgar.  These never returned.  Death was the
penalty for trying to escape.

Gray scanned the ruins through his glasses.  Women were cooking and
washing near the canals.  Men appeared from the underground chambers
and went patiently about the business of the day.  They seemed an
orderly throng, and Gray guessed that Bassalor Danek ruled his
captive people firmly.  Which was well.

He noticed pigeons in the trees.  It was not an ugly scene.  But on
every side stretched the barren Gobi, encroaching on and enveloping
the stronghold of the Wusun, the "Tall Men."  The same resignation
and patience that he had noted in the eyes of Bassalor Danek were
stamped in the faces of Garluk and his companions.  They were olive
faces, stolid and expressionless.  Gray had seen the same traits in
some Southern Siberian tribes, isolated from their fellows, and in
the Eskimos.

Among the notes, he afterwards jotted down some references for Van
Schaick--on the chance that he would be able to get the data into the
hands of his employers.  Gray had a rigid sense of duty.  His
observations were fragmentary, for he lacked the extended knowledge
of racial history and characteristics that Delabar was to have
supplied.

In spite of their confined life, the "Tall Ones" were above the
stature of the average Mongol.  Their foreheads did not slope back
from the eyes as much as in the Tartar of the steppe, and the eyes
themselves were larger, especially among the young women, who were
often attractive in face.

Language: the Wusun had all the hard gutturals, and the forcible "t"
and "k" of the Mongol tongue; but their words were syllabic--even
poetically expressive.  Many myths appeared in their
songs--references to Genghis Khan, as the "Mighty Man-slayer" and to
Prester John, by his native name--Awang Khan of the Keraits.

Intelligence: on a par with that of the middle-class Chinese,
superior to that of the Kirghiz and Dungans of the steppe.  Their
characteristics were kindly and hospitable; their ideas simple, owing
to the narrow range of objects within their vision.  Of history and
the progress of the world, they were totally ignorant, being kept so
in accordance with the favorite practice of the Buddhists.

Arms and implements: limited to the bow, and the iron sword with
tempered point.  They had seen firearms in the possession of the
Chinese guards, but were not allowed to own them.  For cultivation,
they dragged a rude, wooden harrow by hand, and used a sharply
pointed hoe of iron.  As to cooking--this was done with rudimentary
utensils, such as copper pots purchased from the Chinese, makeshift
ovens in the sand, and spits over an open fire.

As to religion, Gray was destined to make a curious discovery, as
surprising as it was unexpected, but one which was beyond his limited
knowledge to explain.

Such were the Wusun, as Gray saw them.

Garluk broke in on his thoughts with a guttural exclamation.

"How can you see so far," he demanded, "when we can not see?"

Gray smiled and was about to hand the Wusun his glasses when he
checked himself.  The binoculars might prove useful later, he
thought.  As it happened, they did.

Meanwhile, Gray's mind had reverted to the thought that was last with
him when he had gone to sleep the night before and was first to come
to him with awakening.  He had neither washed nor eaten, but he would
not delay.

"Take me to the white woman," he ordered.

Still staring at him in bewilderment, the two hunters led him down
the stairs, through a postern door, and out on the sand.  After a
brief word with some older Wusun who were squatted by the tower,
Garluk struck off through the ruins, waving back the throngs that
came to gaze at Gray.

The American noticed that there were few children.  Some of the women
carried water jars.  They were not veiled.  They wore a loose robe of
clean cotton--he learned that they worked their own looms, of ancient
pattern--bound by a silk girdle, and covered by a flowing _khalat_.
All were barefoot.

Gray was conducted to a doorway outside which a _tumani_ stood, sword
in hand.  After a brief conference with his guides, the guard
permitted them to enter.  Throughout his stay in Sungan, Gray was
watched, quietly, but effectively.

His heart was beating fiercely by now, and he wanted to cry out the
name of the girl.  He walked down into semi-darkness.  A smell of
musk and dried rose leaves pervaded the place.  A woman rose from the
floor and disappeared into the shadows.  Presently Garluk drew aside
a curtain.  Gray entered what seemed to be a sleeping chamber and
found Mary Hastings standing before him.

"Captain Gray!" she cried softly, reaching out both hands.  "Last
night they told me you were here.  Oh, I'm so glad!"

He gripped the slim hands tightly, afraid to say what came into his
mind at sight of the girl.  She was thinner and there were circles
under the fine eyes that fastened on him eagerly.

He could see her clearly by the glow from a crimson lamp that hung
overhead.  The room was comfortably fitted with rugs and cushions.  A
jar of water and some dates stood near them.

"How did you get here?" she echoed.  "Where is Sir Lionel?"  A shadow
passed over her expressive face.  "I saw the attack on the caravan.
Did he----"

"Sir Lionel made his way back to me," said Gray, his voice gruff and
tense.  "He was the only survivor of the caravan."

"Then he is dead," she responded slowly.  "Or he would have come with
you."  She bit her lip, bending her head, so that Gray should not see
the tears in her eyes.  "Oh, I have feared it.  The Buddhist priests
said that their guards would find and kill him.  An old man of the
Wusun who speaks Turki repeated it to me."

Gray was glad that Mary was prepared, in a measure, for the death of
her uncle.  He had found the sight of her distress hard to bear.  He
turned away.

"Yes.  Sir Lionel died--bravely."

She released his hands, and fumbled with a torn, little square of
linen that had once been a handkerchief.

"Oh!"

Fearing that she would break down and weep, Gray would have left the
room, but she checked him with a gesture.  She looked up quietly,
although the tears were still glistening on her eyelids.

"Please, Captain Gray!  I've been so--lonely.  You won't go away,
just for a while?"

For a while?  He would have remained at her side until dragged away,
if she wished it so.  He saw that she had changed.  Some of the life
and vivacity had been driven from her delicate face, leaving a
wistful tenderness.

He himself showed little sign of the hardships of the last two days,
except a firmer set to the wide mouth, and deeper lines about the
eyes.  He was unshaven, as he had been for some time, and the
clothing on his rugged figure was rather more than usually the worse
for wear.

The girl noticed a new light in his eyes--somber, even dogged.  There
was something savage in the determination of the hard face,
born--although she did not know it--of his knowledge that the life
and safety of Mary Hastings was now his undivided responsibility.




CHAPTER XX

THE TALISMAN

"Poor Uncle Lionel," she said sadly, "he never knew that--the Wusun
were here, as he had thought they would be."

"He will have full credit for his achievement when you and I get back
home, out of Sungan, Miss Hastings."

She looked at him, dumbly grateful.  Gone was all the petulance, the
spirit of mockery now.  But her native heritage of resolution had not
forsaken her.

"Thank you for that, Captain Gray.  I--I was foolish in disregarding
your warning.  I was unjust--because I wanted Uncle Singh to be first
in Sungan."  She sighed, then tried to smile.  "Will you sit down?
On a cushion.  Perhaps you haven't breakfasted yet.  I have only
light refreshments to offer----"

A fresh miracle was taking place before Gray's eyes.  He did not know
the courage of the English girls whose men protectors live always in
the unsettled places that are the outskirts of civilization.

His nearness to the girl stirred him.  Her pluck acted as a spur to
his own spirits.  In spite of himself, his gaze wandered hungrily to
the straying, bronze hair, and the fresh, troubled face.

Unconsciously, she reached up and deftly adjusted a vagrant bit of
hair.  He wanted to pat her on the back and tell her she was
splendid.  But he feared his own awkwardness.  Mary Hastings seemed
to him to be a fragile, precious charge that had come into his life.

He drew a quick breath.  "I am hungry," he lied.

She busied herself at once, setting out dates and some cakes.  While
he ate, she barely nibbled at the food.

"Now," he began cheerfully, having planned what he was to say, "I'm
indebted to you for breakfast.  And I'm going to question you."

He realized that he must take her mind from the death of her uncle.

"How have our new allies, the Wusun, been treating you, Miss
Hastings?"

"Very nicely, really.  But not the priests.  They took all my
belongings except a little gold cross under my jacket.  You see, the
priests came with the--the lepers who attacked us."

Gray nodded.

"And the Buddhists seized me, not the poor, sick men.  They carried
me off after gagging me so I couldn't call out."

"Wu Fang's orders."

"They took me down into some kind of a tunnel and kept me there until
the shooting had ceased.  They were escorting me along the passages
when we met a party of Wusun, armed with bows.  They talked to the
priests, then they seemed to become angry, and the Buddhists gave me
up.  I don't know why the Wusun wanted me."

Glancing at the beautiful girl, Gray thought that the reason was not
hard to guess.  He did not then understand, however, the full
significance that the woman held for the Wusun.

"Perhaps they recognized you as a white woman--one of their own
kind," he hazarded.

She shook her head dubiously.

"I thought the Wusun did not know any other white people existed,
Captain Gray.  One of them--I heard them call him Gela, the Kha
Khan--was a young man, as big as you, and not bad looking.  He was
angriest of all--with the priests, that is, not with me."

Gray frowned.

"Gela led me to the council hall of the 'Tall Ones,'" she continued,
looking at him in some surprise, for the frown had not escaped her.
"There I found old Bassalor Danek.  I could not speak their language,
but Uncle Singh taught me quite a bit of the northern Turki.
Bassalor Danek was really a fine old chap, but I like Timur better."

"Timur?" he asked.  "One of the _tumani_?"

"I don't see why you don't like them.  They helped me.  No, Timur
seems to be a kind of councilor.  He's white haired, and limps.  But
he speaks broken Turki, which I understand.  So--I have been well
treated, except that they will not let me out of this building, which
belongs to Bassalor Danek."

"What did the Turki-speaking fellow have to say for himself?"

"He asked my name.  Of course he could not pronounce it, so he
christened me something that sounds like Kha Rakcha.  I think
Kha--it's a Kirghiz word, too--means 'white' in their tongue."

"Rakcha is western Chinese for some kind of spirit," assented Gray,
interested.  "So they've named you the White Spirit--or, in another
sense, the White Woman-Queen.  Your coming seems to have been an
event in the affairs of the Wusun----"

"That is what Timur said."  She nodded brightly.  "He is one of the
elders of the _kurultai_--council.  I hope I made a good impression
on him.  He seemed to be friendly."

"I think," pondered Gray seriously, "that you have made a better
impression than you think.  That helps a lot, because----" he was
about to say that his own standing with the Wusun was none too good,
thanks to Wu Fang Chien's enmity, but broke off.  He did not want to
alarm her.  "Because they've let me come to see you," he amended
awkwardly.

The girl's vigilant wits were not to be hoodwinked.

"That's not what you meant to say, Captain Gray," she reproached him.

"It's true--" he was more successful this time--"that your coming
probably earned me a respite."

"A respite?"

When is a woman deceived by a man's clumsy assurance?  Or when does
she fail to understand when something is kept back?

"Captain Gray, you know something you won't tell me!  Did the Wusun
threaten you?"

"No.  They shielded me----"

"Then you were in danger.  I thought so.  Now what did you mean
by--respite?"

Instead, Gray told her how he had found his way into Sungan, omitting
the details of the fighting, or his own achievement.  Mary considered
him gravely, chin on hand.

"I prayed that you would follow our caravan," she said.  "I wished
for you when every one was fighting so.  Somehow, I was sure that you
would reach Sungan.  You see, you made me feel you were the kind of
man who went where he wanted to go."

Gray looked up, and she shook her head reproachfully.

"You're just like Uncle Singh.  You won't tell if there's any danger.
Will not the Wusun protect us from the priests?"  She stretched out a
slim hand appealingly.  "There's just the two of us left.  Shouldn't
you be quite frank with me?  Now tell me what you meant by 'respite'!"

He cordially regretted his unfortunate choice of the word.  Perforce,
he told her of Wu Fang Chien, and the dispute in the council.

"So you see our case comes up for trial to-night," he concluded.
"It's a question of the Gur-Khan's authority against the power of Wu
Fang Chien.  I'm rooting for old Bassalor Danek.  I think he'll treat
us well.  For one thing, because he's curious about us.  In a way,
we're his guests.  I hope he checkmates Wu, because--to be
frank--we're better off in Sungan than with the Buddhists."

This time she was satisfied.

"Of course," she nodded.  "Wu Fang Chien would not let us go free
easily.  He would have to answer, then, for the attack on the
caravan.  To answer to the British embassy."

Gray reflected that they were the only survivors of the fight and
that the Chinese could not afford to permit them to escape.

"I'll appear to argue for immunity--our immunity--to-night," he
smiled.

"Are you a lawyer, Captain Gray?"  The girl tried to enter into the
spirit of his remark.  "Have we a good case?"

"Chiefly our wits," he admitted.  "And perhaps the tie the Wusun may
feel for us as a kindred race."

"Splendid!"  She clapped her hands.  "I think you're a first-rate
attorney."

Gray recalled the majestic face of Bassalor Danek, and the anger of
the Wusun at the entrance of Wu Fang Chien.

"They made some kind of a covenant, didn't they, with the Chinese
Emperor?"

"Timur said it was an agreement by which the Wusun were to keep their
city inviolate, and not to leave its boundaries.  Even the invading
sands have not dislodged them.  Timur described them as numerous as
the trees of the Thian Shan, the Celestial Mountains, at first.  Now
only a few survive.  The Chinese have posted lepers around them."

Gray nodded.  Slowly the history of the Wusun was piecing itself out.
A race descended from invaders from Europe before the dawn of
history, they had allied themselves with the might of Genghis Khan
and earned the enmity of the Chinese.  Since then, with the slow
persistence of the Chinese, they had been confined and diminished in
number.

"You remember the legend of Prester John--in the middle ages,"
continued the girl eagerly.  "Marco Polo tells about a powerful
prince in mid-Asia who was a Christian.  I have been thinking about
it.  Isn't the word Kerait the Mongol for Christian?  Do you suppose
the first Wusun were Christians?"

"They don't seem to have any especial religion, Miss Hastings--except
a kind of morning and evening prayer."

"I've heard them chant the hymn.  Timur says it was their
ancestors'."  The girl sighed.  "To think that we should have found
the Wusun, after all.  If only my uncle----"  She broke off sadly.

A step sounded outside the room and Garluk thrust his shaggy head
through the curtain.

"I come from the Gur-Khan," he announced.  "The Man-Who-Kills-Swiftly
must come before Bassalor Khan."

"They are paging me," said Gray lightly, in answer to her questioning
look.  "I've got to play lawyer.  But I have an experiment to try.
Don't worry."

He rose, and she looked up at him pleadingly.

"Come back, as soon as you can," she whispered.  "I--it's so lonely
here.  I was miserable until Timur told me they had heard shooting
during yesterday's sunset chant.  I guessed it was you----"

"My automatic," explained Gray with a grin.  "I missed Wu Fang Chien,
which is too bad."  He was talking cheerily, at random, anxious to
hearten the girl.  She winced at mention of the fighting.

"I'll be back to report what is going on."

"If anything should happen to you----"

"I seem to be accident-proof, so far."  He smiled lightly, masking
his real feelings.  "And there's a plan----"

"Come," said Garluk.  "Bassalor Khan waits at his shrine."

"I'll have a better dinner to offer you," Mary smiled back.  "Don't
forget!"

"I'll make a note of it--Mary."

Gray stepped outside the curtain.  In spite of his promise, he could
not return to the girl's room.

He found Bassalor Danek waiting in a chamber under the temple, to
which he was conducted by the impatient Garluk.  The Gur-Khan was
seated on a silk carpet beside an old man with a face like a satyr,
whom Gray guessed to be Timur.  They looked up silently at his
approach.  The turnout withdrew.

At a sign from Bassalor Danek, Gray seated himself before the two.
They regarded him gravely.  He waited for them to speak.

"Wu Fang Chien," began the Gur-Khan at length, "will come to the hall
to hear my word at sunset.  His ill-will might bring the dark cloud
of trouble upon my people.  If I give you up, he will thank me and
bring us good grain and tea from China in the next caravan."

He paused as if for an answer.  But Gray was silent, wishing to hear
what more the two had to say.

"Yet, O One-Who-Kills-Swiftly," put in Timur mildly, "you are of the
race of the Kha Rakcha and she has found favor in our hearts.  You
say you came here to seek her.  That is well.  But we must not bring
trouble upon our people.  They have little food.  There is none to
place before the shrine of our race."

He glanced over his shoulder at a closed curtain.  Here one of the
Wusun stood guard.  Gray guessed that this was their shrine.  He was
curious for a glimpse of it.

"What is the will of the Gur-Khan?" he asked quietly.

Bassalor Danek glanced at him keenly.

"I have not made ready my answer, O Man-from-the-Outside.  Wu Fang
Chien cried that you had come unbidden to meddle with what does not
concern you.  The Kha Rakcha is very beautiful, and the light from
her face will be an ornament to our shrine.  You have said that you
came to seek us.  But that cannot be.  For no word of us has passed
the outer guards.  Even the wandering Kirghiz that we see at a
distance do not know us."

Gray had been waiting for a lead to follow.  Now he saw his chance
and summoned his small stock of poetical Chinese to match the oratory
of Bassalor Danek.

"Hearken, O Gur-Khan," he said, and paused, knowing the value of
meditation when dealing with an oriental.  Inwardly, he prayed for
success in his venture, knowing that the fate of the girl depended
greatly on what he said.

"It is true," he resumed, "that I was sent to seek the Wusun.  Beyond
the desert and beyond the border of Mongolia live a people whose
fathers a very long time ago were the same as your fathers.  They
have means of seeing across great distances.  They have the
Eyes-of-Long-Sight.  With these eyes they saw the Wusun in captivity,
and they sent me with a message.  This message I shall deliver when
it is time."

Timur shook his gray head shrewdly.

"Can a fish see what is on the land?  A gazelle has keen eyes; but a
gazelle cannot see across the desert, much less can a man.  What you
have said is not true."

"It is true.  Not only can my people see beyond any distance, but
they can hear.  Behold, here is proof."

While the two watched curiously, Gray pulled his maps from his shirt
and spread them on the floor before him.  Bassalor Danek glanced from
the paper to him expectantly.

"Here is what we saw, with our Eyes-of-Long-Sight.  See, here is the
last village of China, Ansichow, and the desert.  Here, by this mark,
is where we knew Sungan to be.  And beyond it is the River Tarim, as
you know, and the Celestial Mountains.  By this paper I found my way
here."

Bassalor Danek fingered the map curiously.  Then he shook his head.

"This is a paper, like to those of the priests of Buddha.  It is a
kind of magic.  With magic, much is possible.  But these are signs
upon paper.  They are not mountains and rivers."

Gray sighed, confronted with the native incredulity of a map.  The
Wusun, despite their natural intelligence, were bound by the
stultifying influence of generations of isolation.  In fact, their
state of civilization was that of the dark ages.  It was as if Gray
and Mary Hastings had wandered into a stronghold of the Goths.

Still, he felt he had made a slight impression.  He drew the field
glasses from their case.

"I have been given a token," he explained slowly, making sure that
the two understood his broken Chinese.  "It is a small talisman of
the Eyes-of-Long-Sight.  With it, you can see what is far, as clearly
as if it lay in your hand."

Timur stroked his beard and smiled.

"It may not be.  Even with magic, it may not be."

"Look then."  Gray lifted the glasses and focussed them on the guard
who stood by the shrine curtain.  "With this you can bring the man's
face as near as mine."

He handed the glasses to Bassalor Danek who turned them over
curiously in his hand.  Obeying Gray's direction, he leveled them on
the guard.  The man stirred uneasily, evidently believing that some
kind of magic was being practiced upon him.  Bassalor Danek gave a
loud exclamation and the glasses fell to his knees.  He peered from
them to the man at the curtain and muttered in his beard.

"I saw the face within arm's reach of my own," he cried.  "Truly, it
is as this man has promised!"

"Nay," Timur objected.  "The one by the shrine did not move, for I
watched.  It may not be."

Nevertheless, his hand trembled as he lifted the glasses to his
feeble eyes.  Gray helped him to focus them.  He, also, gave an
exclamation.

For a while the two Wusun experimented with the binoculars,
scrutinizing the walls, the floor and the rugs with increasing
amazement.  Gray kept a straight face.  The glasses were powerful,
with excellent lenses.  The Wusun had never seen or heard of anything
of the kind.

"This is but a token," he reminded them gravely, "of the
Eyes-of-Long-Sight that my people have.  If this talisman can bring
near to you what is afar, do you doubt that we could know what is
beyond the desert?  Is not the coming of the White Spirit proof that
we knew?"

This was a weighty matter and Bassalor Danek and Timur conferred upon
it, putting down the glasses reluctantly.

"I know not," hazarded Timur.  Gray saw that his double question had
confused them.  To remedy his error he turned to Bassalor Danek.

"Keep these small Eyes-of-Long-Sight," he said.  "I give them to you."

Despite his accustomed calm, the chieftain of the Wusun gave an
involuntary exclamation of pleasure.  Gray pressed his advantage.

"Further proof I will give, O Bassalor Danek.  Draw the curtains of
the shrine that I may see the god of the Wusun.  Then I will show you
that my people beyond the desert knew of the god."

He reasoned swiftly that the Wusun, if Timur's account of their
history had been correct, must have in their shrine some emblem of
the Tatar deity--the god Natagai which Mirai Khan had described to
him--or possibly some Mohammedan symbol.  He rather guessed the
former, since the Wusun had been isolated before the Moslem wave
swept over Central Asia.

"It is not a god, O Man-from-the-Outside," demurred Timur.  "It is a
talisman of our fathers.  Once, the Wusun had priests.  In the time
of Kubla Khan.  Now, all that we remember is the hymn at sunset and
sunrise.  Almost we have forgotten the words.  We have kept the
talisman because once our priests, who were also warriors, cherished
it."

Gray nodded, believing now that it was an image of Natagai, the Tatar
war deity.

"It is said," continued Timur meditatively, "that the talisman was
fashioned by a chieftain of our people.  I have heard a tale from the
elders that this khan lived when the Wusun were in another land,
before they crossed the mountains on the roof of the world.  Draw the
curtain!"

At the command the guard drew back the heavy folds of brocade.  Gray
saw a stone altar, covered with a clean cloth of white silk.  On the
cloth stood a cross.




CHAPTER XXI

MARY MAKES A REQUEST

The cross was jade, in the shape of the medieval emblem--the Greek
cross.  Before it burned a candle.  Gray stared at it silently while
Timur limped forward and trimmed the wick of the candle.

"We do not remember the faith of our fathers," the old Wusun said
sadly.  "But we have kept the talisman.  It is not as strong as the
bronze Buddha of Wu Fang Chien.  We will not give it up, although he
has asked to buy it.  Truly, no man should part with what was
precious in the sight of his fathers."

Thoughts crowded in upon Gray.  Was this the cross left by a
wandering missionary--one of those who followed the footsteps of
Marco Polo?  Were the ancient Wusun the Christians mentioned in
medieval legends as the kingdom of Prester John, sometimes called
_Presbyter_ John?  The Wusun had been warriors.  Was the symbol of
the cross adapted from the hilt of a sword?  Was it one of the
vagaries of fate that had brought the cross into the hands of the
Wusun, who were descendants of the Christians of Europe?  Or had they
of their own accord become worshipers of the cross?  What did it mean
to them?

He recalled the sunset hymn.  Was this their version of the vespers
of a forgotten priest?  He did not know.  The problem of the cross
existing among the remnants of the Wusun remains to be solved by more
learned minds than his.  It was clear, however, that beyond the
cross, they retained no vestige of their former religion.

Abruptly his head snapped up.

"I promised you, Bassalor Danek," he cried, "that this would be a
symbol.  As I have promised, you will find it.  We--who are of the
same fathers--have also this talisman of our God."

The Wusun stared at him.  There was a ring of conviction in Gray's
words.  He recalled Delabar's words that the talisman of the Wusun
had earned the captive race the hatred of the Buddhists.  He saw now
how this was.  Fate--or what the soldier esteemed luck--had put an
instrument into his hand.  For the defense of the girl.  He must make
full use of it.

He pointed to the jade cross.

"The Kha Rakcha and I are of the same blood as the Wusun.  We came in
peace to seek you.  The Kha Rakcha claims your protection.  Will you
not grant it?  Thus, I have spoken."

Bassalor Danek folded his lean arms, tiny wrinkles puckering about
his aged eyes.

"I hear," he said.  "The tale of the Eyes-of-Long-Sight is a true
tale.  But this thing is another tale.  Have you a token to show, so
that we may know that it, also, is true?"

In the back of Gray's mind was memory of a token.  Something that
Mary had mentioned.  In his anxiety, he could not recall it.

Thus did Gray miss a golden opportunity.  If he had been alone, his
natural quickness of thought would have found an answer to the
Gur-Khan's question.  With the life of the girl he loved at stake, he
hesitated.

It was vitally important that Bassalor Danek should believe what Gray
had said about the cross.  Believing, he would aid them, for he
reverenced the cross.  Doubting, they would be exposed to the wiles
of Wu Fang Chien.

"If I spoke the truth in one thing, O Gur-Khan," he parried, "would I
speak lies concerning another?"

"The two things are not the same," put in Timur, logically.  "The
talisman is precious--like to the gold in the sword-hilt of Gela.
Yet what is it to you?"

"It is the sign of our faith.  It is the talisman of Christianity."

"I know not the word."

"You know the name of the ancient khan of the Wusun--Awang Khan?"

Gray hazarded a bold stroke, on his knowledge of the legend of
Prester John of Asia.  Timur considered.

"The name is not in our speech," he announced.

Bassalor Danek looked up sagely.

"You speak of faith, O One-Who-Kills-Swiftly.  Is that a word of a
priesthood?"

"Yes."

"Then," said Bassalor Danek gravely, "it is clear that your talisman
is not like to this.  Nay, for the only priesthood is that of the
false Buddhists."

"Our faith is different from theirs--even as a grain of sand is
different from a drop of clear water."

The Gur-Khan's hand swept in a wide circle.

"Nay.  What can we see from Sungan save the grains of sand?
Everywhere, beyond, is the Buddhist priesthood.  We have seen this
thing.  It is true."  He lifted his head proudly.  "Behold, youth,
here is the talisman of a warrior.  From chieftain to chieftain, it
has been handed down.  It is the token of a chieftain.  Of one who
safeguards his people.  None can wear it but myself, or another of
royal blood who has fought for his people."

For the first time he showed Gray a smaller cross, fashioned from
gold which hung from a chain of the same metal across his chest under
the cloak.

"Because I am khan of the Wusun, this thing is mine," he added.  "If
my father and his before him had not been strong warriors, the Wusun
would have passed from the world as a candle is blown out in a strong
wind."

"Aye," amended Timur.  "It is a sign of the rank of the Gur-Khan.
Has it not always been thus?"

Both men nodded their heads, as at an unalterable truth.  Age and
isolation had made their conceptions rigid.  The safety of the Wusun
was their sole care.

"Your sign is not like to ours," said they.  "Is the moon kindred to
the sun because both live in the sky?"

"There is but one Cross," cried Gray.

They shook their heads.  How were they to alter the small store of
belief that had been their meager heritage of wisdom?

"You are not kin to us, but the Kha Rakcha is a woman, and so may
become kin to the Wusun," announced Bassalor Danek.  "Go now, for we
must weigh well our answer to Wu Fang Chien."

Gray rose, his lips hard.

"Be it so," he said slowly.  "If it is in your mind that you must
yield to Wu Fang Chien, give me up into his hands.  I will take a
sword and go to seek him.  Keep the Kha Rakcha safe within Sungan.
She is, as you have seen, the White Spirit.  Her beauty is not less
than the light of the sun.  Guard her well."

Gray had spoken bitterly, feeling that he had failed in his plea.  He
had not sensed the full meaning of the other's words.  He knew that
his own death would be the most serious loss to the girl.  Without
him she was defenseless.

He did not want to leave her.  She had been so childlike in her
reliance upon his protection.  And he was so helpless to aid her.

But Gray had weighed the odds with the cold precision that never left
him.  There was a slight chance that he might be able to kill Wu Fang
Chien, and if so, Mary might be safeguarded.

He walked away from the shrine, and, unconsciously, bent his steps
toward the house of Bassalor Danek where the girl was.  Then he
turned back, resolutely.  He could not see Mary now.  She would guess
instantly--so quick was the woman's instinct--that something was
wrong.

Gray retraced his steps to the tower and to his own chamber where he
would await the decision of the Gur-Khan.

For the space of several hours the two Wusun debated together.  They
glanced from time to time at a water clock which creaked dismally in
the corner furthest from the shrine.  Their brows were furrowed by
anxiety as they talked.

Outside the sun was already past its highest point, and the sands
burned with reflected heat.  The people of Sungan had taken shelter
under the canal trees and in the underground buildings.  Even the
dogs and the lepers were no longer to be seen.  Quiet prevailed in
Sungan, and in the armed camps of the guards without the wall.

No glimmer of sunlight penetrated into the shrine of Bassalor Danek.
The attendant lighted fresh candles and stood motionless.  Then he
stirred and advanced to the doorway.  He uttered a gruff exclamation.

Mary Hastings pushed past him and stood gazing at the two Wusun.

"Timur!" she cried.  "Where is the One-Who-Kills-Swiftly?"

The councilor of Sungan glanced at her wonderingly.  She was flushed,
and breathing quickly.  Her bronze hair had fallen to her slim
shoulders.  Tall and proud and imperious, she faced him--a lovely
picture in the dim chamber.

"He said that he would return to me," she repeated.  "And he has not
come.  Well do I know that this could only be because of something
evil that has happened.  Where is he?"

The two were stoically silent.  She approached them fearlessly.  To
the guard's amazement, she stamped an angry foot, her eyes wide with
anxiety.

This, to the guard, was something that should not be permitted in the
high presence of the Gur-Khan.  He laid a warning hand on her
shoulder.  Startled, the girl drew back and struck down his arm.
Abashed by her flaming displeasure, the warrior glanced at Bassalor
Danek.

The Gur-Khan frowned.

"Touch not the Kha Rakcha, dog!" he growled "Soon the woman is to be
allied to me by blood."  Then to Mary: "It is not fitting, maiden,
the even one such as you should come to this place in anger.  Cover
then the flame of spirit with the ashes of respect."

Timur interpreted his stately speech.  But the girl was wrought up by
fear for Gray.  Not until he had failed to rejoin her did she realize
how much his coming had meant.

So she was not minded to respect the dignity of the two aged men.
Mary Hastings had been mistress of native servants.  She knew how to
exact obedience.

"Tell the chieftain," she cried, "to answer when I speak.  Am I one
to hide the fire of spirit under the cloak of humiliation?  Speak!
What has become of the white man?"

Timur rendered the Gur-Khan's reply in Turki.

"The tall warrior has offered his body to cool the anger of Wu Fang
Chien, who demands him."

The girl paled.

"How?  When?"

"He will take a sword that we will give him this night and go to seek
the ruler of the Buddhists.  Even so shall it be.  We have decided,
in council.  In this way Wu Fang Chien will be appeased, and the
Wusun will drink of the solace of peace in their trouble.
Furthermore----"

"Stay!"  The girl drew a quick breath.  She guessed why Gray had not
come to her.  The knowledge of his danger steadied her tumultuous
thoughts.  The danger was worse than she feared.  But--such was the
woman's strength of soul when the man she loved was menaced--she
became strangely calm.

She had not admitted to herself until now that she loved the
American.  With the understanding of the fresh sacrifice he was
prepared to make for her, she could no more deny the truth of her
love than she could question the fact of her own life.

"Will you give me up as well?" she asked scornfully.

"Nay.  You will have a place by the side of the Gur-Khan, because of
your beauty which--so said the One-Who-Kills-Swiftly--is like to the
sun.  The Wusun will safeguard the Kha Rakcha, even as he demanded."

Mary Hastings sighed softly.  Then lifted her head stubbornly.  She
flushed rosily.

"The white man is precious in my sight," she said dearly.  "His life
is like to the warmth of the sun, and if he dies, my life would pass,
even as water vanishes when it is poured upon the sands."

"Verily," pondered Timur, stroking his beard, "is he a brave man.
But how then may Wu Fang Chien be appeased?"

Anger flashed into the girl's expressive face.

"So the Wusun are weak of soul," she accused.  "Their heart is like
the soul of a gully jackal.  They would give up the warrior who came
to be their friend, to buy their own comfort!  _Aie_!  Are you such
men?"

Timur stared, confronted for perhaps the first time in his life with
the scorn of a woman who thought as a man.

"Think you I will buy my comfort, upon such terms?" she continued
mercilessly.  "Or remain in the shadow of those who are not men but
jackals?"

Timur raised his hand.  The decision of the leaders of the Wusun had
been actuated by their jealous care of their people, not by selfish
motives.  But the girl's swift words had sadly confused him.

"If you yield him up," said Mary Hastings, "I also will go.  I will
not part from him."

And she would not.  If Gray was to face the Chinese, she would be at
his side.  How often do men judge correctly the true strength of a
woman's devotion?

"We have planned otherwise," pointed out Timur.  "For you----"

"I have spoken, you have heard."

Bassalor Danek questioned the councilor as to what had been said.
Then the chieftain rose.

"Say to the woman," he announced, "that I, the leader of the Wusun,
have decided.  What my wisdom decides, she cannot alter by hot words.
Who is she, but a fair woman?  I am master of the talisman of the
Wusun."

He pointed to the altar.  Mary, intent upon his face, followed his
gesture swiftly.  She gave a little cry at seeing for the first time
the cross.  She caught Timur's arm.

"What is that?" she begged.  "What--does it mean?"

Timur explained the symbol.

"It is the sign of the Gur-Khan alone," he concluded.  "None but
those of a chieftain's rank bear it."  He touched the smaller cross
lying upon the broad shoulders of Bassalor Khan.

Radiantly the girl's face brightened.  She smiled, drawing nearer to
the two old men.  No need for a woman's wit to reason logically!

She drew back the throat of her jacket, revealing the tiny gold cross
which had been her sole belonging left by the avaricious Buddhists.
If Wu Fang Chien had known of the token, he would have torn it from
her.

"See," she said softly.  "I also am a bearer of the cross."

The Wusun stared from her excited face to the glittering symbol on
her breast.

To their limited intelligence two things were plain.  The girl's
talisman had not been in Sungan before she came.  So it was clearly
hers.  Also, she wore it as by right.

They recalled her pride, and her angry words.  Verily, she wore the
sign of rank by right.  Timur stepped back and bent his head.

"O, Queen," he said, "I was blind.  Will you pardon the dog who was
blind?"

Bassalor Danek had been frowning, somewhat jealously.  But as he
stared into the woman's open face, his brow cleared.

"It is well, Kha Rakcha," he observed slowly.  "This is truly the
token that witnesses the truth of your coming.  None but a woman
royal-born can wear such a talisman as this.  It is well."

He touched the cross curiously, comparing it with his own.  Timur
bent over his hand, watching.  The girl was silent, holding her
breath in suspense.

The minds of the Wusun were wise in their way, but their wisdom was
that of simplicity.

"None but a queen may carry this on her breast," they assured each
other.  "So in very truth this _is_ a woman royal-born."

She seized swiftly upon her advantage.

"Then you know that I am one who commands."

"Aye," they said, each in his tongue, "we were as blind dogs before."

"Guard then," she said, her lips trembling, for she felt the strain,
"the life of the One-Who-Kills-Swiftly.  For he is of my blood."

Bassalor Danek pondered, and spoke with grave decision.

"We will safeguard him within Sungan.  Wu Fang Chien will ask in
vain."




CHAPTER XXII

THE ANSWER

Mary laughed a little unsteadily.  Surely it was a strange miracle
that her gold cross had worked.  She did not think it luck.  In her
woman soul there was no thought of fate.  God's care had shielded the
life of the man she loved.

Timur was speaking.

"Bassalor Danek is well content," she heard.  "Beforetimes, he was
warmed by the sight of your fairness.  But now it is verily a thing
assured.  Gela, the Kha-Khan, son of my son, commander of the
_tumani_, has conceived love for you.  Bassalor Danek has granted his
wish that you may become the wife of his abode and hearth."

Hearing, she did not yet understand.

"Gela?"

"He who took you from the evil priests.  Because of the talisman you
wear it is fitting that you should be his bride."

She looked from one to the other, in sudden discomfort.

"Thus will you truly become kin to the Wusun," nodded Timur.

"I?"

"Bassalor Danek, in his wisdom, has decided."

The joy of her brief victory faded swiftly.  The reaction weakened
her, made this new obstacle disheartening.  But she drew strength
from a fresh thought.

"Take me to the white man!"

"Nay--it is not fitting.  The bond of Gela's love is upon you."

To their bewilderment, the girl laughed.  For a brief moment hysteria
had claimed her, wearied by the hardships she had undergone.  In her
sudden stress she clung to the thought that had brought her
consolation.

She was a woman unnerved.  In reality, she was instinctively calling
upon the aid of Gray's strength.

"Are you still blind?" she begged unevenly, the tears not far from
her eyes.  "Have you not seen the love of the white man for me?  How
can Gela take me from him, when I am already bound to him?"

Gray had said nothing to her of his love.  But she had read in his
face what he had not spoken.

"Fools!" she stamped angrily.  "You cannot take me from the arms of
the One-Who-Kills-Swiftly.  He will hear of this."  She was speaking
somewhat wildly now, feeling all her strength ebb from her.  "He will
claim me.  He will keep me----  Oh, truly, you are blind."

To the Wusun her sudden emotion was a display of the temper that
undoubtedly was the heritage of her royal blood.

Mary was, however, on the verge of a breakdown, and sought the
shelter of her own room, since she could not see Gray.  She hurried
hither, with the woman who had waited without the shrine, at her
heels.  To tell the truth, she fled.

In her chamber she flung herself down on the cushions and gave
herself up to a most unqueenly fit of weeping.  The woman waited
stoically.

When Mary sat up and dried her tears, the woman smiled.  Mary's face
was wan, and her hair disheveled.  Glancing into a bronze mirror that
the woman brought her, she was almost glad that Gray could not see
her now.  Whereupon she fell into reflection, and presently sent the
handwoman for brush and black ink-like paint which is the writing
fluid of the Wusun.

Then she diligently sought for any scraps of white stuff that might
serve as paper.  She selected her handkerchief, but was forced to
place it in a window to wait until it dried.

She watched it in the process, a very sad looking woman, her hands
clasped about her knees and her head resting sidewise on her hands.

Meanwhile, the post-meridian shadows were lengthening across the
enclosure of Sungan.  Shepherds were driving their few flocks from
the outer strips of grass; children who had bathed in the canals were
playing in the last of the sunlight.  Groups of warriors emerged from
the ruins and walked slowly toward the fires where the evening meal
was preparing.  Elders sought the council hall.

There was even greater bustle without the wall, where the Chinese
were gathering.

It was now the time of the sunset hymn.  Gray, pacing the stone floor
of his tower room, heard the chant of many voices.  It came from the
temple below, and the voices were repeating words the meaning of
which the owners no longer knew.  Gray glanced impatiently from his
window, wondering why he had not heard from Bassalor Danek.

It might have been an hour after sunset that steps sounded outside
the door of the chamber.  Garluk opened the door and stepped back
with a gesture of respect.

Gray looked up eagerly, thinking that Bassalor Danek or the lame
Timur had come.  Instead a tall figure strode into the room.

It was a young man of powerful bearing.  He carried his shapely,
olive head proudly.  His dress was the white lambskin of the
Gur-Khan, but without the gold ornaments.  A broad, leather belt
girdled his waist, and from this a straight sword hung in a bronze
scabbard.

The newcomer lifted his hand in greeting--a gesture that Gray
returned.  He squatted down on the carpets silently, beckoning to
Garluk.  Gray eyed him appraisingly, thinking that he had seldom seen
a man of such fine physique.  The stranger's shoulders were shapely,
his arms heavily thewed, his waist slender.  He moved with the ease
of a man poised on trained muscles.

The three sat in silence until Garluk bethought him to speak.

"This is the Kha Khan, O Man-from-the-Outside," the _tumani_
observed.  "Gela, the leader of the _tumani_, and grandson of
Bassalor Danek."

"I give him greeting," returned the white man, wondering what his
visitor had to say.

Presently Gela turned his dark head to Garluk and spoke in a low tone
that carried resonantly, from a deep chest.  Evidently he did not
know the dialect that Gray spoke.  The majority of the Wusun were
ignorant of Chinese.

"Bassalor Danek," interpreted Garluk, "has seen the talisman on the
breast of the Kha Rakcha.  He has pondered, in his wisdom, the words
you spoke.  And he has made answer to Wu Fang Chien."

Once more Gela spoke, while Gray waited impatiently.

"Bassalor Danek, who is lord of the Wusun, listened to the complaint
of Wu Fang Chien, governor of Sungan.  And his decision was as
follows: Undoubtedly both you and the white woman came to seek the
Wusun.  While you have slain many of the men of the Buddhists, they
also have killed the men of the caravan.  So, there is no debt to be
avenged."

Gray smiled at this simple, but logical way of looking at the
situation.

"Furthermore," interpreted Garluk, at Gela's prompting, "since you
have sought the Wusun, you may stay here.  In the covenant it was
agreed that the penalty of attempting to escape is death; still,
there is no punishment for entering Sungan.  You and the Kha Rakcha
will stay in Sungan."

This was good news.  Gray was surprised, but he did not permit this
to appear in his face.

"What said Wu Fang Chien?" he asked.

"He will try to seize you and the woman.  He will call in the
soldiers with guns from the desert."

"Will Bassalor Danek protect us?"

"He has given his word.  Moreover, he is bound to guard the woman."

Gray did not at first heed this last remark.  He was wondering just
how far the Chinese would go in their attempt to gain possession of
himself and the girl.  Probably, he decided, Wu Fang Chien was not
over-desirous of forcing an entrance into Sungan.  But the mandarin
would lose no chance of capturing himself, or possibly of sniping him
from the outer wall.

But for the present he reasoned that they were safe.  Then Garluk's
reference to Mary returned to his mind.  He recalled that Timur had
mentioned that Mary must remain with the Wusun.

Gela had risen, his message delivered.  Gray halted him with a
gesture.

"Why is Bassalor Danek bound to keep the Kha Rakcha?" he asked,
inspired by a new and potent uneasiness.

Gela himself answered this, and Garluk interpreted.

"Have you not heard?" he smiled.  "Gela, the Kha Khan, desires the
White Spirit for himself.  Tomorrow night he will marry her,
according to the custom of the Wusun.  Bassalor Danek has agreed."

Gray checked an exclamation with difficulty.

"That may not be," he said sternly.  "The White Spirit is not one to
marry among the Wusun."

Garluk laughed.  "Did not Gela, the strongest of the Wusun, take her
from the yellow priests?  Does she not wear the talisman which is the
same as that of our shrine?  Gela as yet has no wife.  Why should he
not marry?"

While the two watched him, Gray considered the new turn affairs had
taken.  All his instincts prompted him to cry out that the thing was
impossible.  Mary must be protected.  Yet he knew the futility of a
protest.

"Has the Kha Rakcha agreed to this?" he playing for time.

"She does not know of it," asserted Garluk complacently.  "Why should
a maiden be told before she has the armlet"--he pointed at the bronze
circlet about Gela's powerful arm--"of her lord bound about her
throat?"

Gela interrupted brusquely.

"The Kha Khan asks," said Garluk, "if you are the husband of the Kha
Rakcha?"

"Good Lord!" meditated the American.  He thought of asserting that he
was.  Then reflected that Mary, who knew nothing of what was passing,
would hardly bear out his story.  But he could not let the
opportunity go by without asserting some claim to the girl.  "I was
to marry her," he compromised, "when we returned from the desert."

Gela barked forth a curt word and strode from the door, after a keen
glance at the American.

"The Kha Khan says that he will take her.  Doubtless there are many
women where you come from.  He desires the Kha Rakcha, whose life he
saved.  Wu Fang Chien would have slain her.  So said the yellow
priests."

Gray glowered at Garluk, who smiled back.

"Gela has never seen such a woman as the Kha Rakcha.  She is as
beautiful as an aloe tree in bloom," chattered the _tumani_.  "She
will bear him strong children, and a son to wear his sword when he is
old."

"If she does not agree--what then?"

"It will make no difference.  Bassalor Danek has said that she will
be a worthy wife to his grandson.  Does she not wear the talisman at
her throat?  That is a good omen for the Wusun.  Did she not come
here to seek the Wusun?  Moreover, if Gela marries her, then Wu Fang
Chien cannot take her."

"What if I forbid?" asked Gray dryly.

"No one will heed you," explained Garluk frankly.

Gray considered the matter, frowning.

"Take me to the Kha Rakcha," he ordered.

Garluk made a gesture of denial.

"It is forbidden.  To-morrow night the maiden is to be married.
There will be a feast, and a great chant.  We will drink wine of
mare's milk."

"Then send Timur to me."

"It is night, and he is lame.  After sunrise, perhaps he will come."

With that Garluk slipped from the door.  Gray heard the sound of a
bar falling into place.  He was shut in for the night.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE CHALLENGE

He slept little.  The fate destined for Mary had come as a complete
surprise.  It was not strange, he reflected, that Gela should want
her for a wife.  Nor that Bassalor Danek should approve the marriage.
He might have foreseen something of the kind.

No wonder the Gur-Khan had taken excellent care of the girl, when she
was marked for the bride of his grandson.  Gray swore fluently, and
vainly.  The calmness with which the Wusun had put him aside was
irksome.  He wished that he had claimed to be the husband of Mary.
It was too late now.

Nor did he hope that the girl's objection, once she heard of the
proposed match, would carry weight.  Evidently marriage among the
Wusun was arranged by the parents of the parties concerned, as in
China.  Bassalor Danek's word was law.  And the old chieftain fully
appreciated the beauty of the girl.

Gray groaned, reflecting that the coincidence of the cross that the
girl wore had rendered her doubly desirable in the eyes of the Wusun.
He wondered how they had seen the cross.  Was the marriage to be the
price of his safety?  He groaned at the thought.

Flight, even if he could reach the girl, from Sungan, was not to be
thought of for the present.  Wu Fang Chien would be alert for just
such an attempt.  And Gray did not see how he could hope to win
through the lepers.

"They say blood calls to blood," he muttered.  Then he scowled
savagely.  "Confound Gela!"

He was hungry for sight of the girl.  She must be worried about him,
as he had not been able to visit her yesterday as he had promised.
His involuntary protest had excited the suspicions of Garluk.  He
would find it difficult now to escape from the surveillance of the
_tumani_, if he should make the attempt.

And beyond the Wusun was Wu Fang Chien, watching keenly for any
effort on the part of Gray or Mary to leave Sungan.

It was clear to Gray that the mandarin could not permit them to leave
the place alive.  For one thing, they would carry the news of the
massacre of the caravan.  And the tidings of the existence of the
Wusun.

It would be fatal to the plans of Wu Fang Chien and the Buddhists if
the Wusun should be discovered.  The knowledge of a race of ancient
Asia that worshipped the cross would be a severe blow to the
Mongolians.  The Wusun were dying out.  Soon they would be extinct,
and the danger over.  Until then Wu Fang Chien must guard his
prisoners.

The situation afforded little comfort to Gray.  At daybreak he
pounded on his door.  In time Garluk came with food.  Timur, he said,
would visit Gray presently, in the morning.  No, the
Man-from-the-Outside could not leave the tower.  Bassalor Danek had
issued orders.  He was concerned for the safety of his guests as the
soldiers of the Chinese had been seen assembling outside the wall.

The Wusun, said Garluk, had mustered their fighting men at the wall
and in the passages, under Gela.  After the wedding the Chinese could
not interfere with the Kha Rakcha, for she would be the wife of the
Kha Khan.

Gray dismissed Garluk, to hasten the approach of Timur, and watched
moodily from the embrasure.  He knew that he was little better than a
prisoner.  Hours passed while the sun climbed higher.  He noticed an
unusual activity in Sungan, and saw bodies of armed men pass from
point to point.

The discipline of the place was strict.  Probably, he reflected, a
heritage from the military ancestors of the Wusun.  It was noon when
Timur entered the chamber and seated himself calmly on the rugs.

Gray curbed his anxiety, and greeted the lame councilor quietly.  He
had a desperate game to play with nothing to rely upon but his own
wits.

"Garluk said that you had need of me," observed Timur, scanning him
keenly.

"I have a word to say to you," corrected Gray quietly.

"It is said," he added as the old man was silent, "that the Kha
Rakcha is to be asked in marriage by Gela, the Kha Khan.  Is this so?"

"They said the truth.  The wedding will be tonight, after sunset."

Gray's heart sank at this.  He had hoped, illogically, that Garluk
had exaggerated the state of affairs.  Timur stretched out a lean
hand.  In it was a small square of linen, Mary's handkerchief.

The American took it eagerly.  It was a message from Mary, written in
the Chinese ink, and it ran as follows:


Bassalor Danek has ordered me to marry Gela.  I have said no, a
hundred times, but they will not listen.  It will be to-night.  They
will not let me see you.  I don't know what to do, Captain Gray.
Please, please think of something--to delay it.  I did not dream they
wanted to do anything like that.  I would rather face Wu Fang Chien.
Why could not you come to me?  Please, help me.  Timur has agreed to
carry this.


It was signed with Mary's name.  The girlish appeal stirred Gray
strangely.  She had sent to him for aid.  Yet there was little he
could do.  He followed the note mechanically and faced Timur,
thinking quickly.

"In her own country," he said slowly, "the Kha Rakcha has high rank.
Because of this it is not fitting that she should marry among the
Wusun.  She does not want to stay in Sungan.  It will kill her.  This
is the truth."

"I have seen that you speak the truth," assented the chieftain.  "And
my heart is warm for love of the woman who talked with me.  Yet Gela
has rank among us."

"But she does not wish the marriage."

"It is the word of Bassalor Danek."

"You know that I speak what is so.  The woman will die, if not by her
own hand, from unhappiness."

Timur looked sadly from the embrasure.

"It may be.  But death is slow in coming to the young, O
Man-from-the-Outside.  Before she dies the Kha Rakcha will bear Gela
a son.  That is the wish of Bassalor Danek."

Gray's lips tightened grimly.

"Is that a just reward for coming over the desert to find the Wusun
and lighten their captivity?"

"It is fate."

"If it comes to pass the White Spirit will never leave Sungan, but
will die here.  Will you lay that black fate upon her?"

"Will she not be kept here, if she does not marry Gela?"

Gray looked up hotly.  "The Kha Rakcha is not a subject of Bassalor
Danek.  She is a servant of a mightier king----"

Timur raised his hand.

"Harken, youth," he said gravely.  "I have seen your love for the Kha
Rakcha, and I know that she has love for you in her heart----"
Gray's pulses quickened at this--"but the will of Bassalor Danek must
be obeyed.  I know not if it is fitting that she marry among the
Wusun.  But the Gur-Khan has said that by the marriage, aid may be
obtained from her people for the Wusun.  Blood ties are strong.  And
the Wusun are fast dying out.  If the marriage takes place, the Kha
Rakcha will remain in Sungan.  That is the word of the Gur-Khan.  It
may not be altered."

Silently, Gray studied the pattern of the carpet at his feet.  His
firm mouth was set in hard lines.  Argument was gaining him nothing.
And he must make his effort to save the girl now or never.

"I claim the White Spirit as my bride," he said.  "By right of love.
She is mine."

Timur combed his white beard thoughtfully.

"How can it be?"

"In this way.  Bassalor Danek has given to Gela what is mine.  Since
the time of Kaidu and Genghis Khan it has been the law of Mongolia
that a maiden should not be taken from the man to whom she is
betrothed."

"Bassalor Danek has decided.  It is for the good of his people."

"I, who have come across the desert to the Wusun, know that it is not
so.  I call upon the Wusun to abide by the law of Mongolia."

"The marriage feast is being prepared.  The White Spirit will be
clothed in the robe of blessed felicity."

"Let it be so."  Gray looked at the old man steadily.  "Let there be
a marriage this night, according to the custom of the Wusun.  But I,
as well as Gela, claim the girl.  You know the law?"

"If two men say that a woman is theirs, they must decide the matter
with weapons in their hands."

"That is the law, Timur.  From across the desert I have known it.  I
will fight Gela.  Thus it will be decided."

Timur glanced at him curiously.

"The Kha Khan is no light foe.  He will fight with swords.  He has
learned the art of sword play from his fathers."

"Be it so."  Gray rose.  "Bear this message to the Kha Khan.  Say
that the White Spirit is mine."

The Wusun sighed.

"It is the way of the hot blood of youth.  You are foolhardy.  Why
should friends fight when Wu Fang Chien is approaching our gates?
Still, what fate has written will come to pass.  I will tell Bassalor
Danek your message."

That night there was a stir in Sungan.  Rumor of the coming event had
spread through the ruins, and, with the exception of the guards that
Gela stationed to prevent any attempt at entrance on the part of the
Chinese, the whole of the Wusun men flocked into the council hall.

Gray, from his tower, watched the glow of the sunset and saw the
shadows form about the gardens of Sungan.  The evening chant floated
up to him, mournful and melodious.  Occasionally he saw a sentry pass
along the outline of the wall.

He wondered grimly whether he would see the next sunrise.  Timur had
announced, by Garluk, that Gray's challenge to the chief of the
_tumani_ had been accepted.

Garluk was voluble with excitement.  He made no secret of his belief
that the American would die at the hand of Gela.  It would be an
excellent spectacle, he said.  He asked if Gray intended to protect
himself by magic during the combat.

Gray did not answer.  He had had no experience in handling a sword;
the primitive blades of the Wusun were clumsy weapons.  Doubtless
Gela was skilled in their use.

The situation afforded little ground for hope.  Certainly Gray, who
had had an opportunity to measure his adversary, was not
overconfident.  He was resolved to make the best of it.  He was doing
the only thing he could to aid the girl.

He was not sorry.  Gray was the type that did not shirk physical
conflict.  And his love for Mary Hastings was without stint.  He did
not know how much she cared for him.  He was incredulous of Timur's
words--that she could love him.

At Garluk's summons, he followed the _tumani_ down the stairs.  The
corridors were thronged with men who stared at him avidly.  So great
was the crowd that Garluk could barely force his way into the hall.

The place was brightly lighted with candles.  Overhead, the gallery
was filled with the Wusun.  On the daïs Bassalor Danek was talking
earnestly with Timur and the other elders of the tribe.

A murmur went up at Gray's entrance and the throng turned, as one
man, to stare at him.  He returned their scrutiny, from the doorway,
hoping that he might see the girl.  Would she be brought to the hall?
He did not know.  Timur limped forward.

"The bronze bracelet," he ordered Garluk.  The _tumani_ produced a
metal armlet which he clamped upon Gray's left forearm.  It was an
ancient ornament, engraved with lettering unfamiliar to the American.
He wondered idly what Van Schaick would have thought of it.

"It shall be as you wish," said Timur gravely.  "Bassalor Danek is
just.  He has granted your claim.  If you are the victor, the White
Spirit shall be yours."

"It is well," assented Gray.

He spoke mechanically, feeling the phenomena known to men who are
about to go into bodily danger--the acute interest in all about him,
merged into indifference.

"We have sent for the White Spirit," added Timur.  "Gela will bring
her."

A fresh murmur caused Gray to raise his eyes.  He searched the throng
greedily.  At the door behind the daïs Mary Hastings had appeared.
The murmur changed into a loud exclamation of astonishment.

The girl had been forced to discard her own clothing for a loose
garment of white silk, fitted with a wide girdle of the same material
and a veil that covered her face below the eyes.  Her hair hung over
her slender shoulders in bronze coils on which the candlelight played
fitfully.

Her arms were bare.  Thrust into the glare, she shrank back.  Then
she caught sight of Gray and would have started forward, but the
women around prevented her.  For a moment her eyes sought his
pleadingly.

"The Kha Rakcha," murmured those near him.  "_Aie_--she is fair."

Gray's heart leaped at the sight.  Then Gela appeared at the girl's
side, his tall bulk towering above the women.  He was armed with his
sword and appeared well pleased with the situation.

"A fine stage setting," thought Gray whimsically.  "Just like the
plays at home.  Only the savage in this case isn't ready to drop by
the footlights when the time comes.  And his sword isn't _papier
maché_."

His mind ran on, illogically.  But his gaze fastened hungrily on the
girl.  He admired the pluck which kept her erect and calm in the face
of the multitude.

"A thoroughbred!" he muttered.  He wanted to call to her, but the
commotion would drown his voice.  He did not look at her again.  The
appeal in the girl's mute eyes was too great.

With this came a quick revulsion of feeling.  His stupor of
indifference vanished at sight of the slight figure among the staring
Wusun.  A hot longing to fight for her swept over him--a desire to
match his strength with her enemies, to win her for himself and keep
her.

The thought sent the blood pulsing through him quickly.  He smiled
and waved at the girl, who responded bravely.

Gray moved toward her, followed by Timur.  He wished to speak to her.
And then came the incident which altered matters entirely and which
set in motion the strange events of that night.

Gela had been talking with Bassalor Danek.  In a burst of pride, the
Kha Khan turned to the girl, caught her about the knees and lifted
her easily for all to see.  Surprise caused the girl to cry out.

"Gela!" Gray called angrily, "that was ill done.  The Kha Rakcha is
not for your hands to touch!"

The youth did not understand.  Mastered by an impulse of passion, he
laughed, pressing the white woman closer.  An echoing cry came from
the Wusun.  Gela kissed the bare arm of the girl, running his free
hand through her hair.

The sight was too much for Gray's prudence.  Pushing Timur aside, he
sprang forward.  Several of the _tumani_ stepped into his path.  Gray
struck at them viciously.

He was in the grip of a cold rage which renders a man doubly
dangerous.  His powerful body flung forward through the group of his
enemies.  Love for the girl blinded him to the consequences of his
mistake.

An outcry arose.  Gray paid no heed to it, his fists smashing into
the faces of those who tried to hold him.  He wrenched free from men
who caught his legs.

"Peace!" cried the great voice of Bassalor Danek.

An injured Wusun, bleeding from the mouth, struck at Gray with his
sword.  The white man stepped under the blow and twisted the weapon
away from its holder.

Aflame with the lust of conflict, he swung his blade against the
others that flashed in his face.  The force of his trained muscles
beat down their guard and cleared him a way to the foot of the daïs.

Then the Wusun gave back, at a sharp command.  A space was cleared
around him.  He saw Gela standing alone before him, smiling, weapon
in hand.




CHAPTER XXIV

A STAGE IS SET

"Ho!" cried the voice of Garluk.  "It is come."

Others caught up the words.  "It is come.  Gela is ready.  One must
die!"

"One must die," echoed Garluk, "or give way to the other."

A quick glance upward showed Gray that Bassalor Danek was leaning
forward in his chair.  Mary was watching tensely from the group of
women.

Gray had little time to think.  The man who now confronted him was a
more formidable adversary than those he had knocked aside.  Gela
stood, poised easily, his bare sword swinging in a knotted arm.

Gray smiled and moved forward, while the throng of the Wusun watched
greedily.

The thought of what he was to do had come to him.  And he acted on it
instantly.

Swinging his weapon over his head he leaped at Gela.  The Kha Khan's
sword went up to guard the blow.  As it did so, the white man dropped
his blade and caught the other's arm.

It had been done in the space of a second, coolly and recklessly.
Gray drew the arm of Gela over his own shoulder, turning as he did
so.  It was a wrestling trick and it brought the Wusun's weight full
on the sword arm.

A wrench, a quick change of footing, and Gela's sword dropped to the
floor.  Both men were now unarmed.

Gray had taken the only course that would save his life.  Unskilled
in use of the sword, he had reduced the fight to even terms.  But he
felt at once the great strength of the Wusun.

Gela gripped him about the waist, crushing his arms to his side.
Gray felt a sharp pain in his back, and stiffened against the hold.
Slowly he forced his arms up until his fists were under the other's
chin.

It was now a trial of sheer strength.  Gela strained at his grip,
locking his iron-like muscles in an effort to bend his foe back.
Gray brought one knee up into the Wusun's stomach and pressed up with
his fists.

For a long moment the two were locked motionless.  Silence held the
hall.

"Ho!" came the voice of Garluk, "we will see the man crushed.  Gela
will crush him as a bullock beats down a sheep."

They were panting now, and the perspiration streamed down into Gray's
eyes.  He had not guessed the Wusun was so strong.  The scene and the
spectators faded from his sight, leaving the vision of Gela's set
face staring into his own.

In weight and muscle the Wusun had the advantage of his adversary.
But Gray was not putting forth his strength to the utmost, knowing
that the hold must be changed when Gela tired.

Seeing that he could not snap Gray's spine by sheer weight, Gela
shifted his grip swiftly, reaching for a lower hold.

Gray had been waiting for this.  As the other released his pressure,
he struck.  It was a hurried blow, but it jerked back the Wusun's
head and rocked him on his feet.

Instantly Gray struck with the other hand.  This time his fist
traveled farther and Gela fell to the floor.

He was up at once, growling angrily.  As he rushed, Gray beat him off
coolly--short, telling blows that kept him free from the other's
grasp.

"Ho!" laughed Timur, "which is the bullock now?  The man has sharp
horns."

Gela hesitated, bleeding from nose and mouth.  He had never been
forced to face a man who was master of such blows.  He swayed,
gasping with his exertions, his brown head thrust forward from
between his wide shoulders.

Gray waited, poised alertly, regaining his breath.

Then Gela lowered his head and sprang forward.  Gray caught him twice
as he came--with each fist.  But this time the man was not to be
stopped.

Gray was caught about the shoulders, swung from his feet and dashed
to the stone floor.  He felt the other's knees drive into his body,
and rolled to one side as Gela's hands fumbled for his throat.  He
knew it would mean death to be pinned to the floor by the Wusun.

Lights were dancing before his eyes.  The hall had grown dark, for
Gela's arm was over his eyes.

For a long space the two were locked almost motionless on the floor.

He heard Mary cry out.  The sound was drowned in an exultant shout,
from the watchers.  Gray was on his knees.  He drew a long, painful
breath.  His lungs had been emptied by the fall to the hard floor.

Silently, he set his teeth and warded off the hands that sought his
throat.  With an effort, he rose to his feet, throwing off the weight
of his enemy.  He staggered as he did so, and realized that he was on
the point of utter exhaustion.

The shout grew in volume as Gela, still vigorous, advanced on Gray
with outstretched arms.  The white man stepped back.  Again he
avoided the clutch of the Wusun who was grinning in triumph.  As he
did so he summed his remaining strength with grim determination,
watching Gela.

Again the Wusun advanced.  This time Gray did not draw back.  He
launched forward bodily, eyes fixed on his foe's face.  His fist
caught Gela full on the cheek-bone, under the eye.

Watching, and fighting off the stupor of weakness, Gray saw Gela's
head jerk back.  The Wusun slipped to the floor, and lay there.

It was all that Gray could do to keep his feet.  His head was on his
chest, and his dull sight perceived that Gela was trying to crawl
toward him.

The muscles of the Wusun moved feebly, pulling his body over the
floor.  His splendid shoulders heaved.  The blow that he received
would have knocked out an ordinary man.

Gray, his shirt torn from his back, and blood dripping from his
mouth, watched.  Gela edged nearer.  There was silence in the hall.

Then the Wusun's head dropped to the floor and his shoulders fell
limp.  He ceased moving forward.  Gray's blow had ended the struggle.
Both men were exhausted; but the white man was able to keep his feet.

As his sight cleared, he looked up at Mary.  The girl's gaze burned
into his.  Gray moved toward her, fumbling at his left arm.

He mounted the steps of the daïs.  He took the bronze armlet weakly
in his hand.  Barely, he was able to raise it and place it around the
girl's throat.  She did not draw back.

Then he put his hand on her shoulder and turned to face Bassalor
Danek.  As he did so, there was a commotion in the crowd at the hall
entrance.  A Wusun stepped forward.  He held a strung bow in one hand.

"I bring news, O Gur-Khan," the newcomer cried.  "Wu Fang Chien is
within the gate of Sungan."

At this, confusion arose among the Wusun.  Women screamed and the
_tumani_ shouted angrily.

"The Chinese soldiers have driven back the sentries on the wall,"
repeated the messenger.  "Wu Fang Chien sends word to you.  He has
come for the two white people.  They must be given up to him.  Or he
will search the whole of Sungan."

The uproar died down at this.  All eyes were turned to Bassalor
Danek.  The Gur-Khan sat quietly in his chair, but the hand that
stroked his beard trembled.

"Will Wu Fang Chien break the covenant of our people?" he demanded
sternly.

"Aye; he has mustered his soldiers with guns."

Gray felt the girl draw closer to him.  She did not know what was
going on, yet guessed at trouble in the air.  He put his arm over her
shoulders, thrilled that she did not protest.

Instead, her hand reached up and pressed his softly.  Her hair
touched his cheek.  He had married Mary Hastings, by the law of the
Wusun.  It was not marriage as their customs ordained; but he felt
the exultation that had come when he bound the circlet of bronze
about her slim throat.  She was his!  He had won her from Gela.
And--miraculously--she was content to have his arm about her.  Of
course he could not urge the claim of this barbaric ritual on her--if
they ever won free from Sungan.  For the moment, however, he joyed in
the thought that he had fought for and won the woman he loved.  The
new menace, voiced by the messenger, slipped from his mind.  He saw
only the girl.

Then he realized that she was blushing hotly.

"Please," she whispered, "I--I must get my clothes.  This dress is
not--I don't want to wear it."

"It's mighty becoming," he said, laughingly.

He spoke haphazard, his triumph still strong upon him.

"Oh!"  She smiled back.  "Now that you are my--master, they'll let me
change to my own things, won't they?  I'll run back to Bassalor
Danek's house."

He saw that she was disturbed by the multitude, But the lines about
his mouth hardened.  His arm tightened about her.

"You won't leave me--now," he whispered.  Then he saw sudden alarm in
her eyes.  "We're in trouble, as usual.  I'll send a woman for your
clothes."  He spoke lightly, trying to reassure her.  "Here's
Timur----"

At his request, the lame chieftain curtly dispatched an attendant for
Mary's garments.  Timur was watching Bassalor Danek.  The Gur-Khan
was staring blankly before him.  He was called upon to make a
decision which meant much to his people.

Gray also was watching the ruler of the Wusun, wondering whether the
latter's pride would lead him to resist Wu Fang Chien.

Then a figure pushed through the _tumani_ at the foot of the daïs.
It was Gela, staggering with weariness, the blood still flowing from
the cuts in his face.  In spite of this he carried himself proudly,
and there was a savage light in the eyes that peered at Bassalor
Danek and the two white people.

He pointed at Gray and growled something that the American did not
understand.

"He says," interpreted Timur, "that you are a brave man.  That the
word of Gela will not be broken.  He will guard the Kha Rakcha from
the Buddhists.  And he will protect you who are the husband of the
woman."

A murmur of approval came from the ranks of the _tumani_ at the words
of their leader.  Bassalor Danek looked troubled.

"It is well said," cried Gray.  He stepped forward, holding out his
hand.  Gela drew himself up defiantly.  It may have been that he did
not understand the gesture of the white man.

"Gela says," explained Timur, "that he will do this for the Kha
Rakcha.  Not for you."

But Gray had seen his chance, and turned to Bassalor Danek.

"Harken, Gur-Khan of the Wusun," he said clearly.  "You must answer
Wu Fang Chien.  You have heard the word of Gela, who is a generous
foe.  Have you forgotten that your fathers and mine were once the
same?  Or the talisman in the shrine?  By this thing, I ask a favor.
It will be the last."

"Speak," responded the chieftain quietly.  "I have not forgotten."

"The Kha Rakcha and I have come across the desert to Sungan to seek
the Wusun, who are of our blood.  Many died, that we should come
here.  And"--he recalled the words Mirai Khan had once used--"we have
eaten your meat and bread.  What we came for has been accomplished.
Why should we stay here?  Would it not be better to bring word of
what we have seen to those of your blood who are across the desert?"

Bassalor Danek meditated, stroking his beard.

"Once I said to Wu Fang Chien and the priests, O
Man-from-the-Outside, that you are my guest.  So it shall be.  I will
not give you up."

"The time of the Kha Rakcha in Sungan is ended," returned Gray
boldly.  "Like the crescent moon she has come and will go.  She must
carry the word of the talisman in the shrine back with her.  It was
for this that the Kha Rakcha was sent.  She will return to a king who
is greater than the Manchu emperor once was."

The Gur-Khan shook his head shrewdly.

"What power is greater than the Dragon Empire?  What other people are
there than the Mongols, the Kirghiz and the Buddhists priests?"

"Beyond the desert is a sea, and beyond the sea are those whose blood
was once yours.  We will take our message to them and they will know
of the Wusun."

Timur limped forward to the Gur-Khan's side.

"A thought has come to me, O Khan of the Wusun," he said slowly.  "It
is a high thought and an omen.  It is that this man and woman will
return whence they have come, with speech of what they saw in Sungan.
It is written in the book of fate that this shall be.  Why else did
the white man overcome Gela?"

He turned to Gray, with a moody smile on his lined face.

"Your people, O Man-from-the-Outside, will not find the Wusun, if
they send again.  That is my thought.  The sun passes from the
heavens and it is night; the camel leaves his bones to dry in the
sands.  So will the Wusun pass from Mongolia.  The priests of Buddha
are powerful.  Soon the sands will climb over the walls of Sungan."

A murmur from a hundred throats, a muttered lament, greeted this.

"We will deliver our message," said Gray.

Timur was silent, standing beside the troubled Gur-Khan.  A quick
emotion of friendship for these resigned captives of Sungan swept
over Gray.  He turned to Gela.

"Will you do this for the Kha Rakcha?" he asked.  "Will you escort us
through the ranks of the Buddhist priests and the soldiers?  It will
not be an easy task.  There will be bloodshed.  But it would save the
life of the Kha Rakcha."

Timur interpreted his request.  The Kha Khan lifted his head proudly.
He spoke rapidly, harshly, pointing to the watching warriors.

"He will do what you say," assented Timur.  "The _tumani_ will take
you through the guards of Sungan.  It has not been done before----"

"Wu Fang Chien first broke the covenant," reminded the American.

"_Aie_!  It will be a hard struggle.  The soldiers have guns----"

Gela broke in sternly.  Already the light of conflict showed in his
keen eyes.  He issued a series of guttural commands to the _tumani_.
The women began to press from the hall, uttering wailing laments.
The young men clustered around the Kha Khan.

"Wu Fang Chien will scourge us for this," muttered Timur.

"Wu Fang Chien," pointed out Gray grimly, "may not live to do it.
Likewise, it is better, for the peace of the Wusun, that we should go
from Sungan."

He thought, also, of Gela's savage love for the girl.  For the moment
the Wusun was their friend.  But the future might alter that.  He had
seen his opportunity, and seized it.  The _tumani_ were drawing their
weapons and chattering excitedly.

Gray had reasoned that now the Buddhists were assembled at the gates
of Sungan.  If he and the girl could penetrate their ranks, they
might obtain a good start over the desert, which was now free of the
outer guards.

"As you have said," announced Bassalor Danek, rising, "it shall be
done."

"What is happening?" Mary asked anxiously.  Sensing the importance of
what was passing, she had not spoken before.

Gray laughed.  He touched her shoulder shyly.

"Come to me, as soon as you are ready, Mary.  Gela is a generous foe.
He will guide us beyond the wall."

She looked at the young Kha Khan gratefully.  Well she knew what the
danger would be, although Gray had not mentioned it.  On a quick
impulse the girl stooped and picked up Gela's weapon from the floor.
She placed it in the hand of the Wusun.  The action caught the fancy
of the _tumani_.

"The Kha Rakcha is one at heart with the Wusun!" they cried, looking
eagerly at the beautiful woman.

"Aye, the Kha Rakcha!" shouted Gela, his moodiness vanished.  "We
will shed our blood for the white queen."

"Ho--the white queen!" echoed the _tumani_.




CHAPTER XXV

RIFLE AGAINST ARROW

What happened now came swiftly and with little warning.  Bassalor
Danek, once the die was cast, ceded his authority to Gela.  The
traditional leadership of the Wusun was the Kha Khan's in time of
war.  Now, for the first time in generations they were to resist the
authority of their gaolers.

Gray remembers clearly that Bassalor Danek bade them a solemn
farewell standing in his white robe at the foot of the daïs.  Then
the Gur-Khan, who was impressed with the importance of the occasion,
raised his hand with dignity.

"By the talisman at your throat, O Kha Rakcha," he said, "do not
forget the Wusun--if it is the decree of fate that you should pass
from here in safety."

"She will not forget," promised Gray.  He watched the aged figure
depart for the tower where Bassalor Danek intended to watch what was
to happen through the Eyes-of-Long-Sight.

Gela assumed command impetuously.  Gray watched him muster the
_tumani_.  The young men were afire with anticipation of a struggle.
The long pent up enmity against their captors was about to be
released.  From the dwellings of Sungan came the lament of the women.
It shrilled in the night air--the world-old plaint of women before
battle.

Timur lingered with them.  The three were surrounded by the hunters
who had strung their bows and unsheathed their heavy swords.

There was only a half-light in the upper hall of the council-temple
where they now stood.  It reflected faintly upon the red sandstone of
the walls, with the faded, painted figures of an older age looking
down upon them.

Gutturally, the warriors spoke under their breath to each other,
laughing much, although not loudly.  Some, however, leaned upon their
bows silently, their eyes blank.  This note of tensity was familiar
to the American.  Gray had watched men go forward under fire with the
same forced merriment, the same semi-stupor.

But the hunters were contented.  Young men, for the most part, their
lean faces hardened and lined by exposure to the sun, their bloodshot
eyes narrow, their lips thin and cracked--they smiled more frequently
than not.  A savage pleasure lurked in their eyes.  They were to lift
their swords against the oppressors of the Wusun.  Gray counted the
swords.  They were all too few.

Wearied of confinement, they were, for a brief moment, to strike into
the desert as free men.  Perhaps.  For they might never win beyond
the wall.

They shuffled their yak-skin boots, breathing heavily.  The air in
the gallery became close and hot with scent of soiled leather.  Mary
stood close to Gray, her shoulder against his.  She had changed to
her torn dress and crumpled jacket.  Her glance was on him.

"Robert!"

"Yes--Mary."  He looked down, his face alight at hearing her speak
his name.

"You were frowning.  Will it be so very bad?"  Her slender body
pressed against his so that he could feel the pulse of her heart.
"Then you mustn't leave me--this time."

"No."

He wanted to take her in his arms, to call her his wife.  But he
checked the swift impulse sternly.  He had no right.  How was he to
know that she was yearning for just this comfort?

Gela waved his arm, and there was a shuffling of many feet, moving
forward.

"Robert!"

Her eyes, shining with faith in him, drew nearer and held his own.
His arm drew her closer to him, savagely.  Perhaps he hurt her.  But
she did not protest.

Blindly, he pressed his mouth against the fragrance of her hair.
Clumsily, with dry lips, he kissed her throat and cheek, marveling at
the pulse that beat so strongly where he touched.

Two swift, slender arms closed around his neck.  The girl sighed,
quivering, uttering a soft, happy murmur.  Gray, unbelieving, tried
to look into her face, but tender, moist lips touched his in a quick
caress.  Her eyes were half closed, and she was strangely pale.

"Mary!" he whispered, and again: "Mary."

She was smiling now, the gray eyes glad.

Gela cast an appraising eye over the assemblage and gave a command.
The _tumani_ pressed forward to the stairs that led to the entrances
above ground.

Gray felt Mary's hand seek his.  A cool breath of air brushed their
hot faces.  He saw the glitter of torches, lighted by the _tumani_.
Then they passed out into the night.

The sands of Sungan were vacant except for the group of warriors
under Gela.  A slight breeze stirred among the aloes and tamarisks,
lifting tiny spirals of dust under their feet and causing the torches
to flicker.

Then the torches were dashed into the sand, and the warrior groups
became shadowy forms, moving against the deeper shadow of the towers.

Overhead the moon was cold and bright.  Its radiance showed the dark
figures of Chinese on the wall, and glittered on their guns.  At the
gate in the wall in front of them was a group of priests.  Wu Fang
Chien was not to be seen.

Between the _tumani_ and the wall was a level stretch of sand perhaps
two hundred yards in length.

"See!" chattered the old Timur, "the message of Bassalor Danek has
been sent.  They are waiting."

"It would not be well to rush the wall," cautioned Gray quickly,
sizing up the situation.  "They have guns----"

"If I had a bow!"  Timur's reluctance had vanished under the growing
excitement.  "Ho!  The hunters will hunt new prey."

One of the priests cried out something that Gray did not understand.
Gela answered defiantly, and the _tumani_ rushed forward, carrying
Gray and Mary with them.

A shot sounded from the wall, greeted by a defiant shout from the
Wusun.  A scattering volley followed.  The guards--Chinese
irregulars, Dungans, bandits, followers of the priests,
what-not--were poor marksmen.  But the range was close.  And the
Wusun, ignorant of tactics against gunfire, were bunched close.

Gray saw several stumble and fall in the sand.  More shots.  The
torches wavered.  Timur stooped and picked up a bow and arrow from
one of the fallen.

The priests had vanished from the gate.  This had been closed.  But
not before Gray sighted groups of the lepers running about in
confusion.  Some seemed to be armed.

The Wusun wavered under the fire, as undisciplined men are bound to
do.  Gray forced the girl to crouch in the sand with Timur while he
ran forward to Gela.  The Kha Khan was shouting angrily at his
followers.

"The passages!"  Gray seized Gela's arm.  "Here, you will be killed.
Go down to the passages."

Gela, the hot light of battle in his scarred face, stared at him
unheedingly.  But Timur, who was not to be left behind, limped
forward and echoed Gray's words.

Comprehension dawned on the Kha Khan, and his eyes narrowed shrewdly.
He shouted to his men.  The _tumani_ began to run back, leaving dark
bodies prone in the sand.

Gray made his way to the temple with Mary.  A shout of triumph
sounded from the wall.  The firing did not cease.  The blood-lust had
been aroused in the men on the wall, who had found the killing of the
poorly armed Wusun an easy matter.

But Gray, seeing the set faces around him, realized that the _tumani_
were not going to give up the struggle.  It was an age-old feud--the
struggle of the oppressed Central Asians against their Mongol captors.

He and the girl were swept along at Gela's side like leaves in a
swift current.  Down into the temple the Wusun pressed, silent this
time.  They streamed into the underground corridors, led by men with
torches.  The shouting over-ground grew fainter.

Once Gray stumbled over a body.  It was a woman, bleeding from a
death wound in the throat.  The priests had been here, and warfare in
the Gobi reckons not of sex.

The flutter of a yellow robe appeared in the corridor in front of
them.  A bow twanged, and Gray saw an arrow appear between the
shoulders of the fleeing priest.  A knife that the Buddhist held
clattered to the floor.

The _tumani_ shouted and pressed forward.  They were under the wall
now, and the passage began to rise.  Gray saw that it was the same
that led to the well.

A sharp command from Gela silenced the Wusun.  They ran out into the
well and up the steps, savagely intent on their purpose.

They emerged into confusion.  Gray saw that other Wusun were running
out from the adjoining passages, driving the priests before them.
The Chinese on the wall had turned.  Taken by surprise, they were
firing hastily.  Their foes were scattered now, and the fight became
a hand-to-hand affair.

One by one the torches dropped to the sand.  Swords flashed in the
moonlight.  Gray saw some of the men of the leper pack, led by
priests.  These were met with arrows of the _tumani_ and driven back.
They fled easily.

Forced to hand-grips, the Chinese at the wall wavered.

"_Aie!_" cried Timur.  "The fight goes well.  I am young again."  He
pointed exultantly at the leaping forms of the hunters.

The girl walked quietly at Gray's side.  The American picked up an
empty musket and went forward.  It was a poor weapon, but it served.
Gela was in advance of his followers, who had cleared the wall now
and were pacing forward, seeking out the groups of Chinese.

By now the soldiers were running back through the outskirts of the
city.

Gray could see the leper pack mingling with the shadows among the
sand dunes.  Occasionally, there was a shrill cry as the Wusun hunted
out a yellow-robed Buddhist.  The Chinese were fleeing in earnest.
The only light now came from the moon.  It was a battle of shadows,
wherein dim forms leaped and struck with bared knives, peering at
each other's face.

"_Aie!_" echoed the old chieftain, who was leaning on the shoulder of
a _tumani_, "this is the way our fathers drove their foes before
them.  It is a goodly sight."

He hobbled on, refusing to be left behind.  Gray drew a deep breath,
surveying the scene with experienced eye.  The smoldering anger of
the Wusun had cleared a temporary passage.  "We are outside the city,
Mary," he said.

"It is not over yet," she responded quickly.  "See--there are lights
ahead, to the right."

Gela had seen the same thing.  He gathered together the hunters that
remained about him and advanced cautiously.  Rounding some dunes,
they came full on the lights.

It was the camp of the Chinese guards.  Camels and horses were
tethered among some make-shift tents.  Lanterns flickered as coolies
sought to assemble the beasts.

A group of men were facing them standing uneasily in front of the
tents.  Gray saw the bulky figure and mandarin hat of Wu Fang Chien.
The light from a lantern struck across his broad face, savage now
with baffled anger.  He held a rifle.




CHAPTER XXVI

THE BRONZE CIRCLET

The girl gave a quick cry.  It was answered by a shout from Gela.

One of the Chinese fired.  The man who was supporting Timur dropped
to the ground with a moan, hands clasped to his stomach.

Both Gela and Gray sprang forward at the same time.  Wu Fang Chien
caught sight of them and lifted his rifle.  His followers shot
wildly, doing no damage in the uncertain light.

The mandarin, Gray thought swiftly as he ran, had rallied some of the
fugitives at the camp.  Possibly he had guessed Gray's intention to
leave Sungan, and was determined to prevent it at all costs.

Gray could see the man clearly as he peered at him over the sights of
the rifle.  The weapon was steady.  Behind him, a warning shout
echoed from the Wusun.  Gela, at his side, did not slacken his pace.

Still Wu Fang Chien held his fire.  Gray, watching intently, saw that
the rifle the mandarin held was one of his own--stolen from his
luggage.  The thought wrought on him with grim humor.  It did not
occur to him to turn back.  He could not leave Gela to go forward
alone.  The Kha Khan was panting as he ran, wearied by his efforts,
but grimly intent on Wu Fang Chien.

Behind Wu Fang Chien, he saw the horses struggling at their tethers.
His senses were strangely sharpened by the tensity of the moment.  He
heard Gela pant, and even caught the distant lament of the women of
the Wusun.  The coughing of frightened camels came to him clearly.

The lantern glinted on the rifle barrel that was aimed full at him.
He saw Wu Fang Chien's evil eyes narrow.  Then they widened.  The
rifle barrel wavered.  And dropped to the sand.  Gela and the white
man halted in their tracks.

From the throat of Wu Fang Chien projected an arrow shaft, the
feathers sticking grotesquely under his chin.

Slowly the mandarin's knees gave way and he fell forward on the sand,
both hands gripping the arrow that snapped the thread of his life.

"_Aie!_" the voice of Timur rang out.  "I have taken a life.  I have
slain an enemy of my people!"

Gray turned and saw the old chieftain standing bow in hand beside
Mary.  His cry had barely ceased when a yellow-robed priest sprang at
him from a tent.

The Buddhist held a knife.  His course took him directly toward Mary.
The girl waited helplessly.  Gela's warning cry rang out.  Several of
the Wusun were running toward her.  But too far away to aid.

The priest was within a few paces of the girl, too near for Gela or
Gray to interfere in time.

Then the figure of Timur limped forward.  The old man struck at the
priest feebly with his bow.  And caught him by the shoulders.

The Buddhist stabbed the Wusun viciously, burying his knife in
Timur's back.  The old man uttered no sound, but kept his hold,
snarling under the bite of the knife.  Gray stepped to the side of Wu
Fang Chien and caught up the mandarin's rifle.

It was his own piece and loaded.  He laid the sights on the man in
the yellow robe as the latter threw off the clinging form of Timur.
The rifle cracked as the Buddhist stepped toward Mary.

The priest staggered to his knees.  It had been a quick shot, and an
excellent one, considering the light.  Gela grunted approval.

Gray saw the girl go to the side of the stricken Timur.  Then he
looked about the camp.  Wu Fang Chien was dead, and his remaining
followers had run from the camp into the desert.  Only Gela's band of
the Wusun were visible, thinned in numbers, but triumphant.  They
thronged toward their leader, bearing useless rifles as spoil, tired,
yet chuckling loudly.

The fight was over.

Gela motioned significantly to the moon which was high overhead.
Time was passing, and the white man must be dispatched while the
coast was free.  He had not forgotten his promise in the council
hall.  The Kha Khan returned to Mary and led her away from the old
chieftain.

Gray saw that the girl was crying.  Not noisily, but quietly, trying
to keep back the tears.  The strain of the night was beginning to
tell on her, and the death of Timur at her side had been a shock.
She did not want to look back.

"I--I liked Timur," she said softly.  "He was good to me."

"He was a good sort," assented Gray heartily.

For the girl's sake, he wished to leave the camp at once.  Delay
would mean peril.  Gela seemed to have guessed his thought.  The Kha
Khan issued brisk orders to his followers.  Then he threw his own
warm, sheepskin _khalat_ over the girl's shoulders.

Two camels, the pick of those in the encampment, were produced.
These were fitted hastily with blankets.  A third was
loaded--protesting loudly after the fashion of the beasts--with
foodstuffs and water, commandeered from the supplies of the Chinese.
Gela examined the goat skin water bags attentively and nodded with
satisfaction.  They were all-important.

This done, he turned to Gray and pointed again to the moon.  Then he
motioned out over the desert to the west to a gray expanse of
shimmering earth, with scattering wisps of stunted bushes.

"He wants us to go in that direction," said the girl, "not back to
China."

Gray had already reasoned out their best course.  The direction of
Gala agreed with his own conclusion.  To the west four or five days'
fast ride on camels was the river Tarim, with isolated settlements of
shepherds.  Here they would be across the boundary of Kashgaria and
free from the authority of the Chinese Buddhists.  And beyond the
Tarim was Khotan--just north of the Karakorum Pass to India.  He
still had his maps and compass.

"From there," assented the girl, "we can reach Kashgar, where there
will be merchants from Kashmir.  My uncle has been at Khotan with me.
It is not hard to travel to India from there."

Urged by Gela they mounted the kneeling camels.  The Wusun clustered
around.  Out of the camp they led the white man and woman until the
towers of Sungan were barely visible on the horizon.

Here they were beyond danger of meeting with Chinese fugitives.  Gela
halted and raised his hand in farewell.  Gray and the girl did
likewise.

"He has kept his word to us, and he is proud of it," whispered Mary,
"and we can't thank him."  For neither could speak Gela's tongue.

"Good-by, old man, and good luck," said Gray heartily, in English.

Turning back after an interval, he saw the Kha Khan and the Wusun
watching them.  They were seated in the sand, their faces bent toward
the departing camels.  Until the two were out of sight, Gela remained
there.

The camels were fresh and moved swiftly.  It was a clear night, with
a touch of cold in the air, a forerunner of the winter that was
settling down on Central Asia.  The miles passed swiftly behind, as
Gray, guided by his compass, kept on to the west.

They did not speak.  Behind them the crimson of dawn flooded the sky.
The moon paled, coldly.  Early morning chill numbed the man and the
girl.  The long shadows of the camels appeared on the sand before
them.  Mists, wraith-like and grotesque, receded on the skyline.
From black to gray, and then to brown the sand dunes turned.  Waves
of sand swept to the sky-line on either side.

They were alone in the infinity of Asia.

Gray wanted to speak, but a strong shyness gripped him.  He urged his
beast beside the girl's and took her hand.  She did not withdraw it.
This made him bold.  Already the sun warmed their backs.  The camels
slowed to a steady trudge.

"Our honeymoon has begun," he said.  His heart was beating in unruly
fashion.  "And in Kashgar, we can find a missionary, to--to make you
really my wife--if you will."

She did not answer.  Instead, she drew back the _khalat_ that the
Wusun had given her.  Gray saw that the bronze circlet was still
about her throat.



THE END







*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARCHING SANDS ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the
United States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.

1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
  United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
  you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that:

* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
  Literary Archive Foundation."

* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
  works.

* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
  receipt of the work.

* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.