Hills of Han 48

Hills of Han 48

He spoke shortly to the French youth, took up his own rifle, and led the

way up the hill to the bullet-spattered farm compounds. They were quite

deserted. Only the huddled, noxious dead remained. He went on up the

hillside, searching all the hiding-places of those red and yellow

vandals who had filled his thoughts by day and haunted his sleep at,

night; but all were empty of human life. A great amount of rubbish was

left--cooking utensils, knives, old Chinese-made rifles and swords, bits

of uniforms. He found even a jade ring and a few strings of brass cash.

 

Weary of spirit he returned to the rifle pits only to find these, too,

deserted. From the upper redoubt a man was waving, beckoning. Apparently

the compound gate was open, and a group of soldiers standing in line

outside; but these soldiers wore blue. Through his glasses he surveyed

the moving dots near the village; none wore red and yellow.

 

The man was still waving from the redoubt. The French youth, he found

now, was looking up at him, that eager question still in his eyes. He

nodded. With a sudden wild shout the boy ran down the hill, waving bis

rifle over his head.

 

So it was peace--sudden, enigmatic. Brachey sat again on the parapet.

Griggsby Doane was doubtless there (Brachey knew nothing of his journey;

he had not seen Betty. What could he say to him, to the father whom

Betty loved?

 

This wouldn’t do, of course. He rose, a set dogged __EXPRESSION__ on his

long, always serious face, and went slowly down the hill; and with only

a nod to this person and that got to his tent. Once within, he closed

the flaps and sat on the cot. He discovered then that he had brought

with him one of the strings of cash, and jingled it absently against his

knee.

 

Voices sounded outside. Men were standing before the tent.

 

Then the flaps parted, and he beheld the spectacled, pleasantly smiling

face of Mr. Po.

 

“Oh,” he said, more shortly than he knew. “Come in!”

 

Mr. Po stepped inside, letting the flaps fall together behind him. He

made a splendid figure in blue and gold, as he removed the round hat

with its red plume and crystal ball and laid it on the rude table.

 

“I’m glad to see you’re still sound of life and limb and fresh as a

daisy,” he remarked cheerfully. “With permission I will sit here a bit

for informal how-do chin-chin, and forget from minute to minute all

ceremonial dam-foolishness.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXI--THE SOULS OF MEN

 

 

1

 

WELL,” continued Mr. Po expansively, “I’ve certainly had a pretty

kettle of fish about my ears.”

 

Brachey filled and lighted his pipe, and yielded his senses for a

moment to the soothing effect of the fragrant smoke.

 

“Is the fighting really over?” he asked.

 

“Oh, yes!”

 

“But why? What’s happened?”

 

Mr. Po indulged in his easy, quiet laugh.

 

“To begin at first blush,” he said, settling comfortably back as If

launched on a long narrative, “while out on scouting leap in dark I

stumbled plump on Lookers, and by thunder, it was necessary to trust

broken reed of lying on stomach hi open ground!”

 

“They caught you?”

 

“Oh, yes! For hell of a while I held breath, but with dust in nose it

became unavoidable to sneeze. I would then have lost head promptly but

officer of yamen entourage of Kang spotted me and said, ‘What the devil

you doing here!’ With which I explain of course that I escape by hook

or crook from white devils. Then I appear before general and demand

audience discussion with old Kang. Old reprobate received me and made

long speech. Perfectly absurd! He said I must go to T’ainan-fu as his

particular guest and speak to His Excellency Pao Ting Chuan his message,

like this:

 

“‘For many years I have known and respected your abilities as scholar

and statesman of huge understanding ability. We have both seen, you and

I, continuing unprincipled encroachment of foreign devil on preserves

of our ancient and fruitful land, while the sorrow of our own Hansi

Province under heel of foreign mining syndicate despot is matter of

common ill repute to us both. Now as loyal friend and unswervingly

determined on destroying all evil influence of foreign devils, I invite

you as guest to share with me pleasure of witnessing capture and utter

destruction of foreign compound at Ping Yang. Omens agree on midnight of

to-day week, following banquet of state and theatrical performance at

my headquarters, at which favorite amateur actor Wang Lo Hsu will recite

historical masterpiece, “The Song of Wun Hsing.” And as my cooks are all

wretched creatures, unworthy of catering to poorest classes, I beg of

you bring delicately expert cook of Canton that I may again rejoice in

delightful memory of sweet lotus soup.’”

 

Mr. Po paused to light a cigarette.

 

“So you went back to Tiainan?” asked Brachey.

 

“Oh, no, I was taken back against grain as prisoner of large armed

guard.”

 

“And you delivered the message?”

 

“Oh, yes!”

 

“Pao didn’t accept, of course. Though I don’t see how he could get out

of it. He had no soldiers to speak of, did he?”

 

“Oh, yes, some. These he sent by northern road to region of Shan Tang,

only thirty _li_ away from Ping Yang. And then he accept, for His

Excellency is great statesman. Nobody yet ever put it over on His

Excellency, not so you could notice it. Without frown or smile he

assemble secretaries, runners and lictors of yamen. banner-men, some

concubines and eunuchs and come post-haste.”

 

“So he’s here now?”

 

“Oh, yes. We have large establishment at temple over on neighboring

hill. And everything’s all right. O. K.”

 

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t at all understand why.”

 

“Naturally. I am going to make clear as cotton print. For a day or so

everything was as disorderly as the dickens, of course. You couldn’t

hear yourself think. And sleep? My God, there wasn’t _any_. And of

course after death of old reprobate Lookers went to pieces and raised

Ned. It became necessary to punish leaders and all that sort of thing.

You see, Dame Rumor gets move on in China, runs around like scared

chicken, faster than telegraph, I sometimes think. And when Lookers

heard stories, that Imperial Government up at Peking wasn’t so crazy

about giving them support, and might even hand them double-cross lemon,

they began to think about patching holes in fences. They just blew

up. And His Excellency”--he chuckled--“he grasped situation like chain

lightning. Oh, but he’s whale of a fellow, His Excellency!” Brachey

smoked reflectively as he studied this curiously bloodless enthusiast.

Evidently behind the humorously inadequate English speech of Mr. Po

there was, if it could be got at, a stirring drama of intrigue. A

typical Oriental drama, bearing a smooth surface of silken etiquette

but essentially cruel and bloody. The difficulty would be, of course, in

getting at it, drawing it out piecemeal and putting it together.

 

“His Excellency will now clean up whole shooting match,” Mr. Po went on.

“No more Ho Shan Company!” And he waved his cigarette about to indicate

the compound.

 

“Oh, that goes, too?”

 

“Oh, yes! His Excellency has at once telegraphed agent-general

at Tientsin for final show-down price on surrender of all leases,

agreements, expenses, bribes and absolute good riddance. They say three

million taels cash. To-morrow we shall throw it at their heads. And so

much for that!”

 

“H’m!” mused Brachey. “Pretty quick work. Rather takes one’s breath

away.”

 

“Oh, yes! But His Excellency’s son of a gun.”

 

“Evidently. But I’m still in the dark as to how this rather

extraordinary change came about. Did I understand you to say that Kang

is dead?”

 

“Oh, yes! Night before last.”

 

“How did that happen?”

 

“Oh, well--it’s just as well not to give this away--on arrival at Ping

Yang His Excellency made at once prepare bowl of sweet lotus soup and

send it with many compliments and hopes of good omens to old devil.”

 

“You mean--there was poison in it?”

 

“Oh, yes! Pretty darned hard to put it over His Excellency. After that

it was no trouble at all to behead commanders of Looker troops.”

 

“Naturally,” was Brachey’s only comment. He proceeded to draw out, bit

by bit, other details of the story.

 

Some one stepped before the tent, and a strong voice called:

 

“Mr. Brachey.”

 

With a nervously abrupt movement Brachey sprang up and threw back the

flaps; and beheld, standing there, stooping in order that he might see

within, the giant person of Griggsby Doane.

 

2

 

Brachey bowed coldly. Doane’s strong gaunt face worked perceptibly.

 

Brachey said:

 

“Won’t you come in, sir? The tent is”--there was a pause--“the tent

is small, but... You are perhaps acquainted with Mr. Po Sui-an of the