BROWN OF MOUKDEN (continued 7)

"I understand," she said. "But if your anger is great, how much greater is mine! Your father's persecutor is a Russian, a foreigner; my father was betrayed by one of his own countrymen,—one of his own house. The traitor there recognized me as I entered the saloon carriage; bound as he was, he shrank from me as though expecting that I would kill him."

"But he did not recognize you when he saw you at Father Mayenobe's?"

"No. But something must have put him on my track, for it is through him that I was a passenger on the train. I was arrested in Vladivostok and ordered to go back to Europe. He was with the soldiers who arrested me: in fact, he pointed me out to them. I do not know how he came to recognize me after all."

At the moment no explanation occurred to Jack, who indeed did not give a thought to it. But later he remembered that, on the well-remembered evening in Moukden when he had got the better of Sowinski, he had mentioned the man's true name, Streleszki. This had no doubt set the Pole wondering how Jack could have learnt his name; and the chain of incidents had led him to connect the disclosure with the European girl he had met at the missionary's. So that Jack's almost inadvertent explanation had ultimately led to this meeting with Gabriele at the station, and to the end of his long search for his father's whereabouts.

The party marched as rapidly as possible, rising gradually towards the barren hills. After two hours they stopped for a brief rest, and for the first time since his capture at Mao-shan General Bekovitch was within arm's-length of the Chunchuse leader. Jack wondered whether he would be recognized; but the change of costume, the hardening of his features and the development of his physique due to his active rigorous life, made him a different being from the lad whom Bekovitch had seen for five minutes at the Moukden railway-station. And the general was certainly not in such a calm and collected mood as might quicken his memory. He was indeed in a condition of boiling rage and indignation.

"Here, you—" he cried, seeing Jack so near to him. "Do you understand Russian?"

"Moderately well, sir."

His very voice had become more manly; its deeper tones did not awaken recollection.

"Then what do you mean, confound you! by treating a Russian general officer thus? What do you mean, I say? Do you know what you are doing? Made to tramp over these hills—fettered to a filthy Chinaman—why—why——"

The general could find no further words to express his indignation.

"Is it not the Russian custom to manacle prisoners?" asked Jack quietly.

The Russian's cheeks took a purple hue.

"An officer—a general! Do you know who I am, you—you——"

"You are General Bekovitch."

"Well—well—loose me at once, then; I insist on this indignity being removed; it is monstrous!"

"Possibly; but quite Russian. You are no worse treated than you treat your prisoners. If a Chunchuse, myself for instance, had fallen into your hands, what would have been his fate?"

The mild reasonableness of the Chunchuse's reply, together with his firm attitude, seemed to suggest to the general that he should try another tack.

"Come," he said, with sudden suavity, "I know you gentlemen; I suppose it is a matter of dollars. How much will you take to let me go?"

Jack looked at him.

"Say a thousand dollars—that's a very fair sum, more than you'd get in the ordinary way of your—business. Eh?"

"Yes: our business, as you call it, is certainly not profitable, but we do make a haul at times."

The general looked furious. Jack quietly continued:

"But you are making a mistake—you are treating me as you would a Russian and an official. I am merely a brigand—but we Chunchuses have our code. Dirty though he is, General Bekovitch, the man you are bound to has cleaner hands than you: he at least is an honest man according to his lights. It is he who should complain of contamination."

Bekovitch quivered with rage, but gulping down the indiscreet words his anger prompted he returned to the point.

"I could make you a rich man. I said a thousand dollars; come, I will make it two thousand. It will buy you a pardon, and an official post as well. Batiushki! no brigand ever had such a chance."

Jack laughed.

"We have our code, General Bekovitch, I repeat. There are some things bribery cannot effect. Your release just now is one of them. But for bribery you would not be here."

The general stared.

"What do you mean?"

"It is all very simple. If the Pole Sowinski yonder had not bribed you, General Bekovitch, you would not have conspired against Mr. Brown at Moukden, and you would not have needed to deport his son. If you had not deported his son, his son would not still be in Manchuria; and if he had not been in Manchuria he could not have captured you, General Bekovitch, and you need not have attempted to bribe him."

The general stared incredulously at the speaker. Then it was as though the Cossack uniform dropped away; as though the young man before him became again the lad he had been nine months before. The Russian recognized him at last, and his jaw fell.

"You see now," pursued Jack, "the double uselessness of offering bribes to me—as the son of Mr. Brown, and as an Englishman."

"What are you going to do with me?"

All the bluster, all the silkiness, was now gone; the general was anxious, almost suppliant.

"That I cannot say. You will be delivered to my chief, Mr. Ah. It is likely that you will be detained until my father is released. But I cannot answer for Mr. Ah. He is a Chinaman, with Chinese ideas. Much may depend on how my father has been treated."

Bekovitch became pale; his eyes looked anxiously around. Jack left him to his meditation. Passing the spot where Sowinski sat, manacled like Bekovitch, Jack noticed that the Pole's eyes met his with a hunted, terrified look. He had recognized his captor at once, and having also seen Gabriele he felt that he had to reckon with her as well; and his imagination of what he himself might do, were he in their place, shook him like the ague.

The march was resumed, and late in the day the party came in touch with Ah Lum's scouts. The meeting between Ah Lum and Jack was very warm.

"Never was captain so nobly served," said the grateful chief. "I was at my wits' end to escape the meshes of the net; and now not only have I escaped, but I hold in my power the man who was to ensnare me. Truly the poet Li T'ai-poh was right when he said, in his Apology for Friendship—

"'Never despair: the darkest Lot may mend;

Call no Man lost that hath one faithful Friend'.

You will find the works of Li T'ai-poh worthy of perusal, my honoured friend. They have been to me as a bright star to a wanderer in a dark night."

Jack thanked him for the recommendation; then changed the topic, and asked how the crossing of the line had been effected. He learnt that a slight skirmish had taken place at the line between the Chunchuses and the energetic pursuers of the train; but the Russians, being hopelessly outnumbered, had been compelled to retire with loss. Ah Lum in his turn was informed of the discovery of Mr. Brown's whereabouts.

"Nothing proceeds from the machinations of men," he said, "but the whole of our lives is planned by destiny."

"Yes, Mr. Ah, and destiny has willed that my father's persecutor and your hunter are the same man—the Russian general there."

"Ch'hoy! May his posterity be cut off! May the five thunders strike him dead! May the village constable attend to his remains! May he be born again as a hog! When we pitch our camp, I will cut out his tongue, fry him in a caldron of oil, rip——"

"Stay, stay, Mr. Ah!" cried Jack, aghast at this unwonted fury in his scholarly friend. "You forget that he is a European, and I am an Englishman; we don't do such things in my country."

"But it is an imperative duty. Your duty to your father demands that you should heap on the villain the direst curses, and inflict on him the most terrible torture."

"No, Mr. Ah, the books of our sages teach us differently. Besides, my father would not approve: he would most strongly disapprove."

This was a new aspect, and one that Ah Lum took time to consider.

"That alters the case," he at length reluctantly admitted. "A son may not act contrary to his father's wishes. What does the poet Tu Fu so beautifully say?—

"'Happy the Father, yea, and doubly blest,

Whose Son, though absent, doeth his Behest'.

Yes, it is a pity; but when inclination and the counsel of sages agree, there is but one course."

Considering that there would be plenty of time to levy a contribution on the settlement at Shih-tou-ho-tzü, Ah Lum sent back 200 men for the purpose of collecting supplies, and pushed on with the main body. A few hours later the detachment rejoined, with a number of carts containing useful stores of all kinds, and the march northward was resumed with all speed. One of the carts was appropriated to the use of Gabriele and her servant; but the former soon declared that she preferred to walk; the springless cart made riding anything but comfortable. The march was continued throughout the day. In the evening Ah Lum reached a spot far in the hills, where he might safely encamp.

Next morning Jack took the earliest opportunity of holding a consultation with the chief. It was his fixed intention to get if possible to Sakhalin; he knew his father was there: to rescue him ought not to be difficult. As a Chinaman Ah Lum confessed that he could not oppose an enterprise of such piety; but as a practical man he thought it his duty to mention the objections. He had never been to Sakhalin, but he understood that it was a terrible place, visited by fierce storms, buried for the greater part of the year under snow and ice, covered with thick forests, infested by wild beasts, wilder men, and even hideous dragons. By the many forms of exorcism employed for generations past in China, dragons had been driven out of the Celestial Kingdom; but they had crossed the sea and taken refuge, so Ah Lum had been informed, in the dreary wastes of Sakhalin.

Jack brushed all these objections aside. Seeing that he was firm, the chief carefully considered the best means of helping him. The strait between Siberia and Sakhalin was at this time of the year frozen over; the ice would not begin to break up for several weeks. The nearest point at which it could be crossed was at least 1500 li from the Chunchuses' present encampment, and not only would so long a journey be attended by many hardships, but Jack would be liable to arrest as soon as he came to any considerable Russian settlement. Jack at once said that he did not propose to make the long overland journey; his best plan would be to sail by junk from one of the Manchurian ports as soon as the coast was clear of ice. To go to Vladivostok was too risky; Possiet Bay was the nearest point, and the most promising in all respects. It was some hundreds of li distant, and there were high hills to be crossed; but Ah Lum offered to send with Jack a man who knew the country, and to issue orders to the headman of every important village, instructing him under pain of his severest displeasure and drastic penalties to do all in his power to forward the journey.

This having been settled, the question of the disposal of the prisoners arose.

"I am not one to mistake a village headman for the emperor," said the chief; "but fishes, though deep in the water, may be hooked, and I know I have a valuable fish in the Russian general. How many men think you a general is worth in exchanges?"

"That's a hard question, Mr. Ah. Some less than nothing: others an infinite amount."

"Then it will be a matter of long bargaining. As for the other man, he is of little account. The mule is always attended by a flea. The two men are companions: what does that prove? When the rat and the cat sleep together, be sure that the larder will be empty in the morning. As the fishmonger throws a sprat into the scale to make the salmon appear cheap, so will I deal with the Pole when I dispose of the Russian. But there is another point, my honoured friend; what is to become of these women whom Destiny has sent to trouble me?"

"Yes, that has troubled me, too. I must go and hear what they say."

Jack found Gabriele listening gravely to Ah Fu's recitation of the "May Queen".

"Mademoiselle, may I have a little serious talk with you? The chief is sadly perturbed about your presence here."

"Well, Monsieur Brown, it was your train that brought me. Seriously, I suppose I must go back to Father Mayenobe en route to Sakhalin, for sooner or later I will get there—on that I am determined. They may deport me, but I shall always return.—What will you do yourself?—not remain a Chunchuse?"

"No, indeed. I am going to find my father."

"To Sakhalin?"

"Yes."

"Oh! Monsieur Brown, cannot I come too? I may never get such a chance again. My poor father! he has been there six years. Take me with you."

"But, Mademoiselle——"

"I am very strong, really I am. Did I not walk for six hours yesterday? I will not delay your march."

"But think of the difficulties—a long mountain journey to begin with, a voyage in a junk at one of the worst seasons of the year, the danger of being discovered and arrested at any moment, exposure, perhaps hunger——"

"I am not afraid. And surely it will be better for me to face these hardships in your company than alone!"

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone! I have as strong a motive as you; my father—oh! I cannot bear to think of him ill and wretched. I shall go to Sakhalin. If you will not take me, and do not give me up to the Russians, I shall tramp to the coast and cross on the ice—alone."

Jack hardly knew whether to be amused at the absurdity of such a venture, or to be impressed with the girl's determination. That she meant what she said he had not the slightest doubt.

"But what about Masha?"

"Poor old thing! She declares she will never leave me. And she is quite strong—stronger than I am, though she is getting on in years. We shall get through somehow; the Lord God will protect us."

In face of this spirit Jack felt helpless. It was arranged that Gabriele and the nurse should accompany him. Their destination was kept secret from the band, lest by any mischance it should leak out. A week afterwards, Jack took a cordial farewell of Ah Lum, asking him, if he had any news to communicate, to write to him at the care of the Hong-Kong and Shanghai Bank at Shanghai. The leave-taking was conducted with due solemnity. There was no question as to Ah Lum's sincerity of feeling. He was unfeignedly sorry to lose the lieutenant who had done him such yeoman service. When he had exhausted the resources of his language to express his gratitude, he spent a few minutes in bestowing fatherly counsel on Jack, drawing lavishly from his well of proverbial wisdom. Jack found the draught a trifle turgid, but otherwise the quality was excellent.

"Difficulty and danger," began the chief, folding his hands and looking benignly over the rims of his spectacles—"difficulty and danger teach us to know the value of friendship; at the same time they winnow the true from the false, even as a husbandman winnows the grain from the chaff. I may never see you again; take from me a few words of counsel, learnt as well from life as from the works of the poets and sages. What says Li T'ai-poh?—'A good rule of conduct is better than stout armour or a sharp sword'. When you are most happy, you should be most ready to meet misfortune. Extreme joy is but a sign of grief to come. In security, do not forget danger. Do not consider any vice as trivial, and therefore practise it; nor any virtue as unimportant, and therefore neglect it. Let your words be few, and your companions select. Inattention to minute actions will ultimately be prejudicial to a man's virtue. Past events are as clear as a mirror; the future as obscure as lacquer; yet, gazing into that mirror, I seem to see reflected a future of great prosperity, high office, and a numerous progeny. Heaviness and care will come upon you, as upon all men; at such periods the works of Li T'ai-poh will prove a well of refreshment, a mine of solace. I have no fears for you. As the sun's rays first gild the highest mountains, so the blessings of Heaven fall in richest measure upon the upright. You have shown yourself to be an excellent son: what says the poet Wang Wei in his Address to Posterity?—

"'To him who faithfully his Father's Will obeys,

Heaven in its Bounty grants great Wealth and Length of Days'."

CHAPTER XXVII

Sakhalin

Abundant Profits—A Hut in Sakhalin—Sowinski and Another—Sympathy—Coincidence—Blood Money—Downhill

One brilliant April morning Jack set out towards Ninguta, accompanied by Gabriele and the servant, Hi Lo, and two trusty Chunchuses. They were all dressed in Chinese garb, and since Manchurian women do not deform their feet there was no difficulty for Gabriele on that score. But they carried Russian dresses and uniforms for use if necessary. They crossed the railway safely at night half-way between two of the block-houses; and, striking into the hills, followed a path that would take them a considerable distance south of Ninguta. Their great danger lay in the chance of meeting one of the Russian columns which had been engaged in rounding up Ah Lum; but the two bandits believed that they would hear of the proximity of any such troops in good time to avoid them.

Jack had discussed with Gabriele whether they should take Father Mayenobe's mission station in passing. On all grounds they decided that it would be best to leave the good priest undisturbed. No doubt he believed that Gabriele was well on the way to Europe; it would be a pity to renew his anxieties, and possibly involve him in trouble with the Russians.

While they were laboriously making their way over the hills, another member of Ah Lum's band, posing as a lumberman, travelled by the railway, newly restored and more strictly guarded than ever, to Vladivostok. He bore a letter from Gabriele to the man by whose aid she had communicated with her father in Sakhalin. The letter stated that the receiver might earn 500 roubles if he would accompany the bearer to Possiet Bay, and there meet the writer, who would then give him further instructions. Jack had little doubt that when they arrived they would find the man waiting. To an ex-convict of Sakhalin 500 roubles is a fortune.

The Chinese shipping interest at Possiet Bay was scandalized when it heard that Too Chin-seng was contemplating a voyage to Chifu at least three weeks before the usual season. The ice, it was true, was breaking in the harbour; but the weather was tempestuous outside; and large quantities of loose floe rendered navigation difficult and dangerous. There was much shaking of the head over the temerity of the ship-owner who was thus imperilling not only the lives of the crew but the safety of the vessel. He could easily get another crew; a vessel like the Yu-ye ("Abundant Profits") was more difficult to replace. She was a stout junk some sixty feet in length and fifteen in beam, built of thick wood to withstand the heavy seas of those northern latitudes, and from the Chinese point of view well found in all respects. That for the sake of a few weeks' gain in time a man should risk so valuable a craft seemed to the shipping world at Possiet Bay a wilful flying in the face of fortune, almost an insult to Ma Chu, the goddess who watched over good sailors.

Too Chin-seng went quietly about his preparations, not even swerving when his neighbours protested that by the time he returned from Chifu he would be too late for the early herring fishing off Sakhalin. One day the vessel, loaded with a cargo of rice, made her way with much creaking and groaning out of the harbour, her sides bumped and scratched by heavy ice floes. Before sailing she had undergone the usual inspection; the officials sniffed and pried, as though the dissatisfaction of the native community had infected them also; but everything was in order. The day was fine, the sea exceptionally smooth for the time of year; and when once free from the floating ice, the Yu-ye ran merrily before a light north-easter down the coast.

But towards evening, when off Cape Lesura, she hauled her wind and beat about as if in expectation of something. She had not long to wait. Half a dozen figures appeared on the shore; a sampan was launched from the edge of the ice and laboriously punted its way out to the junk. The passengers were got aboard with some difficulty, for the wind was rising and the sea beginning to be choppy. But, all being at length embarked, the junk clumsily beat out to sea, heading towards the coast of Yesso to the north-east.

"He can makee chop-chop sailo pidgin, lowdah?" asked Jack of Too Chin-seng at the tiller.

"My belongey numpa one junk, masta. Ping-ch'wahn no can catchee he, galaw!"

In a rough wooden hut on a hill-slope above a small lumber settlement on the south-east coast of Sakhalin two men were talking. It was nearly dark; a sputtering tallow candle threw a murky light over the room, showing up its bareness. A rickety table was the only article of furniture; a raised portion of the rugged wooden floor, covered with one or two frowsy blankets, served both for chairs and bed. On these blankets the two men were now seated.

One of them was a big, heavy-browed, uncouth fellow—a posselentsy; that is, one who having served his time in the convicts' prison, was now liberated, though not free. He could not leave the island, nor could he choose his place of residence; he was bound to live where the governor bade him live. On leaving the prison he had been furnished with implements and ordered to go and build himself a hut at the spot prescribed, and till the soil around it. For two years he had been provided with food enough to keep him from starving; after that he must keep himself by the labour of his hands—cutting wood, loading coal, mending bridges. His hut became the nucleus of a village, other convicts being sent to do as he had done. After fourteen years he might hope to be permitted to return to Siberia or Russia.

The posselentsy was sitting with his back against the log wall, taking frequent pulls at a bottle of vodka, which, though forbidden to the colonists except at the two great Russian festivals in October and January, is secretly manufactured in stills deep in the woods, and stealthily bought and sold. But this bottle was a present.

"Yes," he was saying in answer to a question; "he checks the logs loaded into store by the foremen of our artels."

"An easy job, no doubt," suggested the other man—the Pole Anton Sowinski.

"Easy! It's child's play. All he has to do is to count the logs and write the numbers in a book. Then the dirty Pole—I beg pardon; I forgot he was a countryman of yours—gives out the vouchers, and the work—work!—is done. I had the Englishman's job myself—until I made a mistake in the figures."

"A mistake!"

"Well, they said it was intended. At any rate they sent me back to the woods."

"And while this Englishman—this spy—and the other sit at their ease, you poor Russians have to do all the hard work. I suppose it is hard?"

"Hard! Try it, barin. Felling trees and splitting logs all day is not exactly a soft job. And to make matters worse, since this war has been going on they've set a lot of us fellows to deal with the fish—make the stinking fish manure that the Japanese used to make. The herring season is just beginning; that'll be my pleasant occupation next week."

"And that is the life you lead while the Englishman—the spy—and the other live like barins, eh? It is shameful."

The Russian took a long pull at the bottle. It was not often he got a chance of airing his grievances and drinking vodka from the continent—a great deal more to his taste than the crude poison of local manufacture.

"You are right; it is shameful."

"I wonder you don't do something."

"Do something! What can we do? We rob them when we get the chance, but that doesn't make things easier. Besides, they are not so bad after all—the Pole and the Englishman. The Englishman taught my boy to cast accounts; he's now a clerk in the superintendent's office. And the Pole taught my girl to speak French; she's now maid to the governor's lady. It didn't cost me a kopeck: no, they're not a bad sort."

"Still, think of the injustice."

"Yes, the injustice; that's what makes my blood boil. I was a robber; I tell you straight what I was; and I killed a gorodovoi who interfered with me: that's what brought me here. But what's that to being a spy, and plotting against the Little Father's life? No, and if I had my rights——"

The drink was beginning to take effect; the posselentsy was becoming noisy.

"Yes, yes," interrupted Sowinski; "and I suppose if the Englishman were out of the way you would stand a chance of getting your old job—his job—again?"

"Perhaps—if I could bribe the governor's secretary. But what chance is there of that? His price is too high for me. And besides, the Englishman is not out of the way, nor likely to be."

"And yet it might be managed too. A determined man like you, with say a couple of hundred roubles to back you, might go far."

The Russian was not so much fuddled that he failed to understand the drift of the other's words.

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously. "Speak plainly," he added, bringing his huge fist down upon the table with a bang that made the Pole wince. "What is your game?—that's what I put to you. You haven't come here—a barin like you—just to see me, and listen to my grumbles; I know that. No, nor yet for love of anybody else; I'm an old bird, I am, and I see what I see, I do. If you want anything out of me, I won't say I sha'n't meet you if you make it worth my while; but you'll have to speak out, man to man, you know; beating about the bush is no good with an old bird like me, not a bit of it."

"Quite so, my friend, quite so. Indeed, that is my way: a clear understanding—nothing kept back on either side."

"Well then, speak out, can't you? What is it? What do you want me to do, and what will you pay me for it?"

"That's what I like—plain speaking. Well, it seems that the matter stands thus: here are two men between your present hard life—an atrocious life, an unendurable life, a life worse than a dog's—and an easy life, a life with little to do and any amount of time to do it. It's a strange thing, but these very two men are hated by the government. The officials don't want to do anything openly: you know their way; but if the two men were suddenly to disappear——you understand?—well, the government at Alexandrovsk wouldn't take it amiss. Of course, there would be a kind of enquiry—a formal matter; and that would be all. But the officials must not appear in it. There are reasons. That is why, as I was coming here to see about a contract for railway sleepers, the matter was mentioned to me—by a high personage, you understand. I have with me——" he corrected himself hastily—"that is to say, not here, but at the superintendent's, two hundred roubles—fifty for an immediate present when an understanding is come to, another fifty when the disappearance takes place; the rest if the disappearance is so complete that no traces of the two are found—say within a month. But of course I must know what becomes of them."

"Ah! That's the game, is it? And what's to be the story for Petersburg, eh?"

"That's an easy matter. We'll say they bought false passports—there's a manufactory of those useful documents not a hundred miles from Nikolaievsk—and smuggled themselves away in a herring boat. That'll wash, don't you think?"

"If it goes down as easy as this vodka it'll go down uncommon easy," said the man with a chuckle.

"And there's plenty more where that came from. Well, what do you say?"

"I can't do it alone. I shall want some one to help. You—" he looked critically at the Pole—"you ain't the man for such a job. I'll have to get a pal. Ten roubles, now—I suppose you won't object to pay that, supposing you don't want to lend a hand yourself?"

"That shall not stand in the way. I shall have to pay the money out of my own pocket," he added as by an artistic inspiration.

The man flashed a shrewd glance at his visitor; but though he said nothing on the point, he was apparently making a note of something in his mind.

"Well, you leave it to me, barm," he said. "When I take a job in hand, my motto's 'thorough', it is. And mind you: when I see you next, another bottle of this vodka: that won't ruin a barin with two hundred roubles at the superintendent's office and ten in his own pocket, eh?"

A few minutes later Sowinski left the hut and stumbled out into the darkness—down the hill, dotted with rude huts dimly discernible in the gloom, towards the little bay where half a dozen junks engaged in the herring fishery lay at anchor. The road was broken by ruts and pitfalls; unconsciously the Pole groped his way over or past them, busy with his thoughts, which were blacker than the night, hurrying him to a deeper pitfall dug by himself for his own undoing.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Empty Hut

My Son—Liberty in Sight—Au Revoir!—Suspense—The Open Door—A Footprint—The Trail

While Sowinski was making his way down the hill, a sampan with two passengers put off in dead silence from one of the junks in the roadstead. The vessel had arrived that afternoon with a small cargo of rice; she was to ship a consignment of dried fish for Chifu. The loading was to be commenced at dawn on the following day; she was not to carry a full cargo, having to fill up with coal at Alexandrovsk; by the evening it was expected that her consignment would be on board, and she would sail again next morning.

The sampan moved without a splash towards the northern end of the bay, where there were no huts. The fishing settlement extended half round the southern end, and the lumber yards occupied the rest of the southern quarter and part of the northern. It was a very solitary spot at which the passengers landed, and the sampan-man—who happened also to be the owner of the junk—steering his little craft between two rocks, where he was secure from observation, squatted motionless, apparently awaiting the return of the two men whom he had just put ashore.

Making a circuit round the lumber settlement—a somewhat difficult matter in the dark—the two passengers, one of whom evidently knew the way and walked a pace or two in advance, stopped at a hut a little larger than the majority of those they had passed, and gently tapped at the door. No light was visible; the taller of the two men cleared his throat as in nervous impatience. A step was heard within; the door was opened, and a voice asked in Russian:

"Who is there?"

"It is I, gráf," said the man who had led the way. "I have a friend with me."

"Come in, then."

The two entered; the door was gently closed behind them. The outer room was in complete darkness; but, leading the way through that, Count Walewski opened a farther door, which led into a second room, dimly lighted by a couple of candles. A man was seated at a table, reading.

"Here is our friend Godunof, comrade," said the count in French.

Mr. Brown looked up—looked again, stared, then sprang to his feet.

"Jack!"

The taller of the two visitors brushed past Godunof, and father and son clasped hands. For a few moments not a word was spoken by either of them; a stranger might not perhaps have guessed from their manner that they had been parted for nearly a year—the father a victim of foul wrong, the son ignorant of the father's whereabouts and burning to avenge the wrong. But beneath his iron-gray moustache and beard Mr. Brown's lips were quivering, and Jack had a lump in his throat which made him incapable of speech when his father turned to the count and, keeping Jack's hand in his, said simply:

"My son, Count."

Count Walewski was deep in conversation with the other man. He seemed scarcely to comprehend what Brown had said.

"Your son! But—my daughter—you remember her letter; she is here, now, in a junk at the shore; Godunof says so; it bewilders me; am I dreaming? Your son!—they came together; Godunof tells me they have come to take us away. After all these years!—Brown, this will kill me!"

The count, trembling like a leaf, leant for support against the crazy table.

"Sit down, my friend," said Brown. "We must keep our heads. Jack has come on a desperate adventure; it takes my breath away; he must tell us what it means."

A long conversation ensued—not long in point of time, but in the amount of matter compressed into it. The difficulty of arranging the escape lay in the impossibility of knowing from what quarter the wind would be blowing at any hour that might be determined. Without a favourable wind the Yu-ye could not get out to sea; and it would be madness for Mr. Brown and the count to go aboard until there was a practical certainty of the junk being able to slip away. As soon as they were missed, every boat in the roadstead would be searched. And even if the vessel cleared the bay, there was always a risk of its being followed by the government launch engaged to patrol the fishing settlements along the coast, perhaps by a gunboat sent from Korsakovsk in response to a telegram. The launch at this moment lay at anchor in the bay, and unless the Yu-ye got a good start and a fair wind, it must inevitably be overhauled, though the government boat was an old and crazy vessel whose best work was long since done.

Granted a favourable wind, then, it was arranged that the two, the following midnight, should make their way down to the point at which Jack had landed. If the wind proved unfavourable, the departure must be postponed. The junk would slip her moorings at the first glint of dawn, and before the escape was discovered Jack hoped they would be hull down on the horizon.

"But what speed can you make?" asked Mr. Brown. "You can't outrun a steamer."

"I doubt whether the launch would venture far into the open," said Godunof, the colonist who had carried the letters between Gabriele and her father. "She can't stand heavy weather, and a gale may spring up at any moment in these seas. Besides, she'd be chary of meeting Japanese cruisers in the Strait of La Perouse. I wonder, indeed, she ventured into this bay—no better than an open roadstead, and exposed to attack."

"She only arrived two days ago from Korsakovsk," said Mr. Brown. "She came on a matter of revenue; nothing else brings her here."

"Well, we must chance it, Father," said Jack. "We've got here safely, and please God we shall get away safely too. We can run for the nearest Japanese port, and there we'll be as safe as—as in Portsmouth Harbour, by Jove!"

The plan having been discussed rapidly, yet with anxious care, Jack took leave of the two gentlemen—all three with full hearts wondering whether they would ever meet again—and returned by the way he had come.

His return was eagerly expected on board the junk. He had scarcely clambered over the side when a figure closely enwrapped in Chinese dress moved towards him.

"Did you see him?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle. He was overcome at the news that you were here."

"And is he well? And your father—both well? Oh, Monsieur Jack, I pray that nothing, nothing, may happen! Nobody knows of your visit?—you are quite sure? You made them understand?—the time, the place, the wind? To think that we have to wait a whole night and day! I can hardly endure it!"

"I am just as bad, really, Mademoiselle. Lucky for me we have to load up to-morrow; that will give me something to do. By this time to-morrow——"

The next day was a time of dreary waiting. It was a bright morning, the sky clear, the sea smooth—too smooth, thought Jack, anxiously whistling for a wind. The cargo was taken on board—smelling horribly, but Gabriele waived Jack's condolences: what was such an unpleasantness beside the larger matter of her father's safety? As the day wore on, black clouds came scudding out of the north; the wind freshened minute by minute, and the junk began to roll.

"The wind serves!" cried Gabriele joyfully. "Oh for the dark!"

Some time before the hour agreed upon, the sampan was punted to the appointed spot. In it were Jack, Hi Lo, and the owner of the Yu-ye. The wind was roaring, the sky was black, the tide full, and the Chinaman had much ado to prevent his craft from being dashed against the rocks. Time passed; nobody appeared. Jack looked at his watch; it was twenty minutes after midnight. What had delayed the prisoners? Another twenty minutes; he was becoming uneasy. What could have happened? Godunof could not have played him false; the colonist had not returned to the junk with him the night before, but since he had received only a portion of the reward promised him, it was unlikely that he had betrayed the secret. Had the prisoners been delayed by an unexpected visitor? Had they started and been caught? All kinds of possibilities occurred to him.

At last, when the two were fully an hour and a half late, he could endure the anxiety and suspense no longer. He resolved to go up to the hut, and alone. But when he told the Chinaman what he intended, and asked him to put him ashore, Hi Lo spoke:

"My go long-side masta."

"No, no; you must stay and look after Mademoiselle."

"My no wantchee stay-lo; my no can do. Masta wantchee some piecee man allo-time long-side; ch'hoy! what-fo' Hi Lo no belongey that-side?"

The boy was already slipping over the side of the sampan.

"Very well then," said Jack reluctantly.

Then, turning to the Chinaman, he bade him remain at the same spot until near dawn. If by that time Jack had not returned, the man was to go back to the junk and come again when darkness fell on the following night. He must find some excuse for not putting to sea, and not let it be known that anyone connected with the junk was ashore. Above all, he was to watch over the women.

With great caution Jack and the boy stole round the settlement towards Mr. Brown's hut. Unfortunately, as Jack thought, a bright moon was shining fitfully through gaps in the scudding cloud; and having to take advantage of every patch of shadow when it appeared, their progress was slow. The wind was bitter cold; the spring-like promise of the earlier part of the day had been succeeded by a sharp frost, which had already hardened the slush and mud except in places sheltered from the blast. The thin ice on standing pools broke under their tread, with a crackle that gave Jack a tremor lest it should have been heard. But there was not a light or a movement in the settlement, nor any sound save the whistling of the wind and the booming of the surf on the shore.

Stealthily they made their way up the hillside. They arrived at the hut. The door was closed, the window dark. Jack tried to peer through interstices between the rough logs of the wall; he put his ear against the wood; he heard nothing, saw no glimmer of light. With a sinking heart he pushed gently at the door. It yielded to his touch. He entered, groping in the dark; and bidding Hi Lo close the door, he struck a match and held it above his head. Feeble as the light was, it showed enough to strike him cold with despair. The hut was empty, and in disorder. A chair was overturned; a half-burnt candle lay on the floor; the table was pushed into a corner, and a book had fallen beneath it and stood on its bent leaves. Jack picked up the candle and lit it. The clean boards of the floor were marked with many muddy stains as of scuffling feet. Dreading to search, Jack yet looked for traces of blood; there were none. But among the marks one struck him particularly—a huge footprint, too large to have been made by either Count Walewski or his father. Someone had entered before the ground outside had frozen. But the struggle—everything in the bare hut spoke of a struggle—must have taken place after the fall of dusk, for with a pair of old perspective glasses found in the junk Jack had kept a close watch on the hut, and had seen his father enter, late in the afternoon, with another figure—presumably the count.

Dazed with this sudden set-back to his hopes, Jack sat down on one of the chairs, resting his throbbing head upon his hands. A feeling of utter helplessness paralysed him. Hi Lo stood watching him, the boy's whole attitude one of mute sympathy. Had the authorities got wind of the plot, thought Jack, and again spirited his father away? Had Godunof, the ex-convict, betrayed him? Scarcely, or a police visit would have been made to the junk, and he himself arrested. He tried to pull himself together; he must do something, and at once; but what? He could not tell; he was in the dark; and Gabriele in the junk was waiting, listening, wondering why ere this she was not in her father's arms.

Bending forward in his misery, suddenly his eye fell on the huge footmark made with a clay-clogged boot on the white floor. The boot must have been of quite unusual size; what could have been the stature of the man who owned it? Jack suddenly sprang up; if there was such a footmark within, would there not be others, similar, without? By them could not the assailants be traced? He was convinced that his father and the count had been attacked: should he rouse the settlement? Their lives might be in danger; in warning the authorities he would at the worst only risk his own liberty. But supposing the authorities themselves should be concerned in the matter! To appeal to them would then be worse than useless; he would merely sacrifice his own freedom, and with it all possibility of serving his father.

Still the footmark stared at him. An idea suggested itself. Could he trace the man himself? He had never followed any trail but that of a paper-chase; but what of that? It was worth a trial. In a rapid whisper he told his thoughts to Hi Lo. The boy nodded with full comprehension. Jack blew out the light, and pocketed the candle; then the two groped their way to the door and issued forth into the moonlit night.

CHAPTER XXIX

The Heart of the Hill

Trackers—Voices—Into the Open—Waiting for Dawn—Demons—Greater Love—Choke Damp—Found—A Rusty Chain—From the Depths—Explanations

The moonlight and the frost, which Jack had been disposed to regard as hindrances, were now all in his favour. The moon threw just sufficient light to enable him to avoid obstacles and to see the impressions of footsteps in the mud, which the frost had suddenly hardened. Bending low, he was at first unable to distinguish, among the many footprints in front of the hut, the large one for which he was so intently looking; but a little distance away he had no difficulty in picking out two separate trails of the enormous foot, one approaching the hut, the other receding from it. It was the latter that must be followed, and with Hi Lo at his side Jack walked as quickly as possible over the glistening track.

Every now and then the traces disappeared, for whenever the moonlight was obstructed by a cloud, a hut, or a tree, it was impossible to see clearly enough to distinguish them. Then it was that Hi Lo proved himself invaluable, and made Jack thankful he had not refused the boy's request. It was he, as a rule, who succeeded in finding the lost trail; scouting ahead like a sleuth-hound, he seemed to be able to see in the dark.

The way led steeply uphill. It was hard and rough going, following a narrow road probably used for the haulage of timber. Under the thin coating of ice the mud was deep, and at times their feet sank up to the ankle. The little hamlet of log huts was soon left behind; they came into a clearing dotted with the low stumps of trees; here, evidently, had been felled the timber of which the huts were built. Then they passed into a densely wooded clump, through which in the darkness they had to grope their way. Once or twice Jack ventured to light a match; this being the sheltered side of the hill, there was no wind, and during the few moments of feeble light Hi Lo could assure himself that they had not lost the trail. Crossing more rapidly another open stretch, they entered a still thicker and darker patch of wood. When, after going some distance into this, Jack again struck a match, the boy, peering on hands and knees, declared that the footprints were no longer visible. They must needs go back to pick up the trail, far more difficult to distinguish in these forest depths than in the open. The search took time; anxiety was all the while tearing at Jack's heart-strings, but he schooled himself to patience. At last they came again upon the huge footprint with which they had now grown familiar. Lighting the candle-end, Jack traced the mark for a few yards on the upward path; then, together with the other footprints, it suddenly disappeared.

"What in the world are we to do?" whispered Jack.

The forest was dense on each side of the path. At the few points in the course of their journey where a gap let through the moonlight, they had seen extraordinary effects, the trees seeming to have been tossed about by giants, lying at all angles against the trunks that had arrested their fall. But the path had been cleared of these obstructions, for if not removed, the waleshnik, as the fallen timber is called, would soon block up any forest road in Sakhalin.

Groping about, Hi Lo at length discovered, to the right of the main path, a fallen tree that concealed a narrower track, made by men, but apparently no longer in use, and partially overgrown. For some time the keen little fellow's search failed to find the footprint, but at last, at a break in the undergrowth, he pounced upon it. The man with the big feet had evidently passed this way. Jack struck up the path; it was steeper now, and blocked at many points by trees that had been allowed to remain where they fell; but it was fairly broad, and at one time must have been as important and as frequently used as the path they had just left. Here and there they came to a clearing—the work of fire; blackened stumps standing grim and gaunt in the moonlight. Then on into the forest beyond, picking their way by touch rather than sight, barking their shins and rasping their elbows against obstacles they were unable to avoid.

The air was pervaded by the musty smell of decayed vegetation. It was silent as the grave save when a quick rustle told of some wild beast scurrying away into the thicket. Suddenly Hi Lo stopped, putting his hand on Jack's arm.

"What is it?" murmured Jack.

The boy instantly clapped his hand upon his master's mouth, and pulled him from the path through a mass of tangled undergrowth. They were at the edge of a small clearing. Through the still air Jack could now hear voices ahead; then came the faint glimmer of a light; and soon, as they crouched breathless behind a friendly trunk, two figures appeared on the farther side of the clearing, coming towards them, one carrying a lantern. The men's voices were low; even in this remote spot they were doubtless mindful that it is illegal to be abroad after dark. Jack held his breath as they passed within two yards of him. He caught a few words in Russian.

"How long do you think?"

"About three or four days—unless they can eat coal!"

Then a hoarse chuckle.

The voices receded; the light died away; the men were gone. One of them was tall and broad, a son of Anak: clearly the owner of the giant foot.

His heart thumping against his ribs, Jack waited until he thought all was safe; then with Hi Lo he recommenced his climb up the wooded hill. He had no doubt that these men, whose voices the boy had fortunately heard in time, were concerned in the disappearance of his father and the count. But what had been done with them? Were it not for the evidences of the struggle Jack would have been tempted to suppose that the men were in league with the two prisoners, conniving at or assisting their escape. But the state of the hut belied any such thought.

It was some time before he ventured to strike another match in order to make sure that he was still on the track; the merest glimmer seen from below might lead to disaster. When at last he thought it safe to do so, he saw clear indications of the recent passage of several feet. He hurried on at the greatest speed the difficult path and the darkness allowed, and after some twenty minutes emerged upon a kind of table-land above the bay. He remembered seeing it from the junk—a huge terrace in the hills, sloping gradually upward, and after about a mile ending in another steep incline. The road was here more easy to follow; there were no fallen trees; it was the so-called tundra of Sakhalin. The trees were not so thick: through gaps in them he caught glimpses of the sea, silvery in the moonlight; and he thought of the fair girl waiting in the junk, now doubtless in an agony of apprehension regarding her father's fate.

The two pressed on. By and by they came to the steeper ascent. It was necessary once more to verify the trail. Fearful lest a gleam should give the alarm below, Jack took off his hat and struck a match within it. There were the footsteps, going up and down the hill, which was not, like the slope below, covered with trees. Indeed, during the last few hundred yards the two searchers had stumbled over sleepers, rails, and other things indicating a railroad either abandoned or in course of construction. Once they came full upon an upturned truck; a little beyond, upon a coil of wire rope. Jack stopped more than once to examine these impediments, always careful to conceal his light; and he concluded that they were rather the relics of a railway than material for a new line. He was still wondering what had tempted Russian enterprise to construct and then to abandon a railway in this spot, so remote and difficult of access, when the explanation came suddenly. He found himself among the outworks of a deserted coal-mine. The ground was littered with timber, dross, rusty tools; the path had come to an end; and Jack stopped abruptly, at a loss what to do.

It was hopeless in the darkness to attempt to explore the workings, for he had no doubt now that his father and Count Walewski had been brought here and left in some remote part of the mine, to perish of starvation. He saw through the villainous scheme. "About three or four days—unless they can eat coal!"—the words were now explained. What the motive was he could not guess. The conspirators had shrunk from murdering their victims outright; but when starvation had done its work they would no doubt come upon the scene, discover the dead bodies, and claim the reward which the governor would probably have offered for news of the fugitives.

The matches were used up; it would be dangerous to attempt to trace out a route in thick darkness. All that could be done was to wait for the dawn. What that might bring forth who could tell? With morning light the prisoners would certainly be missed, and a hue and cry would be raised. Even if the plot were the work of officials, still a search would be made. In that case it would be perfunctory; while if they were innocent undoubtedly they would scour the country all round the settlement. There would be little to guide them. The main path from the hut was largely used; many tracks crossed and recrossed on it; and if the night's frost was succeeded by a thaw, as was almost certain, the footprints would become mere puddles and give no clue.

Jack and the boy made themselves as comfortable as possible in the shelter of an overhanging cliff; but the hours till dawn seemed to creep along. Jack's thoughts dwelt in turn on the prisoners and their fate, and on Gabriele waiting in the junk. She was dressed in Chinese clothes, but would she escape undetected when the vessels in the bay were searched in the morning? Jack was tempted to send Hi Lo back, so that she might be warned; but second thoughts counselled him to wait until daylight. He might then at least let her know whether the count was alive or dead.

There was no sleep that night for either Jack or Hi Lo. As soon as it was light enough to see the ground they resumed their search. Almost immediately Jack understood why they had failed to pick up the trail the night before. The party had climbed on to a ledge of bare rock a few feet above the ground, and on this their boots had left no mark. But a little farther up the hill the track could be distinguished. It led directly towards a dark opening in the cliff—one of the galleries of the deserted mine.

As they approached the opening, Hi Lo began to shake with fear. A mine to an unsophisticated Chinaman is a terrible thing. He believes that the delving of the earth lets loose innumerable demons, enraged at the disturbance of their homes. So strong is this belief that mining is actually forbidden by law, though the law is now fast becoming a dead letter. Hi Lo knew nothing of western progress, and he implored Jack to turn aside from this black tunnel into the earth. Jack did not laugh at the boy's fears; he told him to remain at the entrance and give warning if anyone approached. Then he stepped into the mouth of the gallery.

He had already concluded that the mine consisted of galleries, not of shafts. The outcrop of coal was visible in the side of the hill. He therefore had no fear of coming unexpectedly upon a pit. But he groped his way along with great caution; the truck rails had not been removed from the floor of the gallery. The air was pure; he felt indeed a slight draught, which pointed to the existence of an outlet of some kind in the direction in which he was going. After proceeding for a few minutes he was brought to an abrupt halt by a solid wall of rock in front. Feeling each side of the gallery, he found that the passage branched off to right and left. Which turning should he take? He stood in indecision; in the darkness there was nothing to guide his choice. Then it occurred to him to shout. If his father and the count were in the mine, they were doubtless alone: they would hear his call, though it were inaudible outside. He gave a halloo, and listened; he heard nothing but the sound rumbling along the passages. He shouted again; there was an answering cry behind him; then the patter of footsteps hurrying, stumbling along towards him. Facing round, he raised his fist to fell an enemy; but a small form cannoned against him, and a boy's voice uttered a gasping yell. It was Hi Lo. Hearing the shout, he had unhesitatingly plunged into the blackness. Anxious as the moment was, Jack admired the spirit of the little fellow, who, to come to his assistance, had braved dangers none the less terrifying because so purely imaginary.

"Well done!" said Jack, patting his arm. "Now run back and wait for me. I'm all right here."

"My no can do," said Hi Lo decisively. "My stay-lo long-side masta. Big piecee debbils this-side; my helpum masta fightey; my no can lun wailo."

"Very well. Keep close."

Again and again he shouted, always without response. Then at a venture he turned into the right-hand passage. After a few yards he felt Hi Lo's hold on his tunic relax. The boy had fallen to the ground. Hastily stooping he picked him up, almost falling as he breathed the lower stratum of air, and staggered with his burden to the main gallery. He had but just reached it when he himself was overcome and sank to the floor. He did not lose consciousness, but his head buzzed and swam, and he felt a horrid nausea. When he was somewhat recovered, he carried Hi Lo back to the entrance, and was relieved to find that in the open air the boy quickly regained consciousness. But he could not expose the little fellow again to such peril; bidding him remain at the spot, and on no account to follow, he plunged once more into the darkness.

This time he turned into the left-hand passage, and found that it sloped rapidly upward. Before long he was brought up by a similar obstacle; the gallery again divided. He felt a slight current of air strike against him from the left-hand side; in that direction he continued to grope along. If the words he had overheard meant anything, they meant that the prisoners might be expected to survive for a few days. As that would be impossible in the foul air of the unventilated passages, he could not be wrong in pressing forward wherever he could breathe. Again he shouted; again there was no reply but a series of echoes. But moving on again, and listening intently, he fancied he heard a low continuous rumbling ahead; this could not be an echo. The sound grew stronger as he advanced; in a few moments he understood its cause; it was unmistakably the sound of falling water. Stepping now with still greater caution, he soon became aware that he was within a few yards of the waterfall; the sound seemed to rise from beneath his feet. He threw himself on his face and crawled forward—and the floor ended; he was on the verge of a precipice.

With a shudder and a long breath he drew back. For some distance he had noticed that the walls of the passage suggested to the touch stone rather than coal. They were hard as flint, and the roof was so low that he had to bend almost double. Apparently it was a prospector's gallery, not a real working. He wished he had a match; in the current of air that he now clearly felt, there was little risk of explosion from fire-damp. But his box was empty. He understood that the sound of the waterfall must hitherto have smothered his shouts; but if he hallooed now he might be heard, if there was anyone within hearing. Making a bell of his hands he uttered a shrill coo-ee. It gave him a kind of shock when, apparently from only a few feet below him, there came an answering call.

"Is that you, Father?"

"Yes. For heaven's sake be careful, Jack. It is a sheer drop. Wait a moment."

Mr. Brown struck a match. Jack peered over the edge. There, some fifteen feet below, on a broad ledge of rock sprayed by the waterfall that plunged past it into a dark abyss, stood his father and Count Walewski. The rock above them was perpendicular and smooth; on either side of them the ledge rounded inwards; in front of them yawned the unfathomable gulf. As he looked, the match went out, and with the return of complete darkness a feeling of terror seized upon him; his limbs shook, his skin broke into a cold sweat.

"Are you there, old boy?"

"Yes."

"You've no matches, I suppose?"

"No, but—of course, I've a candle-end." Jack was pulling himself together. "Do you think you could pitch up your box, Father?"

"I can try. I'll strike a match; the count will hold it so that I can get an aim."

Both spoke in a loud tone, to be heard above the splash and roar of the fall. Count Walewski held the lighted match aloft; Jack stretched himself to the edge of the precipice; his father, retreating a few feet along the ledge, took careful aim, and tossed the box of matches gently into Jack's outstretched hands. In a moment the scene was faintly illumined.

"You see how we stand, Jack; can you get us up?"

"You were let down by a rope?"

"Yes; they took it away with them."

Jack remembered the coil of wire-rope he had noticed at the entrance to the mine. It had no doubt been formerly used for hauling the trucks.

"Wait a few minutes, Father. I'm going to see what I can do."

"Blow the candle out; there isn't much of it left."

Again the scene was in darkness. Jack hurried back along the passage, and found Hi Lo at the entrance. Together they retraced their steps to the spot where the coil of wire lay. As Jack feared, it was too heavy to carry; it proved too thick to break. Wasting no time here, he sent Hi Lo in one direction while he went in another to search for any stray rope that would be long enough for his purpose. He came to a tumble-down hut which from its contents he guessed had been the foreman's tool-house. Rummaging about among its rubbish, he found a chain some ten yards long, rusty, but quite strong enough to bear a man's weight. In a corner stood a broken sledge-hammer; and among a heap of bolts, clamps, and miscellaneous old iron he came upon several iron wedges such as are used for breaking hard ground and rock. With these they hurried back to the waterfall. Lighting the candle again, Jack, now in complete possession of his faculties, saw that the ledge on which his father and Count Walewski stood was at the base of a cavern. By the feeble glimmer he drove two of the wedges into the floor of the passage. Then he quickly attached one end of the chain to them and lowered the other end. In this Mr. Brown made a loop, which he tested.

"The Count first," he shouted.

The poor old nobleman, who was ten years his elder, and older than his years through the sufferings he had endured, sat in the loop and clung to the chain with his thin feeble hands. Hi Lo coiled the chain round the wedges to prevent an accident, and Jack, steadily hauling on the chain, brought the Count—a very light weight—to the edge of the precipice. Then he firmly secured the chain to the wedges, and, his hands being now free, lifted the Pole over the brink. The old man, broken down by his terrible experiences and exhausted from lack of food, was at first helpless; but when he had recovered from the terror of his ascent, all three hauled on the chain, and succeeded in drawing Mr. Brown up.

"Thank God!" he said, as he gripped Jack's hand.

The Count murmured a feeble but heartfelt "Amen!"

"Let us get away from the noise of the waterfall," said Jack. "Then we can talk over the next step. Please God, we'll get you clear away yet, Father."

They withdrew for some distance into the passage, and sat down. In a few words Mr. Brown explained what had happened: how on the previous evening, when they had been reading in their hut, they had been surprised and overpowered by two ruffianly posselentsys and forced to accompany their captors up the hill path. The men were unknown to Mr. Brown; he could only explain their action by supposing that the plot to rescue him and Count Walewski had been discovered.

"How did you find us out, Jack?"

"We tracked the fellows by the footprint of one of them; or rather Hi Lo did; he has done me many a good turn since you disappeared, Father; I'll tell you the whole story when you are safe."

"What are we to do, Jack?"

"It won't be safe to leave here before night. If we did, we should be sure to run up against one of the search parties that are probably out by this time."

"You're right. I can manage to hold out, I think; but I'm afraid for Count Walewski. He's not so strong as I am; we've both been without food for more than twelve hours."

"My go fetchee chow-chow," said Hi Lo instantly.

Jack looked dubiously at the boy. Was it safe? he wondered. Hi Lo pleaded so earnestly to be allowed to go that Jack at last consented.

"Be very careful," he said. "When you get out of the mine, go a roundabout way to the shore. If you get there safely you'll be able to reach the junk. Tell Mademoiselle that we hope to see her to-night, and bring just enough food to keep us going until then. Be as quick as you can, boy, and hide if you see anybody on the way."

"Allo lightee, masta; my lun chop-chop; no piecee Lusski catchee Hi Lo, no fea'!"

And he slipped away.

CHAPTER XXX

Crowded Moments

A Search Party—Touch and Go—Food—Sowinski Reappears—Trackers Tracked—Recrimination—De Profundis—After Long Years

"Now, Jack," said Mr. Brown when Hi Lo was gone, "do you think it safer to stay here, or to leave the mine and hide in the woods till the evening?"

"Here certainly, Father. If we go away we stand a chance of running up against a search party. They are bound to search the workings."

"Yes, if they remember the mine," said the Count. "It has not been worked for several years. And suppose they come into it. How can we escape them?"

"Hi Lo and I nearly came to grief in one of the galleries. The air was very foul. We might hide there, going as far in as is safe. We could keep wet handkerchiefs about our mouths and hold out longer than the pursuers. They wouldn't dare to strike a light for fear of an explosion."

"What is the height of the gallery?" asked Mr. Brown.

"From five to eight feet, I should say. It varies. The other galleries seem to be regular."

"Well, whatever the height, the purer air will be at the top. If in one of the higher parts we could raise a platform and mount it we might venture farther in than if we remained on the floor. Can we do that?"

"Yes, there are some logs just at the entrance. It's worth risking, and the sooner the better."

Hurrying to the entrance, Mr. Brown and Jack carried in as many balks of timber as they could find, dropping them at the turning of the gallery. Then, holding their breath, they rushed one of the logs into the gallery as far as they dared, and ran back to the open passage. They repeated this operation until a small platform was raised some two feet above the floor; then, bidding Jack remain in safety, Mr. Brown mounted to test the result. He found that the air, though foul, was not bad enough to be dangerous. The position would be endurable for a few minutes. He hoped that it would not be necessary to have recourse to this unpleasant place of refuge, but it was well to know that it existed in case of need. Then, somewhat sickened by the foul air they had swallowed, they went to find the Count, who had volunteered to keep watch at the entrance to the mine.

He reported that he had seen, far off on the hillside, two parties of men moving in different directions, in a manner that suggested a search. But they had now disappeared. For some time nothing further was seen, and Jack and his father took the opportunity to exchange confidences about all that had happened since that June day when they had parted at the door of their house in Moukden.

Suddenly the Count, who had remained constantly on the watch, considerately leaving father and son to themselves, touched Mr. Brown on the arm and pointed. The heads of half a dozen men could be seen topping the brow of a slope about 300 yards below them. Instantly the three withdrew into the first gallery, taking the precaution to remove their boots, so that they would not be heard if they had to retreat to the platform. In a few minutes they heard the echoing voices of the men as they left the open and entered the mine. It was impossible to see who they were, but the Count recognized the voice of one of the prison warders, and Mr. Brown that of a prisoner who had occupied the next bed when he was for a week in hospital. It was soon apparent what the prisoner had been brought for. The party halted within a few yards of the fugitives, and their words were now distinctly audible.

"Now, Scuratoff, you know the galleries?" said the warder.

"Yes; I worked here seven years ago."

"Then lead the way. Is it safe to light a lantern?"

"Maybe; I cannot say. It used to be safe enough in the main gallery, but in my time there was foul air in the side galleries. We had safety-lamps."

"Yes, confound it! I looked for a safety-lamp, but there wasn't one to be found in the place. We must do the best we can with the ordinary lantern; and to make sure, we'll only use it in the main gallery. If the air in the others is too foul for a light, it will be too foul for life."

The waiting fugitives heard the click of the lantern as the warder opened it, and silently retreated into the side gallery, raising their make-shift respirators to their mouths. They saw a feeble light at the junction of the two passages. The search party continued their progress and halted where the galleries branched, being now in full view of the three within.

"This is the dangerous passage—this one to the right," said the prisoner. "Better take the light away."

The warder retreated some paces with the lantern.

"Go in, Scuratoff, as far as you can. Foul air be hanged! You'll be well rewarded, remember, if you find the runaways—a year off your sentence, at any rate."

The man groped his way in, while Jack and the others quietly drew back to the little platform, where they took their stand. Nearer and nearer drew the Russian; it seemed as though he must discover them, and Jack's hand instinctively went to one of the two pistols he had had the forethought to bring from the junk. Then the voice of the warder, sounding hollow in the vaulted passage, was heard calling.

"Do you find anything?"

"Neither man nor beast," replied the prisoner in a shout. Hitherto he had held his breath, but after speaking he took a mouthful of the foul air. Instantly he turned, rushed down the passage, and stumbled gasping at the opening into the main gallery.

His companions dragged him out into the purer air, and the warder retreated still farther with the lantern. Jack and the others stepped down from the platform, and hurried towards the main gallery, to get the much-needed air while the man was being revived.

"That's enough for that one," they heard the warder say. "We'll push on."

When the searchers passed the entrance of the gallery, the fugitives had again retreated, but were within two yards of them.

It was long before the Russians returned, and meanwhile the fugitives ventured into the main gallery, to enjoy the comparatively pure air as long as they could before they had again to seek shelter. At last the search party, baffled, passed by towards the entrance. Jack heard the warder commenting on the chain they had seen hanging over the edge of the precipice. Somebody at some time must have descended by its means to the ledge; but if the fugitives, they had paid the penalty, for there was no sign of them.

They left the mine. Ten minutes afterwards Jack ventured as far as the entrance. They had disappeared.

By and by Hi Lo returned with a small supply of food, which the three ate ravenously. He reported that every junk in the bay had been searched; and that the "missy" had hardly been prevailed upon not to return with him, so anxious was she to see her father. The condition of Count Walewski was pitiful to behold. Privation and anxiety were telling upon his already broken constitution, and Jack feared lest under the terrible suspense his heart strings should snap.

"Keep a good heart, my friend," said Mr. Brown. "In a few hours all will be well."

The day wore away, all too slowly, and evening settled down over the hillside. Jack, looking out, saw a slight mist rising from the sea, and welcomed it as favouring their dash to the bay, where the vessels at anchor were already raising their riding-lights. So intent was he upon the scene seawards that he had not noticed two men, who were coming up from the woods, furtively, as if fearful of being observed. When he did see them, he shrank back in momentary alarm, remembering immediately that as he had not left the shade of the dark entrance he could not have been seen. He watched their approach. One of the two was of huge stature; the other!——Jack felt his heart leap, for the other, whom in the distance he recognized rather by his gait than his features, was Anton Sowinski, the man whom he believed to be hundreds of miles away in Manchuria, in the safe hands of Ah Lum.

"Look-see, masta!" whispered Hi Lo at his elbow. "Polo man, galaw!"

Once more his father's enemy was upon his track. The Pole's presence was of evil import. What was he doing here? Was he merely a searcher, like the rest? He halted near the entrance, and the taller man, who overtopped him by at least six inches, stooped and drew from behind a broken truck a coil of rope. Then both came into the gallery.

Jack slipped back to the others.

"Sowinski!" he said in a whisper. During their conversation earlier in the day he had told his father of his dealings with the Pole, and of the man's identity with Ladislas Streleszki, the traitorous steward of the Count. This news Mr. Brown had kept from the old man, who had been all along in absolute ignorance that he owed his exile and imprisonment to a member of his own household.

Once more the fugitives shrank back into the foul passage. As the two men passed the entrance Jack heard Sowinski say:

"I cannot understand it. Are you sure they searched the cavern? There are not two caverns?"

"No, barin. There is only one. Scuratoff guided them; there is no mistake."

They turned into the left-hand passage. Jack instantly resolved to follow them. Without his boots he would be inaudible, and they carried no light. Accustomed as he now was to the darkness of the mine, he could move about it more rapidly than the Pole and his companion. He whispered his intention to his father.

"Better not."

"I don't think there's any danger. We three should be able to deal with the men, big as the Russian is. I'll give you one of my pistols. Hi Lo can fetch an iron rail from the workings for the Count to use."

"Very well, but be careful, my boy."

Jack slipped away in the wake of the two conspirators. In a few moments he heard the Russian apparently hailing someone in a low voice. Approaching within a few yards of them he heard the man still hailing. There was no reply. Then there was the chink of a boot against a chain.

"What's that?" cried Sowinski in his harsh voice. "Light your candle."

The posselentsy lit his candle. The two saw the chain wound about the wedges, and hanging over the brink. Jack wished he had removed it.

"Scuratoff had no rope," said the Russian. "He must have gone down to the ledge with this. Now tell me if I was right, barin."

"Hold your tongue, fool! The candle throws no light downward. Let it down over the edge."

Fastening it to the rope, the posselentsy paid the latter slowly out. A dash of spray from the waterfall extinguished the flame.

"Pull it up again!" cried Sowinski with a curse. Jack felt instinctively that the man was at a white heat of baffled rage.

Once more the candle, lighted after some trouble, was lowered. This time it escaped a wetting. The Russian stretched himself on his face and peered over.

"I can see nothing. Bozhe moï! They are not there."

He rose slowly and clumsily, pulling up the rope with the candle at the end. Then he turned and faced the Pole, and by the sputtering light Jack saw the look of silly amazement on his face.

"What did I tell you, you clumsy, hulking fool!" cried Sowinski through set teeth. "You've bungled it; idiot that you are. Why, why, I repeat, didn't you take my hint and do for them outright?"

"If it comes to that," replied the man, red with sullen anger, "why didn't you do it yourself? You wanted to run no risks; you wanted it done cheap; did you think I'd chance another twenty years in the prison yonder for two hundred roubles? No, I wouldn't do it. This was your plan; your plan, to save a few paltry roubles. I'd have cracked their heads if you'd made it worth my while; you've only yourself to blame."

"Yes, I was a fool to trust the thing to a sheep-headed lout like you."

"Sheep-headed! Look you, I stand no abuse. I've done your job; two hundred roubles is little enough for it; and I'll trouble you to hand over the balance."

"The balance!" snarled Sowinski. "Eka! You may think yourself lucky to have got what you have. You get no more from me."

"We'll see about that, you white-livered little rat!"

The man made a sudden step forward and shot out his free hand to grip the Pole by the throat. But Sowinski, instinctively aware of what was coming, drew back quickly, his right hand seeking his pocket. The Russian saw the movement, flung himself forward,—dropping the candle, which sputtered on the floor of the passage—seized the Pole with his right hand, and with the left clutched at the other's right arm. But he was a second too late. He missed his grasp, and even as he swung his opponent round with the intention of hurling him into the abyss, there was a flash and a report that startled a hundred echoes from the cavern and the galleries. The Russian gave a quick grunt; then all was in darkness; they had trodden out the light. Into the next moments so much was crowded that Jack could never disentangle the separate events in his mind. His father's voice; a cry from Hi Lo; an appalling scream from Sowinski; a dull thud, followed by a brief silence save for the splash and rumble of the cataract. Then, through the sound of the waters, came a second and heavier thud that turned Jack's blood cold. At his side his father struck a match.

"They're gone!" gasped Jack, white to the lips.

"Your pistol?"

"No."

"Thank God!"

Tempter and tempted had struck the ledge in their fall, rebounded, and gone headlong to the rocks a hundred feet below.

Some few minutes after midnight, a sampan put off silently from a solitary angle of the bay. Creeping through the white mist, slowly, to avoid the intervening junks, it skirted the anchored vessels and quietly ran alongside of the Yu-ye. A hooded figure leant over the bulwarks, watching with straining eyes as five dark figures climbed up the side.

Count Walewski tottered into his daughter's arms.

Jack turned away and spoke to the skipper. An order was given in a low voice. The junk, riding on a single anchor, slipped the cable and ran up her enormous foresail. Spars and cordage creaked; but all was silent around; and the sail filling to the strong north-easter, the junk began to make way towards the open sea.

CHAPTER XXXI

Entente Cordiale

Censored—A Letter—An Oxford Version—Last Words from Ah Lum—A Rencontre—Debit and Credit—Schwab Sympathizes—Business—Partnership—Light in the East

"My word! And then—and then?"

"That's all, Monsieur Brin. The old junk sailed magnificently; with morning light we found ourselves off the Japanese coast, and three days later ran safe into the harbour of Hakodate. There's nothing more to tell. We spent several weeks in Japan among the plum-blossoms, and—here we are, in time to see this great meeting of the fleets."

Monsieur Brin and Jack Brown were among a party seated at dinner in the George Hotel, Portsmouth. The Browns had landed at Southampton two days before with Count Walewski and his daughter. They had been met by Mrs. Brown and her two other children, and had now come to Portsmouth to witness the festivities in connection with the visit of the French fleet. Monsieur Brin was at the same hotel, in the capacity of special reporter for the Soleil.

"But now, Monsieur," continued Jack, "I've told you all our adventures. What about yourself? What have you been doing since I saw you last at Harbin?"

"Ah! You ask! My friend, my history is in sum one word—Kaiser! You left me in Harbin: well, I devote care to Hildebrand Schwab; he recovers; we are both recalled, he because his negatives are all lost, I because when I describe the only battle I saw, my despatch is blacked out by the censor. Naturally my redacteur open his eyes when he must pay my bills for such as this. Look! Here is a leaf of my copy; that is what the Russian censor has done—and Russia, par exemple! is the ally of France. Behold!"

He took a leaf from his pocket-book, and laid it on the table. It appeared as follows:—

"That is my account of a most dramatic episode of the battle of the Sha-ho. What is left? Nothing! It provoke curiosity, it tantalise, but does it satisfy, does it excite, hein?"

"The censor has certainly made a terrible hash of it," said Mr. Brown, passing the paper round the table. It created much amusement, and seemed to fascinate Jack's fifteen-year-old brother Humphrey, who gazed at it with a sort of awful admiration.

"But you spoke of Herr Schwab," said Jack. "What became of him?"

"He came——"

"By gum!" interrupted Humphrey, "don't I wish old Cæsar's despatches had been blacked out like this!"

Brin glanced at the boy over his glasses and resumed:

"Schwab came with me from Harbin by the same train. My word! it is Kaiser, Kaiser all the way. 'Our Kaiser who is in Berlin': I begin to think that is the German paternoster. I left Schwab at Vienna; he was going to sell his camera. He has a great admiration for you, Mr. Jack, but he is filled with regret that he never had an opportunity of doing business for Schlagintwert with that chief of brigands—how did he call himself?"

"Ah Lum. By the way, I forgot to tell you that when we landed at Southampton I found a letter awaiting me from him; it had been forwarded from Shanghai, and got here first owing to our little tour in Japan. It explains how Sowinski was able to reach Sakhalin."

He handed Ah Lum's letter to the Frenchman. Brin read it carefully, and with much gravity. It was as follows:—

From my camp above Tu-men-tzü,

First Sunday after Trinity.

Honoured Sir,

A man's manners, says the Sage T'ai Ping-fu, are to be measured by his intentions. If therefore your servant, greatly deploring his ignorance of your honourable language, write through another hand, I pray you will not charge him with want of courtesy; does not the poet say "Respect is the corner-stone of friendship"? Nor will you, honoured sir, be other than indulgent if this letter should seem to have been unduly delayed in the writing. Even as a pearl is not to be found in every oyster, so is it rare among our literati to meet a scholar learned in the barbaric tongues. Such a one I have now discovered in the writer of this letter, Mr. Chang Fu-sing, whose late return from the august University at Oxford was duly reported by my agents at Ma-en-ho-kai. [Lincoln College: 3rd class Mods., aegrotat Mod. Hist. Chang Fu-sing, B.A. Oxon.] Him I secured by night for the trifling loss of five men. [My nose abraded; one eye bunged up. Ch. F.-s., B.A.Oxon.] Trifling, for rarity—and the need of the purchaser—are the true measures of value. To the starving man a crust outweighs a viceroy's ransom.

Since the auspicious day when your honour's never-to-be-forgotten assistance enabled our troops to reach the shelter of these mountains, the insolent Russians—may their graves be defiled!—[Idiom="Ruin seize thee!" Cf. Gray, "The Bard", i. 1. Ch. F.-s., B.A. Oxon.]—have not dared to molest your unworthy servant. For, as the ineffable T'ai Ping-fu says, the bird that has once escaped the net is hard indeed to snare. But, again, as Wang Wei reminds us to our profit in his Essay on Military Matters, small reverses, by inspiring caution, may benefit an army, even as small successes may lead through saucy confidence to humiliation. After a little affair otherwise unworthy of your august attention, the two prisoners, Bekovitch and Sowinski, were found to have absented themselves from our custody. As the proverb goes, Only a fool expects courtesy from a hog.

Yet, as Li T'ai-poh harmoniously says:

When stings the Bee, and Pain is keen, then shouldst thou

think of Honey;

Wise Men seek Good in every Ill, yea, e'en in Loss of Money.

[The versification is mine. Competitor: Newdigate Verse. Ch. F.-s., B.A. Oxon.] After consulting the works of Tu Fu, I found that, the sunshine of your honour's presence being withdrawn, it was allowable to return to our ancestral usages in matters relating to the treatment of prisoners and criminals. If in this my judgment was in error, I must beg your honour's clemency; for are we not taught by P'an T'ang-shên that in defending a friend from calumny all measures are laudable? It may suffice to say that some days before his escape, the Pole, kneeling on hot chains, was induced to confess his crimes; these were duly inscribed by him in the Russian tongue and signed. Thereafter his partner in guilt, who had shown more obduracy, even resisting our most approved means of persuasion, acknowledged his many wickednesses, among them the preparation of forged papers secretly introduced by a menial into the writing-cabinet of your honour's august father. True is it, as the Sage says, "Fear rather a faithless servant within the gates than a hundred enemies without", or, as the more homely proverb warns us, A worm at the root will bring the noblest oak to earth.

But calamity treads hard upon the heels of the wicked. Witness the fate of the Russian—may his posterity be cut off! [Idiom="A murrain on thee!" Cf. Shakespeare, "The Tempest", iii. 2. 88. Ch. F.-s., B.A. Oxon.] By sure hands your unworthy servant brought his confession beneath the eyes of the barbarian commander-in-chief. He is blind indeed who cannot see the length of his nose. My agents now inform me that the evil-doer is stripped of his offices, and of the emoluments thereto pertaining; as our saying goes, he has lost his buttons. His fellow-criminal has evaded my most diligent enquiries. But him also Justice pursues with sharpened sword, resting not by night neither by day.

Quantum suff. Though our lives be henceforth as two rivers flowing east and west, the recollection of past favours will be with me, honoured sir, as a plant in perennial bloom. What says P'an T'ang-shên?—"A man should find as much joy in the remembrance of a friend as though his worst enemy were to boil in oil."

My son, who is now under the tutorial charge of Mr. Chang Fu-sing—[purely honorary—no pay. Ch. F.-s., B.A. Oxon.]—adds, as in duty bound, his humble respects.

Permit me, honoured sir, to subscribe myself

Your most grateful obedient Servant,

AH LUM.

P.S.—May I venture once more to commend the works of Li T'ai-poh to your august attention?

"Thanks!" said Brin, handing the letter back. "I am ver' much interested. The English is good, hein? In the idiom of Oxford? Permit me to make a copy for my book that will appear at early date, L'Ascension de la Chine."

Meanwhile Humphrey Brown had gone to the window, and stood with his hands in his pockets looking into the crowded street. A cab rattled up to the door of the hotel.

"I say," said Humphrey, "here's a funny old guy. Come and look, Agnes."

"I prefer to listen to the conversation," said Agnes, a self-possessed girl of thirteen.

"All right, grumps! But it would make you laugh. He's coming into the hotel. My eye!"

Not two minutes later the door opened, and there entered a portly figure in light-striped flannels; a pink cummerbund showing beneath the vest; gold-rimmed eyeglasses fixed somewhat awry on his broad nose. He stood at the door for a moment to choose his table.

"By George!" exclaimed Jack, springing up; "it's Schwab himself."

He went towards the door.

"Good-evening, Herr Schwab!" he said, holding out his hand.

The German turned and stared.

"Ach! I haf not ze honour, unless—who do you rebresent, sir?"

Jack smiled. Schwab instantly seized him by the hand.

"Du meine Güte! I abologize. I know you now. Nefer before did I see you in ze evenink dress. How are you, how are you, how are you?"

"Jolly glad to see you," said Jack. "Come and be introduced to my father, and mother, and the rest. You know Brin. We were talking of you only a minute ago."

The introductions were made. Humphrey turned away to hide his laughter at the German's elephantine bows.

"I abologize to ze ladies for my so unbecoming addire, but ven I egsblain zat I haf shust gome from ze station——"

"Say no more," said Mr. Brown. "Very unfortunate I couldn't meet you in Moukden, Mr. Schwab."

"Ach ja! Bermit me to ask, haf you seen ze evenink baber?"

"Not yet."

"Vell, I haf vun. I bought it at ze station; ze baber boys zey should be made to keep change. I haf only a benny, ze boy he haf no ha'bny—I muss vait five minutes till anozer gustomer arrive. Zat is not business. Ven I read ze baber, I see a baragraph vat I zink interess you. I read to you. 'It is announced from St. Betersburg zat ze rebresentations of ze British ambassador in regard to ze extraordinary case of Mr. Brown of Moukden haf at last been crowned viz success, and orders haf been issued for Mr. Brown's immediate release.' Zere is somezink I do not understan', since already Mr. Brown is here."

"Ah! You're not a diplomat, Mr. Schwab," said Mr. Brown, laughing. "It is a little funny to know that three months after my escape, and when Sakhalin is in possession of the Japanese, I am graciously permitted to regain my liberty."

Jack gave Herr Schwab a brief account of the final scenes of his quest.

"Zen for how much is your claim?" asked Schwab of Mr. Brown at the conclusion of the story.

"What claim?"

"Vy, your claim for gombensation—for intellectual and moral damage. Business are business. As business man, I advise downright zumping big claim."