Marching Sands. Harold Lamb

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СКАЧАТЬ city darkened. He could not see the roofs of the buildings. He went down and tried the door. It was blocked. Then this man saw that it was sand falling over the city. The sand covered the whole town, leaving only the minaret, which was high. The people who had done him the injury were buried—became white bones under the sand.”

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

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

      Having been born thereabouts, the idea amused Gray.

      “Are you?” Gray laughed. “The Yellow Peril is dead.”

      “So is Dr. Brent.”

      “You don’t connect the two?”

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

      “Do you?”

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

      “I suspect it’s a good thing for me you have,” Gray admitted frankly.

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

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

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

      CHAPTER IV

      WARNING

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

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

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

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

      “We must not make ourselves conspicuous,” Delabar urged repeatedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      In spite of Delabar’s misgivings, the journey went smoothly. The banks of the river closed in on them, scattered mud villages appeared in the shore rushes. Half naked boys waved at the “fire junk” from the backs of water buffaloes, and the smoke of Hankow loomed on the horizon. СКАЧАТЬ