by Harold Lamb
This done, he filled and lighted his pipe and sat beside his friend, smoking moodily.
“You’ll find a cigarette in my shirt pocket,” said Sir Lionel quietly. “Will you light it for me? I’ve enough lung—to smoke, and—” he cleared his throat with difficulty. “Thanks a lot. I’ve something to say to you. Won’t take—a minute. Fever’s set in. Must talk. Last message, you know.”
He smiled with strained lips.
“Strange,” he added. “Thought it only happened—in books.”
Gray watched the shadows crawling across the knoll and frowned. Sir Lionel, he knew, could not survive another day. With the death of his friend, he would be alone. And he must find Mary Hastings. He wondered what the Englishman wished to tell him.
“You know,” began the other, seizing a moment when his throat was clear, “I said I’d seen the faces of the men of Sungan. They had their hands on me, and I saw them close. I did not tell you at first what I deduced from that.”
Gray nodded, thinking how the explorer had broken off in the middle of a sentence in his story of two hours ago.
“Don’t forget, Captain Gray”—a flash of eagerness passed over the tanned face—“I was the first in Sungan. I want the men who sent me to know that. Well, the faces I saw were white—in spots.”
Gray whistled softly, recalling the words of Brent. The missionary had said that the man he saw in the Gobi was partially white. Also, Mirai Khan had said the same.
“Those men, Captain Gray, were not white men. They were afflicted with a disease. I’ve seen it too often—to be mistaken. It is leprosy.”
Mechanically, Gray fingered his pipe. Leprosy! This sickness, he knew, caused the flesh of the face to decay and turn white in the process. And leprosy was common in China.
“I’ve been thinking,” continued the Englishman, “while I was waiting to sight your caravan. There are lepers in the ruins of Sungan. That may be why the spot is isolated. The Chinese have leper colonies.”
“Yes,” assented Gray. Neither man voiced the thought that was uppermost in his mind, that Mary had been seized by these men. “Mirai Khan told me that Sungan was an unclean place. The Kirghiz—who are fairly free from the disease—avoid Sungan. Delabar, my companion, feared it, I think.”
“This explains the myth of the white race in the Gobi— perhaps. And the guards.”
“Mirai Khan said that men were brought from China, from the coast, to the sands of Sungan,” added Gray grimly. “God—why didn’t they warn us?’’
“You were warned, Captain Gray. Our caravan traveled as secretly as possible. I—I paid no attention to what the Chinese said. They have their secrets. I should have been more cautious. I made the mistake of my race. Overconfidence in dealing with natives. I wanted to be the first white man in Sungan.”
He paused, reaching for a cup of water that Gray had filled for him. The American watched him blankly. So the talk of the pale sickness had proved to be more than legend. And he had discovered the root of Delabar’s dread of the Gobi. Why had not the scientist said in so many words that Sungan was a leper colony? Doubtless Delabar had known that Gray would not turn back until he had seen the truth of the matter for himself. Had Wu Fang Chien reasoned along similar lines? It was natural that the Chinese authorities had not wanted the American to visit one of the isolated leper colonies. Wu Fang Chien had discovered Gray’s mission. And the mandarin had been willing to kill Gray in order to keep him from Sungan. The Asiatic had tried to keep the white man from probing into one of the hidden, infected spots of Mongolia. Was this the truth? Gray, heart-sick from what Hastings had told him, believed so. Later, he came to understand more fully the motives that had actuated Wu Fang Chien.
“Remember,” continued Sir Lionel wearily, “we learned that the Wusun were captives. The stone itself—the boundary stone we found at Ansichow—said as much.”
“But the stone referred to the Wusun as conquerors.”
“Some legend of a former century. Another of the riddles—of Asia. I’m afraid, Captain Gray, we’ve failed in our mission. And it has cost—much.” He coughed, and raised his eyes to Gray. “We have found the lepers of Sungan. And we have let them take Mary. I’m out of the game, rather. And I’d prefer to die here than in a mule litter. You’ve done all for me you can.”
Gray made a gesture of denial. The pluck of the Englishman, facing inevitable death, stirred his admiration. Lack of vitality, more than the wound, made it impossible to get Hastings out of the Gobi alive. Knowing this, Sir Lionel treated his own situation as indifferently as he might have disposed of a routine question of drill.
“I didn’t tell you about the lepers at first,” he continued, “because I was afraid you might lack the nerve to go on. I wouldn’t blame you. But I’ve seen you under fire—and I know better.”
“I’m going after Mary,” said Gray grimly.
Sir Lionel nodded.
“Of course. Not much of a chance; but—I’m glad.” He coughed and wiped his lips. “You were right, Captain Gray. She—she told me what you said at Ansichow. I regret that she—offended you. I have spoiled her, you know. A dear girl—” His cough silenced him.
Gray sought for words, and was silent. Neither man liked to reveal his feelings.
“My heedlessness brought Mary to Sungan, Captain Gray. Now I’m asking you to make good my mistake, if possible—”
“Excellency!” The shaggy head of Mirai Khan appeared between the tent flaps. “I must speak with you.”
Gray went outside, to find the Kirghiz scowling and ill at ease. In their faces the sun was vanishing over the plain of the Gobi, dyeing the bare, yellow hillocks with deep crimson. A brown lizard trailed its body away from the two men, leaving the mark of its passage in the sand.
“Excellency, the hour of our parting is at hand. I go no further. The debt I owed you for saving my life I still owe, but—you will not turn back from Sungan. Hearken, hunter of the mighty little gun. I and my comrades followed the tracks of our enemies. They were camel tracks.”
“Nonsense,” growled Gray. “Those were men with guns. You saw them.”
“And I saw the prints in the sands. They were not the tracks of men, but of camels. It is an evil thing when men are like to animals. My comrades were filled with a great fear. They have departed back to Sungan, taking the mules, for their pay—”
Gray glanced quickly about the encampment. It was empty, except for the tent.
“What is written may not be changed,” uttered the Kirghiz sententiously. “The others are gone, and I will follow. God has forbidden that we remain in this evil spot. Because of my love for you, I have left you the rifle, standing against the wall of the cloth house, with its strap. If it is your will, you may shoot me with the little gun of many tongues, because I am leaving you. But I think you will not. I could have gone without your knowing.”
Gray surveyed the hunter moodily. Mirai Khan smiled affectionately.
“Even if you had threatened to shoot us, Excellency, we would not have taken another pace nearer Sungan. The spot is unclean. And why should you shoot us—for saving our lives? My comrades said that soon you will be dead, and would not need the mules, so they took the animals. I do not know if you will die, or not. You have the quick wits of a mountain sheep, and the courage of a tiger. But I fear greatly for you. He who is inside—”
Mirai Khan pointed to the tent.
“He who is inside will die here. Did I not foretell a white man would die? But you will go on, for the men of Sungan have taken the white woman who warmed your heart. I have eyes, and I have seen your love for the woman.”
Gray walked to the rifle and inspected it. The chamber was empty, and the cartridges had gone from the bandolier. Sir Lionel had used up the small supply in the belt. Gray had no reserve ammunition. Wu Fang Chien had taken that. He handed the weapon to Mirai Khan.
“I have no more bullets for it,” he said briefly. “Take it. Also, send word to the nearest white missionary behi
nd Ansichow. Tell him what has passed here, and that I set out tonight for Sungan. Ask him to send the message back to my country, to this man.”
On a sheet of paper torn from a corner of the maps he still carried, Gray wrote down Van Schaick’s name and address.
“It shall be done as you say,” acknowledged the hunter, placing the paper in his belt. “The gun is a fine gun. But the little one of many tongues is better. Remember, we could have fallen upon you in the house of cloth and taken all you had. My comrades wished to do it, but I would not, for we have eaten salt together.”
Mirai Khan lifted his hand in farewell, caught up the precious rifle, and hurried away, calling over his shoulder, “I must come up with the hunters before dark, or they will take the mule that is mine and leave me. As you have said, your message shall be sent.”
He vanished in the dunes to the east, his cloth-wrapped feet moving soundlessly over the sand. Gray watched him go. He could not force the Kirghiz to continue on to Sungan. Even if he tried to do so, he had seen enough to know that from this point on Mirai Khan would be useless to him.
Before returning to Sir Lionel he made a circuit of the ridge and inspected the footprints where their enemies of the afternoon had passed. He saw a network of curious prints, marks of broad, splay hoofs. Occasionally, there was a blood stain.
He had been too far from the attacking party to notice their feet—and too busy to think about any such matter. But, undeniably, as Mirai Khan had said, here were camel tracks and nothing else.
“The devil!” he swore. “I certainly saw those Chinese—and they were men. Probably a trick—it certainly worked well enough to scare my guides.”
He dismissed the matter with a shrug and made his way back to the tent.
“Anything gone wrong?” asked the Englishman.
“Nothing new,” Gray evaded, unwilling to distress Sir Lionel with the truth.
“Then you’ll be setting out, I fancy.” He spoke with an effort. “I’ll do nicely here—if you’ll fill my water jar, and light the candle I see beside it. Don’t leave me food—can’t eat, you know. Deuced hemorrhage—”
Gray left him coughing and filled the jar at the well. Also his own canteen that was slung at his belt. He lit the candle and placed it in the sand by the Englishman. Sir Lionel counted the cigarettes that lay beside the candle.
“They’ll last—long enough,” he whispered. “Close the tent, please, when you go out.”
As if a giant hand had blotted out the light, the tent became darker. Sir Lionel looked up. “Sunset,” he muttered, “no parade. I’ll keep to my barracks.”
Gray turned away. He could see that the man was nerving himself to be alone, and mustering his strength for the coming ordeal. The Englishman was utterly brave.
The American adjusted the blankets, and placed the remaining food—some flour cakes—in his shirt. Sir Lionel forced a smile.
“Right!” he whispered. “Strike due west—moonlight will show you compass bearings. Watch out for the ruins. Know you’ll get Mary out, if it can be done. Goodbye and good luck!”
“You’re game!” exclaimed Gray involuntarily. “Goodbye.”
The Englishman adjusted his eyeglass as they shook hands. “Remember—due west.”
Gray glanced back as he closed the curtains of the tent and tied the flap cords. Sir Lionel was lighting himself a cigarette at the candle.
That was the last he saw of Major Hastings. Sir Lionel died without complaint, a brave man doing his duty as best he could.
CHAPTER XVI
Gray Carries On
As his friend had predicted, Gray was able to watch his compass by moonlight, within an hour. It was a clear night. The stars were out in force, with a trace of the white wisp clouds that hang above a dry, elevated plateau.
Sir Lionel was out of the game, and with him the Kirghiz hunters. Gray was alone for the first time since his visit to Van Schaick the evening that he had contracted to find the Wusun. He smiled grimly as he thought how matters had changed.
Here he was at the gate of the Wusun, the captive race. But Sir Lionel had found them hardly what Gray expected. A leper’s colony is not a pleasant thing to visit. And this one was unusually well guarded. Behind these guards, in the ruins of Sungan, was Mary Hastings.
This thought had gnawed at the American’s heart for the past twelve hours. The girl he loved—he could no more conceal that fact from himself than he could lose sight of the Gobi—was among the lepers. Was she alive? He did not know. The guards of Sungan did not seem over-merciful. But why should they kill her?
No, he reasoned, she was alive. She must be alive. And she was waiting for help to come. She might have discovered that her uncle had escaped in the fight before the ruins. And she knew that Gray was coming to Sungan in their tracks.
What Gray was going to do after he found the girl, he did not know. He had long ago discovered that a multitude of difficulties confuse and baffle a man. He had trained himself to tackle only one thing at a time; not only that, but to think of only one thing. If he found Mary, there would be time to consider what would come next.
The thought of the girl urged him on, so that it was hard to keep an even pace. But he was aware of the uselessness of blind haste. He struck a steady gait that he could keep up for hours, a swift walk that left the dunes behind rapidly.
These dunes, he noticed, were not as high as at first. The desert was becoming more level, the soil harder. At some points the clay surface appeared between the sand ridges.
Gray did not try to eat. Nor did he drink, knowing the folly of that at the beginning of a march. In time he would do both, not now.
The man’s powerful frame enabled him to keep up the pace he had set without fatigue or loss of breath. This was the secret of Gray’s success as an explorer—his careful husbanding of his great vitality, and his refusal to worry over problems that lay in the future.
When the vision of Mary flashed on him as he watched the summits of the dunes, silvered by the cold moonlight, he put it aside resolutely. The last sight of the girl—the slender figure perched jauntily on the camel as she rode away after their quarrel—tormented him from time to time. In spite of himself, an elfin chord of memory visioned the friendly gray eyes, and the delicate face of Mary Hastings.
Gray set himself to considering his situation, realizing that he had desperate need of all his wits if he was to face Sungan and its people.
First there was the puzzle of the camel tracks that had frightened Mirai Khan. These tracks had been left by the party that had attacked Sir Lionel and himself. They had been sighted the day before.
It was possible that the first prints they had seen were those of one of their enemies, and that this man had carried the news of their coming to his companions. It would have been easy for the men of the camel feet—as Gray thought of them—to trail his party without being seen among the dunes. Or else, they might have been following Sir Lionel.
Gray decided that this was what had happened. The men of the camel feet had been tracking the Englishman.
This deduction led to another. The Hastings party had been attacked. Failing to turn them back, their assailants might have sent word of their approach to Sungan.
“Let’s see what I know,” mused Gray methodically. “Camel feet armed with guns beaten off by Hastings’ caravan—send news to Sungan. Ambuscade prepared at Sungan ruins for Sir Lionel. He walks into it. After attack by lepers, camel feet take up pursuit of him, tracking him back to well, where they engage us.”
Then the camel feet constituted a kind of outer guard of Sungan. They were poor fighters and seemed to have no heart for their work. The men who had wiped out the caravan were another kind. Sir Lionel had distinctly said they were not armed. They were lepers.
There was then an outer and an inner guard of Sungan. The outer—composed of an indifferent soldiery—had been seen by the missionary Brent. The captive these guards had been pursuing had undoubtedly been a leper, escaped
from the colony.
Had Brent been done to death by the Chinese, who knew what he had seen? If so, then Mary—
Gray groaned at the thought and the muscles of his jaw tightened.
“I’m through the outer guards,” he forced himself to reason. “But there’s one thing that calls for an answer. Why do the Chinese force the lepers to drive off intruders ? The poor devils are not good fighters. No better than the driven dogs Sir Lionel pictured them. They must have a hard master.”
It was possible, of course, that the Chinese priests who were masters of Sungan had forced the lepers to attack the caravan as a last resource, after Sir Lionel’s men had driven off the outer guards. In China human life has a low value, and that of a leper is a small matter. Such a proceeding would be in keeping with the cruelty of the priests—who saw their own power and the prestige of ancient Buddha waning with the inroads of civilization.
He was growing physically tired by now, to some extent. This growing weariness took toll of his thoughts, and brought the image of Mary before his memory.
He pictured her as he had first seen her—a slender figure in the bright tent, mistress of well-trained servants. Gray had loved her from the first. It seemed to him it had been a long time. As nearly as he had ever worshipped anything, he worshipped the girl.
There had been no other women in his life. He smiled ruefully, reflecting upon his blundering effort to help the girl. And she was now far removed from his help. It appalled him—how little he might be able to aid her.
With another man, this fear might have turned into reckless haste, or blind cursing against the fate that had befallen Mary Hastings. Gray pressed on silently, unhurried, the flame of his love burning fiercely.
In this manner he would go on until he had found her, or those who had taken her. There was no alternative. Mirai Khan would have said that Gray was a fatalist, but Mirai Khan did not know the soul of a white man.