CHAPTER VII.
THE TALL CHINAMAN.
For an hour or more they kept steadily on. The Chinaman in the lead hadnothing to say except to turn his head with an occasional caution toavoid some obstacle in the path. As for the boys, after the first mile,they, too, relapsed into silence. It was rough going, and, although theyhad been through some pretty hard ground at times, this trail throughthe Washington forest was more rugged than anything they had hithertoencountered.
"How far did Mr. Chillingworth say it was to the ranch?" asked Jack,after a while.
"About fifteen miles this way," rejoined Tom. "You see, this trail goesfairly parallel with the coast, but it doesn't follow all its in andouts. In that way we cut off a good deal of distance."
"Say that Chinaman is a talkative young party, isn't he?" laughed Jack,after another interval of silence.
"I guess his sort don't do much talking as a rule," rejoined Tom, "butit seems to me that his moodiness dates from the time he saw thatfuneral last night out there in the cove. According to my way ofthinking, he has something on his conscience."
"Well, if he honestly believes that the ghosts of all those fellows hesaw buried are going to haunt him, no wonder he has something on hismind," chuckled Jack. "I'm going to try to get something out of him,anyhow."
Suddenly he hailed the Chinaman.
"Hey Fu, what make trail so crooked?"
"Injun makee him longee time ago," responded the Mongolian. "Him comelock he no movee, him go lound. Allee same Chinee," he added, "toomuchee tlouble getee him out of way. Heap more easty walk lound him."
"There's something in that, too, when you come to think of it," musedTom. "Anyway, it goes to show the difference between Indians and Chineseand white men."
"I guess that's the reason neither the Chinese nor the Indians have ever'arrived,'" commented Jack. "It takes a lot longer to go round than tokeep bang on a straight course."
"That's right," assented the other lad. "I really believe you arebecoming a philosopher, Jack."
"Like Professor Dingle," was the laughing answer.
Once more the conversation languished and they plodded steadily on. Butit was warmer now--almost unbearably so, down in the windless floor ofthe forest. From the pine needles a thick pollen-like dust rose thatfilled mouth and nostrils with an irritating dust. The boys' mouths grewparched and dry. They would have given a good deal for a drink of clear,sparkling water.
"Say, Fu," hailed Jack presently, "we find some water pretty soon?"
"Pletty soon," grunted the Chinaman, who, despite his fragile frame,seemed tireless and entirely devoid of hunger or thirst. However,shortly after noon, when they had reached a spot where a great rockimpended above the trail, while below their feet the chasm sloped downto unknown depths, the blue-bloused figure stopped short in its tirelesswalk and waited for the boys to come up.
"Pletty good spling here," he said, diving off into the brush with thecanteen. "Me catchum watel."
"All right, catch all you want of it," cried Jack, flinging himselfexhaustedly on a bed of fern at the side of the rough path. The Chinamanwas soon back with the water. He lit a fire and skillfully made tea.With a tin cup each of the refreshing stuff, the boys soon felt better.From the bag they lunched on salt beef, crackers and cheese, and driedapricots. As might be expected, by mid-afternoon their thirst was oncemore raging.
"How far is it to the ranch?" inquired Tom, for the dozenth time, asthey pluckily plodded along. Not for worlds would they have let thatsilent, fatigueless Chinaman have perceived that they were almost wornout.
"Plitty soon we cross canyon. Ranchee him not far then," was theresponse.
"Nothing for it but to stick," muttered Tom grittily. "But, oh, whatwouldn't I give for a drink of water. I'm as dry--as dry--as those driedapricots."
"Pooh!" retorted Jack. "They were fairly dripping with moisture comparedto the way I feel."
All at once, a few rods farther, a distant rumbling sound down in thecanyon, and off to the right, was borne to their ears. Both ladslistened a minute and then gave a joyous whoop.
It was water,--a considerable river, apparently. Anyhow, it was realwater, no doubt of that. As they listened, they could hear it gurglingand splashing as it dashed along.
"Hi there, Fu!" hailed Jack, adopting the Chinaman's own lingo. "We gocatchum water way down in canyon."
But for some reason or other the Chinaman did not seem anxious for thelads to do this. He shook his pig-tailed head.
"You waitee," he advised. "By um bye find plentee welly nicee watel."
"Well, this water right here is plentee nicee for me," rejoined Jack."So here goes."
Followed by Tom, he plunged off the trail down the steep declivity,clinging to brush and small saplings as he went. Grumbling to himself ina low tone, the Chinaman followed. It was clear that he thought theproceedings foolish in the extreme.
The descent was longer as well as steeper than they had imagined itwould be, but every minute the roaring voice of the concealed river orstream grew louder.
All at once, they emerged from a clump of brush, not unlike our easternalders--almost upon the bank of a fine river. It was a lot bigger thanthey had expected, and was rushing along with the turbulent velocitycharacteristic of mountain water. Here and there were black, deep eddiesdotted with circling flecks of white, yeasty foam. But the main streamdashed between its steep, rocky banks like a racehorse, flinging sprayand spindrift high in the air when it encountered a check. The water wasgreenish--almost a glassy tint. The boys learned later that this wasbecause it was snow water and came from the high Olympians.
Flinging themselves flat by the side of one of the eddies, they drankgreedily.
"Reminds me of what that kid said when he showed his mother a finespring he had discovered, and the good lady wished to know how to drinkout of it," chuckled Jack, as they paused for breath.
"What was that?" inquired Tom, wiping his wet mouth with the back of asun-burned hand.
"'Why, maw,' said the kid, 'you just lie on your tummy and drinkuphill.'"
"That does pretty nearly describe it for a fact," agreed Tom. As hespoke, both boys straightened up from their recumbent position. Hardlyhad they done so and were scrambling to their feet when there came asudden, sharp crackling of the brush higher up the stream. Before theyhad time to recover from their surprise, or to even hazard a guess atwhat the noise might mean, the brush parted and a figure stepped forth.
Both boys uttered a cry of amazement as their eyes fell on the newcomer.He was a Chinaman--tall, grave, and with a face like a parchment mask.
As Fu saw him, he fell on his face and began muttering incoherent noiseslike those he had given vent to when he cast himself on the deck of thesloop the night before.
The newcomer was the first to speak. He did so in a deep, sonorous voicevery unlike the squeaky, jerky mode of utterance of Fu.
"White boys come with me," he said, in a tone that indicated that he didnot expect to be disobeyed.
"Well, of all the nerve," breathed the astonished Jack to himself. Butbefore he could speak a word aloud, Tom spoke up:
"We are on our way to a ranch," he said, "and must reach there bysundown. We'll have to hurry on."
No change of expression crossed that yellow mask, but the tallChinaman's hand slipped into his blouse sleeve, which was loose andflowing. It was done so rapidly that before the boys had fairly noticedthe movement a revolver was pointing at them; the sunlight that struckdown through the dark-topped pines glinted ominously on its bluedbarrel.
The Chinaman, in the same level, monotonous voice, repeated his command:
"White boys come with me."
"Why, confound it all----" burst out Tom, but somehow the sight of thattall, motionless figure, with the expressionless face staringunblinkingly at them, and the revolver pointed menacingly in theirdirection, made him break off short.
"Oh, all right, then," he said. "I gu
ess we'll have to. You've got thedrop on us. But if there were any authorities near, you'd hear of this."
Before the boys had fairly noticed the movement arevolver was pointing at them.]
The ghost of a smile flitted across the tall Chinaman's hitherto fixedvisage. But he made no comment. Instead, he turned to the recumbent Fu,and spoke sharply to him in Chinese. As he was addressed, Fu rose withalacrity and bowed low three times. He seemed to be terrified out of hiswits, and fairly whimpered as the stern gaze of his majestic countrymanfell upon him.
"White boys walk in front," ordered the tall Chinaman, motioning towardthe clump of brush from which he had so suddenly materialized.
They now saw that there was a narrow trail leading through it. And so,down this narrow path the odd procession started--the two lads in front,and behind the oddly assorted pair of Mongolians.
It would be wrong to say the boys were frightened. To be frightened, acertain amount of previous apprehension is necessary. This thing hadhappened so suddenly and was so utterly inexplicable that they werefairly stunned. Their sensations, as they walked among the thick-growingbushes, were not unlike those of persons in a dream. Somehow, at everyturn of the path, they expected to wake up.
And wake up they did presently. The wakening came as, after traversingthe narrow trail for a half mile, they suddenly emerged on a camp undera clump of big pines. At one side of the open space in which three tentswere pitched, the stream boiled and roared. On the other, the precipiceshot up. But the camp was screened from view from above by the brushwhich grew out of cracks in the cliff-face. Beyond the river anotherwooded precipice arose. This was a frowning rampart of bare, scarredrock. All this uneasily impressed the boys. They could perceive thatthey were in a sort of natural man-trap.
This sense of uneasiness increased as, their first rapid glance over,they observed details. In front of one of the tents was seated a tall,lanky figure, dressed in rough mackinack trousers, calf skin boots, ablue shirt open to expose a sinewy throat, and, to crown all, a batteredsombrero. This man was seated on an old soap box and strumming on abanjo as they entered the glade.
At the sound of footsteps he looked up and showed a dark,high-cheek-boned face with a thin, hawk-like nose, and a pair ofpiercing, steely-gray eyes. The man was clean shaven and his lips werethin, close-pressed, and cruel. This countenance was framed in a mass oflank, black hair, so long that it hung down to the shoulders of hisfaded shirt.
The figure, its occupation, and the previous incidents of the adventureall combined to form an intuition which suddenly flashed with convincingforce into Tom's mind:
This place was the hidden camp of the Chinese runners, and the figure onthe soap box was Bully Banjo--the feared and admired Simon Lake himself.
"Right smart work, by Chowder!" he exclaimed, setting aside his banjoand rising on his long, thin limbs as the boys and Fu were marched intohis presence. His voice was as thin, sharp, and penetrating as his eyes,and was unmistakably that of a downeaster. In fact, Simon Lake was anative of Nantucket. From whaling he had drifted to sealing. Fromsealing to seal poaching in the Aleutian, and from that it was but astep to his present employment. A shudder that they could not suppressran through the boys as they realized that they were in the presence ofthis notorious sea wolf.
The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest Page 7
