Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China
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CHAPTER XII
Lingering in his vision was a leering face.
Mud had been thrown into his eyes, and the filth was plastered fromeyebrows to nose. In a flash he recognized the face. Months ago hehad thrown that Chinese from the deck of a steamer into theshark-infested waters of Tandjong Priok, the harbor of Batavia, Java.
Such amusing spectacles as the struggling unbeliever with rich mudplastered in his eyes have a tendency to evoke keen appreciation fromthe yellow races, who are supposed to be devoid of a sense of humor.
Shrill and explosive laughter was arising on all sides of him.
Light came slowly to his tortured eyes through a thick, yellow film.All of his muscles were tensed; any instant he expected to experiencethe long anticipated thrill of cold steel between ribs--or at histhroat.
Some kindly Samaritan had taken him by the hand. Mucous breathassailed him. He distinctly heard a thud, a grunt, a screamed order.
No words were spoken, yet the mysterious hand tugged urgently at hiswrist. Peter knelt down and raised handfuls of water to his eyes froma tub. He looked about for his benefactor and met only the leeringcountenance of a highly amused group of urchins, men and women,diverted as they had probably never been diverted before.
And in the meanwhile he realized with a torn heart that the thunderinghoofs were receding farther with each flitting instant.
Peter knocked down one man as he struck out through the amused circle.The square was now all but deserted. Two bodies lay in the mud,unattended. Examination proved these to be the earthly remains of thetwo Mongolian horsemen--the two he had shot down. The two horses wereunattended. Peter mounted the nearest.
The air was growing cold. A keen, ice-edged wind was moving northwardfrom the range, and the sky was graying with storm clouds.
His horse was moving like the wind, perspiring not at all, athoroughbred, a mount for a prince! At his present rate he shouldcatch up with the Mongolian rear by nightfall; otherwise the pursuitwas certainly lost. And then Peter fell to wondering what tactics hewould pursue when he reached the band. How could he, alone, armed onlywith an automatic revolver, hope to overpower professional riflemen whonumbered at the least forty? It was a nice problem; yet he couldreason out no simpler solution. He was bent on a task that might havewon applause from a _Don Quixote_.
The sun was settling upon the golden roof of the range, sending outmonstrous blue shadows across the valley.
Mountain darkness soon enveloped the world. A dazzling star appearedwith the brilliant suddenness of a coast-light. The wind was winy withthe flavor of high snows.
And suddenly the horse stumbled. Peter jerked on the reins. The horsewhinnied, dancing awkwardly on three legs.
Peter dismounted. A foreleg was crippled. He groaned. Fate, long hisally, was laughing at him. The chase was ended.
Suddenly hoofs thudded on the firm dirt; a shadow darted by, nearlycolliding with him. There was a trampling. A lantern frame clicked,and a lance of yellow light rippled upon his face, broadened.
He glared into the anxious brown eyes of Kahn Meng.