by John Blaine
“I’m sorry,” Rick muttered.
“The damage is done and he’s gone. Now I’ll have to locate him again, if I can. Meanwhile, write this down. Quickly. I think I hear voices coming down the hall.”
Scotty whipped a pencil and an envelope from an inside pocket.
“See the consul general. I’ve talked with him. He will give you a rubber boat and a Nansen bottle I’ve picked up. Outfit for the trail, and have plenty of weapons. Fly to Chungking and check in with the consul there. Ask him to give you a reliable guide. You’re going to Korse Lenken. That’s in Tibet.” He spelled the name. “Chahda has gone on ahead. I’ll follow. That’s where the heavy water is coming from, I’m pretty sure. Chahda will check up. You can help him, then make tests to be sure it’s really heavy water. Maybe you can do something about the source of the stuff. You’ll have to see when you get there. I’ve got part of the story about what’s being done with the water, but not all of it.”
There definitely were voices outside now. The burp gun had brought the hotel people. In a moment there was a hammering on the door.
Bradley walked to the window. “You can let them in after I’ve gone. Any questions? Quickly!”
“What’s the Nansen bottle for?” Zircon demanded.
“I don’t know. I only know that Long Shadow bought five of them.” Bradley threw a leg over the window sill and grinned at them. “Leave me out of any story you tell. I need a free hand for the next few days. And the less the police know about me the better for all of us.” He hesitated as the pounding on the door grew louder, then a key grated in the lock. “I can tell you this,” he said softly. “You can forget about an industrial plant. This is something else we’re up against.”
Then he was gone.
“Open the door,” Zircon said. For the first time, Rick saw that the big scientist gripped his right arm just below the elbow, a red, sodden handkerchief balled in his left hand.
“You’re wounded!” He jumped to the scientist’s side.
“A scratch,” Zircon said. “But it saved our lives. Tell you about it later. Open up, Scotty.”
Scotty threw the door open and the English night clerk, three Chinese policemen, and half a dozen coolies piled in.
“What’s going on here?” the clerk demanded. “What happened?”
“Nothing serious,” Zircon said calmly. “There was evidently a bandit in our room. We opened the door and he fired with his submachine gun. Then, when he saw he hadn’t killed us, he fled.”
It wasn’t a very convincing story. Rick saw suspicion in the faces of the hotel people. He threw in his nickel’s worth. “What kept you so long? We’ve been trying to phone.” He had a hunch the switchboard coolie was one of those in the room. Probably everyone on duty had raced up.
“We heard nothing downstairs,” the night clerk said. “The floor coolie came down to get us. He took his time about it. Why was your door locked?”
Zircon tried hard to look sheepish. “I guess we must have bolted it in the confusion. Then, when you knocked, we tried to open it. It was a few seconds before we realized the bolt had been thrown and the door couldn’t be opened unless the bolt was withdrawn. And the confounded thing stuck.”
“Why didn’t you yell?” one of the policemen demanded.
“Possibly you were yelling so loud yourselves you didn’t hear us,” Zircon said mildly. “You were making considerable noise.”
The clerk frowned. “The manager will have to hear about this,” he stated. “I doubt that he will believe your story. You may even be asked to pay damages.”
Zircon drew himself up to his full height. “The day we pay damages for the privilege of being shot at in this disreputable dive you fatuously call a hotel will be the day Hong Kong sinks beneath the sea like Atlantis. Now have the goodness to clear out and let us get some sleep.”
The clerk’s face was scarlet. Rick tried to hide a grin.
“You’ll have to make a formal statement to the police,” the clerk snapped.
“In the morning,” Zircon said. “In the morning we intend to see the American consul. You will hear more about this incident than you expect, my dear sir. Now clear out. We need our sleep. This has been most unsettling.”
One of the policemen pointed to Zircon’s bloodstained sleeve. “But you need medical attention, sir.”
“I happen to be a doctor,” Zircon said. That was true enough, but he was a doctor of science, not of medicine.
“You expect to treat yourself?” the clerk asked incredulously.
“Nothing to it,” Zircon boomed. “A trifle. Why, once, when hunting in Africa, I had my back clawed by a lion. I stitched the wounds up myself.”
The clerk was on the verge of a stroke. “You couldn’t treat your own back,” he almost screamed. “Impossible! How could you?”
“He turned around so he could see what he was doing,” Scotty said. “Good night, all.” He shepherded them through the door and closed it.
For a moment there was excited conversation from outside, then the clerk, the policemen, and the coolies retreated down the hall.
“They’ll be back,” Zircon said wearily, “but not before morning, I hope.”
Rick looked at Scotty. “He turned around so he could see what he was doing,” he repeated. “My sainted aunt!”
“Sewed up his own back,” Scotty gibed. “Professor! You told that nice man a fib!”
“Great big juicy fib,” Zircon said gravely. “Do I wash out my mouth with soap or do I get a medal?”
“Medal,” the boys said, and laughed heartily.
“Whatever got into you?” Rick asked the scientist.
Zircon stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeve. “He was so pompous and so serious that I just couldn’t resist. Besides, if I had been serious, we never would have gotten rid of them. Here, Rick. I’ll need antiseptic and a gauze compress for this.”
The boys looked at the wound. As Zircon had said, it was trivial. The slug had made a neat furrow across the surface of the skin, just deep enough to cause a good flow of blood. The wound already was clotting.
As Rick bandaged the scientist’s brawny arm, Zircon said, “I recoiled instinctively when Bradley yelled. But not far enough. One slug just nicked me. But those heavy caliber weapons, like our service .45, will knock a man down anywhere they hit him. This one spun me around and I piled into you two. I think that is what saved us all.”
“I didn’t know what was happening,” Rick said.
“Neither did I,” Scotty agreed. “I’ve seen Schmeissers before, but I’ve never heard one fired until now.”
“And let us hope we don’t have to hear it again,” Zircon added. When Rick finished bandaging his arm, the professor went to a suitcase and opened it, drawing out a folded map. “I’m curious about Korse Lenken,” he said. “It’s a new name to me. This map covers China and a part of Tibet. We may find it.”
After a long search, Scotty whistled. “Here it is. And look where it is!”
Korse Lenken was a tiny dot in the vastness of the mountains just beyond the Chinese border at about 95° east longitude and 32° north latitude. No other town was noted on the map in the area, but high mountains were, and so were rivers. And Chahda was there, alone! At least Bradley had not mentioned any companion who traveled with the Hindu boy.
“We’ll need to outfit completely,” Zircon said. “Food, warm clothing, sleeping bags, and all the rest. And we’ll need a rifle for Rick. We can get American rifles here. Also, I think we had better put in a small supply of ammunition beyond what we brought.”
For a short while they speculated on the trip, and on the many things Bradley had left unsaid. It was unfortunate that they couldn’t have had a few moments longer. But Rick could see that his presence in the room would have needed explaining, since he hadn’t traveled up on the elevator. It was better for him to disappear.
Before getting into bed, they went to the door and opened it. Across the hall, Long Shadow�
�s burp gun had made a fine mess. Plaster hung in patches and the laths behind were broken and splintered. Fortunately, the room opposite was a storage closet, so no one else had been in the line of fire. Rick looked at the dozens of holes and shook his head.
“If we’d been right in the doorway,” he said, “we would now be so full of holes they could use us for mosquito netting-if the holes weren’t so big.” He looked at the other two and added, “I’m beginning to think Long Shadow doesn’t like us.
CHAPTER IX
The Trail to Korse Lenken
Sing Lam-Chiong dug heels into the flanks of his mule and trotted back to where Zircon, Scotty, and Rick were jogging along on their respective mounts.
“Good place to make lunch, in about ten minutes.”
“Fine, Sing,” Zircon said. “We could use lunch.” The scientist looked down with distaste at his horse, a big hammer headed black with the lines of a plow beast. “This creature is about as comfortable as a wooden sled.”
Rick sympathized. His own nag, a pin-eared Chinese pony of a peculiar mouse-gray color, had no particular gait. He just waddled along, swaying from side to side and making his rider saddle sore.
Sing saluted and went back to the head of the column, which was made up of pack mules, each led by a Chinese bearer. There were four of the pack animals, each laden with the party’s gear.
“He certainly knows this trail,” Scotty commented.
“A good thing,” Rick said. “The camping places are few and far between. I wish Korse Lenken were nearer.”
The party was ten days out of Hong Kong, high in the mountain ranges that formed the backbone of south Asia. Since leaving the more civilized part of China they had trekked through alternate valleys and mountain passes, making good time in the valleys, but slowing to a snail’s pace in the mountains. Sometimes the trail was wide enough for the three of them to ride abreast. Sometimes it clung to the mountainside with scarcely room for a single horse or mule. But Sing, leading the way, had a knack of picking the easiest route.
The Chinese guide was a gift from heaven. The Spindrifters had checked in at the American Consulate at Chungking, as Bradley had instructed them, and the consul had offered the loan of one of his own staff. Sing, normally a clerk at the consulate, had been born and brought up in the western reaches of outer Sinkiang Province, and he knew the area from wide travels with his father, a Chinese border police officer. Although he had never been to Korse Lenken, he had been close to it.
In a short while Sing called out in Chinese to the bearers and they followed him into a sort of pocket in the mountainside. Scotty, who was slightly ahead of Rick and Zircon, turned. “We’ve got company for lunch. There’s another party already here.”
In a moment the three Americans were greeting a portly Chinese who rose to greet them.
“Howdy, Mr. Ko,” Rick said cordially. “We were wondering when we would catch up with you again.”
Worthington Ko smiled and bowed. “We will doubtless meet many times until our paths separate. Please dismount and join me. My bearers have a good cooking fire you are welcome to use.”
Ko was a textile merchant they had overtaken on the trail a short distance out of Chungking. Since then the two parties had passed and repassed each other several times. Ko had three mules, in addition to the one he rode, and two bearers. The mules carried only light packs. On the return trip, he had told them, they would be laden with Tibetan textiles. He was heading for the famous monastery of Rangan Lo to buy embroidery from the Buddhist monks. Eventually, the embroidery would find a market in Europe.
The three Spindrifters got down stiffly from their horses and found seats among the rocks next to the merchant. He smiled sympathetically. “You are stiff? These trails are very poor and one must travel them many times before one gets used to them.” He took off his thick, horn-rimmed glasses and polished them on a scrap of silk. “After twenty years of it, I still find myself bent with weariness at the end of the day.”
Sing busied himself with getting food ready. The Spindrift bearers unpacked utensils and their own rations of rice and dried meat.
Ko rose from his rocky seat and rearranged the long, flowing silk coat he wore. “I must be off. With your permission, I will proceed slowly, however, so that you will overtake me before nightfall.”
“Of course,” Zircon said. “But may I ask why?”
Ko’s nearsighted eyes peered at the rifles carried in saddle sheaths on each of the three horses, and at Sing’s shotgun. “I hope to take advantage of your weapons,” he explained. “By nightfall we should reach Llhan Huang, which is a sort of crossroad. It marks the start of the Lenken country. The Lenkens are unlikely to attack a well-armed party of eight. But they delight in robbing a small party such as mine. For that reason, I usually manage to find a larger group to which to attach myself when entering the Llhan region.” He smiled. “The armament you carry for hunting bharals will serve admirably to keep the Lenkens at a distance.”
The Spindrift party had been warned that the tribe known as Lenkens were dangerous to travelers.
“Well be delighted to have you join us,” Zircon assured him.
Rick was about to suggest that the portly Chinese merchant wait until after the Spindrifters had eaten so they could all travel together, but he thought better of it. Ko had been cordial, but he had shown little interest in the American “hunting” party and Rick thought he probably preferred to travel at his own speed and in his own way.
Sing called that lunch was ready and they took mess kits to the fire and loaded them up with rice covered with a savory sauce, canned beef, and hot, crisp water chestnuts. As Rick sighed with gratitude over the first tasty mouthful, Scotty looked at the vanishing Ko party and mused, “Wonder how come he speaks English so perfectly?”
Sing overheard. He grinned. “No reason for surprise.
Many Chinese are educated in American and English colleges both in China and in other countries. Like myself. I am a graduate of Oberlin.”
“Guess that’s right,” Scotty admitted.
“Worthington is a rather strange name for a Chinese, Sing,” Rick remarked.
The guide nodded. “It is. But I don’t think it is his real one. Many Chinese take western first, names, especially those who trade with westerners. That is because our own names are often too hard to say or remember.”
“Have yon ever met Ko before?” Zircon asked. “Since you’ve traveled widely in this region, I thought you might have come across him before.”
“I don t think so.” Sing replied. “But this is a very big country and there are many travelers like him.”
Sing was certainly right in saving that there were many travelers, although the merchants like Ko were a minority. There were families of Tibetans walking along the trail, laden with their possessions, heading for goodness knew where. There were groups of horsemen, dressed in the quilted clothes of the mountain country and with peaked felt hats. Such men usually were armed with old-fashioned muskets and carried forked rests in which to lay the musket barrels for support while firing. There were parties of Chinese, sometimes on foot and sometimes with trains of mules or yaks, the oxlike Tibetan beasts of burden.
Frequently, especially in valley country, small villages lay near the trail. Often there were herders with their large flocks of sheep.
Although the trail slanted up and down, from valley to mountain pass and back down again, the way led constantly higher toward the white-capped peaks that have been called “The Backbone of the World.” Beyond them, many hundreds of miles away, lay Nepal and India.
It was always cool now, and the Americans and Sing wore windbreakers and woolen sweaters. The bearers donned padded long coats. At night, the sleeping bags were comfortable; without them the Americans would have been chilled through and through.
“Make a guess, Sing,” Rick requested. “How many more days to Korse Lenkcn?”
Sing counted on his fingers. “With fortune, maybe we’ll get th
ere late day after tomorrow. Depends on the trails.”
Zircon sipped steaming tea standing up. He was too saddle sore to sit down. “Where do we camp tonight?”
“A mile or two past Lilian Huang. I know a good water supply there.”
The bearers were standing around waiting patiently, already finished with cleaning up and packing, except for the Americans’ teacups. They downed the last swallows of tea and handed the cups to Sing, then swung into the saddle again.
“I hope Sing is right about getting there day after tomorrow,” Rick said as he shifted uncomfortably in the “chafing seat,” as he called it. “This hay-burner is no luxury liner.”
“Ditto,” Scotty agreed. “Besides, I’m anxious to see Chahda.”
Hobart Zircon nodded. “I hope whatever we find is worth the discomfort of this trip.” He grinned. “At any rate, it’s a new experience for all of us.”
“I don’t think I’ll thank Bradley for it, though,” Rick added. “Well, let’s get moving.”
He dug his heels into the pony’s flanks and moved into position behind Sing. Scotty and Zircon fell back to bring up the rear. Although they were reasonably sure no one would attack them, Zircon felt it was best to have a rear guard and they had taken turns at the end of the column.
In spite of saddle soreness, Rick looked at the view with appreciation as the trail suddenly topped a rise. Far below spread a lush valley. Beyond were the last peaks they would have to cross before they came to Korse Lenken.
CHAPTER X
The Ambush at Llhan Huang
It was late afternoon before the Spindrift caravan left the rocks of the mountain pass and reached better ground. They paused on top of a small, pyramid-shaped hill while one of the bearers retied the pack on his mule.
Zircon looked at the formation with interest. “An old volcanic cone,” he pointed out. “Notice the regularity of the slope? And we’re in a kind of saucer that once was a live crater.”
