The Temple of the Ten/Chapter 13

SRUN the leper had told the exact truth. A hundred horsemen of the Living Buddha, with fifty Manchus, were encamped under the orders of Severn, Sheng Wu and Fandi Singh. In addition they had Kilgore's machine gun, which Sheng Wu had removed from the Temple of the Ten.

It was the singular fate of this weapon to remain untried amid a thousand chances.

The camp was made nearly at the entrance to the long and tortuous defile which gave access to the lake of singing fishes and the abode of Esrun. To proceed to the temple was out of the question. Sheng Wu considered it the abode of devils. Severn and Sir Fandi were convinced that it contained secret passages through which had come the gas-bearers who destroyed the Sikhs.

In making camp near the entrance to the lake and valley, which they intended to explore thoroughly, the three companions effected a compromise. From here they could search all the hills and valleys round-about for the scattered skin-houses of the Darkan tribe. As a first step, Sir Fandi and Sheng Wu had ridden on with the Manchus to search the temple anew and to bring back fresh water.

Severn remained in charge of the camp.

The savant had become a changed man. His own sorrows lay behind him; he had embarked upon those of his friends. The kindliness of his eyes had deepened. A new strength to endure had uprisen in his soul, and he was reconciled to living out his life to its fullness; the peril of cynicism had been lifted from him.

He was unpacking his things when there arose a sudden tumult of alarm. Sentries cried out. A rifle was discharged. Horses were mounted in haste. Severn rushed from his shelter-tent to ascertain the cause, and beheld a man mounted upon a dromedary issuing from the mouth of the defile.

Under his sharp orders the horsemen of the Hutuktu lost their confusion and became orderly. Three of them detached themselves and galloped away to summon Sir Fandi's party. It grew evident that the single man on the dromedary was approaching the camp, and that he was alone.

Examining this single rider through his field-glasses, Severn uttered a cry of amazed recognition.

“Day!” he exclaimed.

In this moment, however, he kept his head. This might be some ruse; he dared take no chances of a surprize attack. He remained beside the machine gun and dispatched a dozen of the horsemen to bringing the lone rider without harm. They dashed forth on the errand.

Watching narrowly, Severn perceived that Day was not a free agent by any means. The dromedary was unsaddled, without bridle. Day was merely tied in between the two humps which distinguished the Bactrian breed, and he appeared to be unconscious. At the approach of the horsemen the dromedary flung up his head, swerved in his course and tried to flee. A rifle barked and the animal fell. The horsemen closed in about him.

The Mongols cut Day loose, mounted him behind a saddle and returned. It was close to sunset, but there remained an hour or more of daylight.

Severn received the body of Day in his arms, and made a hasty examination. So far as he could tell, Day was unhurt save for a bump on the back of the head—a slight matter. His unconsciousness had not come from this hurt; his stertorous breathing, his deep stupor of slumber, had been caused by some drug.

“Carry him to my tent,” ordered Severn. “What is this?”

One of the Mongols put a sheaf of black papers into his hand. The papers were tied about with a strip of torn cotton.

“It was hanging about his neck. There was nothing else.”

Severn examined the papers. They were of varying sizes, from six inches in length and four in width to three times as much. They were nearly black in color. Upon each was imprinted a series of ideographs in vermilion; the papers were clear as if fresh from the press.

When he saw the ideographs, Severn barely repressed a cry of incredulous wonder.

“Mulberry paper—bank-notes!” he said, staring at them. He glanced again at the red imprints. “Issued by Kublai Khan—impossible! These must be imitations”

They were not imitations; he was convinced of this, even while he uttered the words. His false arm told him nothing; but the fingers of his remaining hand were too sensitive to feel for deception to answer here. He had the instinct of the archeologist for delicate perceptions of patina and fiber. He knew that he was holding genuine bank-notes of the Yuan dynasty, issued in the thirteenth century, yet preserved perfectly!

With an effort, he thrust the papers into his pocket and hurried to the side of his rescued comrade. As he gained the tent he halted abruptly, lifting his head. From the direction of the Temple of the Ten had come a sustained burst of firing. It ended as suddenly as it had begun.

Severn ordered out scouts and sentinels, then examined Day.

He was not long in determining what drug held his friend unconscious. It was cannabis Indica, that Indian hemp about which so much misinformation is spread abroad. This drug when given internally throws a man into a slumber which lasts for hours or days, an intense and deep slumber. Upon awakening, the victim is in something akin to a subconscious mental state; all power of concentration is gone for a time, and his brain is horribly relaxed. He can repeat, but he can not think. His initiative is destroyed. Then, literally, he can not tell a lie.

Severn guessed that Day's slumber had nearly run its course, but it was no time for delay. Kilgore might be somewhere near at hand, and in danger. Sheng Wu and Fandi had obviously fallen upon enemies. The need for action was imperative.

Without hesitation Severn procured a hypodermic, melted a stiff restorative solution and injected it into Day's arm. Then he awaited results in an agony of impatience.

He was still waiting when, with the sunlight gone, Sheng Wu and a dozen Manchus came riding into the camp. The Chinaman's report was brief. They had found a score of Darkan tribesmen encamped at the temple and had fallen upon them instantly.

“Where is Sir Fandi?” demanded Severn. “Did you get my message about Day?”

Sheng Wu assented.

“That was why I returned,” and he blinked a little. “Sir Fandi Singh remained with the rest of our men. Some of the barbarians were being pursued and others had been captured. My Manchus undertook to make them talk. I did not care to witness the proceedings.”

At this Severn's lips clenched for an instant. He comprehended that Sir Fandi would stop at nothing to get news of Kilgore.

He took Sheng Wu to the side of Day. The latter's eyelids were fluttering. He gazed up at them vacantly, then his lips formed the name of Severn.

He was conscious again.

For half an hour the two men remained sitting beside Day. The latter told a rambling but perfectly coherent story. He had been hit on the head while he slept and knew nothing more. Of the Yuan bank-notes he could tell nothing.

Of himself and Kilgore and Esrun he could tell everything, and he did so. Before his story was half-finished, Sheng Wu arose and summoned the officer of his Manchu troops.

“You will order the Mongol barbarians to remove their camp to a distance of a hundred yards. Place three of our own men as sentries about this spot, and shoot any one who comes near.”

The officer departed. Severn glanced up in surprize.

“You heard what he said,” explained Sheng Wu blandly. “Esrun has spies among our men; those spies will be among the barbarians, not among my Manchus. That is all.”

“Esrun—still alive!” murmured Severn.

“Trapped!” came the hollow voice of Day, who was dimly conscious of why he had been allowed to join his friends “All she wants—Sir Fandi. No hatred to others.”

He rambled along, giving vaguely jointed fragments of Esrun's conversation with himself and Kilgore. Severn might have discounted it as a mad dream, but Sheng Wu, who was an oriental, knew better. He gave a brief and correct exegesis of Day's remarks as the latter went on. Little by little they uncovered the whole affair.

When half an hour had passed the two listeners comprehended everything. Day lay with closed eyes, conscious but drowsy and without animation.

“Here is what has happened,” said Sheng Wu softly, blinking at the darkness which closed them in. “Esrun wanted no trouble with us, but desired greatly to have Sir Fandi in her power. She sent Day to us. When Sir Fandi hears this story, what will he do? He will refuse to jeopardize us and will go to join Kilgore—not meekly as a victim, but trusting in himself to effect a rescue.”

Severn nodded thoughtfully.

“That seems correct. Well?”

“Esrun's spies have doubtless already reported by telepathy that Day is here,” went on the bland yellow man. “We can not discover who they are; no matter! If our force attempts to reach the lake, Esrun will summon her barbarians to overwhelm us in the defile. Therefore, we must leave most of them camped here. Remember, whatever we do will be at once reported to her!”

“I see.” Severn frowned deeply. “If we are to rescue Kilgore, we must take Esrun by surprize. But to surprize her is impossible. She expects Sir Fandi to come alone to the lake, and there she will be prepared to ensnare him. Why, it's absurd—yet true! To think of a blind old leper woman doing this”

“Nothing is absurd,” said Sheng Wu, and then added, “And nothing is impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“She will expect Sir Fandi. She knows him for a Rajput—a man of honor, a man of high chivalry, a man who would readily sacrifice his life for his friends. She is blind, however, and can not see him. She will speak with him in Hindustani to convince herself that he is the right man and to confirm the report of her spies here. Unfortunately, I do not speak Hindustani”

Severn started.

“I do!” he said, and remained for a space in thought.

Sheng Wu waited, patient and quite comprehending Severn's thoughts.

At length the American lifted his head.

“We must prevent Sir Fandi's hearing Day's story,” he said, speaking slowly.

“I will answer for that,” replied the other. “I will put him to sleep again.”

“We must make our Mongols believe that Sir Fandi has gone to the lake, alone. In fact he must go, so that they will believe it”

“I will answer for that, Mr. Severn. He can go—and then return to the temple. In the darkness, that will be very easy.”

“Yet Sir Fandi must not realize the truth.”

“I will answer for that.”

“And,” concluded Severn, “the Mongols must not know that I have gone to the lake.”

“Right. I will send you off now with my Manchus, ostensibly to the temple. You will ride part way, then send them on to join Sir Fandi, and strike off by yourself.”

Severn nodded.

“Good enough. And how will you answer to Sir Fandi for my absence?”

Sheng Wu was silent for a space. Then he smiled.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that I must tell our friend a few lies. Well! That is quite all right. It is one of the duties of universal obligation belonging to the intercourse of friends, as set forth in the twentieth chapter Tsze-sze's 'Doctrine of the Mean.' There is only one thing that troubles me.”

“And what is that?” queried Severn.

“Your fate.”

Severn laughed softly.

“Don't worry about that, Sheng. Give me three days. If Kilgore and I don't return in that time”

“Then we shall come and avenge your death. You are a person of great virtue, my friend. You are risking much.”

“No; I have not much to risk,” said Severn “What remains to me is little enough to place at the service of my friends. Now, I want two horses, a supply of food, one of our electric torches and my revolver. I think that will be all.”

Half an hour afterward Severn and six Manchu riders set off in the direction of the temple. One of the Manchus bore a note to Sir Fandi Singh.

Under the fine starlight Severn had no difficulty in ascertaining his position perfectly. When the camp was a mile away he drew rein and sent the Manchus onward. He watched them ride from sight toward the temple.

“I hope Sheng Wu can accomplish his part of the work,” he thought. “It's more difficult than mine. I have only to fool a poor blind leper—while he has to deceive both Sir Fandi and the Mongols!”

And he rode toward the defile, trying to assure himself that he would this time be able to shoot down Esrun on sight. In his heart of hearts he knew that he could not do it, at least, without provocation. He had never forgotten the horror that had seized him when, as he thought, he had shot the woman to death—even in the moment when he thought she had murdered Sir Fandi.

After all sometimes these little things count big with the right sort of man. Day could have shot the woman without a scruple. Severn, although he knew that the life of Kilgore might swing in the balance, tried to persuade himself to do it, and could not.

“We'll see when the time comes,” he reflected, and spurred his horses onward. “After all, it may not be necessary—she is only a blind woman, a helpless creature.”

This was a mistake.