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HARVARD

COLLEGE

LIBRARY

MARCHING SANDS

MARCHING

SANDS by

HAROLD LAMB

D. APPLETON Atfb' COMPANY

NEW YORK : LONDON J^1980n

,v.n u '

AL^dlh.^'S

p l <-

Til**, a i, »

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

Fiamk A. Moth" CoMPAinr

rorid ni m tooted sxatis qv amimca

CONTENTS

I. • The Lost People i

II. Legends 8

III. Delabar Discourses ....... 16

IV. Warning 27

V. Intruders 41

VI. Mirai Khan 52

VII. The Door Is Guarded 65

VIII. Delabar Leaves ........ 80

IX. The Liu Sha 93

X. The Mem-Sahib Speaks 106

XI. Sir Lionel 118

XII. A Message from the Centuries ... 128

XIII. The Desert 146

XIV. Traces in the Sand 159

XV. A Last Camp 171

XVI. Gray Carries On 186

XVII. The Yellow Robe .197

XVIII. Bassalor Danbk 205

XIX. Concerning a City ....... 220

XX. The Talisman 230

XXI. Mary Makes a Request 245

XXII. The Answer 258

XXIII. The Challenge 267

XXIV. A Stage Is Set 280

XXV. Rifle against Arrow 293

XXVI. The Bronze Circlet 302

MARCHING SANDS

CHAPTER I

TOE LOST PEOPLE

"You want me to fail."

It was neither question nor statement. It came

in a level voice, the words dropping slowly from

the lips of the man in the chair as if he weighed

each one.

He might have been speaking aloud to himself,

as he sat staring directly in front of him, powerful

hands crossed placidly over his knees. He was a

man that other men would look at twice, and a

woman might glance at once — and remember. Yet

there was nothing remarkable about him, except

perhaps a singular depth of chest that made his

quiet words resonant.

That and the round column of a throat bore out

the evidence of strength shown in the hands. A

broad, brown head showed a hard mouth, and

wide-set, green eyes. These eyes were level and

slow moving, like the lips — the eyes of a man who

Marching Sands

could play a poker hand and watch other men with-

out looking at them directly.

There was a certain melancholy mirrored in the

expressionless face. The melancholy that is the

toll of hardships and physical suffering. This,

coupled with great, though concealed, physical

strength, was the curious trait of the man in the

chair, Captain Robert Gray, once adventurer and

explorer, now listed in the United States Army Re-

serve.

He had the voyager's trick of wearing excellent

clothes carelessly, and the army man's trait of re-

strained movement and speech. He was on the

verge of a vital decision ; but he spoke placidly, even

coldly. So much so that the man at the desk leaned

forward earnestly.

"No, we don't want you to fail, Captain Gray.

We want you to find out the truth and to tell us

what you have found out."

"Suppose there is nothing to discover?"

"We will know we are mistaken."

"Will that satisfy you?"

"Yes."

Captain "Bob" Gray scrutinized a scar on the

back of his right hand. It had been made by a

Mindanao kris, and, as the edge of the kris had

been poisoned, the skin was still a dull purple.

Then he smiled.

"I thought," he said slowly, "that the lost people

The Lost People

myths were out of date. I thought the last missing

tribe had been located and card-indexed by the

geographical and anthropological societies."

Dr. Cornelius Van Schaick did not smile. He

was a slight, gray man, with alert eyes. And he

was the head of the American Exploration Society*

a director of the Museum of Natural History — in

the office of which he was now seated with Gray—

and a member of sundry scientific and historical

academies.

"This is not a loft people, Captain Gray/' He

paused, pondering his words. "It is a branch of

our own race, the Indo- Aryan, or white race. It

is the Wusun— the 'Tall Ones/ We— the Ameri-

can Exploration Society — believe it is to be found,

in the heart of Asia." He leaned back, alertly.

Gray's brows went up.

"And so you are going to send an expedition to

look for it?"

"To look for it." Van Schaick nodded, with the

enthusiasm of a scientist on the track of a discov-

ery. "We are going to send you, to prove that

it exists. If this is proved," he continued decisive-

ly, "we will know that a white race was dominant in

Asia before the time of the great empires ; that the

present Central Asian may be descended from

Aryan stock. We will have new light on the de-

velopment of races — even on the Bible "

"Steady, Doctor I" Gray raised his hand. "You're

Marching Sands

getting out of my depth. What I want to know is

this : Why do you think that I can find this white

tribe in Asia — the Wusuns? I'm an army officer,

out of a job and looking for one. That's why I

answered your letter. I'm broke, and I need work,

but "

Van Schaick peered at a paper that he drew from

a pile on his desk.

"We had good reasons for selecting you, Captain

Gray/' he said dryly. "You have done explora-

tion work north of the Hudson Bay; you once

stamped out dysentery in a Mindanao district;

you have done unusual work for the Bureau of

Navigation; on active service in France you led

your company "

Gray looked up quickly. "So did a thousand

other American officers," he broke in.

"Ah, but very few have had a father HEe yours,"

he smiled, tapping the paper gently. "Your father,

Captain Gray, was once a missionary of the Metho-

dists, in Western Shensi. You were with him,

there, until you were four years of age. I under-

stand that he mastered the dialect of the border,

thoroughly, and you also picked it up, as a child.

This is correct?"

"Yes."

"And your father, before he died in this country,

persisted in refreshing, from time to time, your

knowledge of the dialect"

The Lost People

"Yes."

Van Schaick laid down the paper.

"In short, Captain Gray/' he concluded, "you

have a record at Washington of always getting

what you go after, whether it is information or

men. That can be said about many explorers, per-

haps; but in your case the results are on paper.

You have never failed. That is why we want you.

Because, if you don't find the Wusun, we will then

know they are not to be found."

"I don't think they can be found.

The scientist peered at his visitor curiously.

"Wait until you have heard our information

about the white race in the heart of China, before

you make up your mind," he said in his cold, con-

cise voice, gathering the papers into their leather

portmanteau. "Do you know why the Wusun have

not been heard from?"

"I might guess. They seem to be in a region

where no European explorers have gone "

"Have been permitted to go. Asia, Captain Gray,

for all our American investigations, is a mystery

to us. We think we have removed the veil from

its history, and we have only detached a thread.

The religion of Asia is built on its past. And re-

ligion is the pulse of Asia. The Asiatics have

taught their children that, from the dawn of his-

tory, they have been lords of the civilized world.

What would be the result if it were proved that a

Marching, Sands

white race dominated Central Asia before the Chris-

tian era? The traditions of six hundred million

people who worship their past would be shattered."

Gray was silent while the scientist placed his

finger on a wall map of Asia. Van Schaick drew

his finger inland from the coast of China, past the

rivers and cities, past the northern border of Tibet

to a blank space under the mountains of Turkestan

where there was no writing.

"This is the blind spot of Asia," he said. "It

has grown smaller, as Europeans journeyed

through its borders. Tibet, we know. The interior

of China we know, except for this blind spot. It

is "

"In the Desert of Gobi."

"The one place white explorers have been pre-

vented from visiting. And it is here we have heard

the Wusun are."

"A coincidence."

Van Schaick glanced at his watch.

"If you will come with me, Captain Gray, to the

meeting of the Exploration Society now in session,

I will convince you it is no coincidence. Before

we go, I would like to be assured of one thing.

The expedition to the far end of the Gobi Desert

will not be safe. It may be very dangerous. Would

you be willing to undertake it?"

Gray glanced at the map and rose.

"If you can show me, Doctor," he responded,

The Lost People

"that there is something to be found — I'd tackle

it."

"Come with me," nodded Van Schaick briskly.

The halls of the museum were dark, as it was

past the night hour for visitors. A small light at

the stairs showed the black bulk of inanimate forms

in glass compartments, and the looming outline of

mounted beasts, with the white bones of prehistoric

mammals.

At the entrance, Van Schaick nodded to an at-

tendant, who summoned the scientist's car.

Their footsteps had ceased to echo along the

tiled corridor. The motionless beast groups stared

unwinkingly at the single light from glass eyes.

Then a form moved in one of the groups.

The figure slipped from the stuffed animals, down

the hall. The entrance light showed for a second

a slender man in an overcoat who glanced quickly

from side to side at the door to see if he was ob-

served. Then he went out of the door, into the

night

/' CHAPTER II

LEGENDS

That evening a few men were gathered in Van

Schaick's private office at the building of the Ameri-

can Exploration Society. One was a celebrated an-

thropologist, another a historian who had come thai

day from Washington. A financier whose name

figured in the newspapers was a third. And a

European orientologist.

To these men, Van Schaick introduced Gray, ex-

plaining briefly what had passed in their interview.

"Captain Gray," he concluded, "wishes proof of

what we know. If he can be convinced that the

Wusun are to be found in the Gobi Desert, he is

ready to undertake the trip."

For an hour the three scientists talked. Gray

listened silently. They were followers of a call-

ing strange to him, seekers after the threads of

knowledge gleaned from the corners of the earth,

zealots, men who would spend a year or a lifetime

in running down a clew to a new species of human

beings or animals. They were men who were gath-

erers of the treasures of the sciences, indifferent

to the ordinary aspects of life, unsparing in their

Legends

efforts. And he saw that they knew what they

were talking about.

In the end of the Bronze Age, at the dawn of

history, they explained, the Indo-Aryan race, their

own race, swept eastward from Scandinavia and the

north of Europe, over the mountain barrier of Asia

and conquered the Central Asian peoples — the Mon-

golians — with their long swords.

This was barely known, and only guessed at by

certain remnants of the Aryan language found in

Northern India, and inscriptions dug up from the

mountains of Turkestan.

They believed, these scientists, that before the

great Han dynasty of China, an Indo-Aryan race

known as the Sacae had ruled Central Asia. The

forefathers of the Europeans had ruled the Mon-

golians. The ancestors of thousands of Central

Asians of to-day had been white men — tall men,

with long skulls, and yellow hair, and great fighters.

The earliest annals of China mentioned the

Huing-nu — light-eyed devils — who came down into

the desert. The manuscripts of antiquity bore the

name of the Wusun — the "Tall Ones." And the chil-

dren of the Aryan conquerors had survived, fight-

ing against the Mongolians for several hundred

years.

"They survive to-day," said the historian earn-

estly. "Marco Polo, the first European to enter

Marching Sands

China, passed along the northern frontier of the

Wusun land. He called their king Prester John

and a Christian. You have heard of the myth of

Prester John, sometimes called the monarch of

Asia. And of the fabulous wealth of his kingdom,

the massive cities. The myth states that Prester

John was a captive in his own palace."

"You see," assented Van Schaick, "already the

captivity of the Wusun had begun. The Mon-

golians have never tolerated other races within their

borders. During the time of Genghis Khan and

the Tartar conquerors, the survivors of the Aryans

were thinned by the sword."

"Marco Polo," continued the historian, "came as

near to the land of the Wusun as any other Euro-

pean. Three centuries later a Portuguese mission-

ary, Benedict Goes, passed through the desert near

the city of the Wusun, and reported seeing some

people who were fair of face, tall and light-eyed."

Van Schaick turned to his papers.

"In the last century," he said, "a curious thing

happened to an English explorer, ' Ney Elias. I

quote from his book. An old man called on me

at Kwei-hwa~ching, at the eastern end of the Thian

Shan Mountains, who said he was neither China-

man, Mongol, nor Mohammedan, and lived on

ground especially allotted by the emperor, and where

there now exist several families of the same origin.

He said that he had been a prince. At Kwei-hwa-

Legends

thing I was very closely spied on and warned

against asking too many questions."

Van Schaick peered over his spectacles at Gray.

"The Thian Shan Mountains are just north of

this blind spot in the Gobi Desert where we think

the Wusun are."

The historian broke in eagerly.

"Another clew — a generation ago the Russian ex-

plorer, Colonel Przewalski, tried to enter this blind

spot from the south, and was fought off with much

bloodshed by one of the guardian tribes."

Gray laughed frankly.

"I admit I'm surprised, gentlemen. Until now

I thought you were playing some kind of a joke

on mc."

Van Schaick's thin face flushed, but he spoke

calmly.

"It is only fair, sir, that you should have proof

you are not being sent after a will-o'-the-wisp. A

few days ago I talked with a missionary who had

been invalided home from China. His name is

Jacob Brent. He has been for twenty years head

of the college of Chengtu, in Western China. He

heard rumors of a captive tribe in the heart of the

Gobi. And he saw one of the Wusun."

He paused to consult one of his papers method-

ically.

"Brent was told, by some Chinese coolies, of a

tall race dwelling in a city in the Gobi, a race that

Marching Sands

was, they said, 'just like him/ And in one of his

trips near the desert edge he saw a tall figure run-

ning toward him over the sand, staggering from

weariness. Then several Chinese riders appeared

from the sand dunes and headed off the fugitive.

But not before Brent had seen that the man's face

was partially white."

"Partially?" asked Gray quizzically.

"I am quoting literally. Yes, that was what

Brent said. He was prevented by his native bear-

ers from going into the Gobi to investigate. They

believed the usual superstitions about the desert —

evil spirits and so forth — and they warned Brent

against a thing they called the pale sickness."

Gray looked up quietly. "You know what that

is?"

"We do not know, and surmises are valueless."

He shrugged. ''You have an idea?"

"Hardly, yet — you say that Brent is ill. Could

he be seen?"

"I fancy not. He is in a California sanitarium,

broken down from overwork, the doctors informed

me.

1 see." Gray scrutinized his companions. The

same eagerness showed in each face, the craving

for discovery which is greater than the lust of the

gold prospector. They were hanging on his next

words. "Gentlemen, do you realize that three great

difficulties are to be met? Money — China — and a

Legends

knowledge of science. By that I mean my own

qualifications. I am an explorer, not a scien-

tist "

At this point Balch, the financier who had not

spoken before, leaned forward.

"Three excellent points," he nodded. "I can an-

swer them. We can supply you with funds, Cap-

tain Gray," he said decisively.

"And permission from the Chinese authorities?"

"We have passports signed, in blank, for an

American hunter and naturalist to journey into

the interior of China, to the Gobi Desert."

You will not go alone," explained Van Schaick.

We realize that a scientist must accompany you."

We have the man," continued Balch, "an orien-

tologist — speaks Persian and Turki — knows Cen-

tral Asia like a book. Professor Arminius Delabar.

He'll join you at Frisco." He stood up and held

out his hand. "Gray, you're the man we want I I

like your talk." He laughed boyishly, being young

in heart, in spite of his years. "You're equal to

the job — and you can shoot a mountain sheep or a

bandit in the head at five hundred yards. Don't

deny it — you've done it!"

"Maps?" asked Gray dryly.

"The best we could get. Chinese and Russian

surveys of the Western Gobi," Balch explained

briskly. "We want you to start right off. We

know that our dearest foes, the British Asiatic So-

Marching Sands

ciety, have wind of the Wusun. They are fitting

out an expedition. It will have the edge on yours

because — discounting the fact that the British know

the field better — it'll start from India, which is

nearer the Gobi. 9 '

"Then it's got to be a race ?" Gray frowned.

"A race it is/' nodded Batch, "and my money

backs you and Delabar. So the sooner you can

start the better. Van Schaick will go with you to

Frisco and give you details, with maps and pass-

ports on the way. We'll pay you the salary of

your rank in the army, with a fifty per cent bonus

if you get to the Wusun. Now, what's your an-

swer — yes or no?" He glanced at the officer sharp-

ly, realizing that if Gray doubted, he would not be

the man for the expedition.

Gray smiled quizzically.

"I came to you to get a job," he said, "and here

it is. I need the money. My answer is — yes. Ill

do my best to deliver the goods."

"Gentlemen," Balch turned to his associates, M I

congratulate you. Captain Gray may or may not

get to the Wusun. But — unless I'm a worse judge

of character than I think — he'll get to the place

where the Wusun ought to be. He won't turn

back."

Their visitor flushed at that. He was still young,

being not yet thirty. He shook hands all around

and left for his hotel, with Balch and Van Schaick

Legends

to arrange railroad schedules, and the buying of an

outfit.

This is a brief account of how Robert Gray came

to depart on his mission to the Desert of Gobi, as

reported in the files of the American Exploration

Society for the summer of 1919.

It was not given to the press at the time, owing

to the need of secrecy. Nor did the Exploration

Society obtain authority from the United States

Government for the expedition. Time was press-

ing, as they learned the British expedition was get-

ting together at Burma. Later, Van Schaick agreed

with Balch that this had been a mistake.

But by that time Gray was far beyond reach, in

the foothills of the Celestial Mountains, in the Liu

Sha, and had learned the meaning of the pale sick-

ness.

CHAPTER III

DELABAR DISCOURSES

Gray had meant what he said about his new job.

Van Schaick pleaded for haste, but the army officer

knew from experience the danger of omitting some

important item from his outfit, and went ahead with

characteristic thoroughness.

He assembled his personal kit in New York, with

the rifles, medicines and ammunition that he needed.

Also a good pair of field glasses and the maps that

Van Schaick furnished. Batch made him a present

of twenty pounds of fine smoking tobacco which

was gratefully received.

'Til need another man with me," Gray told Van

Schaick, who was on edge to be off. "Delabar*!! be

all right in his way, but we'll want a white man

who can shoot and work. I know the man for the

job — McCann, once my orderly, now in the re-

serve."

Get him, by all means," agreed the scientist

"He's in Texas, out of a job. A wire'U bring

him to Frisco in time to meet us. Well, I'm about

ready to check out."

Delabar Discourses

They left that night on the western express.

Gray was not sorry to leave the city. Like all

voyagers, he felt the oppression of the narrow

streets, the monotony of always going home to the

same place to sleep. Wanderlust had gripped him

again at thought of the venture into another conti-

nent.

He took his mission seriously. On the maps that

Van Schaick and Balch had given him they had

pointed out a spot beyond the known travel routes,

a good deal more than a thousand miles into the

interior of China. To this spot Gray was going.

He had his orders and he would carry them out

Van Schaick talked much on the train. He ex-

plained how much the mission meant to the Ex-

ploration Society. It would give them world-wide

fame. And it would add enormously to the knowl-

edge of humankind. Gray, he said, would travel

near the path of Marco Polo; he would tear the

veil of secrecy from the hidden corner of the Gobi

Desert. It would be a victory of science over the

ancient soul of Mongolia.

It would shake the foundation of the great jade

image of Buddha, of the many-armed Kali, of Bon

the devil-god, and the ancient Vishnu. It would

strengthen the hold of the Bible on the Mongolian

world.

If only, said Van Schaick wistfully, Gray could

find the Wusun ahead of the expedition of the

Marching Sands

British Asiatic Society, the triumph would be com-

plete.

Gray listened silently. It was fortunate, in the

light of what followed, that his imagination was

not easily stirred.

He looked curiously at the man who was to be

his partner in the expedition. Van Schaick intro-

duced them at the platform of the San Francisco

terminal.

Professor Arminius Delabar was a short, slender

man, of wiry build and a nervous manner that re-

minded Gray of a bird. He had near-sighted,

bloodshot eyes encased behind tinted glasses, and a

dark face with well-kept beard. He was half

Syrian by birth, American by choice, and a denizen

of the academies and byways of the world. Also,

he spoke at least four languages fluently.

The army man's respect for his future companion

went up several notches when he found that Dela-

bar had already arranged competently for the pur-

chase and shipment of their stores.

"You see," he explained in his room at the hotel

to Gray, "the fewer things we must buy in Shanghai

the better. Our plan is to attract as little attention

as possible. Our passport describes us as hunter

and naturalist. Foreigners are a common sight in

China as far into the interior as Liangchowfu.

Once we are past there and on the interior plains,

it will be hard to follow us — if we have attracted

Delabar Discourses

no attention. Do you speak any Chinese dialects?"

It was an abrupt question, in Delabar's high

voice. The Syrian spoke English with only the

trace of an accent.

"A little," admitted Gray. "I was born in

Shensi, but I don't remember anything except a

baby white camel — a playmate. Mandarin Chinese

is Greek to me."

Some time afterward he learned that Delabar had

taken this as a casual boast — not knowing Gray's

habit of understating his qualifications. Fortune

plays queer tricks sometimes and Gray's answer was

to loom large in the coming events.

Fortune, or as Gray put it, the luck of the road,

threw two obstacles in their way at Frisco. Van

Schaick had telegraphed ahead to the sanitarium

where the missionary Brent was being treated: He

hoped to arrange an interview between Brent and

Gray.

Brent was dying. No one could visit him. Also,

McCann, the soldier who was to accompany them,

did not show up at the hotel, — although he had

wired his officer at Chicago that he would be in

Frisco before the appointed time.

Gray would have liked to wait for the man. He

knew McCann would be useful — a crack shot, a

good servant, and an expert at handling men — but

Delabar had already booked their passage on the

next Pacific Mail steamer.

Marching Sands

"Van Schaick can wait here/' Delabar assured

Gray, "meet McCann, and send him on by the boat

following. He will join you at Shanghai.' 4

"Very well," assented Gray, who was checking up

the list of stores Delabar had bought. "That will

do nicely. I see that youVe thought of all the

necessary things, Professor. We can pick up a

reserve supply of canned foodstuffs at Shanghai, or

Hankow." He glanced at Van Schaick. "There's

one thing more to be settled. It's important. Who

is in command of this party? The Professor or I?

If he's to be the boss, all right — I'll carry on with

that understanding."

Van Schaick hesitated. But Delabar spoke up

quickly.

"The expedition is in your hands, Captain Gray.

I freely yield you the responsibility."

Gray was still watching Van Schaick. "Is that

understood? It's a good thing to clear up before

we start."

"Certainly," assented the scientist. "Now we'll

discuss the best route "

Van Schaick stood at the pier-head the next day

when the steamer cast off her moorings, and waved

good-by to the two. Gray left him behind with

some regret. A good man, Van Schaick, an Amer-

ican from first to last, and a slave to science.

During the monotonous run across the Pacific

when the sea and the sky seemed unchanged from

Delabar Discourses

day to day, Delabar talked incessantly about their

trip. Gray, who preferred to spend the time doing

and saying nothing, listened quietly.

The officer was well content to lie back in his

deck chair, hands clasped behind his curly head,

and stare out into space. This was his habit, when

off duty. It satisfied him to the soul to do nothing

but watch the thin line where the gray-blue of the

Pacific melted into the pale blue of the sky, and

feel the sun's heat on his face. It made him appear

lazy. Which he was not.

The energetic professor fancied that Gray paid

little attention to his stream of information about

the great Gobi Desert. In that, he did the other

an injustice. Gray heeded and weighed Delabar's

words. Ingrained in him from army life and a

solitary existence marked by few friendships was

the need of reticence, and watchfulness. Nor was

his inclination to idle on the voyage mere habit.

Unconsciously, he was storing up vital strength in

his strongly knit frame — strength which he had

called on in the past, and which he would need

again.

"You don't seem to appreciate, my young friend,"

remarked the professor once, irritably, "that it is

inner Asia we are invading. Also, we are going a

thousand miles beyond your American gunboats."

"The days of the Ih-hwo-Ch'um are past."

Delabar shrugged his shoulders, surprised at his

Marching Sands

companion's pertinent remark. "True. China is

a republic and progressive, perhaps. But the Mon-

golian soul does not change overnight. Moreover,

there are the priests — Buddhists and Taoists. Fear

and superstition rule the mass of the Dragon King-

dom, my friend, and it is these priests who will be

our enemies."

Gray had spoken truly when he said he remem-

bered nothing of China, except a white camel, but,

subconsciously, many things were familiar to the

soldier.

"At the border of the Gobi Desert, where we be-

lieve the Wusun to be," continued the scientist

warmly, as Gray was silent, "a center of Buddhism

existed in the Middle Ages. The three sects of

Buddhist priests — Black, Yellow and Red — are

united in the effort to preserve their power. They

preach the advent of the Gautama in the next few

years. . Also, that the ancient Gautama ruled the

spiritual world before the coming of Christianity.

"So you can see," he pointed out, "that the dis-

covery of a white race — a race that did not acknowl-

edge Buddha — in the heart of China would be a

blow to their doctrine. It would contradict their

book of prophecy."

Gray nodded, puffing at his pipe. Presently, he

stirred himself to speak.

"Rather suspect you're right, Professor. You

know the religious dope. And the religions of

Delabar Discourses

Asia are not good things to monkey with. But, look

here/' He drew a map from his pocket and spread

it out on his knee. "Here's the spot where Van

Schaick located the Wusun— our long-lost but not

forgotten cousins. Well and good. Only that

spot, which you and your friends call the 'blind

spot' of Asia, happens to be in the middle of the far

Gobi Desert. How do you figure people existed

there for several centuries?"

Delabar hesitated, glancing up at the moving trac-

ery of smoke that rose from the funnel, against

the clouds. They were on the boat deck.

"The Ming annals mention a city in that place,

some two thousand years ago. A thousand years

later we know there were many palaces at this end

of the Thian Shan — the Celestial Mountains. Re-

member that the caravan routes from China to

Samarcand, India and Persia are very old, and that

they— or one of the most important of them — ran

pasf this blind spot."

"Marco Polo trailed along there, didn't he?"

"Yes. We know the great city of the Gobi was

called Sungan. The Ming annals describe it as

having 'massive gates, walls and bastions, besides

underground passages, vaulted and arched.' "

"European travelers don't report this city."

"Because they never saw it, my friend. Brent,

who was at the edge of the Gobi near there, states

that he saw towers in the sand. And the Moham-

Marching Sands

medan annals of Central Asia have a curious tale."

"Let's have it," said Gray, settling himself com-

fortably in his chair.

"It was in the sixteenth century," explained Dela-

bar, who seemed to have the myths of Asia at his

tongue's end. "A religious legend. A certain holy

man, follower of the prophet, was robbed and

beaten in a city near where we believe Sungan to

be. After his injury by the people of the city — he

was a mullah — he climbed into a minaret to call the

hour of evening prayer."

Delabar's voice softened as he spoke, sliding into

more musical articulation.

"As he cried the hour, this holy man felt some-

thing falling like snow on his face. Only it was

not snow. The sky and the city darkened. He

could not see the roofs of the buildings. He went

down and tried the door. It was blocked. Then

this man saw that it was sand falling over the city.

The sand covered the whole town, leaving only the

minaret, which was high. The people who had

done him the injury were buried — became white

bones under the sand."

"That story figures in the Bible," assented Gray,

"only not the same. You don't consider the myth

important, do you?"

"The priests of Asia do," said the professor seri-

ously. "And I have seen the memoirs of Central

Asian kingdoms which mention that treasure was

Delabar Discourses

dug for and found in ruins in the sands." He

glanced at his companion curiously. "You do not

seem to be worried, Captain Gray, at entering the

forbidden shrine of the Mongols.

Having been born thereabouts, the idea amused

Gray.

"Are you ?" Gray laughed. "The Yellow Peril is

dead."

"So is Dr. Brent."

"I don't attempt to analyze the connection, Cap-

tain Gray. Remember in China we are dealing with

men who think backward, around-about, and every

way except our own. Then there are the priests.

All I know is that Dr. Brent entered on forbidden

ground, fell sick, and had to leave China. Do you

know what he died of?"

"Do you?"

Delabar was silent a moment ; then he smiled. "I

have imagination — too much, perhaps. But then I

have lived behind the threshold of Asia for half

my life."

"I suspect it's a good thing for me you have,"

Gray admitted frankly.

Before they left their chairs that afternoon a

steward brought the officer a message from the

wireless cabin.

Van Schaick had sent it, before the steamer passed

Marching Sands

the radio limit. Gray read it, frowned, and turned

to Delabar.

"This is rather bad luck, Professor,* 9 he said.

"McCann, the fellow I counted on, is not coming.

He was taken sick with grippe in Los Angeles on his

way to Frisco. It looks as if you and I would

have to go it alone."

CHAPTER IV

WARNING

The news of McCann's loss, so important to the

officer, Delabar passed over with a shrug. Gray

wondered briefly why a man obviously inclined to

nervousness should ignore the fact that they were

without the services of a trustworthy attendant.

Later, he came to realize that the scientist consid-

ered that McCann's presence would have been no

aid to him, that rifles and men who knew how to

use them would play no part in meeting the hostile

forces surrounding the territory of the Wusun.

From that moment he began to watch Delabar.

It was clear to him that the professor was uneasy,

decidedly so. And that the man was in the grip of

a rising excitement.

It manifested itself when the steamer stopped at

a Japanese port Gray would have liked to visit

Kyoto, to see again the little brown people of the

island kingdom, to get a glimpse of the gray castle

of Oksaka, and perhaps of peerless, snow-crowned

Fujiyama.

But Delabar insisted on remaining aboard the

steamer until they left for China. The nearing

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gateway of Asia had a powerful effect on him.

Gray noticed — as it was unusual in a man of mildly

studious habits — that the scientist smoked quantities

of strong Russian cigarettes. Indeed, the air of

their cabin was heavy with the fumes.

"We must not make ourselves conspicuous/'

Delabar urged repeatedly.

At Shanghai they passed quickly through the

hands of the customs officials. Their preparations

progressed smoothly; the baggage was put on board

a waiting Hankow steamer, and Delabar added to

their stores a sufficient quantity of provisions to

round out their outfit. In spite of this, Delabar

fidgeted until they were safely in their stateroom

on the river steamer, and passing up the broad,

brown current of the Yang-tze-kiang — which, by

the way, is not called the Yang-tze-kiang by the

Chinese.

Gray made no comment on his companion's mis-

givings. He saw no cause for alarm. There were

a dozen other travelers on the river boat, sales

agents of three nations, a railroad engineer or two,

a family of missionaries, several tourists who stared

blandly at the great tidal stretch of the river, and

commented loudly on the comforts of the palatial

vessel. Evidently they had expected to go up to

Hankow in a junk. They pointed out the choco-

late colored sails of the passing junks with their

half-naked coolies and dirty decks.

Warning

For days the single screw of the Hankow boat

churned the muddy waste, and the smoke spread,

fanwise, over its wake.

The Yang-tze was not new to Gray. He was glad

he was going into the interior. The fecund cities

of the coast, with their monotonous, crowded

streets, narrow and overhung with painted signs

held no attraction for him. The panorama of

Mongolian faces, pallid and seamed, furtive and

merry was not what he had come to China to see.

In the interior, beyond the forest crowned moun-

tains, and the vast plains, was the expanse of the

desert. Until they reached this, the trip was no

more than a necessary evil.

Not so— as Gray noted— did it affect Delabar.

The first meeting with the blue-clad throngs in

Shanghai, the first glimpse of the pagoda-temples

with their shaven priests had both exhilarated and

depressed the scientist.

"Each stage of the journey," he confided to

Gray, "drops us back a century in civilization."

"No harm done," grunted the officer, who had

determined to put a check on Delabar's active im-

agination. "As long as we get ahead. That's the

deuce of this country. We have to go zig-zag.

There's no such thing as a straight line being the

shortest distance between two points in the land of

the Dragon."

Delabar frowned, surprised by these unexpected

Marching Sands

displays of latent knowledge. Then smiled, waving

a thin hand at the yellow current of the river.

'There is a reason for that — as always, in China.

Evil spirits, they believe, can not move out of a

straight line. So we find screens put just inside

the gates of temples — to ward off the evil influ-

ences/'

"Look at that/' Gray touched the other's arm. A

steward stood near them at the stern. No one else

was in that part of the deck, and after glancing

around cautiously the man dropped over the side

some white objects — what they were, Gray could

not see. "I heard that some fishermen had been

drowned near here a few days ago. That Chink —

for all his European dress — is dropping overside

portions of bread as food and peace offering to the

spirits of the drowned/'

"Yes" nodded Delabar, "the lower orders of

Chinamen believe the drowned have power to pull

the living after them to death. Centuries of mis-

sionary endeavor have not altered their superstitions.

And, look — that does not prevent those starved beg-

gars in the junk there from retrieving the bread in

the water. Ugh I"

He thrust his hands into his pockets and tramped

off up the deck, while Gray gazed after him curi-

ously, and then turned to watch the junk. The

coolies were waving at the steward who was watch-

ing them impassively. Seeing Gray, the man hur-

Warning

ried about his duties. For a moment the officer

hesitated, seeing that the junkmen were staring, not

at the bread in their hands, but at the ship. Then

he smiled and walked on.

In spite of Delabar's misgivings, the journey went

smoothly. The banks of the river closed in on

them, scattered mud villages appeared in the shore

rushes. Half naked boys waved at the "fire junk"

from the backs of water buffaloes, and the smoke of

Hankow loomed on the horizon. From Hankow,

the Peking-Hankow railway took them comfortably

to Honanfu, after a two-day stage by cart

Here they waited for their luggage to catch up

with them, in a fairly clean and modern hotel.

They avoided the other Europeans in the city.

Gray knew that they were beyond the usual circuit

of American tourists, and wished to travel as quietly

as possible.

"We're in luck," he observed to Delabar, who

had just come in. "In a month, if all goes well,

we'll be in Liangchowfu, the 'Western Gate' to the

steppe country. What's the matter?"

Delabar held out a long sheet of rice paper with

a curious expression.

"An invitation to dine with one of the officials

of Honan, Captain Gray — with the vice-governor.

He asks us to bring our passports/'

"Hm," the officer replaced the maps he had been

overhauling in their case, and thrust the missive on

Marching Sands

top of them. He tossed the case into an open valise.

"A sort of polite invitation to show our cards — to

explain who we are, eh? Well, let's accept with

pleasure. We've got to play the game according

to the rules. Nothing queer about this invite.

Chinese officials are hospitable enough. All they

want is a present or two."

He produced from the valise a clock with chimes

and a silver-plated pocket flashlight and scrutinized

them mildly.

"This ought to do the trick. We'll put on our

best clothes. And remember, I'm a big-game en-

thusiast."

Delabar was moody that afternoon, and watched

Gray's cheerful preparations for the dinner without

interest. The army man stowed away their more

valuable possessions, carefully hanging the rifle

which he had been carrying in its case over his

shoulder under the frame of the bed.

"A trick I learned in Mindanao," he explained.

"These towns are chuck full of thieves, and this rifle

is valuable to me. The oriental second-story man

has yet to discover that American army men hang

their rifles under the frame of their cots. Now for

the vice-governor, what's his name? Wu Fang

Chien?"

Wu Fang Chien was most affable. He sent two

sedan chairs for the Americans and received them

at his door with marked politeness, shaking his

Warning

hands in his wide sleeves agreeably when Delabar

introduced Gray. He spoke English better than

the professor spoke Chinese, and inquired solicit-

ously after their health and their purpose in visit-

ing his country.

He was a tall mandarin, wearing the usual iron

rimmed spectacles, and dressed in hifc robe of cere-

mony.

During the long dinner of the usual thirty courses,

Delabar talked with the mandarin, while Gray con-

tented himself with a few customary compliments.

But Wu Fang Chien watched Gray steadily, from

bland, faded eyes.

"I have not known an American hunter to come

so far into China," he observed to the officer. "My

humble and insufficient home is honored by the pres-

ence of an enthusiast. What game you expect to

find?"

"Stags, antelope, and some of the splendid moun-

tain sheep of Shensi," replied Gray calmly. Wu

Fang Chien's fan paused, at the precision of the

answer.

"Then you are going far. Do your passports

permit ?"

"They give us a free hand. We will follow the

game trails."

As far as Liangchowfu?"

Perhaps."

"Beyond that is another province." The man-

Marching Sands

darin tapped his well-kept fingers thoughtfully on

the table. "I would not advise you, Captain Gray,

to go beyond Liangchowfu. As you know, my un-

happy country has transpired a double change of

government and the outlaw tribes of the interior

have become unruly during the last rebellion." He

fumbled only slightly for words.

Gray nodded.

"We are prepared to take some risks."

Wu Fang Chien bowed politely.

"It might be dangerous — to go beyond Liang-

chowfu. Your country "and mine are most friendly,

Captain Gray. I esteem your welfare as my own.

My sorrow would greaten if injury happen to you."

'Your kindness does honor to your heart."

r I suggest," Wu Fang Chien looked mildly at the

uneasy Delabar, "that you have me visi your pass-

ports so that you may travel safely this side of

Liangchowfu. Then I will give you a military

escort who will be protection against any outlaws

you meet on the road. In this way I will feel that I

am doing my full duty to my honored guests."

"The offer is worthy," said Gray, who realized

that the sense of duty of a town official was a seri-

ous thing, but did not wish an escort, "of one whose

hospitality is a pleasure to his guests."

Wu Fang Chien shook hands with himself. "But

we have little money to pay an escort "

"I will attend to that."

Warning

"Unfortunately, an escort of soldiers would spoil

my chances at big game. We shall pick up some

native hunters."

Wu Fang Chien bowed, with a faint flicker of

green eyes.

"It shall be as you wish, Captain Gray. But I

am distressed at the thought you may suffer harm.

The last American who went beyond the Western

Gate, died."

Gray frowned. He had not known that one of

his countrymen had penetrated so far into the in-

terior.

"Without doubt," pursued the mandarin, stroking

his fan gently across his face, "you have a good

supply of rifles. I have heard much of these excel-

lent weapons of your country. Would you oblige

me showing them to me before you leave Honan ?"

"I should be glad to do so," said Gray, "if they

were not packed in our luggage which will not be

here before we set out. But I have two small

presents "

The gift of the clock and electric light turned

the thread of conversation and seemed to satisfy

Wu Fang Chien, who bowed them out with the

utmost courtesy to the waiting sedan chairs. Then,

as the bearers picked up the poles, he drew a small

and exquisite vase from under his robe and pressed

it upon Gray as a token, he said, to keep fresh the

memory of their visit.

Marching Sands

At their room in the hotel Gray showed the vase

to Delabar. It was a valuable object, of enamel

wrought on gold leaves, and inscribed with some

Chinese characters.

"What do you make of our worthy Wu Fang —

hullo !" he broke off. Delabar had seized the vase

and taken off the top.

"It is what the Chinese call a message jar," ex-

plained the scientist, feeling within the vase. He

removed a slim roll of silk, wound about an ebony

stick. On the silk four Chinese characters were

delicately painted.

"What do they mean ?" asked Gray, looking over

his shoulder.

Warning

The Syrian glanced at him appraisingly, under

knitted brows. His companion's face was expres-

sionless, save for a slight tinge of curiosity. Dela-

bar judged that the soldier knew nothing of written

Chinese, which was the truth.

"Anything or nothing, my friend. It reads like

a proverb. The oriental soul takes pleasure in

maxims. Yet everything they do or say has a

meaning — very often a double meaning/ 9

"Such as Wu Fang's table talk," smiled Gray,

"Granted. Is this any particular dialect?"

"Written Chinese is much the same everywhere.

Just as the Arabic numerals throughout Europe."

He scanned the silk attentively, and his lips

parted. "The first ideograph combines the attri-

bute or adjective 'clever' or 'shrewd' with the indi-

cator 'man.' A shrewd man — hua jen"

"Perhaps Wu Fang: perhaps you. Go on."

"The second character is very ancient, almost a

picture-drawing of warning streamers. It is an

emphatic 'do not!'"

"Then it's you — and me."

"The third character is prefixed by mu, a tree,

and signifies a wooden board, or a wall. The

fourth means 'the West.'"

"A riddle, but not so hard to guess," grinned

Gray, taking up his maps from the table and filling

his pipe preparatory to work. "A wise guy doesn't

climb the western wall"

Marching Sands

••You forget," pointed out Delabar sharply, "the

negative. It is the strongest kind of a warning.

Do not, if you are wise, approach the western

wall. My /riend, this is a plain warning — even a

threat. To-day Wu Fang Chien hinted we should

not go to Liangchowfu. . Now he threatens "

"I gathered as much." Gray took the slip of fine

silk and scanned it quizzically. "Delabar, do you

know the ideograph for 'to make' or 'build?'"

The scientist nodded.

"Then write it, where it seems to fit in here."

Delabar did so, with a glance at his companion.

Whereupon the soldier folded the missive and re-

placed it in the jar. He clapped his hands loudly.

Almost at once a boy appeared in the door.

To him Gray handed the vase with instructions to

carry it to His Excellency, the official Wu Fang

Chien. He reenforced his order with a piece of

silver cash. To the curious scientist he explained

briefly.

"Wu Fang is a scholar. He will read our reply

as : A wise man will not build a wall in the west.

It will give him food for thought, and it may keep

His Excellency's men from overhauling our belong-

ings a second time during our absence."

Delabar started. "May?"

"Yes. Remember I left that message of Wu's

on top of these maps. I find it underneath them.

The maps are all here. We locked our door, care-

Warning

fully. Some one has evidently given our papers the

once over and forgotten to replace them in the

order he found them. I say it may have been at

Wu's orders. I think it probably was."

"Why ?" Delabar licked his thin lips nervously.

"Because nothing has been taken. A Chinese

official has the right to be curious about strangers

in his district. Likewise, his men wouldn't have

much trouble in entering the room — with the land-

lord's assistance. The ordinary run of thieves

would have taken something valuable — my field

glasses, for instance."

Delabar strode nervously the length of the room

and peered from the shutters.

"Captain Gray !" he swung around, "do you know

there are maps of the Gobi, of Sungan, in your

case. The person who broke into our room must

have seen them."

"I reckon so."

"Then Wu Fang Chien may know we are going

to the Gobi I I have not forgotten what he said

about the last American hunter. What hunter has

been as far as the Gobi ? None. So "

"You think he meant "

"Dr. Brent."

Gray shook his head slowly. "Far fetched, Dela-

bar," he meditated. "You're putting two and two

together to make tea. All we know is that Wu has

Marching Sands

sent us a polite motto. No use in worrying our-

selves."

But it was clear to him that Delabar was wor-

ried, and more. Gray had been observing his com-

panion closely. Now for the first time he read

covert fear in the professor's thin face.

Fear, Gray reflected to himself, was hard to deal

with, in a man of weak vitality and high-strung

nerves. He felt that Delabar was alarmed need-

lessly ; that he dreaded what lay before them.

For that reason he regretted the event of that

night which gave shape to Delabar's apprehensions.

At the scientist's urging, they did not leave the

room before turning in. Gray adjusted Delabar's

walking stick against the door, placing a string of

Chinese money on the head of the stick, and bal-

ancing the combination so a movement of the door

would send the coins crashing to the floor.

"Just in case our second-story men pay us an-

other visit," he explained. "Now that we know

they can open the door, we'll act accordingly."

CHAPTER V

INTRUDERS

It was a hot night.

Gray, naked except for shirt and socks, lay under

the mosquito netting and wished that he had brought

double the amount of insect powder he had. Across

the room Delabar had subsided into fitful snores.

The night was not quiet.

In the courtyard of the hotel some Chinese ser-

vants were at their perpetual gambling, their shrill

voices coming up through the shutters. On the

further side of the street a guitar twanged monoto-

nously. Somewhere, a dog yelped.

The warm odors of the place assaulted Gray's

nostrils unpleasantly. They were strange, potent

odors, a mingling of dirt, refuse, horses, the rem-

nants of cooking. Gray sighed, longing for the

clean air of the plains toward which they were

headed.

They were still far from the Gobi's edge. The

distance seemed to stretch out interminably. It is

not easy to cross the broad bosom of China.

He wondered what success they would have.

What was the city of Sungan? How had it es-

Marching Sands

caped observation? How did a city happen to be

in the desert, anyway ?

What was the pale sickness Brent had spoken of?

Brent had died. From natural causes, of course.

Gray gave little heed to Delabar's wild surmises.

But the conduct of Wu Fang Chien afforded him

food for thought.

Had the vice-governor actually known of their

mission ? His words might have had a double mean-

ing. And they might not. The silk scroll meant

little. Delabar had read warning into it; but was

not that a result of his imagination ?

Gray turned uncomfortably on his bed and con-

sidered the matter. How could Wu Fang Chien

have known they were bound for Sungan? Their

mission had been carefully kept from publicity.

Only Van Schaick and his three associates knew

of it. Men like Van Schaick and Batch could keep

their mouths shut. And Delabar was certainly cau-

tious enough.

Gray cursed the heat under his breath, with added

measure for the dog which seemed bound to make a

night of it. The chatter at the hotel door had sub-

sided with midnight. But the guitar still struck

its melancholy note, accompanied by the intermit-

tent wail of the sorrowing dog.

No, Gray thought sleepily, Wu Fang Chien could

not have known of their mission. He had let Dela-

bar's nerves prey on his own — that was all. Dela-

Intruders

bar was full of this Asia stuff, especially concern-

ing the priests

Gray's mind drifted away into vague visions of

ancient and forgotten temples. The guitar note be-

came the strum of temple drums, echoing over the

waste of the desert. The dog's plaint took form in

the wailing of shrouded forms that moved about

gigantic ruins, ruins that gave forth throngs of

spirits. And the spirits took up the wail, approach-

ing him.

A green light flamed from the temple gate. The

gongs sounded a final crash — and Gray awoke at

the noise of the stick and coins falling to the floor.

He became fully conscious instantly — from habit.

And was aware of two things. He had been asleep

for some time. Also, the door had been thrown

open and dark forms were running into the room.

Gray caught at his automatic which he always

hung at his pillow. He missed it in the dark. One

of the figures stumbled against the bed. He felt

a hand brush across his face.

Drawing up his legs swiftly he kicked out at the

man who was fumbling for him. The fellow sub-

sided backward with a grunt, and the officer gained

his feet. His sight was not yet cleared, but he per-

ceived the blur of figures in the light from the

open door.

He wasted no time in outcry. Experience had

taught him that the best way to deal with native as-

Marching Sands

sailants was with his fists. He bent forward from

the hips, balanced himself and jabbed at the first

man who ran up to him.

His fist landed in the intruder's face. Gray

weighed over a hundred and seventy pounds, and

he had the knack which comparatively few men

possess of putting his weight behind his fists. More-

over, he was not easily flurried, and this coolness

gave his blows added sting.

At least four men had broken into the room. The

other two hesitated when they saw their compan-

ions knocked down. But Gray did not. There was

a brief rustle of feet over the floor, the sound of a

heavy fist striking against flesh, and the invaders

stumbled or crawled from the room.

Gray was surprised they did not use their knives.

Once they perceived that he was fully awake they

seemed to lose heart. The fight had taken only a

minute, and Gray was master of the field.

He had counted four men as they ran out But

he waited alertly by the door while Delabar, who

had remained on his bed, got up and lit the lamp.

Gray's first glance told him that no Chinamen were

to be seen.

He was breathing heavily, but quite unhurt.

Having the advantage of both weight and hitting

power over his light adversaries, he took no pride

in his prompt clearing of the room. Delabar, how-

ever, was plainly shaky.

Intruders

"What did they want?" the professor muttered,

eyeing the door. "How "

"Look out!" warned Gray crisply.

From the foot of his bed a head appeared. Two

slant eyes fixed on him angrily. A Chinaman in

the rough clothes of a coolie crawled out and stood

erect.

In one hand he held Gray's rifle, removed from

the case. With the other he was fumbling at the

safety catch with which he seemed unfamiliar.

Gray acted swiftly. Realizing that the gun was

loaded and that it would go off if the coolie thought

of pulling the trigger, inasmuch as the safety catch

was not set, he stepped to one side, to the head of

the bed.

Here he fell to his knees. The man with the

rifle, if he had fired, would probably have shot over

the American, who was feeling under the pillow.

As it happened the coolie did not pull the trigger

of the gun. A dart of flame, a crack which echoed

loudly in the narrow room — and Gray, over the

sights of the automatic which he had recovered

and fired in one motion, saw the man stagger.

Through the swirling smoke he saw the coolie

drop the gun and run to the window.

Gray covered the man again, but refrained from

pressing the trigger. There was no need of killing

the coolie. The next instant the man had flung open

the shutters and dived from the window.

Marching Sands

Looking out, Gray saw the form of his adversary

vaguely as the coolie picked himself up and van-

ished in the darkness.

The street was silent. The guitar was no longer

to be heard.

Gray crossed the room and flung open the door.

The hall was empty. He closed the door, read-

justed the stick and string of coins and grinned at

Delabar who was watching nervously.

"That was one on me, Professor/ 9 he admitted

cheerfully. "The coolie who bobbed up under the

bed must have been the one I kicked there. Fancy

knocking a man to where he can grab your own

gun,"

Delabar, however, saw no humor in the situa-

tion.

"They were coolies/' he said. "What do you

suppose they came after? 19

"Money. I don't know/ 9 Gray replaced the shut*

ters and blew out the light. "We'll complain to

our landlord in the morning. But I don't guess

we'll have much satisfaction out of him. The fact

that my shot didn't bring the household running

here shows pretty well that it was a put-up job/'

His prophecy proved true. The proprietor of the

hotel protested that he had known nothing of the

matter. Asked why he had not investigated the

shot, he declared that he was afraid. Gray gave

Intruders

up his questioning and set about preparing to leave

Honanfu.

"The sooner we're away from Wu Fang's juris-

diction the better/' he observed to Delabar. "No

use in making an investigation. It would only delay

us. Our baggage came this morning, and you've

engaged the muleteers. We'll shake Honanfu."

Delabar seemed as anxious as Gray to leave the

town. Crowds of Chinese, attracted perhaps by

rumor of what had happened in the night, followed

them about the streets as Gray energetically assem-

bled his two wagons with the stores, and the men

to drive the mules.

He made one discovery. In checking up the list

of baggage they found that one box was missing.

"It's the one that had the rifles and spare am-

munition/' grunted Gray. "Damn!"

He had put the rifle that had been intended for

McCann with his own extra piece and ammunitidh

in a separate box. In spite of persistent question-

ing, the drivers who had brought the wagons to

Honanfu denied that they had seen the box.

A telegram was sent to the railway terminal. The

answer was delayed until late afternoon. No news

of the box was forthcoming.

"It's no use," declared Delabar moodily. "Re-

member, you told Wu Fang Chien that our rifles

were with the luggage. Probably he has taken the

box."

Marching Sands

"Looks that way/' admitted Gray, who was an-

gered at the loss. "Well, there's no help for it.

We'll hike, before Wu Fang thinks up something

else to do."

He gave the word to the muleteers, the wagons

creaked forward. He jumped on the tail of the

last one, beside Delabar, and Honanfu with its

watching crowds faded into the dust, after a turn

in the road.

From that time forth, Gray kept his rifle in his

hand, or slung at his shoulder.

While they sat huddled uncomfortably on some

stores against the side of the jogging cart — nothing

is quite so responsive to the law of gravity as a

springless Chinese cart, or so uncomfortable, unless

it be the rutted surface of a Chinese imperial high-

way — both were thinking.

Delabar, to himself : "Why is it that an imperial

road in China is not one kept in order — in the past

— for the emperor, but one that can be put in order,

if the emperor announced his intention of passing

over it? My associate, the American, who thinks

only along straight lines, will never understand the

round-about working of the oriental mind. And

that will work him evil."

Gray, aloud: "Look here, Delabar I We can

safely guess now that Wu Fang would like to hinder

our journey."

"I have already assumed that."

Intruders

"Hm. Think it's because the Wusun actually

exist, and he wants to keep us from the Gobi ?"

Delabar was aroused from his muse.

"A Chinese official seldom acts on his own initia-

tive," he responded. "Wu Fang Chien has received

instructions. Yes, I think he intends to bar our

passage beyond Liangchowfu. By advancing as we

are from Honanfu, we are running blindly into

danger."

Gray squinted back at the dusty road, nursing his

rifle across his knees. His brown face was impas-

sive, the skin about the eyes deeply wrinkled from

exposure. The eyes themselves were narrow and

hard. Delabar found it increasingly difficult to guess

what went on in the mind of the taciturn American.

"I've been wondering," said Gray slowly, "won*

dering for a long time about a certain question. Ad-

mitting that the Wusun are there, in the Gobi, why

are they kept prisoners — carefully guarded like

this? It doesn't seem logical!"

The Syrian smiled blandly, twisting his beard

with a thin hand.

"Logic !" he cried. "Oh, the mind of the inner

Asiatic is logical ; but the reasons governing it, and

the grounds for its deductions are quite different

from the motives of European psychology."

"Well, I fail to see the reason why the Wusun

people should be guarded for a good many hundred

years."

Marching Sands

"Simply this. Buddhism is the crux of the ori-

ental soul. Confucius and Taoism are secondary to

the advent of the Gautama — to the great Nirvana.

Buddhism rules inner China, Tibet, part of Turk-

estan, some of India, and — under guise of Shaman-

ism, Southeastern Siberia."

Gray made no response. He was studying the

face of Delabar — that intellectual, nervous, un-

stable face.

"Buddhism has ruled Central Asia since the time

of Sakuntala — the great Sakuntala," went on the

scientist. "And the laws of Buddha are ancient and

very binding. The Wusun are enemies of Bud-

dhism. They are greater enemies than the Manchus,

of Northern and Eastern China. That is because the

Wusun hold in reverence a symbol that is hateful

to the priests of the temples. 19

"What is that?"

Delabar hesitated.

"The symbol is some barbarian sign. The Wusun

cherish it, perhaps because cut off from the world,

they have no other faith than the faith of their

forefathers." The scientist's high voice rang with

strong conviction. "In the annals of the Han dyn-

asty, before the birth of Christ, it is related that

an army under the General Ho K'u-p'ing was sent

on plea of the Buddhists to destroy the Huing-nu — ,

the 'green-eyed devils' and the Wusun — the Tall

Ones, 1 of the west. The military expedition failed

«<1

Intruders

But since then the Buddhists have been embittered

against the Wusun — have guarded them as prison-

ers."

"Then religious fanaticism is the answer?"

"A religious feud."

'Because the Wusun will not adopt Buddhism ?"

'Because they cling to the absurd sign of their

faith!"

Gray passed a gnarled hand across his chin and

frowned at his rifle.

"Sounds queer. I'd like to see that sign."

Delabar settled himself uneasily against the jar-

ring of the cart.

"It is not likely, Captain Gray," he said, "that

either of us will see it."

Whereupon they fell silent, each busied with his

thoughts, in this manner.

Delabar, to himself : My companion is a physical

brute; how can he understand the high mysteries of

Asian thought?

Gray: Either this Syrian has a grand imagina-

tion, or he knows more than he has been telling

-the odds being the latter is correct.

CHAPTER VI

MIRAI KHAN

Near Kia-yu-kwan, the western gate of the Great

Wall, the twin pagodas of Liangchowfu rise from

the plain.

In former centuries Liangchowfu was the border

town, a citadel of defense against the outer bar-

barians of the northern steppe and Central Asia. It

is a walled city, standing squarely athwart the high-

way from China proper to the interior. Beyond

Liangchowfu are the highlands of Central Asia.

In exactly a month after leaving Honanfu, as

Gray had promised, the wagons bearing the two

Americans passed through the town gate.

Gray, dusty and travel-stained to his waist, but

alert and erect of carriage, walked before the two

carts. He showed no ill effects from the hard stage

of the journey they had just completed.

Delabar lay behind the leather curtain of one of

the wagons. His spirits had suffered from the past

month. The monotonous road, with its ceaseless

mud villages had depressed him. The groups of

natives squatting in the sun before their huts, in

the never-ending search for vermin, and the throngs

of staring children that sought for horse dung in

Mirai Khan

the roads to use for fuel, had wrought on his sensi-

tive nerves.

They had not seen a white man during the jour-

ney. Gray had written to Van Schaick before they

left Honanfu, but they expected no mail until they

should return to Shanghai.

"If we reach the coast again/ 9 Delabar had said

moodily.

The better air of the hill country through which

they passed had not improved his spirits, as it had

Gray's. The sight of the forest clad peaks, with

their hidden pagodas, from the eaves of which the

wind bells sent their tinkle down the breeze, held

no interest for the scientist.

Glimpses of brown, spectacled workmen who

peered at them from the rice fields, or the vision of

a tattered junk sail, passing down an estuary in the

purple quiet of evening, when the dull yellow of the

fields and the green of the hills were blended in a

soft haze did not cause Delabar to lift his eyes.

China, vast and changeless, had taken the two

Americans to itself. And Gray knew that Delabar

was afraid. He had suspected as much in Honanfu.

Now he was certain. Delabar had taken to smoking

incessantly, and made no attempt to exercise as

Gray did. He brooded in the wagon.

The calm of the army officer seemed to anger

Delabar. Often when two men are alone for a

long stretch of time they get on each other's nerves.

Marching Sands

But Delabar's trouble went deeper than this. His

fears had preyed on him during the month. He had

taken to watching the dusty highway behind them.

He slept badly.

Yet they had not been molested. They were not

watched, as far as Gray could observe. They had

heard no more from Wu Fang Chien.

The streets of Liangchowfu were crowded. It

was some kind of a feast day. Gray noted that

there were numbers of priests who stared at them

impassively as he led the mule teams to an inn on

the further side of the town, near the western wall,

and persuaded the proprietor to clear the pigs and

children from one of the guest chambers.

"We were fools to come this far/' muttered Dela-

bar, throwing himself down on a bamboo bench.

"Did you notice the crowds in the streets we

passed ?"

"It's a feast, or bazaar day, I expect/ 9 observed

Gray quietly, removing his mud caked shoes and

stretching his big frame on the clay bench that did

duty as a bed.

"No." Delabar shook his head "Gray, I tell

you, we are fools. The Chinese of Liangchowfu

knew we were coming. Those priests were Bud-

dhist followers. They are here for a purpose."

"They seem harmless enough."

Delabar laughed.

"Did you ever know a Mongol to warn you, be-

Mirai Khan

fore he struck ? No, my friend. We are in a nice

trap here, within the walls. We are the only Euro-

peans in the place. Every move we make will be

watched. Do you think we can get through the

walls without the Chinese knowing it ?"

"No/* admitted Gray. "But we had to come here

for food and a new relay of mules/'

"We will never leave Liangchowfu — to the west.

But we can still go back/ 9

"We can, but we won't"

Gray turned on the bed where he sat and tenta-

tively scratched a clear space on the glazed paper

which formed the one— closed — window of the

room. Ventilation is unknown in China.

He found that he could look out in the street.

The inn was built around three sides of a courtyard,

and their room was at the end of one wing. He

saw a steady throng of passersby — pockmarked

beggars, flaccid faced coolies trundling women along

in wheelbarrows, an astrologer who had taken up

his stand in the middle of the street with the two

tame sparrows which formed his stock-in-trade,

and a few swaggering, sheepskin clad Kirghiz from

the steppe.

As each individual passed the inn, Gray noticed

that he shot a quick glance at it from slant eyes.

An impressive palanquin came down the street. A

fat porter in a silk tunic with a staff walked before

the bearers. Coming abreast the astrologer, the

Marching Sands

man with the staff struck him contemptuously aside.

As this happened, Gray saw the curtain of the

palanquin lifted, and the outline of a face peering

at the inn.

"We seem to be the sight of the city/' he told

Delabar, drawing on his shoes. "The rubberneck

bus has just passed. Look here, Professor! No

good in moping around here. You go out and rustle

the food we need. I'll inspect our baggage in the

stable."

When Delabar had departed on his mission, Gray

left the inn leisurely. He wandered after the scien-

tist, glancing curiously at a crowd which had gath-

ered in what was evidently the center square of the

town, being surrounded by an array of booths.

The crowd was too great for him to see what the

attraction was, but he elbowed his way through

without ceremony. Sure that something unusual

must be in progress, he was surprised to see only a

nondescript Chinese soldier in a jacket that had

once been blue with a rusty sword belted to him.

Beside the soldier was an old man with a wrinkled,

brown face from which glinted a pair of keen eyes.

By his sheepskin coat, bandaged legs and soiled

yak-skin boots Gray identified the elder of the two

as a Kirghiz mountaineer. Both men were squatting

on their haunches, the Kirghiz smoking a pipe.

"What is happening?" Gray asked a bystander,

pointing to the two in the cleared space.

Mir at Khan

Readily, the accents of the border dialect came

to his tongue. The other understood.

"It will happen soon," he explained. "That is

Mirai Khan, the hunter, who is smoking the pipe.

When he is finished the Manchu soldier will cut off

his head."

Gray whistled softly. The crowd was staring

at him now, intent on a new sight. Even Mirai

Khan was watching him idly, apparently uncon-

cerned about his coming demise.

"Why is he smoking the pipe?" Gray asked.

"Because he wants to. The soldier is letting him

do it because Mirai Khan has promised to tell him

where his long musket is, before he dies."

"Why must he die?"

The man beside him coughed and spat apatheti-

cally. "I do not know. It was ordered. Perhaps

he stole the value of ten taels/ 9

Gray knew enough of the peculiar law of China

to understand that a theft of something valued at

more than a certain sum was punishable by death.

The sight of the tranquil Kirghiz stirred his inter-

est.

"Ask the soldier what is the offense," he persisted,

exhibiting a coin at which the Chinaman stared

eagerly.

Mirai Khan, Gray was informed, had been con-

victed of stealing a horse worth thirteen taels. The

Kirghiz had claimed that the horse was his own,

Marching Sands

taken from him by the Liangchowfu officials who

happened to be in need of beasts of burden.

The case had been referred to the authorities at

Honanfu, and no less a personage than Wu Fang

Chien had ruled that since the hunter had denied

the charge he had given the lie to the court.

Wherefore, he must certainly be beheaded.

Gray sympathized with Mirai Khan. He had

seen enough of Wu Fang Chien to guess that the

Kirghiz' case had not received much consideration.

Something in the mountaineer's shrewd face at-

tracted Gray. He pushed into the cleared space.

'Tell the Manchu," he said sharply to the China-

man whom he had drawn with him, "that I know

Wu Fang Chien. Tell him that I will pay the

amount of the theft, if he will release the prisoner."

"It may not be," objected the other indifferently.

"Do as I say," commanded Gray sharply.

The soldier, apparently tired of waiting, had risen

and drawn his weapon. He bent over the Kirghiz

who remained kneeling. The sight quickened

Gray's pulse — in spite of the danger he knew he

ran from interfering with the Chinese authorities.

"Quick," he added. His companion whispered

to the soldier who glanced at the American in sur-

prise and hesitated.

Gray counted out thirteen taels — about ten dol-

lars — and added five more. "I have talked with

Wu Fang Chien," he explained, "and I will buy this

Mirai Khan

man's life. If the value of the horse is paid, the

crime will be no more."

The blue-coated Manchu said something, evi-

dently an objection.

"He says/' interpreted the Chinaman, who was

eyeing the money greedily, "that thirteen taels will

not wipe out the insult to the judge."

"Five more will," Gray responded. "He can

keep them if he likes. And here's a tael for you."

The volunteer interpreter clasped the coin in a

claw-like hand. Gray thrust the rest of the money

upon the hesitating executioner, and seized Mirai

Khan by the arm.

Nodding to the Kirghiz, he led him through the

crowd, which was muttering uneasily. He turned

down an alley.

"Can you get out of Liangchowfu without being

seen?" the American asked his new purchase. He

was more confident now of the tribal speech.

Mirai Khan understood. Later, Gray came to

know that the man was very keen witted. Also,

he had a polyglot tongue.

"Aye, Excellency." Mirai Khan fell on his knees

and pressed his forehead to his rescuer's shoes.

"There is a hole in the western wall behind the

temple where the caravan men water their oxen

and camels."

"Go, then, and quickly."

Marching Sands

"I will get me a horse/' promised Mirai Khan,

"and the Chinese pigs will not see me go."

Gray thought to himself that Mirai Khan might

be more of a horse thief than he professed to be.

"The Excellency saved my life/' muttered the

Kirghiz, glancing around craftily. "It was written

that I should die this day, and he kept me from

the sight of the angel of death. But thirteen taels

is a great deal of wealth. It would be well if I

found my gun, and slew the soldier. Then the Ex-

pediency would have his thirteen taels again. Where

is he to be found?"

"At the inn by the western wall. But never mind

the Manchu. Save your own skin."

Gray strode off down the alley, for men were

coming after them. In the rear of an unsavory hut,

the Kirghiz plucked his sleeve.

"Aye, it shall so be, Excellency," he whispered.

"Has the honorable master any tobacco?"

Impatiently Gray sifted some tobacco from his

pouch into the hunter's scarred hand. Mirai Khan

then asked for matches.

"I will not forget," he said importantly. "You

will see Mirai Khan again. I swear it. And I will

tell you something. Wu Fang Chien is in Liang*

chowfu."

With that the man shambled off down an alley,

looking for all the world like a shaggy dog with

Mirai Khan

unusually long legs. Gray stared after him with a

smile. Then he turned back toward the inn.

That night there was^ a feast in Liangchowfu.

The sound of the temple drums reached to the inn.

Lanterns appeared on the house fronts across the

street. Throngs of priests passed by in ceremonial

procession, bearing lights. In the inn courtyard a

group of musicians took their stand, producing a

hideous mockery of a tune on cymbals and one-

stringed fiddles. But the main room of the inn,

where the eating tables were set with bowls and

chop-sticks, was deserted except for a wandering

rooster.

"I'm going out to see the show/' asserted Gray,

who was weary of inaction.

"What 1" The Syrian stared at him, fingering his

beard restlessly. "With Wu Fang Chien in the

town!"

"Certainly. There's nothing to be done here. I

may be able to pick up information which will be

useful — if we are in danger."

Delabar tossed his cigarette away and shrugged

his shoulders.

"We are marked men, my young friend. I saw

this afternoon that a guard has been posted at the

town gates. Those musicians yonder are spies.

The master of the inn is in the stable, with our

men."

"Then we'll shake our escort for a while."

Marching Sands

Gray's smile faded. "Look here, Professor. I'm

alive to the pickle we're in. We've got to get out

of this place. And I want to have a look at that

hole in the wall Mirai Khan told me about. For

one thing — to see if horses can get through it."

Delabar accompanied him out of the courtyard,

into the street. Gray noted grimly that the musi-

cians ceased playing with their departure. He beck-

oned Delabar to follow and turned down the alley

he had visited that afternoon. Looking over his

shoulder he saw a dark form slip into the entrance

of the alley.

"Double time, Professor," whispered Gray.

Grasping the other by the arm he trotted through

the piles of refuse that littered the rear of the

houses, turning sharply several times until he was

satisfied they were no longer followed. As a land-

mark, he had the dark bulk of the pagoda which

formed the roof of the temple.

Toward this he made his way, dodging back into

the shadows when he sighted a group of Chinese.

He was now following the course of the wall, which

took him into a garden, evidently a part of the

temple grounds.

He saw nothing of the opening Mirai Khan had

mentioned. But a murmur of voices from the shut-

tered windows of the edifice stirred his interest.

"It is a meeting of the Buddhists," whispered

Mirai Khan

Delabar. "I heard the temple messengers crying

the summons in the street this afternoon."

Gray made his way close to the building. It was

a lofty structure of carved wood. The windows

were small and high overhead. Gray scanned them

speculatively.

"We weren't invited to the reunion, Professor/'

he meditated, "but I'd give something for a look

inside. Judging by what you've told me, these

Buddhist fellows are our particular enemies. And

it's rather a coincidence they held a lodge meeting

to-night."

He felt along the wall for a space. They were

sheltered from view from the street by the garden

trees.

"Hullo," he whispered, "here's luck. A door.

Looks like a stage entrance, with some kind of carv-

ing over it."

Delabar pushed forward and peered at the in-

scription. The reflected light of the illumination in

the street enabled him to see fairly well.

"This is the gate of ceremony of the temple," he

observed. "It is one of the doors built for a special

occasion — only to be used by a scholar of the town

who has won the highest honors of the Hanlin

academy, or by the emperor himself — when there

was one."

Gray pushed at the door. It was not fastened,

Marching Sands

but being in disuse, gave in slowly, with a creak of

iron hinges. Delabar checked him.

"You know nothing of Chinese customs," he

hissed warningly. "It is forbidden for any one to

enter. The penalty "

"Beheading, I suppose/* broke in Gray impa-

tiently. "Come along, Delabar. This is a special

occasion, and, by Jove — you're a distinguished

scholar."

He drew the other inside with him. They stood

in a black passage filled with an odor of combined

must and incense. Gray took his pocket flashlight

from his coat and flickered its beam in front of

them. He could feel Delabar shivering. Wonder-

ing at the state of the scientist's nerves, he made

out an opening before them in which steps appeared.

They seemed to be in a deserted part of the

temple. Gray wanted very much to see what was

going on — and what was at the head of the stairs.

He ascended as quietly as possible, followed by the

Syrian who was muttering to himself.

CHAPTER VII

THE DOOR IS GUARDED

A subdued glow appeared above Gray's head,

as the narrow stairs twisted. The glow grew

stronger, and he caught the buzz of voices. Cau-

tiously he climbed to the head of the steps and

peered into the chamber from which came the

light.

He saw a peculiar room. It was empty of all

furniture except a teakwood chair. The light came

through a large aperture in the floor. An ebony

railing, gilded and inlaid, ran around this square of

light. The voices grew louder.

It was clear to Gray that they were in some kind

of gallery above the room where the assembly was

— for the voices seemed to be rising through the

floor.

He walked to the chair — and stopped abruptly.

The opening in the floor was directly above the

temple proper. Gray and Delabar could see the

shrine, with the usual bronze figure of the almond-

eyed god, the burning tapers and the incense bowls.

On the floor by the shrine the gathering of priests

squatted. They were facing, not the image of

Buddha, but a chair which stood on a dais at one

Marching Sands

side. On this chair an imposing mandarin was

seated with the red button and silk robe of official-

dom.

"Wu Fang Chien 1" whispered Delabar.

Gray nodded. It was their friend of Honanfu,

with his thin beard, placid face and spectacles.

"What are they doing?" asked Gray softly.

The murmur of voices persisted. For some time

Delabar listened. Then he pointed out a man in

beggar's dress kneeling beside the mandarin's chair.

"It is some kind of trial/' he said doubtfully.

"The priest by Wu Fang Chien is an ascetic — what

they call a fakir in India. But he is not the crimi-

nal."

They moved nearer the opening, being secure

from observation from below. Gray wrinkled his

nose at the mingled scent of incense and Mongolian

sweat that floated up through the opening.

"Wu Fang Chien is saying that he has come to

Liangchowfu to sit in judgment on the evildoers

who are enemies of the god/' interpreted Delabar.

"He has called the priests to witness the proceed-

* tt

ings.

Gray looked at Delabar curiously. He had

caught a word or two of the talk.

"Does he name the offenders?" he asked.

"No. He says the priesthood has been informed

that two men plan to desecrate a holy place. He

has come to catch them red-handed."

The Door is Guarded

Wu Fang Chien, Gray reflected, could not know

they were in the gallery of the temple, by the seat

reserved for a distinguished student, or the em-

peror. The mandarin must have discovered their

mission, as Delabar feared. He peered over the

rail.

Directly underneath three priests were stripped

to the waist. They held a bronze bowl of consid-

erable size.

As Gray watched, a silence fell on the room be-

low.

"They are going to try divination," whispered

Delabar, and Gray saw that his face was strained.

"The divination of the ivory sticks and the bowl.

That is a custom of the sorcerers of the interior.

The priests believe in it implicitly. I have seen some

wonderful things "

He broke off as the ascetic prostrated himself

before Wu Fang Chien, holding out a sandalwood

box. Gray saw the mandarin lean forward and

draw what looked like a short white stick from the

box.

"That is to determine the distance the criminals

are from the temple," explained Delabar. "It is a

very short stick — representing perhaps a li or one-

third of a mile."

"That would include the inn," was Gray's com-

ment. "Hello, the bowl boys are coming into ac-

tion."

Marching Sands

The three priests were turning slowly on their

feet, supporting the bronze bowl above their heads.

They moved in a kind of dance, and as they re-

volved, came nearer to the shrine — then retreated.

Delabar watched intently.

"They will keep up the dance for twenty-four

hours," he said, "without stopping. Meanwhile

the other priests will watch, without taking food or

drink. It induces a kind of hypnotism. They be-

lieve that at the end of the twenty-four hours, the

god will enter the bowl."

Gray nodded. Wu Fang Chien had sat back and

was eyeing the dance complacently.

"When this happens," Delabar went on, "the

priests will leave the temple, holding the bowl in

front of them. They will be followed by the towns-

people who do not doubt that the god will conduct

them to the criminals."

"I guess we're nominated for the guilty parties."

Gray surveyed the scene curiously, the revolving

trio of brown bodies, the silent mandarin and the

watching priests. He followed idly the smoke

fumes that eddied up from the shrine of the

bronze god. Wu Fang Chien, he mused, had de-

cided that it was time to strike. And the mandarin

was going about it with the patience of the Mongol,

sure of his victim, and his own power.

Wu Fang Chien had warned them. They had

not heeded the warning. The attack in Honanfu

The Door is Guarded

had been a prelude — possibly to get Gray's weapons

away from him. It had failed, but Wu Fang Chien

had formed another plan. Why else had he come to

Liangchowf u ?

Watching the whirling priests, Gray guessed at

the plan. In twenty-four hours the sorcery of the

bowl would come to a head. The three priests

would bear it to the inn — in a state of semi-hypno-

tism themselves, and followed by a fanatical crowd.

They would confront Gray and Delabar. They

would search the belongings of the white men, and

find the maps of Sungan — the maps that had been

seen by the intruder at the Honanfu inn. After

that

Delabar gripped his companion's arm. "Some

one is coming," he whispered.

Gray listened, and heard a faint sound of foot-

steps. It came from the stairs — the soft pad-pad

of slippered feet ascending the steps. Gray shot a

quick glance into the temple below. The scene had

not changed, except that the priest in the tattered

robe was no longer at Wu Fang Chien's side.

"We are caught," muttered the scientist. "There

is no other door."

Gray was aware of this. The only openings in

the chamber where they stood were the door and

the aperture in the floor. The pad-pad came nearer,

but more slowly. He was reasonably sure that

they had not been seen. It was abominably bad

Marching Sands

luck that some one should visit the gallery just

then.

"We left the temple door open," Delabar whis-

pered, staring at the dark stairs behind them. "One

of the priests observed it and came "

"Steady," Gray cautioned him. He drew the

trembling Syrian back into the shadows at one side

of the door. Here they were in semi-obscurity.

Stepping quietly to arm's reach of the head of the

stairs, Gray waited.

He heard the steps approach, then become silent

as if the intruder was looking into the room.

A moment passed while Gray silently cursed the

heavy breathing of Delabar who seemed possessed

by uncontrollable excitement. Then a shaven head

appeared in the doorway, followed by a naked shoul-

der. A pair of slant, evil eyes flickered around the

gallery, failing to notice the two white men in the

shadow.

Gray's hand went out and closed on the throat

of the priest. His grip tightened, choking off a

smothered gasp. The man fell heavily to his knees.

The floor echoed dully at the impact. Gray real-

ized that it must have been heard by those in the

temple below. Snatching up the frail priest by

throat and leg, he lifted him easily and started down

the stairs headlong.

"This way, Professor," he called. "Better

hurry."

The Door is Guarded

Concealment being useless now, they plunged

down the steps. By the time the lower floor was

reached, Gray's grip had stilled the struggles of

the man — whom he recognized as the ascetic.

The sound of running feet came to him as he

waited for Delabar to come up. The professor

shot through the temple door like a frightened rab-

bit.

Gray tossed the unconscious priest on the door-

sill, and pushed the heavy portal nearly shut, wedg-

ing the man's body in the opening. Then he trotted

after Delabar through the garden.

"Let's hope you're right about the penalty for

opening the door there," he laughed. "That priest

will have his hands full explaining how he hap-

pens to be lying on the emperor's threshold — when

he comes to. Probably he'll say that devils picked

him up."

Looking back at the edge of the temple garden,

Gray saw a crowd with lanterns standing inside the

door, over the form of the priest. They were some

distance away by now. Following the circuit of the

city wall, Gray succeeded in gaining the alleys back

of the inn without being observed.

Once safely in their room, Delabar threw himself

on the bed, panting. Gray took up his rifle and laid

it across his knees, placing his chair so that he could

command both door and window.

He did not want to sleep. And he feared to trust

Marching Sands

Delabar to watch. Throughout the remaining hours

until daylight whitened the paper of the window, he

sat in his chair. But nothing further happened.

The festivities in the streets had ended and the inn

itself was quiet, unusually so.

Daylight showed Delabar lying on the bed,

smoking innumerable cigarettes. The scientist had

maintained a moody silence since their arrival at

the inn. The sound of excited voices floated in

from the courtyard. Vehicles could be heard pass-

ing along the street. But the ordinary pandemo-

nium of a Chinese hostelry at breakfast time was

subdued.

Gray tossed his rifle on the bed, yawned and

stretched his powerful frame. He was hungry, and

said so. He brushed the dirt from his shoes,

changed to a clean shirt, looked in the pail for water.

Finding none, he picked up the pail, strode to the

door and flung it open.

On the threshold, his back against the doorpost,

was sitting a Buddhist priest. It was an aged man,

his face wrinkled and eyes inflamed. His right

shoulder and his breast were bared. In one hand

he clasped a long knife. His eyes peered up at the

white man vindictively.

Gray recognized the ascetic of the temple. He

The Door is Guarded

could see the dark marks where his hands had

squeezed the scrawny throat.

He reached for his automatic with his free hand.

The priest did not stir. The man was squatting on

his heels, fairly over the threshold ; the knife rested

on one knee. How long he had been there, Gray

did not know.

Priest and white man stared at each other in-

tently. Gray frowned. Plainly the man at the

door did not mean well ; but why did the fellow re-

main seated, holding the knife passively? He noted

fleetingly that the main room of the inn was vacant.

"Don't move I" Delabar's voice came to him, shrill

with anxiety. "Don't take a step. Shut the door

and come back here."

"Why?" Gray asked curiously.! "I want to go

out for water, and I'm blessed if this chap is going

to keep me in "

"It's death to move !"

"For me?"

"No, the priest will die." Delabar clutched his

companion's arm. "You don't understand. The

priest is here on a mission. If you step through

the door, he will stab himself with the knife. And

if he commits suicide at our door, we'll have the

whole of Liangchowfu down on us."

Gray pocketed the automatic with a laugh. "I

don't see why we are to blame if this yellow monkey

sticks himself with his own knife."

Marching Sands

Delabar crossed to the door and closed it on the

watching Buddhist.

"You know very little of China, my friend," he

said gloomily. "One of the favorite methods of

revenge is to hire a priest to sit at a man's door,

like this. Then, if any one leaves the house, the

priest commits suicide. That fixes — or the Chi-

nese believe it fixes — a crime on the man in the

house. It's a habit of the Chinese to kill themselves

in order to obtain vengeance on an enemy."

Gray whistled. "I've heard something of the

kind. But, look here, I could grab that fellow

before he can hurt himself/ 9

"It would be useless. As soon as he was free,

he'd commit suicide, and the blame would fall on

us. By now, all the Chinese in the town know that

this priest is here. If he should die, it would be a

signal for a general attack on us."

Meditatively, Gray seated himself on the bucket

and considered the situation.

"You know the working of the yellow mind, Pro-

fessor/' he observed. "Do you suppose this fellow

has marked us out as the guilty parties who man-

handled him in the temple and left him in the sacred

door?"

"It's more likely that Wu Fang Chien guessed we

were the intruders. We were probably watched

more closely than you knew. Then, according to

the temple law, this priest is guilty of sacrilege in

The Door is Guarded

crossing the emperor's door. So Wu Fang Chien

has ordered him to guard our door, to wipe out his

own sin, and incriminate us at the same time."

Gray grinned cheerfully.

"The working of the Mongol mind is a revela-

tion, Delabar. I guess you're right. This is Wu

Fang Chien's way of keeping us quiet in here while

the boys with the bowl get their magic primed.

Also, it will help to make the townspeople hostile

to us."

Slowly, Wu Fang Chien's plan was maturing.

Gray saw the snare of the Mongol mandarin clos-

ing around them. It was a queer, fantastic snare.

In the United States the situation would have been

laughable. Here, it was deadly.

Wu Fang Chien had made his preparations care-

fully. The temple festival had stirred up the Bud-

dhists ; the arrival of the bronze bowl, borne by the

priests, would implicate the two white men ; the dis-

covery of the maps of the forbidden district of the

Gobi would do the rest.

Gray could destroy the maps. But then he would

have no guide to the course to be followed, if they

should escape from Liangchowfu. He was not yet

willing to destroy all prospect of success.

He sought out the maps, in one of their packs,

and pocketed them.

"Does this hocus-pocus of the bowl ip the temple

Marching Sands

always take twenty- four hours?" he asked Delabar,

"Always/ 1

"Well, Wu Fang won't want to break the rules

of the game — not when he has the cards so well in

hand. Professor, we have fourteen hours to think

up a line of action. We have food enough here to

make a square meal or two. Also wine — as a pres-

ent to the city mandarins — that will keep us from

becoming too thirsty."

Delabar shrugged his bent shoulders. He looked

ill. His hand was trembling, and it was clear to

Gray that the man was on the verge of a break-

down.

"What can we do ?" the Syrian asked plaintively.

"Except to destroy the maps, which would incrimi-

nate us."

"We won't do that."

There comes a time when fatigue undermines

weak vitality. Delabar complained, begged, cursed.

But Gray refused to burn the papers which meant

the success or failure of their expedition.

"You're sick, Delabar," he said firmly. "You

seem to forget we're here on a mission. Now, pay

attention a minute. I've been getting ready, after

a fashion, for a move on Wu Fang's part. I've paid

our coolies four times what was owing them, and

promised 'em double that if they stick by us. I

think they may do it. If so, we stand a good chance

of getting clear with our necessary stores— emer-

The Door is Guarded

gency rations, medicines, a few cooking utensils

and blankets. But we can't start anything until

it's dark. Sleep if you can. If you can't — don't

worry."

He cast a curious glance at the scientist — a glance

of mixed good-natured contempt and anxiety.

"This guardian of the gate trick works both

ways," he concluded. "If we can't get out, no one

will want to get in."

He took a few, sparing swallows of the strong

wine, a mouthful of bread and rice and tilted his

chair back against the wall. The room was hot and

close, and he soon dropped off into a nap. Delabar

did not sleep.

Gray, from habit, dozed lightly. He was con-

scious of the sounds that went on in the street.

Several times he wakened, only to drop off again,

seeing that all was as it should be. Once or twice

he heard Delabar go to the door and peer out to

see if the priest was still at his post. Evidently he

was, for the Syrian maintained his brooding quiet.

As time wore on, Gray thought he heard Delabar

laughing. He assured himself that he must have

been mistaken. Yet the echo of the laugh persisted,

harsh, and bitter. Delabar must have been laughing.

The officer wondered drowsily what had been the

cause of the other's mirth — and sat up with a jerk.

He caught at the hand that was stealing under his

coat, and found himself looking into Delabar's

Marching Sands

flushed face, not a foot from his own. The scien-

tist drew back, with a chuckle. There was no mis-

taking the chuckle this time.

Gray felt at his coat pocket and assured himself

the maps were still there.

"So you lost your nerve, eh, Professor?" he said,

not unkindly — and broke off with a stare. "What

the devil ?"

Delabar staggered away from him, and fell on

the bed, rocking with mirth. He caught his head

in his hands and burst into the laugh that Gray had

heard before. Then he lay back full length, waving

his hands idiotically.

Gray swore softly. He noticed the wine bottles

on the table, and caught them up. He assured him-

self grimly that one was empty and another nearly

so. He himself had taken only a swallow of the

liquor.

Delabar had drunk up approximately two quarts

of strong wine. And Gray knew that the man was

not accustomed to it.

The scientist was drunk, blindly, hopelessly

drunk.

The room was dark. A candle, probably lighted

by Delabar on some whim, guttered on the floor.

Outside the room, the inn was very still.

Gray regretted that his sleep had enabled Dela-

bar to drink up the liquor. But the harm was done.

His companion was helpless as a child. He looked

The Door is Guarded

at his watch. It was after eight As nearly as he

could remember, the proceedings at the temple had

started about ten o'clock. Not quite two hours of

quiet remained to them.

Delabar sat up and regarded him with owl-like

wisdom.

"Drink, my friend/' he mumbled, "you are a

strong man, and it will be hard for you to die if

you are not drunk. You were a fool to come here.

You are a child before the ancient wisdom of China.

The secrets of the Mongols have been before your

God had eyes to see the earth. Why did you pry

into them?"

A laugh followed this, and Delabar made a futile

grab at one of the bottles.

"You think I am afraid of Wu Fang Chien?" the

mumble went on. "No, I am not afraid of him. He

is only a servant of the slave of Buddha, who is

Fate. We can not go where Fate forbids — forbids

us."

Gray surveyed him, frowning.

"Look outside the door," chuckled Delabar.

"Look — I stepped outside the door, my friend.

And I saw "

Waiting for no more, Gray crossed to the door

and opened it. At his feet lay the priest. The slant

eyes stared up at him. The knife was fixed in the

man's throat, and a dark circle had gathered on the

floor behind his head.

CHAPTER VIII

DELABAR LEAVES

Gray stooped and felt the dead man's face. It

was still quite warm. The priest could not have

killed himself more than a few minutes ago. Prob-

ably Delabar, in his drunken wandering, had put his

foot across the threshold.

With a tightening of the lips, Gray straightened

and surveyed the inn. It was empty and dark ex-

cept for a lantern with a crimson shade that hung

over the door. Either the people of the place had

seen the dead Buddhist and fled to spread the news,

or they had given the room a wide berth since that

afternoon.

He could not know which was actually the case.

Gray, however, could afford to waste no time in

speculation. He went back into their chamber,

fastened his rifle over his shoulder by its sling, and

jerked Delabar to his feet

'It's time we got out of here, Professor," he said,

"if you haven't settled our hash for good."

The man was muttering and stumbling — hardly

able to keep his feet. He could give no assistance

to Gray.

They crossed the main room of the inn without

Delabar Leaves

hindrance, and left the building by the rear. The

stable yard was dark, and apparently empty. Gray's

flashlight disclosed only a mild-looking donkey,

nibbling at the leaves of a plane tree.

"Guess the place isn't exactly popular just now/ 9

thought Gray.

Beside the stable, concealed by the manure piles,

he found his wagons and mules, hitched up as he

had ordered. A glance and a flicker of his light

showed him that the surplus supplies were loaded.

He pushed Delabar into the stable and whistled

softly.

A coolie crept from a pile of dirty straw under

the wall against which several mules were standing

patiently.

"Where are the others ?" demanded Gray sharply.

The other men, said the coolie, had gone.

"Why are not the fresh mules loaded, as I com-

manded ?"

The man kow-towed. "I was afraid. This is an

evil place. The priests are saying that the black

mark of ill-omen has descended from Heaven *

"Five taels" broke in the white man crisply, "if

you help me to load the mules. The priests will

kill you if they find you here. If you come with me

you will live. Choose."

From some quarter of the city came the dull

thrum of temple gongs. The coolie whined in fear,

and hastened to the mules.

Marching Sands

It is no easy task to strap the packs on four mules

in the dark. Gray let Delabar, who had subsided

into slumber at contact with the cool outer air,

slump on the dirt floor of the stable. He adjusted

his flashlight in the straw so its beam would help

them to see what they were about.

He found as he expected that the other coolies

had made away with many of the stores. They

had taken, however, the things most valuable to

them, which were least necessary to Gray — such as

clothing, cooking utensils, and the heavy boxes of

Chinese money.

These last were a grave loss, but Gray had a good

deal of gold in his money belt, and he knew that

Delabar had the same amount.

The two men loaded the remaining boxes on the

animals — the provisions that Delabar had purchased

in San Francisco, with medicines and several blan-

kets that had been overlooked by the thieves.

This done, Gray left the stable for a survey of the

field. The inn yard was still quiet. Even the street

on the further side was tranquil. Turning back, he

helped the coolie place Delabar astride a mule, and

tied the scientist's feet firmly together under the

animal's belly. Throwing a blanket over him, Gray

gave the word to start.

The Chinaman went ahead by the first animal, for

Gray did not want to trust him out of sight. He

Delabar Leaves

followed beside the mule that carried Delabar,

giving directions as to their course.

"The loaded wagon at the inn will be a fair puzzle

to the searching party from the temple," he thought.

"We could never get free of Liangchowfu with the

carts. Here's hoping my friend Mirai Khan was

right when he said there was a hole in the city wall

behind the temple."

It was a slender chance — to work their way

through the alleys in the darkness. But, as Gray

reasoned, it was the only thing to do. And two

things were in their favor. The inn was undoubt-

edly watched, front and back. The priests' spies

would see the mules leaving, and probably decide

the coolies were making off with them— especially

as the wagons were still in the stable yard.

Also, the attention of the Liangchowfu popula-

tion — or the most dangerous part of it — would be

centered on the temple and the divination in prog-

ress there.

Gray had reasoned correctly. By following the

odorous and muddy by-ways that he and Delabar

had investigated previously, he was able to gain the

wall without attracting attention.

Here the lights were fewer, and the trees shel-

tered them. The coolie, who was badly frightened,

could give Gray no information as to the location

of the break in the city wall. It was useless, of

Marching Sands

course, to try a dash for the city gates which would

be guarded.

Gray pushed ahead steadily at a slow trot, scan-

ning the bulk of the wall for signs of an aperture.

They were well behind the temple by now, at the

further side of the garden they had entered the night

before. So far they had been very lucky, but Gray's

heart sank as he sighted buildings ahead — a huddle

of thatched huts, evidently in the poorer section of

the town. Still no break in the stone barrier was

visible.

"Keep on," he whispered to the coolie, "and don't

forget if we are discovered you'll be caught in the

act of aiding me to escape/'

The man broke into a faster trot, with a scared

glance over his shoulder. The sound of the temple

gongs was louder, swelling angrily in the wind.

Voices came from the huts ahead, and Gray fancied

that he heard shouts in the street they had left.

He swore softly. If only they could find the

exit he was seeking! Once out on the plain be-

yond Liangchowfu, their chances of escape would

be good. If only Delabar had kept sober

He swung around alertly at the sound of horses 9

hoofs. In the faint light a mounted man appeared

beside him.

"That was very well done, Excellency," a voice

whispered in hoarse Chinese. "I know, for I

watched from the dung heaps by the inn stable. One

«4

Delabar Leaves

of the men who fled I caught and took the money

he carried."

"Mirai Khan/' whispered Gray.

"Aye," admitted the Kirghiz complacently. "I

swore that you would see me again, and it has come

to pass. I have heard talk in the town. I knew

that the priests — may they swallow their own fire —

seek you. So I waited for I had the thought you

would not easily be snared. Lo, it has happened so.

Verily my thought was a true thought. Follow

where I lead."

He urged his pony ahead of the mules, motion-

ing Gray to the side of the small caravan away from

the huts. Dim faces peered from window openings

at them. But the white man was in the shadow of

the wall, and Mirai Khan appeared too familiar a

figure in this quarter of Liangchowfu to excite com-

ment. Probably the mules bore out the character

of the horse-thief, retiring to the plain with a load

of ill-gotten spoil*

They passed through the huts in silence, the coolie

too frightened to speak. Delabar was muttering to

himself under the blanket, but the swaggering figure

of the Kirghiz, with his rifle over his arm, seemed

to insure them against investigation. Still, Gray

breathed a thankful oath as they dipped into a gully

through which flowed a brook.

Mirai Khan rode forward, apparently into the

very wall. But here the crumbling stone divided —

Marching Sands

an opening wide enough to permit of the passage

of a pack animal with its burden, walking in the bed

of the stream.

Once clear of the wall, the sound of the temple

gong dwindled and ceased entirely. They pressed

ahead at a quick trot, until, glancing behind, Gray

saw that the lights of Liangchowfu had disap-

peared. As nearly as he could tell by the stars he

guessed that Mirai Khan was leading them north-

west.

When the sky paled behind them and the dawn

wind struck their faces, Gray made out that they

were in a nest of hillocks. No house was visible. It

was waste land, with only an occasional stunted

cedar clinging to the side of a clay bank. They had

put more than a dozen miles between them and

Liangchowfu.

It was now light enough to discern his compan-

ions' faces, and Gray halted the cavalcade.

"We will let the mules breathe a bit," he informed

the Kirghiz who glanced at him inquiringly. "I

will speak with my friend."

He led the animal the scientist was riding a few

paces to one side, and tossed off the blanket that

enveloped Delabar. The man had awakened, half

blue with cold and with retarded circulation due to

his cramped position and the effect of the liquor.

He peered at Gray from bleared eyes, sobered by

the exposure of the past night.

Delabar Leaves

The officer undid the rope that confined Delabar's

legs, then seated himself on a stone and lit his

pipe.

"Professor," he said meditatively, "you don't

know it, but I've been thinking over things in the

last few hours. And I've come to a decision. I'll

tell you what I've been thinking, because I want

you to understand just why I'm doing this."

Delabar was silent, peering at him inquisitively.

"Back on the steamer," resumed Gray, "you

showed me that you had nerves — quite a few. Well,

lots of men have 'em. Under the circumstances,

I can't say I blame you. But at Honanfu your

nerves had a severe jolt. Back there" — he jerked

his head at Liangchowfu — "you had a bad case of

fright. You're all in now."

"I am hungry," complained the scientist. "Why

did you tie me to the mule ?"

"That skirmish with Wu Fang Chien," continued

the officer, ignoring the question, "wasn't more than

a good sample of what we may have to face in the

Gobi Desert. It showed me you aren't able to go

ahead with the trip. You'd be as sick in body as you

are now in mind."

"I am not a horse," snapped Delabar. "The

Buddhist priests "

"Precisely, the Buddhist priests. They've got you

scared. Badly. Let me tell you some more I've

been thinking. Intentionally or not, you have done

Marching Sands

all you could at Liangchowfu to hinder me. Only

luck and Mirai Khan got us out of the place with

a whole skin. In the army where I served for a

while they shot men who became drunk when on

duty/'

"This is China, another world/ 1 retorted the man

moodily.

"China or not, it's my duty to go to the Gobi

Desert and find the Wusun if I can. I promised

Van Schaick that, and drew up a contract which I

signed. I'm going ahead. You, Professor, are

going back to the coast and to the States. You

can report our progress to Van Schaick."

Mingled relief and alarm showed in the Syrian's

keen face.

"You can complain that I sent you back, if you

want to. I'll answer to Van Schaick for this." Gray

held up his hand as the other tried to speak. "You'll

be all right. I've been quizzing Mirai Khan. The

coolie can guide you back, to the north of Liang-

chowfu, where you'll meet some missionaries. Wu

Fang Chien will be looking for us to the west, not

in the east. You'll take the money you have on

you, and two mules with half the supplies. Promise

the coolie enough gold, and he'll stick by you — as

he'll be safer going back than forward. Any ques-

tions ?"

It was a long speech for Gray to make. Delabar

studied him and shivered in the cold breeze that

Delabar Leaves

swept the plain. Hardship brings out the strength

and weakness of men. In his case it was weakness.

Yet he seemed curiously alarmed at leaving Gray.

Twelve hours ago he had implored his companion

to give up the venture into the Gobi.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"For two reasons. I don't want a sick man on

my hands. And — you tried to destroy the maps.

There's another reason " Gray hesitated, and

broke off. "I don't claim to be your judge. Every

man follows his own course in life. But yours

and mine don't fit any longer. It's good-by f Pro-

fessor."

He rose, knocking the ashes from his pipe. Dela-

bar gave an exclamation of alarm.

"Suppose the men of Wu Fang Chien find me?"

"You'll be safer than here with me."

Delabar stared into the steady eyes of his com*

panion, and his gaze shifted. "I can't go back. I

must go with you."

"I've said good-by. Your coolie knows what

he's to do. Choose your two mules."

"No. I'll be better now "

Gray smiled slightly.

"I doubt it. I've been watching you. Closer than

you thought. Which mules do you want?"

Delabar flushed, and turned his animal back to

the waiting group. He was muttering to himself

uncertainly. Gray walked beside him. Once he

»9

Marching Sands

spoke. "Buddhism, Professor, is a bad thing to

think about. As Wu Fang Chien said, it is bad to

enter forbidden ground. Well, good luck, Delabar.

It's better to part now — than later "

But Delabar passed out of hearing. He did not

look again at Gray, who remained talking to the

Kirghiz. Later, Gray regretted that he had not

watched Delabar.

The Syrian wasted no time in selecting two ani-

mals, and turned back at once. Mirai Khan fol-

lowed the cavalcade with puckered brows as they

passed out of sight among the hillocks. Gray waved

his hand once when he thought Delabar looked back.

But the man did not turn, humping himself for-

ward over his beast, his head between his shoul-

ders.

"It is a pity/ 1 said Mirai Khan, stroking his gray

beard reflectively, "to lose the two mules, and so

much money. However, what will be, will be.

Come, I know a daz/an nearby where we can rest

until we are ready to go forward, at night/'

He conducted Gray along a sheep track for some

miles to a ravine well into the hillocks. Here there

was a grove of cedars, and a small spring. While

Gray built a fire, Mirai Khan, acting on the white

man's instructions, unburdened the two remaining

mules.

"We have little food, Excellency," he observed

suggestively.

Delabar Leaves

"Open one of the boxes/' said Gray.

Presently Mirai Khan appeared beside the fire,

carrying a heavy object.

"What manner of food is this?" he asked con-

temptuously. "I have tasted and the flavor is a

mingling of salt and sour wine/'

Gray stared at the object in surprise. It was one

of the boxes, with the cover removed. It was filled

with an array of long bottles. One of these had the

cork removed, and effused an acrid odor. Gray

picked it up.

It was a bottle of a very good kind of vinegar.

Hastily Gray went to the other boxes and opened

them, after noting that the fastenings and the seal

were intact. They were all filled with vinegar.

Gray gave a soft whistle of bewilderment. These

were the boxes that were supposed to contain their

emergency rations, that Delabar had purchased in

San Francisco. The Syrian's name was written on

them.

He wondered fleetingly if Wu Fang Chien had

been tampering with their baggage. But the boxes

had clearly not been opened since they were packed.

Also, the vinegar was of American make, and bore

the name of a San Francisco firm.

Had there been a mistake in shipping the order ?

It might be. Yet Delabar should have checked up

the shipment. No, the Syrian must have known

what was in the boxes. He had chosen the other

Marching Sands

two mules — knowing these few boxes were worth-

less.

"I should have looked at 'em before I let Dela-

bar go/' thought Gray. "He is too far away now

to follow. Now why "

That was the question — why ? Delabar, from the

first, had placed every obstacle in the way of the

expedition. Even to buying bogus supplies.

Delabar had not wanted Gray to succeed. He had

used every means to keep the American from the

Gobi Desert. He had tried to instill into Gray the

poison of his own fear. He had attempted to

seize the maps, showing the location of Sungan,

lyhich were of vital importance.

Delabar had been Gray's enemy. Why?

Gray had guessed much of this, when he ordered

the other back to the coast. But he did not know

the answer to this "why?" He puzzled over it

much in the following days, and gleaned some light

from his reasoning.

It was long before he knew the answer to the

"why?" It did not come until he had gained the

desert, and seen the liu sha. Not until he had met

with Mary Hastings and seen the guards of Sungan.

Not until he had learned the explanation of much

that he as yet dimly imagined.

CHAPTER IX

THB UU SBA

Mirai Khan agreed with Gray that it would be

useless to stay where they were until dark. They

had no food. In spite of the risk of discovery, they

must go forward.

"If we sleep," the hunter agreed, "we will waken

with empty bellies and our strength will be less than

now^ The time will come when we shall need

meat ; and there is none here. To the west, we may

see a village or shoot a gazelle. 19

Without further delay they unhitched the mules,

packing the small remainder of Gray's outfit— a

tent, and his personal kit— on one animal. The

American mounted the other, not without protest

from the beast, who scented water and forage.

With Mirai Khan leading on his shaggy pony they

made their way westward out of the hillocks to the

plain. They were now on the Mongolian plain — a

barren tableland of brown hills and stony valleys.

No huts were to be seen.

They had left teeming China behind, and were en-

tering the outskirts of Central Asia and the Gobi

Desert. A steady wind blew at their backs. The

blue sky overhead was cloudless.

Marching Sands

Gray had left the useless boxes of vinegar behind.

And as he went he puzzled over the riddle of Ar-

minius Delabar. It was a riddle.- Van Schaick and

Balch had said little about the man, for they had

been in a hurry to get Gray started on his voyage.

He remembered they said Delabar was a Syrian or

Persian by birth, an inveterate traveler who had

been in most of the corners of the earth, and — the

only man in America who could speak Chinese,

Turki, Persian and Russian, the four languages a

knowledge of which might be necessary on their

expedition, and who thoroughly understood an-

thropology, with the history of Central Asia.

This being the case, Gray had taken a good deal

on himself when he sent Delabar back. But he had

done right. The vinegar boxes proved it.

Gray had a steady, logical mind which arrived at

decisions slowly, but usually accurately. He now

reasoned out several things.

Delabar, he guessed, had not come willingly on

the expedition. Even on the steamer he had shown

fear of the Gobi. Why? He must have known

something about the desert that he did not tell Gray.

What was that ? Gray did not know.

This led to another question. Why, if the man

was afraid, had he come at all ? He might have re-

fused to start. Instead he had bought, purposely,

a shipment of worthless stores; he had worked on

Gray's mind to the best of his ability.

The Liu Ska

Gray suspected that Delabar had come because

he wanted to prevent him — Gray — from reaching

the Gobi. But Delabar might have stated his ob-

jections before they left San Francisco. Why had

he not done so ?

Possibly because, so reasoned Gray, Delabar had

thought if he prevented Gray from starting on the

mission, Van Schaick and Balch would engage an-

other man.

Gray checked up the extent of his reasoning so

far. He had decided that Delabar had been bent on

preventing not him but any American from under-

taking the trip to the Gobi. And to do that the

Syrian had come along himself, although he was

afraid.

Yes, Delabar had certainly been afraid. Of what?

Of Wu Fang Chien for one thing; also the Bud-

dhists. He had been on the verge of a breakdown

at the inn at Liangchowfu after their experience in

the temple.

Gray recalled a number of things he had passed

over at the time: Delabar's pretext of purchasing

supplies at Shanghai. The scientist had been ab-

sent from him for many hours, but had bought noth-

ing. Then the incident of the Chinese steward on

the river steamer of the Yang-tze. Something had

been thrown overboard which a passing junk had

picked up. Had this something been information

about Gray's route? It was more than possible.

Marching Sands

And the attack at Honanfu. How had the Chinese

known that Gray kept a rifle under his bed — unless

Delabar had so informed them? Delabar had been

frightened at the attack. Perhaps, because it failed.

Lastly, at Liangchowfu Delabar had tried to steal

the all-important maps. Failing that, the man had,

literally, collapsed. And — Gray whistled softly —

it might have been Delabar who gave the informa-

tion that led to the delayal of McCann, whom Gray

needed, at Los Angeles. No one else, except Van

Schaick and Balch, had known that Gray had sent

for McCann.

It was reasonably clear that Delabar had sought

to turn back Gray. When the American had or-

dered him back, instead, the man had protested.

Obviously, he dreaded this. Yet he was safer than

here with Gray. Delabar had said, in an unguarded

moment, that he feared to be caught by Wu Fang

Chien. Why?

What was Delabar's relation to Wu Fang Chien ?

When drunk, he had said that the mandarin was

only a slave of an unknown master. Who was the

master? Obviously a man possessing great power

in Central Asia — if a man at all.

This was what Delabar had feared, the master of

Wu Fang Chien. Was Delabar also a slave ? Gngr

laughed. His reasoning was going beyond the bor-

ders of logic. But he was convinced that his late

companion had been serving not Van Schaick but

The Liu Sha

another; that he feared this other; and that his fear

had increased instead of diminished when Gray or-

dered him back.

Gray looked up as Mirai Khan turned, with a

warning hiss. The Kirghiz had reined in his mount

and Gray did likewise.

A short rise was in front of them. Over this the

hunter had evidently seen something that aroused

him.

"Look!" he growled. "Take the windows of

long sight and look/'

It took a moment's puzzling before the Ameri-

can realized that his companion referred to the

field glasses slung over his shoulder. He dis-

mounted and crept with Mirai Khan to the top of

the rise. Through the glasses he made out, at the

hunter's directions, a pair of gazelles moving slowly

across the plain some distance away.

Immediately Mirai Khan became a marvel of ac-

tivity. He tethered the beasts to a stunted tamarisk,

loaded his long musket, cut himself a stick in the

form of a crotch, and struck out to one side of the

trail, beckoning the American to follow.

The gazelles had been feeding across the trail,

and Mirai Khan trotted steadily to the leeward of

them, keeping behind sheltering hummocks. It was

a long run.

From time to time' Mirai Khan halted and peered

at the animals. Then he pressed forward. Gray

Marching Sands

was not easily tired ; but he had been long without

food and he stumbled as he ran after the hardy

Kirghiz who was afire with the spirit of the chase.

"Allah has given us meat for our pot this night,"

he whispered to Gray, "if we are clever and the

animals do not get wind of us."

Gray understood how important their quest was.

Their shadows were 1'engthening swiftly on the

sand, and the sun, like a red brazier, was settling

over the horizon in front of them. If they did not

bag a gazelle, they would have no food that night,

and — both men were weakened by hunger.

Mirai Khan stalked his prey with the skill of

long experience, pushing ahead patiently until the

wind blew from the gazelles to them. But dark-

ness falls fast at the edge of the Gobi. The sky

had changed from blue to purple when Mirai Khan

threw himself in the sand and began to crawl to the

summit of a rise, pushing his crotched stick in front

of him.

Following, Gray made out the gazelles feeding

some hundred and fifty yards in front of them. The

light brown and white bodies were barely discern-

ible against the brown plain, but Mirai Khan ar-

ranged his stick, and laid the musket on it carefully.

Gray, stretched out beside him, hazarded a guess

as to the distance. The hunter touched him warn-

ingly.

"Let me have the shot, Excellency," he whis-

The Liu Sha

pered. "If I cannot slay — even at this distance —

no other man can."

He said a brief prayer and sighted, gripping his

long weapon in a steady hand. He had removed

his sheepskin cap and his white hair and bushy

eyebrows gave him the appearance of a keen-eyed

bird of prey.

Gray waited, watching the gazelles. As Mirai

Khan had claimed the first shot, Gray humored him,

but at the same time threw a cartridge into the

chamber of his own weapon.

The gazelles had sighted or smelted something

alarming, for they quickened their pace away from

the hunters. Mirai Khan fired, and swore darkly.

Both animals were unhurt, and they had broken

into a swift run, gliding away into the twilight.

Gray had laid his own sights on the game, and

when the Kirghiz missed the difficult shot, the

American pressed the trigger.

A spurt of dust this side of the fleeing animals

told him his elevation was wrong. Calmly, he raised

his rear sight and fired again, as the gazelles ap-

peared in the eye of the sun on a hillock.

The animal at which he had aimed stumbled and

sank to earth. It had been a difficult shot at three

hundred yards in a bad light, but Gray was an ex-

pert marksman and knew his weapon.

A wild yell broke from Mirai Khan. He flung

himself at Gray's feet and kissed his shoes.

Marching Sands

"A miracle, Excellency!" he chattered joyously.

"That was a shot among a thousand. Aye, I shall

tell the hunters of the desert of it, but they will not

believe. Truly, I have not seen the like. By the

beards of my fathers, I swear it ! I did well when

I followed you from Liangchowfu "

Still babbling his exultation, he hurried to the

slain animal and whipped out his knife.

By nightfall, the two had made camp in a gully

near the tethered animals. Mirai Khan had dug a

well, knowing that water was to be found in this

manner, and, over a brisk fire of tamarisk roots,

was cooking a gazelle steak.

Gray stretched a blanket on the sand near the

fire, watching the flicker of the flames. The gully

concealed them from observation. He was reason-

ably sure by now that they had escaped any pur-

suing party Wu Fang Chien had sent from Liang-

chowfu — if one had been sent.

Mirai Khan ate enormously of the steak. When

the hunger of the two was satisfied and the white

man's pipe was alight, he turned to the Kirghiz

thoughtfully.

"Have you ever heard/' he asked, "of the city

of Sungan?"

Mirai Khan, Gray gathered, was a Mohamme-

dan, a fatalist, a skilled horse-thief, and a dweller

ioo

The Liu Sha

at the edge of the Gobi, where life was gleaned from

hardship. He was a man of the yurts, or tents, a

nomad who ranged from the mosques of Bokhara

to the outskirts of China. Somewhere, perhaps,

Mirai Khan had an aul, with a flock of sheep, a

dog, and even a wife and children.

The Kirghiz glanced at him keenly and shook his

head.

"I have heard the name," he responded. "It was

spoken by my father. But Sungan I have never

seen/'

"It is a city a week's ride beyond Ansichow/*

persisted Gray, "in the Desert of Gobi."

"That is in the sands," Mirai Khan reflected.

"No game is found there, Excellency. Why should

a man go to such a place?"

"Have you been there?"

"Does a horse go into a quicksand ?"

"Have you known others who went there?"

"Aye, it may be."

"What had they to say of the desert ?"

"It is an evil place."

The Kirghiz nodded sleepily. Having eaten heav-

ily, he was ready for his blanket.

"Why did they call it an evil place?"

"How should I know — who have not been there?"

Mirai Khan yawned and stretched his stocky arms

and legs, as a dog stretches. "It is because of the

pale sickness, they say."

IOI

Marching Sands

Gray looked up quickly from his inspection of

the fire. He had heard that phrase before. Delabar

had used it.

"What is the pale sickness?" he asked patiently.

Mirai Khan ceased yawning.

"Out in the sands, in the liu sha, hangs the pale

sickness. It is in the air. It is an evil sickness. It

leaves its mark on those who go too near. I have

heard of men who went too far into the liu sha and

did not return."

"Why?"

"It is forbidden."

"By the priests of the prophet?"

"Not so. Why should they deal with an evil

thing? Is it not the law of the Koran that a man

may not touch what is unclean? The rat priests

of China, who worship the bronze god, have warned

us from the region. I have heard the caravan

merchants say that men are brought from China

and placed out in the sands, the liu sha."

Gray frowned. Mirai Khan spoke frankly, and

without intent to deceive him. But he spoke in the

manner of his kind — in parables.

"Three times, Mirai Khan," he said, "you have

said liu sha. What does that mean?"

The Kirghiz lifted some sand in his scarred hand,

sifting it through his fingers to the ground.

"This is it," he explained. "We call it in my

tongue the kara hum — dark sands. Yet the liu sha

102

The Liu Sha

are not the sand you find elsewhere. They are the

marching sands."

Gray smiled. He was progressing, in his search

for information, from one riddle to another.

"You mean the dust that moves with the wind/'

he hazarded.

Mirai Khan made a decisive, guttural denial.

"Not so. It is the will of Allah that moves the

sands. Once there was a city that sinned "

"And a holy mullah." Gray recalled the legend

Delabar had related on the steamer. "He alone es-

caped the dust that fell from the sky. It was long

ago. So that is your liu shat"

The hunter's slant eyes widened in astonishment.

"By the beard of my father ! Are you a reader of

the Koran, to know such things as this? Aye, it

is so. The liu sha came because of a sin, and

without doubt that is why the place is still inhabited

of a plague. The Chinese priests bring men there

— men who are already in the shadow of death."

"Then, Mirai Khan, there must be a city or an

encampment, if many men live there."

"I have not seen it. Nor have those who talked

to me."

"But you have not been there?"

"How should I — seeing that the place is inhabited

of a sin? No Mohammedan will go there."

"What manner of sickness is this — the pale

plague ?"

103

Marching Sands

"I know not. But for many miles, aye, the space

of a week's ride, no men will bring their yurts for

fear of it/'

Gray gave it up with a shrug. The Kirghiz was

speaking riddles, twisted recollections of legends,

and tales doubtless exaggerated. While Mirai Khaa

snored away comfortably, the American went over

what he had said in his mind.

The night had grown cold, and he threw the last

of the wood on the fire, tucking his blanket about

his feet. Their camp was utterly silent, except for

the occasional splutter of the flames.

Mirai Khan had said positively that he had seen

no city in the Gobi where Gray was bound, nor

heard of one. The American knew that if build-

ings existed on the immense plain of the Gobi they

would be visible for miles around. Even if the com-

rades of Mirai Khan had kept away from the place

which they considered unhealthy, they would have

sighted the buildings, at one time or another.

Yet Brent had declared that he saw the summits

of towers. Imagination, perhaps. Although mis-

sionaries were not as a rule inclined to fancies.

Here was one contradiction. Then there were

the liu sha. Mere legend, doubtless. Central Asia

was rife with tales of former greatness.

But one thing was clear. The Chinese priests

came to this spot in the desert. And the legend of

the plague might be framed to keep the Mohamme-

104

The Liu Sha

dans away from the place. Since the late rebellion

Mohammedan and Chinese had frequently taken up

arms against each other — they had never been on

friendly terms. Evidently {he Buddhists, for some

reason, took pains to keep this part of the desert to

themselves.

They even guarded it against intrusion — as Brent

had discovered.

And Brent had died of sickness. What was the

pale sickness? Were men inflicted with it brought

to the Gobi — the dreariest stretch of land on the

surface of the earth?

Gray nodded sleepily. The riddles presented no

answer. He determined that he would learn the

truth for himself. Wearied with his exertions, he

was soon asleep. Silence held the camp, the brood*

ing silence of great spaces, the threshold of infinity

which opens before the wanderer in the Gobi. The

wind stirred the sand into tiny spirals that leaped

and danced, like dust wraiths across the gully, pow-

dering the blankets of the sleeping men and the

rough coats of the mules.

Along the summit of the ridge a shadow passed

across the stars. It hesitated to leeward of the

embers of the fire, and the jackal crept on. The

crescent moon moved slowly overhead, throwing a

hazy half-light on the surface of the sand, and

picking out the bleached bones of an antelope.

Night had claimed the Mongolian steppe.

105

CHAPTER X

THE MEM-SAHIB SPEAKS

It was nearly a week later, on the border of the

Gobi, that Gray and Mirai Khan sighted the caravan.

The day was rainy. During a space when the rain

thinned, the Kirghiz pointed out a group of yurts

surrounded by camels and ponies a mile away.

Gray scanned the encampment through his glass-

es, and made out that the caravan numbered a good

many men, and that the yurts were being put up

for the night. The rain began again, and cut off

his view.

It was then late afternoon. Both men were tired.

They had pushed ahead steadily from Liangchowf u,

killing what they needed in the way of game, and

occasionally buying goat's milk or dried fruit from

a wayside shepherd. The few villages they met

they avoided. Gray had not forgotten Wu Fang

Chien, or the fears of Delabar.

"They are Kirghiz yurts," said Mirai Khan when

the American described what he had seen. "And it

is a caravan on the march, or we would have seen

sheep. Many tribes use our yurts. They are taken

1 06

The Mem-Sahib Speaks

down and put up in the time it takes a man to

smoke a pipe. But these people are not Kirghiz.

My kinsmen have not wealth to own so many

camels."

"What do you think they are ?"

"Chinese merchants, Excellency, or perhaps

Turkestan traders from Kashgar."

Mirai Khan's respect for his companion had in-

creased with the last few days. Gray's accurate

shooting inspired his admiration, and the fortitude

of the man surprised him.

On his part, Gray trusted the Kirghiz. If Mirai

Khan had meant to rob him, he had enjoyed plenty

of chances to do so. But the Kirghiz's code would

not permit him to steal from one who was sharing

his bread and salt.

If they are Chinese," meditated the American,

it will not be wise to ride up to their camp. What

say you, Mirai Khan?"

The Kirghiz puffed tranquilly at his noisome pipe.

"This. It is the hour of sunset prayer. When

that is ended you and I will dismount, Excellency,

and stalk the encampment. By the favor of God

we will then learn if these people are Chinese or

Turkomans. If the last, we shall sleep in a dry

aul, which is well, for my bones like not the damp."

Whereupon Mirai Khan removed his pipe and

kneeled in the sand, facing toward the west, where

was the holy city of his faith. So poverty-stricken

107

Marching Sands

was he that he did not even own a prayer carpet

Gray watched, after tethering the three animals.

"Remember/' he said sternly when Mirai Khan

had finished the prayer, "there must be no stealing

of beasts from the camp, whatever it may be."

The Kirghiz's weakness .for horseflesh was well

known to him. The hunter agreed readily and they

set out under cover of the rain. By the time they

were half way to the caravan the sudden twilight

of the Gobi concealed them.

Guided by the occasional whinny of a horse, or

the harsh bawl of a camel, Mirai Khan crept for-

ward, sniffing the air like a dog. Several lights ap-

peared out of the mist, and Gray took the lead.

He could make out figures that passed through

the lighted entrances of the dome-shaped felt shel-

ters. Drawing to one side he gained the camels

which rested in a circle, apparently without a

watcher.

Mirai Khan had been lost to view in the gloom

and Gray walked slowly forward among the cam-

els, trying to gain a clear glimpse of the men of

the caravan. The few that he saw were undoubt-

edly servants, but their dress was unfamiliar.

Gray could almost make out the interior of one

of the yurts, lighted by candles, with silk hangings

and an array of cushions on the floor. He rose to

his full height, to obtain a better view, and paused

.as he saw one of the figures look toward him.

108

The Mem-Sahib Speaks

The camels were moving uneasily. Gray could

have sworn he heard a muffled exclamation near

him. He turned his head, and a form uprose from

the ground and gripped him.

Gray wrenched himself free from the man and

struck out. The newcomer slipped under his arm

and caught him about the knees. Other forms

sprang from among the camels and lean arms twined

around the American.

"Look out, Mirai Khan!" he cried in Chinese.

"These are enemies."

A powerful white man who can handle his fists is

a match for a round half dozen Mongolians, un-

armed — if he has a clear footing and can see where

to hit. Gray was held by at least four men; his

rifle slung to one shoulder by a sling hampered him.

He was cast to earth at once.

His face was ground into the sand, and his arms

drawn behind his back. He heard his adversaries

chattering in a strange tongue. Cold metal touched

his wrists. He felt the click of a metal catch and

realized that handcuffs had been snapped on him.

He wondered vaguely how handcuffs came to be

in a Central Asian caravan, as he was pulled roughly

to his feet. In the dark he could not make out the

men who held him. But they advanced toward one

of the tents — the same he had been trying to see

into.

Gray, perforce, made no further resistance. He

109

Marching Sands

was fully occupied in spitting sand from his mouth

and trying to shake it from his eyes.

So it happened that when he stood in the lighted

yurt, he was nearly blind with the dust and the

sudden glare. He heard excited native gutturals,

and then

"Why, it's a white man."

It was a woman's voice, and it spoke English.

Moreover the voice was clear, even musical. It

reflected genuine surprise, a tinge of pity — inspired

perhaps by his damaged appearance — and no little

bewilderment.

"Yes, chota missy/' echoed a man near him, "but

this, in the dark, we knew it not. And he cried out

in another tongue."

Gray reflected that his warning to Mirai Khan

had been ill-timed. His eyes still smarted with the

sand. It was not possible for him to use his hands

to clear them, because of the handcuffs which bound

his wrists behind his back. Not for the world would

Gray have asked for assistance in his plight.

He winked rapidly, and presently was able to

see the others in the tent clearly. The men who

had brought him hither he made out to be slender,

dark skinned fellows. By their clean dress, and

small, ornamented turbans draped over the right

shoulder he guessed them to be Indian natives —

most probably Sikhs. This surprised him, for he

had been prepared to face Dungans or Turkomans.

The Mem-Sahib Speaks

A portable stove gave out a comfortable warmth,

beside a take-down table. The rough felt covering

of the yurt was concealed behind hangings of

striped silk. Gray stared ; he little expected to find

such an interior in the nomad shelter.

The table was covered with a clean cloth. Be-

hind it hung a canvas curtain, evidently meant to

divide one corner from the rest of the tent, perhaps

for sleeping purposes. In front of the partition, be-

hind the table, was a comfortable steamer chair.

And in the chair, watching him from wide, gray

eyes was a young woman.

He had not seen a white woman for months. But

his first glance told him that the girl in the chair

was more than ordinarily pretty — that she would

be considered so even in Washington or Paris. She

was neatly dressed in light tan walking skirt and

white waist, a shawl over her slender shoulders.

She was considering him silently, chin on hand,

a slight frown wrinkling her smooth brow. The

bronze hair was dressed low against the neck in a

manner that Gray liked to see — at a distance, for

he was shy in the presence of women.

The eyes that looked into his were clear, and

seemed inclined to be friendly. Just now, they were

dubious. The small nose tilted up from a mouth

parted over even teeth. She was deeply sunburned,

even to throat and arms. Ordinarily, women take

Marching Sands

great pains to protect their skin from exposure to

the sun.

There was the stamp of pride in the brown face,

and the head poised erect on strong young shoul-

ders. Gray knew horses. And this woman re-

minded him of a thoroughbred. Later, he was to

find that his estimate of her pride was accurate;

for the present, he was hardly in the mood to

make other and stronger deductions concerning the

girl.

He flushed, hoping that it did not show under the

sand.

"Right," he admitted with a rueful smile. "Be-

neath the mud and dirt, I happen to be an Aryan."

"An Englishman?" she asked quickly, almost

skeptically, "Or American?"

"American," he admitted. "My name is Robert

Gray."

Her glance flickered curiously at this. He was

not too miserable to wonder who she was. What

was a white woman doing in this stretch of the

Gobi ? A white woman who was master, or rather

mistress of a large caravan, and seemed quite at

home in her surroundings?

He wondered why he had flushed. And why he

felt so uncomfortable under her quiet gaze. To his

utter surprise the frown cleared from her brow,

and her lips parted in a quick smile which crept into

her eyes. Then she was serious again. But he

112

The Mem-Sahib Speaks

found that his pulses were throbbing in wrist and

throat.

"Where did you find this feringhi, Ram Singh?"

she asked curiously.

"Among the camels, mem-sdhib" promptly an-

swered the man who had spoken before. "His ser-

vant was making off the while with our horses/ 9

Gray looked around. At the rear of the group,

arms pinioned to his sides and his bearded face

bearing marks of a struggle, was Mirai Khan. The

Kirghiz wore a sheepish expression and avoided

his eye.

"The servant," explained Ram Singh in stern

disapproval, "had untethered two of the ponies.

One he had mounted when we seized him. Said

I not the plain was rife with horse thieves ?"

Gray glared at Mirai Khan.

"Did I not warn you," he asked angrily, "that

there was to be no stealing of animals ?"

The Kirghiz twisted uneasily in his bonds.

"Aye, Excellency. But the ponies seemed un-

guarded and you had need of one to ride. If these

accursed Sikhs had not been watching for horse

lifters we would have gone free."

The officer swore under his breath, beginning to

realize what an unenviable position Mirai Khan had

placed him in. Robbing a caravan was no light

offense in this country. And the horses had be-

longed to the woman 1

Marching Sands

Gray silently thrust his manacled hands further

out of sight, wishing himself anywhere but here.

Covered with the grime of a week's hike across the

plain, with a stubby beard on his chin, eyes bleared

with sand, and his hat lost, he must look the part of

a horse lifter — and Mirai Khan's appearance did

not conduce to confidence.

"Is this true?" the girl asked. Again the elfin

spirit of amusement seemed to dance in the gray

eyes.

"Every word of it/' he said frankly. Searching

for words to explain, his shyness gripped him.

"That is, Mirai Khan was undoubtedly taking your

ponies, but I didn't know w;hat he was up to "

He broke off, mentally cursing his awkwardness.

It is not easy to converse equably with a self-pos-

sessed young lady, owner of a damaging pair of

cool, gray eyes. Especially when one is battered

and bound by suspicious and efficient servants.

"Why didn't you come direct to the yurtt" she

observed tentatively.

"Because I thought you might be — a Chinaman."

"A Chinaman 1" The small head perched in-

quisitively aslant "But I'm not, Captain Gray.

Why should I be? Why should you dislike the

Chinese?"

Two things in her speech interested Gray. She

seemed to be an Englishwoman. And she had given

him his army rank, although he himself had not

114

The Mem-Sahib Speaks

mentioned it. Most certainly there could be noth-

ing in his appearance to suggest the service.

"I have reason to dislike one Chinaman," re-

turned Gray. "So I was obliged to take precau-

tions," he blundered, and then strove to remedy

his mistake. "If I had known you were the owner

of the yurt, I would have come straight here."

Too late, he realized that he had made his blunder

worse. The girl's brows went up, also her nose —

just a trifle.

"Why should you be so cautious, Mr. Gray ?"

The civilian title was accented firmly. Yet a min-

ute ago she had addressed him as "captain."

"Surely"— this was plainly ironical— "the Chinese

are harmless?"

Gray thought grimly of Liangchowfu.

"Sometimes," he said, "they are — inquisitive."

The girl glanced at him. Surely she did not take

this as a personal dig? Gray did not understand

women. "Miss" — he hesitated — "Memsahib" —

she stared — "you see, I've gone beyond the limits

mentioned in my passport." He was unwilling,

placed in such circumstances, to tell the whole

truth of his mission and rank. So he compromised.

Which proved to be a mistake. "And the governor

fellow of Liangchowfu is anxious to head me off."

"Really? Perhaps the official," and she glanced

fleetingly at Mirai Khan, "thinks you do not keep

Marching Sands

good company. Will you show me your passport?

You don't have to, you know."

No, he did not have to. But in his present plight

he felt that a refusal would be a mistake. He

moved to reach the papers in his breast pocket, and

was checked by the handcuffs. He glanced at Ram

Singh angrily. The native looked at him compla-

cently. It was an awkward moment.

"Ram Singh 1" The girl spoke sharply. "Have

you bound the white man's hands?"

The Sikh grunted non-committally. She pointed

at Gray.

"Undo his hands. Is a white man to be tied like

a horse-stealing Kirghiz?"

Reluctantly, Ram Singh obeyed, and stood near

vigilantly. Gray felt in his pocket with stiffened

fingers and produced his passport. This the girl

scanned curiously.

"I want to apologize," ventured Gray, "for Mirai

Khan's attempt on your horses. He was acting

contrary to orders. But I take the blame for what

he did."

He spoke formally, even stiffly. The woman in

the chair glanced at him swiftly, studying him from

under level brows. He felt a great wish that he

should be absolved from the stigma of guilt before

her. And, man-like, he pinned his trust in formal

explanation.

She seemed not to heed his words. She returned

116

The Mem-Sahib Speaks

his papers, biting her lip thoughtfully. He would

have given much to know what she was thinking

about, but the girl's bright face was unreadable.

"Ram Singh," she ordered absently, "the Sahib's

rifle must be filled with sand. See that it is cleaned.

Take him to the store tent where he can wash the

sand from his eyes. Will you come back here,

Captain Gray? I would like ever so much to talk

to you."

While Gray washed gratefully, and while the

natives brushed his coat and shoes, his mind was on

the girl of the yurt. He told himself savagely that

he did not desire to be sympathized with. Like a

woman, he thought, she had taken pity on his dis-

comfort. Of course, she had to treat him decently,

before the natives.

In this, he was more right than wrong.

CHAPTER XI

SIR LIONEL

When Gray returned to the yurt, he found the

table set with silver and china containing a substan-

tial amount of curried rice, mutton and tea. This re-

minded him that he was ravenous, since he had not

eaten for twenty-four hours. He did not notice

that the girl's hair appeared adjusted more to a

nicety, or that she had exchanged the shawl for the

jacket of her dress.

"You like your tea strong?" she asked politely.

In spite of his hunger, Gray felt awkward as he

ate sparingly of the food under her cool gaze. She

was non-committally attentive to his wants. He

wished that she would say something more or that

Ram Singh would cease glaring at the back of his

neck like a hawk ready to pounce on its prey.

The food, however, refreshed him. His curiosity

concerning his hostess grew. He had seen no other

white man in the camp. It was hardly possible

that the Englishwoman had come alone to the Gobi.

Whither was she bound ? And why did she reside

in a Kirghiz yurt when the caravan was outfitted

yrith European luxuries?

When the natives had removed the plates, he

118

Sir Lionel

took out his pipe from force of habit, and felt for

matches. Then he reflected that he should not

smoke in the woman's tent.

He would have liked to thank her for her hos-

pitality, to assure her of his regret for the tactics

of Mirai. Khan, to ask her some of the questions

that were in his mind. Especially, if she were really

alone in the desert. But while he fumbled for

words, she spoke quickly.

"I've never taken a prisoner before, Captain

Gray. A white man, that is. I believe the correct

thing to do is to question you. That fits in most

nicely, because I am unusually curious by nature.' 9

He had pulled out a match which he struck ab-

sently, then extinguished it. She noted the action

silently.

"You are an army officer ?"

"In the reserve. Acting independently, now, of

course."

"Acting?" She smiled lightly and held out some-

thing to him. "So you are a big game hunter? X

did not know this was good country for that sort of

thing."

"It isn't," he acknowledged bluntly. "That is—

not in the ordinary sense. But I have already some

trophies bagged. Mirai Khan is my guide "

"Please do smoke," she said, and he saw that

what she offered him was a box of matches. One

of the servants struck a light

119

Marching Sands

"I am quite used to it. My uncle, Sir Lionel,

smokes much worse tobacco than yours."

Gray considered her over his pipe.

"Would you mind telling me," he asked gravely,

"Miss Niece of Sir Lionel, what you are going to

do with me ? I'm fairly your prisoner. Your patrol

under Ram Singh captured me within your lines/ 1

The girl nodded thoughtfully. Gray wondered

if he had caught a glint of laughter in the demure

eyes. He decided he was mistaken.

"You are an officer, Captain Gray. You know all

prisoners are questioned closely. I still have two

more questions, before I decide your case. Are

you really alone? And where are you bound?"

"I am," stated Gray methodically. "Ansichow."

"Really? I am going there. I should introduce

you, as my prisoner, to Sir Lionel, but he is tired

out and asleep, leaving me with Ram Singh."

"Who is an excellent guardian, Miss Nie ce "

"Mary Hastings," said the girl quickly. "I have

no reason to conceal my name." Gray thought she

emphasized the /. "My uncle, Sir Lionel Hastings,

is head of the British Asiatic Society in India. He

is bound for the Gobi."

Gray stared at her. The British Asiatic Society I

Then this must be the expedition in search of the

Wusun. Van Schaick had said that it was starting

from India.

"I begged Sir Lionel to take me," continued Maty

1 20

Sir Lionel

Hastings calmly, "and he finds me very useful. I

record his observations, you know, keep the journal

of the expedition, and draw the maps. That gives

him time for more important work."

"But the desert " Gray broke off.

"The desert is no place for a woman. I suppose

that is what you meant. But/ 1 kmjnot an ordinary

woman, I warn you, Captain 7 Gray. Sir Lionel is

my only relative, and we have traveled together for

years. He did say that he anticipated some op-

position from the Chinese authorities. But I re-

fused to be left behind." The rounded chin lifted

stubbornly. "This is the most important work my

uncle has undertaken, and he is always visited with

fever about this time of year."

Gray was secretly envious of Sir Lionel. What

an ally this girl would make 1 Yet, in their present

positions, she was apt to be his most ardent foe.

He glanced up, measuring her, and met her look.

For a long moment the slate-green eyes of the man

searched hers. They reminded him of the surface

of water, sometimes quiet to an infinite depth and

then tumultuous.

For a discerning man, Gray was at a sad loss to

fathom Mary Hastings.

"To avoid attention from the Chinese/' she con-

tinued, looking down, "we came up from Burma,

along the Tibetan border. Rather a boring trip.

But by going around the main towns at the Yang-

121

Marching Sands

tze headwaters, and by using these serviceable na-

tive huts — which can be taken down and put up

quickly — we escape questioning."

So that was the explanation of the clumsy yurts.

"You were not quite so fortunate, Captain Gray?

Curious, that, isn't it — when you are only a big

game hunter?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to make a clean

breast of it, and say that he, also, was seeking

Sungan. But it seemed absurd to confess to her

that the sole member of the American expedition

had been found among the camels of the Hastings

caravan. Perhaps he was unconsciously influenced

by his desire to be on friendly terms — even such as

at present with Mary Hastings.

Every moment of their talk was a keen pleasure

to him — more so than he was aware. He reflected

how lucky it was that he had run into the other

expedition. It was not altogether strange, since

they had both started at the same time, and Ansi-

chow was the mutual hopping-off place into the

Gobi.

"Will you tell me," he evaded, "how you came

to call me Captain Gray before you saw my

papers?"

Mary Hastings smiled pleasantly.

"It was an excellent guess, wasn't it? But now

I'm quite through my questions." She paused, her

brow wrinkled in portentous thought. "I think

122

Sir Lionel

I shall not burden myself with a prisoner. You are

quite free, Captain Gray. You and Mirai Khan.

Doubtless you wish to return to your caravan."

Gray thought of the two waiting mules and the

rain-soaked blanket that constituted his outfit, and

laughingly mentioned it to her.

'You are very kind/' he said, rising.

'Captain Gray," she said impulsively, "it's rain-

ing again. If you would care to spend the night

with us, I am sure Ram Singh can spare you a cot

and blanket. Mirai Khan can fetch your outfit in

the morning, and you can go on with us to Ansi-

chow. It's only a day's trek' 9

Gray hesitated, then accepted her offer thank-

fully.

"You will find your rifle on your cot. Ram Singh

cleaned it himself. It needed it. He said it was a

30-30 model, but then you are probably using it for

big game because you are accustomed to it." She

held out her hand with a quizzical smile. Gray

took it in his firm clasp, awkwardly, and released

her fingers quickly, lest he should hold them too

long. She nodded.

"Good night, Captain Gray."

Not until he was without the tent did he reflect

that he had admitted that he was bound for Ansi-

chow. And Ansichow meant the Gobi.

For a space after his departure Mary Hastings

remained in her tent. She had dismissed the native

123

Marching Sands

servant. She was thinking, and it seemed to please

her. But thought, with the girl, required compan-

ionship and conversation.

Abruptly she left her chair and stepped through

the door of the tent. It was still drizzling without;

still, there was a break in the heavy clouds to the

west. Mary noted this, and skipped to the entrance

of the yurt nearest her.

"It's me, Uncle Singh/' she called, not quite

grammatically. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," a kindly voice answered at once.

"Anything wrong?"

A man sat up on the cot, snapping on an electric

torch by the head of the bed and glancing at a small

clock. He was a tall, spare individual, with the

frame of an athlete, polo shoulders, and the high

brow of a scholar.

He was well past middle age, yellow-brown as to

face, deep hollows under the cheek bones, his scanty

hair matching his face, except where it was streaked

with white.

The girl installed herself snugly on the foot of

the bed, sitting cross-legged.

"You've been sleeping heavily, Sher Singh," she

observed reproachfully, giving the man his native

surname, "and that means you aren't well. I have

news." She paused triumphantly, then bubbled

spontaneously into speech.

"Such news. Aie. Captain Robert Gray is here,

124

Sir Lionel

in Ram Singh's tent. He is alone, with a servant.

He is a big man, not ill-looking, but awkward-

very. He stands so much on his dignity. Really,

it was quite ridiculous" — she laughed agreeably

— "and I was very nicely entertained. He was

brought in by the Sikhs, after trying to steal our

ponies "

"Lifting our horses 1" Sir Lionel sat bolt upright

and flushed. "Why, the scoundrel "

"I mean his servant was. Captain Gray was in-

nocent, but I was not inclined to let him off

easily "

Mary's conception of important news did not sat-

isfy the explorer's desire for facts. A peculiarly

jealous expression crept into the man's open face.

"Has he a well-equipped caravan?"

"Two mules, a gun and a blanket."

"How extraordinary!" Sir Lionel stared at his

niece. "No camels?"

"Not one." Mary yawned, and, with a glance at

the clock, began to unbind her heavy hair. It was

very late. Her fingers worked dexterously, while

Sir Lionel weighed her words. Unlike his niece, he

was an individual of slow mental process, perhaps

too much schooled by routine.

"Mary! How did you — ah — behave to Captain

Gray?"

"I took him prisoner." The girl smiled mis-

chievously. "He was so humiliated, Uncle Singh."

125

Marching Sands

"I hope/' observed Sir Lionel severely, "you

warned him of our identity."

"Rather. But he implied he was after big game."

Sir Lionel reached to the light stand and secured

a cigarette, which he lit. His eyes hardened pur-

posefully.

"I'll trek for Ansichow, at once. I must buy up

all the available camels. If you will retire to your

lent, and send my syce "

"Indeed, no." She frowned worriedly. "You

haven't had your sleep yet."

Sir Lionel caught her hand in his.

"No, Mary. You must be aware what this ex-

pedition means to me. I must be first in Ansichow,

and into the Gobi. Failure is not to be thought of.

Dear girl, I have thrown my reputation into the dice

bowl "

"I know. 9 ' She patted his hand lightly, and her

eyes were serious. "Only I wish you would let me

help a little more." She shook free the coils of

her bronze hair and placed a small hand firmly

over his lips. "I know what you want to say — that

you are being ever so kind and indulging to let me

come at all. As if I could be left at Simla when

you went on your biggest hunt, Uncle Singh. Well,"

she sighed, "if you must go buy camels, you will.

But" — she brightened — "please leave the wander-

ing American to me. I saw him first."

Sir Lionel removed the hand that restricted his

126

Sir Lionel

speech, and frowned portentously. Mary beamed,

twining her hair into twin plaits.

"Mary!" he said gravely, "please do not annoy

Captain — ah — Gray. We must be perfectly fair

with him, you know."

Of course," she assured him virtuously.

Haven't I been? He may not think so when he

learns how you've gone camel buying when I offered

him sleeping quarters. He'll forever fear the

Greeks bearing gifts "

"Oolu ka butchar (Child of an owl!)

"But he shouldn't try to deceive me, should he,

Uncle? I fancy he'll have a rather wretched time

of it. He seems somewhat out of his environment

here."

She nodded decisively.

"It's his own fault altogether for coming where

he has no business to be and wanting to deprive my

Sher Singh of what you worked a lifetime for."

"Merely his duty, Mary."

"But he shall not hinder you in yours."

She fell silent, no longer smiling. There was a

great tenderness in the glance she cast at the gaunt

Englishman. Sir Lionel was her hero, and, lack-

ing father and mother, all the warmth of the girl's

affection had been bestowed on the explorer.

She said good-night softly and slipped from the

tent. That night she slept lightly, and was afoot

with the first streak of crimson in the east.

127

CHAPTER XII

A MESSAGE FROM THE CENTURIES

In his snug quarters Gray slept well for the first

time in many nights, feeling the reaction from the

constant watchfulness he and Mirai Khan had been

forced to exercise. When he turned out in the

morning the sun was well up, and the men were

breaking camp under the direction of Ram Singh

who greeted him coldly.

When he inquired for Miss Hastings he found

that she had gone on to join her uncle, on a camel

with a single attendant. He was forced to ride with

the caravan, after sending Mirai Khan back for the

animals. Ram Singh proved an uncommunicative

companion and Gray was glad when the flat roofs

of the town showed over the sand ridges in the late

afternoon.

The caravan halted at the edge of the town, where

the Englishman had prepared his encampment. The

place was a lonely settlement, populated by stolid

Dungans and a few Chinese who ministered to the

wants of merchants passing from Liangchowfu to

Kashgar and the cities of Turkestan. Gray failed

128

A Message from the Centuries

to see either the girl or her uncle and learned that

they had gone to pay a visit of ceremony to the

amban — the governor — of Ansichow.

He went to seek out Mirai Khan. The meeting

with the Hastings had put him in a delicate situa-

tion. In spite of his own plight, he determined to

confess his mission to the Englishman, having de-

cided that was the only fair thing to do. He could

not accept aid from the people who were bound to

be his rivals in the quest for the Wusun.

He reflected ruefully that Van Schaick had urged

him to reach the spot in the Gobi before the expe-

dition from India. Van Schaick and Balch were

counting on him to do that — not knowing that Dela-

bar had been working against him.

As it stood, both parties had gained the town on

the Gobi edge at the same time. But the Hastings

possessed an ample outfit, well chosen for the pur-

pose and ready to go ahead on the instant. Gray

had only Mirai Khan and two mules. He would

need to hire camels, and bearers, to stock up with

what provisions were available, and to obtain a

guide.

This would take time, and much of his small store

of money. Moreover, if he made clear his pur-

pose to Sir Lionel, it was probable the Englishman

would start at once, thus gaining four or five days

on hirti. Gray knew by experience the uselessness

of trying to hurry Chinese through a transaction*

129

Marching Sands

And he was not sure if Mirai Khan would go into

the desert.

The Kirghiz had served him faithfully, to the

best of his ability so far. But Mirai Khan had said

that the tribesmen shunned this part of the desert.

Then there was the amban. It was more than

possible that Wu Fang Chien had sent word to

Ansichow to head off Gray.

It was a difficult situation, and Gray was ponder-

ing it moodily when he came upon Mirai Khan in

the bazaar street of the town. The Kirghiz, who

seemed to be excited over something, beckoned him

into one of the stalls, after glancing up and down

the street cautiously.

"Hearken, Excellency," he whispered. "Here I

have found a man who knows what will interest

you. He has been much into the desert and has

dug up writings and valuable things which he will

sell — at a good price. His name is Muhammed

Bai."

Gray glanced into the stall, and saw a bent figure

kneeling on the rugs. It was an old Turkoman,

wearing spectacles and a stained turban. Muhammed

Bai salaamed and motioned his visitor to be seated.

Gray scanned him with some interest. It was quite

possible the man had some valuable information.

Mirai Khan had a way of finding out things readily.

"Will the Excellency rest at ease," chattered the

Turkoman, peering at him benevolently, "while his

130

A Message from the Centuries

servant shows him certain priceless treasures which

he has dug from the sand among the ruins. Mirai

Khan has said the Excellency seeks the ruins."

"You have been there?" Gray asked cautiously.

He knew the penchant of the Central Asian for ex-

aggeration.

"Without doubt. Far, far to the west I have

been. To the ruins in the sand. Other Excellen-

cies have asked concerning them from time to time

but none have been there except myself, Muhammed

Bai."

"What are the ruins like?"

The merchant waved a thin hand eloquently.

"Towers of stone, great and high, standing forth

like guide posts. My father knew of them. One

of the sultans of his tribe dug for treasure there.

He found gold. Aye, he told me the place. I,

also, went and dug. Look "

With the gesture of a connoisseur displaying a

masterpiece, the Turkoman drew some objects from

under a silk rug. Gray stared at them* They were

odd bits of wrought silver and enamel ware, stained

with age. These Muhammed Bai spread before

him.

"They came from the ruins. The Excellency is

undoubtedly a man of wisdom. I need not tell him

how old these things are. There is no telling their

value. But I will sell the lot for a very few taels —

a ten taels."

131

Marching Sands

The American fingered the fragments curiously.

They meant nothing to him. They might be the

relics of an ancient civilization. Muhammed Bai

watched him keenly, and pushed a piece of parch-

ment under his eyes.

"Here is a greater treasure. The Excellency will

see the worth of this at a glance. Other foreign

merchants have asked to buy this. But I told them

that a high price must be paid. Who would sell a

sacred object to a dog? See, the strange writ-

ing

Gray held up the parchment to the light. It was

a small sheet, much soiled. It was covered with a

fine writing in characters unknown to him. He

wished that Delabar might be here to tell him its

meaning. If it had come from that section of the

Gobi, it was possible that it shed some light on the

Wusun.

"Mirai Khan, who is my friend, said that the

Excellency sought tidings of the ancient people.

Here is such a scroll as may not be found else-

where. Perhaps it is priceless. I know not."

"Can you read it?"

"Can a servant such as I read ancient wisdom?"

Muhammed Bai elevated his hands eloquently.

"But I will sell "

He looked up as a shadow fell across the stall.

Gray saw that Mary Hastings was standing in the

132

A Message from the Centuries

entrance. Beside her was a tall man, well dressed.

He rose.

"This is my uncle, Major Hastings, Captain

Gray/' she smiled. "We heard that you were in the

bazaar. Are you buying curios to take back with

your trophies?"

Sir Lionel returned the American's bow politely,

glancing from Muhammed Bai to him curiously.

Then his eye fell on the parchment. He leaned for-

ward and uttered a sharp exclamation of interest.

"Whence came this?" he asked Muhammed Bai,

in the dialect of Western Shensi.

The Turkoman peered up at him from tufted

brows, looking like an aged, gray hen guarding one

of its brood. "From the desert yonder. I, Mu-

hammed Bai "

"What language is the writing?"

"How should I know, Excellency?"

"It would be hard to tell." Sir Lionel frowned

thoughtfully. "The characters on the parchment

are certainly not the cuneiform of Behistun;

equally, they are no dialect of the older Kash-

garia, or Chinese. These two languages are the

only ones we would expect to find here, except

possibly "

He broke off, glancing curiously at Gray.

"Have you a claim to this manuscript, sir? Are

you planning to purchase it?"

Gray hesitated, feeling the cool gaze of the girl

133

Marching Sands

on him. Should he buy the parchment it would be

useless to him, as he could not interpret the writ-

ing. On the other hand, if he let Sir Lionel have

it, the parchment might prove an aid to the English

expedition. This, naturally, he was bound to pre-

vent.

"I will buy it," he concluded, and added quickly,

"as a curio."

"To add to your big game trophies ?" asked Mary

Hastings calmly.

While he tried to think of an answer, Sir Lionel

handed him the parchment.

"It might serve as a curio, Captain Gray. But,

in all fairness, I must warn you. The writing is a

counterfeit, cleverly done. You see, it is my life's

business to know the ancient languages of Central

Asia. This is adapted from some inscription which

Muhammed Bai has doubtless seen. The parch-

ment is skillfully colored to appear aged. But the

black ink is freshly laid on."

Gray smiled grimly, while the Turkoman stared

at the white men, endeavoring to guess what they

were saying.

"And these bits of silver?" The American mo-

tioned to the relics that lay on the rug.

"Are worthless, except — as curios. Being a

hunter, Captain Gray, I presume the authenticity of

the objects will not affect your desire to purchase

them."

134

A Message from the Centuries

Sir Lionel spoke dryly, and the girl scrutinized

him with frank amusement.

"My uncle has heard of Muhammed Bai," she

volunteered. "He is an old impostor who makes a

living selling false manuscripts to travelers in

Khotan and Kashgar. Perhaps he had heard we

were coming to Ansichow. I rather think your

precious Kirghiz is in league with Muhammed Bai/ 9

Mirai Khan caught the drift of what she said —

having a slight knowledge of English, and retired

discreetly to the bazaar alley. Gray reflected on

the curious ethics of Central Asia which permitted

a servant to take money from his master by trick*

ery, while he still served him faithfully. It was

one of the riddles of Asian ethics — which he had

encountered before. He knew that the girl was

probably right.

He tossed down the money for the parchment

and pocketed it, as he had said that he would buy

it. Sir Lionel checked him, as he rose.

"That manuscript is — interesting," he observed

thoughtfully. "Because Muhammed Bai must have

had a model to copy this writing from. The char-

acters resemble Sanscrit slightly, but they suggest

Tokharian, with which this man can not be ac-

quainted." He turned on the blinking merchant

sharply. "Tell me, writer of false missives," he

said in Turki, "from what did you copy these let-

ters?"

135

Marching Sands

There was something eager and threatening in

the face of the tall Englishman that choked off

Muhammed Bai's denial.

"It is as I said, Excellency. The writings were

found in the desert."

"Where?"

"A week's ride from here, to the west."

"Near Sungan — eh? How did you find them?"

The Turkoman was sullenly silent. Sir Lionel

dropped a coin on the rug. It was gold.

"Ah, the Excellency is generous as a prince of

the royal household!" cried Muhammed Bai. "It

was on a stone — a boundary stone at the place I

said — that I found the writings. See, here is the

stone."

He scrambled to his feet, bowing, and hastened

to the rear of the stall. He cast off some rugs from

the top of a pile, disclosing a piece of brown sand-

stone some three feet high and a foot in thickness.

On the surface of the stone Gray saw characters

engraved, characters that were strange to him.

But not to Sir Lionel. The Englishman dropped

to his knees with an exclamation, whipping out his

eyeglasses. He ran his finger over the writing on

the sandstone.

"A form of Sanscrit!" he cried. "By Jove —

three centuries old, at least. Four, I should judge.

And here is the character corresponding to the

Chinese word Wusun, the Tall Ones/ Remark-

136

A Message from the Centuries

able! This evidently was one of the boundary

marks of the Wusun land."

He peered at the inscription intently, forgetting

the American in his enthusiasm.

"Hm — it was erected by one of the khans of the

Tall People. By a slave of the Chinese Emperor.

It speaks of the captive race of the Wusun. Plainly

they were even then under the hang of the Chinese

priests. 'In the city of Sungan are the captive

people . . . greatly fallen since the age when they

were conquerors . . . they cling to their hearths

and towers ... in the sand. There they will al-

ways be '"

He broke off his reading and glanced up at Gray.

"Splendid I I must take a rubbing of this."

He ordered Muhammed Bai to bring charcoal and

a clean sheet of paper. The charcoal he rubbed

over the stone. Then he pressed the paper firmly

against it, beating the sheet with his fists until the

outline of the inscription was imprinted on the

paper. This he surveyed triumphantly.

"Excellent! Captain Gray, I am indebted for

your" — he smiled — "involuntary assistance. Will

you dine with us? Mary will be glad of com-

pany, I am sure. I must place this where it will

be safe."

He hurried off, followed by the girl and Gray.

Neither spoke during the walk to the outskirts of

Ansichow. The American was regretting the bad

137

Marching Sands

retorted warmly. "This is, literally, a sea of sand.

And the waves are rising. We are sure that cer-

tain towns in the foothills of the Thian Shan have

been buried by these waves. You see, the prevailing

winds here are from the east. They drive the sand

dunes before them. I have noted that the dunes

march westward "

"Before you go on, Sir Lionel " protested the

American, remembering his intention to make a

clean breast of things.

"Not a word, sir. Not another word. Be quiet,

Mary" — as the girl started to speak — "I will not be

contradicted. It is a scientific fact that the sands

march. During the kara burans or black wind-

storms they will progress many feet a day. Sun-

gan was built on the great caravan route from

China to Samarcand and Persia, many centuries

ago. Marco Polo followed this route when he

visited the court of Kubla Khan."

"But," Gray broke in, "I want "

"I say, it is a fact, sir. Prove the contrary.

You can't 1" Sir Lionel glared at him hostilely. "I

am right. Without doubt, I am correct. Sungan

has been buried by the marching sands. Only the

towers remain."

Gray thought of the tale Delabar had mentioned

— of the sand that came down on the city of the

Gobi, as retribution for some sin against the re-

ligions of Asia. Also, Mirai Khan had said no city

140

A Message from the Centuries

city of Sungan. Once or twice he checked him-

self, as if he feared he was saying too much. But

his eagerness was not to be restrained.

"The stone proves the existence of Sungan, and

gives us a rough idea of its location. Judging from

the inscription, the Wusun have clung to their herit-

age. I think we shall find some survivors in Sun-

gan.

"I thought you said the inscription was a form

of Sanscrit," objected Gray. "And the Wusun are

Chinese "

"Ah, that is just the point" Sir Lionel reared

his blond head, like a setter at scent of game. "San-

scrit is an Aryan language. The white race buried

here in the Gobi called themselves the Tall People.

Wusun is the Chinese translation of that term.

Their own written tongue is probably the dialect

we saw on the boundary stone, which is Aryan.

A clear chain of proof, Captain Gray."

"But," the American objected honestly, "my fol-

lower, Mirai Khan, has hunted the borderland of

the Gobi and he says positively no city is to be

seen. The stone is four centuries or more old "

"Mirai Khan," said the girl quickly, "can not see

under the sand, can he? He seems to be bent

chiefly on stealing horses."

Sir Lionel, however, was not to be turned from

the discussion which filled his mind. "You forget

the sand that Mary mentions. Captain Gray," he

139

Marching Sands

retorted warmly. "This is, literally, a sea of sand.

And the waves are rising. We are sure that cer-

tain towns in the foothills of the Thian Shan have

been buried by these waves. You see, the prevailing

winds here are from the east. They drive the sand

dunes before them. I have noted that the dunes

march westward "

"Before you go on, Sir Lionel " protested the

American, remembering his intention to make a

clean breast of things.

"Not a word, sir. Not another word. Be quiet,

Mary" — as the girl started to speak — "I will not be

contradicted. It is a scientific fact that the sands

march. During the kara burans or black wind-

storms they will progress many feet a day. Sun-

gan was built on the great caravan route from

China to Samarcand and Persia, many centuries

ago. Marco Polo followed this route when he

visited the court of Kubla Khan."

"But," Gray broke in, "I want "

"I say, it is a fact, sir. Prove the contrary.

You can't 1" Sir Lionel glared at him hostilely. "I

am right. Without doubt, I am correct. Sungan

has been buried by the marching sands. Only the

towers remain."

Gray thought of the tale Delabar had mentioned

— of the sand that came down on the city of the

Gobi, as retribution for some sin against the re-

ligions of Asia. Also, Mirai Khan had said no city

140

A Message from the Centuries

was to be seen. And Brent had claimed to see some

isolated towers.

"These towers," he started to explain what was

in his mind.

"Are the summits of the palaces of Sungan, sir.

In them I shall find the white race of Asia, the cap-

tive people of the Wusun."

"But, Uncle," protested the girl, "the stone was

erected four hundred years ago. If the Chinese had

wanted to, they might have killed off the remaining

Wusun since that time."

"The ancient Chinese annals," observed Sir

Lionel tolerantly, "state that the Wusun, the 'Tall

Ones/ were formidable fighters. The Sacae or

Scythians from whom they are descended were one

of the conquering races of the world. It is this

heritage of strength which has preserved the rem-

nant of the Wusun — for us to find."

Gray faced the Englishman across the table. Sir

Lionel had changed to a neat suit of clean duck for

the meal. Mary was fastidiously dressed in white,

a light shawl over her slender shoulders. He felt

keenly his own untidy attire. Moreover, the girl

seemed bent on making fun of him.

"Captain Gray is a hunter, you know, Uncle," she

remarked, glancing coolly at the uncomfortable

American. "Really, your talk about the Wusun

must bore him. He has come to shoot antelope.

Or is it wild camels, Captain Gray?"

141

Marching Sands

Gray met her glance steadily. He saw that she

was heart and soul with Sir Lionel in the latter's

quest, and guessed that his own confession must

terminate any possibility of friendship between

them.

"Neither," he said gravely. "I have meant to

tell you before this. But at first I was so surprised

at finding "

"That we guarded our ponies, Captain Gray?"

The girl's eyes twinkled and she bit her lip.

"A white woman instead of a Chinaman — I didn't

confess, as I should have done."

"But Mirai Khan confessed."

Gray flushed. "I was sent to the desert, Sir

Lionel, to find the Wusun. I am employed by the

American Exploration Society. And I am going

to do my best to get to Sungan — ahead of you, if

possible."

The effect of his words was curious. The girl

studied him silently. Sir Lionel stroked his blond

mustache, plainly ill at ease. Neither seemed sur-

prised.

"So you see," Gray made the statement as blunt

as possible, "I am your rival. I meant to tell you

before. Naturally, it is my duty to use the infor-

mation you have given me. But I want to make my

position clear before we go any further."

Sir Lionel's first words were not what Gray ex-

pected.

142

A Message from the Centuries

"You are not a scientist, sir?"

"I am not. Professor Delabar, who was to have

come with me, was forced to turn back at Liang-

chowfu."

'Then you are alone? Without a caravan?"

Tor the present. I'm going to do my best to

outfit at Ansichow and get ahead of you, Sir

Lionel." Gray rose. "I suppose I'm not exactly

welcome here, after what I've told you "

The Englishman waved his brown hand toler-

antly.

"I like your frankness, Captain Gray. Pray be

seated. We are rivals, not enemies, you know.

But" — the zeal of the enthusiast shone from his

mild eyes — "I shall never permit you to reach Sun-

gan ahead of me. I have studied the Wusun for

years. I persuaded the British Asiatic Society to

send me here. It is the crowning venture of my

life, sir."

The girl looked up proudly.

"Indeed, that is true, Captain Gray, My uncle

has spent our money on the trip. His reputation is

at stake. Because few of the directors of the Asi-

atic Society believe the Wusun are to be found "

"They are mistaken, Mary," Sir Lionel assured

her. "I know that I am right. The fact that Cap-

tain Gray was sent here is proof of it. I shall reach

Sungan — the first white man to penetrate the for-

bidden region of the Gobi. The boundary stone has

143

Marching Sands

indicated our course, and I will not yield the right

of way to Captain Gray, or any one. Any one, I

repeat, sir 1"

He struck the table forcibly and rose, mastering

his emotion in a moment.

"I pray, sir," he said with the fine courtesy of

the English gentleman, "if we are to be rivals, you

will not deny us the pleasure of your company while

we are at Ansichow. After that, you know, it is

each man for himself. Now, I will go to read over

my rubbing "

He bowed stiffly and walked into the adjoining

tent. Gray found that the girl was watching him

curiously.

"So Delabar went back," she said musingly. "I

wondered why he was not with you when you came

to my yurt after Ram Singh "

She colored slightly. Gray noticed how the fad-

ing sunlight glinted on her copper hair, and set off

the fine lines of her slender figure. A thorough-

bred, he thought — like her uncle.

"Ram Singh did exactly right," he admitted.

"But how "

"Did I expect Delabar?" She hesitated. "Well,

I have a confession, too, Captain Gray. I knew all

along — or rather suspected — what you were. At

Calcutta Sir Lionel received this letter."

She felt in her belt and drew out a square of

folded paper. This she handed silently to Gray.

144

A Message from the Centuries

Captain Gray, an American army officer, and Professor

Delabar are on their way to the Gobi. It will be useless

for you to attempt the expedition, as they will be there

before you. Do not waste your time by going into China.

This was the letter. It was written in a neat

hand and unsigned.

"Did the envelope have a postmark?" he asked.

"Yes, San Francisco."

He handed it back to her. The writing he rec-

ognized as Delabar's. The Syrian, then, had tried

to prevent the Hastings from setting out. As he

had done his best to keep Gray from reaching the

Gobi. Why?

CHAPTER XIII

THE DESERT

The next day Gray dispatched Mirai Khan to

the amban's yamen to try to hire the necessary

camels. He thought it better not to go himself.

Without the consent of the Chinese official noth-

ing could be done, as the atnban would expect a

liberal commission on every transaction in Ansi-

chow. Also the official had a dozen ill-armed and

ill-minded soldiery in the town barracks — enough

to enforce his authority on Gray, although the

Hastings' party was numerous enough to be inde-

pendent of the Chinese.

Gray himself wandered moodily through the few

streets of the village. Since the conversation of the

evening before he had been restless. He had slept

badly. Although he would not admit it to himself,

the thought of Mary Hastings had preyed on him.

So it happened that his wandering took him to

the camp of the Hastings.

He found Mary seated under the fly of the stores

tent, inspecting and tallying a stock of provisions

that Ram Singh had purchased. She looked up

and nodded coolly at his approach.

146

The Desert

"You are busy, Miss Hastings," he observed.

"But I want to ask a favor. A half hour of your

time."

The girl poised a pencil over her accounts doubt-

fully. Ram Singh scowled.

"We can talk here, Captain Gray," she com-

promised, "while I work. Sir Lionel wants these

stores "

"We can't talk here very well," objected Gray.

"What I have to say is important. Last night your

uncle gave me some valuable information. I want

to give you return value for it."

"Where?"

Mary Hastings had the brisk manner of one ac-

customed to transacting business. Gray learned

later — after the disaster that came upon them in the

Gobi — that she handled the routine work of her

uncle's expeditions, and very capably, too.

"Outside here, in the garden," he suggested. She

hesitated; then rose, reaching for her sun helmet.

A dilapidated wall encircled the camp, and a few

aloes struggled for existence by the tumble-down

stones.

Mary climbed the stones, refusing assistance

from the American, until she perched on the sum-

mit of the garden wall. Here she could overlook

the activity in the camp as she listened.

A haze hung in the air — born of the incessant

flurries of fine sand that burden the atmosphere in

147

Marching Sands

the Gobi. But from their small elevation, beyond

the low buildings of Ansichow, Gray could see the

plain of dunes that marked the desert. A dull

brown they were, stretching to the long line of the

horizon in the west.

Gray was silent, admiring the girl's profile.

There was something slender and boyish about

her. Her dress was plain, and excessively neat.

Under the crown of her helmet a few strands of

copper hair curled against her tanned cheek.

Mary glanced at the watch on her wrist signifi-

cantly,

'Tm afraid you are very lazy, Captain Gray,"

she said frankly. "I warn you that we are going to

lose no time in starting from Ansichow/ 9

"I am lazy," he agreed. "But I don't want you

to start at all."

She looked at him calmly. "Why?"

"That's what I wanted to tell your uncle. I'm

going to be as frank with you as I intended to be

with Sir Lionel. Miss Hastings, the Gobi Desert — "

"Is not safe for a woman, I presume?"

"Exactly. If Sir Lionel knew all that I do, he

would not want you to go with him. He'll have

to go, of course. So will I. But you can stay here

with Ram Singh until we get back. The Sikh is a

good watchman. Sir Lionel can join you when he

returns."

Mary rested her chin on her hands and scruti-

148

The Desert

nized the aloes with friendly interest. "Why do

you think it is dangerous for me to go to — Sungan?"

"I have a good reason for my warning, Miss

Hastings. Two reasons. One — Sungan seems to

be guarded by the Chinese priests. You have

avoided them by coming up through Burma into

Mongolia. I've had a taste of their kindly dispo-

sition."

He told her briefly of the opposition of Wu Fang

Chien, the episode of the inn at Liangchowfu, and

the fears of Delabar.

"So your companion turned back because he was

afraid?" She smiled curiously. "What is your

other reason, Captain Gray?"

"Sickness. That was what Delabar chiefly dread-

ed, I think. Brent, a missionary, went past the

Gobi border here — and died of sickness. I don't

say he was killed. He died."

"We are equipped to deal with that. I have

means to purify the water we may have to use in

the oases."

"It's not a question of water, in this case. Brent

had his own. You may think I'm running to fancy

a bit, Miss Hastings. But there's Mirai Khan.

I've sounded him thoroughly. He is clearly

afraid of the Sungan region, and of the pale sick-

ness. I don't know what it is — don't even know

that it exists. Still, the fact remains that Mirai

Khan, who is a fearless sort of rascal, says his

149

Marching Sands

countrymen avoided this part of the Gobi on ac-

count of the plague — whatever it may be."

"All Kirghiz are liars by birth and environment.

Really, you know, Captain Gray, the Buddhist

priests invent such stories to keep visitors from

their shrines. The coming of foreigners weakens

their power."

"That may be true." Gray felt he was stating his

case badly. "But you haven't established contact

yet with the amiable Wu Fang Chien. Having a

woman along would handicap Sir Lionel."

Her brows arched quizzically.

"Really? The amban of Ansichow and his men

do not seem to be trying to prevent us from going

ahead."

"Because they couldn't very well if they wanted

to. But, did it strike you that you have already

come so far that the Chinese are not worrying about

you ? That, if you go into the Gobi, they will count

you lost. I've gathered as much, and Mirai Khan

has listened in the bazaars. Won't you stay at

Ansichow, Miss Hastings?"

His blunt appeal had a note of wistfulness in it.

The possible danger to the girl had haunted him all

that day. It would be useless he felt, to appeal to

Sir Lionel. Mary Hastings was not in the habit

of obeying her uncle's commands in matters affect-

ing her own comfort or safety.

"And leave Sir Lionel to go alone into the Gobi V

ISO

The Desert

"Yes. He's bound to take the risk. You are

not. I'm afraid your uncle is too wrapped up in his

researches to pay much heed to possible danger. I

don't think a white woman should take the risk."

Mary Hastings smiled slowly. She had a way

of looking directly at a man — unlike most women —

that disturbed Gray. He felt that he was blunder-

ing.

"Sir Lionel," she replied, "has set his heart on

being the first white man in Sungan. He has staked

his reputation as a scientist on this expedition. You

do not know how much it means to him. If he

finds the Sungan ruins and the descendants of the

Wusun, he will have vindicated his judgment. If

he fails it will be his last expedition. It is hard

for a man of his age to fail. He has many rivals,

at home and — in America."

"But you "

"Sir Lionel needs me. I attend to the manage-

ment of the caravan. And he can not spare Ram

Singh."

She tossed her small head.

"Don't you think, Captain Gray, you've tried

enough to spoil our chances of success? Isn't it

rather mean of you to try to frighten me into leav-

ing Sher Singht" Mary Hastings was suddenly

growing angry. Gray was committing the unpar-

donable sin of endeavoring — so she assured herself

— to separate uncle and niece.

151

Marching Sands

She wanted to be angrier than she was. But the

wall perch was a bad strategic position for a display

of temper, which she considered he had earned.

"You know that it would weaken our chances of

success to divide our caravan 1" she accused, feeling

for foothold on the stones beneath.

Gray was unable to account for the swift change

in mood. What had he said to offend her? He

had meant it only for her good.

"No, Miss Hastings/' he flushed. "I simply

wanted to warn you of real danger."

The girl slid down the rocks to the earth. She

stamped a neatly shod foot disdainfully. Gray was

oblivious of the fact that the maneuver had been

planned for this purpose. She was plainly very

angry. He wondered why, miserably.

"I thought you were a sportsman, Captain Gray

— even if you were not a big game hunter as you

pretended. I find I am mistaken. Good after-

noon."

"Good Lord I" Gray watched her slight figure

return to the tent and set his teeth. "Good Lord !"

He smiled ruefully. "Horse thief — schemer — I

wonder if there's anything else that she thinks I

am. Guess there's nothing else bad enough."

He climbed down from his rocks and left the

encampment, avoiding Ram Singh who was usher-

ing in a line of coolies as he did so. The Sikh

strode by with a scowl.

152

The Desert

So easily are quarrels made. And a woman, so

fate has ordained, has the first voice in their mak-

ing. But it is doubtful if Mary Hastings herself

could have explained why she treated Gray as she

did. Divinely is it decreed that a woman may not

be asked to explain to a man.

Gray hesitated, half minded to seek out Sir Lionel

and ask that the girl be kept in Ansichow. Realiz-

ing that this would be useless, he returned to his

tent on the further side of the town. Mirai Khan

was not there.

It was a good three hours before the Kirghiz ap-

peared. Three hours in which Gray smoked mood-

ily. Mirai Khan had news.

"Come, Excellency/' he observed importantly.

"Yonder is a sight you should see. Verily, it is a

fine sight."

Gray took his hat and followed his companion to

a knoll, where the Kirghiz pointed out to the plain.

Half a mile away a caravan of a dozen camels

in single file was making its way into the sand

dunes, leaving a dense haze of dust in its wake. He

could see through his glasses Sir Lionel and Ram

Singh on the leading beasts.

Near the end of the caravan he saw Mary Hast-

ings. He thought that she turned and looked back

at him. He could not be sure. He watched the

slight figure with its veil about the sun helmet pass

from view in the dust.

153

Marching Sands

Then he walked back silently to the tent, beck-

oning Mirai Khan to follow.

"Have you the camels ?" he asked when they were

seated on the tattered rug that formed the tent floor.

"No, Excellency. The camels may not be hired."

"Then buy them."

Mirai Khan yawned and regarded his master with

the benevolent scrutiny of the fatalist

"It may not be. There were but eight two-hump

camels in Ansichow, and these the Englishman bar-

tered when he first came, in exchange for his tired

beasts. He paid well."

"Well, buy the camels he left."

"That would be folly. A week must pass before

these eight can bear burdens. They are nearly dead

with hard use. The Englishman did not spare

them."

Gray frowned meditatively. He must have beasts

of burden, to carry at least ten days' stock of water,

with necessary food. The Gobi was a barren land.

"Do you think a trader's caravan may visit An-

sichow, Mirai Khan?"

"Perhaps. In another moon, or possibly three or

four. Why should they come to this dung-heap in

the sand ?"

"Coolies might carry our supplies — if we paid

them enough." Gray knew that this would be risky ;

but he was not in a position to choose. Time waft

154

The Desert

pressing. Mirai Khan smiled, showing yellow,

serried teeth.

"No, Excellency. An ounce of gold apiece will

not bribe these Chinese to come into the Gobi/'

"The Kirghiz?"

Mirai Khan squinted thoughtfully at the glare of

sunlight without the tent. "Is the Excellency de-

termined to go into the Gobi?"

'Yes."

'What God wills, will come to pass. I, Mirai

Khan, have helped you to safety. For the space of

ten days I have eaten the food you have killed.

Because of this, I shall go a part of the way into

the Gobi. Also, a tribe of Kirghiz should be here

within four days, from the northern steppe. It

may so happen that some of these will come with

us. I know not."

"Four days !" Gray groaned.

"Likewise, the men of this tribe will not be car-

riers of burdens. It is not their custom."

"Mirai Khan : why is it that you fear the city of

Sungan? I thought you were a brave man."

Gray's purposeful taunt failed of its effect. Mirai

Khan stared at him and spat out into the sand.

"The region of Sungan is unclean. It is the law

of the Prophet that no one shall touch what is un-

clean."

"But you do not know that," cried the exasper-

ated white man. "You are running from a shadow."

155

Marching Sands

"A shadow may betoken evil. My father said

it, and it is so."

Gray sighed. "Then buy a half dozen mules.

They can carry our stores. Watch for the coming

of the tribe you spoke of. When they are here let

me know. Meanwhile, purchase water jars, flour,

rice and tea sufficient for six men for three weeks."

The Kirghiz blinked understandingly.

"It is written that a white man shall go into the

desert from here," he assented. "What is written

will come to pass. It is also said by our priests

that a white man's grave is waiting in the Gobi.

If this thing also comes to pass, I and my com-

rades will bury you, so the kites will not make a

meal of your eyes — for once you saved my life."

Whereupon the hunter turned over on his side

and went to sleep, leaving Gray to his own thoughts.

They were not cheerful.

The Hastings had left for Sungan. They had

camels and would make good time. With luck, if

they escaped the black sand-storms, they should be

at their destination in seven or eight days. No

wonder, he thought, Sir Lionel had spoken frankly

to him about the inscription, when he had all the

camels bought.

Camels could move faster than mules, over the

bad footing. Gray would make his start four days

— three if the Kirghiz arrived promptly — later than

Sir Lionel. And he would fall behind steadily.

156

The Desert

If it had been possible, he would have gone alone.

But he could not carry the necessary food and

water for ten days. For a moment he pondered the

advisability of pushing on alone as soon as the mules

could be bought.

This plan he dismissed as useless. Mirai Khan

had assured him that it would take at least two

days to get the animals and the needed supplies.

Also, he would be without a guide — for Mirai Khan

would not start until the tribesmen arrived.

It would be tempting providence for one man to

venture with a string of mules into the Gobi. Even

so, Gray might have attempted it if he had a guide.

There was nothing for it but to wait. And Gray

passed the time as best he could, overhauling his

rifle and small stock of ammunition, and packing

with the help of Mirai Khan the food the latter

bought for him.

Fate moves in strange ways. If Gray had started

before the four days were up, the events that took

place in the Gobi would have shaped themselves dif-

ferently. For one thing, he would not have seen

the tracks of the wild camel in the sand.

Nor would he have heard the story of the pale

sickness.

As Mirai Khan had assured him, the Kirghiz

tribe appeared at Ansichow the evening of the third

day. The hunter took Gray to their aul near where

Sir Lionel's encampment had been.

157

Marching Sands

Acting as interpreter, he harangued the newcom-

ers. Moreover, as he informed the American later,

he did not translate what Gray said literally. If

he had done so, he asserted, they would not have

gone into the Gobi.

The reason that Mirai Khan set forth seemed

sufficient, for after long debate, the elder of the

tribe and two evil looking hunters consented to ac-

company Gray. They agreed to go on foot. Some-

what to the American's surprise nothing was said

about turning back.

He broke camp at dawn, and the cavalcade of

mules passed out of Ansichow with Mirai Khan

leading. By the time the sun had broken through

the mist they were well into the sand dunes.

There had been no wind-storm since the Hastings

passed that way and Mirai Khan was content to

follow the camel tracks.

CHAPTER XIV

TRACES IN THE SAND

It was monotonous work climbing the dunes that

rose to meet them out of the ocean of sand. Added

to this was the feeling of isolation, which is never

so great as in the wastes of Central Asia. There

were no birds or game to be met with. Only once

did they hit on water. This was at their third camp,

and the camel tracks showed that the Hastings had

visited the oasis.

Owing to the high altitude, the exertion affected

Gray; but he made the best of this necessary evil

and pressed ahead. On the fourth day they lost

the trail of the other caravan and Gray shaped his

course by compass. He knew that Sir Lionel had

planned to strike due west.

It was that night they discovered the tracks of

the wild camel.

Gray had turned out from his blankets at sun-up

and was warming his stiff limbs over the fire the

others had kindled — for the autumn chill was mak-

ing itself felt in the nights. He found Mirai Khan

and the Kirghiz excited.

They had seen tracks about the encampment.

*S9

Marching Sands

The hunters showed them to Gray, who thought

at first the imprints were left by the Hastings'

caravan. Mirai Khan, however, assured him that

the tracks had not been there the evening before.

Also, the hoof marks were smaller than those of the

domestic camel, and not quite as deep in the sand.

Mirai Khan showed him where the tracks ap-

peared, and passed around the camp twice, then led

away over the dunes.

"It is the mark of a wild camel, Excellency," he

said. "Of one that has come to look at us/ 9

"And why should this not happen?"

Mirai Khan scratched his thin beard, plainly un-

easy.

"It is a good omen," continued Gray, perceiving

this. "For by this wild camel we may have meat."

He had heard that these animals, although rare,

were sometimes seen in the southern Gobi. Beyond

wishing that this particular camel had waited until

the light was good enough for a shot, Gray thought

little of the matter. Not so the Kirghiz. The hunt-

ers conferred earnestly with Mirai Khan and ap-

peared reluctant to go on.

"If you see the beast," he added, impatient at

the delay, "we shall try a stalk. We need meat."

Mirai Khan grunted and spat stolidly.

"Never have I shot a wild camel, Excellency.

My father has said that when we sighted the tracks

of one, it is well to return quickly."

1 60

Traces in the Sand

Inwardly, Gray consigned the spirit of Mirai

Khan's ancestor to another region. Approaching

the tether of the leading mule, he motioned to the

Kirghiz to set out. They obeyed reluctantly.

"Are you men or children?" he asked. "You will

have no pay until we sight the ruins of Sungan."

He wondered, as he trudged forward, whether

this speech had been a mistake. The Kirghiz were

clearly sulky. Mirai Khan was more silent than

usual. Gray noticed that whenever they topped a

rise he scanned the plain intently. The behavior of

his guides at this point mystified him. The Kirghiz

were naturally far from being cowards. Certainly

they had neither fear nor respect for the Chinese

of Ansichow. Being Mohammedans they were in-

different to the Buddhist priests.

Yet the glimpse of wild camel tracks had set

these men — hunters by birth — into a half panic.

Gray gave it up. He was walking moodily by the

leading mule, pondering his failure — for he could

no longer conceal from himself the fact that) he

must reach Sungan a good week after the Hastings

— when he saw Mirai Khan pause on the top of a

dune. The hunter's figure stiffened alertly, like a

trained dog at gaze.

Gray scrambled up the slope to the man's side.

At first he saw only the brown waste of the dunes.

Then he located what Mirai Khan had seen. He

raised and focussed his glasses.

161

Marching Sands

Some distance ahead a man was moving toward

them. It was a white man, on foot and walking

very slowly. Gray recognized Sir Lionel Hastings.

Followed by the Kirghiz, he approached the

Englishman. Sir Lionel did not look up until they

were a few paces away. Then he halted, swaying

from the weariness of one who has been walking

for a long time.

He was without coat, rifle, or sun helmet. His

lean face was lined with fatigue. The hand that

fumbled for his eyeglasses trembled. His boots

and puttees were dust stained.

"Is that you, Captain Gray?" he asked uncer-

tainly.

"Yes, Sir Lionel. What's up ? Where's the cara-

van?" Gray had beeii about to ask for Mary, but

checked himself. "You'll want a drink. Here "

The Englishman shook his head. Gray observed

that his bald forehead was reddened with the sun;

that his usually well-kept yellow hair was turned

a drab with the dust.

"I had water, thanks. Back there, by the tam-

arisk tree. The caravan camped there for the night,

two— or three days ago. I don't remember which."

He wheeled slowly in his tracks. "Come."

A moment's walk took them to the few bushes

and the tamarisk. There a well had been dug. Sir

Lionel refused to mount one of the mules, although

he was plainly far gone with exhaustion. At the

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Traces in the Sand

time Gray was too preoccupied to notice it, but the

Kirghiz — as he recalled later — were talking together

earnestly, looking frequently in their direction.

The Englishman moved, as he spoke, automati-

cally. He walked by dint of will power. When

Gray, knowing the strength of the sun, placed his

own hat on the man's head Sir Lionel thanked him

mechanically.

It was this quiet of the man that disturbed Gray

profoundly. There was something aimless and de-

spairing in his dull movements. Gray, seeing how

ill he was, refrained from asking further questions

until they were seated in the small patch of shadow.

The Kirghiz retired to a neighboring knoll with

their rifles.

"It was near here we discovered camel tracks —

wild camel tracks."

The words startled Gray, coming on top of the

dispute with Mirai Khan that morning.

"Did you lose the caravan ?" he exclaimed. "Good

Lord, man! Where is Mary?"

"I've lost the caravan," said Sir Lionel. "And

Mary as well."

Sudden dread tugged at Gray's heart.

"Where?"

"At Sungan."

Sir Lionel looked up at the American, and Gray

saw the pain mirrored in his inflamed eyes.

"Was she with Ram Singh?"

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Marching Sands

"Ram Singh is dead."

"The others?"

"Killed. I do not think that Mary was killed."

Gray drew a deep breath and was silent. From

the knoll the hunters watched intently.

"I will tell you what happened." Sir Lionel drew

his hand across his eyes. "The sun — I'm rather

badly done up. No food for two days. No " as

Gray started to rise. "Fm not hungry."

He lay back on the sand with closed eyes. His

face was strained with the effort he made to speak.

Yet what he said was uttered clearly, with military

brevity.

"The night after we sighted the camel tracks we

were attacked in force. I think that was four

nights ago. There was a crescent moon. Of course

I had stationed sentries. They gave the alarm.

There was a brisk action."

"Who attacked you?"

"Ram Singh said they might have been a party of

wandering Kirghiz. We did not see them clearly

in the bad light. Peculiar thing. They seemed to

be afoot. When they beat a retreat, after exchang-

ing shots, we looked over the ground. No foot-

prints. Only camel tracks. And they carried off

their wounded."

Gray wondered briefly if Sir Lionel's mind had

been affected by the sun. But the Englishman

spoke rationally. Moreover, Mirai Khan had been

164

Traces in the Sand

alarmed when they first sighted the imprints in the

earth.

"Our guides — Dungans, you know — said attack-

ers were guards of Sungan. We did not see them

again. Late the next afternoon a kara buran passed

our way. We pitched tents when the wind became

bad, inside the circle of our beasts. When the storm

cleared off, I made out through my glasses the

towers of Sungan."

Sir Lionel looked up with a faint flash of tri-

umph.

"I was right. Sungan is a ruined city, buried in

the sand. Only the towers are visible from a dis-

tance. We were about a half mile from the nearest

ruins."

He sighed, knitting his brows. He spoke calmly.

Gray was familiar with the state of exhaustion

which breeds lassitude, when long exposure to

danger, or the rush of sudden events, dulls the

nerves.

"It was twilight when Mary and I started to walk

to the towers, with two servants. I was eager to

set foot in the ruins. And I did actually reach the

first piles of debris. You won't forget that, will

you, old man? I was the first white man in Sun-

gan."

Gray nodded. He felt again the zeal that had

drawn Sir Lionel blindly to the heart of the Gobi.

And had perhaps sacrificed Mary to the pride of

165

Marching Sands

the scientist. But he could not accuse the wearied

man before him of a past mistake.

"Go on/' he said grimly.

"It was late twilight. I forgot to add that our

Dungans deserted after the first skirmish. Fright-

ened, I expect. Well, Mary and I almost ran to

the ruins. She was as happy as I at our success —

what we thought was our success. So far, we had

seen no human beings in the ruins. There were

any number of tracks, however, and vegetation that

pointed to the presence of wells."

"Then Mary and I discovered the Wusun." Sir

Lionel laughed suddenly, harshly. He gained con-

trol of himself at once. "They came — these inhabi-

tants of Sungan — from behind the stone heaps and

out of what seemed to be holes in the ground. As

I said, it was late evening, and I could not see their

faces well. Still, I saw "

He checked himself, and fell silent, as if pon-

dering. Gray guessed that he thought better of

what he was going to say.

"They were unarmed, Captain Gray, but in con-

siderable force. They ran forward with a lumber-

ing gait, like animals. They were dressed in filthy

strips of sheepskin, which gave out a foul smell.

I had my revolver. Still, I hesitated to shoot down

these unarmed beggars. They did not answer my

hail which was given in Persian, then in Turki.

"Seeing that they were plainly hostile, I began

1 66

Traces in the Sand

to shoot. They came on doggedly, apparently with-

out fear of hurt. And my two men ran. One was

a brave boy, Captain Gray — a syce who had been

with me for several years. Yet he threw away his

rifle and ran. I saw two of the men of Sungan

pull him down."

Gray shivered involuntarily, thinking of the girl

that Sir Lionel had brought to this place.

"I do not understand why it happened," the Eng-

lishman observed plaintively. "We had given these

men no cause to attack us. I believe they were not

the same fellows who rushed us the night before.

For one thing, these had no arms. There were

women among them. They gave me the impression

of dogs, hunting in a pack. They must have been

waiting for us in cover."

"What happened to the caravan?"

"Rushed. The Sungan people got to it before

Mary and I could gain the camp. Our boys were

surprised. Only a few shots were fired. The cam-

els took fright and ran through the tents. I saw

Ram Singh and another try to get out to me with

spare rifles. The Sikh, who had the rank of Rifle-

man, shot very accurately. But the Sunganis came

between us, and I saw him go down fighting under

a pack of men. Mary and I turned aside and tried

to escape into the sand dunes."

Sir Lionel raised himself unsteadily on an elbow.

"Do not think, Captain Gray, that I abandoned

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Marching Sands

Mary of my own will. It was dark by then. We

could hear the men hunting us through the dunes.

A party of them descended on me from a slope.

My revolver was emptied by then. I knocked one

or two of them down and called out for Mary. She

did not answer. They had taken her away. If they

had killed her, I would have come on her body. But

she was gone."

"Did you hear her call to you?" Gray asked from

between set lips.

"No. She is a plucky girl. In my search for her,

I passed out of sight of the men who were track-

ing me. I could not remain there, for they were

tracing out my footprints. They have an uncanny

knack at that, Captain Gray. As I said, they re-

minded me of dogs."

He looked at his companion, despair mirrored in

his tired eyes.

"I had two alternatives after that — to stay near

Sungan, unarmed, or to return, in the hope of meet-

ing you. I knew you would be likely to follow our

tracks as far as you could. Possibly you would

sight this brush. I made my way back here. A

little while ago I sighted the dust of your caravan."

Gray was silent, breaking little twigs from the

bush under which they sat and throwing them from

him as he thought. Sir Lionel's story was worse

than he had expected. Mary Hastings was in the

Sungan ruins. She might even now be dead. He

168

Traces in the Sand

put the thought from him by an effort of will.

The full force of his feeling for the girl flooded

in on him. From the night when her servants had

seized him in the aul she had been in his thoughts.

It was this feeling — the binding love that sometimes

falls to the lot of a man of solitary habits, whose

character does not permit him to show it — that had

led him to warn her against going into the Gobi.

And it was this that had urged him after her with

all possible haste.

Now the Hastings' caravan had been wiped out

and Mary was in the hands of the men of Sungan.

"We'll start at once," he said quietly. "That is f

if you feel up to it."

The Englishman roused with an effort and tried

to smile.

"I'm pretty well done up, I'm afraid, Captain

Gray. But put me on a mule, you know. I'll man-

age well enough." Gray knew that he was lying,

and warmed to the pluck of the man. "I must not

delay you."

"We should be at the ruins in thirty-six hours."

"Right ! Where's the mule " he broke off as

Mirai Khan appeared beside them.

"Excellency!" The Kirghiz's eyes were wide

with excitement. "I have seen men with rifles ap-

proaching on two sides."

"Bring your mules into the brush, Captain Gray,"

said Sir Lionel quickly. "And place your men be-

169

Marching Sands

hind the boxes of stores. You will pardon my giv-

ing orders? These are undoubtedly the same fel-

lows who exchanged shots with us a little further

on. If you can spare a rifle "

The American handed him the piece slung to his

shoulder, with the bandolier of cartridges. The

Kirghiz hunters were already leading the mules to

the brush.

CHAPTER XV

A LAST CAMP

Gray had no means of knowing who the new-

comers were, but experience had taught him the

value of an armed front when dealing with an un-

known element. And Sir Lionel's story had excited

his gravest fears.

Under the American's brisk directions the Mo-

hammedans unloaded the animals and tied them

near the well. The stores they carried to the outer

bushes. Mirai Khan primed his breechloader re-

signedly.

"Said I not the wild camel tracks were a warn-

ing?" he muttered in his beard. "Likewise it is

written that the grave of a white man shall be dug

here in the Gobi. What is written, you may not

escape. You could have turned back, but you

would not."

"Take one man," ordered Gray sharply, "and

watch the eastern side of the brush."

"A good idea," approved the Englishman, who

had persuaded one of the hunters to place the roll

of the tent in front of him. He laid the rifle across.

171

Marching Sands

the bundle of canvas coolly. "We must beat off

these chaps before we can go ahead." He nodded

at Gray, calmly.

Gray left one of the hunters with Sir Lionel, well

knowing the value of the presence of a white man

among the Kirghiz. He himself took the further

side of the triangle to the north. The knoll was on

a ridge that ran roughly due east and west. The

nearest sand ridges were some two hundred yards

away. Behind them he could see an occasional

rifle barrel or sheepskin cap.

By this arrangement, at least three rifles could be

brought to bear in any quarter where a rush might

be started; likewise, they could watch all menaced

points. But their adversaries seemed little inclined

to try tactics of that sort. They remained concealed

behind the dunes, keeping up a scattering fire badly

aimed into the knot of men in the brush.

This did small damage. The Kirghiz, once the

matter was put to an issue, proved excellent marks-

men, and gave back as good as they received. Gray,

watching from his post under a bush, fancied that

two or three of Mirai Khan's shots took effect. He

himself did not shoot. An automatic is designed

for rapid fire at close range, not for delicate snip-

ing.

But Sir Lionel was at home with a rifle. Glanc-

ing back under the tamarisk Gray saw him adjust

his eyeglass calmly, lay his sights on a target, and

172

A Last Camp

press the trigger, then peer over his shelter to see

if his effort had been successful. The Englishman

evidently had seen action before — many times, Gray

guessed, judging the man.

"A reconnoissance in force, I should call it, old

man," the Englishman called back at him. "I think

we are safe here. But the delay is dangerous."

He paused to try a snap shot at the dune oppo-

site. Gray scanned the ground in front of him,

frowning. He knew that Sir Lionel was as impa-

tient as he to start for Sungan. There was no help

for it, unless the attacking party could be driven off.

Gray had been pondering the matter. Their ad-

versaries appeared to be a small party, and they

had suffered at least three or four casualties in the

first hour. Gray's force was still intact.

As nearly as he could make out the men behind

the dunes were Chinese — border Chinese, and ill

armed. Why they attacked him, he did not know.

Mirai Khan had taken it for granted.

"Any one who enters this part of the Gobi seems

to be marked for execution," he thought grimly.

"If that's the case, two can play at it. And we've

got to start before nightfall."

Cautiously he wormed his way back into the

bushes to the side held by Mirai Khan. To this

individual he confided what was in his mind. The

Kirghiz objected flatly at first. But when Gray as-

sured him that unless they did as he planned, night

173

Marching Sands

would catch them on the knoll, and they would be

unable to fight off a rush, he yielded.

"If God wills," he muttered, "we may do it.

And I do not think I shall die here."

Blessing the fatalism of his guide for once, Gray

summoned one of the hunters. He removed a

spare clip of cartridges from his belt and took it in

his left hand. This done, he nodded to the two

Kirghiz, straightened and ran out along the ridge,

on the side away from Sir Lionel.

The maneuver took their enemies by surprise.

One or two shots were fired at the three as they

raced along the dune and gained the summit behind

which the Chinese had taken shelter. Gray saw

four or five men rise hastily and start to flee.

He worked the trigger of his automatic four

times, keeping count carefully. Accurate shooting

is more a matter of coolness than of skill. Two of

the Chinese fell to earth; another staggered and

ran, limping. The survivors picked up the two

wounded and disappeared among the dunes.

"Hail" grunted Mirai Khan in delight, "there

speaks the little gun of many tongues. Truly, never

have I seen "

Follow these men/' commanded Gray sternly.

See that they continue to flee." Motioning to the

other Kirghiz, he trotted back across the ridge to

the further side. Here he was met with a scatter*

174

A Last Camp

ing fire which kicked up some dust, but caused no

damage.

The Chinese on this side of the white men's

stronghold had learned the fate of their fellows and

did not await the coming of the "gun of many

tongues."

Gray saw a half dozen figures melting into the

dunes, and emptied the automatic at them, firing at

a venture. He thought at least one of his shots had

taken effect. Pressing forward, he and the Kirghiz

— who had gained enormous confidence from the

display of the automatic— drove their assailants for

some distance. When the Chinese had passed out

of sight, Gray hurried back to the knoll.

There he found Sir Lionel seated with his back

against the roll of canvas with the excited Kirghiz.

"The coast seems to be clear," observed Gray.

"We can set out "

The Englishman coughed, and tried to smile. "I

stay here, I'm afraid," he objected. "It's my rotten

luck, Captain Gray. One of the beggars potted me

in that last volley. A chance shot."

He motioned to his chest, where he had opened

the shirt. The cloth was torn by the bullet.

"Touched the lung, you know" — again he

coughed, and spat blood — "badly."

Gray made a hasty examination of the wound.

It was bleeding little outwardly ; but internal bleed*

ing had set in.

175

Marching Sands

"We'll have to get you back to Ansichow," he

said with forced cheerfulness. "A mule litter and

one of the Kirghiz will do the trick."

"No, it won't, old man." Sir Lionel shook his

head. "I'd never get there. One day's travel would

do me up. I'll stick — here."

Mirai Khan, who had rejoined the party, drew

his companions aside and talked with them earnest-

ly. Gray did what he could to make the English-

man comfortable. Assisted by the hunters, who

worked reluctantly, he had the tent pitched, and laid

the wounded man on a blanket, where he was pro-

tected by the canvas from the sun.

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 some-

thing 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 hap-

pened — 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

176

A hast Camp

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 eag-

erness 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 jofl

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 1

This sickness, he knew, caused the flesh of the face

to decay and turn white in the process. And lep-

rosy 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

177

Marching Sands

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 Sun-

gan. 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 atten-

tion 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 dis-

covered 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 Dela-

bar had known that Gray would not turn back until

178

A hast Camp

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 dis-

covered 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, be-

lieved 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 con-'

querors."

"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

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Marching Sands

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, Cap-

tain Gray. Now I'm asking you to make good my

mistake, if possible "

"Excellency 1" 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

1 80

A Last Camp

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 re-

main 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 yo^r

knowing."

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Marching Sands

Gray surveyed the hunter moodily. Mirai Khan

smiled affectionately.

_ « _

"Even if you had threatened to shoot us, Excel-

lency, 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 fore-

tell 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 am-

munition. 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 behind Ansichow. Tell him what has

passed here, and that I set out to-night for Sungan.

Ask him to send the message back to my country,

to this man."

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A Last Camp

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

183

Marching Sands

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 dis-

tress Sir Lionel with the truth.

"Then you'll be setting out, I fancy." He spoke

with an effort. 'Til 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 hem-

orrhage "

Gray left him coughing, and filled the jar at the

well. Also his own canteen which 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. "Sun-

set," 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

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A Last Camp

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. Good-by and good luck !"

"You're game!" exclaimed Gray involuntarily.

"Good-by."

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 OW

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 cap-

tive 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

1 86

Gray Carries On

guards of Sungan did not seem overmerciful. 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 which 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 ap-

peared between the sand ridges.

Gray did not try to eat. Nor did he drink, know-

ing 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

i8 7

Marching Sands

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.

1 88

Gray Carries On

This deduction led to another. The Hastings

party had been attacked. Failing to turn them back,

their assailants might have sent word of their ap-

proach to Sungan.

"Let's see what I know/' mused Gray methodi-

cally. "Camel feet armed with guns beaten off by

Hastings' caravan — send news to Sungan. Am-

buscade 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

189

Marching, Sands

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 slen-

der 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 worshiped anything, he worshiped

the girl.

There had been no other women in his life. He

smiled ruefully, reflecting upon his blundering ef-

fort 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

190

Gray Carries On

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.

"If only I am not too late," he thought. "I must

not be too late. That could not happen."

Gray had no words to frame a prayer. But, lack-

ing words, he nevertheless prayed silently as he

walked.

The stars faded. The moon had disappeared over

the plain in front of the American. The dunes

turned from black to gray and to brown, as the sun-

rise climbed behind him.

Gray sat down on a hillock, and drew out his

flour cakes. These — some of them — he chewed,

washing them down with water from his canteen.

Had Sir Lionel lived to see that day? Gray

thought not. Mirai Khan's prophecy had born

fruit

A few feet away an animal's skull — a gazelle, by

the horns — peered from the sand. Gray watched

it quietly until the sun gleamed on the whitened

bone. Then he rose, stretching his tired limbs, and

pressed on.

191

Marching Sands

Late that afternoon he sighted the towers of Sun-

gan slightly to the north of his course.

Working his way forward, Gray scanned the

place through his glasses. He was on the summit

of a ridge about a half mile from the nearest tow-

ers. The ruins lay in the center of a wide plain

which seemed to be clay rather than sand.

At intervals over the plain sand drifts had

formed. Gray wondered if it was from behind these

that the lepers had advanced on the Hastings' cara-

van. In the center of the plain trees and stunted

tamarisks grew, indicating the presence of water.

Throughout this scattered vegetation the ruins

pushed through the sand. Sir Lionel had been cor-

rect in his guess that the desert sand had over-

whelmed the city. Gray could see that only the tops

of the tumble-down walls were visible — those and

the towers which presumably had been part of the

palaces and temples of ancient Sungan. Even the

towers were in a ruined state.

They seemed to be formed of a dark red sand-

stone, which Gray knew was found in the foothills

of the Thian Shan country, to the north. He

judged that the structures were at least five or six

centuries old. He saw some portions of walls

which were surmounted by battlements. And the

192

Gray Carries On

towers — through the glasses — showed narrow em-

brasures instead of modern windows.

The sight stirred his pulse. Before him was the

ancient city of the Gobi that had been the abode

of a powerful race before it was invaded by the

advancing sands. Past these walls the caravan of

Marco Polo had journeyed. The great Venetian

had spoken of a city here, where no modern ex-

plorers had found one. He had called it Pe-im.

And in the ruins Mary Hastings might be still

living, in desperate need of him.

What interested Gray chiefly were the people of

the place. He was too far to make them out clearly,

and only a few were visible. This puzzled him,

for Sir Lionel had mentioned a "pack of lepers/'

He was able to see that the people were of two

kinds. One was robed in a light yellow or brown

garment. Several of these men were standing or

sitting on ridges outside the ruins. Gray guessed

that they were sentinels.

Furthermore, h& believed them to be priests. The

other kind wore darker dress and appeared from

time to time among the ruins. They were — or

seemed to be, at that distance — both men and

women.

The thought of the girl urged Gray to action. It

would be the part of wisdom to wait until night-

fall before entering the city. But he could not

bring himself to delay.

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Marching Sands

He was reasonably sure, from the conduct of the

men acting as sentinels, that he had not been seen

as yet. He had planned no course of action. What

he wanted to do, now that he had an idea of the lay

of the land, was to get hold of one of the men of

Sungan, leper or priest, and question him about the

white woman who had been taken prisoner.

Mary had been in Sungan at least three days and

nights. Surely the people of the place must know

of her. Once Gray had an idea where she was

kept, he would be able to proceed.

The venture appeared almost hopeless. How

could he enter the ruins, find the girl, and bring her

out safely? What would they do then? How was

he to deal with the lepers, whose touch meant pos-

sible contagion?

But he was hungry for sight of Mary — to know

if she was still alive. He could not wait until night

to learn this. He marked the position of the near-

est men in his mind, returned the glasses to their

case, loosened his automatic in its sheath, and

slipped down from his lookout behind the ridge.

"I've cut out sentries," he mused grimly, "but not

this kind. They don't seem to be armed."

In fact, the men of Sungan were not armed —

with modern weapons. But they had a deadly

means of defense in the disease which bore a mis-

erable death in its touch.

Gray, for once, blessed the continuous dunes of

194

Gray Carries On

the Gobi. He went forward cautiously, keeping

behind the ridges and edging his way from gully

to gully, crawling at times and not daring to lift his

head for another look at the sentinels he had lo-

cated.

His sense of direction was good. He had crawled

for the last half hour and the sun was well past

mid-day when he heard voices a short distance

ahead.

Removing his hat, Gray peered over the sand

vigilantly. He found that he had come almost in

the line he had planned. A hundred yards away

two figures were seated on a rise. They wore the

yellow robes he had first noticed.

As he watched, one rose and walked away leis-

urely toward the ruins. The other remained seated,

head bent on his clasped arms which rested on his

knees. There was something resigned, almost hope-

less, in the man's attitude.

Gray waited until the first priest had had time

to walk some distance. Then he wriggled forward

alertly.

He had no means of knowing that others were not

on the further side of the ridge where the sentry

sat. But he heard no further voices, and he had

ascertained carefully before he set out that these

two were isolated. •

Reasonably certain of his prey, Gray pulled him-

self from stone to stone, from depression to de-

195

Marching Sands

pression. Once the man looked up, — perhaps at a

slight sound. Then his head fell on his arms again.

Gray rose to his feet and leaped toward the ridge

silently.

Eyes bent on the still figure of the priest, he

gained the foot of the dune. The man stiffened

and raised his head, as if he had sensed danger.

Gray was beneath him by now, and stretched out

a powerful arm.

His hand closed on a sandaled foot and he pulled

the priest down from his perch. Gray's other hand

clamped on the man's mouth, preventing outcry.

They were sheltered from view from Sungan by the

ridge, and the American believed no one would

notice the disappearance of the priest.

"If you cry out, you will die," he said in Chinese,

kneeling over the other. Cautiously he removed his

hand from the priest's mouth.

"Tell me— " he began. Then— "It's a white

man !"

He peered at the dark, sunburned face, and the

newly shaven skull.

"Delabar," he said slowly. "Professor Arminius

Delabar, minus a beard. No mistaking your eyes,

Professor. Now what, by all that's unholy, are

you doing here in this monkey rig?"

CHAPTER XVII

THE YELLOW ROBE

The man on the sand was silent, staring up at

Gray in blank amazement. It was Delabar, thinner

and more careworn than before. Shaven, all the

lines of his face stood out, giving him the appear-

ance of a skull over which yellow skin was stretched

taut — a skull set with two smoldering, haggard

eyes.

"Speak up, man," growled Gray. "And remem-

ber what I said about giving the alarm. I don't

know if this costume is a masquerade or not, but

— I can't afford to take chances this time."

Delabar did not meet his gaze. He lay back on

the sand, fingers plucking at his thin lips.

"I can't speak," he responded hoarsely.

"You can. And you will. You'll tell me what I

want to know — this time. You lied to me before.

Now you'll deal a straight hand. This is not an

idle threat. I must have information."

Delabar glanced at him fleetingly. Then looked

around. No one was in sight, as they lay in a pocket

in the sand.

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Marching Sands

"What do you want to know?"

"A whole lot. First — how did you get here? I

thought all white men were barred."

"Wu Fang Chien," said Delabar moodily. "He

caught me the day after I left you. He shot the

coolie and had me brought here."

"What's the meaning of that?" Gray nodded

contemptuously at the yellow robe.

"Wu Fang Chien punished me. He forced me to

join the Buddhist priests who act as guards of Sun-

gan. He did not want me to escape from China.

Here, I was safe under his men."

"Hm. He trusts you enough to post you as one

of the sentries."

"With another man. The other left to attend a

council of the priests. My watch is over at sunset.

In two hours."

Gray scanned his erstwhile companion from nar-

rowed eyes. He decided the man was telling the

truth, so far.

"Will these Buddhist dogs come to relieve you at

sunset, Delabar?"

"No. The priests do not watch after nightfall.

Some of the lepers we — Wu Fang Chien can trust

make the rounds."

"Is Wu Fang Chien in control here — governor

of Sungan ?"

Delabar licked his lips nervously. Perspiration

showed on his bare forehead. "Yes. That is, the

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The Yellow Robe

mandarin is responsible to the Chinese authorities.

He has orders to keep all intruders from Sungan —

on account of the lepers."

Gray smiled without merriment.

"You say the priests stand guard. Are they

armed ?"

"No. Not with guns. Any one who tries to

escape from here is followed and brought back by

the outer guards — if he doesn't die in the desert."

"I see." Gray gripped the shoulder of the man

on the sand. "Did you hear me say I wanted the

truth, not lies ? Well, you may have been telling me

the letter of the truth. But not the whole. Once

you said 'we* instead of Wu Fang Chien. Likewise,

I know enough of Chinese methods to be sure Wu

wouldn't punish a white man by elevating him to

the caste of priest. You're holding something back,

Delabar. What is your real relation to Wu ?"

Delabar was silent for a long time. Staring

overhead, his eyes marked and followed the move-

ments of a wheeling vulture. His thin fingers

plucked ceaselessly at the yellow robe.

"Wu Fang Chien," he said at length, "is my

master. He is the emissary of the Buddhists in

China. He has the power of life and death over

those who break the laws of Buddha. I am one of

his servants."

Delabar raised himself on one elbow.

"A decade ago, in India, I became a Buddhist,

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Marching Sands

Captain Gray. Remember, I am a Syrian born. I

spent most of my youth in Bokhara, and in Kashgar,

where I came under the influence of the philoso-

phers of the yellow robe. I acknowledged the tenets

of the Buddha ; I bowed before the teachings of the

ancient Kashiapmadunga and the wisdom that is

like a lamp in the night — that burned before your

Christ. And I gave up my life to 'the world of

golden effulgence.' "

A note of tensity crept into his eager words. The

dark eyes reflected a deeper fire.

"Earthly lusts I forswore, for the celestial life

that is born by ceaseless meditation, and contempla-

tion of the Maha-yana. I was ordained in the first

orders of the priesthood. That was the time when

foreign missionaries began to enter China in force,

in spite of the Boxer uprising and the revolt of

the Tai-pings. The heads of the priesthood wanted

information about this foreign faith, and the peoples

of Europe. They wanted to know why the white

men sought to disturb the ancient soul of China. 19

Gray whistled softly, as Delabar's character be-

came clear.

"I was sent to Europe. At first I kept in touch

with the priesthood through Wu Fang Chien. Then

came the overthrow of the Manchus, and the re-

public in China. But you can not cast down the

religion of eight hundred million souls by a coup

d'Stat. The priesthood still holds its power. And

200

The Yellow Robe

it is still inviolate from the touch of the foreigner."

Gray knew that this was true. The scattered

foreigners who had entered the coast cities of China,

and the missionaries who claimed a few converts

in the middle kingdom were only a handful in the

great mass of the Mongolians. In the interior, and

throughout Central Asia and India, as in Japan,

the shrines of Buddha, of Vishnu, and the temple of

the Dalai Lama were undisturbed. And here, not

on the coast, was the heart of Mongolia. Delabar

continued, almost triumphantly.

"Word was sent to me from Wu Fang Chien —

who had heard the news from a Chinese servant of

the American Museum of Natural History — that an

expedition was being fitted out to explore Central

Mongolia. I was ordered to volunteer to accom-

pany it"

"And you did your best to wreck the expedition,"

assented Gray.

"I liked you, Captain Gray. I tried to persuade

you to turn back. At Liangchowf u it was too late.

When you escaped from Wu Fang Chien there, he

held me responsible for the failure. The priesthood

never trusted me fully."

"In my religion," said Gray grimly, "there is ft

saying that a man can not serve two masters and

save his own soul."

Delabar shivered.

"The priesthood," he muttered, "will not forgive

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Marching Sands

failure. Wu Fang Chien is watching me. You

can do nothing here. Go back, before we are seen

together. Sungan is liothing but a leper colony.

You were a fool to think otherwise/'

"And the Wusun?"

"Lepers! They are the only ones here except

the priests/'

Gray's eyes hardened.

"A lie, Delabar. Why should Wu Fang Chien

kill a dozen men to keep the English caravan and

myself from Sungan?" He caught and held Dela-

bar's startled gaze. "Where is Mary Hastings?"

"I— who is she?"

"You know, Delabar. The girl who came with

the caravan. She was taken prisoner. Where is

she?"

"I don't know."

Gray touched his automatic significantly.

"I want to know," he said quietly. "And you

can tell me. It is more important than my life or

your miserable existence. Where is Mary Hast-

ings?"

Delabar cowered before the deadly purpose in the

white man's eyes.

"I don't know, Captain Gray. Wu Fang Chien

ordered that when the caravan was attacked, she

should be brought to him. Not killed, but taken to

him. Some of the priests seized her and took her

to one of the inner courts of the city. At the time,

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The Yellow Robe

Wu Fang Chien was directing the attack on the

caravan. I have not seen her since.

'Where is this inner court?"

'You are a fool. You could not possibly get into

the ruins without being seen. Wu Fang Chien

would be glad to see you. I heard him say if the

girl was spared, you would come here after her.

He knew all that happened at Ansichow "

"Then she is alive !" Gray's pulses leaped. "So

my friend Wu is keeping the girl as bait for my

coming. A clever man, Wu Fang Chien. But how

did he know Sir Lionel had told me what happened

at Sungan?"

"The Englishman was followed, back to where

he met you. If he had been killed in the fighting

here, I think Wu Fang Chien planned to send me to

bring you here "

"Yes, he is clever." Gray studied the matter with

knitted brows. "So Wu wants to kill me off, now

that I have come this far — as he did the men of the

caravan? Look here! Does he know I'm near

Sungan? Were you put here as — bait?"

"No," Delabar shook his head. "The men who

were sent to attack you — the Chinese soldiers hired

by Wu Fang Chien — lost track of you. Wu Fang

Chien does not know where you are — yet. If he

should find you here talking to me, it would be my

death. I — I have learned too much of the fate of

the Hastings. Oh, they were fools. Why should

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Marching Sands

your people want to pry into what is hidden from

them ? Go back 1 You can do nothing for the girl/'

Gray stared at the Buddhist curiously.

"You haven't- learned much decency from your

religion, Delabar. So the outer guards failed to

make good, eh? By the way, how is it that they

leave camel tracks in the sand ?"

"They wear camels' hoofs instead of shoes.

Hoofs cut from dead wild camels that the Chinese

hunters kill for our food — for the lepers. It helps

them to walk on the sand, and mystifies the wander-

ing Kirghiz. Why do you want to throw your life

away ?"

"I don't." Gray sat down and produced some of

his flour cakes. "I want to get out of Sungan with

a whole skin, and with Mary Hastings." He

munched the cakes calmly, washing down the

mouthfuls with water from his canteen. "And I'm

going to get into the inner courts of Sungan. You're

going to guide me. If we're discovered, remember

you'll be the first man to die. Now, Delabar, I want

a good description of Sungan, its general plan, and

the habits of your Buddhist friends."

CHAPTER XVIII

BASSALOR DANEK

Nightfall comes quickly after sunset on the

Gobi plain. Waiting until the shadows concealed

their movements, Gray and Delabar started toward

the city of Sungan.

The moon was not yet up. By keeping within the

bushes that grew thickly hereabouts, Delabar was

able to escape observation from a chance passerby.

The man was plainly frightened; but Gray allowed

him no opportunity to bolt.

"You'll stay with me until I see Mary Hastings,"

he whispered warningly.

A plan was forming in the American's mind — a

plan based on what Delabar had told him of the

arrangement of the buildings of Sungan. The lep-

ers, he knew, lived in the outer ruins, where he

had seen them that afternoon. In the center of the

Sungan plain, Delabar said, was a depression of

considerable extent. Here were the temples and

palaces, the towers of which he had seen.

This, the old city, was surrounded by a wall.

Delabar said it was occupied by the priests. And

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Marching Sands

in this place Mary Hastings might be found. It

was a guess ; but a guess was better than nothing.

When they came to the first stone heaps, Gray

halted his guide.

"You told me once/' he whispered, "that Sungan

had a series of underground passages. Take me

down into these."

"Through the lepers' dwellings?"

Gray nodded silently. Delabar was shivering —

an old trick of his, when nervous.

"It is madness, Captain Grayl" he chattered.

"You do not know "

"I know what you told me. Likewise that you

don't want me to get into these temples. Step

out!"

Delabar glanced around in despair and led the

way through the bushes. Once the American

caught the gleam of a fire and saw a group of lepers

squatting about a blaze in which they were toast-

ing meat At the edge of the firelight starved dogs

crouched.

They came to an excavation in the ground, lined

with stone. Delabar pointed to steps leading down-

ward into darkness.

"An old well," he whispered. "It is dry, now.

A passage runs from it to the inner buildings/ 9

He seemed familiar with the way, and Gray fol-

lowed closely. The steps wound down for some dis-

206

Bassalor Danek

tance, the air becoming cooler. They halted on

what seemed to be a stone platform.

"Here is the entrance to the passage," Dclabar

muttered. "It was used to carry water to the

temple/'

Gray put his hand on the man's shoulder and

urged him forward, making sure at the same time

that the other did not seize the opportunity to make

his escape. He did not trust Delabar. He was

convinced that the Buddhist had not made a clean

breast of matters. For one thing, he was curious

as to why the priests should take such elaborate

precautions to guard the lepers. Elsewhere in

China there were no such colonies as Sungan.

Why were armed guards stationed around Sun-

gan? Why were the lepers barred from the inner

walled city? Where was Wu Fang Chien?

The answer to these questions lay in the temple

toward which they were headed.

They went forward slowly. Complete silence

reigned in the passage. Occasionally Gray stumbled

over a loose stone. Then he heard for the first

time the chant.

It came from a great distance. It was echoed by

the stone corridor, swelling and dying as the gust

of air quickened or failed. A deep-throated chant

that seemed to have the cadence of a hymn.

"What is that?" he whispered.

"The sunset hymn," Delabar informed him.

207

Marching Sands

Gray, who had forgotten the council of the priests

— which must be nearby — wondered why the man

shivered.

"Does this passage lead direct to the council?" he

demanded.

Delabar hesitated.

"It leads to a cellar where two other corridors

join it," he muttered. "The chant is carried by the

echoes — the council is still far off." He moved

forward. "Come."

This time he advanced quickly. The song di-

minished to a low murmur, confused by distance.

Gray reflected that there must be many singers. If

all the priests were at the council, the corridors

might be clear. Wu Fang Chien would be with the

Buddhists.

A glimmer of light showed ahead. It strength-

ened as they drew nearer. Delabar broke into a half

trot, peering ahead. By the glow, Gray saw that

the passage they were in was a vaulted corridor of

sandstone carved in places with inscriptions which

seemed to be very old.

The chant swelled louder as they reached the end

of the passage. Before them was a square chamber

resembling a vault. Two large candles stood in

front of another exit. Gray thought he noticed a

movement in the shadows behind the candles. His

first glance showed him that the only other open-

ing was a flight of stone steps, across from them.

208

Bassalor Danek

He reached out to check Delabar. But the man

slipped from his grasp and ran forward into the

room. Gray swore under his breath and leaped

after him.

"Aid!" screamed Delabar. "Aid, for a follower

of Buddha ! A white man has come into the pas-

sages "

He flung himself on his knees before the candles,

knocking his shaven head against the floor. Gray

halted in his tracks, peering into the shadows be-

hind the candles.

"Help me to seize the white man !" chattered the

traitor. "I am a faithful servant of Buddha. I

have come to give warning. The white man forced

me to lead him/'

One after another three Buddhist priests slipped

from the shadows and stared at Delabar and Gray.

The former was in a paroxysm of fear, his knees

shaking, his hands plucking at his face. Gray, si-

lently cursing the trick the other had played,

watched the three priests. They had drawn long

knives from their robes and paused by Delabar, as

if waiting for orders.

The alarm had been given. Footsteps could be

heard coming along the hall behind the candles.

Gray was caught. In the brief silence he heard

the deep-throated chant, echoing from a quarter he

could not place.

Still the priests waited, the candlelight gleaming

209

Marching Sands

from their white eyeballs. Gray cast a calculating

glance about the chamber. Two exits were avail-

able. The stairs, and the passage down which he

had come. Which to take, he did not know. But

he was not minded to be run down at the well in

the dark.

A broad, bland face looked out from the corridor

by the candles. He saw the silk robe and lumi-

nous, slant eyes of Wu Fang Chien.

"So Captain Gray has come to Sungan," the man-

darin said calmly, in English. "I have been expect-

ing him "

"I did not bring him," chattered Delabar. "I

gave the alarm "

Terror was in his broken words. Wu Fang Chien

scrutinized the kneeling figure and his eyes hard-

ened.

"Who can trust the word of a mongrel?" he

smiled, speaking in Chinese. "Slay the dog !"

Delabar screamed, and tried to struggle to his

feet. Two of the Buddhists stepped to his side and

buried their weapons in his body. The scream end-

ed in a choking gasp. Again the priests struck

him with reddened knives.

He sank to the floor, his arms moving weakly in

a widening pool of his own blood. Wu Fang Chien

had not ceased to smile.

Gray jerked out his automatic. He fired at the

priests, the reports echoing thunderously in the con-

210

Bassalor Danek

fined space. Two of the Buddhists sank down upon

the body of Delabar; the third wheeled wildly,

coughing as he did so.

Gray laid the sights of his automatic coolly on

Wu Fang Chien. The mandarin reached out swift-

ly. His wide sleeves swept against the candles, ex-

tinguishing them. Gray pressed the trigger and

caught a glimpse of his foe's triumphant face by

the flash that followed. Again he pulled the trig-

ger.

A click was the only answer. The chamber of

the weapon had been emptied. And Gray had no

more cartridges. He threw the useless automatic

at the spot where Wu Fang Chien had been and

heard it strike against the stone.

He had no means of knowing if he had hit the

mandarin with his last shot. He suspected that

the trick of Wu Fang Chien had saved the latter's

life. For a moment silence held the vault, a silence

broken by the groans of the injured priests. The

distant chant had ceased.

Gray turned and sought the stairs behind him.

He had made up his mind to go forward, not back.

He would not try to leave Sungan without Mary

Hastings.

He had marked the position of the steps, and

stumbled full upon them in the dark. Up the stairs

he scrambled, feeling his way. What lay before

him he did not know.

211

*••'•

Marching Sands

A light appeared behind him. He heard footsteps

echo in the vault. The glow showed him that he was

at the top of the stairs. Into a passage he ran. It

resembled the one that led from the well.

By the sounds behind him he guessed that the

priests were following him. Either Wu Fang Chien

had decided that Gray had taken to the stairs, or the

mandarin was sending parties down both exits.

The feel of the air as well as the continued cool-

ness told Gray that he was still underground. He

ran forward at a venture. The passage gave into

another vaulted room in which a fire gleamed in a

brazier. The place was empty, but skins scattered

around the brazier showed that it had been oc-

cupied not long since. <

Gray took the first opening that offered and ran

on. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Bud-

dhists emerge into the room. He quickened his

pace.

His pursuers had gained on him. Gray was pick-

ing his way blindly through the labyrinth of pas-

sages. He blundered into a wall heavily, felt his

way around a corner and was blinded by a sudden

glare of lights.

Gray found himself standing in a lofty hall in

which a multitude of men were seated.

His first impression was that he had come into

the council of the Buddhist priests. His second

was one of sheer surprise.

212

Bassalor Danek

The hall had evidently been a temple at one time.

A stone gallery ran around it, supported by heavy

pillars. The embrasures that had once served as

windows were blocked with timbers, through which

sand had sifted in and lay in heaps on the floor.

The temple was underground. Openings in the

vaults of the ceiling let in a current of air which

caused the candles around the walls to flicker. Di-

rectly in front of Gray was a dais. Around this,

on ebony benches, an array of men were seated.

The floor between him and the dais was covered

with seated forms. All were looking at him. On

the platform was, not the figure of a god, but a

massive chair of carved sandalwood. In this chair

was seated an old man. A majestic form, clothed

in a robe of lamb's wool which vied in whiteness

with the beard that descended to the man's waist.

Each sleeve of the robe was bound above the elbow

by a broad circlet of gold. A chain of the same

metal was about the man's throat.

What struck Gray was the splendid physique of

the elder in the chair. A fine head topped broad

shoulders. A pair of dark eyes peered at him under

tufted brows. High cheek bones stood out promi-

nently in the pale skin. The figure and face were

suggestive of power ; yet the fire in the eyes bespoke

unrest, even melancholy. The man addressed Gray

at once, in a full voice that echoed through the hall.

213

Marching Sands

"Who comes/' the voice said in broken Chinese,

"to the assembly of the Wusun?"

Gray started. He glanced from the figure in the

chair to the others. There were several hundred

men in the room. All were dressed in sheepskin,

and nankeen, with boots of horsehide or red mo-

rocco. The majority were bearded, but all showed

the same light skin and well-shaped heads. They

appeared spellbound at his coming.

Footsteps behind him told him that his pursuers

were nearing the hall. Gray advanced through the

seated throng to the foot of the dais. They made

way for him readily.

Mechanically Gray raised his hand in greeting to

the man on the throne.

"A white man/' he answered.

At that moment several of the Buddhist priests

entered the hall. He saw Wu Fang Chien appear.

At the sight there was a murmur from the throng.

Gray was still breathing heavily from his run.

He stared at the majestic form on the dais. The

Wusun 1 That was the word the other had used.

The word that Van Schaick had said came from the

captive race itself.

He glanced at Wu Fang Chien. The Chinaman

was different from these men — broader of face, with

slant eyes and black hair. The eyes of the man in

the chair were level, and his mustache and beard

were full, even curling. He resembled the type

214

Bassalor Danek

of Mirai Khan, the Kirghiz, more than Wu Fang

Chien.

So this was the secret of Sungan. Gray smiled

grimly, thinking of how Delabar had tried to con-

ceal the truth from him — how the Buddhist had

chosen to betray him rather than run the risk of

his seeing the Wusun. And this explained the

guards. The Wusun were, actually, a captive race.

Gray was quick of wit, and this passed through

his mind instantly. He noticed another thing. Wu

Fang Chien had left the other priests at the en-

trance and was coming forward alone. The man-

darin folded his arms in his sleeves and bowed

gravely. For the first time he spoke the dialect of

the West.

"Greetings, Bassalor Danek, Gur-Khan of the

Wusun," he said gravely. "It was not my wish to

disturb the assembly of the Wusun during the hour

of the sunset prayer, in the festival of the new

moon. I came in pursuit of an enemy— of one

who has slain within the walls of Sungan. You

know, O Gur-Khan, that it is forbidden to slay

here. When I have taken this man, I will leave

in peace."

Bassalor Danek stroked the arms of the chair

gently and considered the mandarin.

"Within the space of twelve moons, O Wu Fang

Chien, the foot of a Buddhist priest has not been

set within the boundary of my people. Here, I am

215

Marching Sands

master, not you. That was agreed in the covenant

of my fathers and their fathers before them. You

have not forgotten the covenant?"

"I have not forgotten/ 1 returned the mandarin

calmly. "It is to ask for the person of this mur-

derer that I come now. When I have him, I will

go."

"Whom has he slain?"

"Two of my men who watched at one of the pas-

sages."

"Have the Wusun asked that guards be placed in

the passages ?"

Wu Fang Chien scowled, then smiled blandly.

"We were waiting to seize this man — a foreign

devil. An enemy of your people as well as mine."

Gray watched the two keenly. He had observed

that many of the Wusun near Bassalor Danek were

armed, after a fashion. They carried bows, and

others had swords at their hips. The followers of

Wu Fang Chien seemed ill at ease. Moreover, their

presence in the hall appeared to anger the Wusun.

Thrust suddenly into a totally strange environ-

ment, Gray had only his wits to rely upon. He was

unaware of the true situation of the Wusun, as of

their character. But certain things were clear.

They were not overfond of Wu Fang Chien.

And they were bolder in bearing than the Chinese.

Bassalor Danek, who had the title of Gur-Khan,

had spoken of a covenant which seemed to be more

216

Bassalor Danek

of a treaty between enemies than an agreement

among friends.

On the other hand, Wu Fang Chien spoke with

an assurance which suggested a knowledge of his

own power, and a certainty that he held the upper

hand of the situation.

The Wusun had risen to their feet and were

pressing closer. They waited for their leader to

speak. The Gur-Khan hesitated as if weighing the

situation.

"This man," Wu Fang Chien pointed to Gray,

"has come to Sungan with lies in his mouth. He

has pulled a veil over his true purpose. And he is

an enemy of Mongolia. You will do well to give

him up."

Bassalor Danek turned his thoughtful gaze on

Gray,

"You have heard what Wu Fang Chien has said/'

he observed. "You speak his tongue. Tell me

why you have come through the walls of Sungan.

In the lifetime of ten men no stranger has come

to Sungan before this."

Gray's head lifted decisively.

"Wu Fang Chien," he responded slowly, "has

said that I killed his men. Is this a crime in one

man, when it is not such in another? Just a little

while ago the soldiers of the Chinese surprised and

destroyed a caravan of my people without warning

and without cause."

217

Marching Sands

"They had no right to come where they did," as-

serted the mandarin blandly.

"They were coming to Sungan."

Wu Fang Chien smiled and waved his brown

hand, as if brushing aside the protest of a child.

"Foreign devils without a god. You were warned

to keep away."

The white man's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I came to find a woman of my people that you

seized. She is here in Sungan."

Bassalor Danek looked up quickly. "When did

she come to Sungan?"

"Several days ago. And Wu Fang Chien kep£

her. He planned to bring me here, in order to

kill me." Gray met the gaze of the old man

squarely. "This woman and I, Bassalor Khan, are

descended from the same fathers as your race. We

were coming to Sungan to seek you. And this man

has tried to prevent that. A score of men have

lost their lives because of it."

The mandarin would have spoken, but the Gur-

Khan raised his hand.

"This is a matter, Wu Fang Chien," he said with

dignity, "that cannot be decided in a wind's breath.

I will keep this stranger. I will hear his story!

At this time to-morrow, after sunset, come alone

to the hall and I will announce my decision. Until

then I will think."

Wu Fang Chien frowned, but accepted the ver-

218

Bassalor Danek

diet with the calmness that was the mark of his

character,

"Remember, Bassalor Danek/' he warned, "that

these people are devils from the outer world. And

remember the covenant which spares your people

their lives. Sungan is in the hollow of the hand

of Buddha. And Buddha is lord of Mongolia."

The Gur-Khan seemed not to hear him.

"Truly it is strange," he mused. "Twice in one

moon strangers have come before me, with the same

tale on their lips. This man, and the woman that

my young men took from your priests because she

had the face and form of one of our race. She,

also, is in my dwelling."

CHAPTER XIX

CONCERNING A CITY!

Contrary to general belief, a man does not sleep

heavily after two days and nights of wakefulness.

Gray had been without sleep for that time, but he

was alert, although very tired. Continuous activ-

ity of the nervous system is not stilled at once.

As soon as Wu Fang Chien left the hall of the

Wusun, the American had asked to be permitted

to see Mary Hastings.

His request was refused by Bassalor Danek. The

woman, said the Gur-Khan, was under his protec-

tion and could not be seen until daylight. Gray was

forced to acquiesce in this. He felt that Mary

would be safe in the hands of the elder, who seemed

to enjoy complete authority in the gathering. This

belief proved to be correct.

The knowledge that the girl was near him and

reasonably protected from harm brought a floo4

of relief, and eased the tension which had gripped

him for the past forty hours. He was exhilarated

by the first good news in many hours.

220

Concerning a City

As a consequence, he now became acutely hungry*

Bassalor Danek directed that he be taken from the

hall and fed. Two of the younger men with the

bows conducted him through a new series of cor-

ridors, up several flights of winding steps and into

a small, stone compartment which, judging by the

fresh air that came through the embrasures, was

above the level of the sand.

Here they supplied him with goat's milk, a kind

of cheese made from curdled mare's milk and some

dried meat which was palatable. Gray fell asleep

quickly on a pile of camel skins, while the men —

Bassalor Danek had referred to them as tumani 1 —

watched curiously.

Gray awakened with the first light that came into

the embrasures. He found that he was very stiff,

and somewhat chilled. At his first movement the

tumani were up. One of them, a broad-shouldered

youth who said his name was Garluk, spoke broken

Chinese, of a dialect almost unknown to Gray.

He explained that they were in one of the towers

of the temple which projected well above the sand.

Gray, for the first time, had a fair view of Sungan

from the embrasures.

It was a clear day. The sky to the east was

crimson over the brown plain of the Gobi. The

sun shot level shafts of light against the ruins.

1 Possibly derived from the Tatar word tuman, a squad-

ron of warriors, hunters.

221

Marching Sands

Gray saw the wall of the old city — the abode of

the Wusun. Later in the day he wrote down some

notes of what he observed on the reverse side of the

maps he carried. They were roughly as follows :

The old city had been built in an oasis, apparently

four or five centuries ago. Willows, poplars and

tamarisks lined narrow canals which had been con-

structed through the ruins from the wells. By wall-

ing these canals with stone, the Wusun had kept

them intact from the encroaching sand. There was

even grass near the canals, and several flocks of

sheep. The trees afforded shade — although the sun

is never unendurable in the Gobi, owing to the alti-

tude.

The buildings of the city had been more than

half enveloped by the moving sand which was swept

into the walled area — so Garluk said — with each

kara buran. Owing perhaps to the protection of

the wall, the sand ridges around the inner city were

higher than the ground within. So it was difficult

to obtain a good view of the city from the surround-

ing country.

Gray reflected that this must be why the Kirghiz

had reported seeing only the summits of some

towers ; also, why he himself had taken the foliage

that he made out through his glasses for bushes.

The buildings of Sungan were ancient, and

fashioned of solid sandstone so that although

partially covered with sand, their interiors — after

222

Concerning a City

the embrasures had been sealed — were reasonably

comfortable and warm dwellings. Delabar had

been correct in quoting the legend that there were

extensive vaults and cellars in Sungan. The under-

ground passages communicated from vault to vault

— a system that was most useful in this region

where the black sand-storms occur every day in the

spring, early summer and throughout the winter.

"Mighty good dugouts, these/' thought Gray.

"The Wusun have certainly dug themselves in on

their ancestral hearths. Wonder how they manage

for food?"

He asked Garluk this question. The Wusun re-

sponded that he and certain of his companions —

the tunumi — were allowed to go out on the plain

through the lines of lepers and hunt the wild camels

and gazelles of the plain. Also, the Buddhists

maintained several shepherd settlements near the

River Tarim, a journey of three or four days to the

west.

Some citrons, melons and date trees grew by the

canals of Sungan. At times a caravan would

come to Sungan from China bringing other food.

Through his glasses Gray made out the figures of

lepers outside the wall. Garluk explained that these

were "the evil fate of the Wusun." They were put

there to keep the Wusun within the wall. For

centuries he and his people had been pent up. They

were diminishing in numbers, due to the captivity.

223

Marching Sands

Occasionally some adventurous man would escape

through the lepers and the Chinese soldiers, cross

the desert to Khotan or Kashgar. These never re-

turned. Death was the penalty for trying to escape.

Gray scanned the ruins through his glasses.

Women were cooking and washing near the canals.

Men appeared from the underground chambers and

went patiently about the business of the day. They

seemed an orderly throng, and Gray guessed that

Bassalor Danek ruled his captive people firmly.

Which was well.

He noticed pigeons in the trees. It was not an

ugly scene. But on every side stretched the barren

Gobi, encroaching on and enveloping the stronghold

of the Wusun, the "Tall Men." The same resig-

nation and patience that he had noted in the eyes

of Bassalor Danek were stamped in the faces of

Garluk and his companions. They were olive faces,

stolid and expressionless. Gray had seen the same

traits in some Southern Siberian tribes/ isolated

from their fellows, and in the Eskimos.

Among the notes, he afterwards jotted down some

references for Van Schaick — on the chance that he

would be able to get the data into the hands of his

employers. Gray had a rigid sense of duty. His

observations were fragmentary, for he lacked the

extended knowledge of racial history and character-

istics that Delabar was to have supplied.

In spite of their confined life, the "Tall Ones"

224

Concerning a City

were above the stature of the average Mongol.

Their foreheads did not slope back from the eyes

as much as in the Tartar of the steppe, and the

eyes themselves were larger, especially among the

young women, who were often attractive in face.

Language : the Wusun had all the hard gutturals,

and the forcible "t" and T of the Mongol tongue ;

but their words were syllabic — even poetically ex-

pressive. Many myths appeared in their songs —

references to Genghis Khan, as the "Mighty Man-

slayer" and to Prester John, by his native name —

Awang Khan of the Keraits.

Intelligence: on a par with that of the middle-

class Chinese, superior to that of the Kirghiz and

Dungans of the steppe. Their characteristics were

kindly and hospitable; their ideas simple, owing to

the narrow range of objects within their vision. Of

history and the progress of the world, they were

totally ignorant, being kept so in accordance with

the favorite practice of the Buddhists.

Arms and implements: limited to the bow, and

the iron sword with tempered point. They had

seen firearms in the possession of the Chinese

guards, but were not allowed to own them. For

cultivation, they dragged a rude, wooden harrow

by hand, and used a sharply pointed hoe of iron,

utensils, such as copper pots purchased from the

As to cooking — this was done with rudimentary

225

Marching Sands

Chinese, makeshift ovens in the sand, and spits over

an open fire.

As to religion, Gray was destined to make a curi-

ous discovery, as surprising as it was unexpected,

but one which was beyond his limited knowledge to

explain.

Such were the Wusun, as Gray saw them.

Garluk broke in on his thoughts with a guttural

exclamation.

"How can you see so far," he demanded, "when

we can not see?"

Gray smiled and was about to hand the Wusun

his glasses when he checked himself. The binocu-

lars might prove useful later, he thought. As it

happened, they did.

Meanwhile, Gray's mind had reverted to the

thought that was last with him when he had gone

to sleep the night before and was first to come to

him with awakening. He had neither washed nor

eaten, but he would not delay.

"Take me to the white woman," he ordered.

Still staring at him in bewilderment, the two

hunters led him down the stairs, through a postern

door, and out on the sand. After a brief word

with some older Wusun who were squatted by the

tower, Garluk struck off through the ruins, waving

back the throngs that came to gaze at Gray.

The American noticed that there were few chil-

dren. Some of the women carried water jars.

226

Concerning a City

They were not veiled. They wore a loose robe of

clean cotton — he learned that they worked their own

looms, of ancient pattern — bound by a silk girdle,

and covered by a flowing khalat. All were barefoot.

Gray was conducted to a doorway outside which

a turnani stood, sword in hand. After a brief con-

ference with his guides, the guard permitted them

to enter. Throughout his stay in Sungan, Gray was

watched, quietly, but effectively.

His heart was beating fiercely by now, and he

wanted to cry out the name of the girl. He walked

down into semi-darkness. A smell of musk and

dried rose leaves pervaded the place. A woman

rose from the floor and disappeared into the

shadows. Presently Garluk drew aside a curtain.

Gray entered what seemed to be a sleeping chamber

and found Mary Hastings standing before him.

"Captain Gray!" she cried softly, reaching out

both hands. "Last night they told me you were

here. Oh, I'm so glad 1"

He gripped the slim hands tightly, afraid to say

what came into his mind at sight of the girl. She

was thinner and there were circles under the fine

eyes that fastened on him eagerly.

He could see her clearly by the glow from a

crimson lamp that hung overhead. The room was

comfortably fitted with rugs and cushions. A jar

of water and some dates stood near them.

"How did you get here ?" she echoed. "Where is

227

Marching Sands

Sir Lionel ?" A shadow passed over her expressive

face. "I saw the attack on the caravan. Did

he "

"Sir Lionel made his way back to me/ 9 said Gray,

his voice gruff and tense. "He was the only sur-

vivor of the caravan/'

"Then he is dead/' she responded slowly. "Or

he would have come with you." She bit her lip,

bending her head, so that Gray should not see the

tears in her eyes. "Oh, I have feared it. The

Buddhist priests said that their guards would find

and kill him. An old man of the Wusun who

speaks Turki repeated it to me/ 9

Gray was glad that Mary was prepared, in a

measure, for the death of her uncle. He had found

the sight of her distress hard to bear. He turned

away.

"Yes. Sir Lionel died — bravely."

She released his hands, and fumbled with a torn,

little square of linen that had once been a hand-

kerchief.

"Oh 1"

Fearing that she would break down and weep,

Gray would have left the room, but she checked

him with a gesture. She looked up quietly, although

the tears were still glistening on her eyelids.

"Please, Captain Gray! I've been so — lonely.

You won't go away, just for a while?"

For a while? He would have remained at her

228

Concerning a City

side until dragged away, if she wished it so. He

saw that she had changed. Some of the life and

vivacity had been driven from her delicate face,

leaving a wistful tenderness.

He himself showed little sign of the hardships

of the last two days, except a firmer set to the wide

mouth, and deeper lines about the eyes. He was

unshaven, as he had been for some time, and the

clothing on his rugged figure was rather more than

usually the worse for wear.

The girl noticed a new light in his eyes — somber,

even dogged. There was something savage in the

determination of the hard face, born — although she

did not know it— -of his knowledge that the life

and safety of Mary Hastings was now his undivided

responsibility.

CHAPTER XX

THE TALISMAN

"Poor Uncle Lionel/' she said sadly, "he never

knew that — the Wusun were here, as he had thought

they would be."

"He will have full credit for his achievement

when you and I get back home, out of Sungan, Miss

Hastings."

She looked at him, dumbly grateful. Gone was

all the petulance, the spirit of mockery now. But

her native heritage of resolution had not forsaken

her.

"Thank you for that, Captain Gray. I — I was

foolish in disregarding your warning. I was unjust

— because I wanted Uncle Singh to be first in

Sungan." She sighed, then tried to smile. "Will

you sit down ? On a cushion. Perhaps you haven't

breakfasted yet. I have only light refreshments to

offer "

A fresh miracle was taking place before Gray's

eyes. He did not know the courage of the English

girls whose men protectors live always in the un-

settled places that are the outskirts of civilization.

230

The Talisman

His nearness to the girl stirred him. Her pluck

acted as a spur to his own spirits. In spite of him-

self, his gaze wandered hungrily to the straying,

bronze hair, and the fresh, troubled face.

Unconsciously, she reached up and deftly adjusted

a vagrant bit of hair. He wanted to pat her on

the back and tell her she was splendid. But he

feared his own awkwardness. Mary Hastings

seemed to him to be a fragile, precious charge that

had come into his life.

He drew a quick breath. "I am hungry," he lied.

She busied herself at once, setting out dates and

some cakes. While he ate, she barely nibbled at

the food.

"Now," he began cheerfully, having planned

what he was to say, "I'm indebted to you for break-

fast. And I'm going to question you."

He realized that he must take her mind from the

death of her uncle.

"How have our new allies, the Wusun, been treat-

ing you, Miss Hastings?"

"Very nicely, really. But not the priests. They

took all my belongings except a little gold cross

under my jacket. You see, the priests came with

the — the lepers who attacked us."

Gray nodded.

"And the Buddhists seized me, not the poor, sick

men. They carried me off after gagging me so I

couldn't call out."

231

Marching Sands

"Wu Fang's orders/'

"They took me down into some kind of a tunnel

and kept me there until the shooting had ceased.

They were escorting me along the passages when

we met a party of Wusun, armed with bows. They

talked to the priests, then they seemed to become

angry, and the Buddhists gave me up. I don't know

why the Wusun wanted me."

Glancing at the beautiful girl, Gray thought that

the reason was not hard to guess. He did not then

understand, however, the full significance that the

woman held for the Wusun.

"Perhaps they recognized you as a white woman

— one of their own kind," he hazarded.

She shook her head dubiously.

"I thought the Wusun did not know any other

white people existed, Captain Gray. One of them —

I heard them call him Gela, the Kha Khan — was a

young man, as big as you, and not bad looking. He

was angriest of all — with the priests, that is, not

with me."

Gray frowned.

"Gela led me to the council hall of the Tall

Ones,' " she continued, looking at him in some sur-

prise, for the frown had not escaped her. "There

I found old Bassalor Danek. I could not speak

their language, but Uncle Singh taught me quite a

bit of the northern Turki. Bassalor Danek was

really a fine old chap, but I like Timur better."

232

The Talisman

"Timur ?" he asked. "One of the tumcmif"

"I don't see why you don't like them. They

helped me. No, Timur seems to be a kind of coun-

cilor. He's white haired, and limps. But he speaks

broken Turki, 'which I understand. So — I have

been well treated, except that they will not let me

out of this building, which belongs to Bassalor

Danek."

"What did the Turki-speaking fellow have to say

for himself?"

"He asked my name. Of course he could not

pronounce it, so he christened me something that

sounds like Kha Rakcha. I think Kha — it's a Kir-

ghiz word, too — means 'white* in their tongue."

"Rakcha is western Chinese for some kind of

spirit," assented Gray, interested. "So they've

named you the White Spirit — or, in another sense,

the White Woman-Queen. Your coming seems to

have been an event in the affairs of the Wusun "

"That is what Timur said." She nodded brightly.

"He is one of the elders of the kurultai— council.

I hope I made a good impression on him. He

seemed to be friendly."

"I think," pondered Gray seriously, "that you

have made a better impression than you think.

That helps a lot, because " he was about to say

that his own standing with the Wusun was none too

good, thanks to Wu Fang Chien's enmity, but broke

off. He did not want to alarm her. "Because

233

Marching Sands

they've let me come to see you," he amended awk-

wardly.

The girl's vigilant wits were not to be hoodwinked.

"That's not what you meant to say, Captain

Gray," she reproached him.

"It's true — " he was more successful this time —

"that your coming probably earned me a respite."

"A respite?"

When is a woman deceived by a man's clumsy

assurance? Or when does she fail to understand

when something is kept back ?

"Captain Gray, you know something you won't

tell me! Did the Wusun threaten you?"

"No. They shielded me "

"Then you were in danger. I thought so. Now

what did you mean by — respite?"

Instead, Gray told her how he had found his way

into Sungan, omitting the details of the fighting, or

his own achievement. Mary considered him

gravely, chin on hand.

"I prayed that you would follow our caravan,"

she said. "I wished for you when every one was

fighting so. Somehow, I was sure that you would

reach Sungan. You see, you made me feel you

were the kind of man who went where he wanted

to go."

Gray looked up, and she shook her head reproach-

fully.

"You're just like Uncle Singh. You won't tell

234

The Talisman

if there's any danger. Will not the Wusun protect

us from the priests?" She stretched out a slim

hand appealingly. "There's just the two of us

left. Shouldn't you be quite frank with me? Now

tell me what you meant by 'respite* 1"

He cordially regretted his unfortunate choice of

the word. Perforce, he told her of Wu Fang

Chien, and the dispute in the council.

"So you see our case comes up for trial to-night/*

he concluded. "It's a question of the Gur-Khan'a

authority against the power of Wu Fang Chien.

I'm rooting for old Bassalor Danek. I think he'll

treat us well. For one thing, because he's curious

about us. In a way, we're his guests. I hope he

checkmates Wu, because — to be frank — we're better

off in Sungan than with the Buddhists."

This time she was satisfied.

"Of course," she nodded. "Wu Fang Chien

would not let us go free easily. He would have to

answer, then, for the attack on the caravan. To an-

swer to the British embassy."

Gray reflected that they were the only survivors

of the fight and that the Chinese could not afford

to permit them to escape.

"I'll appear to argue for immunity — our im-»

munity — to-night," he smiled.

"Are you a lawyer, Captain Gray?" The girl

tried to enter into the spirit of his remark. "Have

we a good case?"

235

Marching Sands

"Chiefly our wits/' he admitted. ''And perhaps

the tie the Wusun may feel for us as a kindred

race."

"Splendid!" She clapped her hands. "I think

you're a first-rate attorney."

Gray recalled the majestic face of Bassalor

Danek, and the anger of the Wusun at the entrance

of Wu Fang Chien.

"They made some kind of a covenant, didn't they,

with the Chinese Emperor?"

"Timur said it was an agreement by which the

Wusun were to keep their city inviolate, and not to

leave its boundaries. Even the invading sands have

not dislodged them. Timur described them as

numerous as the trees of the Thian Shan, the Celes-

tial Mountains, at first. Now only a few survive.

The Chinese have posted lepers around them."

Gray nodded. Slowly the history of the Wusun

was piecing itself out. A race descended from in-

vaders from Europe before the dawn of history,

they had allied themselves with the might of Genghis

Khan and earned the enmity of the Chinese. Since

then, with the slow persistence of the Chinese, they

had been confined and diminished in number.

"You remember the legend of Prester John — in

the middle ages," continued the girl eagerly.

"Marco Polo tells about a powerful prince in mid-

Asia who was a Christian. I have been thinking

about it. Isn't the word Kerait the Mongol for

236

The Talisman

Christian? Do you suppose the first Wusun were

Christians ?"

"They don't seem to have any especial religion,

Miss Hastings — except a kind of morning and even-

ing prayer."

"I've heard them chant the hymn. Timur says it

was their ancestors'." The girl sighed. "To think

that we should have found the Wusun, after all. If

only my uncle " She broke off sadly.

A step sounded outside the room and Garluk

thrust his shaggy head through the curtain.

"I come from the Gur-Khan," he announced.

"The Man-Who-Kills-Swiftly must come before

Bassalor Khan."

"They are paging me," said Gray lightly, in an-

swer to her questioning look. "I've got to play

lawyer. But I have an experiment to try. Don't

worry."

He rose, and she looked up at him pleadingly.

"Come back, as soon as you can," she whispered.

"I — it's so lonely here. I was miserable until Timur

told me they had heard shooting during yesterday's

sunset chant. I guessed it was you -"

"My automatic," explained Gray with a grin. "I

missed Wu Fang Chien, which is too bad." He was

talking cheerily, at random, anxious to hearten the

girl. She winced at mention of the fighting.

"I'll be back to report what is going on."

"If anything should happen to you "

237

Marching Sands

"I seem to be accident-proof, so far." He smiled

lightly, masking his real feelings. "And there's a

plan "

"Come/' said Garluk. "Bassalor Khan waits at

his shrine."

"I'll have a better dinner to offer you/' Mary

smiled back. "Don't forget !"

"I'll make a note of it — Mary."

Gray stepped outside the curtain. In spite of his

promise, he could not return to the girl's room.

He found Bassalor Danek waiting in a chamber

under the temple, to which he was conducted by the

impatient Garluk. The Gur-Khan was seated on a

silk carpet beside an old man with a face like a

satyr, whom Gray guessed to be Timur. They

looked up silently at his approach. The tumani

withdrew.

At a sign from Bassalor Danek, Gray seated him-

self before the two. They regarded him gravely.

He waited for them to speak.

"Wu Fang Chien," began the Gur-Khan at length,

"will come to the hall to hear my word at sunset.

His ill-will might bring the dark cloud of trouble

upon my people. If I give you up, he will thank

me and bring us good grain and tea from China in

the next caravan."

He paused as if for an answer. But Gray was

silent, wishing to hear what more the two had to

say.

238

The Talisman

"Yet, O One-Who-Kijls-Swiftly," put in Timur

mildly, "you are of the race of the Kha Rakcha

and she has found favor in our hearts. You say

you came here to seek her. That is well. But we

must not bring trouble upon our people. They have

little food. There is none to place before the shrine

of our race."

He glanced over his shoulder at a closed curtain.

Here one of the Wusun stood guard. Gray guessed

that this was their shrine. He was curious for a

glimpse of it.

"What is the will of the Gur-Khan?" he asked

quietly.

Bassalor Danek glanced at him keenly.

"I have not made ready my answer, O Man-f rom-

the-Outside. Wu Fang Chien cried that you had

come unbidden to meddle with what does not con-

cern you. The Kha Rakcha is very beautiful, and

the light from her face will be an ornament to our

shrine. You have said that you came to seek us.

But that cannot be. For no word of us has passed

the outer guards. Even the wandering Kirghiz

that we see at a distance do not know us."

Gray had been waiting for a lead to follow. Now

he saw his chance and summoned his small stock of

poetical Chinese to match the oratory of Bassalor

Danek.

"Hearken, O Gur-Khan," he said, and paused,

knowing the value of meditation when dealing with

239

Marching Sands

an oriental. Inwardly, he prayed for success in

his venture, knowing that the fate of the girl de-

pended greatly on what he said.

"It is true," he resumed, "that I was sent to

seek the Wusun. Beyond the desert and beyond the

border of Mongolia live a people whose fathers

a very long time ago were the same as your fathers.

They have means of seeing across great distances.

They have the Eyes-of-Long-Sight. With these

eyes they saw the Wusun in captivity, and they

sent me with a message. This message I shall de-

liver when it is time."

Timur shook his gray head shrewdly.

"Can a fish see what is on the land? A gazelle

has keen eyes; but a gazelle cannot see across the

desert, much less can a man. What you have said

is not true."

"It is true. Not only can my people see beyond

any distance, but they can hear. Behold, here is

proof."

While the two watched curiously, Gray pulled his

maps from his shirt and spread them on the floor

before him. Bassalor Danek glanced from the pa-

per to him expectantly.

"Here is what we saw, with our Eyes-of-Long-

Sight. See, here is the last village of China, Ansi-

chow, and the desert. Here, by this mark, is where

we knew Sungan to be. And beyond it is the River

240

The Talisman

Tarim, as you know, and the Celestial Mountains.

By this paper I found my way here."

Bassalor Danek fingered the map curiously.

Then he shook his head.

"This is a paper, like to those of the priests of

Buddha. It is a kind of magic. With magic, much

is possible. But these are signs upon paper. They

are not mountains and rivers."

Gray sighed, confronted with the native incre-

dulity of a map. The Wusun, despite their natural

intelligence, were bound by the stultifying influence

of generations of isolation. In fact, their state of

civilization was that of the dark ages. It was as

if Gray and Mary Hastings had wandered into a

stronghold of the Goths.

Still, he felt he had made a slight impression. He

drew the field glasses from their case.

"I have been given a token," he explained slowly,

making sure that the two understood his broken

Chinese. "It is a small talisman of the Eyes-of-

Long-Sight. With it, you can see what is far,

as clearly as if it lay in your hand."

Timur stroked his beard and smiled.

"It may not be. Even with magic, it may not

be."

"Look then." Gray lifted the glasses and fo-

cussed them on the- guard who stood by the shrine

curtain. "With this you can bring the man's face

as near as mine."

241

Marching Sands

He handed the glasses to Bassalor Danek who

turned them over curiously in his hand. Obeying

Gray's direction, he leveled them on the guard.

The man stirred uneasily, evidently believing that

some kind of magic was being practiced upon him.

Bassalor Danek gave a loud exclamation and the

glasses fell to his knees. He peered from them

to the man at the curtain and muttered in his beard.

"I saw the face within arm's reach of my own,"

he cried. "Truly, it is as this man has promised I"

"Nay," Timur objected. "The one by the shrine

did not move, for I watched. It may not be."

Nevertheless, his hand trembled as he lifted the

glasses to his feeble eyes. Gray helped him to

focus them. He, also, gave an exclamation.

For a while the two Wusun experimented with

the binoculars, scrutinizing the walls, the floor and

the rugs with increasing amazement. Gray kept

a straight face. The glasses were powerful, with

excellent lenses. The Wusun had never seen or

heard of anything of the kind.

This is but a token," he reminded them gravely,

of the Eyes-of-Long-Sight that my people have.

If this talisman can bring near to you what is afar,

do you doubt that we could know what is beyond

the desert? Is not the coming of the White Spirit

proof that we knew?"

This was a weighty matter and Bassalor Danek

242

The Talisman

and Timur conferred upon it, putting down the

glasses reluctantly.

"I know not/' hazarded Timur. Gray saw that

his double question had confused them. To remedy

his error he turned to Bassalor Danek.

"Keep these small Eyes-of-Long-Sight," he said.

"I give them to you."

Despite his accustomed calm, the chieftain of the

Wusun gave an involuntary exclamation of pleasure.

Gray pressed his advantage.

"Further proof I will give, O Bassalor Danek.

Draw the curtains of the shrine that I may see

the god of the Wusun. Then I will show you

that my people beyond the desert knew of the god."

He reasoned swiftly that the Wusun, if Timur's

account of their history had been correct, must have

in their shrine some emblem of the Tatar deity — the

god Natagai which Mirai Khan had described to

him— or possibly some Mohammedan symbol. He

rather guessed the former, since the Wusun had

been isolated before the Moslem wave swept over

Central Asia.

"It is not a god, O Man-from-the-Outside," de-

murred Timur. "It is a talisman of our fatBers.

Once, the Wusun had priests. In the time of Kubla

Khan. Now, all that we remember is the hymn

at sunset and sunrise. Almost we have forgotten

the words. We have kept the talisman because once

our priests, who were also warriors, cherished it."

243

Marching Sands

Gray nodded, believing now that it was an image

of Natagai, the Tatar war deity.

"It is said/' continued Timur meditatively, "that

the talisman was fashioned by a chieftain of our

people. I have heard a tale from the elders that

this khan lived when the Wusun were in another

land, before they crossed the mountains on the roof

of the world. Draw the curtain!"

At the command the guard drew back the heavy

folds of brocade. Gray saw a stone altar, covered

with a clean cloth of white silk. On the cloth

stood a cross.

CHAPTER XXI

MARY MAKES A REQUEST

The cross was jade, in the shape of the medieval

emblem — the Greek cross. Before it burned a can-

dle. Gray stared at it silently while Timur limped

forward and trimmed the wick of the candle.

"We do not remember the faith of our fathers/'

the old Wusun said sadly. "But we have kept the

talisman. It is not as strong as the bronze Buddha

of Wu Fang Chien. We will not give it up,

although he has asked to buy it. Truly, no man

should part with what was precious in the sight of

his fathers."

Thoughts crowded in upon Gray. Was this the

cross left by a wandering missionary — one of those

who followed the footsteps of Marco Polo? Were

the ancient Wusun the Christians mentioned in

medieval legends as the kingdom of Prester John,

sometimes called Presbyter John ? The Wusun had

been warriors. Was the symbol of the cross

adapted from the hilt of a sword? Was it one of

the vagaries of fate that had brought the cross into

*he hands of the Wusun, who were descendants of

245

Marching Sands

the Christians of Europe? Or had they of their

own accord become worshipers of the cross?

What did it mean to them?

He recalled the sunset hymn. Was this their

version of the vespers of a forgotten priest? He

did not know. The problem of the cross existing

among the remnants of the Wusun remains to be

solved by more learned minds than his. It was

clear, however, that beyond the cross, they retained

no vestige of their former religion.

Abruptly his head snapped up.

"I promised you, Bassalor Danek," he cried, "that

this would be a symbol. As I have promised, you

will find it. We — who are of the same fathers —

have also this talisman of our God."

The Wusun stared at him. There was a ring of

conviction in Gray's words. He recalled Delabar's

words that the talisman of the Wusun had earned

the captive race the hatred of the Buddhists. He

saw now how this was. Fate — or what the soldier

esteemed luck — had put an instrument into his hand.

For the defense of the girl. He must make full

use of it.

He pointed to the jade cross.

"The Kha Rakcha and I are of the same blood as

the Wusun. We came in peace to seek you. The

Kha Rakcha claims your protection. Will you not

grant it? Thus, I have spoken."

246

Mary Makes a Request

Bassalor Danek folded his lean arms, tiny wrin-

kles puckering about his aged eyes.

"I hear," he said. "The tale of the Eyes-of-

Long-Sight is a true tale. . But this thing is another

tale. Have you a token to show, so that we may

know that it, also, is true?"

In the back of Gray's mind was memory of a

token. Something that Mary had mentioned. In

his anxiety, he could not recall it

Thus did Gray miss a golden opportunity. If he

had been alone, his natural quickness of thought

would have found an answer to the Gur-Khan's

question. With the life of the girl he loved at stake,

he hesitated.

It was vitally important that Bassalor Danek

should believe what Gray had said about the cross.

Believing, he would aid them, for he reverenced the

cross. Doubting, they would be exposed to the

wiles of Wu Fang Chien.

"If I spoke the truth in one thing, O Gur-Khan,"

he parried, "would I speak lies concerning another?"

"The two things are not the same/' put in Timur,

logically, "The talisman is precious — like to the

gold in the sword-hilt of Gela. Yet what is it to

you ?"

"It is the sign of our faith. It is the talisman of

Christianity."

"I know not the word."

247

Marching Sands

"You know the name of the ancient khan of the

Wusun — Awang Khan?"

Gray hazarded a bold stroke, on his knowledge of

the legend of Prester John of Asia. Timur con-

sidered.

"The name is not in our speech/' he announced.

Bassalor Danek looked up sagely.

"You speak of faith, O One-Who-Kills-Swiftly.

Is that a word of a priesthood?"

"Yes."

"Then," said Bassalor Danek gravely, "it is clear

that your talisman is not like to this. Nay, for the

only priesthood is that of the false Buddhists."

"Our faith is different from theirs — even as a

grain of sand is different from a drop of clear

water."

The Gur-Khan's hand swept in a wide circle.

"Nay. What can we see from Sungan save the

grains of sand? Everywhere, beyond, is the Bud-

dhist priesthood. We have seen this thing. It is

true." He lifted his head proudly. "Behold, youth,

here is the talisman of a warrior. From chieftain

to chieftain, it has been handed down. It is the

token of a chieftain. Of one who safeguards his

people. None can wear it but myself, or another

of royal blood who has fought for his people."

For the first time he showed Gray a smaller cross,

fashioned from gold which hung from a chain of

the same metal across his chest under the cloak.

248

Mary Makes a Request

"Because I am khan of the Wusun, this thing is

mine/' he added. "If my father and his before

him had not been strong warriors, the Wusun would

have passed from the world as a candle is blown

out in a strong wind.-'

"Aye," amended Timur. "It is a sign of the

rank of the Gur-Khan. Has it not always been

thus?"

Both men nodded their heads, as at an unalter-

able truth. Age and isolation had made their con-

ceptions rigid. The safety of the Wusun wlas

their sole care.

"Your sign is not like to ours," said they, "Is

the moon kindred to the sun because both live in

the sky?"

"There is but one Cross," cried Gray.

They shook their heads. How were they to alter

the small store of belief that had been their meager

heritage of wisdom ?

"You are not kin to us, but the Kha Rakcha is a

woman, and so may become kin to the Wusun," an-

nounced Bassalor Danek. "Go now, for we must

weigh well our answer to Wu Fang Chien."

Gray rose, his lips hard.

"Be it so," he said slowly. "If it is in your

mind that you must yield to Wu Fang Chien, give

me up into his hands. I will take a sword and go

to seek him. Keep the Kha Rakcha safe within

Sungan. She is, as you have seen, the White Spirit

249

Marching Sands

Her beauty is not less than the light of the sun.

Guard her well."

Gray had spoken bitterly, feeling that he had

failed in his plea. He had not sensed the full mean-

ing of the other's words. He knew that his own

death would be the most serious loss to the girl.

Without him she was defenseless.

He did not want to leave her. She had been so

childlike in her reliance upon his protection. And

he was so helpless to aid her.

But Gray had weighed the odds with the cold

precision that never left him. There was a slight

chance that he might be able to kill Wu Fang Chien,

and if so, Mary might be safeguarded.

He walked away from the shrine, and, uncon-

sciously, bent his steps toward the house of Bassalor

Danek where the girl was. Then he turned back,

resolutely. He could not see Mary now. She

would guess instantly — so quick was the woman's

instinct — that something was wrong.

Gray retraced his steps to the tower and to his

own chamber where he would await the decision of

the Gur-Khan.

For the space of several hours the two Wusun

debated together. They glanced from time to time

at a water clock which creaked dismally in the

corner furthest from the shrine. Their brows

were furrowed by anxiety as they talked.

Outside the sun was already past its highest point,

250

Mary Makes a Request

and the sands burned with reflected heat. The

people of Sungan had taken shelter under the canal

trees and in the underground buildings. Even the

dogs and the lepers were no longer to be seen.

Quiet prevailed in Sungan, and in the armed camps

of the guards without the wall.

No glimmer of sunlight penetrated into the shrine

of Bassalor Danek. The attendant lighted fresh

candles and stood motionless. Then he stirred and

advanced to the doorway. He uttered a gruff ex-

clamation.

Mary Hastings pushed past him and stood gazing

at the two Wusun.

"Timur !" she cried. "Where is the One-Who-

Kills-Swiftly?"

The councilor of Sungan glanced at her wonder-

ingly. She was flushed, and breathing quickly.

Her bronze hair had fallen to her slim shoulders.

Tall and proud and imperious, she faced him — a

lovely picture in the dim chamber.

"He said that he would return to me," she re-

peated. "And he has not come. Well do I know

that this could only be because of something evil

that has happened. Where is he?"

The two were stoically silent. She approached

them fearlessly. To the guard's amazement, she

stamped an angry foot, her eyes wide with anxiety.

This, to the guard, was something that should

not be permitted in the high presence of the Gur-

251

Marching Sands

The Wusun will safeguard the Kha Rakcha, even

as he demanded. 1 '

Mary Hastings sighed softly. Then lifted her

head stubbornly. She flushed rosily.

"The white man is precious in my sight," she said

dearly. "His life is like to the warmth of the

sun, and if he dies, my life would pass, even as

water vanishes when it is poured upon the sands. 9 '

"Verily," pondered Timur, stroking his beard, "is

he a brave man. But how then may Wu Fang

Chien be appeased ?"

Anger flashed into the girl's expressive face.

"So the Wusun are weak of soul," she accused.

"Their heart is like the soul of a gully jackal. They

would give up the warrior who came to be their

friend, to buy their own comfort! Aie! Are you

such men ?"

Timur stared, confronted for perhaps the first

time in his life with the scorn of a woman who

thought as a man.

"Think you I will buy my comfort, upon such

terms?" she continued mercilessly. "Or remain in

the shadow of those who are not men but jackals?"

Timur raised his hand. The decision of the lead-

ers of the Wusun had been actuated by their jealous

care of their people, not by selfish motives. But the

girl's swift words had sadly confused him.

"If you yield him up," said Mary Hastings, "I

also will go. I will not part from him."

254

Mary Makes a Request

Timur rendered the Gur-Khan's reply in Turki.

"The tall warrior has offered his body to cool

the anger of Wu Fang Chien, who demands him."

The girl paled.

"How? When?"

"He will take a sword that we will give him

this night and go to seek the ruler of the Buddhists.

Even so shall it be. We have decided, in council.

In this way Wu Fang Chien will be appeased, and

the Wusun will drink of the solace of peace in their

trouble. Furthermore "

"Stay!" The girl drew a quick breath. She

guessed why Gray had not come to her. The

knowledge of his danger steadied her tumultuous

thoughts. The danger was worse than she feared.

But — such was the woman's strength of soul when

the man she loved was menaced — she became

strangely calm.

She had not admitted to herself until now that

she loved the American. With the understanding

of the fresh sacrifice he was prepared to make for

her, she could no more deny the truth of her love

than she could question the fact of her own life.

"Will you give me up as well ?" she asked scorn-

fully.

"Nay. You will have a place by the side of the

Gur-Khan, because of your beauty which — so said

the One-Who-Kills-Swiftly — is like to the sun.

253

Marching Sands

The Wusun will safeguard the Kha Rakcha, even

as he demanded."

Mary Hastings sighed softly. Then lifted her

head stubbornly. She flushed rosily.

"The white man is precious in my sight/ 9 she said

dearly. "His life is like to the warmth of the

sun, and if he dies, my life would pass, even as

water vanishes when it is poured upon the sands."

"Verily," pondered Timur, stroking his beard, "is

he a brave man. But how then may Wu Fang

Chien be appeased ?"

Anger flashed into the girl's expressive face.

"So the Wusun are weak of soul/' she accused.

"Their heart is like the soul of a gully jackal. They

would give up the warrior who came to be their

friend, to buy their own comfort 1 Aie! Are you

such men?' 9

Timur stared, confronted for perhaps the first

time in his life with the scorn of a woman who

thought as a man.

"Think you I will buy my comfort, upon such

terms?" she continued mercilessly. "Or remain in

the shadow of those who are not men but jackals?"

Timur raised his hand. The decision of the lead-

ers of the Wusun had been actuated by their jealous

care of their people, not by selfish motives. But the

girl's swift words had sadly confused him.

"If you yield him up," said Mary Hastings, "I

also will go. I will not part from him."

254

Mary Makes a Request

And she would not. If Gray was to face the

Chinese, she would be at his side. How often do

men judge correctly the true strength of a woman's

devotion ?

"We have planned otherwise/' pointed out Timur.

"For you "

"I have spoken, you have heard."

Bassalor Danek questioned the councilor as to

what had been said. Then the chieftain rose.

"Say to the woman," he announced, "that I, the

leader of the Wusum, have decided. What my wis-

dom decides, she cannot alter by hot words. Who

is she, but a fair woman? I am master of the

talisman of the Wusun."

He pointed to the altar. Mary, intent upon his

face, followed his gesture swiftly. She gave a little

cry at seeing for the first time the cross. She

caught Timur's arm.

"What is that?" she begged. "What— does it

mean ?"

Timur explained the symbol.

"It is the sign of the Gur-Khan alone/ 1 he con-

cluded. "None but those of a chieftain's rank

bear it." He touched the smaller cross lying upon

the broad shoulders of Bassalor Khan.

Radiantly the girl's face brightened. She smiled,

drawing nearer to the two old men. No need for

a woman's wit to reason logically!

She drew back the throat of her jacket, revealing

255

Marching Sands

the tiny gold cross which had been her sole belong-

ing left by the avaricious Buddhists. If Wu Fang

Chien had known of the token, he would have torn

it from her.

"See/ 9 she said softly. "I also am a bearer of

the cross."

The Wusun stared from her excited face to the

glittering symbol on her breast.

To their limited intelligence two things were plain.

(The girl's talisman had not been in Sungan before

she came. So it was clearly hers. Also, she wore

it as by right.

They recalled her pride, and her angry words.

Verily, she wore the sign of rank by right. Timur

stepped back and bent his head.

"O, Queen," he said, "I was blind. Will you

pardon the dog who was blind?"

Bassalor Danek had been frowning, somewhat

jealously. But as he stared into the woman's open

face, his brow cleared.

It is well, Kha Rakcha," he observed slowly.

This is truly the token that witnesses the truth of

your coming. None but a woman royal-born can

wear such a talisman as this. It is well."

He touched the cross curiously, comparing it with

his own. Timur bent over his hand, watching.

The girl was silent, holding her breath in suspense.

The minds of the Wusun were wise in their way,

fait their wisdom was that of simplicity.

256

Mary Makes a Request

"None but a queen may carry this on her breast/*

they assured each other. "So in very truth this ix

a woman royal-born."

She seized swiftly upon her advantage.

"Then you know that I am one who commands."

"Aye," they said, each in his tongue, "we were

as blind dogs before."

"Guard then," she said, her lips trembling, for

she felt the strain, "the life of the One-Who-Kills-

Swiftly. For he is of my blood."

Bassalor Danek pondered, and spoke with grave

decision.

"We will safeguard him within Sungan. Wu

Fang Chien will ask in vain."

CHAPTER XXII

THE ANSWER

Mary laughed a little unsteadily. Surely it was

a strange miracle that her gold cross had worked.

She did not think it luck. In her woman soul there

was no thought of fate. God's care had shielded

the life of the man she loved.

Timur was speaking.

"Bassalor Danek is well content/ 9 she heard.

"Beforetimes, he was warmed by the sight of your

fairness. But now it is verily a thing assured.

Gela, the Kha-Khan, son of my son, commander of

the tumani, has conceived love for you. Bassalor

Danek has granted his wish that you may become

the wife of his abode and hearth."

Hearing, she did not yet understand.

"Gela?"

"He who took you from the evil priests. Because

of the talisman you wear it is fitting that you should

be his bride."

She looked from one to the other, in sudden dis-

comfort.

258

The Answer

"Thus will you truly become kin to the Wilson,"

nodded Timur.

"I ?"

"Bassalor Danek, in his wisdom, has decided/'

The joy of her brief victory faded swiftly. The

reaction weakened her, made this new obstacle dis-

heartening. But she drew strength from a fresh

thought.

"Take me to the white man 1"

"Nay — it is not fitting. The bond of Gela's love

is upon you."

To their bewilderment, the girl laughed. For a

brief moment hysteria had claimed her, wearied by

the hardships she had undergone. In her sudden

stress she clung to the thought that had brought

her consolation.

She was a woman unnerved. In reality, she was

instinctively calling upon the aid of Gray's strength.

"Are you still blind?" she begged unevenly, the

tears not far from her eyes. "Have you not seen

the love of the white man for me? How can Gela

take me from him, when I am already bound to

him?"

Gray had said nothing to her of his love. But

she had read in his face what he had not spoken.

"Fools !" she stamped angrily. "You cannot take

me from the arms of the One-Who-Kills-Swiftly.

He will hear of this." She was speaking somewhat

wildly now, feeling all her strength ebb from her.

259

Marching Sands

"He will claim me. He will keep me Oh, truly,

you are blind."

To the Wusun her sudden emotion was a display

of the temper that undoubtedly was the heritage of

her royal blood.

Mary was, however, on the verge of a breakdown,

and sought the shelter of her own room, since she

could not see Gray. She hurried hither, with the

woman who had waited without the shrine, at her

heels. To tell the truth, she fled.

In her chamber she flung herself down on the

cushions land gave herself up to a most unqueenly fit

of weeping. The woman waited stoically.

When Mary sat up and dried her tears, the

woman smiled. Mary's face was wan, and her hair

disheveled. Glancing into a bronze mirror that

the woman brought her, she was almost glad that

Gray could not see her now. Whereupon she fell

into reflection, and presently sent the handwoman

for brush and black ink-like paint which is the writ-

ing fluid of the Wusun.

Then she diligently sought for any scraps of

white stuff that might serve as paper. She selected

her handkerchief, but was forced to place it in a

window to wait until it dried.

She watched it in the process, a very sad looking

woman, her hands clasped about her knees and her

head resting sidewise on her hands.

Meanwhile, the post-meridian shadows were

260

The Answer

lengthening across the enclosure of Sungan. Shep-

herds were driving their few flocks from the outer

strips of grass; children who had bathed in the

canals were playing in the last of the sunlight.

Groups of warriors emerged from the ruins and

walked slowly toward the fires where the evening

meal was preparing. Elders sought the council hall.

There was even greater bustle without the wall,

where the Chinese were gathering.

It was now the time of the sunset hymn. Gray,

pacing the stone floor of his tower room, heard the

chant of many voices. It came from the temple

below, and the voices were repeating words the

meaning of which the owners no longer knew.

Gray glanced impatiently from his window, won-

dering why he had not heard from Bassalor Danek.

It might have been an hour after sunset that

steps sounded outside the door of the chamber.

Garluk opened the door and stepped back with a

gesture of respect.

Gray looked up eagerly, thinking that Bassalor

Danek or the lame Timur had come. Instead a

tall figure strode into the room.

It was a young man of powerful bearing. He

carried his shapely, olive head proudly. His dress

was the white lambskin of the Gur-Khan, but with-

out the gold ornaments. A broad, leather belt gir-

dled his waist, and from this a straight sword hung

in a bronze scabbard.

261

Marching Sands

The newcomer lifted his hand in greeting — a ges-

ture that Gray returned. He squatted down on

the carpets silently, beckoning to Garluk. Gray

eyed him appraisingly, thinking that he had seldom

seen a man of such fine physique. The stranger's

shoulders were shapely, his arms heavily thewed,

his waist slender. He moved with the ease of a

man poised on trained muscles.

The three sat in silence until Garluk bethought

him to speak.

"This is the Kha Khan, O Man-from-tfie-Out-

side," the tutnani observed. "Gela, the leader x>f

the tutnani, and grandson of Bassalor Danek."

"I give him greeting," returned the white man,

wondering what his visitor had to say.

Presently Gela turned his dark head to Garluk

and spoke in a low tone that carried resonantly,

from a deep chest. Evidently he did not know the

dialect that Gray spoke. The majority of the Wu-

sun were ignorant of Chinese.

"Bassalor Danek," interpreted Garluk, "has seen

the talisman on the breast of the Kha Rakcha. He

has pondered, in his wisdom, the words you spoke.

And he has made answer to Wu Fang Chien."

Once more Gela spoke, while Gray waited im-

patiently.

"Bassalor Danek, who is lord of the Wusun, lis-

tened to the complaint of Wu Fang Chien, governor

of Sungan. And his decision was as follows : Un-

262

The Answer

doubtedly both you and the white woman came to

seek the Wusun. While you have slain many of

the men of the Buddhists, they also have killed the

men of the caravan. So, there is no debt to be

avenged."

Gray smiled at this simple, but logical way of

looking at the situation.

"Furthermore/' interpreted Garluk, at Gela's

prompting, "since you have sought the Wusun, you

may stay here. In the covenant it was agreed that

the penalty of attempting to escape is death; still,

there is no punishment for entering Sungan. You

and the Kha Rakcha will stay in Sungan."

This was good news. Gray was surprised, but

he did not permit this to appear in his face.

"What said Wu Fang Chien?" he asked.

"He will try to seize you and the woman. He

will call in the soldiers with guns from the desert."

"Will Bassalor Danek protect us ?"

"He has given his word. Moreover, he is bound

to guard the woman."

Gray did not at first heed this last remark. He

was wondering just how far the Chinese would go

in their attempt to gain possession of himself and

the girl. Probably, he decided, Wu Fang Chien

was not over-desirous of forcing an entrance into

Sungan. But the mandarin would lose no chance

of capturing himself, or possibly of sniping him

from the outer wall.

263

Marching Sands

But for the present he reasoned that they were

safe. Then Garluk's reference to Mary returned

to his mind. He recalled that Timur had mentioned

that Mary must remain with the Wusun.

Gela had risen, his message delivered. Gray

halted him with a gesture.

"Why is Bassalor Danek bound to keep the Kha

Rakcha?" he asked, inspired by a new and potent

uneasiness.

Gela himself answered this, and Garluk inter-

preted.

"Have you not heard ?" he smiled. "Gela, the Kha

Khan, desires the White Spirit for himself. To-

morrow night he will marry her, according to the

custom of the Wusun. Bassalor Danek has agreed.' 9

Gray checked an exclamation with difficulty.

"That may not be," he said sternly. "The White

Spirit is not one to marry among the Wusun."

Garluk laughed. "Did not Gela, the strongest of

the Wusun, take her from the yellow priests ? Does

she not wear the talisman which is the same as that

of our shrine? Gela as yet has no wife. Why

should he not marry?"

While the two watched him, Gray considered the

new turn affairs had taken. All his instincts

prompted him to cry out that the thing was impos-

sible. Mary must be protected. Yet he knew the

futility of a protest.

264

The Answer

"Has the Kha Rakcha agreed to this ?" he s^ked,

playing for time.

"She does not know of it/' asserted Garluk com-

placently. "Why should a maiden be told before

she has the armlet" — he pointed at the bronze cir-

clet about Gela's powerful arm — "of her lord bound

about her throat ?"

Gela interrupted brusquely.

"The Kha Khan asks," said Garluk, "if you are

the husband of the Kha Rakcha?"

"Good Lord!" meditated the American. He

thought of asserting that he was. Then reflected

that Mary, who knew nothing of what was passing,

would hardly bear out his story. But he could not

let the opportunity go by without asserting some

claim to the girl. "I was to marry her," he com-

promised, "when we returned from the desert."

Gela barked forth a curt word and strode from

the door, after a keen glance at the American.

"The Kha Khan says that he will take her.

Doubtless there are many women where you come

from. He desires the Kha Rakcha, whose life he

saved. Wu Fang Chien would have slain her. So

said the yellow priests."

Gray glowered at Garluk, who smiled back.

"Gela has never seen such a woman as the Kha

Rakcha. She is as beautiful as an aloe tree in

bloom," chattered the tumani. "She will bear him

265

Marching Sands

strong children, and a son to wear his sword when

he is old."

"If she does not agree — what then?"

"It will make no difference. Bassalor Danek has

said that she will be a worthy wife to his grandson.

Does she not wear the talisman at her throat ? That

is a good omen for the Wusun. Did she not come

here to seek the Wusun? Moreover, if Gela mar-

ries her, then Wu Fang Chien cannot take her."

"What if I forbid?" asked Gray dryly.

"No one will heed you," explained Garluk frankly.

Gray considered the matter, frowning.

"Take me to the Kha Rakcha," he ordered.

Garluk made a gesture of denial.

"It is forbidden. To-morrow night the maiden

is to be married. There will be a feast, and a great

chant. We will drink wine of mare's milk."

"Then send Timur to me."

"It is night, and he is lame. After sunrise, per-

haps he will come."

With that Garluk slipped from the door. Gray

heard the sound of a bar falling into place. He

was shut in for the night.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CHALLENGE

He slept little. The fate destined for Mary had

come as a complete surprise. It was not strange,

he reflected, that Gela should want her for a wife.

Nor that Bassalor Danek should approve the mar-

riage. He might have foreseen something of the

kind.

No wonder the Gur-Khan had taken excellent

care of the girl, when she was marked for the bride

of his grandson. Gray swore fluently, and vainly.

The calmness with which the Wusun had put him

aside was irksome. He wished that he had claimed

to be the husband of Mary. It was too late now.

Nor did he hope that the girl's objection, once she

heard of the proposed match, would carry weight.

Evidently marriage among the Wusun was arranged

by the parents of the parties concerned, as in China.

Bassalor Danek's word was law. And the old

chieftain fully appreciated the beauty of the girl.

Gray groaned, reflecting that the coincidence of

the cross that the girl wore had rendered her doubly

desirable in the eyes of the Wusun. He wondered

267

Marching Sands

how they had seen the cross. Was the marriage to

be the price of his safety? He groaned at the

thought.

Flight, even if he could reach the girl, from Sun-

gan, was not to be thought of for the present. Wu

Fang Chien would be alert for just such an attempt.

And Gray did not see how he could hope to win

through the lepers.

"They say blood calls to blood," he muttered.

Then he scowled savagely. "Confound Gela l"

He was hungry for sight of the girl. She must

be worried about him, as he had not been able to

visit her yesterday as he had promised. His invol-

untary protest had excited the suspicions of Gar-

luk. He would find it difficult now to escape from

the surveillance of the tumani, if he should make

the attempt.

And beyond the Wusun was Wu Fang Chien,

watching keenly for any effort on the part of Gray

or Mary to leave Sungan.

It was clear to Gray that the mandarin could not

permit them to leave the place alive. For one thing,

they would carry the news of the massacre of the

caravan. And the tidings of the existence of the

Wusun.

It would be fatal to the plans of Wu Fang Chien

and the Buddhists if the Wusun should be dis-

covered. The knowledge of a race of ancient Asia

that worshipped the cross would be a severe blow

268

The Challenge

to the Mongolians. The Wusun were dying out.

Soon they would be extinct, and the danger over.

Until then Wu Fang Chien must guard his prisoners.

The situation afforded little comfort to Gray.

At daybreak he pounded on his door. In time Gar-

luk came with food. Timur, he said, would visit

Gray presently, in the morning. No, the Man-f rom-

the-Outside could not leave the tower. Bassalor

Danek had issued orders. He was concerned for

the safety of his guests as the soldiers of the Chi-

nese had been seen assembling outside the wall.

The Wusun, said Garluk, had mustered their

fighting men at the wall and in the passages, under

Gela. After the wedding the Chinese could not

interfere with the Kha Rakcha, for she would be

the wife of the Kha Khan.

Gray dismissed Garluk, to hasten the approach

of Timur, and watched moodily from the embrasure.

He knew that he was little better than a prisoner.

Hours passed while the sun climbed higher. He

noticed an unusual activity in Sungan, and saw

bodies of armed men pass from point to point.

The discipline of the place was strict. Probably,

he reflected, a heritage from the military ancestors

of the Wusun. It was noon when Timur entered

the chamber and seated himself calmly on the rugs.

Gray curbed his anxiety, and greeted the lame

councilor quietly. He had a desperate game to

play with nothing to rely upon but his own wits.

269

Marching Sands

"Garluk said that you had need of me/' observed

Timur, scanning him keenly.

"I have a word to say to you/ 1 corrected Gray

quietly.

"It is said/' he added as the old man was silent,

"that the Kha Rakcha is to be asked in marriage by

Gela, the Kha Khan. Is this so?"

"They said the truth. The wedding will be to-

night, after sunset."

Gray's heart sank at this. He had hoped, illogi-

cally, that Garluk had exaggerated the state of af-

fairs. Timur stretched out a lean hand. In it was

a small square of linen, Mary's handkerchief.

The American took it eagerly. It was a message

from Mary, written in the Chinese ink, and it ran as

follows :

Bassalor Danek has ordered me to marry Gela. I have

said no, a hundred times, but they will not listen. It will

be to-night. They will not let me see you. I don't know

what to do, Captain Gray. Please, please think of some-

thing — to delay it. I did not dream they wanted to do

anything like that. I would rather face Wu Fang Chien.

Why could not you come to me? Please, help me. Timur

has agreed to carry this.

It was signed with Mary's name. The girlish

appeal stirred Gray strangely. She had sent to him

for aid. Yet there was little he could do. He fol-

lowed the note mechanically and faced Timur,

thinking quickly.

"In her own country," he said slovly, "the Kha

270

The Challenge

Rakcha has high rank. Because of this it is not

fitting that she should marry among the Wusun.

She does not want to stay in Sungan. It will kill

her. This is the truth/'

"I have seen that you speak the truth," assented

the chieftain. "And my heart is warm for love of

the woman who talked with me. Yet Gela has

rank among us."

"But she does not wish the marriage."

"It is the word of Bassalor Danek."

"You know that I speak what is so. The woman

will die, if not by her own hand, from unhappiness."

Timur looked sadly from the embrasure.

"It may be. But death is slow in coming to the

young, O Man-from-the-Outside. Before she dies

the Kha Rakcha will bear Gela a son. That is the

wish of Bassalor Danek."

Gray's lips tightened grimly.

"Is that a just reward for coming over the desert

to find the Wusun and lighten their captivity?"

"It is fate."

"If it comes to pass the White Spirit will never

leave Sungan, but will die here. Will you lay that

black fate upon her?"

"Will she not be kept here, if she does not marry

Gela?"

Gray looked up hotly. "The Kha Rakcha is not

a subject of Bassalor Danek. She is a servant of a

mightier king "

271

Marching Sands

Timur raised his hand.

"Harken, youth," he said gravely. "I have seen

your love for the Kha Rakcha, and I know that she

has love for you in her heart " Gray's pulses

quickened at this — "but the will of Bassalor Danek

must be obeyed. I know not if it is fitting that she

marry among the Wusun. But the Gur-Khan has

said that by the marriage, aid may be obtained from

her people for the Wusun. Blood ties are strong.

And the Wusun are fast dying out. If the mar-

riage takes place, the Kha Rakcha will remain in

Sungan. That is the word of the Gur-Khan. It

may not be altered."

Silently, Gray studied the pattern of the carpet

at his feet. His firm mouth was set in hard lines.

Argument was gaining him nothing. And he must

make his effort to save the girl now or never.

"I claim the White Spirit as my bride," he said.

"By right of love. She is mine."

Timur combed his white beard thoughtfully.

"How can it be?"

"In this way. Bassalor Danek has given to Gela

what is mine. Since the time of Kaidu and Genghis

Khan it has been the law of Mongolia that a maiden

should not be taken from the man to whom she is

betrothed."

"Bassalor Danek has decided. It is for the good

of his people."

272

The Cliallenge

"I, who have come across the desert to the Wu-

sun, know that it is not so. I call upon the Wusun

to abide by the law of Mongolia."

"The marriage feast is being 1 prepared. The

White Spirit will be clothed in the robe of blessed

felicity."

"Let it be so." Gray looked at the old man

steadily. "Let there be a marriage this night, ac-

cording to the custom of the Wusun. But I, as

well as Gela, claim the girl. You know the law ?"

"If two men say that a woman is theirs, they

must decide the matter with weapons in their

hands."

"That is the law, Timur. From across the desert

I have known it. I will fight Gela. Thus it will

be decided."

Timur glanced at him curiously.

"The Kha Khan is no light foe. He will fight

with swords. He has learned the art of sword

play from his fathers."

"Be it so." Gray rose. "Bear this message to

the Kha Khan. Say that the White Spirit is mine."

The Wusun sighed.

"It is the way of the hot blood of youth. You are

foolhardy. Why should friends fight when Wu

Fang Chien is approaching our gates? Still, what

fate has written will come to pass. I will tell Bassa-

lor Danek your message."

273

Marching Sands

That night there was a stir in Sungan. Rumor

of the coming event had spread through the ruins,

and, with the exception of the guards that Gela

stationed to prevent any attempt at entrance on the

part of the Chinese, the whole of the Wusun men

flocked into the council hall.

Gray, from his tower, watched the glow of the

sunset and saw the shadows form about the gardens

of Sungan. The evening chant floated up to him,

mournful and melodious. Occasionally he saw a

sentry pass along the outline of the wall.

He wondered grimly whether he would see the

next sunrise. Timur had announced, by Garluk,

that Gray's challenge to the chief of the tunumi had

been accepted.

Garluk was voluble with excitement. He made

no secret of his belief that the American would die

at the hand of Gela. It would be an excellent spec*

tacle, he said. He asked if Gray intended to pro-

tect himself by magic during the combat.

Gray did not answer. He had had no experience

in handling a sword; the primitive blades of the

Wusun were clumsy weapons. Doubtless Gela was

skilled in their use.

The situation afforded little ground for hope.

Certainly Gray, who had had an opportunity to

measure his adversary, was not overconfident. He

was resolved to make the best of it. He was doing

the only thing he could to aid the girl.

274

The Challenge

He was not sorry. Gray was the type that did

not shirk physical conflict. And his love for Mary

Hastings was without stint. He did not know how

much she cared for him. He was incredulous of

Timur's words — that she could love him.

At Garluk's summons, he followed the tumani

down the stairs. The corridors were thronged with

men who stared at him avidly. So great was the

crowd that Garluk could barely force his way into

the halt

The place was brightly lighted with candles.

Overhead, the gallery was filled with the Wusun.

On the dais Bassalor Danek was talking earnestly

with Timur and the other elders of the tribe.

A murmur went up at Gray's entrance and the

throng turned, as one man, to stare at him. He re-

turned their scrutiny, from the doorway, hoping

that he might see the girl. Would she be brought

to the hall? He did not know. Timur limped

forward.

"The bronze bracelet," he ordered Garluk. The

tumani produced a metal armlet which he clamped

upon Gray's left forearm. It was an ancient orna-

ment, engraved with lettering unfamiliar to the

American. He wondered idly what Van Schaick

would have thought of it.

"It shall be as you wish," said Timur gravely.

"Bassalor Danek is just. He has granted your

*75

Marching Sands

claim. If you are the victor, the White Spirit shall

be yours."

"It is well/' assented Gray.

He spoke mechanically, feeling the phenomena

known to men who are about to go into bodily

danger — the acute interest in all about him, merged

into indifference.

"We have sent for the White Spirit," added

Timur. "Gela will bring her."

A fresh murmur caused Gray to raise his eyes.

He searched the throng greedily. At the door be-

hind the dais Mary Hastings had appeared. The

murmur changed into a loud exclamation of aston-

ishment.

The girl had been forced to discard her own

clothing for a loose garment of white silk, fitted

with a wide girdle of the same material and a veil

that covered her face below the eyes. Her hair

hung over her slender shoulders in bronze coils on

which the candlelight played fitfully.

Her arms were bare. Thrust into the glare, she

shrank back. Then she caught sight of Gray and

would have started forward, but the women around

prevented her. For a moment her eyes sought his

pleadingly.

"The Kha Rakcha," murmured those near him.

"Aie — she is fair."

Gray's heart leaped at the sight Then Gela ap-

peared at the girl's side, his tall bulk towering

276

The Challenge

above the women. He was armed witK his sword

and appeared well pleased with the situation.

"A fine stage setting/' thought Gray whimsically.

"Just like the plays at home. Only the savage in

this case isn't ready to drop by the footlights when

the time comes. And his sword isn't papier tnache"

His mind ran on, illogically. But his gaze fas-

tened hungrily on the girl. He admired the pluck

which kept her erect and calm in the face of the

multitude.

"A thoroughbred!" he muttered. He wanted to

call to her, but the commotion would drown his

voice. He did not look at her again. The appeal

in the girl's mute eyes was too great.

With this came a quick revulsion of feeling. His

stupor of indifference vanished at sight of the slight

figure among the staring Wusun. A hot longing to

fight for her swept over him — a desire to match his

strength with her enemies, to win her for himself

and keep her.

The thought sent the blood pulsing through him

quickly. He smiled and waved at the girl, who

responded bravely.

Gray moved toward her, followed by Timur. He

wished to speak to her. And then came the incident

which altered matters entirely and which set in mo-

tion the strange events of that night.

Gela had been talking with Bassalor Danek. In

a burst of pride, the Kha Khan turned to the girl,

277

Marching Sands

caught her about the knees and lifted her easily

for all to see. Surprise caused the girl to cry out.

"Gela!" Gray called angrily, "that was ill done.

The Kha Rakcha is not for your hands to touch !"

The youth did not understand. Mastered by an

impulse of passion, he laughed, pressing the white

woman closer. An echoing cry came from the Wu-

sun. Gela kissed the bare arm of the girl, running

his free hand through her hair.

The sight was too much for Gray's prudence.

Pushing Timur aside, he sprang forward. Several

of the tumani stepped into his path. Gray struck at

them viciously.

He was in the grip of a cold rage which renders

a man doubly dangerous. His powerful body flung

forward through the group of his enemies. Love

for the girl blinded him to the consequences of his

mistake.

An outcry arose. Gray paid no heed to it, his fists

smashing into the faces of those who tried to hold

him. He wrenched free from men who caught his

legs.

"Peace !" cried the great voice of Bassalor Danek.

An injured Wusun, bleeding from the mouth,

struck at Gray with his sword. The white man

stepped under the blow and twisted the weapon

away from its holder.

Aflame with the lust of conflict, he swung his

blade against the others that flashed in his face.

278

The Challenge

The force of his trained muscles beat down their

guard and cleared him a way to the foot of die

dais.

Then the Wusun gave back, at a sharp command.

A space was cleared around him. He saw Gela

standing alone before him, smiling, weapon in hand.

CHAPTER XXIV

A STAGE IS SET

"Hoi" cried the voice of Garluk. "It is come/'

Others caught up the words. "It is come. Gela

is ready. One must die !"

"One must die/' echoed Garluk, "or give way to

the other."

A quick glance upward showed Gray that Bassa-

lor Danek was leaning forward in his chair. Mary

was watching tensely from the group of women.

Gray had little time to think. The man who now

confronted him was a more formidable adversary

than those he had knocked aside. Gela stood, poised

easily, his bare sword swinging in a knotted arm.

Gray smiled and moved forward, while the throng

of the Wusun watched greedily.

The thought of what he was to do had come to

him. And he acted on it instantly.

Swinging his weapon over his head he leaped at

Gela. The Kha Khan's sword went up to guard

the blow. As it did so, the white man dropped his

blade and caught the other's arm.

It had been done in the space of a second, coolly

280

A Stage is Set

and recklessly. Gray drew the arm of Gela over

his own shoulder, turning as he did so. It was a

wrestling trick and it brought the Wusun's weight

full on the sword arm.

A wrench, a quick change of footing, and Gela's

sword dropped to the floor. Both men were now

unarmed.

Gray had taken the only course that would save

his life. Unskilled in use of the sword, he had re-

duced the fight to even terms. But he felt at once

the great strength of the Wusun.

Gela gripped him about the waist, crushing his

arms to his side. Gray felt a sharp pain in his

back, and stiffened against the hold. Slowly he

forced his arms up until his fists were under the

other's chin.

It was now a trial of sheer strength. Gela

strained at his grip, locking his iron-like muscles in

an effort to bend his foe back. Gray brought one

knee up into the Wusun's stomach and pressed up

with his fists.

For a long moment the two were locked motion-

less. Silence held the hall.

"Ho !" came the voice of Garluk, "we will see the

man crushed. Gela will crush him as a bullock beats

down a sheep."

They were panting now, and the perspiration

streamed down into Gray's eyes. He had not

guessed the Wusun was so strong. The scene and

281

Marching Sands

the spectators faded from his sight, leaving the

vision of Gela's set face staring into his own.

In weight and muscle the Wusun had the ad-

vantage of his adversary. But Gray was not putting

forth his strength to the utmost, knowing that the

hold must be changed when Gela tired.

Seeing that he could not snap Gray's spine by

sheer weight, Gela shifted his grip swiftly, reaching

for a lower hold.

Gray had been waiting for this. As the other re-

leased his pressure, he struck. It was a hurried

blow, but it jerked back the Wusun's head and

rocked him on his feet.

Instantly Gray struck with the other hand. This

time his fist traveled farther and Gela fell to the

floor.

He was up at once, growling angrily. As he

rushed, Gray beat him off coolly — short, telling

blows that kept him free from the other's grasp.

"Ho!" laughed Timur, "which is the bullock

now ? The man has sharp horns."

Gela hesitated, bleeding from nose and mouth.

He had never been forced to face a man who was

master of such blows. He swayed, gasping with his

exertions, his brown head thrust forward from be-

tween his wide shoulders.

Gray waited, poised alertly, regaining his breath.

Then Gela lowered his head and sprang forward.

282

A Stage is Set

Gray caught him twice as he came — with each fist.

But this time the man was not to be stopped.

Gray was caught about the shoulders, swung from

his feet and dashed to the stone floor. He felt the

other's knees drive into his body, and rolled to one

side as Gela's hands fumbled for his throat. He

knew it would mean death to be pinned to the floor

by the Wusun.

Lights were dancing before his eyes. The hall

had grown dark, for Gela's arm was over his eyes.

For a long space the two were locked almost

motionless on the floor.

He heard Mary cry out. The sound was drowned

in an exultant shout, from Jhe watchers. Gray was

on his knees. He drew a long, painful breath. His

lungs had been emptied by the fall to the hard floor.

Silently, he set his teeth and warded off the hands

that sought his throat. With an effort he rose to

his feet, throwing off the weight of his enemy. He

staggered as he did so, and realized that he was on

the point of utter exhaustion.

The shout grew in volume as Gela, still vigorous,

advanced on Gray with outstretched arms. The

white man stepped back. Again he avoided the

clutch of the Wusun who was grinning in triumph.

As he did so he summed his remaining strength with

grim determination, watching Gela.

Again the Wusun advanced. This time Gray did

mot draw back. He launched forward bodily, eyes

283

Marching Sands

fixed on his foe's face. His fist caught Gela full on

the cheek-bone, under the eye.

Watching, and fighting off the stupor of weak-

ness, Gray saw Gela's head jerk back. The Wusun

slipped to the floor, and lay there.

It was all that Gray could do to keep his feet.

His head was on his chest, and his dull sight per-

ceived that Gela was trying to crawl toward him.

The muscles of the Wusun moved feebly, pulling

his body over the floor. His splendid shoulders

heaved. The blow that he received would have

knocked out an ordinary man.

Gray, his shirt torn from his bade, and blood

dripping from his mouth, watched. Gela edged

nearer. There was silence in the hall.

Then the Wusun's head dropped to the floor and

his shoulders fell limp. He ceased moving forward.

Gray's blow had ended the struggle. Both men

were exhausted ; but the white man was able to keep

his feet.

As his sight cleared, he looked up at Mary. The

girl's gaze burned into his. Gray moved toward her,

fumbling at his left arm.

He mounted the steps of the dais. He took the

bronze armlet weakly in his hand. Barely, he was

able to raise it and place it around the girl's throat.

She did not draw back.

Then he put his hand on her shoulder and turned

to face Bassalor Danek. As he did so, there was a

284

A Stage is Set

commotion in the crowd at the hall entrance. A

Wusun stepped forward. He held a strung bow in

one hand.

"I bring news, O Gur-Khan," the newcomer

cried. "Wu Fang Chien is within the gate of Sun-

gan.

At this, confusion arose among the Wusun.

Women screamed and the tumani shouted angrily.

"The Chinese soldiers have driven back the sen-

tries on the wall," repeated the messenger. "Wu

Fang Chien sends word to you. He has come for

the two white people. They must be given up to

him. Or he will search the whole of Sungan."

The uproar died down at this. All eyes were

turned to Bassalor Danek. The Gur-Khan sat

quietly in his chair, but the hand that stroked his

beard trembled.

"Will Wu Fang Chien break the covenant of our

people ?" he demanded sternly.

"Aye ; he has mustered his soldiers with guns."

Gray felt the girl draw closer to him. She did not

know what was going on, yet guessed at trouble in

the air. He put his arm over her shoulders, thrilled

that she did not protest.

Instead, her hand reached up and pressed his

softly. Her hair touched his cheek. He had mar-

ried Mary Hastings, by the law of the Wusun. It

was not marriage as their customs ordained ; but he

felt the exultation that had come when he bound

285

Marching Sands

the circlet of bronze about her slim throat. She

was his I He had won her from Gela. And — mi-

raculously — she was content to have his arm about

her. Of course he could not urge the claim of this

barbaric ritual on her — if they ever won free from

Sungan. For the moment, however, he joyed in

the thought that he had fought for and won the

woman he loved. The new menace, voiced by the

messenger, slipped from his mind. He saw only

the girl.

Then he realized that she was blushing hotly.

"Please/' she whispered, "I — I must get my

clothes. This dress is not — I don't want to wear

it."

"It's mighty becoming," he said, laughingly.

He spoke haphazard, his triumph still strong upon

him.

"Oh !" She smiled bade. "Now that you are my

— master, they'll let me change to my own things,

won't they? I'll run back to Bassalor Danek's

house."

He saw that she was disturbed by the multitude.

But the lines about his mouth hardened. His arm

tightened about her.

"You won't leave me — now/' he whispered. Then

he saw sudden alarm in her eyes. "We're in trouble,

as usual. Til send a woman for your clothes." He

spoke lightly, trying to reassure her. 'Here's

Timur "

286

A Stage is Set

At his request, the lame chieftain curtly dis-

patched an attendant for Mary's garments. Timur

was watching Bassalor Danck. The Gur-Khan was

staring blankly before him. He was called upon to

make a decision which meant much to his people.

Gray also was watching the ruler of the Wusun,

wondering whether the latter's pride would lead

him to resist Wu Fang Chien.

Then a figure pushed through the turnani at the

foot of the dais. It was Gela, staggering with

weariness, the blood still flowing from the cuts in

his face. In spite of this he carried himself proudly,

and there was a savage light in the eyes that peered

at Bassalor Danek and the two white people.

He pointed at Gray and growled something that

the American did not understand.

"He says," interpreted Timur, "that you are a

brave man. That the word of Gela will not be

broken. He will guard the Kha Rakcha from the

Buddhists. And he will protect you who are the

husband of the woman."

A murmur of approval came from the ranks of

the turnani at the words of their leader. Bassalor

Danek looked troubled.

"It is well said," cried Gray. He stepped for-

ward, holding out his hand. Gela drew himself Up

defiantly. It may have been that he did not under-

stand the gesture of the white man.

287

Marching Sands

"Gela says/' explained Timur, "that he will do

this for the Kha Rakcha. Not for you."

But Gray had seen his chance, and turned to

Bassalor Danek.

"Harken, Gur-Khan of the Wusun," he said

clearly. "You must answer Wu Fang Chien. You

have heard the word of Gela, who is a generous foe.

Have you forgotten that your fathers and mine were

once the same? Or the talisman in the shrine? By

this thing, I ask a favor. It will be the last."

"Speak," responded the chieftain quietly. "I

have not forgotten."

"The Kha Rakcha and I have come across the

desert to Sungan to seek the Wusun, who are of

our blood. Many died, that we should come here.

And" — he recalled the words Mirai Khan had

once used — "we have eaten your meat and bread.

What we came for has been accomplished. Why

should we stay here? Would it not be better to

bring word of what we have seen to those of your

blood who are across the desert?"

Bassalor Danek meditated, stroking his beard.

"Once I said to Wu Fang Chien and the priests,

O Man-from-the-Outside, that you are my guest.

So it shall be. I will not give you up."

"The time of the Kha Rakcha in Sungan is

ended," returned Gray boldly. "Like the crescent

moon she has come and will go. She must carry

the word of the talisman in the shrine back with

288

A Stage is Set

her. It was for this that the Kha Rakcha was sent.

She will return to a king who is greater than the

Manchu emperor once was."

The Gur-Khan shook his head shrewdly.

" What power is greater than the Dragon Empire ?

What other people are there than the Mongols, the

Kirghiz and the Buddhists priests?"

"Beyond the desert is a sea, and beyond the sea

are those whose blood was once yours. We will take

our message to them and they will know of the

Wusun."

Timur limped forward to the Gur-Khan's side.

"A thought has come to me, O Khan of the

Wusun," he said slowly. "It is a high thought and

an omen. It is that this man and woman will re-

turn whence they have come, with speech of what

they saw in Sungan. It is written in the book of

fate that this shall be. Why else did the white man

overcome Gela?"

He turned to Gray, with a moody smile on his

lined face.

"Your people, O Man-from-the-Outside, will not

find the Wusun, if they send again. That is my

thought. The sun passes from the heavens and it

is night; the camel leaves his bones to dry in the

sands. So will the Wusun pass from Mongolia.

The priests of Buddha are powerful. Soon the

sands will climb over the walls of Sungan."

289

Marching Sands

A murmur from a hundred throats, a muttered

lament, greeted this.

"We will deliver our message," said Gray,

Timur was silent, standing beside the troubled

Gur-Khan. A quick emotion of friendship for these

resigned captives of Sungan swept over Gray. He

turned to Gela.

"Will you do this for the Kha Rakcha?" he asked.

"Will you escort us through the ranks of the Bud-

dhist priests and the soldiers ? It will not be an easy

task. There will be bloodshed. But it would save

the life of the Kha Rakcha."

Timur interpreted his request. The Kha Khan

lifted his head proudly. He spoke rapidly, harshly,

pointing to the watching warriors.

"He will do what you say," assented Timur.

"The tutnani will take you through the guards of

Sungan. It has not been done before "

"Wu Fang Chien first broke the covenant," re-

minded the American.

"Aiel It will be a hard struggle. The soldiers

have guns "

Gela broke in sternly. Already the light of con-

flict showed in his keen eyes. He issued a series

of guttural commands to the tutnani. The women

began to press from the hall, uttering wailing la-

ments. The young men clustered around the Kha

Khan.

290

A Stage is Set

"Wu Fang Chien will scourge us for this," mut-

tered Timur.

" Wu Fang Chien/' pointed out Gray grimly, "may

not live to do it. Likewise, it is better, for the peace

of the Wusun, that we should go from Sungan."

He thought, also, of Gela's savage love for the

girl. For the moment the Wusun was their friend.

But the future might alter that. He had seen his

opportunity, and seized it. The tumani were draw-

ing their weapons and chattering excitedly.

Gray had reasoned that now the Buddhists were

assembled at the gates of Sungan. If he and the

girl could penetrate their ranks, they might obtain

a good start over the desert, which was now free

of the outer guards.

"As you have said," announced Bassalor Danek,

rising, "it shall be done."

"What is happening?" Mary asked anxiously.

Sensing the importance of what was passing, she

had not spoken before.

Gray laughed. He touched her shoulder shyly.

"Come to me, as soon as you are ready, Mary.

Gela is a generous foe. He will guide us beyond

the wall."

She looked at the young Kha Khan gratefully.

Well she knew what the danger would be, although

Gray had not mentioned it. On a quick impulse the

girl stooped and picked up Gela's weapon from the

291

Marching Sands

floor. She placed it in the hand of the Wusun.

The action caught the fancy of the tutnani.

"The Kha Rakcha is one at heart with the

Wusun I" they cried, looking eagerly at the beauti-

ful woman.

"Aye, the Kha Rakcha I" shouted Gela, his moodi-

ness vanished. "We will shed our blood for the

white queen."

"Ho — the white queen I" echoed the tutnani.

CHAPTER XXV

RIFLE AGAINST ARROW

What happened now came swiftly and with little

warning. Bassalor Danek, once the die was cast/

ceded his authority to Gela. The traditional lead-

ership of the Wusun was the Kha Khan's in time of

war. Now, for the first time in generations they

were to resist the authority of their gaolers.

Gray remembers clearly that Bassalor Danek bade

them a solemn farewell standing in his white robe

at the foot of the dais. Then the Gur-Khan, who

was impressed with the importance of the occa-

sion, raised his hand with dignity.

"By the talisman at your throat, O Kha Rakcha, 99

he said, "do not forget the Wusun — if it is the de-

cree of fate that you should pass from here in

safety."

"She will not forget/ 9 promised Gray. He

watched the aged figure depart for the tower where

Bassalor Danek intended to watch what was to

happen through the Eyes-of-Long-Sight.

Gela assumed command impetuously. Gray

watched him muster the tumanL The young men

*93

Marching Sands

were afire with anticipation of a struggle. The

long pent up enmity against their captors was about

to be released. From the dwellings of Sungan came

the lament of the women. It shrilled in the night

air — the world-old plaint of women before battle.

Timur lingered with them. The three were sur-

rounded by the hunters who had strung their bows

and unsheathed their heavy swords.

There was only a half-light in the upper hall of

the council-temple where they now stood. It re-

flected faintly upon the red sandstone of the walls,

with the faded, painted figures of an older age look-

ing down upon them.

Gutturally, the warriors spoke under their breath

to each other, laughing much, although not loudly.

Some, however, leaned upon their bows silently,

their eyes blank. This note of tensity was familiar

to the American. Gray had watched men go for-

ward under fire with the same forced merriment,

the same semi-stupor.

But the hunters were contented. Young men, for

the most part, their lean faces hardened and lined

by exposure to the sun, their bloodshot eyes nar-

row, their lips thin and cracked — they smiled more

frequently than not. A savage pleasure lurked in

their eyes. They were to lift their swords against

the oppressors of the Wusun. Gray counted the

swords. They were all too few.

Wearied of confinement, they were, for a brief

294

Rifle Against Arrow

moment, to strike into the desert as free men. Per-

haps. For they might never win beyond the wall.

They shuffled their yak-skin boots, breathing

heavily. The air in the gallery became close and

hot with scent of soiled leather. Mary stood close

to Gray, her shoulder against his. She had changed

to her torn dress and crumpled jacket. Her glance

was on him.

"Robert!"

"Yes — Mary." He looked down, his face alight

at hearing her speak his name.

"You were frowning. Will it be so very bad?"

Her slender body pressed against his so that he

could feel the pulse of her heart. "Then you

mustn't leave me — this time."

"No."

He wanted to take her in his arms, to call her

his wife. But he checked the swift impulse sternly.

He had no right. How was he to know that she

was yearning for just this comfort?

Gela waved his arm, and there was a shuffling of

many feet, moving forward.

"Robert!"

Her eyes, shining with faith in him, drew nearer

and held his own. His arm drew her closer to him,

savagely. Perhaps he hurt her. But she did not

protest.

Blindly, he pressed his mouth against the fra-

grance of her hair. Clumsily, with dry lips, he

295

Marching Sands

kissed her throat and cheek, marveling at the pulse

that beat so strongly where he touched.

Two swift, slender arms closed around his neck.

The girl sighed, quivering, uttering a soft, happy

murmur. Gray, unbelieving, tried to look into her

face, but tender, moist lips touched his in a quick

caress. Her eyes were half closed, and she was

strangely pale.

"Mary!" he whispered, and again: "Mary."

She was smiling now, the gray eyes glad.

Gela cast an appraising eye over the assemblage

and gave a command. The tumani pressed forward

to the stairs that led to the entrances above ground.

Gray felt Mary's hand seek his. A cool breath

of air brushed their hot faces. He saw the glitter

of torches, lighted by the tumani. Then they passed

out into the night.

The sands of Sungan were vacant except for the

group of warriors under Gela. A slight breeze

stirred among the aloes and tamarisks, lifting tiny

spirals of dust under their feet and causing the

torches to flicker.

Then the torches were dashed into the sand, and

the warrior groups became shadowy forms, mov-

ing against the deeper shadow of the towers.

Overhead the moon was cold and bright. Its

radiance showed the dark figures of Chinese on the

wall, and glittered on their guns. At the gate in

296

Rifle Against Arrow

the wall in front of them was a group of priests.

Wu Fang Chien was not to be seen.

Between the tutnani and the wall was a level

stretch of sand perhaps two hundred yards in length.

"See !" chattered the old Timur, "the message of

Bassalor Danek has been sent. They are waiting."

"It would not be well to rush the wall," cau-

tioned Gray quickly, sizing up the situation. "They

have guns "

"If I had a bow !" Timur's reluctance had van-

ished under the growing excitement. "Ho! The

hunters will hunt new prey."

One of the priests cried out something that Gray

did not understand. Gela answered defiantly, and

the tutnani rushed forward, carrying Gray and

Mary with them.

A shot sounded from the wall, greeted by a defiant

shout from the Wusun. A scattering volley fol-

lowed. The guards — Chinese irregulars, Dungans,

bandits, followers of the priests, what-not — were

poor marksmen. But the range was close. And the

Wusun, ignorant of tactics against gunfire, were

bunched close.

Gray saw several stumble and fall in the sand.

More shots. The torches wavered. Timur stooped

and picked up a bow and arrow from one of the

fallen.

The priests had vanished from the gate. This had

been closed. But not before Gray sighted groups

297

Marching Sands

of the lepers running about in confusion. Some

seemed to be armed.

The Wusun wavered under the fire, as undisci-

plined men are bound to do. Gray forced the girl

to crouch in the sand with Timur while he ran for-

ward to Gela. The Kha Khan was shouting angrily

at his followers.

"The passages I" Gray seized Gela's arm. "Here,

you will be killed. Go down to the passages."

Gela, the hot light of battle in his scarred face,

stared at him unheedingly. But Timur, who was

not to be left behind, limped forward and echoed

Gray's words.

Comprehension dawned on the Kha Khan, and

his eyes narrowed shrewdly. He shouted to his

men. The tumani began to run back, leaving dark

bodies prone in the sand.

Gray made his way to the temple with Mary. A

shout of triumph sounded from the wall. The

firing did not cease. The blood-lust had been

aroused in the men on the wall, who had found the

killing of the poorly armed Wusun an easy matter.

But Gray, seeing the set faces around him, real-

ized that the tumani were not going to give up the

struggle. It was an age-old feud — the struggle

of the oppressed Central Asians against their Mon-

gol captors.

He and the girl were swept along at Gela's side

like leaves in a swift current. Down into the temple

*9&

Rifle Against Arrow

the Wusun pressed, silent this time. They streamed

into the underground corridors, led by men with

torches. The shouting over-ground grew fainter.

Once Gray stumbled over a body. It was a

woman, bleeding from a death wound in the throat

The priests had been here, and warfare in the Gobi

reckons not of sex.

The flutter of a yellow robe appeared in the corri-

dor in front of them. A bow twanged, and Gray saw

an arrow appear between the shoulders of the flee-

ing priest. A knife that the Buddhist held clattered

to the floor.

The tumani shouted and pressed forward. They

were under the wall now, and the passage began to

rise. Gray saw that it was the same that led to

the well.

A sharp command from Gela silenced the Wusun.

They ran out into the well and up the steps, sav-

agely intent on their purpose.

They emerged into confusion. Gray saw that

other Wusun were running out from the adjoining

passages, driving the priests before them. The Chi-

nese on the wall had turned. Taken by surprise,

they were firing hastily. Their foes were scattered

now, and the fight became a hand-to-hand affair.

One by one the torches dropped to the sand.

Swords flashed in the moonlight. Gray saw some

of the men of the leper pack, led by priests. These

299

Marching Sands

were met with arrows of the tumani and drive*

back. They fled easily.

Forced to hand-grips, the Chinese at the waH

wavered.

"AieP cried Timur. "The fight goes welL I ant

young again." He pointed exultantly at the leap-

ing forms of the hunters.

The girl walked quietly at Gray's side. The

American picked up an empty musket and went

forward. It was a poor weapon, but it served.

Gela was in advance of his followers, who had

cleared the wall now and were pacing forward,

seeking out the groups of Chinese.

By now the soldiers were running back through

the outskirts of the city.

Gray could see the leper pack mingling with the

shadows among the sand dunes. Occasionally,

there was a shrill cry as the Wusun hunted out a

yellow-robed Buddhist. The Chinese were fleeing

in earnest. The only light now came from the

moon. It was a battle of shadows, wherein dim

forms leaped and struck with bared knives, peer-

ing at each other's face.

"Aief echoed the old chieftain, who was leaning

on the shoulder of a tumani, "this is the way our

fathers drove their foes before them. It is a goodly

sight."

He hobbled on, refusing to be left behind. Graf

drew a deep breath, surveying the scene with ex-

300

Rifle Against Arrow

perienced eye. The smoldering anger of the

Wusun had cleared a temporary passage. "We are

outside the city, Mary," he said.

"It is not over yet," she responded quickly.

"See — there are lights ahead, to the right."

Gela had seen the same thing. He gathered to-

gether the hunters that remained about him and

advanced cautiously. Rounding some dunes, they

came full on the lights.

It was the camp of the Chinese guards. Camels

and horses were tethered among some make-shift

tents. Lanterns flickered as coolies sought to as-

semble the beasts.

A group of men were facing them standing un-

easily in front of the tents. Gray saw the bulky

figure and mandarin hat of Wu Fang Chien. The

light from a lantern struck across his broad face,

savage now with baffled anger. He held a rifle.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE BRONZE CIRCLET

The; girl gave a quick cry. It was answered by

a shout from Gela.

One of the Chinese fired. The man who was sup-

porting Timur dropped to the ground with a moan,

hands clasped to his stomach.

Both Gela and Gray sprang forward at the same

time. Wu Fang Chien caught sight of them and

lifted his rifle. His followers shot wildly, doing

no damage in the uncertain light.

The mandarin, Gray thought swiftly as he ran,

had rallied some of the fugitives at the camp.

Possibly he had guessed Gray's intention to leave

Sungan, and was determined to prevent it at all

costs.

Gray could see the man clearly as he peered at

him over the sights of the rifle. The weapon was

steady. Behind him, a warning shout echoed from

the Wusun. Gela, at his side, did not slacken his

pace.

Still Wu Fang Chien held his fire. Gray, watch-

ing intently, saw that the rifle the mandarin held

302

The Bronze Circlet

was one of his own — stolen from his luggage. The

thought wrought on him with grim humor. It did

not occur to him to turn back. He could not leave

Gela to go forward alone. The Kha Khan was

panting as he ran, wearied by his efforts, but grimly

intent on Wu Fang Chien.

Behind Wu Fang Chien, he saw the horses strug-

gling at their tethers. His senses were strangely

sharpened by the tensity of the moment. He heard

Gela pant, and even caught the distant lament of

the women of the Wusun. The coughing of fright-

ened camels came to him clearly.

The lantern glinted on the rifle barrel that was

aimed full at him. He saw Wu Fang Chien's evil

eyes narrow. Then they widened. The rifle barrel

wavered. And dropped to the sand. Gela and the

white man halted in their tracks.

From the throat of Wu Fang Chien projected an

arrow shaft, the feathers sticking grotesquely under

his chin.

Slowly the mandarin's knees gave way and he fell

forward on the sand, both hands gripping the ar-

row that snapped the thread of his life.

"Aief the voice of Timur rang out. "I have

taken a life. I have slain an enemy of my people !"

Gray turned and saw the old chieftain standing

bow in hand beside Mary. His cry had barely

ceased when a yellow-robed priest sprang at him

from a tent.

303

Marching Sands

The Buddhist held a knife. His course took him

directly toward Mary. The girl waited helplessly.

Gela's warning cry rang out. Several of the Wusun

were running toward her. But too far away to aid.

The priest was within a few paces of the girl,

too near for Gela or Gray to interfere in time.

Then the figure of Timur limped forward. The

old man struck at the priest feebly with his bow.

And caught him by the shoulders.

The Buddhist stabbed the Wusun viciously, bury-

ing his knife in Timur's back. The old man uttered

no sound, but kept his hold, snarling under the bite

of the knife. Gray stepped to the side of Wu Fang

Chien and caught up the mandarin's rifle.

It was his own piece and loaded. He laid the

sights on the man in the yellow robe as the latter

threw off the clinging form of Timur. The rifle

cracked as the Buddhist stepped toward Mary.

The priest staggered to his knees. It had been

a quick shot, and an excellent one, considering the

light. Gela grunted approval.

Gray saw the girl go to the side of the stricken

Timur. Then he looked about the camp. Wu Fang

Chien was dead, and his remaining followers had

run from the camp into the desert. Only Gela's

band of the Wusun were visible, thinned in num-

bers, but triumphant. They thronged toward their

leader, bearing useless rifles as spoil, tired, yet

chuckling loudly.

304

The Bronze

The fight was over.

Gela motioned significantly to Che moon which

was high overhead. Time was passing, and the

white man must be dispatched while the coast was

free. He had not forgotten his promise in the

council hall. The Kha Khan returned to Mary and

led her away from the old chieftain.

Gray saw that the girl was crying. Not noisily,

but quietly, trying to keep back the tears. The

strain of the night was beginning to tell on her, and

the death of Timur at her side had been a shock.

She did not want to look back.

"I— I liked Timur/' she said softfy. "He was

good to me."

"He was a good sort," assented Gray heartily.

For the girl's sake, he wished to leave the camp

at once. Delay would mean peril. Gela seemed to

have guessed his thought. The Kha Khan issued

brisk orders to his followers. Then he threw his

own warm, sheepskin kholdt over the girl's shoul-

ders.

Two camels, the pick of those in the encampment,

were produced. These were fitted hastily with

blankets. A third was loaded — protesting loudly

after the fashion of the beasts — with foodstuffs and

water, commandeered from the supplies of the Chi-

nese. Gela examined the goat skin water bags at-

tentively and nodded with satisfaction They were

all-important.

305

Marching Sands

This done, he turned to Gray and pointed again

to the moon. Then he motioned out over the desert

to the west to a gray expanse of shimmering earth,

with scattering wisps of stunted bushes.

"He wants us to go in that direction/ 9 said the

girl, "not back to China."

Gray had already reasoned out their best course.

The direction of Gala agreed with his own conclu-

sion. To the west four or five days' fast ride on

camels was the river Tarim, with isolated settle-

ments of shepherds. Here they would be across

the boundary of Kashgaria and free from the au-

thority of the Chinese Buddhists. And -beyond the

Tarim was Khotan — just north of the Karakorum

Pass to India. He still had his maps and compass.

"From there/ 9 assented the girl, "we can reach

Kashgar, where there will be merchants from Kash-

mir. My uncle has been at Khotan with me. It is

not hard to travel to India from there/ 9

Urged by Gela they mounted the kneeling camels.

The Wusun clustered around. Out of the camp

they led the white man and woman until the towers

of Sungan were barely visible on the horizon.

Here they were beyond danger of meeting with

Chinese fugitives. Gela halted and raised his hand

in farewell. Gray and the girl did likewise.

"He has kept his word to us, and he is proud of

it/ 9 whispered Mary, "and we can't thank him. 99

For neither could speak Gela's tongue.

306

The Bronze Circlet

"Good-by, old man, and good luck/ 9 said Gray

heartily, in English.

Turning back after an interval, he saw the Kha

Khan and the Wusun watching them. They were

seated in the sand, their faces bent toward the de-

parting camels. Until the two were out of sight,

Gela remained there.

The camels were fresh and moved swiftly. It

was a clear night, with a touch of cold in the air,

a forerunner of the winter that was settling down

on Central Asia. The miles passed swiftly behind,

as Gray, guided by his compass, kept on to the west.

They did not speak. Behind them the crimson

of dawn flooded the sky. The moon paled, coldly.

Early morning chill numbed the man and the girl.

The long shadows of the camels appeared on the

sand before them. Mists, wraith-like and grotesque,

receded on the skyline. From black to gray, and

then to brown the sand dunes turned. Waves of

sand swept to the sky-line on either side.

They were alone in the infinity of Asia.

Gray wanted to speak, but a strong shyness

gripped him. He urged his beast beside the girl's

and took her hand. She did not withdraw it. This

made him bold. Already the sun warmed their

backs. The camels slowed to a steady trudge.

"Our honeymoon has begun," he said. His heart

was beating in unruly fashion. "And in Kashgar,

3<#

Marching Sands

we can find a missionary, to— to make yon really

my wife — if you will."

She did not answer. Instead, she drew hack the

khalat that the Wusun had given her. Gray saw

that the broooe circlet was still about her throat.

(i)

THE END

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