Adventure, August 1917 — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

IIo and superstition sliding past. As they swept north through flat fields of brown hemp, past herds of lean goats tended by ragged, silent boys, the spell of the brooding world-old country fell on him. Moodily he gazed out on the yellow, muddy canals, where naked coolies in flat boats fished with trained cormorants, iron rings about the captive birds’ necks, that they might not swallow the fish they caught. In worn, gullied fields work-weary women raked up dead weeds and bound them into bales for Winter fuel. Girls of twelve, bent under babies lashed on their aching backs, went about their tasks doggedly, hopelessly. Life seemed making a spiritless fight, with death the inevitable winner. As the train raced farther into the wilder north country, the villages, crude-walled and watch-towered—mere huddles of squat, flat-roofed hovels made of bamboo and plas- tered mud, became less and less: frequent. The people, too, no longer ignored the rush- ing train, or merely stared dully as it passed. Now they would shriek excitedly, or gestic- ulate, or flee. “What are they running for?’”’ queried Watts, coming back to where Temple sat. “Still afraid of the engine. Except for a few glimpses of the work-trains, crawling along, they’re not familiar yet with engines. Probably some of ’em never saw one before.”’ “Queer country,” commented Watts, go- ing back to his guests. It was late in the afternoon when they rounded a low hill, and neared Yabo. Then, like most railroad accidents, it hap- pened suddenly, unexpectedly. Warning screams from the engine, violent jerks as emergency brakes whined, and the whole party sprawled roughly on the car floor as they came to a sudden stop. Scrambling to his feet, Temple ran to the rear platform, followed by the others. Crowds of angry Chinese were swarming about, and in a jiffy a score of stalwart Manchus—the giants of north China—had leaped up the car steps and overpowered the astonished foreigners. Dragged roughly with kicks and cuffs, the white men were hustled off the platform and along beside the car, up the track toward the Yalo sta- tion. So thick was the crowd that surged about them, their progress was slow. The engine, Temple noted, seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. Beside the track, too, was a towering heap of fresh Adventure earth now covered with busy coolies working furiously with shovels. As Temple was driven forward by his cap- tors, he came suddenly on Riley struggling fhercely in the grip of three giant, crazed- looking Manchus. ‘The engineer was bleed- ing from a cut on the head, and his shirt was torn half off in front, exposing his heaving, hairy breast. “Take it easy, man,’’ warned Temple. ‘‘And tell me what’s happened.”’ “‘Happened,”’ snorted the enraged en- gineer. “They buried my engine, the mur- derin’ heathens!’’ “They what?” “‘They buried my engine,” panted Riley. “Buried old 700. Had a grave dug—right under the rails. I didn’t see the trap in time tostop. Reversed ’er, and jumped in time to keep from goin’ down myself. She paused, right on the edge of the deep hole, then toppled in, takin’ my native fireman with her. See them coolies on that dirt- pile, with shovels—they’re coverin’ her up now, burying my old 700, the —— fools.” And Riley, with a Herculean wrench, tore his good right arm free and sent a soporific upper-cut straight to the yellow jaw of one of his captors. Further excited by this resistance, the yelling Chinese hurried their prisoners for- ward, toward the station. Passing around the dirt-pile, the white men could look down into the engine’s grave—already the hissing monster was half covered with earth. “Bury the fire-devil alive,” Temple heard the mob shouting. A hundred yards up the track, near the station, stood an A. C. tool-house. Into this the foreigners were roughly shoved, and the door locked. The Belgians whispered together, ner- vously. Watts, finding his voice for the first time since he had been dragged, dazed and unresisting, from the car steps, began to fret. “The brigands,” he complained. “Our embassy shall hear of this—I’ll fix these heathen upstarts. Just wait till I get to Pekin, I’ll fix ’em.”’ Temple, peering through a crack in the wooden door, was surveying the scene out- side. Hundreds of wild-looking Manchus, some armed with spears, old guns, bows and arrows, and some carrying stink-pots, were crowded about, jabbering frantically. A few rode camels. There was a short, thick brass cannon, too, apparently taken from cComicldook C© S}