Adventure, August 1917 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

Thanks to the Devil one of the canal junks. It lay on a squat wooden carriage, drawn by a dozen coolies harnessed to a long rope. Though his - knowledge of Chinese was imperfect, Tem- ple could catch now and then a sentence from the babble that went on. ‘‘What are they saying?” queried Watts, uneasily. “‘They’re crowing now,” Temple growled, “over their feat in burying the fire-devil, as they call it. They say engines are evil spirits that do the bidding of us foreigners, that we’re all barbarians and ghouls, that we dug up their ancestors’ graves, and shall be punished for it.” “T’ll show ’em who gets punished, when I get to Pekin,” threatened Watts, boasting to keep up his courage. ‘“Yes—when you get there,” muttered Temple, half to himself. Riley had squeezed through the little party and crawled back among the piles of wheelbarrows, tools and junk that littered the dark shed, on a quiet exploration trip of hisown. He was back now, grabbing Tem- ple excitedly by the arm. “I’ve found it,” he gloated. “I knew they’d had one in here—but I was afraid they’d taken it out. So I didn’t say a word till I’d found it, for sure.’ “Found what?” interrupted Watts irri- tably. ‘““Telegraphone!”’ Already Temple had started for it. The little party, tense and expectant, waited— hopefully. Outside, the heathen clamor raged unabated. “Hello. Hello. Hello A. C. office— this is Temple, at Yalo. Is that you, Flaherty—give me the chief clerk—every- body’s gone home but you? ‘Then listen closely, Flaherty. Our special’s held up here. The track’s broken and the en- gine’s in a hole. Chinese have us locked up in the tool-house, under guard. Now you inform the governor immediately, and have him—what’s that? — Of course the governor can help us. Now you shut up, and listen tome. You go at once—what? You don’t need any help from the gov- ernor? Now, listen, Flaherty, this is serious. A thousand mad Chinks are threatening us. You’ve got to act quick. Tell the governor — You won’t waste time on himl Say, Flaherty, are you crazy or drunk? — Not too drunk to take care of us, eh? Allright then. Now you—Hello! Hello!” Itt Impatient, exasperated, Temple contin- ued to shout, to rattle the hook and curse. ‘“‘No wonder you're cut off,” called Riley in disgust, turning from his lookout post at the crack in the door. “The rascals are pulling down the wires.” ‘“‘____. that Flaherty,”’ invoked Temple earnestly. ‘You hired him once too often,” croaked Watts. ‘“What’s the matter—couldn’t you make the fool understand?” “He understood. But he refused abso- lutely to notify the authorities—said we’d be butchered before they could get troops here—or do anything else for us. He just kept repeating, like a parrot, ‘I don’t need any help from the governor—just leave it to Flaherty.’ ” “But what can he do?” whined Watts. ‘‘Ask me something easy,”’ retorted Tem- ple, resuming his vigil at the door-crack. Plainly some sort of plan had been agreed on by the crowd. Though a strong guard of spearmen and a few town coolies with old rifles remained on duty about the tool- house, most of the mob was withdrawing toward the village. About the arched gateway of the mud- walled town some sort of mass-meeting seemed under way. From the back of a camel, an aged man was haranguing the people. Occasionally bursts of cheers floated back to the imprisoned white men, now relapsed into moody, uneasy reflection. From his post at the door Temple watched and waited, cramped, hungry and thirsty, as the light faded and night came on. Red fires had been lit in the village now, and the natives were beating drums and playing weird music on their shrill flutes. & demonstration at the village gate ended. Then, with renewed yells and frantic chattering, the mob came surging back toward the railroad. A tall, gaunt Manchu on a camel seemed to be their leader. Slapping his beast on the neck with his thick camel-stick, he rode it straight up to the tool-house, and ordered the guards to open the door. Temple and Riley—the others hanging back—stepped IT WAS long after dark when the outside. From the light of a small fire, lit by the guards, the white men could see the with- ered, yellow face of the old patriarch on the camel. At a gesture from him, the people CoOMmiclsoo © 5}