“In this village,” said Chuba, “lives the young brother of my father. He will give us shelter for the night.”
The boys passed through the village gate. Biff saw a small, rust-stained cannon seemingly hanging down from the wall on one side of the gate. At the other side, another cannon lay in the dirt at the base of the wall. It had long since broken away from its emplacement. Once, many years ago, these cannon protected the village from the raids of bandits. But now, the wall was crumbling in many places, and the city was open to anyone wishing to enter.
Biff and Chuba made their way along a narrow, dirt street, lined with small houses made of thatch and mud. Men, women, and children, all poorly dressed, moved back and forth, at times filling the street until it was difficult for the boys to make their way.
They reached the end of the street, a distance of not much more than a quarter of a mile. Chuba cut off to his left toward a house standing just inside the gray wall, but somewhat removed from the other houses.
“The house of my uncle,” Chuba said, pointing.
Biff was glad to leave the street. It was littered with trash, and the smells were sickening.
“When we are inside the house of my uncle, you must not say a single word,” Chuba warned. “I do not want even him to know you are America boy. I tell him you can hear but cannot talk. I tell him we on our way to visit the older brother of my father, he who lives on the banks of the Yangtze River.”
The house was roughly made of earthen bricks and thatched with wheat straw. A small man stood at the entrance to the house. The doorway was closed only by a drooping cloth, sewn together from several grain bags.
Chuba bowed low as he approached his uncle. They spoke together rapidly. Biff, of course, could not understand a single word spoken. Chuba turned to him.
“My uncle welcomes us. He says we may sleep here, and he will feed us. Come, we go in.”
The floor of the house was earth, worn smooth and packed hard by the feet of three generations of the uncle’s family. A Chinese woman looked at the boys as they entered, but spoke no word of greeting. She was the uncle’s wife. Two children, each younger and smaller than Chuba, stared at the boys, their eyes round with wonder at seeing strangers.
Chuba’s uncle spoke to his wife. Minutes later she brought both the boys a small portion of rice, served in an earthen saucer. The rice had little or no flavor for Biff. But it was hot, and he ate every grain.
Night had fallen. The only light came from the fire in the open oven set in one wall of the house.
The uncle spoke again to Chuba, and the boy nodded and motioned Biff to follow. The uncle took them into a small room which was to be their sleeping room. There were only three rooms in the house. Biff looked about him. The room was bare except for one low bench standing in the center. They would sleep that night on the dirt floor. And sleep they did, as if they were in the most comfortable beds ever made. At dawn, with another small bowl of rice to warm their stomachs, the boys were on their way again.
The boys crossed the Plateau of Yunnan and reached Chaochiang on the Yangtze River. This was the small town where the older brother of Chuba’s father lived. From this uncle, Chuba borrowed a crudely built small boat, held together with wire and wooden pegs. Two cumbersome, double-bladed oars would be power. The boat was to be left at Sundhiango, a village about one hundred miles west of Chungking. Chuba’s uncle would get it on his next trip to the large city.
The Yangtze River, rising out of the mountains of Tibet on its 3,500 mile course to the Yellow Sea, flows swiftly in the western part of China. The ugly, yellow water roars through chasms, with lofty crags on either side rising 300 feet high. The little boat, Biff in the bow, Chuba in the stern, raced along like a small chip of wood. It was fun at first after the tiring days of fighting their way through the jungle on foot. They sped through gorges, putting mile after mile behind them. As they neared Sundhiango, the river widened. Boiling white water told Biff that they were getting into shallower water. A roar from ahead told him they were approaching rapids.
They shot the first three rapids without trouble, then entered a broad, smooth stretch of water where they drifted slowly with the current. Rounding a sharp bend, Biff again heard the roar of white water. This time the roar was louder than before. The small craft suddenly picked up speed. The boat plunged into the swirling, dashing water and was tossed about as if it were a twig. Time and again, it seemed the boat would crash on a huge boulder. Each time the current swirled it around just in time to prevent a smashup.
Looking ahead, Biff could see the end of the rapid. The round swell of the water was a warning—falls ahead! There must be a drop of several feet, Biff figured. He couldn’t see directly beyond the falls. All that was visible was a broad body of water beyond—smooth, quiet, wide enough to be a small lake.
There was nothing to do but pray that the boat would get safely over the falls and into the calm water beyond.
“Hold on, Chuba!” Biff called. Oars were useless now.
The boat was caught up in a natural spillway, a narrow, fast-moving path of water which shot over the falls and plunged downward. The boat shot over the spillway. For moments, it seemed to hang in mid-air. Then it hit the water below with a bone-jarring smack.
“We made it!” Biff cried jubilantly, turning to look back at Chuba. Chuba had disappeared. He had been thrown out of the boat as it leaped over the falls. Biff spotted his friend’s head in the water twenty feet this side of the falls.
Shooting the rapids
“Have a good swim, Chuba,” Biff shouted gaily. “I’ll wait for you.” Biff reset the oars and leaned them on his knees. “Hey, chum, not so much splash—” Biff’s happy call faded out. Chuba was floundering in the water. His arms stopped thrashing and his head went out of sight. Then it bobbed into view, only to sink a second time.
With a start, Biff realized that Chuba couldn’t swim.
Jack Hudson looked up from his desk as Muscles, the powerful mechanic, came in. For a few moments the two men stared at one another, saying nothing. Muscles, hands on hips, broad shoulders squared, chest thrust out, looked like an angry bull about to charge.
“Okay, Muscles, let’s have it,” Jack said.
“About those kids. What are we going to do?”
“I wish I knew. We’ve got to do something.”
“You’re darn tootin’ we have,” Muscles bellowed. “I’m sick and tired of just sitting around here, waiting. We got to act.”
“Take it easy, Muscles. I’ve been thinking about it as much as you have.”
“Now look, Jack. Charlie Keene’s been gone almost a month. The kids nearly two weeks.”
“I know. I know. But what can we do? You know what it means to go in after them.”
“You think you know where they are?”
Jack nodded his head. “I’ve got a pretty good idea where the boys are heading. I just hope Charlie’s in the same general area. I just hope they’re not all scattered over the face of China.”
“What bugs me most is Biff being spotted by now. An American kid among all those Chinese—bound to be!”
“I don’t think so, Muscles. Biff and Chuba worked out a disguise that made Biff look more like a Chinese than Chuba does. Biff not only fooled me, but fooled Ti Pao as well.”
“He fooled Chuba’s father? That’s really something.”
Jack nodded his head. “Yeah. Both of those kids are plenty smart. I think they’ll make it in. They might even get a line on Charlie’s whereabouts. But getting back out—” Jack shook his head soberly.
“That’s where we get into the act,” Muscles said quickly. “Look, I got the Cessna tuned up so she’s purring like a kitten. Extra fuel tanks installed. We can go in, pick up Charlie and the kids—”
“Ifwe could find them.”
“We can find them. Look, here’s my idea. We go in together. At night. You drop me. I locate Charlie and the kids, then I make a signal on the shortwave transmitter, and bang, you come, pick us up, and all’s well.”
Jack didn’t answer at once. He was considering Muscles’ idea. “You make it sound so easy. But I don’t know. Give me a little time to think it over.”
“We can take off at dusk tonight.”
“I haven’t said we would yet, Muscles. I’ll let you know.”
Muscles glowered at Jack and pounded one huge fist into the palm of his other hamlike hand.
Biff didn’t hesitate. This was real trouble. If he didn’t get to his friend at once, Chuba might go under for good. Finding him beneath the surface of the muddy river would be impossible. Biff’s body split the air as he dived toward the sinking Chuba. Powerful strokes of his arms pulled Biff swiftly through the water. He reached Chuba.
“Take it easy. Take it easy, Chuba. I’ve got you. You’ll be all right. Don’t fight me.”
Biff crooked his left arm around Chuba’s neck.
“Just lie on your back, Chuba. I’ll do the rest.”
At Biff’s words Chuba stopped thrashing. He forced himself to relax, buoyed both in body and spirit by the firmness of Biff’s arm.
Slowly, with a one-armed backstroke, Biff towed the native boy toward the shore. The current slackened below the falls, making Biff’s task possible. Foot by foot, Biff propelled himself and Chuba toward the riverbank. At long last, he felt one of his kicking feet touch bottom.
“Okay, Chuba. I think you can stand up here. Try it.”
Chuba’s feet touched bottom. The two boys staggered through the shallow water to safety. Chuba stretched out on the bank, gasping and trembling.
“You save my life, Biff. How can Chuba ever thank you?”
“Skip the thanks, Chuba. You’ve done plenty for me. And I know you’ll do plenty more. But how come you never learned to swim?”
“Not many Chinese boys swim. Not in rivers where I grow up. Crocodiles.”
“I get it. Too dangerous.”
Chuba nodded his head.
“Look, Chuba. You rest here. I’ve got to get the boat. All our supplies are in it.”
Biff jumped up and ran along the bank downstream. The boat was drifting slowly, lazily toward the bank. Biff plunged back into the water. He reached the boat, pulled himself in over the side, and rowed to shore. Chuba had moved down the bank, and waded out to grab the boat’s bow. He pulled it up on the bank.
Half an hour later the boys reembarked. For the rest of the day they traveled in smooth water. By dark, they reached Sundhiango, last stop of their river voyage.
From Sundhiango they headed northwest, toward the foothills of Mt. Minya Konka, west of Chungking and Chengtu. Once clear of the river city, the boys moved along a dirt road until weariness overtook them. Off the road, they built a small fire, ate a mixture of flour and rice Chuba dreamed up, and then slept.
In the morning, Chuba inspected Biff carefully.
“What’s the matter?” Biff demanded.
“You almost America boy again. More like fish called carp, though. All streaky.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your swims in river. Make betel juice fade. You look at self. We got to make you Chinese beggar boy again.”
Chuba took out his bottle of juice, and smeared Biff’s body and face. “Now, all good again. We move out.”
“And up,” Biff said, looking toward the mountains.
By late afternoon, Biff and Chuba reached a town in the foothills. They had been climbing steadily all day. Several times Biff had to swallow to clear the pressure in his ears, brought on by the higher altitude.
“You have some money, Biff?” Chuba asked.
“Yep. Got a bunch of Burmese rupees. Can you spend them in China?”
“Spend them like you say like water. Rupees much good. Better than Chinese money. Chinese money now calledjin min piao. Takes manyjinsto make one rupee.”
Biff dug into his bundle and brought out several coins. “This enough?”
“Is plenty. We go into town to market. Chuba buy some food. You like dried fish? Lichee nuts good, too.”
“Ugh. I’d rather have a hot dog.”
“Ah, hot dog?” Chuba nodded wisely. “Muscles tell me in America you eat the dogs but like them hot.”
“By the millions, Chuba. Especially at baseball games. But not the kind that bark.”
“Not real dogs?”
“Nope. These are sort of like a sausage—shaped like sausage. You know sausage?”
Chuba nodded his head. “Oh sure, stuffed with rice, shark fins, and sesame seeds, is real tasty.” Biff shrugged. Might as well give up. Chuba would just have to eat a genuine frankfurter some day.
The boys walked on to the edge of the town. Biff stopped before they passed through the gate. “Hold it a minute, Chuba. Something I want to ask you.”
Biff had decided to make the first move toward locating his Uncle Charlie. He considered showing Chuba the green ring. Should he do so now, or hold on to it for an ace in the hole, for a time when the ring might be the means of getting them out of a really tough jam. He’d wait.
“What you want to ask Chuba?”
“I want to know if you ever heard of a big and well-known Chinese family. It was called the House of Kwang.” Biff studied the native boy’s face.
“Sure. Chuba hear about them. Once they rich. Big rich. Own many, many acres for wheat fields. Many many acres for rice. They own big grain sheds where other people bring wheat and rice to sell them for to store it. But now no more rice. Not rich and powerful any more. Revolution and new government get rid of all big landowners.”
“Did the House of Kwang have any property, any acres around here?”
“No own acres here. But once they own big warehouse, like I say, for to buy and sell wheat and rice and all kinds clothes and things.”
“Here in this town?”
Chuba nodded his head.
“Well, look, Chuba. I think maybe my Uncle Charlie came into this part of China because of something he had to do with the House of Kwang. I don’t know exactly what. Do you think any members of that family would be around here?”
Chuba thought about Biff’s question. “I don’t know, Biff. But can find out. Although family no longer strong and rich, Chuba has heard they still stick close together. Help each other out. If one member of family get in bad with government bosses, others get him out if he put in prison.”
“Okay. That’s what I wanted to know from you. When we get to the market, think you could ask some questions without giving us away? I mean without letting the people you ask know that we’re in here looking for Uncle Charlie?”
“Think so, Biff. I ask if anyone hear about big bird—American bird with much roaring noise. Lots people in this part of China still call airplane big bird.”
“If you find anyone who seems to have the kind of information we’re looking for, see if there’s any talk about a plane cracking up around here. I feel sure Uncle Charlie would have come back long ago if there weren’t something wrong with his plane.”
“You trust Chuba, Biff. He find out everythings.”
The boys passed the gate of the walled town. This town was the largest one they had yet gone through. The dirty streets again were filled with people milling back and forth. Children stared at them wide-eyed and curious. Dogs darted in and out, looking for scraps of food. Pigs roamed the streets, paying no more attention to the people than the people did to them.
Biff could tell they were nearing the market place. His nose knew. Inside the market, an open-air market filling one long block, the boys passed booths selling everything from hot soups to shiny silks. Strings of garlic hung on racks in all the food booths. The Chinese chew garlic the way Americans chew gum. Small cakes made of chopped vegetables and fruits were piled high on trays. There were fried peanuts and sugar-covered orange peels. Strings of dried fish swung in the air. Smoked ducks were suspended by their necks from long, slender bamboo rods.
Chuba made several purchases. Biff, having to remain silent, was unable to protest against some of the foods Chuba added to his cloth sack. But he knew he’d have to be mighty hungry to eat them.
At one booth, where Chuba made several purchases, the native boy had a long talk with the owner. During the conversation, Chuba once extended his arms straight from his sides, and gave out with a sound like an airplane engine, an engine that sputtered.
The Chinese only shook his head.
The boys walked along. “I think he know something, but no tell me,” Chuba said quietly. “When first I ask about big bird, a look on his face tell me he has heard of something. But when I ask more, and become airplane myself, he say no, he hear of nothing. I ask more people.”
Biff tagged along, silent, watchful, amazed at many of the strange things sold in the market. He saw a goose egg and watched a shopper haggle with the owner over its price. Later, Chuba told him the egg was four years old and uncooked.
“Most delicious,” Chuba said.
Biff shuddered.
Every store sold dried watermelon seeds. Chuba bought some, gave a handful to Biff. Biff chewed on them, but found little taste to the small morsel inside the shell.
It had become dark. Flares lighted the market place. Chuba turned to Biff, a discouraged look on his face. “Buying things fine. Finding out about Sahib Charlie not fine. Chuba learn nothing.”
The boys retraced their steps back to the city gates. Again they were going to sleep in the open. Biff much preferred this to sleeping on the floor of an airless room.
Just as they passed through the gate, a figure came out of the shadows. He touched Chuba on the arm and in a hissing whisper, spoke into the boy’s ear.
“Man say for me to come back with him. Maybe can help me. Say I must come alone. You stay right here, Biff. Chuba be all right. Be back quick.” Chuba and the stranger headed back toward the market.
But Chuba didn’t come back quickly. The minutes seemed to drag along. Biff was becoming worried. He had just about made up his mind to seek Chuba out when he saw his friend running toward him.
Chuba was breathless, more from excitement than from his short run.
“Chuba has news. Big news. Man takes me back to another fellow. This other fellow much wise. Say he hear big American plane make force landing. Near mountains. Maybe fifty miles from here.”
“Did he tell you how long ago, Chuba?”
Chuba nodded his head up and down rapidly. “He say maybe three, maybe four weeks ago.”
“Hey. Thatisgood news. That could be Uncle Charlie. Did he know what happened to the pilot? Was he hurt?”
“I ask that. But fellow say he don’t know.”
Biff was thoughtful for a few moments. “It’s a good lead, Chuba. You know which way to go?”
“Sure. Fellow tell Chuba.”
“Seems to me this fellow told you a lot. I wonder why. Particularly since no one else seemed to know what you were talking about.”
“I don’t know, Biff. Fellow very nice. But funny-looking fellow.”
“What do you mean, funny looking?”
“One eye closed like door. No see out of it. Fellow have only one good eye.”
Biff’s thoughts raced back to the Chinese passenger on the plane from Indianapolis to Chicago—a Chinese with a drooping eyelid.
The next day, in a small village of only a few mud and thatched houses, Chuba continued his inquiries. This time, the second man he asked told of having heard of a big bird “roar like the thunders of heaven.” It had been seen coming down in the mountains.
In mid-afternoon of the second day after leaving the market town, Chuba came up with more definite information. He was told that a flying man had come down in the foothills near a police outpost called Jaraminka.
Chuba was elated by the news that now seemed to be coming to them so easily.
“Too easily,” Biff said.
“How you mean, Biff?”
“I’m not sure, Chuba. But it seems strange to me that everyone seems to be helping us along. It’s as if we’re being guided to this certain place.”
“That is not good?”
Biff shook his head. “It’s too good. It could be a trap. I’m pretty sure now that someone has spotted me, or at least, knows I’m in this part of China.”
“How could they know that? You look like Chinese boy, not like American Biff Brewster.”
Biff didn’t reply at once. He was thinking. He was thinking that by asking questions about the House of Kwang, about a downed flyer, someone’s curiosity had been aroused. Someone was very interested in his search for Charles Keene. Otherwise, how had it been so easy to get the information Chuba had been given?
Biff also felt sure that the person, or persons, responsible for feeding Chuba directional information must know that it was he, Biff Brewster, who was in China. He couldn’t drive from his mind the picture of the Chinese with the drooping eyelid. Chuba’s description of the man with one eye fitted too closely.
“Chuba, I think we’re definitely being led into a trap. Someone is leading us to the place where my uncle is. It may be friends. It may be members of the House of Kwang. But, it also may be enemies of my uncle. They may be holding my uncle prisoner, and want to capture me, too. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know all the answers. But I’ve got a hunch.”
“If we being led into trap like poor little goat into dragon’s mouth, maybe we better stop. Maybe go different way. Maybe better give Jaraminka the by-go,” Chuba suggested.
Biff smiled. “No, we won’t give Jaraminka the ‘go-by.’ We’ll let ourselves be led into—or up to the trap. It’s our only chance of finding my uncle. We don’t have any other leads. But maybe we can get right up to the trap and avoid having it sprung on us.”
The boys climbed a narrowing mountain trail higher into the foothills. Nightfall found them in a wild, desolate spot. No lights could be seen in any direction they looked. At the altitude they had reached, a chill came with the night air.
Chuba hurried about searching for dried, dead wood. He heaped up a large pile.
“Think it’s safe to build a fire?” Biff asked.
“Sure. Much safe. Better to have fire and be warm. Better also to have fire to keep mountain bears and wild pigs away. Anyway, who want to catch two boys?”
“I don’t know, Chuba. I don’t know,” Biff replied.
The fire was soon blazing, sending out its friendly warmth and brightening the wild spot where the boys had decided to pitch their camp. Chuba had water boiling in a small can, ready for the rice which had become their nightly meal—rice, with some of the strange foods Chuba had purchased stirred in it.
“Chow, Biff. We eat. I way out hungry, man.”
Chuba started ladling out the steaming dish.
“Hold it a minute, Chuba. Hear anything?”
Chuba raised his head. Both boys tensed. From far away, to the south, there came a low hum, not much louder than the buzz of a bee. As the boys listened, the hum grew louder and more distinct. A minute passed. There was no mistaking the sound now.
“It’s a plane, Chuba! A plane!”
“Maybe Sahib Charlie,” Chuba shouted.
“Look! Look!” Biff was on his feet, pointing. Now the plane was in sight against the darkening sky. It was coming low. Its green starboard wing light and red port wing light were flashing alternately on and off, on and off.
The plane seemed to be coming directly at them, as if attracted moth-like to their bright fire. It swooped over the boys, so low they both involuntarily ducked. Then the plane circled, roared back over them, and then disappeared over a low ridge to the west. The sound of its twin engines died away.
“I’d bet you anything that was a Cessna. Like the job that brought me to Unhao from Rangoon,” Biff said, his voice filled with excitement.
“You mean like plane that Muscles fix for sahibs back at camp?”
“That’s right, Chuba. Can’t be sure, though.”
“Maybe was scouting plane of army. Maybe was spying on us,” Chuba said.
Biff’s spirits sank. Chuba could be right.
“Think we better get out of here then? Find another place and hide?”
“Might be good idea, Biff. Hate to leave nice warm fire, though.”
“And I’d hate to leave just in case that was a plane from Unhao, looking for us. Or, as you said, it just could be Uncle Charlie.”
The boys sat down by the fire. Biff ate his food slowly. The minutes became an hour. Another hour passed. Chuba had curled up in his long cloak, and was sound asleep. Biff looked at the sleeping boy, and felt a yawn stretching over his face.
He stirred the fire, pulled his long cloak firmly about him, and curled up too. He didn’t think he could sleep—his mind was too filled with thoughts about the plane. But Biff’s resistance to sleep was mostly in his mind, not in his body. Tired—he always seemed tired these days—he dropped off to sleep in seconds.
How long he slept, Biff didn’t know. But he did know that something had awakened him. He opened his eyes. He listened. He thought he heard a sound just behind a nearby stunted tree.
“Chuba.” He poked his companion. “Chuba, wake up.”
Chuba stirred, rolled over, and opened his eyes to look into Biff’s face. “What is it, Biff?”
“I think somebody’s watching us. From just outside the ring of the fire’s light.”
Both boys remained silent. Nothing happened. Then the sound came again. Someone, or something, was certainly watching them. Biff could hear his own heart beat. He looked in the direction of the sound. A huge figure stepped from behind the tree. As it walked toward the fire, its dancing shadow became that of a giant.
“Well, fancy meeting you here!” the giant said.
“Muscles!”
The boys jumped to their feet. The giant mechanic, a big grin splitting his face, strode up to the fire. Biff and Chuba leaped on him, pounding him on the back.
“Easy boys. Easy. I’m footsore and bone-tired from walking over these here mountains. Never had anything like them back in good old Kentucky.”
“How’d you get here? Was that your plane? Who was flying it? Where’d you land? Is my uncle safe?” Biff’s questions shot out in a rapid-fire burst.
“Easy, Biff. Easy. One at a time. Now I’ll try to answer your quiz program. No word from your uncle. Yep, that was me in that plane that flew over here a coupla hours ago. Jack Hudson was flying her. We touched down just long enough for me to hop out. Jack’s almost back to Unhao by now. Now how ’bout a spot of China tea? I’m tired and hungry.”
“Me fix, Muscles. Right away. Chop. Chop.” Chuba got busy. More wood went on the fire. Out came the all-purpose can, this time to boil water for Muscles’ tea.
“Now what about you two? Give me a fill-in.”
Biff quickly sketched the happenings since he and Chuba had slipped out of the camp at Unhao.
“So you think someone’s spotted you?” Muscles asked.
“I’m sure of it. Someone sure knows Uncle Charlie’s being looked for. We’ve been getting more information than they hand out at Grand Central Station in New York.”
“And you’ve been told that a plane came down near a place called Jaraminka.”
Biff nodded his head.
“How far is that place from here?”
“Not far,” Chuba replied. “Maybe a day’s walk. If we start early in morning.... Here’s your tea.”
Muscles took the hot liquid. “Well then, Jaraminka, here we come.”
As Muscles sipped his tea, he told the boys about landing on a cleared, level plateau over a ridge of the Thanglung foothills to the west.
“Not too far from here,” Muscles looked at his watch. “Took me about two hours to walk back to this fire we spotted from the air. We couldn’t be sure, of course, but we hoped it would be you boys. I guess I must have walked almost straight up and down farther than I walked straight ahead to get here.”
“And Jack went back?” Biff asked.
“Yep. But we’ve got it all fixed. When we find Charlie, we’re to make our way back to that plateau. I’ve got a portable transmitter with me. When we get there, I make a signal. Jack flies in, and it’s back to Unhao we go.”
Muscles made it sound so simple. Biff felt good as he listened to the big man talk so confidently. But there were lots of “ifs”—if they found Charles Keene, if they got back to the plateau, if the signal was heard on time, if Jack could come back in. Biff shook his head. It was good to have big Muscles with them, though. In any trouble, Muscles had a lot of weight to throw around.
“Now suppose we catch some more of that stuff called shut-eye—sleep to you, Chuba, and be up and at ’em early in the ayem.”
“Chuba catch plenty eye-shut, Sahib Muscles. Tomorrow going to be big days.”
Eye-shut! The two words reminded Biff of the Chinese with the drooping eyelid.
The two boys and the man stretched out by the fire and slept. At daybreak, Muscles stirred. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Looks like we’ve got visitors.”
Biff and Chuba sat up quickly. Standing silently, forming a ring surrounding the three and the dying embers of the fire, were eight of the fiercest looking men Biff had ever seen.
Biff shot a quick look at Chuba. He wanted to see his friend’s reaction to the startling appearance of these men who looked as if they had sprung from the age of primitive man. Good? Bad? Chuba would know.
Chuba’s eyes roved over the group. He turned his head quickly from man to man, turning around to complete the circle. A frown on the native boy’s face gave Biff his answer. Chuba was worried.
“Man, oh, man! Did you ever see anything like that bunch?” Muscles asked. “They’re from way out of nowhere.”
There was every reason for Muscles to be amazed. The men were small but squat and powerfully built. Their eyes were slanted in broad, dirty faces, the color of stained copper. Wide, cruel mouths turned down on either side. Scraggly strands of wiry hair sprouted from ragged caps made of mangy fur.
Their legs were wrapped in rags. Coats, if they could be called coats, were made of skins of wild animals, mountain goats, deer. One of the men wore the skin of the Himalayan black bear.
They stood in silence, their small, beady eyes watching for any move on the part of Muscles and the boys. Two of the men held short, thick clubs in their hands. Another held a long stick. Biff noticed that on the end a wicked knife had been attached by thongs. Others held long, gleaming curved knives in their hands. Only one man carried a gun, a short, two barreled shotgun. It was an old gun. Someone had sawed off the barrel. It could deal out body-ripping shots at short range.
“Who are they, Chuba?” Biff asked.
“You meanwhatare they?” Muscles cut in.
“Bandits. Chinese bandits,” Chuba replied. “They bad. Very bad.”
“They’re not soldiers, then. Not members of any patrol?”
Chuba shook his head. “No. Much worse. These people roam the hills and mountains. They steal, kill. They like wild men. Sometimes come into town, but most times, live like tribe, sleep in caves, eat anything they can kill.”
“What do they want with us?” Biff asked.
“Rob us. Maybe kill us if we try to fight.”
“Huh. Some chance,” Muscles cut in again. “Why, I can take on that whole gang single-handed.” Muscles towered over the bandits. He was bigger, and weighed more than any two of the bandits together.
“Not so sure, Muscles,” Chuba said quietly. “These men fight and kill bears, tigers. Only use their knives.”
“Only guy that worries me is that one with the sawed-off shotgun,” Muscles decided.
“Why don’t they say something, Chuba? What are they waiting for?” Biff asked.
Chuba shrugged his shoulders.
“Can’t they talk? Can you understand their language?”
“They talk, sure. But be hard for Chuba to understand them. They speak what you call tribe dialect. Some Chinese words. Some words only they know.”
“Can they understand you?”
“Sure. They understand most Chinese talk. Not all words. But enough.”
“Ask them what they want.”
Chuba swallowed. He directed a rapid string of Chinese words at the man carrying the gun.
The gun carrier grunted and spoke in a deep, guttural voice to the man beside him.
“Did you get that, Chuba?”
Chuba shook his head.
The gun carrier took one step forward. He looked Muscles carefully up and down. Next his eyes swept over Biff. Then he spoke, turning his eyes on Chuba. He spoke slowly. Sometimes moments of silence would appear between his spaced words.
“He says they want all things we have. Gun man speaker says he wants clothes of the giant man.”
“My clothes! Fat chance,” Muscles snarled.
The bandit spoke again.
“He says open up bundles. He wants to see what we have.”
Biff knelt down. His and Chuba’s bulky bundles were together. Biff started untying the nearest one, which happened to be Chuba’s.
“If we give them our things, will they let us alone?” Biff asked.
“Chuba can’t say. Maybe so so. Maybe no. Maybe they give us this.” Chuba brought his hand swiftly across his throat. Biff felt a sickening sensation in his stomach.
Feeling around in Chuba’s bundle, Biff’s hand struck an oblong object. It felt like a box. Biff carefully lifted the cloth from which the bundle was made. He raised it so that the bandits would be unable to see what the box was. If the situation hadn’t been such a dangerous one, Biff would have laughed. Chuba had brought with him his Evil Spirit Box—the one Muscles had frightened Chuba with the first morning Biff was in camp.
Touching the box, an idea came into Biff’s head.
“Chuba, quick! Tell me more about these bandits. Are they superstitious? I mean, frightened by strange things, things they’ve never seen before?”
“Much afraid. Big fear of spirits.”
Biff nodded his head. “I’ve got an idea. Think we could scare them with your Evil Spirit Box?”
Excitement danced in Chuba’s eyes. “They be scared like crazy. More scared than Chuba was.”
“Okay. We’ll try it. Now you tell them something like this. Tell them we are protected by magic of the gods. The evil spirit will put its hand on them unless they let us go. They are not to bother us. Make it good. Bow down and stuff like that. Look to the sky and make like you’re calling the spirit.”
“Chuba catch wise. Make big show.”
“Okay. Now, at some point when you’re putting on your act, when the bandits are all looking at you, I’ll yell ‘Fly!’ When I do, I’ll toss your spirit box into the air. You swing around and catch it. I’ll have it started. You hold it up high when the siren’s going. Then place it on the ground and jump back when the hand comes out. Tell them that’s the hand of the evil spirit, reaching out to touch them.”
Chuba was grinning now. Muscles stood there, hands on hips, shaking his head. Chuba turned back to the bandit leader. He hunched up his shoulders. He twisted his face into an ugly leer. Then he began speaking. He spoke at first in a sing-song voice. He spoke faster and faster, raising his voice higher. He dropped down and touched the ground three times with his head. Up he leaped, extending his arms skyward.
Chuba was putting on a good show. Biff watched the faces of the bandits closely. There was no expression, yet their eyes followed every movement Chuba made.
Biff took the spirit box out. No one saw him. Even Muscles was fascinated by Chuba’s writhing, his sing-song chanting. Biff touched the button activating the box.
“Fly!” he called out. He tossed the box in the air, high enough so that as it came down over Chuba’s head, it almost appeared to be falling from the sky.
Chuba caught the box deftly. Again he spoke to the bandits. He raised the box high over his head, just as the first faint whine of the siren began. The siren’s scream rose higher and higher. Quickly Chuba placed the box on the ground and stepped back. The lid of the box slowly opened.
Biff looked again at the bandits. The faces without expression now looked curious, then terrified.
The lid of the box raised. The plastic hand snaked out.
Stark terror now seized the bandits. They cringed back. One of them, unable to stand it any longer, turned, broke, and ran. He was followed by another and another. Only the leader remained, staring at the spirit box as if spellbound.
Muscles went into action. He dived for the box. He snatched it from the ground, turned, and with the box extended in his outstretched hands, he moved toward the bandit chief. This was too much. With a horrified shriek, the bandit chief turned and raced down the slope after his companions. All were running as if they were really pursued by demons.
Muscles quickly reset the box, so that the scream of the siren, rising to its highest pitch, seemed to be following close to the bandits’ ears.
Muscles put the box back on the ground. He slapped his huge thighs, threw back his head, and roared with laughter. Biff and Chuba joined him. All three laughed until they sank to the ground, their voices shaking as they tried to talk.
Finally, Muscles heaved his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Ever see anything like that? Those guys were really scared. Took off like jet fighters. When I think that I sent to the States for that fool toy to scare Chuba, well....”
“Never knew it was going to save your life, did you? Still think twenty dollars was too much for it?” Biff said, trying to control his laughter.
“I level with you now, Muscles. I real scared first time I see spirit box,” Chuba confessed.
“But those guys! They really did think the Evil Spirit was going to put the hand on them,” Muscles said.
“Here’s one time I’m glad you can’t tell good from evil,” Biff said.
“Think they’ll come back, Chuba?” Muscles asked.
“Never. They really gone. Give us the big go-round now. Not ever want to see us and box again.”