The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jack Haydon's Quest, by John Finnemore

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Title: Jack Haydon's Quest

Author: John Finnemore

Illustrator: J. Jellicoe

Release Date: November 20, 2006 [EBook #19877]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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                     [Illustration: IN RANGOON.]


                            JACK HAYDON'S
                                QUEST


                                  BY

                            JOHN FINNEMORE


              _CONTAINING EIGHT FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS_
               _IN COLOUR FROM DRAWINGS BY J. JELLICOE_



                             PHILADELPHIA

                       J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

                    LONDON: ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK

                                 1907

       *       *       *       *       *




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

I.        THE ATTACK ON THE HEATH,

II.       A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE,

III.      THE BIG RUBY,

IV.       BUCK SEES LIGHT,

V.        THE SPY,

VI.       IN RANGOON,

VII.      UP THE RIVER,

VIII.     THE ATTACK ON THE SAMPAN,

IX.       A CLOSE CALL,

X.        THE DACOITS,

XI.       BELEAGUERED,

XII.      A FIGHT FOR LIFE,

XIII.     A CUNNING TRICK,

XIV.      JACK'S PLAN,

XV.       IN THE JUNGLE,

XVI.      THE BRIDGE AND THE FORD,

XVII.     A FRIGHTFUL PERIL,

XVIII.    THE COMBAT IN THE RIVER,

XIX.      THE VILLAGE FESTIVAL,

XX.       THE DANCING GIRL,

XXI.      JACK FINDS HIMSELF IN BAD HANDS,

XXII.     THE TWO ELEPHANTS,

XXIII.    THE PANTHAY WOOD-CUTTERS,

XXIV.     AN UNWELCOME MEETING,

XXV.      THE CAVE IN THE RAVINE,

XXVI.     THE RESOLVE OF BUCK AND JIM,

XXVII.    THE FIGHT IN THE TUNNEL,

XXVIII.   THE RUSE OF SAYA CHONE,

XXIX.     THE TORTURE BY FIRE,

XXX.      THE STRONGHOLD OF THE RUBY KING,

XXXI.     FATHER AND SON,

XXXII.    THE HORROR IN THE SWAMP,

XXXIII.   THE POTHOODAW,

XXXIV.    THE HIDING-PLACE AND THE THIEF,

XXXV.     THE FLIGHT FROM THE VALLEY,

XXXVI.    PENNED IN THE PASS,

XXXVII.   HOW THEY MADE A ROPE,

XXXVIII.  IN THE DESERTED CITY,

XXXIX.    THE SECRET CHAMBER,

XL.       THE BATTLE ON THE STAIRS,

XLI.      THE SECRET PASSAGE,

XLII.     IN THE COURTYARD,

XLIII.    THE FACE AT THE DOORWAY,

XLIV.     HOW THINGS ENDED,

       *       *       *       *       *




ILLUSTRATIONS.


IN RANGOON,  _Frontispiece_

THE ATTACK ON THE MONASTERY,

THE DANGER AT THE FORD,

THE DANCING GIRL,

A SUDDEN ALARM,

THE RESCUE OF THE NATIVE CHILD,

THE MIDNIGHT THIEF,

THE INTERCEPTED FLIGHT,

       *       *       *       *       *




JACK HAYDON'S QUEST.

CHAPTER I.

THE ATTACK ON THE HEATH.


Jack Haydon, prefect of Rushmere School and captain of the first
fifteen, walked swiftly out of the school gates and turned along the
high road. He had leave to go to the little town of Longhampton, three
miles away, to visit a day-scholar, a great friend of his, now on the
sick list.

He was alone, and he swung along at a cracking pace, for he could walk
as well as he could run, and a finer three-quarter had never been
known at Rushmere. He was a tall, powerful lad, nearly nineteen years
of age, five foot ten and a half inches in his stockings, and turning
the scale at twelve stone five. At the present moment he carried not
an ounce of spare flesh, for he was in training for the great match,
Rushmere _v._ Repton, and his weight was compact of solid bone,
muscle, and sinew. As he stepped along the highway, moving with the
easy grace of a well-built athlete, he looked the very picture of a
handsome English lad, at one of the finest moments of his life, the
point where youth and manhood meet.

The road he followed was called a high road, but the name clung to it
from old use rather than because of present service. Eighty years
before it had been a famous coaching road, along which the galloping
teams had whirled the mails, but now it had fallen into decay, and was
little used except by people passing from Rushmere to Longhampton. A
mile from the school it ran across a lonely, unenclosed piece of
heath, the side of the way being bordered by clumps of holly, thorn,
and furze.

Halfway across this desolate stretch of country, Jack was surprised by
seeing a man step from behind a thick holly bush and place himself
directly in the lad's way. As Jack approached, the man held up his
hand.

"Stop," he said, "I want to speak to you."

Jack stopped in sheer surprise, and looked at the speaker in wonder.
What could the man want with him? At a glance he saw the man was not
English, though upon closer examination he could not place the type.
The stranger's skin was darker than an Englishman's, but not darker
than many a Spaniard's. His eyes were large and black and liquid;
their look was now crafty and a trifle menacing; his hair was lank and
intensely black. In build he was very slight, with thin arms and legs.
Jack's idea was that if he had been a little darker he might very well
have been a Hindoo.

"And what, my friend, may you want with me?" said Jack genially.

"This morning you received a letter from your father," said the dusky
stranger.

"How under the sun do you know that?" asked Jack; "and what if I did?
I don't see where your interest comes in."

"I wish to see that letter. You had better hand it over at once."

"Don't you ever apply for a further stock of cheek, my little man,"
said Jack, "for you've got all you need, and a little bit over."

"The letter is almost certainly in your pocket," said the stranger in
perfect English, yet pronounced with a curiously odd lisp and click,
"and I must see it."

"It's in my pocket all right, confound your cheek," replied Jack, "and
there it will stay. Come, get a move on you, and clear out of my way."

"I shall not get out of your way," said the other. "I shall stop you
until I have read the letter."

"I don't know what lunatic asylum is short of your cheerful presence
to-day," remarked Jack, "and if you don't clear out quick I shall
certainly rush you. In which case, I beg you to observe that I am,
even if I say it myself, a pretty stiff tackler, and about three stone
heavier than you."

The man laughed mockingly and waved his hand, as if making very light
of Jack's purpose.

"I assure you," he said in a soft voice, and giving once more his
laugh of light mockery, "that it would be much better for you to hand
over the letter at once. I do not wish to hurt you, but I have not the
least objection to do so if it becomes necessary."

Jack's warm blood was fired at once, and he pulled himself together
for a swift charge which would fill this stranger with surprised
regret for what he had brought upon himself. But, for a second,
something checked him; a strange, mysterious feeling came over him as
he wondered what lay behind all this. He stood, though he knew it not,
at a great parting of the ways. Behind him lay his happy days of
triumph on the football meadow and the cricket field. How was he to
know that this dark, slight figure before him meant that a strange,
new life was opening out to him, a life of wild adventures in far-off
lands, in lands where the memory of English meadows would seem like
thoughts and dreams of another life. Jack Haydon knew nothing of this;
yet he paused for a moment as some strange prevision seized upon him
and held him in its grip. Then he brushed away this odd influence, and
was back at once in the present.

"For the last time, clear out," said Jack. The man laughed, and Jack
made a swift leap at him. They were not three yards apart, but Jack
never reached his man. Without a sign, without a sound, someone sprang
upon him from behind, flung a cord over his head, and seized him in a
strangling grip. Jack was as strong as a young bull, but in this
awful, noiseless clutch he was helpless. He fought madly to throw off
his unseen assailant, but he fought in vain. He felt a noose close
upon his throat, and his eyeballs began to start out and his head to
swim. In front of him stood the mysterious stranger, who had moved
neither hand nor foot, and Jack's last conscious recollection was of
the quiet, smiling face, and the mocking laugh once more rang in his
ears. Suddenly the frightful, strangling clutch seemed to tighten, the
blood drummed madly in his ears as if every vein was bursting; then he
knew no more.

When Jack Haydon came to himself, he found that he was in the same
spot, and that someone was chafing his hands and pouring water on his
face. He gave a deep sigh, and a well-known voice said: "Thank God,
Haydon's coming round. Whatever could have been the matter with the
poor lad? What does this mark round his throat mean?"

Jack opened his eyes and saw Dr. Lawrence, the headmaster of Rushmere
School, bending over him. Near at hand stood Colonel Keppel, a
gentleman residing in the neighbourhood. The Colonel had been driving
Dr. Lawrence back from Longhampton, and his trap stood close by. At
the present moment the Colonel held a hat from which water was
dripping. He had fetched it from a pool near at hand.

Jack gulped once or twice, then began to speak. The two gentlemen
heard his story with the utmost surprise.

"Garrotters!" cried Dr. Lawrence, "I never heard of such an outrage in
this neighbourhood before. What a frightful thing! Yes, yes, that
explains the mark on your throat. Their object must have been robbery.
What have they stolen from you, Haydon?" But the mystery now deepened.
Jack's watch and chain, his purse, everything he had worth stealing,
were perfectly safe and untouched. Suddenly Jack started up and thrust
his hand into his pocket. "The letter! the letter!" he cried. He drew
out several letters and looked over them. "My father's letter has
gone!" he said.

"What's that?" said Colonel Keppel, pointing to a sheet of paper
fluttering over the heath about thirty yards away. He ran and fetched
it. "This is the letter," said Jack, "the letter I received from my
father this morning."

"But what an extraordinary thing that you should be attacked in this
manner, Haydon, in order that this man may read a private letter. Is
there anything in it, may I ask, to explain such a strange
proceeding?"

"Nothing, sir, that I know of; nothing in the least. My father says
nothing there but what anyone may see. I beg that you and Colonel
Keppel will glance over it; you will then see how ordinary it is."

The two gentlemen demurred, but Jack insisted, and they ran their eyes
over what Mr. Haydon had written. "Purely and simply an ordinary
letter from a father abroad to his son," said the Doctor; "it seems
madness to go to such lengths to gain a glimpse of such a letter."

"All the same, young Haydon was quite right in not giving up his
father's note to such rogues to read, whatever their purpose may have
been," remarked the Colonel.

"Oh, quite so, quite so," agreed Dr. Lawrence. "They had no right
whatever to see his private correspondence. By the way, Haydon, I see
your father is on his way home. This is posted at Cairo. In what part
of the East has he been staying lately?"

"He has been in Burmah for some time, sir," replied Jack, "but I do
not know exactly what he has been doing. I rather fancy he went out to
survey some ruby-mines for a big London firm."

"Quite so," said the Doctor, "I have seen him referred to many times
as a famous ruby expert."

At this moment Colonel Keppel came towards them with something in his
hand. He had started away after concluding his last speech, and had
gone in the direction where he had seen the letter fluttering. Now he
was returning.

"Here is something they dropped, something which throws a flood of
light on the affair in one way, and makes it much stranger in
another," he remarked in a grave voice, holding up his find. It was a
curiously-plaited thong of raw hide, with faded strips of silk worked
into the plaits.

"The cord with which Haydon was garrotted!" cried Dr. Lawrence. "They
dropped it."

"Yes," said the Colonel slowly, "but this does not mean common
garrotters. The fact that they stole nothing really disposes of that.
This means a much darker and more terrible business."

"And what is that?" cried the headmaster.

"Thuggee," said Colonel Keppel very gravely.

"Thugs, Colonel!" said Dr. Lawrence in a tone of stupefaction. "Are
you serious? Thugs on the heath here, in our quiet, familiar country?"

"This is a Thug noose, at any rate," said Colonel Keppel. "I know it
very well. I served twenty-seven years among the hill-tribes of
northern India in one capacity and another, and once I served in a
Thug country, and I shall never forget it. The way young Haydon was
handled suggests Thuggee. No common garrotter could have overcome such
a fine, powerful young fellow in that fashion. But the skill of these
Thugs is a thing truly diabolical. I remember one instance well. One
night, just upon dusk, two men of my regiment were entering the gate
of the cantonments. The guard saw them pass, and one was relating a
story to the other. The man telling the story expected his comrade to
laugh at the conclusion of the anecdote. Hearing nothing, he turned
and found that he was walking alone and talking to the empty air.
Thinking his comrade had slipped aside and played a trick upon him by
leaving him to himself, he went on to the barrack-room. Later the
second man was missing, and inquiries were made. A search followed,
and the dead body of the unfortunate man was found under the wall of
the cantonments. He had been seized and strangled by Thugs when
actually walking beside a comrade, and the latter had known nothing of
it.

"That shows frightful skill and cunning, Colonel," said Dr. Lawrence.

"It does indeed," said the other, "and I could relate a dozen such
stories. But why Thugs should be here and attack Haydon seems a most
extraordinary mystery. How do you feel now, Haydon?"

"Much better, sir," replied Jack. "My throat's a bit stiff, but for
the rest I am none the worse."

"You've had a wonderful escape, my boy," said Colonel Keppel; "there
are not many who have felt a Thug noose and lived to say what it was
like. But now, Doctor, what are we to do? There must be some inquiry
made into this."

"Of course, of course," agreed Dr. Lawrence. "You are a magistrate,
Colonel; what do you recommend?"

"We must put it into the hands of the police at once," said Colonel
Keppel. "The fellows cannot have got far. We saw no sign of them on
the road, so they must have slipped away over the heath, very probably
as soon as they heard the sound of wheels in the distance. Now,
Haydon, jump up at the back of the trap. The cob will soon run us up
to the constable's cottage in Rushmere."

All three climbed into the Colonel's dog-cart, and away went the brown
cob at a slashing pace for Rushmere. Tom Buck, the Rushmere constable,
was just returning from a round, and he touched his hat respectfully
to the gentlemen. Colonel Keppel told the story, and Buck slapped the
gate-post with his open hand.

"Well, gentlemen," he said in surprise, "then they are the very men
I've just been hearing about."

"What's that?" said Colonel Keppel. "Where have you heard of them?"

"From Parsons, the postman, he drives the mail-cart, you know, sir,
from Longhampton. This morning, just after six, he was coming through
the Chase, the wood beyond the heath, when two men slipped out o' the
trees before him and made a dash at the horse's head. There was hardly
light enough to see 'em, an' they'd ha' stopped him as easy as could
be if he hadn't been drivin' a young, fresh, chestnut mare. She's that
wild he daren't use a whip to her, but seein' these suspicious
characters, he snatches the whip out and gives her a cut as hard as he
could lay it on. Off she went like a shot, took the bit between her
teeth and bolted. As for the men jumpin' at her head, it was all they
could do to save themselves from being run down and trodden underfoot.
Parsons luckily managed to keep her on the road, and after she'd
galloped a couple o' miles or so, he managed to pull her in all of a
lather."

"Then those rascals meant to raid the mail-bags to find your letter,
Haydon," said Colonel Keppel. "They seem to have been thoroughly
posted as to its time of arrival. Missing the postman, they hung
about, and a strange chance delivered you into their hands."

"It's certainly a most mysterious business, sir," replied Jack. "But
why they should want to see so simple and ordinary a letter, who they
are, and what they're after, are altogether beyond me."

"We must try to get hold of them," said Colonel Keppel, "then we shall
perhaps be able to fathom the mystery." He gave orders to Buck, who
went off at once to follow, if possible, the track of the strangers
across the heath, to inquire at cottages, and do his utmost to trace
them.

"For my part," said Colonel Keppel, "I shall drive back at once to
Longhampton, and see the superintendent. The railway must be watched,
and every constable for miles round be warned by telegraph to keep a
look out for the rascals."

"You are very kind to take so much trouble, Colonel," said Dr.
Lawrence.

"I'm working for myself as much as anyone," laughed the other. "My
wife and daughters use that road continually, and very often they are
driving alone in a pony-carriage. It is imperative that the
neighbourhood be cleared of such desperate characters."

He drove away at once, and Dr. Lawrence and Jack walked up the hill to
the school. Jack had given up the idea of his visit to Longhampton.

"If I were you, Haydon," said the Head, "I should go and rest a
little. Sit down quietly in your study for an hour or two; you must
feel badly shaken by your awful experience."

"Thank you, sir," replied Jack, "I will do as you say, though as a
matter of fact I am practically recovered now. Luckily, I'm in
first-rate condition, I'm not bothered with nerves."

"No," smiled Dr. Lawrence, "I suppose not. Still, I should be careful
for a time if I were you."

At the Doctor's gate they parted, and Jack went to his own study and
sat down. He could not keep his mind from his extraordinary adventure.
Why had those fellows seized him, and what did they want? Would they
be caught, and then would their secret be discovered? His mind worked
over these points again and again, like a squirrel working the wheel
in his cage.




CHAPTER II.

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.


Four days later Jack Haydon was in his study, his heels on the
mantelpiece, his eyes fastened on the pages of a novel, when there was
a tap at his door and a telegram was brought in. He broke open the
envelope and read the contents in growing surprise and wonder. Then a
look of uneasiness came into his eyes. It was a cablegram from
Brindisi, and ran, "Come at once. Most urgent," and was signed
"Risley." Jack went across to the Doctor's house, sent up his name,
and was bidden to go up to the study. Here he laid the cablegram
before the Head.

"Who is Risley, Haydon?" asked Dr. Lawrence.

"My father's man, sir," replied Jack. "It seems to me that they must
have got as far as Brindisi on their way home. I feel wretchedly
uneasy. Something tells me that things have gone wrong with my
father."

"Oh, I hope not," said Dr. Lawrence. "There is no word of ill-news
here. The urgency may be quite on another score."

"I should like to start at once, sir," said Jack. "I know my way about
the Continent very well. I have spent two or three vacations in
Italy."

"Quite so, quite so," said Dr. Lawrence. "Have you plenty of money for
the journey, Haydon?"

"I don't need more than sufficient to carry me to London, sir,"
replied Jack. "I shall go there to Mr. Buxton, my father's friend, who
manages all his business affairs, and he will supply me with funds."

Jack was on fire to be off to Brindisi and see what was wrong. He made
short work of his packing, and within an hour he was driving to
Longhampton to catch the London express. He caught it with scarcely
two minutes to spare, and was soon whirling towards the great city. A
short distance from Longhampton, he caught a glimpse of Rushmere
School in the distance on its hill, and the strip of heath country
running up to the foot of the slope. This brought to mind his
adventure, which remained as mysterious an affair as ever. The police
had been most active, stations had been watched, inquiries had been
made in every direction, but all to no result. The Thugs had vanished
and left no trace behind. But the thought of his encounter on the
heath soon faded from Jack's mind. It was crushed out by the pressing
question of the moment. What was the matter at Brindisi? Why had
Risley cabled and not his father? Had something happened to his
father? Jack felt wretchedly uneasy, for he and his father were bound
together by no ordinary ties of affection.

In the first place, he had, as far as he knew, no other living
relation. His mother had been dead for many years, and his father was
the only close friend that Jack knew. Then the elder Haydon had always
been a great hero in his son's eyes. His profession of mining engineer
had carried him into many wild corners of the world, and the store of
marvellous tales which he would pour forth for the boy's delight had
made Jack's holidays a time of intense pleasure. Mr. Haydon had always
made a point, if it was possible, of keeping himself free for such
times, and he and Jack had spent the weeks joyously, until the day for
return to school had become a Black Monday indeed in the boy's eyes.

As Jack mused over memories of other days, his anxiety to know what
was wrong at Brindisi grew moment by moment, and the flying express
seemed to crawl, so great was his impatience to be in London, where he
expected to get further news from Mr. Buxton. But he was destined to
learn something long before he saw Mr. Buxton. The express screamed
into an important junction and pulled up for five minutes. Three
fellow-passengers got out, and left Jack to himself. A boy came along
the platform shouting, "London Pay-pers," and Jack bought a _Daily
Telegraph_.

He turned to the football news, and was reading it, when the train
pulled out and shot forward once more towards London. But the accounts
of his beloved sport failed to interest him, and he turned the paper
over listlessly, idly scanning one big sheet after another. Suddenly
the word imprinted on his brain caught his eye. "Brindisi"--here was
some scrap of news from Brindisi.

What was it? Jack folded the paper, and then a second name seemed to
leap at him from the sheet. His own name! Haydon, Brindisi. What now?
His eyes darted over the paragraph, and he drew a long, gasping
breath. This, then, was the explanation of the cablegram. Over and
over again Jack read the paragraph, striving to grasp what it all
meant, striving to seize the inner meaning. The paragraph was short
and to the point. It ran:--

     "STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.

     "FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.

     "BRINDISI, _Tuesday_.

    "There is much stir here over the mysterious disappearance of
    Mr. Thomas Haydon, the famous mining expert and engineer. He
    arrived here on Sunday, and it was believed that he intended
    to travel to England by the mail-train. He went for a walk on
    Sunday evening, but did not return to his hotel, where his
    man and his baggage were awaiting him. Since he left his
    hotel there has been no sign of him, and the authorities are
    making a diligent search."

His father had disappeared? How? Why? Jack could make nothing of it,
and he stared at the paper with pale face and perplexed eyes. It was
so contrary to his every idea of his father, this extraordinary
disappearance. Thomas Haydon was the last man in the world to set
tongues wagging and to give anxiety to friends by such a trick. There
was something very strange at the back of this, and Jack struck the
paper with his open hand. "Foul Play!" he murmured to himself, and
then, for he was alone in the carriage, he said it aloud, "Foul Play!"

Jack glanced at his watch. The train was due at St. Pancras in an
hour. How slowly that hour dragged! Now that he knew this momentous
piece of news, Jack burned more fiercely than ever to be in the midst
of affairs and doing something to clear up this strange mystery which
had gathered about his father's name. At last, with a thrill of joy,
he heard the engine give its warning shriek as it ran into the big
station. He had brought nothing but a Gladstone bag with him, and he
had it in his hand, and the door of the carriage open, before the
train drew up. He made a leap at the first hansom, and shouted,
"Lincoln's Inn. Drive fast," and away he rattled into London streets.

There was a good cob in the shafts, and little time was lost on the
way. Jack paid the man double fare for the excellent speed he had
made, then bounded upstairs to the landing upon which Mr. Buxton's
chambers opened. In answer to his knock, a tall, thin man with a long
beard came to the door, and Jack gave a cry of joy. "You are at home,
then, Mr. Buxton. How glad I am! It has been my one terror that you
might be away in the country."

"No, Jack, I'm here," said Mr. Buxton, shaking hands. "I've been
expecting you every knock I've heard. I suppose you've seen the
papers."

"Yes," cried Jack, "I saw the _Daily Telegraph._ Are there any further
particulars in the others?"

"No," replied Mr. Buxton, leading the way into his sitting-room. "The
_Telegraph_ has as much as anyone."

"Have you heard anything? Do you know anything?" cried Jack eagerly.

"Nothing but what I've seen in the papers," replied the other. "I'm
altogether at sea. I can't fathom in the least what it all means. What
have you had?"

"Nothing but this cablegram," said the lad, and handed it over. Mr.
Buxton read it aloud slowly, and nodded. "From Risley," he said. "Of
course he wants to get you on the spot at once."

"I shall start without any delay," said Jack. "Isn't there a
boat-train to-night?"

"Yes," said Mr. Buxton, glancing at a clock on the mantelpiece, "but
there's plenty of time for that. Sit down and talk it over, and
besides, you must have something to eat."

He rang the bell and ordered the servant who answered it to set out a
meal in the adjoining apartment: he gave Jack a chair beside the fire,
and took one opposite to him and began to fill a pipe.

"Mr. Buxton," said Jack earnestly, "there's something out of the
common in this. My father has met with foul play. Before I know
anything else I feel sure of that."

Mr. Buxton struck a match and puffed out several clouds of smoke. Then
he tossed the match into the fire, and nodded through the tobacco
clouds. "I agree with you, Jack," he said. "This is the queerest thing
I ever came across in my life. I've known Tom Haydon, boy and man,
this forty-five years, and he's as straight as a gun-barrel. If they
expected him back at that hotel, if Risley expected him back, then he
meant to come back. And if he didn't get back, it was because he was
interfered with. I'd stake a hand on that."

Jack nodded with glistening eyes. "And I'm going to see why he didn't
come back," said the lad.

"I'd come with you if I could," said Mr. Buxton, "but at present I can
no more leave London than the Monument can. I'm as fast by the leg,
held by press of work, as a bear tethered to a stump. How do you
stand for funds?"

"I've only got a sovereign or two in my pocket," said Jack. "I was
depending on you."

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Buxton, "of course you were. I made time an hour
or so ago to run over your father's accounts. There's plenty to draw
on." He went over to his desk and ran his fingers through a bundle of
papers. "Here it is," he remarked. "At the present moment your father
is worth the respectable sum of forty-seven thousand two hundred and
nineteen pounds eighteen shillings and fourpence; so he certainly
hasn't run away from his creditors."

Jack nodded. "I'll start straight for Brindisi to-night, Mr. Buxton. I
can't lose a minute till I get on to the spot and talk with Buck
Risley."

Mr. Buxton nodded. "I quite understand your feelings, Jack," he
replied. "I've wondered whether the matter might not have a very
simple explanation after all. One thing struck me. Has your father
ever said anything about his health to you? You know he's been a great
deal in India and Burmah. It's a very easy thing to get a touch of the
sun, and that will often cause a man to lose the sense of his identity
and get lost for a time."

Jack shook his head. "I've never heard him mention such a thing," he
said. "He's always been perfectly fit whenever I've seen him."

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Buxton, "and whenever I've seen him, too. He has
a wonderful constitution. But, you know, the possibility crossed my
mind, and I mentioned it."

At this moment the servant announced that the meal was ready, and
Jack did his best to eat something. It was a very poor best, however,
for he was too anxious to be on his way to be able to eat, and he was
relieved when Mr. Buxton said it was time to start and sent the
servant for a cab.

On their way to Charing Cross they did not talk much: conjecture was a
pretty useless thing, and, in their present state of utter lack of
information, conjecture was the only thing possible.

The bustle of getting a ticket and finding a seat occupied most of the
ten minutes they had to spare before the train started, and, as the
swift express glided out, Mr. Buxton waved his hat to Jack leaning
through the window, and cried, "Good luck!"

Of Jack's swift scurry across the Channel and over the Continent it is
not necessary to enter into details. He made the journey with the
utmost speed, and chafed at every delay. At last the train ran into
the station of Brindisi, and Jack hung half out of the window, his
eyes searching the crowd for Risley, to whom he had telegraphed his
time of arrival.

"Hullo, Buck," sang out Jack, as a middle-sized, stiff-built man of
five and thirty ran up to his carriage door.

"Glad to see you, Jack," said Buck Risley, as they shook hands. "Very
glad to see you."

"Any news?" snapped Jack.

"Not a word," replied Buck gravely, "not a word. Is this your bag?"

"Yes," said Jack sombrely, for he was very disappointed. He had been
hoping to hear that something had been found out, or that his father
had returned.

Buck took Jack's gladstone, called a carriage, and gave the name of
the hotel. He did not speak till they were rattling along the streets
of Brindisi.

"Say, Jack, this beats the band," he said. "I can't make a guess
what's happened to the Professor."

Mr. Haydon and Buck Risley had first met in a "wild-cat" mining camp
in Dakota. _The Lone Wolf Clarion_ had introduced the English engineer
to the local community as Professor Haydon, and Mr. Haydon had been
the Professor ever since to his part-comrade, part-servant.

"Tell me all about it," said Jack, and Buck began his story. It was
soon finished, for there was very little to tell. They had been four
months in Burmah, and Mr. Haydon and Buck had gone up to Mandalay, and
then on to the Mogok country. At Mogok Buck had been seized with a
sharp touch of fever, and had been compelled to remain in that famous
mining town while Mr. Haydon went up country, accompanied only by a
few natives who had been with him in other journeys. He came back
after an absence of five weeks to Mogok, found Buck better, and
announced that they would return to England at once. They had packed
and started forthwith, and returned by the usual route.

"Did my father seem quite himself, just as usual in every way, Buck?"
asked Jack.

"No," said Buck thoughtfully. "He didn't quite. There was somethin' on
the Professor's mind, I'm sure o' that."

Jack put forward Mr. Buxton's suggestion, but Buck waved it aside.

"Touch o' the sun," said he. "Oh, no, nothin' like that. The
Professor was as fit as he always was, right as a bull-frog in a
swamp. No, it was a sort of anxiousness there was about him. He was
that careful that you might almost call him fidgetty."

"Fidgetty!" said Jack in surprise, as he remembered the perfectly
equable manner of his widely-travelled father.

"Yes, that's as good a word as any I can jump on at short notice,"
replied Buck. "He seemed as keen on getting back to London as some o'
these globetrotters who have got sick o' foreign parts."

"That was rather strange," commented Jack. "You've been with my father
twelve years now, Buck. Did you ever see him like it before?"

"Never in my knowledge of him," said Buck, shaking his head. "As a
general rule the Professor was as calm an' easy campin' in a jungle as
another man in a front seat at a circus. It was all one to the
Professor, let things come how they might. But this time he seemed as
if his only idea was to get back. Not that he said much about it. The
most I ever heard him say was, 'Well, Buck, I don't care how soon I
get into Lane & Baumann's office,' an' he only said that once when he
was fretted at losing a day by missing a boat at Rangoon."

At this moment the carriage drew up at the door of the hotel. They had
scarcely entered the door when the hotel clerk came forward with a
cablegram. It was from Messrs Lane & Baumann, asking if anything was
yet known of Mr. Haydon.

"If he was anxious to see them, they are just as anxious to see him,"
said Buck, handing the form to Jack. "Every day they wire, an'
sometimes twice a day, to know if I've got hold of any news."

"I wish I'd been to see them before I left London," said Jack. "I
might have got some useful information from them. What do you believe
has happened to my father?"

"I dunno what to think," said Risley, "except that some o' these
Dagoes got him in a corner and went for his pocket-book. He'd got
plenty of money with him."

"But if he'd been attacked by thieves," argued Jack, "the police would
have found something out before this. He could not have been hidden
away from them."

Buck shook his head. "Some o' these Dagoes are very sly and deep," he
replied. "I've heard queer stories about 'em at times. They say there
are brigands around."

"Yes, yes," said Jack, "in Sicily and in some of the wilder parts of
Calabria, but not in Brindisi, Buck, not in this big port."

"Well, I give it up," said Buck, "but there's a queer twist at the
bottom of it somewhere. The Professor ain't the sort o' man to worry
us by goin' into hiding somewhere, and lyin' low."

"Of course he isn't," said Jack. "My father was prevented from
returning to the hotel, that's clear enough; and we've got to find
how."

"Say, I'm your man, Jack," returned Buck. "I shan't feel easy till
I've had a glimpse o' the Professor with his old, quiet smile on him.
We'll hunt every hole there is."

For two days Jack and Buck hunted every hole about Brindisi, and,
stimulated by the promise of handsome rewards, the police, too, did
their utmost, but all was in vain; the missing man had disappeared as
though the earth had opened and swallowed him. Absolutely the only
thing out of the ordinary that the police could discover was that a
fisherman's skiff was missing one night, and was found the next
morning a couple of miles down the coast, floating idly about. But the
painter was drifting astern, and it might easily have happened that it
had been carelessly fastened, and the rope had slipped from the
mooring ring and allowed the skiff to drift away.

On the afternoon of the second day Jack announced his decision.
"Buck," said he, "I'm going back to London. I want to see Lane &
Baumann. It's quite possible that some information may be gleaned from
them which would give us a basis to go to work upon."

"It's no good stopping here," said Risley. "When shall we start?"

"To-night," said Jack, and, being near the station, they turned in to
look up the time of the fast express. Jack glanced along the platform,
and soon found what he sought, one of Cook's interpreters. "I want to
ask some questions of the booking-clerk," he said to the man, slipping
several _lire_ into his hand, "you might come and interpret for me."

"Yes, sir," said the man at once, and followed the tall young
Englishman to the office. In three minutes Jack had learned what he
wished as to the shortest route and fastest trains; then he and Risley
set out to return to the hotel. Suddenly Jack remembered another
point, and crying, "Half-a-minute, Buck," he rushed back to the
office. He thrust open a swing door and saw that the interpreter was
still there, and was now in conversation with a smaller man. Jack
stepped forward, and the smaller man looked up and gave a short, quick
cry of alarm. For a second Jack stood with widely-opened eyes and
parted lips, an image of wild surprise. Then darting forward at full
speed, he seized the second man by the throat, and clutched him as a
lion clutches his prey.




CHAPTER III.

THE BIG RUBY.


Jack had known the fellow at once, had recognised him instantly as the
small, dark man who had stood in front of him upon Rushmere Heath and
demanded that he should produce his father's letter. An instant
conviction had darted into Jack's mind that these things were
connected, and that this man knew something of his father's
disappearance.

"I've got you this time," cried Jack, and was upon him in a second.
But a most astonishing thing happened. The small, slight man offered
no resistance to Jack's fierce rush, instead, he seemed to give way
before it as a reed gives way before the wind. Then he bent slightly
and laid one small, sinewy hand on Jack's knee, and, in some
mysterious fashion or another, the lad felt that his hold was torn
away, and that he was flying through the air over the little man's
head. All in a heap Jack landed on the dusty floor. As he fell, he
caught a glimpse of Buck's head thrust through the swinging door as he
followed his young leader, and saw the look of surprise on Buck's
face.

"Seize him!" roared Jack, and Buck darted forward as the dark stranger
shot through another door and vanished into a crowd which swarmed on
to the platform from a train which had just drawn up. Jack gathered
himself together, and sprang to his feet, and rushed after his
companion. He soon found Buck, who was hurrying through the groups,
looking about on every hand, and they searched together, but searched
in vain; the mysterious stranger had gone to earth safely amid the
ample cover provided by the mass of bustling passengers. At last they
pulled up and looked at each other.

"No go," said Jack, "he's lost in the crowd. He may be far enough away
by now."

Buck's look of wonder and surprise was striking to behold.

"See here, Jack," he said, laying his hand on his companion's arm.
"How in thunder do you come to know Saya Chone, and jump on him at
sight like a hawk droppin' on a chicken?"

"You know him, Buck?" cried Jack. "You know his name?"

"Know him all right," replied Buck. "But what under the sun is he
doing this distance from home? What brings Saya Chone in Brindisi? The
last time I set eyes on him he was coming into Mogok with a little bag
of rubies to sell to U Saw, the chap they call the Ruby King."

"He comes from Burmah, where you have been?"

"Sure thing," said Buck, nodding his head. "He's a half-caste. Says
his father was a British officer, and prides himself on talking Number
One English."

"He talked English as easily as we do," said Jack, "but with an odd
click of the tongue."

"That's the native strain in him," returned Buck. "But where did you
run up against him and hear his English?"

Jack told his story quickly, and Risley listened with a knitted brow
of attention.

"Say, there's business at the back o' this," murmured Buck, "but where
it fits in beats me at the moment. We don't know enough, Jack, to be
sure which way we're moving."

"We do not, Buck, you are quite right," replied the lad, "and we'll
make a bee-line for London and see the firm for whom father was
working."

"Let's go and see what tar-brush was talking to the interpreter
about," suggested Buck, and they went at once and found the man, who
had returned to his post on the platform. The interpreter readily told
them that the half-caste had offered him a liberal sum in order to
learn what Jack was doing, and what route he intended to follow on
leaving Brindisi, but the man declared that he had made no answer,
had, indeed, been unable to reply to the questions before Jack was on
the scene and making his rush.

"Is it worth while to stop here and put the police on the search for
this fellow, I wonder?" said Jack, as he and his companion returned to
the hotel.

"I doubt it," returned Buck. "There are such numbers of foreigners of
all kinds passing through the port that the police can't keep track of
them all. Besides, it would take time, and if there's some queer game
in the wind, we've lost a good deal now. If you could learn, Jack, how
matters stand between the Professor and the firm that sent him out to
Burmah, it might give you a line to go on. At present we're snuffin'
the wind and pickin' up no scent."

"You're right, Buck, we'll get the baggage together at once."

Again Jack rushed across Italy, France, and the Channel, never pausing
for one instant on the way. It was a little before noon on a Thursday
morning when he saw London again, and, at the terminus, he parted with
Buck.

The latter went with the baggage to Lincoln's Inn to report to Mr.
Buxton, while Jack, too anxious to lose another moment, jumped into a
cab and drove straight to the offices of Messrs Lane & Baumann in Old
Broad Street. He sent his name in, and was shown at once into a large
room where Mr. Lane, the senior partner, sat at his desk.

"Ah, Mr. Haydon," said he, "you have, I hope, come to give us some
news about your father."

"Unfortunately I have not," replied Jack. "I have been in Brindisi
making every inquiry possible, but I have been able to gather no
information whatever as to his whereabouts. I have come here in hopes
that you may give me some idea of what his arrangements were with you,
and from that I might plan a course of action."

"I think my partner had better join us," said Mr. Lane, taking up a
speaking-tube. For a few moments nothing was said. The business man
went on with the letter he was writing, and Jack looked about him. The
office was large and splendidly fitted up. Jack knew nothing of Lane &
Baumann, but it was plain on every hand that it was a large and
wealthy firm. Mr. Lane himself was an elderly gentleman,
irreproachably dressed, and the picture of an important man in the
City.

The door opened and the other partner came in. Jack saw that Mr.
Baumann was much younger, a fat, heavy German with clean-shaven face
and big, round spectacles, through which little, thick-lidded eyes
peered.

"Has he brought some news?" asked Baumann quickly. "What does he say?"
His accent at once betrayed him, though his English was excellent.

"No," said Mr. Lane quietly, "he has brought no news. He comes to
learn of us."

"To learn of us," said Baumann slowly; "and what is it you wish to
learn?" he demanded of Jack.

The latter eyed the German keenly. At the first word he detected an
enemy. Mr. Lane had been gravely polite and non-committal in his
manner. This man showed hostility at once.

"I wish to learn anything that will aid me in discovering the reason
for the mysterious disappearance of my father," replied Jack, firmly.

"Mysterious disappearance," repeated the German, with a sneering
stress upon the words. "_Ach Gott!_ it is no mystery to me when a man
with such a gombanion as that disappears." He was becoming excited,
and his German accent began to thicken.

"Companion," repeated Jack, "I do not understand you. My father had no
companion except Buck Risley, his man, who has now returned to London
with me."

"Had he not, indeed?" said Baumann. "But he had a very close
gombanion, one who might easily lead him astray. _Himmel_, what was it
not worth? I think about it night and day."

"Gently, Baumann, gently," said Mr. Lane. "You are mystifying Mr.
Haydon, and I shall explain to him what you mean. He clearly does not
understand you, and I do not think it is right to keep him in the
dark. Mr. Haydon, do you know why your father went to Burmah for us?"

"I understood that he was going to survey some concession you had
gained," replied Jack.

"My goncession," cried Baumann. "I went over there and saw the place,
and I said to myself, _Himmel_, here is the for rubies, yes, fine
rubies, and I got all rights to dig there."

Mr. Lane quieted his excited partner and turned once more to Jack.

"Exactly," he said; "your father went to survey a concession for us.
My partner had been over the ground, and had returned convinced that
there was a fine field for ruby-mining. We sent your father out to
look carefully over the ground on our behalf, and a short time ago we
received some very startling news from him. He cabled to us that in a
fissure of the rock, where, as everyone knows, the finest rubies are
found, he had made a most marvellous find. He had come across a ruby
of priceless quality, and, as his work was done, he intended to return
at once, bringing the ruby with him in order to place it himself in
our hands."

"And now he has mysteriously disappeared," sneered Baumann. His
meaning was very plain, and Jack leapt to his feet with pale face and
shining eyes.

"Sir!" he cried. "Do you dare to hint that the ruby is the cause of my
father's disappearance?"

The German smiled, and Jack's anger grew.

"It is impossible!" he cried. "My father is the soul of uprightness
and honour. And do you think he would be tempted by a mere stone,
whatever its value? He has handled rubies a hundred and a hundred
times."

"Ay," snarled the German, "but not such a ruby as this. What did he
say himself? What was in his cablegram? 'The finest ruby by far that I
have ever seen or handled!' He says that. He, Haydon, the first living
expert on rubies, the man who knows everything of every big specimen
in existence. _Himmel, Himmel_, what a stone was that! And what time
are we losing! I would set every police of the world on his track. And
we do no nothing, nothing!"

"Gently, Baumann, gently, you know very well that I do not agree with
you," said Mr. Lane.

Jack turned eagerly to the senior partner. He felt that the whining
German was below both his anger and contempt.

"Sir," said Jack earnestly, "if my father had in his charge a stone so
immensely precious, I fear he has met with foul play."

"Who knew of it?" said Mr. Lane. "Had he mentioned anything about it
to his man?"

"No, he had not," said Jack, and narrated at once what he had heard
from Buck Risley.

"Yes," said Mr. Lane, nodding, "it was the possession of the great
jewel which made him uneasy."

"Who can say what it was worth?" broke in Baumann fiercely. "A big
ruby of perfect colour and without flaw, remember, he said its like
did not exist, is of all stones the most precious. Diamonds, poof!
This ruby was worth a score of great diamonds."

"And if my father had with him so wonderful a stone," urged Jack on
Mr. Lane, "is it not almost certain that someone has learned of its
existence? and again I say that he has met with foul play."

"But who should know of it?" said Mr. Lane. "It is most unlikely that
he should mention it to anyone; and you say, moreover, that his own
companion knew nothing of it."

"But," cried Jack, and thought this point was a clincher, "he cabled
home to you about it, and word of it got abroad, perhaps, from the
telegraph office."

Mr. Lane shook his head. "He cabled to us in cipher," he said; "a
cipher which he had composed himself and wrote down for us before he
started. The paper has been safely locked up in our strong-room, and
it was the only copy in the world, for he told us that, for himself,
he should carry the cipher in his memory."

This was puzzling and baffling, and Jack was silent. In a moment he
put forward another point.

"But we are not sure the ruby has disappeared with my father," he
said; "it may be packed away in his baggage."

Mr. Lane shook his head once more. "No," he said, "that is very
unlikely. Your father would be certain to carry a thing so small and
so valuable on his person. He would never part with it night or day."

Again there was a short interval in which nothing was said. Into this
silence suddenly broke the grumbling roar of Baumann's great voice.
The German had been brooding over the disappearance of the great stone
until he was beside himself.

"_Ach Gott_," he cried furiously to Mr. Lane. "You are foolish. You
still believe in the man and trust him. Me, I do not, I tell you
plainly he is a thief. He is to-day perhaps in Amsterdam, cutting that
noble and splendid stone into many smaller ones, and each of them
still a fortune. Yes, he is a thief!"

"You liar!" roared Jack. "My father is not a thief. How dare you take
such words on your dirty lips in respect of such a man!"

He had bounded to his feet and clenched his fists. Mr. Lane sprang
between them.

"Now, Mr. Haydon," said the elder man, "you must keep the peace.
Baumann is speaking very wildly. I do not agree with him. I know your
father too well."

Respect for Mr. Lane held Jack back, and nothing else. He would dearly
have liked to plant his fist on the German's foaming mouth, but he
commanded himself with an immense effort, and tried to speak calmly.

"The man is mad to say such things," said Jack with trembling lips.
"Why, the whole facts of the case are against any such monstrous idea.
If my father had wished to steal the stone, would he have cabled to
you full particulars and started home? What would have been easier
than to pocket it at once, and say nothing?"

"He was not a thief at first," vociferated the German. "He was honest
when he cabled. But the jewel, the great, big, beautiful jewel itself
corrupted him. He looked at it, and looked at it, till the love of it
filled his heart and he could not part with it. _Himmel_, I have felt
it all. I know what happened as well as if I had been at his side all
the voyage."

"Look here, you foul slanderer," cried Jack. "I'll prove you a liar
out and out. Listen to me. I'll find my father if he still remains in
existence, and I'll prove that you wrong him by your unjust
suspicions." The lad turned to Mr. Lane with flushed face and shining
eyes. "I thank you, sir," he said, "for the trust you still retain in
my father. I will do my very utmost to prove to you that it was well
placed. I cannot promise you anything save that I will do all that
lies in my power to trace your great ruby and discover my father's
fate at the same time."

Jack could say no more. He held out his hand and Mr. Lane shook it,
and the tall English lad strode from the office.




CHAPTER IV.

BUCK SEES LIGHT.


Jack walked rapidly through the city, and, free from the presence of
Baumann and his vile insinuations, began to cool rapidly and survey
the situation with a steadier eye.

"This needs talking over," he said to himself. "Here's a big new
development." He hailed a cab and was driven to Lincoln's Inn. He
found Mr. Buxton's sitting-room littered with the baggage they had
brought home, and Mr. Buxton himself in close confab with Buck Risley.

"Hullo, Jack," said the elder man, rising to shake hands with him;
"how have you been getting on with Lane and Baumann? You look
excited."

"Rather, Mr. Buxton," said Jack. "I have been learning a great deal."
He struck into his story at once, and the two men listened with great
interest.

"He had an immense ruby of incalculable value in his possession," said
Mr. Buxton slowly, when Jack had finished. "I say, this changes the
whole situation. I'm afraid, Jack, something very serious has happened
to your father."

"Then that's what was on the Professor's mind," cried Buck. "I knew
very well there was something. It was big enough to make even him
feel uneasy."

"It's an odd thing he didn't mention it to you, Risley," said Mr.
Buxton. "I've always understood that you were privy to all his
business movements."

"That's all right, Mr. Buxton," said Risley cheerfully. "You've got
that quite straight. In a general way the Professor hid nothing from
me. But this time he did hide it about the big stone, and I'm goin' to
show you how right, just as usual, the Professor was. You must
remember," went on Buck, "that when he picked me up at Mogok on the
way home, he found only a dim and distant shadder o' the party now
talkin' to you. I'd been on my back for weeks with fever, and was as
weak and nervous as a kitten. I've picked up wonderful on the voyage
home. Well, if he'd told me o' such a thing as he'd certainly got at
that moment in his belt, it would ha' rattled me to pieces. I should
have been certain to give the show away in my anxiety for fear anybody
should get to know about it, and do him a mischief. So he said nothing
at all. But it puts everything in a new light, everything."

"Buck!" cried Jack. "What about that fellow who stopped me on Rushmere
Heath and then turned up in Brindisi? Can he have something to do with
it?"

"Now you're talking, Jack," said Risley, nodding at the young man.
"'Twas all runnin' through my mind. It all hangs together, as straight
as a gun."

Buck knitted his brows in deep thought, and stared into the fire. Mr.
Buxton was about to speak, but Buck held up his hand for silence, and
the quiet remained unbroken till the American slapped his knee with a
crack like a pistol-shot, looked round on them, and nodded briskly.

"I've worked it out," said Buck. "The Professor's been kidnapped, and
I'll lay all I'm worth I can spot the parties who have boned him."

"Kidnapped!" The cry burst in irrepressible surprise and excitement
from the other two.

"Sure thing," said Risley. "Just listen to me. That half-caste Saya
Chone comes from up-country somewhere in the direction the Professor
headed for after leaving Mogok. That's the starting-point for the
whole business. He's mixed up in it from first to last, that's plain
enough, by his showing up at Rushmere and then followin' Jack to
Brindisi as he must have done. What brought him trackin' us all this
way if he didn't know about the big ruby and was in with the gang
that's carried off the Professor?"

"But why are you so sure that they have carried Tom Haydon off,
Risley?" asked Mr. Buxton. "Perhaps they--" Mr. Buxton paused, unable
to put into words the terrible thought which filled his mind.

"Say it right out, sir," said Buck encouragingly. "You can say it out,
for I don't believe it's the least bit true. You meant, suppose
they've murdered the Professor for the ruby?"

Mr. Buxton nodded, and Jack went white about the lips.

"Well, that's all right," said Buck cheerfully, "they ain't done that,
anyway. First thing, if so we'd ha' found the Professor, for all they
wanted was the stone; they'd no use in the world for his body. But
there's a lot more in it than that. They want the Professor himself.
It's a dead sure thing that where that big stone came from there's a
lot more, and they intend to make him show them the place."

"Ah," said Mr. Buxton, "there's a good deal in that, Risley. I hadn't
thought of that."

"Then, Buck," cried Jack, "you think that my father has been seized
and is being carried back to Burmah?"

"I'm as sure of it as I am that we are in this room," said Buck
solemnly.

Jack drew a long breath of immense relief. To feel that his father
might be alive, and possibly could be rescued, was to bring a bright
gleam of hope into the darkness of this strange affair.

"How have they carried him away?" cried Jack.

"By sea," replied Buck. "Couldn't be done by land, nohow. But you can
get a quiet road by sea easy enough. I wonder how much that boat that
disappeared from the harbour had to do with it. They might have nailed
him, pulled him out in it to a vessel waiting off the harbour, and
then sent it adrift when they'd done with it."

Mr. Buxton had filled his pipe and was smoking thoughtfully. Now he
took the pipe out of his mouth, and spoke.

"I can see another thing which, in the light now thrown upon the
affair, seems very possible," said he. "How many letters did you
receive from your father, Jack, when he was on his way home?"

"Only one, Mr. Buxton," replied Jack. "The one he sent me from Cairo
was the first I had had from him for a long time."

"Isn't it possible," went on Mr. Buxton, "that those who were
following him up knew of that letter being sent, and were anxious to
read it, hoping that he would describe where he had been and what he
had been doing? Then, even if they failed to secure him and the big
stone, they would know the spot where he had discovered the
ruby-mine."

"Say, Mr. Buxton, you've hit the bull's eye," remarked Buck. "That's
about the square-toed truth."

"And that's why they threw the letter away when they had read it,"
cried Jack. "There was no hint of any such thing in it."

There was silence for a few moments, while all three pondered over the
strange events which had taken place. It was broken by Jack.

"Oh, Buck," he said, "I suppose there is no chance of such a precious
thing being in the baggage after all."

"Not it," replied Risley. "I packed every consarned thing with my own
hands. I had just enough strength for a job like that."

"And you feel convinced, Risley, that Tom Haydon has been spirited off
back to Burmah by a gang who have learned of his wonderful find, and
mean to seize it for themselves?" said Mr. Buxton.

"Dead sure of it, sir," replied Buck.

Jack sprang to his feet and paced the room excitedly.

"Then we'll go ourselves, Buck," he cried, "and run them to earth."

"Sure thing," said Buck calmly. "I'm on at once for a look into what's
happened to the Professor."

"It will be a dangerous quest," said Mr. Buxton slowly; "a very
dangerous quest, among wild lands and savage peoples. I know that
much. Do you think the Government authority extends over the district
where the discovery was made, Risley?"

"No, it don't," replied Buck. "They're all savage Kachins and Shans up
there, as ready for a scrap as any you ever met. It's all the
authorities can do to hold 'em off the settlements."

"A dangerous quest indeed!" repeated Mr. Buxton.

"But one that must be undertaken," cried Jack earnestly. "Would you
have me leave my father's fate a matter of uncertainty, Mr. Buxton? I
know very well it's a long journey on the chance of Buck being right
in his suspicions. But so many things point that way, and if Buck is
willing to guide me to the country where the search ought to be made,
I will gladly go."

"Oh, I'm with you, of course, Jack," sang out Buck Risley. "We'll have
a look into things, anyhow, an' I know more than a bit of that
country. I've been three times up the river, an' made all sorts o'
little side-trips."

"Thank you, Buck," cried the lad. "I knew you'd be willing to help me.
We'll start as soon as possible. You'll find us plenty of funds, won't
you, Mr. Buxton?"

"Oh, yes, Jack," said Mr. Buxton, "I'll find you all the money you
want for such a purpose."




CHAPTER V.

THE SPY.


Three days later, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Jack and Buck
walked into Lincoln's Inn, and knocked at Mr. Buxton's door. They had
been staying at a hotel near at hand, and nothing was said until Jack
had carefully closed the door of the inner sitting-room, where Mr.
Buxton was at work among his papers.

"So you're off to-morrow?" said Mr. Buxton, laying down his pen.

"No, to-night," said Jack.

"What?" returned Mr. Buxton in surprise. "Have you got all your
luggage ready?"

"Yes, sir," said Buck. "We've got it with us."

"Oh, your cab is outside?" he said.

"No, sir," replied Buck, with a twinkle in his eye. "You see it all on
view."

Mr. Buxton scratched his head. "Do you mean to say that you're going
to start for Burmah with an umbrella apiece?"

"We do, Mr. Buxton," replied Jack. "We're going to slip off quietly.
Buck thinks we're being watched."

"Watched!" cried Mr. Buxton. "By whom?"

"Can't say that," said Buck. "But there's someone takin' a deep
interest in us I feel certain. I should venture to spec'late as the
ruby gang want to know what we're up to."

"And you mean to start off for the other side of the world equipped
merely for a stroll through the Park?" cried Mr. Buxton.

"Why not, sir?" asked Buck. "You've found us plenty of money, and we
can rig ourselves out whereever there are shops. Best for us, too, to
pull out on this business with as little show as we can make. If we
don't, we may find ourselves pulled up mighty soon and mighty sharp. I
tell you this is a deep an' cunning gang we've got to fight. An'
they've got a big pull of us. They know us and we know very little of
them. I can tell you there are wily birds east of Suez. They are up to
all the tricks, both of East and West."

The two visitors did not stay five minutes with Mr. Buxton. They
wished their visit to have the air of a mere passing call, and when he
had shaken hands with them and wished them good luck, they left his
rooms, strolled into Chancery Lane, and went gently up towards Holborn
as if they had nothing to do but stare at the sights of the town like
country cousins.

"Jack," said Buck softly, "let's pull up and look at this shop window,
the panes have just got the bulge I want."

Jack, wondering a little what his companion meant, stopped, and they
stared into a print shop where photographs of eminent judges and
K.C.'s were set out in rows.

"Say, this is bully," murmured Buck. "Move a bit on one side, Jack, so
that I can see the street behind us reflected in the glass. Now, come
on, I've seen all I want. Don't turn your own head or you'll spoil the
show."

They walked on together, and Buck muttered in deep satisfaction: "I've
spotted the man following us; a stout chap with a double chin and a
look like a fat policeman out o' work. I reckon I've tumbled to this
game. I've seen him outside our hotel."

"Is it one of the gang?" asked Jack.

"Oh, no," replied his companion. "More likely to be one o' these
private detectives hired to watch us. Now we've got to throw pepper
into his eyes, an' then make a break for the station."

Buck raised his hand and hailed a growler. They got in, Buck said
"Marble Arch," and away trotted the horse. Buck now set himself to
keep a watch out of the little window at the back of the cab, and soon
gave a chuckle of satisfaction.

"He's coming," he said, "he's in a hansom about fifty yards behind.
This makes it a dead cert that he's our man. It would be a bit too
much of a coincidence for him to be outside our hotel last night,
following us up Chancery Lane to-day, and now tracking us along Oxford
Street."

"How will you drop him?" asked Jack.

"As easy as tumbling off a log," replied Buck. "We'll use Connaught
Mansions. Do you remember its two entrances? We'll pop in at one and
out at the other."

Jack laughed, and understood at once. His father had a flat at
Connaught Mansions, a huge block of flats near Lancaster Gate, which
served as Mr. Haydon's London home between his journeys. They had
made no use of it during the few days they had been in town,
preferring a hotel near Mr. Buxton's rooms, but now it would be of
service to their plans.

As they neared the Marble Arch, Buck gave the address to the driver.
He handed up a couple of half-crowns at the same time.

"We may be detained at the place you're driving to," he remarked.
"Wait a quarter of an hour at the door, and then if we don't send any
message to you, you can go."

"Very good, sir," said the cabby, and on rolled the growler, and soon
turned into the courtyard of Connaught Mansions, and pulled up at the
main entrance. Jack and his companion left the cab at once and went
into the lobby, where the porter came out of his office.

"Hullo, Mr. Risley, you are back again," said the porter. Then he
caught sight of Jack, whose face was very well known from frequent
visits to his father. The question which had plainly been on the
porter's lips was at once checked. He had been eager to talk to Buck
about the disappearance of Mr. Haydon, but Jack's presence put a
barrier upon that.

The cloppety-clop of the feet of a passing cab horse now came in
through the open door of the vestibule. Jack glanced out and saw the
stout man passing in his cab. The spy seemed to be very busy reading a
paper, and the whole thing looked as innocent as could be.

"Well, I'll nip upstairs an' get what I want," said Buck to the
porter, and he and Jack rang for the lift, and were shot up to the
fifth floor. Upon this landing there was one projecting window, which
commanded the front of the great building, and the two comrades went
cautiously to it and peeped out.

"There he is, there he is," whispered Jack.

"Sure thing," chuckled Buck.

Far below them they saw their cabman sitting idly on his perch and
waiting for his quarter of an hour to pass. The Mansions looked on to
a square, a long narrow strip of gardens, filled with lofty bushes
rather than trees. The spy's cab had taken a sweep round these gardens
and was now drawing up on the other side, exactly opposite their cab.
As they looked they saw the stout man leave his cab and move to and
fro till he found a space through which he could look across the
gardens and watch the entrance to the great building. From their lofty
standpoint Jack and his companion had a splendid bird's-eye view of
everything.

"Off we go now," said Jack. "For if our cabman makes a move he'll
become suspicious."

"We've got ten minutes yet," murmured Buck; "but as you say, Jack, off
we go."

They turned and crossed the landing swiftly, and ran down the stairs,
flight after flight. They did not wish to call attention to their
movements by ringing for the lift; besides, they were making for the
back of the place, where a smaller entrance opened on a quiet side
street. They gained this and were once more free to strike where they
wished, leaving the baffled spy to watch the main entrance in vain.




CHAPTER VI.

IN RANGOON.


"Now for a start in earnest," said Buck, as the two comrades hurried
swiftly through the quiet streets, moving westwards in order to put as
much ground as possible between themselves and the baffled spy. "I
propose, Jack, that we make for Harwich and cross over to the
Continent, avoiding the usual English routes and English steamers. We
want to get there as quietly as we can. It wouldn't be healthy to
arrive in Upper Burmah thumping a drum to let 'em know we were on
their track. They've got ways of their own of gettin' rid o' people
they want to see the last of."

Jack nodded. "Then we must head for Liverpool Street," he remarked.

"Yes," said Buck. "We're not far from Queen's Road Station. We'll hit
the Twopenny Tube and dodge back east, now."

They went into the station and were just in time to jump into an
east-bound train, as the conductor was about to shut the gates of the
carriage.

"Nobody followed us there anyway," remarked Buck. "We were the last to
board the train."

They went right away to the Bank, plunged into the City, and threaded
the narrow streets and busy crowds in every direction, gradually
working their way towards Liverpool Street. They timed their arrival
there five minutes before a fast express pulled out, and were soon on
their way. As they rushed through the Essex flats Buck detailed his
plans, and Jack listened and agreed.

"From Harwich we'll make for Hamburg," said Risley. "There we can buy
an outfit and take passage for Rangoon in a German boat which does not
call in England."

       *       *       *       *       *

Our story now moves on to a point nearly five weeks later, when, as
evening fell, a big German steamer slowly moved up to a wide quay of
Rangoon, and took up her berth. Over her side leaned two figures we
know, one looking at the scene with eyes which noted the familiarity
of it all, the other drinking in every detail with eager interest and
curiosity.

Jack was too absorbed in the scene to utter a word; the minarets of
the mosques, the vast spire of Shway Dagon, the famous pagoda, its
crest of gold glittering in the last rays of the sun; the crowd of
masts, the native boats, the swift little sampans darting hither and
thither, the quaint up-river craft, the Chinese junks--all was so new
and strange and wonderful that he could not gaze enough upon the
scene. And above all, he felt that this was the land whose wildest
recesses he must penetrate upon his quest, and his mind turned
strongly upon that.

"Do you know, Buck," he murmured to his companion, "that the sight of
all these strange new things makes the whole affair very visionary to
me?"

"I think I tumble to what you mean," replied the other. "I had a
touch of it myself when I first came to these queer parts. You feel as
if you were ramblin' about in a dream."

"That's it, exactly," said Jack. "It seems impossible that this is
workaday life in which we have a definite task."

"You'll soon shake that off," replied Buck; "the sight o' these places
makes every tenderfoot moon a bit; and we've got a straight enough job
before us. We'll have to rustle some before we've got the Professor
out o' the hands o' these people who want to jump his claim."

"You feel certain my father is here, Buck?"

"Three times as certain as when we started," replied Risley. "Mr.
Buxton's kept the search going, and found nothing. Very good. That
makes it all the surer the Professor is in front of us up this river;"
and Buck threw his hand northwards, pointing to the broad flood which
slipped past the quays of Rangoon to the sea.

At different points of their voyage they had received cables from Mr.
Buxton giving the news of the search, which was going on in vain.

The steamer took up her moorings, and the stream of landing passengers
began to flow swiftly to the quay. Jack and his companion stepped
ashore, each with a large kit-bag in hand. They had travelled light,
and all their luggage was with them. Buck held up a finger, and a
Chinese coolie darted up to them, his rickshaw running easily behind
him. The two bags were pitched into the light vehicle, and Buck bade
the man follow them by a gesture.

"This way, Jack," said Risley, and led his companion up a broad
street, which, now that the dusk had fallen and the sea-breeze was
blowing, was filled with a strange and busy crowd.

"Everybody turns out for an hour or two, now," remarked Buck. "It's
pleasant and fresh after the day. This is Mogul Street, about the
liveliest street in the city."

Jack looked upon the crowd with wonder, the first Eastern crowd of
which he had ever made a part. The thronging pavements were a
kaleidoscope of the East--long-coated Persians; small, brown,
slant-eyed Japanese; big, yellow, slant-eyed Chinamen; a naked
Coringhi, his dark body shining in the lamp-light, and the rings in
his nose jingling together; Hindus of all ranks, from the stately
Brahmin to the coolie bearing loads or pulling a rickshaw; Burmese;
and, to Jack's pleasant surprise, three straight-stepping English
soldiers, swinging along with their little canes, their lively talk
sounding pleasantly familiar amid the babel of Eastern tongues.

At a narrow opening Buck turned and left the main street. Fifty yards
along the side street he stopped the rickshaw and paid off the coolie,
each taking his own kit-bag. Next Buck plunged into a dusky,
ill-lighted alley, and Jack followed, wondering.

"I'm making for a friend's house," murmured Buck, "an' I'm takin' a
shy road. We've got to keep our eyes skinned from now on."

"Do you think the gang will be on the look-out for us in Rangoon,
Buck?" asked Jack.

"Likely enough," replied Risley. "No harm in takin' care, anyway."

The two gained a narrow lane beyond the alley, followed it some
distance, then turned into a wider street. Here Buck paused before a
shop whose windows were closed, but rays of light were streaming
through chinks in the shutters. He tried the door and found that it
was not fastened.

"Nip right in," said Risley, and the two entered briskly, and closed
the door behind them. Behind the counter stood a tall, elderly man
taking a rifle to pieces by the light of a brightly-burning lamp. He
was surrounded by weapons of all kinds, and a single glance told Jack
that he stood in a gunsmith's shop.

"Hello, Buck," said the tall man calmly. "Slidin' in like a thief in
the night, eh? What's wrong, and who's your friend?"

"This is the Professor's son, Mr. Jack Haydon," replied Buck,
answering the last question first, as he put down his bag and shook
hands with his acquaintance.

"Pleased to know you, sir," said the gunsmith, offering his hand to
Jack in turn. "Me and your father have known each other a long time
and done a lot of business together. Perhaps you've heard him mention
me, Jim Dent?"

"Yes, Mr. Dent," said Jack, "I've heard your name many a time."

"I'm very sorry for you, sir," said Dent. "This is a queer business
about the Professor. Knocked me all of a heap when I heard of it."

"The news is about Rangoon, of course, Jim?" said Buck.

"Came at once," replied Dent. "The Professor was known to so many
people here."

"Well, between me and you, Jim," said Buck in a low voice, "that's
just what I've come to talk about. You know the ropes in this country
pretty well, and I want your advice."

"Been in Burmah twenty-eight years, and spent a good deal of the time
shiftin' about here and there," remarked Jim Dent. "I know a thing or
two, as you may say. But come in; I should like to hear all about it."

He secured the outer door, put out the lamp which lighted the shop,
and led the way to an inner room. Here another lamp was burning, and
all three sat down. Buck plunged into the story, and Dent listened
attentively, now and again putting a question.

"They've got the Professor all right," said Dent at the conclusion of
Buck's narrative.

"You, too, think so?" cried Jack.

"Oh, yes, sir," returned Dent, nodding at him, "they're going to make
your father show 'em his find, there's no mistake about that. The
thing's been done before, but the men have been collared in this
country, I admit. I've never known anything so big and daring as this,
but still it's on the cards, and Buck has tumbled to the right
conclusion."

"But how could they carry off my father with such secrecy?" asked
Jack. "It was impossible to book a passage back in any vessel. They
would have been found out at once."

"That's right enough, sir," replied Dent. "They must have had a vessel
of their own, but that's a puzzling thing. Did you see any sign of
this Saya Chone on the voyage, Buck?"

"Not a hair of him," replied Risley.

"He and his pals might have been among the third-class passengers
after all," said the gunsmith. "You weren't looking out for them, but
it's pretty plain they were looking out for you. They must have been
fly to your posting that letter, and got an idea somehow or other of
the address. Well, this is a rum go. What's your next move, I wonder?"

"Go straight up to Mogok," suggested Jack, "and strike into the
country where my father was exploring. Surely we can lay our hands
upon one or other of his native guides, and they will lead us to the
place. Then we can discover whether those people you suspect of
kidnapping him are anywhere in that neighbourhood."

Dent nodded his head in agreement. "Well, sir," he said, "you'll have
to do something after that fashion. But you must go to work very
cautiously. The men you are after are at home there, and have a
hundred ways of finding out what you're up to, while you know no more
of them and their movements than you know which way a snake's slipping
through the jungle."

"Would it be of any use to appeal to the authorities?" asked Jack.

The gunsmith shook his head.

"Not a mite, sir, not a mite. In the first place, you're moving on
suspicion, and you can hardly expect the police to go tramping round
in wild and only partly explored jungle to find out if your suspicions
are correct. Then, again, if inquiries were started you would only
warn the parties you suspect, and they'd take good care your plans
came to nothing. For holding a man tight and keeping the place of his
hiding secret, this country is a marvel. I've known many a native
disappear in a very mysterious fashion and be never heard of again;
some enemy had disposed of him." The gunsmith fell silent and mused
for a few moments.

"I'll tell you," said he, "the best thing to do now, and that is to
strike up to Mandalay. There might be a chance there to pick up a bit
of river news which would help you. I wonder whether old Moung San is
up in Mandalay yet. He started up river with his _hnau_ weeks back,
and you know how they dawdle along, picking up every scrap of river
gossip."

"Moung San!" cried Buck, "old Moung, why, he's the very man whose
_hnau_ took the Professor up the river Chindwin, the last trip Mr.
Haydon made before he went up to Mogok. He'll give us a hand if he
can, I know."

"He was in here, buying stuff off me to trade along the river," said
Dent, "and he ought to be somewhere about Mandalay by now."

"Then we'll start in the morning by the first train," said Buck; "and
that reminds me, Jim, we shall want some guns; we've got nothing at
all at present, and we'll look over your stock."

"Come in the shop," said Dent, and all three went back to the little
front room where weapons stood in racks about the wall.

"These Mauser pistols are handy things," remarked Dent, as he turned
some of his stock on to the counter. "Clap the holster on 'em and they
make a very smart little rifle."

"We'll have a couple," said Buck, "they're daisies. I've tried 'em.
Have you got a light rifle or two in stock, Jim? We don't want to
drag any weight through the jungle, as you know as well as most."

"What's the matter with the Mannlicher?" said Dent, picking up one of
those handiest of shooting tools and passing it over to Jack. "No
weight, and as good a little rifle as a man wants to put to his
shoulder."

"This is all right," said Jack, putting it up. "I've never tried it,
but I've heard about it. Makes pretty good shooting, I think."

"Wonderful good, sir," said Dent. "You can't wish for better. And such
a handy little cartridge, too. That's a thing to consider on a march.
You can carry a much bigger number for the same weight of ordinary
cartridges."

For half an hour or more Buck and Jack turned over Dent's stores, and
laid in a very complete stock of weapons and cartridges. As the
gunsmith talked, speaking of the wild jungle into which they must
wander, the wild people they would be likely to meet, and what they
would need to meet the chances of their journey, his eye fired and his
excitement grew. He poured forth a flood of information, of warning,
of directions, which showed how complete was his knowledge of the
wilds into which they were about to venture, how deep was his lore of
jungle-craft, and how great his passion for the life of the explorer
and adventurer. His flood of speech ended on a sigh.

"Five years it is now," he said, "since I made what I call a real
trip, getting clean off the track and striking a line which you might
fancy no white man had ever struck before."

Buck had been watching his old acquaintance keenly. Now he leaned
over and laid his hand on Dent's arm.

"Look here, Jim," he said, "you're achin' in every bone o' your body
for a real good trip again. Come with us."

The invitation was like a spark thrown upon gunpowder. The gunsmith
struck the counter with his open hand till the weapons danced again.

"By George, I will!" he cried, "I'll come fast enough. It's the sort
o' trip I'd choose out of a thousand."

Jack saw what a splendid recruit offered here, and he hastened to
second Buck.

"If you could, indeed, spare time to accompany us, Mr. Dent," he said,
"we shall be delighted to have your company and assistance."

"Well, sir," said Dent, "I'll give you a month. I can manage, I know,
to get the business looked after by a friend as long as that. And
within a month, if we go the right way to work, we ought to get a good
idea as to whether the Professor's in the hands of that gang or not."

"And if your business suffers at all, Jim, you need never fear you'll
be at a loss in the end," said Buck. "There's plenty of money for
everything."

"Oh, that's all right," returned Dent. "Didn't you say you're offering
a reward of �500 for finding the Professor?"

"That's so," replied Risley.

"Very good," said Dent. "Suppose I hit on him first and pick that up.
That'll clear my expenses, and a bit over bar the fun o' the trip."

"Oh, Mr. Dent," said Jack, "we're paying all expenses, of course."

"Better an' better still," chuckled the gunsmith. "I get all the fun
and the chance of �500 thrown in, and the lot for nothing. You can
count in Jim Dent on this game." And so the matter was settled.




CHAPTER VII.

UP THE RIVER.


It was on a Tuesday evening that Risley and Jack entered Dent's shop
in Rangoon: late on the Thursday afternoon the three comrades stepped
out of the train at Mandalay.

"I know a little place down by the river where we can stay quietly,"
said Dent, and they took a carriage and drove down to the banks of the
broad Irrawaddy. Here, at a native rest-house in a riverside village,
they set down their baggage and made a hearty meal in a room whose
window overlooked the noble stream with its crowd of craft.

Before they ate, Dent had an interview with the master of the house, a
short, stout Burman in silken kilt and headgear of flaming scarlet,
and their business was put in hand at once. The Burman sent a native
boatman off to see if Moung San had reached Mandalay.

The meal was scarcely ended before the light sampan was back with good
news. Moung San had been in Mandalay the last two days, and now lay at
his accustomed anchorage.

"That's capital," said Dent. "We'll give old Moung a look up before
the evening's much older."

Half an hour later all three embarked upon the sampan whose owner had
found out the anchorage of Moung San, and the tiny craft was thrust
into the river and pulled across the flowing stream. Jack looked with
much interest on the pretty, picturesque little craft with its bow and
stern curving upwards, and on its boatman, a strong Shan clad in wide
trousers and a great flapping hat, who stood up to his couple of oars
and sent the light skiff along at a good speed. A pull of a mile or
more brought them to the _hnau_, a big native boat moored near the
farther shore of the wide stream. The sampan was directed towards the
lofty and splendidly-carved prow of the _hnau_ and brought to rest.

Now there looked over the side a dark-faced old Burman, whose face
broke into smiles at sight of his old acquaintances.

"Hello, Moung San," cried Dent. "We've come to pay you a visit."

"Very glad, very glad," replied the Burman. "Come up, come up."

They climbed at once to the deck of the _hnau_, where Moung San shook
hands with them very heartily. When he heard Jack's name he smiled and
showed all his teeth, stained black with betel-chewing.

"Me know your father," he said, and shook Jack's hand again. "Very
good man, very good man."

Amidships there was a large cabin, roofed with plaited cane, built up
on the _hnau_. Moung San invited them to enter it, and all four went
in and sat down.

"Now, Moung San," began Jim Dent "You listen to me. You know the
ruby-mines well, don't you?"

"Yes," replied Moung San. "Do much trade with the miners for many
years."

"Do you know a man named Saya Chone?"

"Yes," said the trader. "Know him. Don't like him."

"Who is he with now?"

"With U Saw, the man they call the Ruby King."

"U Saw," murmured Dent reflectively. "He's jumped into notice since I
was up here last. What sort of character has U Saw, Moung San?"

The Burman lowered his voice and looked uneasily round to see if any
of his crew were within earshot.

"Very dangerous man," he said, shaking his head, "if he hears of one
of the hill-miners finding good ruby, that man sure to lose it,
perhaps lose his head same time. U Saw has many Kachins who follow
him, and every Kachin carry strong, sharp _dah_ (native sword)."

"Have the police been on to him, Moung San?" asked Buck.

"The police!" Moung San laughed disdainfully. "What do the police know
about the hills and the jungle, and what goes on there? But we know.
The word goes from Kachin to Shan, and from Shan to Burman, over the
country, up and down the river. We know."

"Where does U Saw sell his rubies?" asked Dent.

"In China," replied the Burman. "Takes them along the great road to
China from Burmah over the mountains. Sells them there for big, big
money. Very rich and very strong is U Saw."

Then, with scarcely a pause, Moung San came out with a piece of news
that made his hearers jump.

"When I am at Prome two weeks ago, the 'fire-boat' of U Saw pass me,
and go up the river."

"Fire-boat!" cried Jim Dent. "U Saw possesses a steamer. How big,
Moung San?"

Moung San went into details. He compared the "fire-boat" with the size
of his _hnau_, he compared it with a river-steamer which now went
puffing past, he described it with the greatest minuteness, for he had
lain beside it at Bhamo for three days on the trip before last.

"Say," murmured Buck, looking round on his deeply-interested
companions, "this beats the band. I didn't know U Saw had a steam
yacht of about three hundred tons, for that's what Moung San's talk
comes to. Say, Jim, my son, this clears things up a bit."

"It does that," said Dent. He turned to Jack.

"You see, sir," he remarked, "that Buck's guess hit the mark pretty
straight. I'd stake my shop that the party we want was on that yacht."

Jack nodded, with bright eyes. "It must be so," he said, but Buck was
again in conversation with the Burman.

"Do you know where the 'fire-boat' had been?" he asked.

"There was a word that U Saw had been a long cruise in the islands,"
replied Moung San.

"Been a long cruise in the islands, had he?" said Dent, in a meaning
tone. There was silence while the three white men made swift
calculations mentally.

"If the yacht is a good sea-boat," said Jack, "they would just about
have had the right time to do it, supposing they came up the river two
weeks back." He meant the voyage from the Mediterranean, and the
others nodded.

The old Burman looked from one to the other gravely. There was
something he did not understand behind this, and it was plain that he
was about to shape a question.

Buck whispered swiftly to Jack, then spoke:

"Well, Moung San, we must be going. But the son of your old patron
wished to see you and to give you a little present because you have
served his father."

Jack smiled and passed over twenty rupees. Moung San's mouth was at
once filled with thanks instead of questions, and an awkward moment
passed safely.

"I could see the old fellow was going to ask questions," remarked Jim
Dent, when they were once more in the sampan, and the big Shan was
pulling strongly across the stream. "It was a lucky stroke to stop his
mouth with the rupees."

"Yes," said Jack, "it's quite clear he knows nothing about my father's
disappearance, or he would have said something. So it was just as well
to leave him in ignorance, and escape a lot of talk. You never know
where the simplest question may lead you to."

"You don't," agreed Dent. "He may wonder why we want to know about the
Ruby King, but as long as he's in the dark about things, he'll put it
down to mere curiosity."




CHAPTER VIII.

THE ATTACK ON THE SAMPAN.


Jack nodded and looked out across the wide, shadowy waste of waters
which surrounded them. The night had fallen and there was no moon, but
the sky was full of the glorious stars of the East, and the great
silent river spread itself abroad in the bright starshine till its low
distant banks were lost to sight, and the sampan seemed to be crossing
a vast lake. Far away up the stream a myriad twinkling lights showed
where the shipping lay thickly, and now a huge cargo boat came down
stream, its vast bulk looming high above the smooth flood.

Somewhere on the shore a mandoline tinkled, the faint distant notes
coming sweetly to them across the water. Jack dropped his hand into
the stream and found it warm to the fingers. Then he felt that the
river was full of something floating on its surface, which brushed his
fingers, and circled about his wrist.

"What's this in the water?" said Jack.

Buck dropped his hand down.

"Paddy-husks, the husk of rice," he replied. "There are rice-mills on
the banks up above, and they pitch the husks into the stream. When the
mills are busy, the husks cover the river."

"It is a strong current," said Jack.

"Ay, and a very dangerous one," remarked Dent "There's no mercy in
this river. It'll sweep you away like the under-tow of a strong tide,
and suck you down to feed the crocodiles, if it gets the chance."

For a few moments there was silence, and Jack, who was seated with his
face to his companions, watched the big cargo-boat now passing them,
but a good distance away. Suddenly he sharpened the glance of his keen
eyes and looked more intently. A tiny dark patch shot from the shadow
of the great vessel and held its way straight towards them.

"There's a boat just come from behind that big ship, and it's making
straight for us," said Jack.

"That's queer," said Dent sharply, turning his head to look. "It must
have come down stream in shelter of the cargo-boat. I've been keeping
a watch on the river round us." He said a few words in the native
tongue to the big Shan, and the latter pulled much faster and altered
his course a little.

"If they're only making for the shore they'll go straight on," said
Jim Dent. "If they're after us, they'll change their course."

"They row fast," said Jack.

Jim spoke to the Shan once more, and a few sentences passed between
them.

"It's one of those long creek skiffs, pulled by six men," announced
Jim. "He knows by the shape of it on the water and the sound of the
oars."

"Think they're after us, Jim?" asked Buck in a low voice.

"I don't know, Buck," replied Dent. "But I wish we were ashore. This
isn't a country to take any chances in."

All three watched the dark, long shape behind them, and the Shan
pulled with all his might.

"It's after us." Jim Dent's low, fierce tones broke into the tense
silence, and Buck gave a growl of anger.

"What's their game?" he muttered.

"Run us down, there's no doubt of it," replied Dent. "That skiff is
built of stiff teak planks, with a nose as sharp and hard as an iron
spike. If they once hit this light sampan they'll cut it in two and
scupper us."

"Ay, ay," said Buck, "and drop an oar on the head of a man who tries
to swim."

The long narrow row-boat was now heading for them as straight as an
arrow. There could be no doubt of the rowers' intent. They meant to
run down the slight sampan and hurl its occupants into the deadly
current below. Driven by six powerful oarsmen, the skiff was coming on
at tremendous speed, and the shore was still a dim and distant line.

Jim Dent spoke again quickly to the Shan, and the latter made a swift
reply and bent to his oars with all his might. He understood their
danger better than any one, supposing that his light vessel was run
down, and he beat the water with long powerful strokes which drove the
tiny craft forward with great power. Jim Dent had begun to rummage in
the stern, and soon drew out a broad-bladed steering paddle. He dipped
this into the water and added a strong dexterous stroke to the
efforts of the boatman; now the sampan began to fly.

"Isn't there anything for us, Jim?" cried Jack. "Must we sit idle?"

"There's not another thing to pull with in the boat," said Dent. "I'll
lay in with all the strength I've got with this paddle. We'll take
turns at it."

Now commenced a stern, fierce race for life. The two men in the sampan
fought with set brows and clenched teeth to gain the far-off shore and
save the lives of themselves and their comrades. The six rowers in the
long skiff lashed the water furiously with their oars in order to
overtake and ram the slight vessel they pursued. One, two, three
hundred yards were covered. Jack's heart sank. The skiff had gained
terribly. Manned by six powerful oarsmen, she was cutting down the
distance between them with frightful rapidity. In the sampan the Shan
was still pulling with undiminished energy, but Jim Dent was beginning
to pant. Buck seized the paddle from his grip and took a turn. But the
skiff continued to come up hand over hand.

"She'll get us long before we reach the shore," murmured Dent as he
marked the relative distances, and he spoke in the native tongue with
the Shan, who only answered with a grunt or two which had a sound of
acquiescence.

"Give me the paddle, Buck," said Dent.

"No, no," said Jack, "it's my turn." Every muscle in his body was
tingling to put its strength against the smooth current and the weight
of the sampan.

"We're going to try a little trick," said Dent, and Jack perforce had
to sit still. He glanced down the river and saw a light low on the
water, as if a boat was coming towards them. He wondered whether it
meant chance of help, but in any case, it was far off, and the enemy
were now terribly near, and his attention was drawn again to their
position of immense peril.

Dent and the boatman were now pulling easily, and the long skiff
darted up to them faster and faster still. Jack watched their pursuers
with a fascinated eye. There was not the faintest sound made, save for
the regular plash of the rising and falling oars. They were so near
that he could see the naked backs of the oarsmen glisten as they swung
their bodies to and fro in the starshine. Nearer, nearer, came the
long darting skiff.

Jack held his breath. The sharp nose was within half a dozen feet of
the stern of the flying sampan, for Dent and the boatman were once
more pulling with all their might. For the first time a sound was
heard from the pursuing boat. A single word rang out from the
steersman, and the rowers bent to one last tremendous effort to hurl
their stout skiff upon the fragile sampan. But at that very instant
Jim Dent dipped his paddle deep on the left side, the Shan made a
corresponding movement with his oars, and the light vessel spun round
on her heel and darted away from the impending stroke.

So close were the two boats when this skilful manoeuvre was executed
that the dripping bow oar of the pursuers was flourished almost in
Jack's face as the sampan flew round. He seized it, but did not
attempt to snatch it from the oarsman's clutch. He had no time for
that, but he made splendid use of the chance afforded him. He gave it
a tremendous push, and released it. The rower, caught by surprise, was
flung over the opposite gunwale, and the skiff was nearly upset. As
the sampan darted away on her new course, the skiff was left
floundering on the water.

"Good for you," chuckled Dent, who had seen the swift action and the
confusion it caused; "that's given us twenty yards," and now he
allowed Jack to seize the paddle. Kneeling on one knee in the bottom
of the sampan, Jack put all his strength into the strokes of the broad
paddle. He had paddled a canoe often enough at home on the river which
ran near the school, and his powerful young arms backed up the
boatman's efforts to such purpose that the sampan travelled as it had
never done before. Behind him he heard the fierce swish of oars, and
knew that the skiff was once more in hot pursuit.

Suddenly, without a hint of warning, the end came. Jack was just
beginning to thrust the paddle down for a strong, deep stroke when the
sampan struck something. The shock was so great that Jack was flung on
his face. As he sprang up again he heard Buck cry, "She's hit a
floating log." The sampan was uninjured. She had struck the obstacle
with her tough keel-piece, and had been turned aside at right angles.
The Shan had been flung down too, but was up in an instant and
gathering his oars. But this loss of a moment gave the pursuing skiff
her chance. Driven by twelve brawny arms, held straight as a dart, her
sharp beak of stout, hard teak crashed into the light gunwale of the
sampan, hit her broadside, and cut the little vessel down to the
water's edge.

Scarcely recovered from the first shock, the second hurled Jack
headlong. He felt the sampan turn turtle under him, and in another
second he was shot into the dark, fierce current, and felt the waters
close over his head.




CHAPTER IX.

A CLOSE CALL.


Jack did not rise at once. As he sank, the words of Buck flashed into
his mind, and he dived and swam swiftly down stream. When he could
stay under no longer, he came very slowly to the surface and put out
his face. He drew a deep breath and looked eagerly about for the
enemy, dreading to see a heavy oar poised against the sky to beat a
swimmer under. But there was nothing close at hand, and he trod water
and raised his head very carefully to look round.

Suddenly the splash of an oar falling upon the water came to his ears.
He looked behind him and saw the dark mass of the skiff thirty yards
away. One of the oarsmen was standing up and striking at some object
in the water. A pang went through Jack's heart as he realised that one
of his companions must be there, struggling for his life, and being
brutally beaten under. Then he saw the frightful danger in which he
stood himself. At any moment the skiff might shoot towards him. He
turned and was about to strike away when a dark object appeared within
a few yards of him down stream.

It looked like a head, and Jack struck out for it. He swam in silence,
and within half a dozen strokes had a man by the hair. He turned the
face up to the starlight and saw that it was Jim Dent, and that the
gunsmith appeared to be unconscious. Taking a firmer grip of Jim's
hair, Jack struck out down stream and swam as fast as he could towards
the approaching light, which was now much bigger and brighter. He had
turned on his side to swim, and looked back now and again as he rose
to his stroke. To his horror he saw the long, dark line which marked
the skiff begin to move swiftly after him. It was difficult to swim in
silence and support Jim. His splashes had marked them out to the
murderers, and they were hastening to beat him and his helpless
companion under before help could arrive.

Jack marked the approaching light and lashed out more fiercely than
ever. Unencumbered by Jim Dent, he would have had ten times as good a
chance of escaping from the human tigers who pursued him, but of
abandoning Jim, the gallant lad had never thought for a moment. Like a
snake darting over the water, the skiff was upon them, and a figure in
the bow raised an oar to strike at Jack's head. Lifting himself high
out of the water with a tremendous stroke, Jack yelled, "Help! help!"
at the top of his voice. The oar fell, but the man had been flurried
by that sudden wild cry at his feet, and it missed its mark. Again he
raised it and struck. Jack had turned on his back, and as the oar
fell, he raised his hand, met the stroke, turned it aside, gripped the
blade, and hung on desperately. The figure gave a muttered cry and
strove to draw the oar back.

But now a warning murmur arose among his companions. The light was
coming on at great speed. Jack's cry had been heard, and the vessel
was rushing swiftly up to the place. The men in the skiff knew well
now what vessel it was, and their only thought was of instant flight.
The oar was abandoned, the skiff was turned round, and away it darted
into the gloom which overhung the mid-stream. A moment later, a police
launch, with its brightly-burning lamp, and two Sikh policemen aboard,
shot up to the spot where Jack clung to the oar and to his comrade.

In an instant the two were drawn into the vessel and Jack was telling
his story.

"There are two others of us in the river," he said, and he raised his
voice and shouted, "Buck! Buck!"

"Hello!" came a cry from some distance, and Jack's heart thrilled with
relief and delight.

The launch was headed in the direction whence the reply came, and soon
Buck's head appeared in the ring of light cast upon the water by the
bright lamp. He was drawn into the launch, and then the little
steamer, circling to and fro, scoured the river to find the Shan
boatman. While this was being done, with one policeman keeping a watch
for the missing man, the second policeman, Risley, and Jack were hard
at work on Jim Dent, trying to bring him back to consciousness.

"Say, this is great," suddenly snapped Buck. "I can feel old Jim's
heart beginning to thump. He'll do, he'll do."

"Thank heaven," breathed Jack, who had been terrified at Dent's white
face and clenched teeth, and thought hope was gone. "He'll come round
then, you think, Buck?"

"He'll come all right," said Buck. "Keep on rubbing him."

"We'll take you ashore," said the first policeman; "there's no sign of
your boatman. That was the man they were beating under, there is no
doubt. Do you know anything of the men who attacked you?"

"Nothing at all," replied Buck. "We have no idea who they were."

"River-thieves," said the second policeman, "as hard to catch as a
monkey in the jungle. They work by night always. If we hadn't come up,
your bodies, stripped to the skin, would have been thrown up on the
river bank to-morrow."

The police launch put them ashore near the rest-house where they were
staying, and Jim was now sufficiently recovered to be able to walk.

"It was a close call that time," he said. "Who held me up? The only
thing I remember is hitting my head a terrific crack against the prow
of the sampan as I went over. I knew nothing after that till I sat up
on the deck of the police-boat."

"Jack had got hold of you, good and all right, so the policeman told
me," said Buck. "Where he found you I don't know."

Jack was compelled perforce to tell his story, and Jim Dent expressed
his deep gratitude.

"By George, sir," he concluded, "I should have been a supper for an
alligator to-night if you hadn't stuck to me. Those murdering rogues
would have beaten me under easy enough, even if I hadn't been drowned
before giving them the trouble. I've got to thank you for my life."

"Oh, you'd have done the same for me, Jim," said Jack. "We're bound to
stick together."

At this moment Buck, who had gone forward, gave a loud cry of pleasure
and surprise. Jack and Dent hurried after him, and entered the door of
the rest-house. Here they saw Buck slapping the Shan boatman on the
shoulder. The man, like themselves, was dripping from the river, and
was telling his story to the Burman landlord. The latter acted as
interpreter, and they learned how the Shan, as much at home in the
river as out of it, had dodged the blows of the oar, and dived and
swum so far that their assailants had believed him sunk for ever, and
had followed up Jack and Jim. Meanwhile the Shan had swum quietly
ashore and walked up to the rest-house. His only trouble now was the
loss of his sampan, and his grief was soon turned to joy when he
received a sufficient sum of rupees to buy another and leave him
something in pocket.

"River-thieves," was the comment of the landlord on the story. "They
are very daring sometimes. Without doubt they heard you speak English,
and hoped to make a fine booty by drowning and stripping you." He
bustled off to get them a supper, and Buck looked at his companions.

"I dunno as I put much faith in this river-thief theory," he remarked.
"It's handy and natural, an' all these people jump at it, of course,
but I don't think there was much river-thieves about that lot."

"Nor me, Buck," rejoined Dent. "I'd be willing to lay a trifle that
some friends of U Saw had a finger in that little pie. It would have
been a nice clean sweep of us, and as safe a way of being rid of us as
could easily be found."

"After this I'm going to wear a gun," remarked Buck. "I fancy it
would have been rather useful if you could have pumped a few bits of
lead into that boat as it came swinging into us."

"Very useful, Buck," returned Jack, "but after all, this afternoon we
were in a train where it would have seemed as out of place to wear a
pistol as if you were going from the Mansion House to Westminster."

"Yes, things change mighty quick in this country," said Buck, "and
you've got to be ready to change with 'em."

"By the way," said Jack, "those fellows who attacked us seemed to have
nothing to shoot with."

"Best for them not," remarked Dent. "They've got their own way of
going to work, and a good one too. Their chief aim is to work in
silence. Suppose they'd cracked off gun or pistol at us. A sound like
that travels a long way over water, and draws a lot of attention. You
see what a sharp watch the river-police keep. Instead of one launch on
a regular patrol, there would have been three or four shooting up to
see what the row was about."

They stripped off their wet clothes, gave them to the Burman landlord
to dry, and put on fresh garments from their baggage. Jim Dent
unstrapped the ammunition case, and each took a revolver, carefully
loaded it, and put it in a pocket hidden by the tunic.

"We don't want to walk about with holsters strapped round us just
yet," said Buck, "and at the same time we might want to do some
shooting at any minute. My opinion is that the gang is watching us all
the time."

"So I think," said Jack. "How can we drop them, I wonder, so that we
can make a start on our expedition without being ambushed as soon as
we strike into the jungle?"

"It's going to be mighty dangerous to go into the Mogok country and
follow up the Professor's trail straight from the beginning," said
Buck. "We shall be spotted at once, and, as Jack says, an ambush will
be laid for us as soon as we hit the jungle and leave the last
policeman behind."

Jim Dent scratched his jaw thoughtfully.

"They're a trifle too handy at layin' a trap for you," he remarked.
"Let's have a squint at the map. We ain't bound to follow just the
only track which would give U Saw and his men the chance to scupper us
without givin' us a chance to lay one or two of 'em out."

The map was spread on a table, and all three bent over it.

"See, now," said Jim, "everybody knows the road to Mogok. You go up
the river by steamer to Thabeit-Kyim, and then you've got sixty miles
of road across the hills to the ruby-mines."

"And the road about as quiet as Piccadilly on a fine afternoon in
June," remarked Buck. "There are mule-trains and bullock-carts, an'
men walkin' an' men ridin'. You can no more keep yourself hidden on
that road than you can if you walked down the main street of
Mandalay."

"Can't we take the place in flank?" asked Jack. "Drop somehow on my
father's line without giving them such warning as they would receive
by seeing us about Mogok?"

"Why, the bother is," said Jim, "we don't know the Professor's trail.
We must pick up one of his guides. Buck, here, can lay his hand on one
of the people who accompanied your father easily enough, but he's got
to be in Mogok to do it."

"Wait a bit," said Buck. "Not so fast, Jim, my son. I see a glimpse o'
daylight. What's this place farther up the river, Kyan Nyat. That's
where the man came from who was the Professor's head man on his last
trip, the chap who engaged the coolies and looked after everything. He
was about as useful as they make 'em, the Professor said when he got
back. His name's Me Dain, and he told me he was going back to his
native village. He was tired of Mogok."

"We'll look him up then, Buck," said Jack. "If we can get hold of him,
he could pilot us across country."

"Yes, yes," said Jim. "Straight from the river. Very good, now we know
what we're after. The sailing orders are Kyan Nyat."




CHAPTER X.

THE DACOITS.


Two days later a swift river steamer dropped three travellers and
their belongings at the riverside village, and a couple of coolies
carried the baggage to a rest-house on the crest of a slope above the
wide stream.

"Me Dain," said the landlord of the rest-house, a huge, fat Chetti,
with shaven head and scantily-clothed body. "Oh, yes, sahibs, he lives
here. He has returned from the ruby-mines with much pay, and has built
himself a fine, new house. I will send a messenger for him at once."
Within half an hour Me Dain appeared, a middle-sized, powerfully-built
Burman, with a broad, flattish, good-humoured face, marked by high
cheekbones. At sight of Buck, a merry face lighted up with the widest
of smiles, and he rushed forward to greet him.

"Well, Me Dain," said Buck. "How are you getting on now?"

"Pretty good, yes, pretty good," replied Me Dain, who had picked up a
fair amount of English on his travels. "And you, and the Sahib
Haydon?"

"This is the sahib's son," said Buck, pointing to Jack, and the Burman
bent very politely.

"I am very glad to know you, Me Dain," said Jack. "My father has
spoken very well of you."

"The Sahib was always kind to the poorest and worst of his servants,"
replied the Burman. "I, Me Dain, was always glad to be of use to so
kind a master."

"Come aside with me, Me Dain," said Buck, and the whole party moved
out of earshot of the inquisitive Chetti, hanging about to hear what
passed between the sahibs and his neighbour.

In two minutes Me Dain agreed to go with them. They had no difficulty
whatever in enlisting him. Despite his monied leisure and his new
house, Me Dain was already bored by the quiet life of his native
village, where nothing happened save that a river-steamer selling
goods called once a week. He was already longing for the trail and the
camp fire, and closed without delay on the good offer Jack made him to
act as guide to the region where Mr. Haydon had been surveying Lane &
Baumann's concession.

"When we start?" asked Me Dain.

"To-morrow morning," said Jack, and the Burman grinned.

"Then we be very busy at once," he replied, and their preparations for
the march were commenced forthwith.

"Can't we manage without coolies?" said Jack, and Buck nodded.

"Best plan," said Jim Dent. "Just the four of us, and a couple of
ponies to carry the traps." And so it was decided.

The dawn of the next day saw them afoot and leaving the rest-house.
Their baggage was strapped on a couple of Burmese ponies, strong,
shapely little beasts, not more than twelve hands high, hardy as wild
boars, nimble as cats.

Me Dain marched ahead with the ponies, and the three comrades walked
behind. The Burman followed a country road which soon took them
through tall palm groves out of sight of the river, and then began to
climb upwards. They made a march of four hours, when a halt was called
on a lofty ridge, where they sat down in a little clearing to eat and
rest.

"That's the country we've got to push through," said Jim Dent, and
pointed ahead.

Jack gazed eagerly on the magnificent scene which filled the vast
outlook before him. Peak upon peak, spur upon spur, rose a vast array
of wild mountains running to the north-west, till a range of great
summits closed in the horizon.

"See that big mountain shining red over there, the one with twin
peaks?" continued Jim.

"Yes," said Jack, "I see it plainly."

"That's near upon seventy miles from here," returned Jim, "and lies in
the ruby country. That's the finest ground in the whole world for the
ruby hunter," and he swung his hand in the direction of the vast sweep
of wild hill country into which they were about to plunge.

For three days their march was quite uneventful. By day Me Dain led
them along secret ways, sometimes mule tracks, sometimes hidden
country roads, sometimes through trackless jungle where he steered a
course as straight as a ship at sea. Then, towards evening on the
third day, he rejoiced them by describing a village where he intended
to spend the night, and at the thought of fresh warm milk, eggs,
chickens, fruit, and such like provisions to be obtained there, the
four travellers made swinging headway.

Presently Me Dain pointed forward and said, "Here we are," and they
saw the slender spire of a pagoda dart above the low trees ahead. A
few steps again carried them from the forest path they were following
to a narrow track deeply printed with the hoof-marks of cattle.

"Here's the village highway," said Buck, and the Burman looked back
and grinned and nodded.

The prospect of a night in a village with an exchange of gossip, a
thing so dear to the Burman heart, put speed into his heels. He
trotted forward, and the baggage ponies broke into a trot also. Jack,
eager to see every new sight on the march through this strange and
wonderful land, ran after him, and the two others came leisurely
behind. Me Dain vanished round a bend in the path, and, almost as he
did so, gave a wild cry.

Jack bounded forward and gave a gasp of astonishment at the
extraordinary sight before him. Four little men, clothed in blue, had
leapt upon Me Dain from the bushes which lined the way. The powerful
Burman was fighting desperately, and the ponies had run on ahead. But
the four assailants were too much for him. They beset him on every
side, clutching him, grappling with him like four wolves pulling down
a deer. But even as Jack came into sight, the strangers had mastered
Me Dain, and in a second he was dragged to the ground. With incredible
speed and quickness they flung loops of rope around ankles and
wrists, ran them taut, and made the Burman a prisoner. Then two of
them dropped on Me Dain's legs and arms, and the third seized his hair
and dragged his head forward. The fourth leapt a pace back as nimbly
as a panther, and swung up a short, broad, heavy sword.

It had all taken place so quickly that Jack had barely jerked his
Mauser pistol from his holster when all was ready for the decapitation
of their guide. But as the gleaming blade flashed above the head of
the little man in blue, Jack laid the muzzle true for his ribs and
pulled the trigger. The heavy bullet tore its way through the
headsman's body, and with a wild cry he pitched forward on the
captive's prostrate form. His three companions vanished into the
jungle beside them as Jack ran forward. He did not dare to fire at
them, for he might have struck Me Dain. Not one of them rose, but
darted away along the ground like four-footed creatures, and just as
nimbly. Jack whipped out his knife and slashed the bonds across; the
Burman at once leapt to his feet. As he did so, the other two ran up,
pistol in hand.

"An attack!" cried Buck. "What's this game? Why, it's a Kachin. You
dropped him, Jack?"

"Yes," said Jack, "he was going to lop Me Dain's head off with this
sword."

Jim picked the blade up and looked at it carefully.

"A Kachin _dah_ (native sword)," he said. "Did you see any more of
them about, Jack?"

"Yes, there were four; three of them have cut into the jungle."

"Come on, sahibs," cried Me Dain, who was very little disturbed by his
queer experience, "this dangerous place to stop. Perhaps they come
back with _jingals_ (native guns)."

"What do you make of it, Me Dain?" said Buck.

"Dacoits, sahib, dacoits; let us hurry. That man is dead," pointing to
his would-be executioner, "but plenty more in the forest." He seized
the _dah_ as a weapon for himself, and all four hurried after the
ponies, who had come to a stand fifty yards farther along the narrow
way.

"Queer business, dacoits so near a village," muttered Jim. "Let's see
what the headman has got to say about it."




CHAPTER XI.

BELEAGUERED.


But they found no headman to tell them anything. The forest clearing,
where the village had stood, was a scene of destruction. Their eyes
fell upon ruined houses and burned huts, with here and there a figure
lying about. They paused beside the first which lay in their way. It
was the body of a big, heavy man, a Chetti, as they saw at once by his
build, scored with the most terrible slashes.

"That's the work of a _dah_," said Buck. "This village has been raided
by dacoits, and, by thunder, they're not far off."

Everyone looked round uneasily. The forest lay calm and silent in the
evening sunshine all about the clearing, and no sign of a blue-clothed
figure was to be seen on its edge, yet all felt that the dacoits were
near, and that great danger hung over them. Jack had heard many times
of the Kachin dacoits, the terrible mountain banditti who descend at
times from their hills to plunder and slay, and now he was face to
face with them.

"See how it was," said Jim. "This village was raided at daybreak this
morning. Not a body has been torn by a wild animal, and the beasts
would have been busy enough to-night. Then some of 'em were left
lurking about, and they spied Me Dain coming, didn't see us behind,
and thought he was coming to the village alone. Of course they slipped
out of the bushes and nabbed him, thinking to whiff off his head and
turn the ponies' packs out at their own leisure. But Jack upset their
little plan, and Me Dain's head stops in the right spot."

"Many thanks, _phaya_ (my lord), many thanks," said Me Dain, bending
low before Jack. "Your servant thanks you for his life."

Crack! There was a dull roar as of someone firing a very heavy
duck-gun from the forest, and a ball whistled by their heads.

"A _jingal_!" cried Buck. "We've got to hustle round and find shelter.
The dacoits are on us."

"The pagoda, sahibs," cried Me Dain. "It is the only place of stone in
the village. Let us hasten there."

He gathered up the leading-reins of the ponies--which had been easily
caught--and hurried towards the spire. The others ran swiftly after
him, their steps hastened by the roar of a second shot and the whistle
of a second heavy ball.

In a couple of minutes they had reached the pagoda and leaped on the
platform between the columns which supported the bulb-like roof
crowned by its tapering spire. In the centre of the platform was a
shrine. Jack glanced quickly round.

"This won't do," he said, "not enough cover here, supposing the
dacoits attack us. What's that place?"

He pointed to a new, strongly-built house of stone a short distance
from the pagoda.

Me Dain looked at it in surprise. "It has been built since I was here
last," he cried.

"Looks just the thing for us," said Jack. "Come on," and the whole
party hurried across to the building, whose door stood half open.

"It is a small monastery," cried Me Dain, as they approached, "some
rich man has been winning merit since I was last this way. Stay a
moment, sahibs; I will enter and see that all is safe." He flung the
leading-reins to Buck and darted forward. In a few moments he
reappeared, and cried out, "There is no one here but a wounded
villager, sahibs. Come on, we shall be safe from the dacoits' guns in
this new, strong house."

The party entered through a door formed of strong teak slabs, and Me
Dain closed it behind them. They now found themselves in a large, wide
apartment, formed of the whole ground floor of the building, from
which wooden stairs led to upper rooms.

At the foot of the stairs was huddled a fine-looking old man, whose
rich silken kilt and jacket of delicate muslin showed that he was a
person of consequence. He had received a severe cut from a _dah_ on
the left shoulder, and while Me Dain skilfully bound up the wound, he
talked with the old man and learned the story of the affair.

It proved to be the outcome of a blood-feud, one of those savage
vendettas so common among the hill-tribes of Burmah. A band of Kachin
dacoits had raided near the village some six months before, and three
of the dacoits had been cut off and killed by the villagers. Now, in
revenge, a strong troop of the savage mountain banditti had fallen
upon the village, burning, slaying, plundering without mercy. The old
man had fled for refuge to the monastery, his own monastery, for he
had built it to house a party of Burmese monks.

"I am Kyaung-Taga Pah, 'Builder of a Monastery Pah,'" he declared
proudly, and Me Dain bowed before him in much respect.

It is the great ambition of a wealthy Burman to show his piety by
building a pagoda or a monastery, and when he has done so, he is
always saluted by his fellows as "Builder of a Monastery," or "Builder
of a Pagoda," titles held in very high regard. This was the meaning of
Me Dain's phrase about some rich man winning merit, for it is
considered that such good works meet with the deep approval of the
gods.

When "The Builder of a Monastery," Pah, had finished his story, Buck
inquired where the monks were, for, as a rule, such holy men are safe
even in blood-feuds. The old Burman replied that they were absent at
present. There was a great festival at a large village three days'
journey away, and the monks had gone to attend it.

Jim had stayed at the door, keeping watch and ward.

"We're in for a little blood-feud, too," he remarked. "They're dottin'
about pretty lively at the edge of the jungle."

Jack ran across to him and saw a large number of little figures in
blue flitting through the trees; now and again he caught a flash of
steel as some naked _dah_ glittered in the rays of the sinking sun.
Buck had come too, and was looking over his comrade's shoulders.

"Say, we shall have to flip our guns a bit before we drive those
blood-thirsty little ferrets away," he remarked.

"Yes, they'll do their level best to cut our throats," agreed Jim.
"They're like a nest of hornets. Touch one and you've touched the
lot."

"Hullo, they're bringing something forward," cried Jack. "It looks
like a clumsy gun on a stand."

"That's a _jingal_," said Jim. "They're laying it for the door. We'll
get out of the way. It's a clumsy weapon and a clumsy ball, but if it
hits you, you get all you want an' a little bit over. I remember in
'85"--for Jim had once been a British redcoat and had fought in the
Burmese war--"we were carrying a stockade with a rush, and a chum o'
mine got a _jingal_-ball and went down. He must have been a dead man
when he dropped, for we found afterwards that the ball had fairly
ripped the inside out of the poor chap."

He closed the door as he finished speaking, and a heavy bar was placed
in position across the stout planks. From one of the small, slit-like
windows they watched the movements of the dacoits. The _jingal_, a big
muzzle-loader on a stand of iron forks, was touched off and a heavy
shot crashed into the door.

"Whew!" whistled Jim. "That's a heavier shot than I thought. That bit
of iron weighed nearer half a pound than anything."

"It's cut into the door pretty badly," cried Jack, who had run forward
to look, and found a long streak of white in the plank which had been
struck. "We shall have to stop that or the door will be down."

"Sure thing," said Buck, "an' those little tigers away to the left o'
the _jingal_ are massing for a rush as soon as the gunners have worked
the door loose."

"You're right, Buck," said Jack, who had returned to his window. "Look
here," he went on, "there are three windows facing that patch of
jungle where the dacoits are clustered. We'll take a window apiece.
I'll give the word, and we'll empty our magazines into them as fast as
we can pull the trigger."

"Good plan," cried Buck. "It will show 'em we're well armed and an
awkward lot to tackle, even if we don't scare 'em off."

"There ain't much scare about them, worse luck," said Jim, "but we'll
pepper 'em a bit an' see what happens anyhow."

Each of them had unslung his Mannlicher and held it in hand since the
moment of the first alarm, and now they opened the magazine and saw
that all was in perfect order. Then they threw the deadly little
rifles into the embrasures formed by the window slits, and all was
ready for the word.

"Fire!" cried Jack, and the swift trill of rifle-cracks rang out on
the soft evening silence. As swiftly as they could press finger on
trigger, the three comrades emptied their magazines completely into
the fringe of forest three hundred yards away. This storm of tiny,
whirling slips of lead struck among the dacoits at point blank range,
and, by the screams and yells of the banditti, did much execution. The
watchers distinctly saw three or four fall, but these were swiftly
dragged among the trees by their comrades, and for a moment not a
single dacoit was to be seen. Then, just inside the shelter of the
trees, five figures were observed very busy placing a new _jingal_ in
position. At a glance the besieged saw that the gun was much larger
than the first, and would throw a heavier ball.

"We shall have to pick off those fellows at work with the new gun,"
said Jack. "Perhaps that will terrify them into flight."

"I hope so," said Jim, but there was not much hope in his voice. "The
worst of these little chaps is that they never know when they're
beaten. They'll give their lives to get yours, as cheerfully as
possible."

"And they don't set any high value on their lives, either," chimed in
Buck. "Whoever's runnin' the show over there, he'll spend his men's
blood like water for the chance o' catchin' us and puttin' us to death
as slowly as he can make the time spin out."

"Slowly? Killing us slowly, Buck?" said Jack. "What do you mean?"

"Torture," replied Buck, and the one dreadful word was answer enough.

Crack! It was Jim's Mannlicher which spoke, but the bullet missed its
aim. The dacoits at work about the big _jingal_ had artfully placed
the weapon so that its mouth pointed from between two close-growing
teak saplings, and the trees formed a safe cover for the gunners.

"I thought I could pick one of 'em off that time," remarked Jim, "but
I believe I only hit a tree after all."

At this instant a figure was seen for a moment behind the long gun. A
dacoit stepped into view, crouched down, and carefully trained the
piece. There was a second crack, and the freebooter dropped under the
_jingal_ and never moved. Jack had fired and sent a Mannlicher bullet
through the dacoit's brain.

"I say, you can shoot a bit," cried Jim Dent admiringly, and Buck
chuckled.

"I guess he can, Jim. He put on a very pretty string o' bull's-eyes at
Bisley, shootin' in the competition for public schools. The Professor
grinned all over his face when he read how Jack headed the list with a
highest possible."

Buck's speech was cut short by a loud roar from the _jingal_. The
fallen dacoit had trained it perfectly before he dropped, and a
comrade now touched off the piece. At the next moment a terrific crash
rang through the building. The heavy missile had lighted full on the
point where the door was secured by the stout bar, had smashed its way
through door and bar and hurled the door open. As the portal flew
back, there was a tremendous yell from the edge of the jungle. Then a
cloud of blue figures burst into sight. With gleaming _dahs_
flourished on high, or long-barrelled muskets thrown forward ready to
fire, the blood-thirsty little men of the mountains rushed upon their
prey.




CHAPTER XII.

A FIGHT FOR LIFE.


Jack ran forward to the door and tried to thrust it into place again.
It swung to, for its hinges were uninjured, and as he closed it, Me
Dain was beside him with a short, thick plank he had brought from the
other side of the room. The plank was placed diagonally against the
door, its head caught under a cross-bar piece of the framework, and,
for the moment, the open gap was filled up. The rifles in the hands of
Jim and Buck had been going steadily from the moment the Kachins flew
out of their cover, and Jack now poked the muzzle of his weapon
through a broken plank, and fired swiftly and steadily into the mass
of assailants racing directly