THE EPISODE OF LI FONG.

"By the Prophet's head, He shall die," he said, "By the knife of the Khyberee!"

_Civil and Military Gazette_.

Li Fong, contractor and general shopkeeper, was wearied of Dorian fruit, of _nga-pe_, and of Pazobin. Li was no "eleven o'clock c.h.i.n.k "--that is, a Chinaman born and bred out of the Celestial Empire--but was a pure Hankow man, and had migrated to Burma with the philanthropic motive of spreading enlightenment among the outer barbarians, and to extract as much as he could out of the country he was honouring with his presence. But he was tired of Pazobin. Pazobin had no more to give, and for him the orange was sucked dry. His real business did not lie among the lead-foil packets of bad tea, with the cubes of China sugar, that crumbled to dust at the touch, with the inferior writing paper, the preserved ginger, and the pickled bamboo, with which his little shop was stocked. No, it had other and more paying ramifications, or Li could not have looked so sleek and comfortable as he sat in his cane chair beneath a green and yellow paper lantern and inhaled a long cigarette, the _soupcon_ of opium in the tobacco imparting a dreamy flavour to his smoke. But Li was not in his usual spirits. "Allee pidgin gone," his thoughts ran on; "Li he go too." Yes, this was true, too true. All business, really paying business, had gone since Pozendine and Iyer were swept away with other refuse, and there was nothing to be done with Mr. Pillay, who reigned in their place. Profits had come down to zero, for Mr. Pillay was that _rara avis_ of his cla.s.s--an honest man. Li Fong's approaches toward him had resulted in Li's being treated with indignity, and, what was worse, in attracting the particular attention of Jackson toward the Chinaman. And when the special attention of a district officer is drawn to a person like Li, it is better for him or her to move on, and our sleek friend, fully aware of this, was on the eve of his departure. But he was going heavily laden. He had sold his shop, and was for this night a care-taker only. Honest Yen Chow, of Myobin, was the purchaser. Yen would come to-morrow, and then Li was free as air.

He smoked his cigarette comfortably through, and dozed off slowly.

When he awoke he found that the township was going to bed. It was not a bad idea, thought Li. He would do the same. He turned down the burner of the little kerosene lamp that was placed within the gaudy lantern, locked his shop door, and went inside. Here, in a little back room, in heat and stuffiness so great that only a Chinaman could endure it, Li Fong lived his celibate life. He lit a small lamp carefully and placed it in a corner of the room; then he kneeled down, but not to pray. He merely fumbled under a heap of bedding and pulled out a small box. His eyes sparkled with delight as he opened the casket, and he gazed at the contents with a smile of deep satisfaction. When he had gladdened his eyes he shut the lid slowly with a regretful snap, and put aside the treasure. There was one more delight before sleep came, and that was contained in his opium pipe.

He lit this with a luxurious slowness, and then, stretched out on his pallet, smoked himself into paradise. What rosy dreams were Li's! He would be a mandarin of the green b.u.t.ton, his ancestors would be enn.o.bled, he might become an Amban! "To-mollow," he murmured to himself; but to-morrow never came to Li on earth. Li dreamed on, sunk in lethargy, and finally fell into profound sleep, and the lamp burned low.

When he awoke again it was with the consciousness of physical pain, and behold! the lamp was burning brightly in the room.

Two men were seated beside the light, and spread out on the floor were the jewels the little box contained. The men were arranging them in little heaps, counting them carefully. Li made a frantic effort to call out, but he was gagged. Then he rolled over toward the men, and the light of despair was in his eyes. "Keep him quiet, Moung Sen,"

said one of the two, and the taller man held his sharp _dah_ over Li, who crouched still, making no effort to move. The other finished his counting, and then swept the jewels into a bag. Then he turned savagely on the Chinaman. "Beast!" he said, "and you were going away with the earnings of honest men!" Then, changing his voice: "What! and you wouldn't even come and say good-bye to an old friend--to poor old Father Fragrance! It was very wrong of you, Li Fong, very wrong."

Moung Sen here p.r.i.c.ked Li with the _dah_, and a shiver went over the limbs of the bound man. Bah Hmoay then spoke again. "To think that you can't even speak, Li Fong, that your wicked mouth is gagged, and that all my money--_our_ money," and he pointed to Moung Sen, "has come back to its rightful owners, and some more besides! Li Fong, you were going a far journey with all that wealth. You will now go a farther journey, where wealth will no longer avail you--where the gems of the world are useless. Li Fong, you are going to die!" If eyes could have spoken there would have been a piteous appeal for mercy, but being merely eyes they could only look words, not speak them.

"I never knew a more atrocious thing in my life," said Phipson to his chief. "We found the poor devil with his throat slit from ear to ear, and on the wall of the room, scratched in charcoal, the respectful compliments of Bah Hmoay to you. Confound the brute! I'd give ten years of my life to see him swinging at the end of a rope!"

Jackson rose from his chair and slowly paced the room. After six months of absolute quiet he had begun to think that the dacoit had disappeared with the destruction of his gang, when here came a fresh atrocity--an atrocity out-Heroding the others. It was too bad, and yet, after all, in his heart Jackson could not help admiring the daring of the man.

"By Jove!" he said, "that fellow should be bottled and kept as a curiosity. Had he lived a hundred years ago, he would have died a prince."

"He'll die very high up," grunted Phipson.

"The inspector sahib has come on urgent business," announced an orderly.

"Tell him to come in," said Phipson, and Serferez Ali entered the room.

He explained briefly that he had at last a clew to the hiding place of the dacoits, and begged permission to start off at once.

It is needless to say that this permission was readily granted, and Phipson himself expressed his intention of accompanying the party. He noticed, however, the shade of disappointment that pa.s.sed over Serferez Ali's face as he said he would come, and, being a generous young fellow, guessed its meaning. It was as if the old man had said, "Do not rob me of the honour," and the mute appeal won its way. "No, on second thoughts, I don't think I shall come, Serferez."

"May you end as a lord sahib!" said the inspector. "By sunset the heads of the base born will be in your veranda."

"Take a strong body of men with you, inspector," said Jackson, and Serferez said, "Huzoor!" saluted, and went out. He pa.s.sed down the drive with rapid strides, and regained the police barracks with all speed. Here he picked out half a dozen men, and in a few minutes they were in a long snake boat rowing steadily and swiftly toward the great silk-cotton tree.

"One thousand rupees for Bah Hmoay dead or alive, and five hundred for Moung Sen, my children," said Serferez from the tiller, "and I will give up my share. You can all cut your names after this and go back to the grants the Sirkar is giving on the Chenab without fear of that jackal's sp.a.w.n, Shankar the bunnia. Ahi! for the five rivers, but Serferez must die here--die in the swamps of this ill-begotten land."

"Aho!" grunted the bearded Sikhs, and the boat fairly hissed along the water. It was a long row and a stiff row against the main stream, but presently they entered the backwater, and the boat slid like a huge saurian on the ooze. They pa.s.sed deeper and deeper into the jungle, which hung so thickly about the creek that the men had to stoop below the gunwale to prevent the branches from stopping their progress and the terrible thorns from doing them injury. Finally they could proceed no farther; so tangled was the maze of forest, so thickly did it overhang the water, that it seemed as if the creek ran into the bowels of the earth with a sudden abruptness. Very softly did Serferez ground the boat, and one by one they all stepped out. "Stay you here and look after the boat," whispered Serferez to the youngest of the men. "And, fool! don't sit in the boat, but hide _here_--_here_ in the bushes, and keep your eyes and ears open. Shoot the first Burman who comes near it dead. Don't waste time in asking questions. Remember this, or you will never see the white hills again, I swear by the Prophet's head!" and he tapped his sword hilt significantly. After this no word was spoken, but the five men with Serferez at their head made their way in Indian file through the forest. Sometimes they were able to walk, but most frequently they had to resort to the tedious process of crawling through the jungle on all fours. They dared not use their _dahs_ to cut the underwood, for the slightest sound might alarm their quarry, and many a detour had to be made to find a pa.s.sage. Serferez himself acted as guide, and he made no mistakes. Finally they came to the little clearing, and halted on its borders. A little to the left the huge silk-cotton tree reared its white trunk and spread out its huge ghostly arms like a forest giant struck with white leprosy. It was in full bloom, and the magnificent scarlet and orange of the bombax flowers starred its foliage, and ever and anon dropped with soft heaviness on the turf below. But it was not this, nor the hummingbirds that dipped their long beaks into the red cups of the flowers, that made the eyes of the men watching from the jungle lighten and Serferez's lips to draw back with a tigerish snarl.

There, under the tree, not forty yards away, seated, smoking comfortably, were the two men whom they had sought for so long. Two of the police put up their rifles, but at a glance from their chief put them down again. "Alive," he whispered; "you two go round and then rush them; they will come straight at us, and then----" The two men sidled off like snakes noiselessly through the damp undergrowth. Moung Sen now began to sing in a droning voice:

"Mah Se hath a dower of roses, Mah Kit hath a dower of pelf; And I sigh for the scent of the roses, But die for the gleam of the pelf."

"But die for the gleam of the pelf," echoed the priest sonorously.

"Mah Se hath the grace of an angel, Mah Kit she is crooked and old."

Crack! went the sharp report of a police carbine, and a bullet whistled harmlessly over the singer's head.

"May h.e.l.l burn those fools!" shouted Serferez. "Come on!" and almost before the words had left him he was on the dacoits. The Boh sprang straight at him, and aimed a terrible cut at Serferez. He parried this, but it shivered his sword to splinters, and would have killed him on the spot but for the folds of his turban. It bore him on his knees, however, and had Bah Hmoay been allowed a moment's more time Serferez would have slept in paradise. But the opportunity was not to be lost; without a second's hesitation the dacoit chief sprang off, and, cutting down another man with a back-handed sweep of his long dah, dashed into the jungle and was lost. Not so Moung Sen. The minstrel was overpowered at the outset, and was now sitting like a trussed fowl securely bound with the long coils of a couple of turbans. Serferez had regained his feet, and shouted out, "Who fired that shot?" One of the men explained that his rifle had gone off by accident--caught in a twig.

"You are a liar, Bullen, son of Bishen!" said the inspector; "and that shot of yours has cost us a thousand rupees. Still, one remains in the net.--Ho, Moung Sen! Red Diamond! Do you remember me? I have come to pay back the debt I owe you."

Moung Sen made no answer, but strained at the bandages that bound him until the muscles of his arms swelled out like knotted ropes.

"He will be very heavy to carry to the boat, will he not, my children?" said Serferez. "And the law is uncertain--he may not hang."

"And nine men from the Doab died that day at Yeo," said one.

"We get no more for his head than for the rest of him," added another.

"And he attempts to escape," said a third, pointing to the man, who strained desperately to free himself.

In the dusk of the evening seven men of the Sikh police rolled out something from a cloth at the feet of Phipson.

"May it please the Feeder of the Poor," said Serferez, "the base born attempted to escape as the other did, and there was no way but this,"

and he held the grinning head of Moung Sen out at arm's length before him.

CHAPTER XIII.

AN OVERREACH.

Saddle me straight the red roan mare, She of the Waziri breed; The wings of death are beating the air, Hola! the Waziri steed!

The wings of death are fleet and strong, But we win the race, though the race be long.

_Lays of the Punjab_.

"Ruys, would you like to go home?"

"Home! This is my home, is it not?"

"You know what I mean," said Habakkuk. "This is getting too much for you," and he stopped in a hesitating sort of way. A sad little smile lit up his wife's face--a face that had grown stronger and braver with the soul struggle of the past year. It was changed, too; the old brightness, the old vivacity had gone, but there was a serious light in the eyes that told of battle fought and victory won. And Habakkuk missed that old brightness and saw not the struggle. He was always dull, even if he knew how to suffer and be strong. But he thought that his wife was dying for freedom, and he vowed in his heart that, in so far as he could give her freedom, she should be free. Home--yes, home was the best place for her. He would never see it again, but she would be uncaged. He was not rich in the world's goods, and what he had he gave freely to the cause for which he laboured; but he held his hand back now, and during the past year the cause had suffered in this respect. But this little wrong was necessary to lighten a stricken heart. And while he thus laboured his wife saw it all with a woman's quickness, and inch by inch he was gaining ground, unknown at first to herself and through all utterly unguessed by him. At last the summer madness of the past drifted away, at last she began to realize, and just as she had done so this blundering fool asked her to go. It was too bad! After all, she had her woman's rights. Why did he not try to win her back with soft words? A new softness, a new mistrust of herself had come over her, and she could not speak. And then she dissembled and evaded the question. "I am very well," she said; "there is nothing the matter with me."

Smalley made no answer, and his wife, rising, went to the door and then stopped. For a moment the thought flashed upon her that she would ask him to come with her as far as the schoolhouse of Dagon. But he saw nothing in her hesitation. Finally she left him and went to her daily duties; but as she walked down the gra.s.sy lane that led to the school she thought to herself that if he had made any advance, ever so little a one, that she would have spoken. After all, this was part of her punishment, and she should bear it, her thoughts ran on.