Rick Brant - The Caves of Fear Part 15

Sing called that lunch was ready and they took mess kits to the fire and loaded them up with rice covered with a savory sauce, canned beef, and hot, crisp water chestnuts. As Rick sighed with grat.i.tude over the first tasty mouthful, Scotty looked at the vanishing Ko party and mused, "Wonder how come he speaks English so perfectly?"

Sing overheard. He grinned. "No reason for surprise. Many Chinese are educated in American and English colleges both in China and in other countries. Like myself. I am a graduate of Oberlin."

"Guess that's right," Scotty admitted.

"Worthington is a rather strange name for a Chinese, Sing," Rick remarked.

The guide nodded. "It is. But I don't think it is his real one. Many Chinese take western first names, especially those who trade with westerners. That is because our own names are often too hard to say or remember."

"Have you ever met Ko before?" Zircon asked. "Since you've traveled widely in this region, I thought you might have come across him before."

"I don't think so," Sing replied. "But this is a very big country and there are many travelers like him."

Sing was certainly right in saying that there were many travelers, although the merchants like Ko were a minority. There were families of Tibetans walking along the trail, laden with their possessions, heading for goodness knew where. There were groups of hors.e.m.e.n, dressed in the quilted clothes of the mountain country and with peaked felt hats. Such men usually were armed with old-fashioned muskets and carried forked rests in which to lay the musket barrels for support while firing. There were parties of Chinese, sometimes on foot and sometimes with trains of mules or yaks, the oxlike Tibetan beasts of burden.

Frequently, especially in valley country, small villages lay near the trail. Often there were herders with their large flocks of sheep.

Although the trail slanted up and down, from valley to mountain pa.s.s and back down again, the way led constantly higher toward the white-capped peaks that have been called "The Backbone of the World." Beyond them, many hundreds of miles away, lay Nepal and India.

It was always cool now, and the Americans and Sing wore windbreakers and woolen sweaters. The bearers donned padded long coats. At night, the sleeping bags were comfortable; without them the Americans would have been chilled through and through.

"Make a guess, Sing," Rick requested. "How many more days to Korse Lenken?"

Sing counted on his fingers. "With fortune, maybe we'll get there late day after tomorrow. Depends on the trails."

Zircon sipped steaming tea standing up. He was too saddle sore to sit down. "Where do we camp tonight?"

"A mile or two past Llhan Huang. I know a good water supply there."

The bearers were standing around waiting patiently, already finished with cleaning up and packing, except for the Americans' teacups. They downed the last swallows of tea and handed the cups to Sing, then swung into the saddle again.

"I hope Sing is right about getting there day after tomorrow," Rick said as he shifted uncomfortably in the "chafing seat," as he called it.

"This hay-burner is no luxury liner."

"Ditto," Scotty agreed. "Besides, I'm anxious to see Chahda."

Hobart Zircon nodded. "I hope whatever we find is worth the discomfort of this trip." He grinned. "At any rate, it's a new experience for all of us."

"I don't think I'll thank Bradley for it, though," Rick added. "Well, let's get moving."

He dug his heels into the pony's flanks and moved into position behind Sing. Scotty and Zircon fell back to bring up the rear. Although they were reasonably sure no one would attack them, Zircon felt it was best to have a rear guard and they had taken turns at the end of the column.

In spite of saddle soreness, Rick looked at the view with appreciation as the trail suddenly topped a rise. Far below spread a lush valley.

Beyond were the last peaks they would have to cross before they came to Korse Lenken.

CHAPTER X

The Ambush at Llhan Huang

It was late afternoon before the Spindrift caravan left the rocks of the mountain pa.s.s and reached better ground. They paused on top of a small, pyramid-shaped hill while one of the bearers retied the pack on his mule.

Zircon looked at the formation with interest. "An old volcanic cone," he pointed out. "Notice the regularity of the slope? And we're in a kind of saucer that once was a live crater."

Rick could see it clearly once the scientist mentioned its volcanic origin. The saucer was perhaps a dozen yards across, and its edge was marked by a definite rim. Whoever first made the trail apparently had decided to go right up and across the hill instead of pushing through the dense underbrush at its base.

In a moment they started again, the mules picking their way carefully down the hillside. At the bottom of the hill was a rather dense forest, and beyond it the valley.

Sing called back over his shoulder. "Llhan Huang is just past the woods.

We'll meet Ko there, I think. I just saw the last of his mules going into the woods."

Rick stood up in his stirrups and rubbed his raw and aching thighs. The three had ridden horseback before, but not to any great extent, and the long trail was a hard initiation.

He noted that the sun was dropping behind the western peaks, and he knew from experience that it would be dark in a few minutes. The great western range was so high in the air that it brought night by blocking out the sunlight surprisingly early in the afternoon.

Then he rode into the forest and gloom closed in around him. It was cold. He zipped up his windbreaker and reached for his gloves. He saw that the trail through the forest twisted and turned to miss the big hardwood trees, so that sometimes he could see only the mule in front of him. Zircon and Scotty, at the rear of the column, were out of sight most of the time.

It grew darker rapidly. Rick reached into his saddlebag and drew out a flashlight, tucking it into his jacket pocket where it would be handy.

When he could see the sky overhead, it was dark gray and he knew night was close at hand.

Presently he found himself peering through the gloom even to see the mule directly in front. When they got out of the woods it would be lighter, he hoped.

Then, as he stood up again to ease his saddle burns, the woods around them were suddenly alive with gunfire! His pony reared and would have bolted if he had not gripped the reins tight and jerked him to a stop.

He caught a glimpse of orange flashes in the gloom, and from ahead he heard a sudden scream from one of the mules.

Scotty's voice rose in a yell. "Turn around! Turn! Get back out of the woods to the hilltop!"

Rick saw his friend's strategy at once. On the hilltop, they could fight off almost a battalion. He pulled his quivering pony around on the narrow trail and yelled at Sing.

The guide's voice came in answer. "Coming! We're coming!"

A slug whined past Rick's ear and slapped into a tree trunk. He tried desperately to get the rifle out of his saddle sheath while controlling his fear-crazed pony. Then he heard the roar of Sing's shotgun. There was no sound of firing from Scotty and Zircon, and he guessed they were having trouble with their mounts, too. None of them was horseman enough to fire from the saddle.

Rick stopped trying to get the rifle free and bent low, urging his pony on. Behind him, he heard the pound of mule hoofs, and in the woods on both sides the rustle of underbrush as the attackers tried to keep up.

The shots were fewer now, thank goodness!

In a few moments the racing column broke out of the woods into better light. Ahead, Rick saw Zircon and Scotty go over the rim of the volcanic hill, and within seconds saw them reappear again on foot, rifles in hand.

"Come on," Scotty yelled. "We'll cover you!"

Zircon's big .45-90 spoke with a decisive slam and Rick heard the heavy slug crash through the brush. Then the mules ahead of him topped the hill and in a moment he was out of the saddle, too, rifle in hand.

He joined Scotty and Zircon in time to see Sing and the other two bearers race up the hill. One mule was missing.

"Hold your fire," Scotty said. "There's nothing to shoot at unless you see a muzzle flash."