Under the Mikado's flag

The rain had cleared away and before long the sun shone brightly. As it was warm, the two young Americans discarded the cloaks they had taken. Gilbert now held the pistol Ben had taken from the soldier at the prison, while his chum carried the saber found on the stable wall.

“We are not very heavily armed,” was Gilbert’s comment. “But I reckon we could give a guard or two a pretty stiff fight.”

“I move we steer clear of all Russians,—if we can,” returned Ben.

“Oh, I agree on that. I’m talking about if we are discovered.”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad scheme to hide in the woods somewhere and rest until it gets dark again. We are surely on dangerous territory.”

“That’s a good idea—unless we can make certain there are no Russians around.”

Three miles were covered, and they were on the point of making a sharp turn across a small stream when Gilbert called a sudden halt.

“Into the bushes with you, Ben!” he cried, and turned into a thicket backed up by some trees. His chum followed, and they lost no time in reaching a spot where they were well screened.

They had scarcely done this when they heard a tramping on the road and a battery belonging to the Russians hove into view. Each gun and each ammunition cart was drawn by four horses, the drivers whipping the animals unmercifully to make them keep on the move.

“A stream, and no bridge!” the young Americans heard somebody roar in deep anger. “How in the name of the Czar are we to get across here?”

“Are there no rocks?” asked another voice.

“No, ’tis mud and it will be hub-deep if we try to get over.”

“Then that staff officer told us to take the wrong road. Maledictions upon his empty head! What is to be done? We must reach Nan-shen-go Hill by to-night. Those dirty sons of Nippon are hot after us!”

There was confusing murmur of voices, which ceased as a much louder voice was heard.

“Why are you standing here, wasting your time and breath? Out with your axes and cut down some of yonder trees and throw them in the stream. Must we waste all day here?” And a volley of curses followed, in the midst of which several artillerymen got out the axes referred to, and started for the nearest of the trees.

It was the very thicket in which Gilbert and Ben were in hiding, and for the moment both thought they would be discovered. Then Gilbert slipped to the ground.

“Come, lead your horse farther back,” he whispered to Ben. “Make as little noise as possible.”

His advice was followed, and soon they found themselves at a spot where further retreat, owing to the softness of the soil, was impossible.

“Do you think they’ll come as far as this?” questioned Ben.

“Hardly—it would be too far to drag the logs. They’ll cut down only what is handy. But, Ben?”

“Well?”

“I am going to crawl forward and listen to what they have to say. Perhaps I’ll hear of something to our advantage.”

“Shall I go along?”

“No, you look after the horses.”

So it was arranged, and with the caution of an Indian on the war trail, Gilbert crept forward through the underbrush to a point where he could see and hear the greater part of what was going on. Several small trees had already been cut down and the artillerymen were casting branches and trunks into the stream, so that they might bring their guns and carts over in safety.

“Not much of a bridge, but safer for us than will be the bridge at Shan-gow for the Japanese,” chuckled one of the Russians while working.

“What about the bridge at Shan-gow?” asked another, who had just come up.

“Oh, it was mended to suit our engineers, that is all,” answered the first speaker, and chuckled louder than ever.

“Did they set a trap for the dirty sons of Nippon?”

“That they did,” put in a third speaker. “A fine trap, too.”

“Tell me what it was, Groski.”

“So you may tell the enemy, eh?”

“Do you take me for a traitor?”

“No, I was but fooling. They placed some dynamite under the bridge and connected it in some way with the planking. As soon as a heavy weight like a gun or a body of soldiers gets on the bridge something will go off, and the gun or the soldiers will go up, sky-high!” And the speaker laughed loudly, his companions joining in.

“Dynamite does not blow up, it blows down,” said one, after the laughter had come to an end.

“True for you, Shelapovsky; but there was powder there as well as dynamite. You can trust our engineers to fix a trap properly.”

“They left a big hole on the An-Ping road,” put in another of the artillerymen. “It was on this side of the river. It was covered with loose hay and had pointed sticks at the bottom. I trust the enemy’s artillery or soldiers get into that. They’ll have a fine tumble!” And then the Russians laughed again.

“Stop your talking and laughing!” shouted a voice of authority. “Must we stay here all day? Lazybones, get to work, or I’ll have you knouted!” And then the task of building a temporary bridge was hurried along in silence. Soon the artillery was again on the move and had passed out of sight and hearing.

Losing no time, Gilbert hurried back to where he had left Ben and the horses.

“Come on, the coast is clear, and we have no time to lose,” said he.

“Did you hear anything of importance?”

“I certainly did, Ben,” and the young captain related the particulars.

“We must report this—if we’ve got time to do it,” exclaimed Ben. “Where is this Shan-gow bridge?”

“I haven’t any idea, excepting that it must be between us and General Kuroki’s army.”

“I’ve heard of such things before. Don’t you remember the holes the Tagals in Luzon used to dig?”

“To be sure I do. But they never blew up a bridge with our artillery or soldiers on it.”

“If they did, I don’t remember it. Yes, you are right, we must get back to camp at once and report this.”

“If it isn’t too late,” was the grim response.

Once again they moved along the road leaving the woods behind, and coming out to where there were long patches of high corn—destined soon to be trampled under foot by the march of countless Japanese soldiers. In some spots the corn was so high that it was impossible to see over it, even when on horseback.

They passed several farmhouses, but the buildings appeared to be deserted. Once a Chinaman peered at them from behind a corn-crib, but as soon as he was discovered the Celestial lost no time in disappearing.

“They seem to be scared to death,” was Ben’s comment. “I suppose they think they are caught between two fires, with the Japanese on one side and the Russians on the other.”

“And they are, Ben. By this war some of them will lose all they possess, and it is a question as to who will pay them back after the conflict ceases.”

At the end of another mile the cornfields were left behind, and they struck into a wooded road leading more to the southward. A short distance beyond was a cross-road, and here they paused for a minute to “get their bearings,” as Gilbert expressed it.

“My gracious, look there!” cried Ben suddenly, and pointed down the cross-road. A dozen men on horseback had appeared, riding toward them at a rapid gait. “Are those Japanese cavalry?”

“I don’t think they are,” answered Gilbert, after a brief glance at the riders, who were all heavily armed. “They look to me more like Chinese.”

“Chinese? And armed like that? Gilbert, if that is true, they must be Chunchuses!”

“If they are, we had better get out and be quick about it,” was the answer.

“Right you are.”

Away they went along the main road. But though they started off thus rapidly they were too late to escape observation, and a second later a fierce cry rent the air, and they were called upon, in Chinese, to halt.

“They are Chunchuses!” muttered Gilbert. “Now, Ben, we must ride if we never rode before! If those barbarians catch us, I don’t know what they won’t do to us!”

“Torture us to death, more than likely!”

This was no idle speech upon Ben’s part. He had heard all about the Chunchuses, who are nothing more or less than Chinese bandits or brigands. Large bodies of Chunchuses roam through Manchuria and other parts of China, holding up people wherever they can, and stealing all they can get within their grasp. Some of the more savage of them delight in torturing their victims, in the hope of learning where money or other valuables have been hidden. The war had made some of them particularly bold, and on more than one occasion Russian detachments had been sent out to shoot them down without mercy wherever found.

The road ahead of the two young Americans had several turns, so they hoped to be able to throw the Chunchuses off the track should a side path appear while their pursuers were out of sight. They spurred their horses on at top speed, and the animals responded as best they could, considering the limited rest they had had after their night’s travel.

“I’m afraid we are not gaining much,” said Gilbert, as they heard the shouts of the Chinese bandits behind them. “Their horses must be fresh;” which was a fact.

Soon came a more open patch of the road, and here the young Americans tried to increase their speed. But this was impossible, and gradually the Chunchuses drew closer.

“Stop, or we’ll fire on you!” sang out the leader of the bandits, and then a bullet whizzed between Gilbert and Ben.

“This is getting hot,” muttered Gilbert. “If they—hullo!”

He broke off short, and with good reason. Directly ahead was another turn of the road. Here more Chunchuses had put in an appearance. The young Americans were hemmed in, and escape was entirely cut off.