Under the Mikado's flag

“What shall we do now, Gilbert?”

“I don’t know that we can do anything,” responded the young captain dismally. “We are caught, that is all there is to it.”

“Shall we show fight?”

“What is the use—they are fifteen or eighteen to two.”

“And as villainous a looking crowd as I ever beheld. We are in a pickle truly.”

“We may as well put on a bold front. When they find we haven’t anything of value with us, they may let us go.”

It was a forlorn hope, are they had no time to give it further consideration. They brought their horses down to a walk and the tired steeds were glad of the change in gait. The bandits ahead had halted to learn the condition of affairs. Now they saw those behind Gilbert and Ben are set up a shout.

“They all belong to one gang, that is sure,” observed Ben.

“Let us keep on,” was the answer.

There was a clatter of hoofs, and amid shouts and yells the Chunchuses surrounded the Americans and compelled them to halt.

“Throw down your weapons,” said one, who was the leader, and as there was no help for it, they did as bidden. Then the leader asked them who they were and where they had come from.

“We are Americans and attached to the Japanese army,” answered Gilbert stiffly. “What do you want of us?”

“All you possess,” was the ready return.

“You can have that and welcome, since we have nothing with us.”

At this the brigands scowled and muttered among themselves.

“Search them,” was the reply. “Do it well too. These Americans are sly cats for hiding things.”

Both Gilbert and Ben were made to dismount and were searched with great thoroughness. But as all of their possessions had been taken from them by the Russians at the prison, nothing of value was brought to light. At this the Chunchuses grumbled loudly, and pushed the young officers roughly.

“Perhaps they threw their goods into the thickets as they rode along,” suggested one of the bandits. “If so, make them confess where.”

“Yes! yes!” came in a roar. “Make them confess! They must have carried something of value.”

“You must tell us where you have put your valuables,” said one of the bandits, and caught Gilbert by the throat, while another held Ben.

“I had nothing but what you saw,” gasped Gilbert. “Le—let me go.”

“We will not believe that. Confess!” And now several of the Chunchuses drew their swords and made movements as if to run the prisoners through.

“I have nothing, I tell you,” came from Ben. “What are you going to do—murder us in cold blood?”

“And why not? We care nothing for Americans,” returned one of the bandits with a sneer.

“We have not forgotten the attack on Pekin,” added another.

“But I——” began Gilbert, when a yell came from one of the Chunchuses in the rear of the crowd.

“What is it, Hing Chang?”

“The Japanese sharpshooters! The same we met last night!”

The report was correct—some Japanese soldiers were rushing along the road with guns ready to fire. In a second more a volley of shots rang out, and three of the Chinese bandits fell to the earth, two dead and the third badly wounded.

“Banzai!” was the Japanese cry. “Here they are—the rascals who stole the things from our camp. At them, men! Let not one of them escape!”

“The sharpshooter! We must ride!” muttered the Chunchuses. “They are too many for us!” And letting Gilbert and Ben go, they leaped for their horses with all speed.

The Japanese detachment continued to fire on them, and they sent back two volleys in return. Then they went clattering up the road as fast as their horses could carry them.

The turn of affairs was bewildering, and the Americans scarcely knew what to do. Then Gilbert, who happened to possess a white handkerchief, which neither Russians nor Chunchuses had cared to take from him, hoisted it in the air as a flag of truce.

“Banzai!” he roared, and Ben joined in the cry, to show the Japanese that they belonged to the army and not to the bandits.

It was well they raised the handkerchief, for it probably saved them from death. Even as it was, several sharpshooters fired on them, but luckily the shots did no further harm than to clip their clothing.

“Vell, of dis ton’t peat der pand!” shouted a German voice. “Cabtain Russell und Cabtain Bennington, or I vos dreamin’!” and the next instant Carl Stummer came forward from among the sharpshooters.

“Stummer!” gasped Ben, and was never so glad to see a friend as at that moment. “And Casey, too!”

“Say, but you’re after havin’ a close shave wid a mighty sharp razor,” came from Dan Casey. “Was it thim bandits as collared ye lasht week? Sure an’ I thought it was the Roossians.”

“We were captured by the Russians, Dan,” answered Gilbert. “But we escaped, only to fall in with those Chunchuses. I’m mightily glad you came up.”

By this time the brief fight with the bandits had come to an end, with another killed and two more wounded. It is perhaps unnecessary to add that the wounded Chunchuses were at once beheaded by the Japanese—a common way of treating all bandits in the Orient.

As soon as the excitement was over, a Japanese officer in charge of the detachment listened to the story Gilbert and Ben had to tell. That section of the country was strange to him, and he did not know where the Shan-gow bridge was located.

“About that hole in the An-Ping road there is no use of worrying,” said he. “We have already located a number of such holes, and our advance guard are watching for them. But I think you had best report this bridge affair at headquarters without delay. You have horses, so can make faster time than we can.”

“Are there any Russians between here and the camp?” asked Ben.

“I believe not. They are retreating to An-Ping and Liao-Yang as fast as they can travel. General Kuroki and General Nodzu are pressing them hard.”

After some talk Gilbert persuaded the Japanese officer to allow Stummer and Casey to return to camp with them—the sharpshooters to show them the proper road to take, there being several a short distance back.

“Sure, an’ this is a touch of old times,” said Dan Casey, as the four moved off. “I’m after wishing we were all in one company.”

“Oxactly mine vish, too,” said Carl Stummer. “Put ve ton’t got eferyding in dis vorld vot ve like,” and he heaved a ponderous sigh.

As they moved along they passed several spots where the Russian outposts had had their camps, and one place where a battery had been located—probably the battery Albert and Ben had met on the road. But nobody was around—Russian, Chinese, or Japanese.

“It will take years for this country to recover from the war,” remarked Ben. “It seems a shame that such things have to be.”

“Sure an’ man’s a wild animal whin ye sthrip th’ skin of civilization from him,” came from Casey.

The Irish sharpshooter expected to reach camp by seven or eight o’clock in the evening, but when he came to a spot where two roads presented themselves, he paused, and scratched his head.

“Carl, which is the right road, do ye think?” he asked, presently.

“Yah, dot is a riddle alretty! Maybe dot von on der left,” answered the German.

“An’ I was after thinkin’ it was the wan on the right.”

“Aren’t you sure, Dan?” questioned Gilbert.

“I confess I am not. I wasn’t watchin’ the road very closely whin we came over the bit av a hill yonder.”

After a brief consultation they decided to try the road on the right for a mile or more. “If it runs to the southeast, that is all we want,” said Gilbert.

It was a broad highway and unusually well kept. As they advanced Dan Casey shook his head.

“Sure an’ I don’t think we had such good walkin’ as this, did we, Carl?”

“Not much ve didn’t,” declared the German sharpshooter. “Der mud vos awful in sphots.”

“Perhaps we had better go back,” suggested Gilbert.

“Let us keep to the road a while longer,” said Ben. “It seems to run in the direction we want to go.”

There was a turn ahead, leading into a small valley. At the turn they came to where they could see a fair-sized stream of water ahead.

“Here is a hut,” said Ben, and pointed it out. In front of the shelter sat an old Chinese woman, blinking uncertainly at them.

“Sure an’ that ould woman ought to be able to tell us about the road,” said Casey.

“I’ll question her,” replied Gilbert.

But to get any information out of the old woman was not so easy. She was very deaf, and much scared, and held up her hands as if supplicating them not to kill her.

“We will not harm you,” shouted Gilbert into her ear.

“I am poor!” she replied. “Poor! poor! poor!”

“Tell me what road this is,” he fairly bawled.

“I am poor and old! Do not slay me, kind sirs!”

“What road is this?” he shouted. “What road?” And he pointed up and down the highway.

“The road? It is the road to An-Ping and Liao-Yang.”

“And where does it lead to in the other direction?”

“To the village of Shan-gow, just across the bridge.”

“Shan-gow!” cried the young captain. “Is that the Shan-gow bridge?”

“It is! Oh, spare my life!”

“Were the Russians at that bridge a day or two ago?”

“Yes! yes! But what they did I do not know. They said, if I went down there, I would be killed.”

Gilbert turned to his companions.

“That is the Shan-gow bridge—the one the Russians mined,” he said, in English. “We have reached it in time, after all.”

“Yes, but none too soon!” came from Ben.

“What do you mean, Ben?”

“Look along yonder road. A battery of Japanese guns is coming at full speed, and they are bound for the bridge!”