Quests (Expeditions) -- Juvenile fiction; Rangoon (Burma) -- Juvenile fiction; Young men -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
It proved the luckiest of shots. The missile struck the stooping man
square on the top of his head and caused him to start violently. As he
did so the jet of smoke and flame spurted from the long barrel and the
bullet sped. But not in the direction he had intended. The muzzle of
the piece was jerked a foot aside, and the wrestler received the
charge full in his body. He gave a convulsive start, then his arm fell
limp, and Jack was free.
Up he sprang, aflame to see what was happening with his father and Me
Dain. Long as his own struggle had seemed, it had only been a matter
of seconds, and Mr. Haydon and the fourth Kachin were still engaged in
fierce sword play. Me Dain and the third man had closed in savage
wrestle, and were trying to find each other's heart with their knives.
Jack whipped up the bar with the speed of thought, and dropped it on
the head of the man with whom his father was engaged. Down went the
Kachin, stunned and helpless. But at that very instant a wild scream
went up from the two struggling figures close at hand. Jack turned his
head to see the last flutter of their garments. The rotten foothold
had given way beneath them, and, held fast in each other's clutch,
they had fallen headlong into the deeps below. Jack and his father
were about to leap forward to see the last of their faithful guide,
when a musket cracked and a bullet flew by their heads. They sprang
back into cover and looked at each other.
"We have lost Me Dain!" cried Jack. "Brave fellow, he has gone,
fighting to the last."
Mr. Haydon nodded gloomily. "It is a cruel, bad business for all of
us," he said.
A profound silence now fell upon the little battlefield. The remaining
Kachins made no further attempt at an assault. Jack peered out very
cautiously to see what they were doing, and was surprised to see them
drawing off. His father joined him, and they watched the mountaineers
retire to the point where the shelf-road began. Here they squatted on
the ground, lighted their pipes, and calmly smoked, motionless as the
rocks around them.
"There are two short," said Jack, after counting them.
"Yes," returned his father, "they have been despatched for
reinforcements, and to give word that we have been discovered. Their
friends are on guard."
At this moment the Kachin whom Jack had felled with the bar began to
move. Jack was upon him in a moment, whipping off his girdle, and
tying him hand and foot with stout strips of it. Mr. Haydon now began
to talk with the native woman. As a rule he had preferred to speak
with her through Me Dain, for her dialect contained many words
unfamiliar to him. But now Me Dain, their stout-hearted, faithful
guide, was gone, and it seemed as if no great interval could elapse
before their fate, too, would be settled.
The woman had brought a small store of food with her. She ate, and
offered some to her companions. But they would not touch it, though
hunger was gnawing keenly at them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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