This was a critical moment which Bob had not foreseen. Obviously there was little time for deliberation. Though no more shots had been fired, he had no doubt that the Russians were only awaiting a favourable opportunity for swooping on the band of Chunchuses, and after they had been disposed of it would not be long before he too, with his companions, must fall into their hands. The ladies might be safe with them, of course; but he himself durst not appear; they were hunting him for his life. It was thus impossible for him to remain neutral. Recent events had in fact made him a natural ally of the Chunchuses. They might be brigands, but they were at the same time patriots, fighting on their own soil against an alien invader. Their methods were not perhaps commendable from a western stand-point, but the Russians themselves, as he himself had seen during his wanderings in Korea, were not always too scrupulous. There was only one consideration that made him hesitate, and that was, would the sudden friendliness of the Chunchuses last after the pressing danger was past? Bob was not long in making up his mind. "Tell them," he said to Ah-Sam, "that I will help them if they will help us in return. If they succeed in beating off the Russians, they must afterwards help us to cross the Yalu and come safely within the Japanese lines. Will they do that?" "My talkee, massa." Ah-Sam put the case to the man, who stood impatiently awaiting Bob’s decision. The answer was voluble, and accompanied by gestures which to Bob were very mysterious. Ah-Sam explained that the Chunchuse had at once accepted the offered terms, and had emphasized his promise by swearing by the graves of his ancestors that he would make his words good. "Is he to be trusted?" asked Bob. "Oh yes. He one piecee head man; he talkee velly good; he velly muchee aflaid joss angly, spoilum allo piecee Chunchuses this-tim’, supposey no do what he hab say do. He allo lightee, massa." "Very well. Tell him I will see what can be done." "What are you going to do, Mr. Fawcett?" asked Mrs. Pottle. "I strongly object to have any dealings with the brigands, and I declare—" "Auntie," interposed Ethel gently, "don’t you think we had better trust to Mr. Fawcett to do what he thinks best?" "Well, I wash my hands of the whole business. China boy, fetchee more water from the streamee; we wantee makee more tea."