“I met an English marine, who said he had seen an American lieutenant go into the back dure wid one av thim haythins; an’ I put it down for you. Are any more of the Chinks around?” “No. There were three, but I put one of them out of the fight some time ago. How long is it since I left our headquarters? I have lost track of time.” “Ye left at noon yesterday. It’s now tin o’clock in the marnin’.” “Then I was overcome all night by a tumble I took through a trap-door. Casey, I owe you a good deal for this--and you other men, too,” added the young Southerner. “That’s all right, lieutenant,” said one of the men. “We are glad we reached you as we did. The troops ought to take possession of this place after this.” “They shall, Netwood,--and keep a strict guard for underhanded work, too. That old priest--Gracious! What is he up to now?” Gilbert took a step forward, and so did the others. Then all came to a stop, fascinated by the scene being enacted before them. Wounded as he was, the old Buddhist had struggled to his feet, and tottered to another idol, one holding a bird and a dog in its hand. Before this idol the priest was waving his hands, and chanting in the same monotonous tone he had before employed. In his right fingers he clutched a dagger, with which he was making circles before the idol’s face. “Looks as if he was going to carve the idol up,” whispered Netwood. “Hush!” replied Gilbert. “Look at him! Isn’t it enough to make one’s blood run cold?” “Hadn’t we better make him a prisoner?” put in the third soldier of the party. “He may become very dangerous when he’s worked up. His eyes--” The soldier stopped short. The Buddhist priest had turned to look at the Americans. Now he made a horrible face,--like that of a snarling wolf,--and spat at them. Then, turning swiftly, he placed his dagger to his breast, and, looking up at the idol, let himself fall upon the point of the blade. “He has killed himself!” burst out Gilbert, and leaped forward, followed by his men. But he was too late. When they turned the old priest over, he was stone-dead. Rather than become a prisoner of the enemy, he had taken his own life. As they gathered around the old man, they noted that the wolf-like expression of the face was gone, and something like a smile had taken its place. Nobody could speak for several seconds, and Gilbert felt a curious lump rise in his throat. “He’s dead!” he murmured hoarsely. “He wanted to take my life, but I don’t bear him any grudge. He thought he was in the right, and he lived according to his light. I wish this war was over.” And just then every man who heard those words wished the same. CHAPTER XXIV NUGGY POLK’s SET-BACK Laying the dead body of the Buddhist priest in the court-yard of the joss house, Gilbert and his men covered it with a matting and some loose stones, that the dogs might not get at it, and then hurried back to the headquarters of the first battalion.