The Gratitude Of Wun Lung

Northern Advocate, 10 December 1940, Page 2

The Gratitude Of Wun Lung

Our Thrilling Serial

(Chapter III.)

“Precious Soul!”

A little creek indented the bank there, and at its head lay a sampan moored to a tamarisk bush, one of those native boats roofed in at the stern in a way that reminded Leslie somehow of a Norfolk eel fisher’s hut.

As no child was visible they both concluded that it must be in the boat, but their attention w r as riveted on two men squatting beside a little fire of sticks on the bank, on which a rice pot was cooking. Both were big fellows and villainous looking, and each had a belt of cartridges round his waist, while beside them on the ground lay a couple of Spencer rifles. “Why did you not wring the brat’s neck?" said one of them, with a sneer. “Because his cries are like music to me." said the other man, with an evil leer. “They repay me a hundredfold when I think of Wun Lung, his father,and the grudge I owe him. By this time the household will have discovered that Precious Soul is no longer in his bed, and the heart of the old opium smuggler will be torn to ribbons.”

“Revenge is sweet, oh Sum Len,” said the first speaker, “but you forget that the whole province will ring with the news of Wun Lung’s misfortune, and the first fool of a fisherman who hears a child crying will bring them after us.

“And what will they find?” retorted his companion. “O thou poor fool, P'ow Chow! a little yellow boy impaled on a bamboo spike, for that is how I shall serve him when' we have eaten. We are 10 good miles from Haiphong and the sun only just above the reed top. In a couple of hours we shall be with De Tam and may laugh at Wun Lung’s vengeance and the French garrisons to boot." With a strange expression on his face Leslie drew softly back and translated what he had heard into Tom’s ear, and both boys made a grimace as they looked at each other. “A couple of beauties we’ve struck for a start.” whispered young Parker. “No good asking them for a dip into the rice pot. Oh, dear, I could cat a horse. I’m absolutely sick with hunger. What's to be done?”

Dear Nortlilanders.

‘•Well. I don’t know what you feel about it.” said Leslie, as the piteous wail from the boat began again, “but I'm going to make a shot at getting that little chap out of those brute’s clutches. Who’s De Tam, anyway?” “Oh, I’ve heard of him,” said Parker. “He’s one of those rebel leaders who are always cutting up the French detachments and keeping things Lively in Tonkin. This precious pair are evidently going to join him, and if we’re only 10 miles from Haiphong, why, that’s the seaport town and we shall be all right there.” Leslie made a wry face. Ten miles seemed like a hundred after all they had gone through, but he had made up his mind as the piteous cry continued. “I’m going to work round behind the bushes yonder,” whispered Leslie. “Those fiends , are beginning to eat now. and there’ll be murder done very quickly if we don't get a move on things.”

Tom Parker lay on his face where the branches of the tamarisks trailed in the thick reddish water of the river, and he watched a round object receding farther and farther from him. The stern of the sampan jutted out into view; the other half of the boat was hidden by the tamarisks from beyond which the voices of the two Chinamen could be heard talking. Then two arms grasped the boat, and he saw Leslie draw himself cautiously up out of the water and peer through the square window at the back of the little floating hut'

<To be continued!