And Remo moved on the man. The pump gun came out of his clutch and disintegrated in Remo's hands. The Indian stood looking at the shards of his steel-and-walnut weapon with a slack-jawed expression. "Where's Sunny Joe Roam?" Remo said tightly. Woodenly the Indian pointed to the west.
"Yonder. Red Ghost Butte. He went up there two days back. He ain't been back since." The Indian suddenly fell into a fit of coughing. "We think he's dead."
"Dead?"
"The death hogap dust musta got him. He went up there to talk to the spirit of Ko Jong Oh."
"You don't mean Kojong?"
"Forget it. Indian talk." The Indian fell to coughing again. "Damn this plague. Steals all the breath from a man."
"Plague?" Chiun said from the shadows.
The Indian coughed again. "Yeah. They call it the Sun On Jo Disease."
"Sun On Jo?" said Remo. "Not Sinanju?"
"Yeah. I ain't never heard of any Sinanju tribe." Then the Indian got a clear look at the Master of Sinanju. "Hey, don't I know you, old fella?"
"I was here when the Japanese sought to rain death on this land," Chiun said gravely.
"Yeah. You came with Sunny Joe. You're a good guy. But I think you're too late. We're all dying of this damn death dust."
"What's the best way to get to Red Ghost Butte?" Remo asked quickly.
"That jeep of yours will take you as far as Crying River."
"Crying River. Not Laughing Brook?"
"How do you know about Laughing Brook?" the brave asked.
"Never mind," said Remo, jumping for the open car door. "Thanks."
Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju. "You stay here."
Chiun's wispy chin lifted in defiance. "I am coming with you."
"That's your decision."
"Yes, it is."
They got into the Navajo and left the Indian choking on the dust kicked up by their rear wheels.
The road gave out eventually. The Navajo climbed the sand, found traction for a while, then got bogged down. They abandoned it.
The sand crunched softly under their feet. It was the only sound in the night. Red Ghost Butte reared up before them like a grounded ship.
They came to a long depressed wash of sand that had formed a crust and passed over it without breaking the crust. Hoof prints of a horse showed as broken patches in the crust, so they were not surprised to find a horse loitering at the foot of Red Ghost Butte.
The Master of Sinanju went to the horse and, prying open his mouth, examined the inside.
"He has known neither water nor food for two days."
"Must be Sunny Joe's horse," said Remo, looking up. Moonlight washed the eastern face of Red Ghost Butte. Plainly visible on one side was a hole.
"Looks like a cave up there," Remo said.
The Master of Sinanju said nothing. His eyes sought the cave mouth and held it.
"Does it remind you of the cave of your vision?" he asked.
"Can't tell from down here." And Remo started up. Picking his way through brambles and brush, he ascended until he stood at the entrance to the cave. He seemed to take his time, but in reality he reached the ledge before the mouth cave very quickly.
There Remo hesitated. And in that moment he sensed a presence behind him.
Remo whirled. And there stood Chiun, his face stiff in the moonlight, his hands tucked into the joined sleeves of his kimono.
"What are you doing up here?" Remo asked harshly.
"I have come this far, but I will go no farther. This is your quest. You must see it to its end, no matter how bitter it is for both of us."
"You want me to go in here or not?"
"I offer no opinion," Chiun said, voice and eyes thin.
"Okay," Remo said thickly. And he stepped in.
The moonlight showed red sandstone for several yards. When he passed into the dark portion, he stopped, letting the visual purple in his eyes adjust to the blackness. His heart thumped, but he felt a strange calmness come over his mind.
As his eyes adjusted, Remo began to see low shapes on both sides of the cave and his mouth went dry.
THE MASTER OF SINANJI stood in the moonlight looking into the cave. He watched the back of his pupil recede beyond the wash of pure moonlight and in his heart bid a silent farewell to him. After this night nothing would ever be the same again, he knew.
Then out of the cave came Remo's excited voice. "Chiun, get in here!"
"I will not," Chiun called back.
"You gotta. I need your help."
"For me to enter that cave is to die. Your own mother told you this."
"That's not what she said, and if you don't come in here right now, I'm coming out there to drag you in!"
His face warping with a succession of conflicting emotions, Chiun, Reigning Master of Sinanju, passed grimly into the forbidding cave.
He saw the first sack of bones to his right. It was a mummy. There was another on the opposite side, facing it. Two sad bundles of bones wrapped in faded Indian blankets. Farther along sat two more mummies. They reclined in niches carved out of the porous red sandstone.
At the end of the tunnel of sandstone, whose sides were repositories for the dead, Remo Williams knelt beside a living man, cradiing his head on his lap.
"It's Sunny Joe," Remo whispered, pain in his voice. "I think he's dying, Chiun."
But the eyes of the Master of Sinanju were not on his pupil or the dying man, but on the thing in the great arched niche beyond. The niche at the very end of the cave.
It was a mummy like the others. It wasn't dressed in Indian blankets, but in a silken robe whose cut and color and fineness marked it unmistakably as a kimono woven in the village of Sinanju long ago during the Silla period.
Looking up, Remo saw Chiun looking beyond him, transfixed.
"That's the mummy I saw in my vision. It looks just like you."
"It is Kojong," whispered Chiun. "It is the lost -Master."
"Never mind him. Help me."
Tearing his eyes from the mummy in faded yellow silk, Chiun knelt beside the dying man.
He was well over six feet tall with a strong, weathered face and deep-set brown eyes. Dust caked his face, and his lips were parchment dry and cracked.
Placing a palm to his mouth and nose, Chiun tested the breathing. Long fingers felt along the spine and throat.
"His ki is failing," Chiun said.
Remo looked stricken. "He can't die now. I just found him."
A low cough came from deep within the unconscious man.
Resting an ear against his chest, Chiun listened patiently until a second cough racked the body. Chiun lifted his head. "It is the mouse disease," he said gravely.
"What's that?"
"A malady carried by mice when they are abounding. It fills the lungs with death. If he can be revived, he might be saved." And Chiun began to manipulate the man's spine.
Sunny Joe Roam stirred. His eyes blinked open. "I know you," he said.
"I know you, too," Remo said.
"You're dead. Does that mean I'm dead now?"
"None of us are dead, brother," Chiun said softly. "If you have any strength in your body, draw upon it that you might be saved."
"Water. There's water in Sanshin's canteen."
"Sanshin?" Remo and Chiun said in one voice. "My horse. Appreciate a swig."
Remo ran down to get it, but when he came back to administer it, Sunny Joe took one tentative sip, then his head lolled to one side in Remo's supporting hand.
"No," Remo moaned.
"He is not dead," Chiun said, stern voiced. "But we must make haste."
Tears streaming from his eyes, Remo said, "You told me he was dead."
"And he that you were dead. But if you would have him live, you must do as I say."
"How do I know you won't let him die just to save your village?"
"Because you know just as I know that this man is of my village. I am pledged to preserve his life. As are you. If you are not a good son to him, then you at least will do this for Sinanju."