The fire raged fully thirty minutes. The tent had been erected upon a foundation of hardwood poles, and these gave off much heat.
LONG before the fire had burned out, the yellow cutthroats gathered in noisy groups to discuss the fact that Tom Too was still alive, and to ponder on what punishment would be theirs for turning against their master.
The three Mongols, however, took no part in this. They never removed the stares of their slant eyes from the conflagration.
When the remains of the tent had become glowing coals, the trio approached. With long poles, they knocked the embers apart.
They showed satisfaction at the sight of gray-white ash which was unmistakably burned bones. One of them raked out a partially consumed piece of bone and pocketed it.
To make certain, they dug into the earth upon which the tent had stood. There was no tunnel.
Throwing down the sticks, the three strode rapidly away. They did not take particular pains not to be seen. But they made sure none of the other pirates followed them.
The beach sand crunched softly under their bare feet. Birds twittered in the jungle. The clouds had cleared away overhead, and the sun was slamming down a hot glare.
"I did not think the bronze man would actually kill himself, oh brothers," said one Mongol thoughtfully, speaking his native tongue. "But there is no doubt but that he did."
"He did not kill himself," another pointed out. "He was speared by the half-caste."
"And very well speared, too," chuckled the third. "And I have in my pocket a burned piece of the bronze man's bones. Tom Too should think highly of that souvenir."
"No doubt he will! Verily, this bronze devil has not been one thorn in our sides — he has been a whole thicket of them."
The three Mongols stepped into a small sampan, shoved off and paddled to the largest of the anchored junks.
The interior of this craft proved to be fitted in lavish fashion, with many tapestries, paintings done on silk and featuring dragons, rugs, and elaborately inlaid furniture.
Near the high stern, they entered a room which contained a modern-looking radio installation. One man threw the switch which started the motor generators, then seated himself at the key.
The other two Mongols stood beside him. Apparently they thought nothing of the incongruity of their surroundings, the commingling of the splendor of ancient China and the shiny copper wires, glistening tubes, and black insulation paneling of the radio transmitter.
The Mongol Operator prepared to send.
There was a flash, a loud fizzing of blue flame from the upright instrument board.
The operator leaped up and made an examination. He found a short length of wire. This had short-circuited two important double-pole switches. The man cursed in the Mongol dialect.
"The apparatus is ruined!" he snarled. "It is strange the wire should fall upon the switches! Where did it come from?"
"Where from, indeed?" muttered another. "It is not electrical wire. It looks like a part of a small iron wire cable."
They discussed the mystery profanely for some minutes. "We cannot send our news to Tom Too by radio," one complained. "We must now go to him in person."
They quitted the pirate junk.
Chapter 19
TOM TOO'S LAIR
THE Mongol trio now took considerably more pains to see that none of the pirates had followed them. Plunging into the jungle, they turned northward. Occasionally they swore softly at noisy tropical birds; the feathered songsters insisted on following them with many shrill outcries.
Midway up the island, on the east shore, was a tiny inlet. It was not over a dozen feet wide and fifty deep. Branches interlaced a mat above it; creepers hung down into the water like drinking serpents.
A sampan was concealed in this. The boat was about thirty feet long, rather wide, and fitted with a mast. The matting sail was down and hanging carelessly over the little cabin in the bows.
The sampan had a modern touch in a powerful outboard motor.
The Mongol trio were about to step aboard when a startling development occurred.
A kris, sixteen inches of crooked, razor-sharp steel, came hissing out of the jungle. It missed one of the Mongols by inches, and embedded in a tree.
"Some dog has followed us!" rasped one man.
Drawing their own knives, as well as a spike-snouted pistol apiece, they charged the spot from which the kris had been
thrown. Their stocky bodies crashed noisily in the tangled plant growth. Birds fled with an outburst of noise fit to wake the dead.
The knife thrower could not be found. There was no sign, not even a track.
"We will not waste more time, my sons," said a Mongol.
They entered the sampan. The outboard motor was twisted into life. The sampan went scooting out of the inlet.
The Mongols in their strange craft looked like a trio of innocent fishermen, for the waters of the Luzon Union swarmed with vessels such as this.
The tropical sun slanted down upon the waves with a glittering splendor. Spray tossed from the bows of the flying sampan scintillated like jewel dust. The air was sweet with salt tang. A hideous slate triangle of a shark fin cut across the bows.
Some four or five miles distant was another island, smaller than Shark Head. Tall palms crowned it. Sand of the beach was very white. The whole islet was like a salad of luxurious green set upon a snowy platter. It fascinated the eyes with its beauty. As the sampan swished close, the stench of the overripe vegetation of the island was like the sickening breath of a slaughterhouse.
The sampan curved around the island, made directly for a part of the beach which seemed a solid wall of plant life, hit it — and shot through into a pond of a harbor.
With a belligerent bang or two, the outboard died. Momentum sent the sampan gently aground.
The three Mongols scrambled over the sail piled atop the little bow cabin and leaped ashore.
MORE flowering plants flourished upon this islet than upon Shark Head. Their blooms were a carnival of color. But the place smelled like a swamp; foul, poisonous.
The Mongols gained higher ground. Here stood a house. It was built of hardwood, with the sides of shutterlike panels which could be opened to furnish relief from the heat.
Some half dozen evil-looking men sat in the main room of the house. A strange tension was noticeable in their attitude. They hardly moved a muscle. And when they did stir, it was done slowly and carefully, as if they were afraid of breaking something. They were like men in mortal fear of an impending fate.
The Mongols dashed in upon this solemn assemblage with loudly boisterous cries of elation.
"Where is Tom Too, oh brothers?" they demanded. "We have news for the master. Great news!"
In their excitement, the trio failed to note the air of terror about those in the room.
"Tom Too is not here," said one of the frightened men shrilly.
"Where did he go?"
"He did not say. He merely go."
The three Mongols could not hold back their news.
"The bronze devil is dead," one chortled. "The man did not have great wisdom, as we had thought. He was a fool. He thought he was saving his five friends. He did not know that the five were dead from the gas we released. So he got up before the dogs who would turn against Tom Too and made a speech, telling them who he was, and saying he was going to shoot himself. But one of the dogs cut off his head with a sword and burned his body in a tent. We watched flames consume the body. And I carry in my pocket a bit of the bronze man's bones, which was not consumed. Tom Too will want that souvenir. Where is the master?"