next moment he was groping in blindness.

CHAPTER XII

Lingering in his vision was a leering face.

Mud had been thrown into his eyes, and the filth was plastered from
eyebrows to nose. In a flash he recognized the face. Months ago he
had thrown that Chinese from the deck of a steamer into the
shark-infested waters of Tandjong Priok, the harbor of Batavia, Java.

Such amusing spectacles as the struggling unbeliever with rich mud
plastered in his eyes have a tendency to evoke keen appreciation from
the yellow races, who are supposed to be devoid of a sense of humor.

Shrill and explosive laughter was arising on all sides of him.

Light came slowly to his tortured eyes through a thick, yellow film.
All of his muscles were tensed; any instant he expected to experience
the long anticipated thrill of cold steel between ribs--or at his
throat.

Some kindly Samaritan had taken him by the hand. Mucous breath
assailed him. He distinctly heard a thud, a grunt, a screamed order.

No words were spoken, yet the mysterious hand tugged urgently at his
wrist. Peter knelt down and raised handfuls of water to his eyes from
a tub. He looked about for his benefactor and met only the leering
countenance of a highly amused group of urchins, men and women,
diverted as they had probably never been diverted before.

And in the meanwhile he realized with a torn heart that the thundering
hoofs were receding farther with each flitting instant.

Peter knocked down one man as he struck out through the amused circle.
The square was now all but deserted. Two bodies lay in the mud,
unattended. Examination proved these to be the earthly remains of the
two Mongolian horsemen--the two he had shot down. The two horses were
unattended. Peter mounted the nearest.

The air was growing cold. A keen, ice-edged wind was moving northward
from the range, and the sky was graying with storm clouds.

His horse was moving like the wind, perspiring not at all, a
thoroughbred, a mount for a prince! At his present rate he should
catch up with the Mongolian rear by nightfall; otherwise the pursuit
was certainly lost. And then Peter fell to wondering what tactics he
would pursue when he reached the band. How could he, alone, armed only
with an automatic revolver, hope to overpower professional riflemen who
numbered at the least forty? It was a nice problem; yet he could
reason out no simpler solution. He was bent on a task that might have