is hideous. I have seen
them. That will be stopped!" he added tensely.

Under the lantern they paused, and Peter found his strange companion to
be examining his features intently.

"I can add nothing to what has been said," Kahn Meng went on. "I have
much to attend to now. We are starting immediately. At present will
you trust me as I trust you?" He extended his right hand, and Peter
clasped it silently.

The ripe old moon of Tibet was creeping from its bed, tipping the
pointed tents with a soft glow.

On such another night as this Peter had first dared to enter the City
of Stolen Lives, and the faint, mysterious sounds of a caravan at rest
stirred up old memories.

The probable treatment of Eileen at the hands of Len Yang's king was
too terrible for him to contemplate. And he was as helpless at this
instant as though he were on the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

A hot flood of anger welled up in his breast. His palms began to
sweat. Each minute was drawing her closer to the moldy walls.

He could picture her struggling in the arms of the giant Mongolian. He
could see the great drawbridge swinging down to the white road in the
moonlight or the blistering heat of noonday. And on the hill, like a
greedy, white vulture, he could see that solemn palace with minarets
stretching like claws to the sky, crouching upon the red slime vomited
forth by the mines.

A cool voice startled him. Kahn Meng came out of the darkness.

"Two hundred men will accompany us. The others will remain here in
case an attack is made on our rear. There may be trouble. Of course,
I could go, unharmed, into Len Yang by the mountain road; but as soon
as I entered I would be helpless--a prisoner forever. He knows I am
returning. He is expecting me. But he does not know that half his
garrison are loyal to me. The yellow-whiskered one will not be glad to
see me," he added with a malicious grin.

The night seemed to be filled with silent, wakeful coolies, armed with
rifles. The grim and watchful silence of the procession, the black
mystery of the night with the sinking, cold moon aloft, and the
uncertainty of the whole affair, set Peter's nerves to tingling; and
his heart was beginning to react to the high excitement of it.

He was elated, yet anxious. To-night's business was no quest of the
golden fleece. The size of his undertaking, now that he stood, with
only a few miles between, at the threshold of achievement, was