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TO SIT IN SOLEMN SILENCE
252Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX5SSJ6vi1i
Bronco knew that every reasonable precaution had been taken. The Korean priest had been taken to a tent readied especially for him, had been bound hand and foot, and had then been chained to stakes. In the bargain two guards were outside the tent, at all times, controlling the flow of meals. He decided to allow Thatcher's driver, the old Japanese Yoshihiro, to bring the priest food since Yoshihiro had insisted that priests ate special portions, and if Robinson were not allowed his food he might will himself to his death. That Bronco would not like. According to further instruction he had received from the emissary, in a fuller telegram later, the man was worth ten thousand alive; five thousand dead. Five thousand dollars difference was nothing to be sneezed at. Not at all. He could use it. This reward was going to be his; he was damned if the railroad was going to get a cent of it. He had induced knowledge of the priest; he had been the one to capture him, he would present him to the emissary, a Mr. Kyung, wasn't it? Let damned New York or San Francisco see if they would cut in!
Nevertheless, he could not get over a feeling of apprehension. Everything was too pat, too tight. Thatcher was out of the way, the renegades' foolish attack had been destroyed with the collaboration of the priest, the leaders of the renegades had been killed, and the priest himself was waiting for recovery by the emissary. The blasting would continue, the tunnel would be laid through in the proper place, and the track or his part of it would be completed on schedule. All of his problems had been solved, many of them for him thanks to the foolishness and impulsiveness of Thatcher himself who had laid the whole situation in his hands. But the fear was still there.
What was it? Bronco thought, sitting in his tent, looking at the guard Eucher still incessantly playing with his shotgun. That could be part of it; Eucher was beginning to disturb him. The man was psychotic; there was no need to submit to this kind of thing anymore. Tomorrow he would make arrangements for the guard to get his sleeping quarters, either that or bunk with the other guards. He didn't need a personal bodyguard anymore. He could take care of himself. But Eucher was only a symptom of the tension. What it boiled down to was the priest. There was something about the priest.
The man was no fool. Bronco knew that already. How he'd blunted the attack of the laborers had shown more than anything else the impressive strength of the man, the hold that he had on his people. They believed in him. They believed in this Hwarangdo priest. The man's self-assurance was not fake either, Bronco thought. He believed in himself; he had reason to. This was a man whose very body was a deadly weapon. It would be madness to have the likes of him loose in the camp.
But he wasn't loose. He was bound and chained, guarded, and watched constantly. Surely there was nothing ahead now but the turning over the man and the taking of the reward, the completion of the tunnel, the end of this assignment. But Bronco could not put it out of mind that quickly. Something was wrong, profoundly wrong. Everything concerning Orientals had a different level of meaning.
He slapped at a fly and cursed. Eucher looked up from his pistol and said, "Little nervous, aren't you?" and then went back to his cleaning before Bronco had even framed a reply. He cursed again and then in a sudden fit of rage, slammed a fist down on the desk and then went over to Eucher. "I'm sick of you," he said to the man. "I'm sick of you and your goddamn gun."
Eucher didn't look up. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Get out of my tent."
Eucher shrugged. The gun was flat in his palm seemingly pointed, as if by accident, at Bronco. "Make me," he said.
"I'll make you," Bronco said, "I'll make you all right," and he was about to move on Eucher, regardless of the consequences. The man wouldn't have the nerve to shoot him. But he heard a rustle at the tent flap and turned as two Japanese parted the canvas and looked in.
For a moment Bronco thought that one of them was Kazuo, the laborer who had given the original intelligence about Robinson and who he had put into separate quarters under a protective guard of his own, but then he realized that he was wrong. Rather, one of them had been the old man Yoshihiro who had been Robinson's friend, the other Bronco didn't recognize at all. Behind them were the two guards who had been assigned to Robinson. One look at their faces and suddenly Bronco knew exactly what they'd come to tell him.
"He escaped," Bronco said flatly, turning toward them, "isn't that right?"
One of the guards was already babbling. "I swear," he said, "we were watching the tent at all times. There was no way he could have gotten out."
"When did he get out?" Bronco said.
The other guard, calmer, put a hand on the old man Yoshihiro. "This one brought some rice for him," he said. "I started into the tent to give it to him, and he was gone. The chains were unopened, the stakes were still in the ground---but the man was gone."
"That was stupid," Bronco said, "that was stupid." But he felt quite calm. It was good at last to confront the source of his anxiety. What he'd most feared would happen had happened. The priest had escaped. Now no nameless fears were lurking behind him; there was just a clear task to be accomplished. Apprehension was gone; Bronco found himself already calculating shrewdly and coldly. "All right, Eucher," he said, turning to the man behind him, "find out what he took with him. Maybe that'll give us a clue where he's heading."
Eucher withdrew. Bronco poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down to wait. "How do you suppose he did it?" he asked of nobody in particular.
"A Hwarangdo can walk through walls," the Japanese with Yoshihiro said. He was a simple, credulous man with wide eyes. "The stories the Koreans tell us of the Hwarangdo are that they----"
Bronco waved a hand, cutting him off, and said to the babbling guard, "You were right to bring the old man in. But why him?"
"They were talking in the same tent. I felt it best."
"That was good thinking," Bronco said, "for once." He turned toward Yoshihiro. "How did you help him escape?" he asked.
The old man shook his head. "I did not have to help him escape. No one has to prepare the way for a Hwarangdo priest. Their way is prepared."
Eucher reentered, looking pleased. "He didn't take anything," he reported. "He's afoot and hungry."
Bronco stood up. "I can't afford to lose him---he's worth money!"
"I sent men in to cover the town," Bronco said. "If he's headed that way, they're gonna pick him up."
"And if he's not?" Bronco asked coldly.
"If he's not----?"Eucher paused for a moment. "Ah, well, you know this country. Cold---wind---wilderness. Without a horse, without food, he's good for two days---three at most."
Bronco reflected. "All right, then give him four. Then send out a search party. Pick up what's left of him. Maybe he's worth something to them dead."
Eucher nodded, then pointed to the two Japanese, "What about them?"
"Send 'em back to their tents. I don't expect they'll do any walking through walls."252Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp2I65nMigo
