Whatever Sin Foo said, it was spoken in an undertone.

Near his excellency there was movement among the members of his retinue. In another instant the governor had vanished around the angle in the wall.

“Grab that ‘Burnt-face’ chap!” whispered Dave, to two of his sailors. “Hurry him along to the ramparts, but don’t be rough with him unless you have to be.”

Then up to Sin Foo, in the same twinkling, stepped Ensign Darrin.

“Sir, I am sorry, but I haven’t time to waste on formal speech. Since your governor has run away, you must go with me to the ramparts.”

“But I—I am not a fighting man,” protested Sin Foo, turning to a greenish hue, which in a Mongol, is equivalent to turning pale.

“I believe you,” assented Darrin. “And you won’t be very much of any sort of man, unless you make up your mind to do instantly what I wish of you. Come!”

Nodding to a sailor to escort the under secretary, Dave and two of his men brought up the rear and rushed out into the open.

Left alone without command, the governor’s score of soldiers, lined up against the walls, after a bewildered pause shuffled off in the wake of their departed chief.

Cr-r-rack! On the rampart at the west of the compound a squad of sailors had opened fire on a party of Chinese who were firing from the shelter of the nearest houses. Dan ran over to them, and stood behind his marksmen before Darrin succeeded in reaching the top of the steps nearest to the firing party.

At the outer edge of the rampart was a low wall of stone some two feet in thickness. On the flat floor behind this the sailors had thrown themselves, aiming their rifles over the parapet. Behind them Danny Grin, sword in hand, took position, pointing out some of the places of concealment of yellow snipers.

“They’ve opened fire, sir,” reported Dalzell, saluting as his chum came up.

“So I see,” nodded Ensign Dave. “Men, don’t shoot too hastily. Try to plant every bullet where it will be most effective.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” came the hearty chorus. Cr-r-r-rack!

Half a dozen of the missionaries who had joined the sailors on this part of the rampart, were proving their manhood by doing careful, deliberate work with their rifles. While under other circumstances these men of the cloth would have preferred not to take a hand in such an affair as this, the danger that threatened a score of American women completely changed their viewpoint.

“These mission men and the other American residents are going to make as good fighting material as you can get out of untrained men,” Dave remarked to Dan, in a low voice.

Suddenly the “Castoga” took a lively hand in the affair again, her guns belching forth shells.

“Why, they’re landing shells in the ruins of the mission settlement,” declared Danny Grin. “What on earth can that be for?”

“I can’t guess,” answered Dave training his glass on the mission ruins. “Look! there are Chinamen, with shovels, running away. Have they been trying to intrench there?”

“Digging,” answered a quiet voice behind the young officers, and Dave, turning, beheld the white hair and venerable face of Bishop Whitlock. “They are seeking the treasure, or were, until the gunboat shelled them out of our old compound.”

“What treasure, sir?” Dave asked.

“Some Chinaman, either a simpleton or a mischief-maker, started the story that we missionaries had robbed a famous and very ancient temple at Sian-ho-Kung of a hidden treasure there, amounting to several million dollars’ worth of gold and jewels, and that we had hidden the treasure by burying it in our own compound.”

“There was no truth in that, sir?” asked Ensign Darrin incredulously.

“Not a bit, of course,” replied the Bishop, smiling wearily. “Our entire treasure, in wealth, consisted of about seven hundred dollars in gold, belonging to our mission treasury. That gold is now hidden on the persons of men in my party.”

Right over the top of his head Ensign Darrin felt something click. Then, conscious that something had happened, he turned, to see his cap, shot from his head, sailing down into the compound. A marine below picked it up and ran up the steps to hand it to his commander.

Belle Darrin saw the hat shot away, for in the compound below, she had stood watching her husband closely. She gave a slight start, but showed no other sign of fear.

A moment later a number of bullets swept over the rampart top. Dave, Dan and the Bishop were the only ones standing there. As for Sin Foo and “Burnt-face,” they were grovelling on the rampart floor.

“Sir, I beg you to go below,” Ensign Darrin urged the Bishop. “Or else lie flat. You are in too great danger here. I believe that the fire will soon be ten times more brisk, and considerably more deadly.”

“I am not afraid,” replied Bishop Whitlock calmly. “If my eyes were younger and keener I would handle a rifle, but I fear that I would waste too many cartridges.”

“Won’t you go below, sir, that we may all feel easier?” Dave begged.

“If I am making you uneasy, then I shall go down at once,” answered the missionary simply. “My friend, may you be fortunate and successful here to-day!”

He held out a hand which Ensign Darrin grasped. Then the old man started below.

“The Chinese are starting firing from the river side,” Dave announced, as a heavy volley of shots rang out from a new point. “Dan, you had better go over and direct our reply to the fire from the river side. Don’t let any of the yellow rascals get close to the compound.”

Dave turned just in time to see Sin Foo crawling down the steps, while “Burnt-face” looked on with evident interest.

“Mr. Sin Foo,” Dave rasped out sharply, “come back! If you make another attempt to leave this rampart you will be fired upon without challenge. Any of my men who see you make the attempt will shoot you without further orders.”

His fright showing to a ghastly degree, Sin Foo slowly crawled back. He was not in the slightest danger so long as he did not raise his head above the parapet, but the under secretary plainly had no military blood in his veins.

As for the Chinese soldiers on the ramparts, none of them displayed curiosity, nor had they shown any intention of attacking the Americans. It looked as though these yellow fighting men of the governor’s did not regard it as being in any way their fight. Several of them were smoking pipes that gave off villainous odors.

Leaving a petty officer in charge, with general instructions, Dave went over to Dan’s side of the compound.

“Your husband is showing magnificent courage,” remarked Bishop Whitlock to Mrs. Darrin.

“My husband has been trained in the greatest fighting school in the world,” Belle answered, “and I am certain that he is conducting himself according to the best traditions of his training and service.”

A sailor came nimbly down with a message from Dave to the marines to open some of the food supplies and to start the preparation of a meal. In case the ladies were ready to eat, the marines were instructed to serve them first.

“How long since you Navy men have eaten?” Belle asked the sailor.

“Supper-time, last night, ma’am,” replied the sailor, grinning.

“Then we women cannot think of eating until you men are taken care of,” Belle replied, with emphasis.

“Not one of our men would eat until the ladies have eaten, ma’am,” replied the sailor respectfully. “Ask that sea-going soldier there.”

“When there are ladies with our parties, ma’am, they always have to be looked after first, ma’am,” said the marine, straightening up.

“There are enough women here to serve every one at the same time,” replied Belle Darrin. “Ladies, come here and help, if you please.”

There were only crude implements with which to prepare food, but a supply of wood was brought and preparations for a meal went rapidly forward.

With only sixty-eight riflemen to guard all four sides of the yamen, and twenty of these civilians, Dave’s task of defense was not an easy one.

At times spurts of rifle fire swept the ramparts, though so far none of the rebels had attempted to rush the yamen.

“Remember, men,” Dave urged, as he passed along behind the firing parties, “your great task is to keep the heathen from rushing us. Make every cartridge count, but don’t expose yourselves unnecessarily so long as the enemy are content to keep close to cover. Unless they succeed in making numerous hits, I don’t believe they will try to rush us in daylight.”

“But to-night, sir?” spoke up one of the petty officers.

“I hope that we shall have a chance to get out of here before nightfall,” Ensign Darrin answered.

“It will be a miracle, if we do get out of here safely before nightfall,” muttered the same petty officer, as Dave passed on to another part of the defenses.

After a while the firing died down. Dave ordered strict watch kept, but directed that there be no unnecessary firing until the Chinese beyond opened up heavily again.

Then, in the lull, he descended to the compound, to see to the care of the women, and afterwards of the men.

Standing aside, talking with a group of women, was Pembroke. That young man had made no effort to secure a rifle; he had not even offered his services toward the defense.

At the first opportunity Darrin walked aside with his wife.

“Mr. Pembroke came up from Manila with you?” he asked.

“On the same ship, yes,” replied Belle.

“And came up on the same river boat with you?”

“Yes.”

“Did Pembroke go to the mission to live?”

“He was there a part of the time,” replied Belle. “He also lived elsewhere in Nu-ping some of the time. One day, I remember, I saw him on the street with a Chinaman who had a peculiar purple mark on his face under the right eye.”

“Did you know that that same Chinaman, with the purple mark, is here at the yamen now?” Dave asked.

“Why, yes; after we were shut up in the building at the back of the compound, this morning, Mr. Pembroke went outside for a while, and afterwards I saw him talking with that same Chinaman with the purple mark on his face. Why are you asking all these questions, Dave?”

“Because I am puzzled about Pembroke,” Dave replied. “At Manila I had an intimation that Pembroke is far from being a gentleman. At Manila, too, ‘Burnt-face’ was in evidence; if he were in Manila now he would be arrested, charged with the murder of another Chinaman. I have been doing some hard thinking, Belle. Suppose Pembroke knew that trouble with rebels was about to break out here at Nu-ping? He did know that the ‘Castoga’ was the gunboat in eastern waters best fitted for ascending the Nung-kiang River and that she was going there. Pembroke tried hard to make my acquaintance and to force himself upon me. Did he figure on being able to use me to advantage when the ‘Castoga’ was ordered to duty at this port, where he may have known that the rebellion was about to be sprung? To go further, were and are Pembroke and ‘Burnt-face’ pals and comrades, working together for some sinister purpose?”

Belle looked puzzled as she replied slowly:

“Bishop Whitlock attributes the present trouble to the spreading of a foolish story that in the mission grounds were buried millions of dollars’ worth of treasure, looted from an ancient Chinese temple. What connection could Pembroke and his Chinese friend, away down in Manila, possibly have with such a stupid fable as that?”

“They may have believed the story,” Dave answered, “and so may the governor of this province, who is skulking in yonder building. The governor and his followers may have secretly fomented this rebellion, in order to have a chance to loot the mission and secure, as they thought, the buried treasure which we know doesn’t exist. And the governor, knowing how quick Uncle Sam would be to send a gunboat here, may have sent ‘Burnt-face’ to Manila to find some white rascal who could get acquainted on board the ‘Castoga,’ and perhaps thwart our plans. Pembroke may be here, even now, for the purpose of springing some treachery.”

“That is an awful thought, Dave!” cried his wife.

“But it may be pretty close to the correct guess,” Ensign Darrin rejoined. “At any rate, I shall have a pretty close watch kept on the movements of Mr. Pembroke!”