Read Online Casca 18: The Cursed by Barry Sadler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barry Sadler
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"What else?" "Well, isn't that unhygienic?"
"Hygienic?"
The hell with it , Casca thought. What the hell do I care what they do with the bits . Aloud he said: "And the horse?"
Again Casca saw the look of bewilderment at his questions, which, for Deng, were not questions.
"Horses are to ride."
Goddammit, the old bastard's right.
As the idea registered Casca was already on his way. In a moment he was out in the street untying the horse's reins and vaulting into the saddle.
He paused just long enough to take the face guard from the pommel and put it on. Then he dug his heels into the horse's flanks. "Let's go, let's go. C'mon horse, we're getting out of here."
The horse reared slightly, then took off at a fast canter that carried Casca to the village gates before he had time to think more about it.
The startled gate guards made as if to run into the road. To leave the village any faster than a walk was a serious, punishable offense. Two more heavily armed men, whom Casca took to be part of the warlord's force, looked on amused.
One of the guards was moving, arm upraised, into the direct path of the horse, when some survival instinct alerted him that this horse and rider were not going to stop for anything.
He stopped stock still where he was, and as Casca thundered by, he used his upraised arm to salute.
"Who was that?" his startled comrade asked.
"You want to know, you run after him," was the reply, and the two guards tacitly agreed to forget about the masked rider. So one of the warlord's men had left the village. So what? The sooner they all left, the better.
But Casca heard one of the other armed men laugh and shout to his comrade: "Hu Wei's in a hurry as usual."
Half a mile or so beyond the gates Casca slowed his mount to a comfortable canter.
The animal loped along with Casca enjoying the ride immensely. All around him the countryside unfolded. The road ran through groves of cypresses and teak trees. In what Europeans called the thirteenth century the great Kublai Khan, whose empire extended from the islands of the China Sea to Poland, had decreed that roads be planted with trees to provide shade in summer and covered with road markers for the benefit of travelers when the ground might be blanketed with snow. His edict had been followed ever since, for the astrologers told that those who plant trees are rewarded with long life.
Small green fields were intersected by shallow irrigation ditches. Peasants in blue smocks and cone shaped hats were at work with draft animals. Low, steep mountains broke the sky in the near distance.
This was the road along which Casca had traveled from the river port of Tsungkow.
"Sure beats the cowshit express." He laughed heartily.
A new plan was formulating in his mind as he rode the long slope to a crest in the road. He would ride all the way to Tsungkow, where he would contact the Irish missionary priest who was the British consul's local intelligence agent. He would send a dispatch to Hong Kong that the situation had deteriorated drastically, that the village of Shou Chang had been occupied by the warlord Zhang Jintao, and the people were hacking each other to pieces over involvement with foreign devils, and that he had barely escaped with his life by killing one of the warlord's men and fleeing on his horse.
The consul would readily believe this behavior of the Chinese and would accept Casca’s assessment that all foreigners were now in grave danger and that all hell was about to break loose.
In Tsungkow he would sell the horse and saddle and Hu Wei's weapons and take a river boat to Chaochow to make his way eventually to Hong Kong.
And to hell with secrecy. The intelligence mission was over. Once in Tsungkow he would abandon all pretense and declare himself a British soldier and so claim the protection provided by the treaties. He would travel in luxury to Hong Kong, charging the queen of England with the expense, and the emperor of China with his
"Hygienic?"
The hell with it , Casca thought. What the hell do I care what they do with the bits . Aloud he said: "And the horse?"
Again Casca saw the look of bewilderment at his questions, which, for Deng, were not questions.
"Horses are to ride."
Goddammit, the old bastard's right.
As the idea registered Casca was already on his way. In a moment he was out in the street untying the horse's reins and vaulting into the saddle.
He paused just long enough to take the face guard from the pommel and put it on. Then he dug his heels into the horse's flanks. "Let's go, let's go. C'mon horse, we're getting out of here."
The horse reared slightly, then took off at a fast canter that carried Casca to the village gates before he had time to think more about it.
The startled gate guards made as if to run into the road. To leave the village any faster than a walk was a serious, punishable offense. Two more heavily armed men, whom Casca took to be part of the warlord's force, looked on amused.
One of the guards was moving, arm upraised, into the direct path of the horse, when some survival instinct alerted him that this horse and rider were not going to stop for anything.
He stopped stock still where he was, and as Casca thundered by, he used his upraised arm to salute.
"Who was that?" his startled comrade asked.
"You want to know, you run after him," was the reply, and the two guards tacitly agreed to forget about the masked rider. So one of the warlord's men had left the village. So what? The sooner they all left, the better.
But Casca heard one of the other armed men laugh and shout to his comrade: "Hu Wei's in a hurry as usual."
Half a mile or so beyond the gates Casca slowed his mount to a comfortable canter.
The animal loped along with Casca enjoying the ride immensely. All around him the countryside unfolded. The road ran through groves of cypresses and teak trees. In what Europeans called the thirteenth century the great Kublai Khan, whose empire extended from the islands of the China Sea to Poland, had decreed that roads be planted with trees to provide shade in summer and covered with road markers for the benefit of travelers when the ground might be blanketed with snow. His edict had been followed ever since, for the astrologers told that those who plant trees are rewarded with long life.
Small green fields were intersected by shallow irrigation ditches. Peasants in blue smocks and cone shaped hats were at work with draft animals. Low, steep mountains broke the sky in the near distance.
This was the road along which Casca had traveled from the river port of Tsungkow.
"Sure beats the cowshit express." He laughed heartily.
A new plan was formulating in his mind as he rode the long slope to a crest in the road. He would ride all the way to Tsungkow, where he would contact the Irish missionary priest who was the British consul's local intelligence agent. He would send a dispatch to Hong Kong that the situation had deteriorated drastically, that the village of Shou Chang had been occupied by the warlord Zhang Jintao, and the people were hacking each other to pieces over involvement with foreign devils, and that he had barely escaped with his life by killing one of the warlord's men and fleeing on his horse.
The consul would readily believe this behavior of the Chinese and would accept Casca’s assessment that all foreigners were now in grave danger and that all hell was about to break loose.
In Tsungkow he would sell the horse and saddle and Hu Wei's weapons and take a river boat to Chaochow to make his way eventually to Hong Kong.
And to hell with secrecy. The intelligence mission was over. Once in Tsungkow he would abandon all pretense and declare himself a British soldier and so claim the protection provided by the treaties. He would travel in luxury to Hong Kong, charging the queen of England with the expense, and the emperor of China with his
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