Suddenly there is a burst of shouting, the thicket has given passage to the gang in ambush—­some sixty Mongols, nomads of the Gobi.  If these rascals beat us, the train will be pillaged, the treasure of the Son of Heaven will be stolen, and, what concerns us more intimately, the passengers will be massacred without mercy.

And Faruskiar, whom Major Noltitz so unjustly suspected?  I look at him.  His face is no longer the same; his fine features have become pale, his height has increased, there is lightning in his eyes.

Well!  If I was mistaken about the mandarin Yen Lou, at least I had not mistaken the general manager of the Transasiatic or the famous bandit of Yunnan.

However, as soon as the Mongols appeared, Popof hurried Madame Caterna, Miss Horatia Bluett, and the other women into the cars.  We took every means for putting them in safety.

My only weapon was a six-shot revolver, and I knew how to use it.

Ah!  I wanted incidents and accidents, and impressions of the journey!  Well, the chronicler will not fail to chronicle, on condition that he emerges safe and sound from the fray, for the honor of reporting in general and the glory of the Twentieth Century in particular.

But is it not possible to spread trouble among the assailants, by beginning with blowing out Ki-Tsang’s brains, if Ki-Tsang is the author of this ambuscade?  That would bring matters to a crisis.

The bandits fire a volley, and begin brandishing their arms and shouting.  Faruskiar, pistol in one hand, kandijar in the other, has rushed onto them, his eyes gleaming, his lips covered with a slight foam.  Ghangir is at his side, followed by four Mongols whom he is exciting by word and gesture.

Major Noltitz and I throw ourselves into the midst of our assailants.  Caterna is in front of us, his mouth open, his white teeth ready to bite, his eyes blinking, his revolver flourishing about.  The actor has given place to the old sailor who has reappeared for the occasion.

“These beggars want to board us!” said he.  “Forward, forward, for the honor of the flag!  To port, there, fire!  To starboard, there, fire!  All together, fire!”

And it was with no property daggers he was armed, nor dummy pistols loaded with Edouard Philippe’s inoffensive powder.  No!  A revolver in each hand, he was bounding along, firing, as he said, right and left and everywhere.

Pan-Chao also exposed himself bravely, a smile on his lips, gallantly leading on the other Chinese passengers.  Popof and the railwaymen did their duty bravely.  Sir Francis Trevellyan, of Trevellyan Hall, took matters very coolly, but Ephrinell abandoned himself to true Yankee fury, being no less irritated at the interruption to his marriage as to the danger run by his forty-two packages of artificial teeth.

And in short, the band of robbers met with a much more serious resistance than they expected.