An excerpt from "Sam Hane And The Mongols"

CHAPTER FOUR: A FORTUNATE MEETING

 

The approach of rhythmic hoofbeats could be heard outside our camp.

"Riders come," said Ardjukk, "And there are many of them."

"O I hope they are friends to us," said Bernadette, her comely form shrinking to the shadows. "I could not bear the thought of another wild ride!"

"Let them be friends, and we are saved," I said, "But if they are our enemies we shall stand a good account to them, and if we fall they shall remember us as a brave people."

Ardjukk looked at me, his yellow face lit by the firelight. "That was well spoken, young Sir. You are worthy to be called anda in our yurts."

All of us looked to our weapons. My trusty Schofield was fully loaded and holstered, ready to draw at the first sign of hostilities, and the other members of our party made sure that their rifles were within reach. Ardjukk loosened his deadly knife in its scabbard, crossed his arms, and looked towards the ever-louder sound of riders.

We waited for their approach, our hearts beating wildly in our breasts.

Suddenly, the moon drifted from behind the clouds and illuminated a scene of barbaric splendor as I shall never see again. Coming towards us over the endless steppes were at least one hundred men, arranged in a crescent formation that would envelop our camp. They rode easily at a canter, and in the center was a rider brandishing a tall horsetail standard.

Ardjukk looked intently at the riders, and then leaped upon his pony and rode at a mad gallop to meet them, shouting in the Mongol language. The riders instantly halted their advance, and one broke from the formation to spur forward to meet Ardjukk.

Bernadette ran to me, grasped my arm, and cried, "What is the meaning of this? Are they friends? Are we saved?"

I could only shake my head, and say to her, "I do not know."