in rivulets leading in the direction of the head. Lying there in the dirt, just a few feet from them, the open-eyed head stared at Grace. For far too long an instant, she stared back while Mai Lin's eyes remained shut, her lips still murmuring.
"Oh, dear," Grace said as her vision started to blacken. "I believe I have seen too much."
Mai Lin gripped her waist. "Shut your eyes!" she shouted. "Do not allow dead man's spirit inside you. Ignorant woman, you should not have watched."
With Mai Lin's arm around her, Grace did not faint. She took in gasps of air and began coughing. She bent over and convulsed, a deep cough rising up from far within her body. It was as if she needed to expel all the dust she had breathed since coming to China. The fine yellow loess carried on the wind all the way from the Gobi Desert had filled her up, clogged her mind and lungs. Grace continued to cough and felt her face flame.
Some brave person, she thought, should have stepped forward and objected or argued or pulled out his own sword, ready to fight. If only the Reverend had been here, he would have marched forward and not flinched. The Reverend would have been brave. Never had there been a white man better suited to this awful place; never one better able to change it for the good. Grace made herself stand upright as her coughing finally subsided. She would tell the Reverend about this incident, and he would see to it that no such things ever happened again. Such was her husband's influence, she believed, in this arduous land.
Mai Lin kept hold of Grace's arm as they began the slow trek back to the compound. Grace paused to fold her handkerchief and started to tuck it back into her sleeve. But Mai Lin grabbed the white linen and held it up to the sunlight. It was streaked with blood that shone with shocking brightness. Grace turned to Mai Lin. In an instant, she understood the look in the old woman's eyes.
Eleven
A hcho held open the flap of the yurt, and the Reverend bent to enter. The circle of Mongolian men in sheepskin vests and hats looked up with pinched eyes as the fire before them billowed and smoke swirled upward and out the center hole. The desert night air had grown cold, and the Reverend had not hesitated to ask for shelter from the lookout guard. He had become bolder on his many recent journeys across the plains and western mountains. His unhealthy disregard for danger made Ahcho's task of seeing to his safety more difficult than ever.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the Reverend said in a sufficient approximation of their dialect. He bowed, and his long coat swept the richly colored rug they had set down on the hard dirt. "Thank you for your hospitality on this frigid night. We are most grateful."
The chieftain of the Mongol band nodded but did not smile. The thick fur cape he wore over his shoulders was preposterous, Ahcho thought. For one thing, it was enormous and still bore the head and claws of the wolf to whom it had belonged. Ahcho tried not to look into the dead animal's yellow eyes. Evil spirits, both alive and dead, lurked everywhere out on the plains. A person had to be careful, and the likes of these men could not be trusted. Mongol nomads had nothing to lose. They cut men's throats and left them to die by the road without compunction. Just consider the abduction of the young Wesley boy. These people stopped at nothing. Under his robe, Ahcho fingered the cool handle of a pistol he had borrowed for precisely this reason and kept secret from the Reverend. His master would not have approved of it, but then again, as a foreigner, he could not possibly be fully aware of the many hazards.
"Sit, sit," the chieftain said as he raised a hand on which flashed rings and bracelets of hammered silver. Around his neck he wore a dozen pendants, each bearing an amulet of silver.
The other men shifted on their hassocks to make a place for the Reverend and pointed to a space in the circle for Ahcho as well, but he shook his head. He would stand by the door, although after riding all day, his legs throbbed with tiredness. He was not a young man anymore, yet not for an instant would he take his eyes