Hanging Waters by Keith West

ONE night remained. Towards noon on the next day it was hoped that boat, cargo, and passengers would safely reach the city of Kwei Sek at the mouth of the river. Already the crew could be heard debating in increasingly strident tones the various opportunities for enjoyment or duty which stood outside the door of the coming day. Ming So was full of excitement. Only the girl Yang Fei sat silent on the mat in the stern of the boat, taking no part in these rejoicings.

Then, as they crept towards the night's rest at another, the last little village, a strange craft put off from a creek some two _li_ above their evening destination. The sun had sunk half an hour ago, and twilight made the pale shadows of reeds into lances, the cry of an owl into the shriek of a lost soul. The strange boat, propelled on the now broader surface of the river by eight oars, had twice the speed of the cargo-boat, so that it was but a few minutes before she was alongside. The crews ceased rowing, and three men, attended by a fourth carrying a lantern, stepped on board. Their leader, his size exaggerated by the gleams of the lamp in the fast-departing twilight, came towards the stern with another man.