The barn was now burning fiercely and it was almost as light as
day about us. Kennedy paused only long enough to look down at the
ground where the fire had been started.

"See, Walter," he exclaimed pointing to a square indention in the
soft soil. "No white man ever made a footprint like that."

I bent over. The prints had the squareness of those paper-layered
soles of a Chinaman.

"Long Sin," came the name involuntarily to my lips, for I knew
that Wu would delegate just such a job to his faithful slave.

Kennedy did not pause an instant longer, but in the light of the
burning barn, as best he could, started to follow the trail in a
desperate endeavor either to overtake Long Sin, or at least to
find the final direction in which he would go.

. . . . . . .

At the entrance of the passageway which led to the little
underground chamber in which we had sought the treasure hidden by
the Clutching Hand, Wu Fang was seated on a rock waiting
impatiently, though now and then indulging in a sinister smile at
the subtle trick by which he had recovered the ring.

The sound of approaching footsteps disturbed him. He was far too
clever to leave anything to chance and, like a serpent, he
wriggled behind another rock and waited. It was only a glance,