[No data] by Short Stories

Author:Short Stories
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-11T00:00:00+00:00

THE unrest of the collector grew upon him. Reasoning it out, he as­sured himself it might well be caused by fatigue—they had covered all of thirty miles that day before arriving at the temple about sunset—and the draining away of vitality caused by the thinner air of the heights.

It surprised him a little that the temple should be what it was—a high, square structure of dark stone. Plainly it was not one of the shrines of Con­fucius, or a pa­goda temple of Buddha. The walls sloped in­ward as they rose, after the Tibetan manner.

The stone building stood in a narrow clearing, surrounded by tall firs, overlooking the deep gorge up which they had come. Behind it a small stream ran down the mountainside. Bald peaks thrust up against the purple sky, and far off could be seen the red glitter of snow summits. But Warner was interested chiefly in the surroundings of the clearing.

Close by the temple a hut sheltered an old, pock-marked Chinese who owned to the title of Guardian of the Hours, other­wise caretaker of the place. Across the clearing was an open stone caravansery, overgrown with weeds, and near this what appeared to be a row of dog kennels, like­wise deserted.

Hialpo sniffed at the caravansery and pitched the tents of the tourists under the nearest pines, while Myra Thornton led the invasion of the temple.

It proved to be, as Hialpo had claimed, abandoned. Within, the air was musty, and, due to a wide balcony that ran around the four walls over their heads, the sha­dows were deep in the corners. Warner, who habitually observed things not likely to attract the attention of ordinary sight­seers, saw that several small images of gods were perched in niches along the lower wall—things of lacquer and gilt, hideous as possible, and holding in their arms the miniature figures of women. Be­sides a good deal of coral and jade, there was nothing valuable about these.

“Mercy!” whispered Myra Thornton.

She was looking up at the balcony, and even her husband started at seeing rows of lifelike figures seated on benches, peer­ing down at them. Warner satisfied him­self with a glance that these were clay dummies, dressed up in long robes of col­ored silk.

“Dummies,” he said briefly. “See how their faces are painted up. The figures are well modelled, though. Better than the faces, I should say.”

“But they have hair!” she cried.

“Sure, like the Chinese actors’ masks you bought back in Shanghai,” pointed out Tom Thornton.

“I’ve heard,” added Warner thought­fully, “that some temples in the interior have these galleries—effigies of the Budd­hist saints, you know. Only this is not a Buddhist pagoda.”

“What is it?” the tourist wanted to know.

“Judging by the chief god, it is a temple of Bon.”

“What d’you mean, Bon?”

“The god that is called the Destroyer. An old cult, of the devil worshippers.” He glanced around with interest. "I’ve never been able to run one of these down, before, The devil worshippers are supposed to be extinct.”

They stared in silence at the giant figure in the center of the temple.

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