"He has a name?" Remo said.
"You sound surprised."
The man named Remo shrugged. "It beats Wing Wang Wo."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Skip it."
King was shouting now, "Colonel Mustard. You remove that man right now."
"Yes, sir."
Nancy looked to Remo, who with a bored expression watched his friend about to be surrounded by four bulky mercenaries.
"Don't you think you should step in?" she asked.
"I don't care what happens to a bunch of guys in funny berets."
Nancy blinked. Her attention went back to the old Oriental. He was walking toward the small serpentine head now, his hands tucked in his voluminous sleeves.
Colonel Mustard of the Burger Berets attempted to restrain him with a firm hand on his frail shoulder. The hand descended. The colonel must have had an incredibly tenacious grip, because although he failed to arrest the old Oriental one whit, he was dragged along with him.
King shrieked, "What's the matter with you? He's got to be as old as Methuselah!"
"I-I can't seem to get him to stop," Colonel Mustard said in a voice that seemed to doubt reality.
"Try asking nicely," Remo called.
"Bull. Trip him," spat King.
The suggestion was executed with breathtaking speed. King had barely got the words out when the old Oriental paused, pivoted, and one sandaled foot caught Colonel Mustard across his unprotected kneecaps.
The colonel went down clutching them both, curled in a fetal position and rocking on his spine.
"Not you!" King screamed. "I meant for him to trip you!"
The old Oriental's voice floated back thinly. "Then you should have chosen your words with greater care."
"I want that man stopped now!" King caught himself and began pointing. "I mean, I want you-the Burger Berets-to stop him, whatever his name his."
"His name is Chiun," Remo offered.
"Stop Chiun," King cried.
The Burger Berets started forward.
"He's the Master of Sinanju," Remo added, apparently to see what would happen.
The train engineer was a Gondwanalandian national. He had been crouching off to one side, poking at the abandoned white-nosed monkey stew. He perked up.
"The Master of Sinanju!"
"Yup," said Remo.
The engineer ran and threw himself in front of the old Oriental named Chiun.
"I cannot let you do this," he told the advancing Berets.
"Stand aside. We're not going to kill him."
"No, but he might kill you."
"What are they talking about?" Nancy asked Remo.
"Search me," Remo said in a bored tone.
Nancy watched with frowning wonder creeping into her expression.
Chiun stepped out from behind the sheltering engineer and said, "I cannot let you sacrifice yourself for me, child of Gondwanaland." He threw up his hands, his long wide sleeves slipping from his pipestem arms. "I surrender."
The Burger Berets stepped up to seize him by the wrists-and became airborne. There were four of them. And they flew in four different directions. One human missile rammed Skip King in the stomach with his head and they both went down. The others became human paperweights that flattened assorted brush.
The rest of the Burger Berets withdrew to a safe distance, bearing the still-curled Colonel Mustard like a piece of driftwood that moaned to itself.
Then the old man padded up to Nancy. She swallowed. His face was stiff, his hazel eyes cold as agates.
"You are obviously in charge here," he said.
"Thank you. How did you know?"
"You are the only one not yelling. Yelling is a sign of weakness."
"My name is Nancy Derringer and I'm responsible for the animal you helped save."
"Are you then responsible for this display of ingratitude?"
"No."
"Then you are the one from whom all gratitude flows?"
"Excuse me?"
"He wants to know if you're grateful," Remo offered. "He's very sensitive about these things."
"Yes, of course," Nancy told the little man named Chiun.
The stern face softened, wrinkled in pleasure. A twinkle came into the steely eyes. His voice became a curious purr.
"How grateful?"
"How...?"
"Careful," Remo warned. "It's a trick question."
"I don't think I understand," Nancy said slowly.
The little man, who looked frail but was anything but, pointed toward the Apatosaur stretched on the flatcar and said, "You possess a great treasure in that slumbering dragon."
"Dragon?"
"He thinks it's a dragon," Remo explained.
"Should I humor him?"
"Normally, yes. In this case, no."
Nancy addressed the little old man in a firm voice. "It's not a dragon. It's a dinosaur."
The old Oriental looked to Remo and his face hardened. "You have been whispering lies in this naive woman's ear. Shame on you, Remo."
Remo threw up his hands defensively. "Hey, the word dinosaur hasn't passed my lips since we got here. Honest."
"I am sure the company that financed this expedition will offer you a suitable reward," Nancy said quickly.
"I will settle for ten percent."
"Sounds reasonable," said Nancy. Then a thought struck her. "Ten percent of what?"
The old Oriental beamed. His eyes lit up in the darkness, like cat's eyes. "Of the dragon, naturally. A hind leg might be acceptable, provided the thigh bone is intact."
Nancy's eyes went wide.
"He means it," said Remo.
"Not on your life!" Nancy exploded.
"Ingrate!" And the old Oriental flounced about and returned to examining the Apatosaur, which pulsed slowly like a dying organ.
Chapter 12
It took until dawn was creeping over the bush before they could get the train under way.
There were the unconscious Burger Berets to revive, and the logs to remove from the tracks. Skip King declined to help clear the railbed. He lay on the ground, moaning and holding his stomach and complaining of a hernia instead.
"Grow up," Nancy told hire.
"Grow up? I can't even get up."
"Then I'll help you."
King scuttled off. "Don't! Do you want to kill me?"
"Right now, I'd be willing to stand aside and watch a herd of bull elephants pound you into pudding," said Nancy yanking him to his feet. King walked about in wavering circles on wobbly legs.
"What's his problem?" Remo asked Nancy.
"No one's quite sure, but any dollar is on undescended testicles."
Remo grunted, and Nancy took it for a laugh.
The engineer was leaning out of the cab, and he shouted; "I am ready when you are, Missy Nancy."
Skip King stopped walking in circles. "Hey! You're supposed to say that native boy stuff to me."
He was ignored.
"You and your friend are free to ride with us," Nancy told Remo.
'We have a Land Rover parked down the trail," Remo said. "And if you want a bit of free advice, you'd better ride with us."
"Why?"
Remo indicated the old Asian with a surreptitious finger. "I want to take another shot at explaining dinosaurs to him, and I need backup."
"Will it persuade him away from his hankering for a drumstick?"
"That's the idea."
"Deal," said Nancy. And they shook on it. Remo's grip felt like something cut from fossilized bone, Nancy thought. And as she looked up into his deepset eyes, she felt her heart leap into her throat for no reason that she could think of.
Remo turned. The Master of Sinanju was hovering about the dinosaur like a fussy little hen. "Come on, Little Father. We're driving escort."
Stepping away from flatcar, the old Korean followed them, padding silently a few paces behind.
"That is the ugliest dragon I have ever beheld," he said in an unhappy voice.
"And exactly how many dragons have you seen?" Nancy wanted to know.