"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.