“He has just come in from hunting.”
The young fellow went out. The old man continued, “All my family have been farmers or scholars. He is my only son and instead of following in the footsteps of his ancestors he cares for nothing but gadding about and hunting, unhappily.”
“Why unhappily?” said Kuan Yü. “In these days of disorder a good soldier can make a name for himself.”
“If he would only learn the military arts that would be something of a career, but he is nothing but a vagabond and does everything he should not. He is a grief to me.”
Kuan Yü sighed in sympathy. The old gentleman stayed till a late hour and when he took his leave his two guests began to prepare for rest.
Suddenly outside there arose a great hubbub, men shouting and horses neighing. Kuan Yü called to his people, but as no one answered he and his companion drew their swords and went into the stable yard. There they found their host’s son on the ground shouting to his followers to fight. Kuan Yü asked what it was all about and his men told him that the young fellow had tried to steal Red Hare, but had been badly kicked. They had heard shouting and had gone to see what it meant when the farm people had set on them.
Kuan Yü was very wrathful. “You mean thieves! Would you steal my horse?” cried he.
But before he could do anything his host came running out saying, “It was not with my consent that my son did this evil thing. I know he is very guilty and deserves death. But his mother loves him tenderly and I pray you to be generous and pardon him.”
“Really he is unworthy of his father,” said Kuan Yü. “What you told me shows he is a degenerate. For your sake I pardon him.”
Then he told his own people to keep a better lookout, sent the farm people about their business and, in company with Sun Ch‘ien, went away to rest.
Next morning both host and hostess were up betimes waiting to thank him for forgiving their son’s mad freak. “My currish son has insulted your tiger dignity, I know, and I am deeply affected by your kindness in not punishing him,” said the old man.
“Bring him here and I will talk to him,” said Kuan Yü.
“He went out before daylight with a lot of his fellow-rogues and I know not where he is.”
So Kuan Yü bade them farewell, got the ladies into their carriage and they moved out of the farmyard, the two warriors riding abreast as escort. They took the road toward the hills.
Before they had gone far they saw a large party of men, led by a couple of riders, pouring down one of the gullies. One of the riders wore a yellow turban and a battle robe. The other
