Raby only reached Zsambek the next morning. The dragoon-captain's house
he found without any difficulty, for it stood close to the post-station.
There were two other officers with the captain, and three horses stood
ready saddled in the courtyard. They were evidently on the point of
starting for some expedition, though there was no sign of soldiers going
with them.
"Aha, who is this?" cried Lievenkopp as Raby entered. "Why, bless me,
it's Mathias Raby!"
"Yes, indeed, captain. Perhaps you can guess my errand here?"
"Truly, I cannot do any such thing."
"Well, my wife has run away from me."
"The deuce she has! What already? I did not think she would have gone
quite so soon."
"I went first of all to Judge Petray to demand satisfaction of him. He
would not give it me, but referred me to you."
"That was very kind of him."
"Now you know why I come."
"I know it, comrade, you want to fight me, sure enough? Very good; just
choose one of these gentlemen as your second, and we will decide with
him on the weapons. Only one thing delays our immediate meeting, and
that is, I have to fight Gyongyom Miska."
Raby was electrified as he heard the name.
"Can't you leave him till later? You will never succeed in catching
him."
"Aha, I've got him this time though; I am going at this very hour to
fight a duel with him."
"Do you know who this Gyongyom Miska really is?" asked Raby.
"Why he lives at Szent-Torony, two hours' journey from here, where he
owns an estate, and is called Karcsataji Miska. He is the notorious
robber, and no other. This is why he is never to be caught red-handed.
When he is everywhere driven into a corner, he goes quietly back home,
throws off the highwayman's gear, and whoever seeks him there, finds
instead of the fierce robber with lank locks and drooping moustaches, a
harmless country gentleman, with his powdered hair done in a neat cue,
whom twelve witnesses can swear to not having left home for weeks. No
one will ever succeed in convicting him. But this once I've caught my
gentleman nicely. Listen to how I did it. This very day when we had
planned our attack upon the band of Gyongyom Miska, we observed a
suspicious-looking fellow trying to get in between our railings. We
arrested him, searched him, and found sewn into the sole of his sandal,
this letter to Mr. Michael Karcsataji. You probably will know the
handwriting."
Raby recognised the writing of his wife.
"Yes, you can read it, you will understand it better than we do."
The letter ran thus:
"Dear Miska,--Don't have any scruples about the affair
in the Styrian wood. The whole suspicion falls on
someone who will not be able to prove an _alibi_.
Thine own one."
Raby's arms fell helplessly at his side. It was as if he had suddenly
been stung by a cobra.
His own wife was the traitor who had betrayed him to his enemies! A
dagger-thrust in the dark does not hurt one so much as such a discovery.
Raby distrusted his senses; he would not, could not believe it; he
thought he must be dreaming.
"Sit down, comrade," said the captain. "You are a bit upset, and small
wonder too. The bolt didn't strike me quite so nearly, yet I too was
fairly staggered when I read the letter. Then I called up my two
comrades here, and sent my challenge over to Szent-Torony, where Mr.
Michael von Karcsataji was in the courtyard, engaged in marking his
newly born lambs. In such a harmless fashion is he wont to spend his
leisure! My second presented him with my message: 'This letter which we
have intercepted proves that you have an intrigue with a lady to whom
Captain Lievenkopp is also paying court. Captain Lievenkopp will not
tolerate this sort of thing, and calls upon you to meet him to-morrow at
nine o'clock, by the ruined church of Zsambek, to settle the matter
there in proper fashion.'
"The highwayman did not deny that between us there lay ground for
quarrel, and he would be at the rendezvous at the time appointed. It is
now eight o'clock. We can get to the ruins in half an hour, and there
await my opponent. You, my friend, can remain here in my lodgings for an
hour longer, and follow on after us. From nine to ten I am at Mr.
Karcsataji's service. As soon as I have finished with him, we two will
fire at each other till only one of us remains to tell the tale. But if
the highwayman kill me, then you and Karcsataji will fight till one or
the other is a dead man. Is that in order?"
"Perfectly," cried the seconds; "it could not be better arranged!"
Raby had nothing against this settlement. When the captain had gone he
stretched himself on his host's camp-bed, and was fast asleep in a few
minutes, completely exhausted by his recent experiences.
* * * * *
The Zsambek ruins are a remarkable relic of the Gothic period. The nave
of the church, thickly over-grown by juniper-bushes, is an admirable
place for a duel, where two men, unseen by any outsider, can fire at one
another to their hearts' content.
The officers tethered their steeds to a birch stem, and withdrew inside
the ruins so that their presence should not be remarked by the people
working in the fields.
Meantime, Raby had awakened and was making his way to the ruins. Nor did
he need a guide, for they had been well known to him since his boyhood.
It was yet half an hour to the promised rendezvous, so he just wandered
round through the brushwood, which surrounded the church, listening for
shots. Perhaps the masonry dulled the sound, but surely he would see the
smoke, yet he could neither see nor hear anything.
At last the remaining five minutes were up, and he strode into the
ruins. So well had he calculated time and distance, that the hand of his
watch pointed close on ten, as he pushed aside the juniper-bushes which
hid the entrance to the ruins, and went in.
"Karcsataji has not yet appeared," said Lievenkopp. "Punctuality is not
his strong point."
"I fancy he doesn't mean to come."
"Surely that is not thinkable! In that case we will just go for him in
his own house."
"Now, meantime, what do you propose doing?"
"Well, I think that we might get on with our own business and not wait
for him. By delay he has lost his right of precedence, and must take the
second place. I propose, gentlemen, therefore, that we take the second
appointment first."
After a short discussion, the seconds agreed, and since the nature of
the quarrel barred all idea of reconciliation, they staked out the
barriers, and placed the opponents against the two opposite walls.
The weapons which the seconds handed to them, were a pair of rough old
riding pistols, which were so constructed that the bullets fired into a
group of ten men, would have probably perforated the cloak of one of the
party, provided he had one on. The combatants shot at first at
five-and-twenty paces; they were honestly bent on hitting one another,
yet neither succeeded. At the second attempt they took aim at twenty
paces, again without result.
"Wretched weapons, these pistols!" growled the captain, "if I haven't
brought down the vulture's nest in that wild pear-tree."
"Perhaps mine are better," suggested Raby. "My uncle Leanyfalvy gave
them to me, and they are already loaded."
So the seconds accepted Raby's weapons. One of them remarked, however,
that the pistols were loaded to the muzzle, so that both of them, in
this case, would do well to stand behind a pillar, seeing if one
exploded, they would all be dead men, combatants and seconds alike.
"It's quite safe," said Raby, "the powder is good, and the charge is not
too strong; there are only three bullets in each charge."
"Now then, fire! One, two, three."
At "three" Raby's pistols cracked.
Pistols loaded with three bullets have very often this peculiarity of
not hitting the man they are fired at.
After the two first terrible detonations everyone looked round extremely
amazed that he and the rest were still alive.
"Re-load your pistols," cried one of the seconds, and they did so. But
when they were ready, an idea struck the other second.
"Gentlemen, you have fired three times, and such being the case, honour
is entirely satisfied. It is my duty to suggest a reconciliation."
The two antagonists looked at each other.
Was it worth while to fight to the death over this matter? So without
more ado, they shook each other by the hand, and were friends.
Now it would be Gyongyom Miska's turn, and he would have to reckon with
two adversaries instead of one.
So they waited on; yet he came not. What could be the reasons of his
delay? Had a wheel come off? Could he not find the ruins?
But these were a landmark, and even if he had gone astray, he must have
heard the shots.
"He surely cannot be a coward," muttered Raby between his teeth, for his
national pride was piqued by sundry contemptuous remarks the Austrian
officers began to let fall.
At last they heard the trotting of horses' hoofs. He was coming then!
The men rose from the sward whereon they had been lying, and listened
expectantly.
The trotting stopped at the ruined wall, and it was obvious that it
belonged to one horse only.
Was it possible he would come alone, without seconds, thinking to find
them here in the village?
After awhile there was the sound as of several horses' hoofs, but these
seemed as if they were going away, rather than nearing the ruins.
"Friends," shouted Lievenkopp, "someone is stealing our horses!"
And all four dashed out of the ruins.
The captain had guessed rightly, their horses had been stolen.
And the thief was Gyongyom Miska himself, who, mounted on his own fiery
courser, was driving before him the officers' three horses tethered
together by their bridles.
"Stop you scoundrel," cried the captain and Raby in unison.
But he evidently had not the intention to run away. Fifty paces ahead he
pulled up and let his horse caracole.
His two grim adversaries subjected him now to a cross fire, for each of
them had two pistols. First on one side, and then from the other they
fired, but not one of the shots so much as grazed the robber, for his
horse pranced about and turned round and round in such a bewildering way
while his master was being aimed at, that all four shots missed their
mark.
When the firing ceased the horse remained standing at a sound from his
rider, as if cast in bronze.
Then Gyongyom Miska, raising his musket with one hand to his face, took
aim at both, and one bullet whistled through the captain's helmet and
the other sent Raby's cap flying from his head. Whereupon the
highwayman raised his tufted hat and cried, "So fights Gyongyom Miska!"
And with that he switched his whip, cracking it right and left over the
tethered horses, and galloped away with his prey.