TAKE LARESCU
The hill people of Ironia were counted as giants, and their leader,
Take Larescu, was a giant among them. He stood four inches over six
foot, with the proportions generally of a grizzly bear. His head,
carried at a dignified elevation, was covered with a red cap, closely
approximating the Turkish fez in shape, and allowing a mop of curly
black hair to protrude all around. If in his physical make-up he
resembled the bear, his face showed a close approach to the fierce and
noble lines of the eagle. With bold, commanding eye, heavy, hooked
nose, and long black moustache, he gave more than a suggestion of
imperturbable dignity and high-reaching ambition, while the general
expression of his face showed determination, ruthless strength and
cruelty. He was dressed in the usual costume of the Ironian, with
broad white trousers and many-coloured blouse, and carried a brace of
pistols in his belt. An incongruous touch was lent by an ornate scarab
watch fob which dangled from his belt between the ivory-mounted
pistols. If one cared to inspect this mountainous figure of a man in
detail, further incongruities were brought to light in the heavy
European boots and the knitted under-garment which showed beneath his
voluminous sleeves.
Take Larescu stood on the side of a precipitous hill and watched a file
of men slowly winding their way up toward him. His keen eye had
already noted that the approaching party included two strangers, who
from their clothing were apparently foreigners. The leader of the hill
tribes did not waste much time in fruitless speculation as to the
probable identity of the two new-comers, but, feeling in the loose
folds of his scarlet sash, produced a decidedly modern-looking pair of
field-glasses. Focussing them on the distant figures of the men
toiling up the hill, he studied them intently for a few minutes. "Both
Americans," was his mentally registered verdict as he closed the
glasses and carefully replaced them in the ample store-room of his
belt. Then from the belt he produced a cigarette and match, and later
still an amber mouthpiece. The capacity of Larescu's sash was a
constant source of wonder to those who came in contact with him. One
could not help speculating as to what he would produce next.
The path up which the approaching party laboriously climbed brought
them to the crest of the opposing slope, which was connected with the
steep eminence on which he stood by a causeway formed by the fallen
trunk of a huge tree. Hidden in the dense wood behind him, a handful
of men could have held this position against an army. Moving with the
apparent leisure of extreme ponderosity, Larescu took up his position
at the end of the causeway, a formidable Horatius capable of holding
the bridge against any odds. His new position was not taken for
purposes of defence, however. In a booming voice he called out a gruff
but hearty greeting.
Larescu studied the two strangers closely as they stepped cautiously
across the fallen tree trunk. One was a tall, broad-shouldered young
man, with an unhatted shock of fair hair. A blood-stained rag bound
around his head indicated that this member of the party had met with an
accident. The other stranger was shorter and broader, with a free and
careless air, a much-freckled face and hair of flaming red. They in
turn studied Take Larescu with an even greater degree of interest.
"Observe the comic opera Hercules," whispered Crane to Fenton.
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Larescu, speaking in English. "I am
indeed delighted to have you as my guests. You, sir, I regret to note,
have had an accident."
The two travellers stared.
If the Statue of Liberty ever took upon itself to voice a message of
welcome to incoming ships, the passengers would not feel a more
complete degree of amazement than that which Fenton and Crane
experienced on hearing this cordial message, phrased in the most
perfect English, fall from the lips of this fierce and uncouthly
apparelled brigand.
"Good morning," replied Fenton, recovering himself with an effort.
"Yes, I had the misfortune to make a false step at a critical part of
the trail. If it hadn't been for my friend here, I would be still
lying where I fell. Am I addressing Take Larescu?"
"You are, sir," replied the Ironian, inclining his huge bulk in a
courteous bow. "You are standing at the present moment where foot of
any but Ironian has never before rested. That your mission is an
important one I am assured, else my people would not have seen fit to
escort you here. You are doubly welcome, sirs, if you bring news."
"Shades of Chesterfield!" said Crane to himself. "This isn't real
life. If the orchestra doesn't tune up for a solo by the bass lead in
a second or so, I'll know that I'm dreaming!"
Fenton in the meantime was fumbling in his coat pockets for a letter
that the worthy priest had given him for the ruler of the hill country.
He handed it over to Larescu, who immediately broke the seal and read
the contents. At the conclusion he addressed them with even more
cordiality than before.
"Mr Fenton, I am glad to know you, and you too, Mr Crane. You are just
in time for breakfast. But before we sit down I shall look to your
injuries, Mr Fenton."
He led the way back through the trees for some distance until they came
to a low-lying, roughly finished house, with nothing on the outside to
distinguish it from the typical Ironian abode excepting its size.
Inside, however, they found cause for fresh astonishment. The room in
which they found themselves might well have belonged to an Englishman
of wealth and refinement. The walls were lined with well-filled
bookcases and excellent engravings. There were plenty of comfortable
leather chairs, and a thick rug covered the floor. Fenton and Crane
looked the surprise they felt.
"You did not think to find anything of this kind up here in the hills?"
chuckled the giant. "Yet if an abode of super-luxury could be
concealed in the grottoes of Monte Carlo, why should you be surprised
at finding such simple possessions as these in the mountains of Ironia?
But I must not waste words while you, sir, are in such need of
attention."
In another minute glasses of strong spirits had been placed before his
two guests. Fenton felt a grateful warmth steal over him as he drained
his glass. With almost professional deftness, Larescu examined the
injuries that Fenton had sustained in his fall and adjusted fresh
bandages.
"I know a little of medicine and surgery," he said, "and look after the
health of my people. But now for breakfast, gentlemen."
They sat down to a meal of remarkable substantiality, backed up by
excellent coffee. Fenton ate as well as his physical condition
permitted. Crane, as he put it, made up for lost time; but together
they could not equal the gastronomic feats of their host. The giant
finished dish after dish with the appetite of a grizzly emerging from
his long winter sleep. His table manners were as finicky and perfect
as his capacity was immeasurable.
During the meal, which threatened to extend well on into the forenoon,
Larescu talked on a wide range of subjects, giving an insight into the
unique life that he led. He had travelled considerably. Each year he
quietly vanished from his hill haunts and spent two months or more in
the larger cities of Western Europe. He spoke French and German as
well as English. He had studied medicine in London and Vienna,
electricity in Berlin, and the art of living well in Paris. He was an
omnivorous reader, and had magazines and papers brought to him at all
times of the year. He knew something of music, much of philosophy and
art, and all that there was to know on the subject of the government of
primitive people. The wonder of his guests grew with each minute.
"I am telling you things about myself of which no one in Ironia, with
the exception of my personal followers, has any idea," he confided to
them. "In Serajoz they know me only as the leader of the hill
people--and a rather good fighting man. You are the first guests from
the outside world to sit at my table, and I have told you all this,
serene in the knowledge that not a word shall go outside this room."
They hastened to assure him that his confidence would be respected
completely. Larescu then went on to tell them of his work with the
hill tribes; how he made and administered their laws, adjusted all
differences that arose between individuals and even on occasions
officiated at the marriage rites over the tongs, for the hill people,
although intensely religious in many ways, still clung to customs that
marked their blood relationship to the gipsy.
Finally, having completed his breakfast, Larescu shoved back his chair.
His manner changed at once. "Now for business," he said briskly, even
sharply. "My reverend friend, for whose opinion I have most high
regard, has commended you to me. In what way can I be of service to
you?"
Fenton hesitated a moment before replying. Divining quickly and
accurately the reason for his guest's hesitancy, Larescu rose and,
walking over to his secretary, fumbled through the contents of one of
the pigeon-holes until he found a certain letter. This he placed in
Fenton's hands.
"I judged from the padre's letter that your errand was in a certain
sense a political one," he said. "Read this letter. It is from Prince
Peter and will allay any uncertainties which you may have entertained
with reference to my sympathies and trustworthiness."
A hasty glance through the letter convinced Fenton that not only did
Larescu stand high in the regard of Prince Peter, but that he had
pledged himself to the cause that Peter was championing.
"You must pardon me," he said to their host, "but the fact that I have
been in this country a few days only is perhaps sufficient excuse for
caution. I had only the assurance of the priest of Kail Baleski as to
where you stood."
He then told Larescu of what he had heard in the gardens of the royal
palace on the night of the ball, of the attempts on his own life and
later on that of Prince Peter, of the carrying off of the Princess
Olga, and finally of his own headlong pursuit. Crane, who had
previously known little of the object of their journey, other than the
mere fact that the princess had been abducted, hearkened to the recital
with keenest interest and every evidence of excitement. The effect on
Take Larescu was even more marked. He listened with a scowl that
darkened as fresh evidence of the perfidy of Miridoff was brought
forward. At the conclusion he thumped the table with his huge fist and
swore with mighty Ironian oaths that he would not leave a stone
standing at Kirkalisse.
"The Duke Miridoff is a double-eyed traitor!" he declared. "For German
gold he would barter his country's opportunity to regain her lost
provinces. I have a long score to settle with Miridoff. He has shown
bitter animosity to the people of the hills. Three of my men were
hanged at Serajoz ten months ago for a raid that his exactions had
provoked. But now the day of reckoning has come! How is it your
proverb goes?--This is the last straw that causes the worm to turn!"
The lust of conflict and the primitive craving for revenge showed in
every line of the gigantic chief. The veneer of civilisation sloughed
off. His eyes flashed, his nostrils dilated, and as he stood up his
mighty arms swung menacingly like heavy flails.
"By to-night I can have three thousand of my men before the gates of
Kirkalisse!" he declared.