CRANE'S ESCAPE
When Crane returned to consciousness he found himself lying in a
cramped and painful position on a rough clay surface.
He fell into a violent fit of coughing. The atmosphere about him was
smoke-charged and stiflingly close and hot. A steady, crackling sound
above gradually impressed itself upon his groping mind with startling
import. He was lying under the shelter of a burning building.
After many futile attempts, Crane managed to struggle into a sitting
position. The light from the burning roof provided sufficient
illumination to enable him to see that the hamlet was deserted and
given over to the ravages of the fire which had gained such headway
that to remain longer where he was would be fatal. The wall above him
might crumble in at any time. Breathing had become difficult and
painful. The smoke that filled his lungs shook him with rasping,
suffocating spells of coughing. Dimly he heard sounds of receding
conflict beyond the village.
Crane struggled to his feet and lurched weakly forward, blinded with
the smoke. Next moment, overcome with the intense heat, he fainted
dead away.
It was some time after that Crane again regained consciousness. This
time he was lying on the ground, his head reclining comfortably on a
pillow made of some folded garment. A water-soaked bandage encircled
his brow, giving inexpressible relief. He attempted to pull himself
together and sit up, but desisted from the effort with an involuntary
groan.
"Hello, here's old Crane coming around after all," said the voice of
Fenton, somewhere close at hand.
"Right as rain in a minute," said Crane weakly. Then, after a pause,
"Where am I?"
"Don't know exactly myself," said Fenton. "We got you out of the
burning village just in the nick of time and carried you back into the
woods here. How are you feeling now?"
"A little brandy would make a new man of me. Any handy?"
A flask, containing some raw, red-hot Ironian equivalent, was produced
and a liberal measure poured down his throat. Crane coughed,
spluttered and finally sat up, little the worse for wear, but still
weak and decidedly giddy in the head.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"Everything went off as per schedule," said Fenton. "The Austrians
started to set fire to the village, and then Larescu and his men opened
fire on them. The invaders put up a short fight and retired with more
precipitancy than order. Last I saw of it, they were headed for the
river with the hill men in hot pursuit. If the river has continued to
rise, the Austrians will have some difficulty in getting back to their
own side. I didn't join in the chase as I was getting anxious about
you. Luckily, Mademoiselle Petrowa found you and managed to drag you
out of the road just before the front of a burning hut collapsed on
you."
"Mademoiselle Petrowa! Now what, on the word of a bald-headed friar,
was she doing there?" exclaimed Crane.
A soft voice, proceeding from some point close behind him, spoke up.
"It is indeed the great pleasure that Mistaire Crane has recovered.
One judges from his choice of words that he is feeling much the better."
"I have a double duty to perform then--to thank you for saving my life
and to lecture you for your folly in being where you could do it," said
Crane, with a return of his habitual manner.
"My good friend, the brave Mistaire Crane will please forget the thanks
and save the lectures until he is stronger," insisted Anna. "If I have
been foolish, it has been in the best company. Her highness was
helping in the search for you."
"Yes, they both insisted on coming along," put in Fenton. "I had the
greatest difficulty in keeping them off the firing-line. If all the
women of Ironia are as fiery as the pair I've had on my hands to-night,
I shall feel the deepest compassion for any army that attempts the
invasion of the country!"
"I'll never forgive myself for this night's work," said Crane
dejectedly. "I bungled things badly in not getting away in time. Then
Mademoiselle has to risk her very valuable life to save my very
worthless one----"
It was still dark. A soft hand from somewhere was slipped confidingly
into his. Crane did not finish the sentence.
A moment later a gipsy-clad girl, who had been sitting silently by
during the dialogue, rose unobtrusively and led Fenton away.
"I am glad," whispered the princess. "I don't mind confessing now that
I have been very jealous of your Mademoiselle Petrowa."
* * * * *
With the first light of dawn came Take Larescu, an unsheathed sword in
his hand. The gigantic leader of the hill men was mud-stained and
dishevelled, but thoroughly well pleased with himself.
"Not an Austrian remains on the sacred soil of our Ironia," he
declared, mopping his brow with a bright silk handkerchief, drawn from
his belt, "except a hundred or so who will never go back. And more
good news for you, my young friend. A party of my men have burned
Kirkalisse to the ground. Everything comes to him who strikes while
the iron is hot."
For a moment Fenton said nothing. Then: "Kirkalisse burnt. Miridoff
dead. Austrian invasion of Ironian soil. Ironian rout of the
Austrians. This is news. It must be got to Serajoz, and that at once."
"As to the raid of the Austrians," replied the brigand chief, "I have
already arranged that part of it. Messengers have been sent east, west
and south. All Ironia will know within the next twenty-four hours that
our country has been invaded, and that means----"
"That war is certain," Fenton finished the sentence spiritedly.
Neither spoke for a second. Then the hill leader drew Fenton closer
and whispered to him: "We captured several of Miridoff's men at
Kirkalisse."
"Yes. What did you find out?"
"They told us all they knew. One of them was the young gipsy who had
been sent with a token--the princess's ring, was it not?--which, as I
was able to understand it, was to stop a proposed assassination of
Prince Peter. But he had not been able to find his man, to warn him."
Fenton started. In a moment he visualised all that this item of news
meant. Was, then, Miridoff's death of no avail?
"Do you mean, then," he asked, "that the assassin has done his work?"
"No. Prince Peter, it appears, changed his plans and returned to
Serajoz by another route."
"Thank God! Then everything will be all right."
"I don't know," said Larescu, shaking his shaggy head. "The assassin
has followed him on the road. But I think the prince had start enough,
from what I hear, to get to Serajoz a good few hours before the
assassin could come up with him. Nevertheless, someone should go to
the capital immediately."
"Yes, you are right," broke in the Canadian. "I shall go myself. Find
me a guide back through the mountains."