"You take me to 'im?"
She flashed again, swift as a snake to illustrate resentment.
"Yes."
"Then I tell 'im things about you, an' 'e believe me!"
"Let's bargain," laughed Will. "Show me Miss Vanderman, alive and
well, and--"
"Steady the Buffs!" I warned him. "Gloria's not far away. There
were pebbles dropped on my horse. There may be a cave above this
cliff--or something of the sort."
Will nodded. "--and I won't tell Kagig you made love to me!"
he continued.
"Poof! Pah! Kagig, 'e know that long ago!"
Will turned to his two men and bade them tie the horses to a bush.
"How are the ribs?" he asked me.
"Nothing serious," said I.
"Do you think you can watch her if I tie her feet?"
"She's slippery and strong! Better tie her to a tree as well!"
So between them Will and the two men trussed her up like a chicken
ready for the market, making her bound ankles fast to the roots of
a bush. Then he led the two men up the cliff-side, and Maga lay
glaring at me as if she hoped hate could set me on fire, while I
made shift to stanch my wound.
But she changed her tactics almost before Will was out of sight beyond
a boulder, beginning to scream the same words over and over in the
gipsy tongue and struggling to free her feet until I thought the
thongs would either burst or strip the flesh from her.
The screams were answered by a shout from up above. Then I heard
Will shout, and some one fired a pistol. There came a clatter of
loose stones, and I got to my feet to be ready for action--not that
my hurts would have let me accomplish much.
A second later I saw three of Gregor Jhaere's gipsies scurrying along
the cliff-side, turning at intervals to fire pistols at some one
in pursuit. So I joined in the fray with my Colt repeater, and
flattered myself I did not do so badly. The first two shots produced
no other effect than to bring the runaways to a halt. The next three
shots brought all three men tumbling head over heels down the
cliff-side, rolling and sliding and scattering the stones.
One fell near Maga's feet and lay there writhing. The other two
came to a standstill in a hideous heap beside me, and I stooped to
see if I could recognize them.
What happened after that was almost too quick for the senses to take
in. One of the gipsies came suddenly to life and seized me by the
neck. The other grasped my feet, and as I fell I saw the third man
slash loose Maga's thongs and help her up.
My two assailants rolled me over on my back, and while one held me
the other aimed blows at my head with the butt of his empty pistol.
Once he hit me, and it felt like an explosion. Twice by a miracle
I dodged the blows, growing weaker, though, and hopeless. He aimed
a fourth blow, taking his time about it and making sure of his aim,
and I waited in the nearest approach to fatalistic calm I ever
experienced.
In a strange abstraction, in which every movement seemed to be
slowed down into unbelievable leisureliness, I saw the butt of the
pistol begin to approach my eye--near--nearer. Then suddenly I heard
a woman scream, and a shot ring out.
Instead of the pistol butt the gipsy's brains splashed on my face,
and the man collapsed on top of me. Next I realized that Gloria
Vanderman was wiping my face with a cloth of some kind, holding a
hot pistol in her other hand, while Will was standing laughing over
me, and Maga Jhaere with the other gipsy had disappeared altogether.
"Did you shoot Maga?" I mumbled.
"No," Will laughed. "I'd hate to shoot a woman who'd offered to
make me king! She ought to be hung, though, for a horse-thief!
She and that other gipsy got away with the mounts! Never mind--there
are four of us to carry you, if Gloria lends a hand!"
But I have no notion how they carried me. All I remember is recovering
consciousness that evening in the castle, to discover myself copiously
bandaged, and painfully stiff, but not so much of an invalid after all.
Chapter Twenty-one
"Those who survive this night shall have brave memories!"