ON THE FRONTIER.
The evening train was almost due.
Upon the rise of a bare and windy ridge Rallywood sat on horseback
waiting. Man and horse seemed to be the only living things between the
horizons. From his point of vantage he looked out over the dim,
limitless marshes, north, south and west, and although the growing
darkness rendered the few features of the landscape even less
distinguishable than usual, his practiced eye passed from point to point
readily, for the flat map before him had been etched in upon his memory
by the slow-graving stylus of use.
The night promised to be clear and starlit, for the tsa had risen to a
gale, and a sudden frost succeeding the thaw had already thrust its iron
fingers deep into the land. The cold was intense, and a raw wind, that
had blown across a continent and a sea, came down obliquely upon
Rallywood through a dip in the mountains. On one side the lines of the
railway track ran up a curving incline into the Kofn Hills, where, five
miles away at the bleak Frontier station, officials, imposingly
uniformed, parade the platforms, examine the baggage, and demand
passports in a manner calculated to impress the traveller with an idea
of the immense resources of the State of Maäsau. That is one part of
their duties. The other is slavish obedience. 'Do what you are ordered,
and the result will look after itself.' Such is the creed. The first
lesson taught them is that they must not hesitate, and they learn it
thoroughly. Westwards the line slipped away into the sweep of low ground
towards Alfau, the first stoppage on the way to Révonde.
Rallywood drew his riding-cloak around him and settled down squarely
into the saddle. The desolate plains with the crying wind held the
loneliness of the damned. Occasionally a wolf howled in the distance, or
a wandering snipe cried as it lost itself among the stiffening reeds
about the swampy levels, and through all he could hear the hoarse roar
of the Kofn in flood, as it rushed down from its rocky bed, swollen with
the melted snows of yesterday. Another interval passed while the gray
outlook changed to black. Then a red light appeared as it were over the
edge of the world. Its coming afforded a certain break in the naked
whimpering solitude of the plain.
Slowly it crept down the incline, for the engines of Maäsau, like
Belgian pistols, are not made for rough usage. Rallywood rode forward to
meet it, the tufts of grass crackling under his horse's feet. But
instead of slackening pace the chain of lighted carriages swept past
him, and, gathering speed, wound away into the desolate night.
Rallywood looked after it with a sense of blankness. The Chancellor's
exordium and the Duke's remarks had rather primed him to a state of
expectation, and he felt as if he had been balked of he knew not what.
The green light contracted and died away into the gloom; then discontent
mastered him. In his restless mood he had grasped at the situation,
which had promised a stirring of the blood, but the train passed and
thrust him back with a hand that seemed almost palpable in the staleness
of ordinary life. When he left the Frontier he had left behind him the
old content, the humorous adaptability to circumstances which had once
been a main element of his character.
Turning his horse's head due west he rode slowly beside the track, where
the metals had begun to gleam under the stars, and the wind drove behind
him as if driving him out into the waste. He rode on for five minutes.
Then he pulled up and listened. Through the whistling of the _tsa_ and
the dull roar of the river, he fancied he had detected some other sound.
Puzzled, he turned and rode back at a hand-gallop in the teeth of the
wind. As he rode, the noise became more distinct, and presently out of
the night something black and bulky came jolting painfully and slowly
down the slope of the railway track.
As Rallywood drew rein alongside, he saw it was a single carriage,
unlighted and solitary, rolling aimlessly on towards the level ground
through the gloom.
Gradually the pace slackened, and at last with a rheumatic jerk
backwards and forwards it came to a standstill. By this time also
Rallywood had perceived that it occupied the further set of rails, on
which the outgoing trains from Révonde travelled. And already the night
mail could not be far away.
He dropped from his saddle and in a second was feeling for his matches,
while the horse fell to sniffing half-heartedly at the meagre herbage.
Rallywood mounted the steps of the carriage, for the platforms in Maäsau
are very high, and turned the handle. Then, bending forward, he peered
into the interior, but through the dusk the seats seemed empty.
Rallywood stepped inside and lit a match. It sputtered in the frosty air
and flickered for a second from the route-maps under the musty racks to
the cushioned seats, and so downwards to a figure heaped on the
floor-rug by the opposite door.
This wandering carriage had then one occupant. Also he gave signs of
life, for he grunted feebly in the dark as the match went out.
Rallywood felt for the lamp above his head, for in Maäsau the trains are
lighted by oil lanterns let in over the doors. Finding it, he broke the
glass with the butt of his revolver and lit the wick; then he turned for
a closer examination of the man who had come to him in so strange a
manner. But the manner pointed to the fact that this must be the
prisoner he was told to hold at Kofn Ford until to-morrow. Politics are
apt to work out to curious issues in continental railways. Such things
have happened many times, though they are not often noised abroad. The
man lay with one arm thrown across the seat and his face buried in it.
He was a big man, and a fringe of white hair showed under the back of
his travelling cap above a crease of fleshy neck.
'Counsellor!'
For an instant Rallywood turned sick and his head felt light. He
remembered feeling the same sensation years before, when a heavy
opponent sat abruptly down on his chest in a football scrimmage. His
hands shook as he lifted the inert figure on to the cushions and scanned
the face, sticky and disfigured with blood. After forcing some brandy
from his flask down Counsellor's throat and unloosing his collar,
Rallywood opened the window wide to let the cold air blow in upon him,
and fired two shots from his revolver in rapid succession out into the
night. They must have help, for the down mail was already at Alfau.
By this time, Counsellor, grunting and swearing, had got himself up on
his elbow and stared at the young man with vacant eyes.
'Where the deuce have I got to? Is that you, John? By heaven, I
remember!' His fingers went groping weakly to his breast, then with a
groan he struggled to his feet. 'The ruffians have robbed me!'
But the effort exhausted him; he sank back putting his hands to his
head.
'I don't understand this. What has happened? John, where am I?'
Rallywood explained hurriedly.
'We're on the up line, Major. Have another pull at my flask, and see if
you can get to the Ford block-house. The night mail will be on us
directly. Ah, there are the men,' as a stolid sergeant thrust his
weather-beaten face in at the door.
Rallywood gave the necessary orders rapidly, then turned to the Major.
'Are you badly hurt? Do you think you can ride?' said he.
'Ride! of course I can ride. How far is it to Révonde?'
Rallywood put his arm round him, and helped him very tenderly from the
carriage.
Counsellor stood up in the howling wind and looked about him into the
wild night.
'I've had a nasty knock on the head, and I suppose they look to the
night mail to finish the business. Make haste, John! where's your horse?
Treachery's afoot to-night. I've lost my despatches--they robbed me of
them! But I'll beat them all yet! Give me your flask. How far is it to
Révonde?'
The troopers had dispersed, some to warn the coming train, others to
arrange for the removal of the carriage from the track.
Counsellor had his foot in the stirrup, and with difficulty Rallywood
got him up into the saddle.
'Thirty miles, but you cannot ride there to-night,' answered Rallywood.
'With your help I'll beat them yet, John! Thirty miles? I'll be there
before daylight! I can go by the stars once I find the road.'
He stuck his heels into the horse's side, but Rallywood still held the
bridle.
A wild gust tore round them, and in the succeeding lull Rallywood laid
his hand on the other man's knee.
'Major Counsellor, you are my prisoner,' he said.
'How's this, John?' the question came thin, pitiful and weak. A new
doubt, the old affection, and a strange helplessness mingled in the
words, and they cut deep into Rallywood's ears.
'That was a bad knock on the head,' muttered the Major apologetically,
and sank forward on the horse's neck again unconscious.