DUSK’S STRONGHOLD.
To say that our hero felt satisfied with the treatment he had received
at the hands of Mother Dot would be to state an untruth. He was not
satisfied. He had a latent suspicion that the hag was in some way or
other leagued with his enemy. Under these circumstances he therefore
thrust her gift into his pocket, and went in search of the ugly dwarf.
For hours he wandered about without seeing a vestige of any living
thing. He began to feel tired and hungry, and darkness was approaching
fast. What should he do? Try and find his way back again to where he
had left Grapple? No, the giant would only laugh at him.
He suddenly bethought him to try the old woman’s gift. She had said
that whatever he might wish for should be gratified. His first and
dearest wish was to find the whereabouts of the dwarf. So he put the
relic to the test. Swift and potent indeed was the effect. Scarcely had
the desire taken shape in his mind ere his eyes beheld a massive
structure about the distance of a mile right ahead of him. The building
was surrounded by a high wall, and looked more like a gaol than
anything else.
As he drew near, the young miner observed a strong iron door in the
wall, at which he began to knock.
“Who’s there? What want you here?” resounded from a hoarse voice
belonging to an enormous head and face, which at that moment protruded
itself over the battlement.
“Does the dwarf they call Dusk reside here?” demanded our hero.
“He does, but he’s not at home. Go away, you mite, before I come and
crush your bones together.”
“Try,” responded the Nugget. “As for the dwarf, I believe the rascal is
here, and I mean to enter and satisfy myself on that point.”
“Begone, you wretched ant—you insect!” roared the monster passionately.
“A fig for your bluster, you bundle of ugliness,” responded our hero.
The face disappeared as suddenly as the policeman in the puppet show,
and immediately the iron door opened wide, disclosing a
horrible-looking fellow, several feet taller than Grapple, and armed
with a well-seasoned sapling about the dimensions of a verandah post.
“Now, you flea, you miserable son-in-law of a blow-fly, what have you
to say before I smash you up?” cried the giant, purple with rage.
Without answer, Samson sprang through the open doorway. As he did so,
the monster aimed a crushing blow at his head. Ducking like an otter,
Nugget avoided the ponderous bludgeon, which fell upon the door and
tore it from its hinges. Quick as the swoop of a hawk, he seized a
fragment of iron and dealt his gigantic antagonist an awkward whack
full upon his stomach, which tumbled him down, as if he had been shot,
and there he lay quite helpless.
The Nugget, without troubling about his adversary, entered the
building; but he had not advanced beyond the porch before another and
more formidable foe confronted him. Strongly built, and as sturdy as
the trunk of an old oak, monster number two appeared neither man nor
fish, but a strange combination of both. It had eyes and mouth like a
fish, and as many legs and arms as an octopus, each member being armed
at the extremities with spikes as sharp as steel.
“What seekest thou?” it bellowed forth, with the lungs of a bull.
“I seek the antic sprite, Dusk,” replied the undaunted Samson.
“Poor, mean earthworm, knowest thou not that the mighty Dusk is lord
and master here in Twilight?”
“Pray conduct me to his lordship.”
“Hence! at once, or I’ll roast you like a crab,” said the man-fish.
“Stuff! You’ll find me tough eating,” replied the Nugget, at the same
time drawing forth the ram’s horn, and changing it into a light, handy
sword.
The monster grinned in disdain. Stretching forth his long arms, he
tried to clutch our hero, but the Nugget cleverly avoided him. Then
began a fierce combat between them. Here and there, up and down, with
ringing blows, the duel became very exciting and sanguinary, till the
man-fish, losing his temper and his breath together, received the coup
de grâce, and was hurled headlong down the terrace steps.
All further opposition seemed at an end with the death of the second
monster, and our hero wended his way into the interior of the mansion.
As he proceeded, he found the place was not at all so gloomy as might
be expected from an outside view of it. Indeed, he discovered it was a
large building, and furnished in excellent taste. The walls of the
various apartments were hung with silk and velvet of chaste pattern and
hue. Couches and chairs richly carved, with marble tables decked with
choicest flowers and fruits, were reflected in mirrors on the walls,
which were more elaborate than those of old Venice. Parrots of the
gayest plumage, rare birds in golden cages, soft, sparkling fountains,
and a delicious perfume of flowers, all made up a magnificent whole
that was worthy the dwelling-place of a king.
With hasty steps our hero wandered through many rooms, hoping to
discover the dwarf. His wandering brought him to a grand staircase, the
steps of which were covered with Cashmere velvet, bordered with satin
flowers. A bronze stand, curiously ornamented, supported a large globe
of white crystal at the head of the stairway. The Nugget could not help
pausing to admire this beautiful piece of workmanship. The crystal ball
was so dazzling bright that it made his eyes ache to look upon it.
“What a strange ball!” he said, shading his sight with his hand, and
approaching close to it. “How large it is! It seems large enough to
hold that rascal Dusk. What if he should be hiding here? Perhaps it is
solid. Humph! I’ll try it. Ball, crystal ball, if thou art hollow, by
my ram’s horn, I command thee! Open!”
Before the words had left his lips the globe slowly split in twain;
while from within there rose before his wondering sight—not the ugly
sprite—but the graceful form of a lovely young maiden.
Never in the life of this poor digger, either in his waking sense or in
dreams, had he seen any woman so enchantingly lovely. In olden times
men were blessed with visions of the angels, and they essayed to
picture what they had seen. Yet how crude the forms of Cherubim and
Seraphim both on canvas and on page to the glorious reality!
If Samson the Nugget had been gifted with the descriptive powers of the
world-renowned war correspondent, I’m afraid the twenty-six letters in
our alphabet would not have been sufficient to convey any idea of the
beauty of this damsel upon whom he gazed. Her complexion was like that
delicate tint we see upon the pearl shell, and her hair shone like
burnished gold.
“Who art thou, fair lady?” cried the Australian youth, gallantly
advancing with outstretched hands to assist her from the pedestal
whereon she had been imprisoned.
“Alas!” she answered, weeping, “I am the daughter of King Golden Cloud,
and my name is Silverhaze. Because I would not consent to become the
wife of a wicked dwarf, named Dusk, he stole me from my home, and
conveying me here, enclosed me in yon crystal globe.”
No ring-dove cooing for its mate had softer, sweeter voice than
Princess Silverhaze. Our hero led her down the stairway and placed her
on a couch by the window. Seating himself at her feet he briefly
explained to her the part he had taken in search of their common foe.
“Where is Golden Cloud, your home?” he said. “I swear I will not rest
until I have placed you safe again in the arms of your kith and kin.”
“Thou art a brave youth,” answered the Princess, looking down at him
with eyes that sparkled gratitude. “If thou canst indeed take me from
this horrid place, my father will load thee with honours, and poor
Silverhaze will love thee always.”
Ah me! Who shall write the Nugget’s answer? Who shall detail his
confusion, his stammerings, his schoolboy blushes? Not I, my young
friends. Wise old Atha knows full well how near the Love God dangles to
yourselves—how near ye are to the reality without the ideal being
stamped on this page to point the way.
In considerably less time than it takes to pen these lines, the
Princess had decided to trust her fortunes to the pluck and gallantry
of her young champion. But in the midst of their plans they were
unexpectedly confronted by their deadly enemy—Dusk—armed to the teeth.