THE HOME OF THE LION
"May all storms be as pleasant as this one!" she heard someone say, with
a merry laugh. The next instant she was placed soundly upon her feet. A
blinding flash of lightning revealed Baldos, the goat-hunter, at her
side, while a dozen shadowy figures were scrambling to their feet in all
corners of the Hawk and Raven. Someone was clutching her by the dress at
the knees. She did not have to look down to know that it was Aunt Fanny.
"Goodness!" gasped the princess, and then it was pitch dark again. The
man at her side called out a command in his own language, and then
turned his face close to hers.
"Do not be alarmed. We are quite safe now. The royal bed-chamber has
come to grief, however, I am sorry to say. What a fool I was not to have
foreseen all this! The storm has been brewing since midnight," he was
saying to her.
"Isn't it awful?" cried Beverly, between a moan a shriek.
"They are trifles after one gets used to them," he said. "I have come to
be quite at home in the tempest. There are other things much more
annoying, I assure your highness. We shall have lights in a moment."
Even as he spoke, two or three lanterns began to flicker feebly.
"Be quiet, Aunt Fanny; you are not killed at all," commanded Beverly,
quite firmly.
"De house is suah to blow down. Miss--yo' highness," groaned the trusty
maidservant. Beverly laughed bravely but nervously with the tall
goat-hunter. He at once set about making his guest comfortable and
secure from the effects of the tempest, which was now at its height. Her
couch of cushions was dragged far back into the cavern and the rescued
blankets, though drenched, again became a screen.
"Do you imagine that I'm going in there while this storm rages?" Beverly
demanded, as the work progressed.
"Are you not afraid of lightning? Most young women are."
"That's the trouble. I am afraid of it. I'd much rather stay out here
where there is company. You don't mind, do you?"
"Paradise cannot be spurned by one who now feels its warmth for the
first time," said he, gallantly. "Your fear is my delight. Pray sit upon
our throne. It was once a humble carriage pail of leather, but now it is
exalted. Besides, it is much more comfortable than some of the gilded
chairs we hear about."
"You are given to irony, I fear," she said, observing a peculiar smile
on his lips.
"I crave pardon, your highness," he said, humbly "The heart of the
goat-hunter is more gentle than his wit. I shall not again forget that
you are a princess and I the veriest beggar."
"I didn't mean to hurt you!" she cried, in contrition, for she was a
very poor example of what a princess is supposed to be.
"There is no wound, your highness," he quickly said. With a mocking
grace that almost angered her, he dropped to his knee and motioned for
her to be seated. She sat down suddenly, clapping her hands to her ears
and shutting her eyes tightly. The crash of thunder that came at that
instant was the most fearful of all, and it was a full minute before she
dared to lift her lids again. He was standing before her, and there was
genuine compassion in his face. "It's terrible," he said. "Never before
have I seen such a storm. Have courage, your highness; it can last but
little longer."
"Goodness!" said the real American girl, for want of something more
expressive.
"Your servant has crept into your couch, I fear. Shall I sit here at
your feet? Perhaps you may feel a small sense of security if I--"
"Indeed, I want you to sit there," she cried. He forthwith threw himself
upon the floor of the cave, a graceful, respectful guardian. Minutes
went by without a word from either. The noise of the storm made it
impossible to speak and be heard. Scattered about the cavern were his
outstretched followers, doubtless asleep once more in all this
turmoil. With the first lull in the war of the elements, Beverly gave
utterance to the thought that long had been struggling for release.
"Why do you wear that horrid black patch over your eye?" she asked, a
trifle timidly. He muttered a sharp exclamation and clapped his hand to
his eye. For the first time since the beginning of their strange
acquaintanceship Beverly observed downright confusion in this debonair
knight of the wilds.
"It has--has slipped off--" he stammered, with a guilty grin. His merry
insolence was gone, his composure with it. Beverly laughed with keen
enjoyment over the discomfiture of the shame-faced vagabond.
"You can't fool me," she exclaimed, shaking her finger at him in the
most unconventional way. "It was intended to be a disguise. There is
absolutely nothing the matter with your eye."
He was speechless for a moment, recovering himself. Wisdom is conceived
in silence, and he knew this. Vagabond or gentleman, he was a clever
actor.
"The eye is weak, your highness, and I cover it in the daytime to
protect it from the sunlight," he said, coolly.
"That's all very nice, but it looks to be quite as good as the
other. And what is more, sir, you are not putting the patch over the
same eye that wore it when I first saw you. It was the left eye at
sunset. Does the trouble transfer after dark?"
He broke into an honest laugh and hastily moved the black patch across
his nose to the left eye.
"I was turned around in the darkness, that's all," he said, serenely.
"It belongs over the left eye, and I am deeply grateful to you for
discovering the error."
"I don't see any especial reason why you should wear it after dark, do
you? There is no sunlight, I'm sure."
"I am dazzled, nevertheless," he retorted.
"Fiddlesticks!" she said. "This is a cave, not a drawing-room."
"In other words, I am a lout and not a courtier," he smiled. "Well, a
lout may look at a princess. We have no court etiquette in the hills, I
am sorry to say."
"That was very unkind, even though you said it most becomingly," she
protested. "You have called this pail a throne. Let us also imagine that
you are a courtier."
"You punish me most gently, your highness. I shall not forget my manners
again, believe me." He seemed thoroughly subdued.
"Then I shall expect you to remove that horrid black thing. It is
positively villainous. You look much better without it."
"Is it an edict or a compliment?" he asked with such deep gravity that
she flushed.
"It is neither," she answered. "You don't have to take it off unless you
want to--"
"In either event, it is off. You were right. It serves as a partial
disguise. I have many enemies and the black patch is a very good
friend."
"How perfectly lovely," cried Beverly. "Tell me all about it. I adore
stories about feuds and all that."
"Your husband is an American. He should be able to keep you well
entertained with blood-and-thunder stories," said he.
"My hus--What do you--Oh, yes!" gasped Beverly. "To be sure. I didn't
hear you, I guess. That was rather a severe clap of thunder, wasn't it?"
"Is that also a command?"
"What do you mean?"
"There was no thunderclap, you know."
"Oh, wasn't there?" helplessly.
"The storm is quite past. There is still a dash of rain in the air and
the wind may be dying hard, but aside from that I think the noise is
quite subdued."
"I believe you are right. How sudden it all was."
"There are several hours between this and dawn, your highness, and you
should try to get a little more sleep. Your cushions are dry and--"
"Very well, since you are so eager to get rid of--" began Beverly, and
then stopped, for it did not sound particularly regal. "I should have
said, you are very thoughtful. You will call me if I sleep late?"
"We shall start early, with your permission. It is forty miles to
Ganlook, and we must be half way there by nightfall."
"Must we spend another night like this?" cried Beverly, dolefully.
"Alas, I fear you must endure us another night. I am afraid, however, we
shall not find quarters as comfortable as these of the Hawk and Raven."
"I didn't mean to be ungrateful and--er--snippish," she said, wondering
if he knew the meaning of the word.
"No?" he said politely, and she knew he did not--whereupon she felt
distinctly humbled.
"You know you speak such excellent English," she said irrelevantly.
He bowed low. As he straightened his figure, to his amazement, he beheld
an agonizing look of horror on her face; her eyes riveted on the mouth
of the cavern. Then, there came an angrier sound, unlike any that had
gone before in that night of turmoil.
"Look there! Quick!"
The cry of terror from the girl's palsied lips, as she pointed to
something behind him, awoke the mountain man to instant
action. Instinctively, he snatched his long dagger from its sheath and
turned quickly. Not twenty feet from them a huge cat-like beast stood
half crouched on the edge of the darkness, his long tail switching
angrily. The feeble light from the depth of the cave threw the long,
water-soaked visitor into bold relief against the black wall beyond.
Apparently, he was as much surprised as the two who glared at him, as
though frozen to the spot. A snarling whine, a fierce growl, indicated
his fury at finding his shelter--his lair occupied.
"My God! A mountain lion! Ravone! Franz! To me!" he cried hoarsely, and
sprang before her shouting loudly to the sleepers.
A score of men, half awake, grasped their weapons and struggled to their
feet in answer to his call. The lion's gaunt body shot through the
air. In two bounds, he was upon the goat-hunter. Baldos stood squarely
and firmly to meet the rush of the maddened beast, his long dagger
poised for the death-dealing blow.
"Run!" he shouted to her.
Beverly Calhoun had fighting blood in her veins. Utterly unconscious of
her action, at the time, she quickly drew the little silver-handled
revolver from the pocket of her gown. As man, beast and knife came
together, in her excitement she fired recklessly at the combatants
without any thought of the imminent danger of killing her
protector. There was a wild scream of pain from the wounded beast, more
pistol shots, fierce yells from the excited hunters, the rush of feet
and then the terrified and almost frantic girl staggered and fell
against the rocky wall. Her wide gray eyes were fastened upon the
writhing lion and the smoking pistol was tightly clutched in her hand.
It had all occurred in such an incredible short space of time that she
could not yet realize what had happened.
Her heart and brain seemed paralyzed, her limbs stiff and
immovable. Like the dizzy whirl of a kaleidoscope, the picture before
her resolved itself into shape.
The beast was gasping his last upon the rocky floor, the hilt of the
goat hunter's dagger protruding from his side. Baldos, supported by two
of his men, stood above the savage victim, his legs covered with blood.
The cave was full of smoke and the smell of powder. Out of the haze she
began to see the light of understanding. Baldos alone was injured. He
had stood between her and the rush of the lion, and he had saved her, at
a cost she knew not how great.
"Oh, the blood!" she cried hoarsely. "Is it--is it--are you badly hurt?"
She was at his side, the pistol falling from her nervous fingers.
"Don't come near me; I'm all right," he cried quickly.
"Take care--your dress--"
"Oh, I'm so glad to hear you speak! Never mind the dress! You are torn
to pieces! You must be frightfully hurt. Oh, isn't it
terrible--horrible! Aunt Fanny! Come here this minute!"
Forgetting the beast and throwing off the paralysis of fear, she pushed
one of the men away and grasped the arm of the injured man. He winced
perceptibly and she felt something warm and sticky on her hands. She
knew it was blood, but it was not in her to shrink at a moment like
this.
"Your arm, too!" she gasped. He smiled, although his face was white with
pain. "How brave you were! You might have been--I'll never forget
it--never! Don't stand there, Aunt Fanny! Quick! Get those cushions for
him. He's hurt."
"Good Lawd!" was all the old woman could say, but she obeyed her
mistress.
"It was easier than it looked, your highness," murmured Baldos. "Luck
was with me. The knife went to his heart. I am merely scratched. His
leap was short, but he caught me above the knees with his claws. Alas,
your highness, these trousers of mine were bad enough before, but now
they are in shreds. What patching I shall have to do! And you may well
imagine we are short of thread and needles and thimbles--"
"Don't jest, for heaven's sake! Don't talk like that. Here! Lie down
upon these cushions and--"
"Never! Desecrate the couch of Graustark's ruler? I, the poor
goat-hunter? I'll use the lion for a pillow and the rock for an
operating table. In ten minutes my men can have these scratches dressed
and bound--in fact, there is a surgical student among them, poor
fellow. I think I am his first patient. Ravone, attend me."
He threw himself upon the ground and calmly placed his head upon the
body of the animal.
"I insist upon your taking these cushions," cried Beverly.
"And I decline irrevocably." She stared at him in positive anger. "Trust
Ravone to dress these trifling wounds, your highness. He may not be as
gentle, but he is as firm as any princess in all the world."
"But your arm?" she cried. "Didn't you say it was your legs? Your arm is
covered with blood, too. Oh, dear me, I'm afraid you are frightfully
wounded."
"A stray bullet from one of my men struck me there, I think. You know
there was but little time for aiming--?"
"Wait! Let me think a minute! Good heavens!" she exclaimed with a
start. Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears and there was a break in
her voice. "I shot you! Don't deny it--don't! It is the right arm, and
your men could not have hit it from where they stood. Oh, oh, oh!"
Baldos smiled as he bared his arm. "Your aim was good," he
admitted. "Had not my knife already been in the lion's heart, your
bullet would have gone there. It is my misfortune that my arm was in the
way. Besides, your highness, it has only cut through the skin--and a
little below, perhaps. It will be well in a day or two, I am sure you
will find your bullet in the carcass of our lamented friend, the
probable owner of this place."
Ravone, a hungry-looking youth, took charge of the wounded leader, while
her highness retreated to the farthest corner of the cavern. There she
sat and trembled while the wounds were being dressed. Aunt Fanny bustled
back and forth, first unceremoniously pushing her way through the circle
of men to take observations, and then reporting to the impatient
girl. The storm had passed and the night was still, except for the rush
of the river; raindrops fell now and then from the trees, glistening
like diamonds as they touched the light from the cavern's mouth. It was
all very dreary, uncanny and oppressive to poor Beverly. Now and then
she caught herself sobbing, more out of shame and humiliation than in
sadness, for had she not shot the man who stepped between her and death?
What must he think of her?
"He says yo' all 'd betteh go to baid, Miss Bev--yo' highness," said
Aunt Fanny after one of her trips.
"Oh, he does, does he?" sniffed Beverly. "I'll go to bed when I
please. Tell him so. No, no--don't do it, Aunt Fanny! Tell him I'll go
to bed when I'm sure he is quite comfortable, not before."
"But he's jes' a goat puncheh er a--"
"He's a man, if there ever was one. Don't let me hear you call him a
goat puncher again. How are his legs?" Aunt Fanny was almost stunned by
this amazing question from her ever-decorous mistress. "Why don't you
answer? Will they have to be cut off? Didn't you see them?"
"Fo' de Lawd's sake, missy, co'se Ah did, but yo' all kindeh susprise
me. Dey's p'etty bad skun up, missy; de hide's peeled up consid'ble. But
hit ain' dang'ous,--no, ma'am. Jes' skun, 'at's all."
"And his arm--where I shot him?"
"Puffec'ly triflin', ma'am,--yo' highness. Cobwebs 'd stop de bleedin'
an' Ah tole 'em so, but 'at felleh couldn' un'stan' me. Misteh
what's-his-names he says something to de docteh, an' den dey goes afteh
de cobwebs, suah 'nough. 'Tain' bleedin' no mo', missy. He's mostes'
neah doin' we'y fine. Co'se, he cain' walk fo' sev'l days wiv dem laigs
o' his'n, but--"
"Then, in heaven's name, how are we to get to Edelweiss?"
"He c'n ride, cain't he? Wha's to hindeh him?"
"Quite right. He shall ride inside the coach. Go and see if I can do
anything for him."
Aunt Fanny returned in a few minutes.
"He says yo'll do him a great favoh if yo' jes' go to baid. He sends his
'spects an' hopes yo' slumbeh won' be distubbed ag'in."
"He's a perfect brute!" exclaimed Beverly, but she went over and crawled
under the blankets and among the cushions the wounded man had scorned.