I was wandering aimlessly through the rose gardens, when the far-off
sound of galloping hoofs came on the breeze. Nearer and nearer it
drew. I ran out into the highway. I saw a horse come wildly dashing
along. It was riderless, and as it came closer I saw the foam of sweat
dripping from its flanks and shoulders. As the animal plunged toward
me, I made a spring and caught the bridle, hanging on till the brute
came to a standstill. It was quivering from fright. There was a gash
on its neck, and it was bleeding and turning the white flakes of sweat
into a murky crimson.
"Good Lord!" I ejaculated. "It's one of the cavalry horses. Hillars
or the innkeeper has been hurt."
I was of the mind to mount the animal and go in search of them, when
Stahlberg, who had come to my assistance, said that I had best wait. A
quarter of an hour passed. Then we could see another horse, perhaps
half a mile away, coming toward the inn at a canter. From what I could
see in the pale light, the horse carried a double burden. A sheet of
ice seemed to fall on my heart. What had happened? Had Dan and the
Prince come to blows? Alas, I could have cried out in anguish at the
sight which finally met my gaze. The innkeeper held the reins, and,
propped up in front of him, was Hillars, to all appearances dead.
"Gott!" cried the innkeeper, discovering me, "but I am glad to see you,
Herr. Your friend has been hurt, badly, badly."
"My God!" I cried. The hand and wrist of the innkeeper which encircled
Hillars were drenched in blood.
"Yes. A bullet somewhere in his chest. Help me down with him. He is
not dead yet. I'll tell you the story when we have made it comfortable
for him."
Tenderly we carried the inanimate form of poor Hillars into the inn and
laid it on the sofa. I tore back his blood-wet shirt. The wound was
slightly below the right lung. The bullet had severed an artery, for I
could see that the blood gushed. We worked over him for a few moments,
and then he opened his eyes. He saw me and smiled.
"There wasn't any regiment, old man, but this will suffice. My hand
trembled. But he'll never use his right arm again, curse him!"
"Dan, Dan!" I cried, "what made you do it?"
"When I am a man's friend, it is in life and death. He was in the way.
He may thank liquor that he lives." The lids of his eyes contracted.
"Hurts a little, but it will not be for long, my son. I am bleeding to
death inside. Jack, the woman loves you, and in God's eyes, Princess
or not, she belongs to you. You and I cannot understand these things
which make it impossible for a man and a woman who love each other to
wed. Let me hold your hand. I feel like an old woman. Give me a
mouthful of brandy. Ah, that's better! Innkeeper, your courage is not
to be doubted, but your judgment of liquor is. Any way, Jack, I
suppose you will not forget me in a week or so, eh?"
"Dan!" was all I could say, bending over his hand to hide my tears.
"Jack, you are not sorry?"
"Dan, you are more to me than any woman in the world."
"Oh, say! You wouldn't--hold me up a bit higher; that's it--you
wouldn't have me hang on now, would you? I haven't anything to live
for, no matter how you put it. Home? I never had one. The only
regret I have in leaving is that the Prince will not keep me company.
Put an obol in my hand, and Charon will see me over the Styx.
"And when, like her, O Saki, you shall pass
Among the guests star-scattered on the grass,
And in your joyous errand, reach the spot
Where I made one--turn down an empty glass!
"Well, hang me, Jack, if you aren't crying! Then you thought more of
me than I believed; a man's tears mean more than a woman's. . . . A
man must die, and what is a year or two? How much better to fold the
tent when living becomes tasteless and the cup is full of lees! . . .
The Prince was a trifle cruel; but perhaps his hand trembled, too.
Innkeeper, you're a good fellow."
"Herr is a man of heart," said the grizzled veteran, sadly.
"Tell Jack how it happened," said Dan; "it hurts me."
On leaving me, Hillars and the innkeeper, after having taken a pair of
pistols, had mounted the cavalry horses despite the protests of the
owners, and had galloped away in pursuit of the Prince and Count von
Walden. They caught sight of them a mile or so ahead. They were
loping along at a fair speed. It took half an hour to bring the two
parties within speaking distance. Although the Prince and von Walden
heard them, they never turned around, but kept on straight ahead. This
made Hillars' choler rise, and he spurred forward.
"One moment, gentlemen," he cried. "I have a word with you."
They galloped on unheeding. When Hillars got in front of them they
merely veered to either side.
"Ah!" said Hillars, choking with rage. With a quick movement he bent
and caught the bridle of the Prince's horse. The Count, seeing that
the Prince was compelled to rein in, did likewise. The Prince looked
disdainful.
"Well, what is it?" asked Von Walden. "Speak quickly. Has your
scribbling friend run away with Her Highness?"
"My remarks, most noble and puissant Count," said Hillars, bowing,
satirically, to the neck of his horse, "I shall confine to the still
more noble and puissant Prince of Wortumborg."
"This is an unappreciated honor," sneered the Prince.
"So it is," replied Hillars, lightly. "When an honest man speaks to
you he is conferring an honor upon you which you, as you say, cannot
appreciate. It appears to me that Your Highness has what we in America
call malaria. I propose to put a hole through you and let out this bad
substance. Lead, properly used, is a great curative. Sir, your
presence on this beautiful world is an eyesore to me."
"One excuse is as good as another," said the Prince. "Did Her Highness
delegate you to put me out of the way?"
"Oh, no; but since you have brought her name into it, I confess that it
is on her account. Well, sir, no man has ever insulted a woman in my
presence and gone unscathed. In English speaking lands we knock him
down. This being Rome I shall do as the Romans do. I believe I called
you a liar; I will do so again. Is the object of my errand plain?"
"As I said to your friend," smiled the Prince, "I will send a lackey
down here to take care of you. Count, we shall hardly get to the
station in time to catch the train. Young man, stand aside; you annoy
me, I have no time to discuss the Princess or her lovers. Release my
horse!"
"What a damned cur you are!" cried Hillars, losing his airy tone. "By
God, you will fight me, if I have to knock you down and spit upon you!"
Then with full force he flung his hat into the face of the Prince.
"You have written finis to your tale," said the Prince, dismounting.
"Your Highness!" exclaimed the Count, springing to the ground, "this
must not be. You shall not risk your life at the hands of this damned
adventurer."
"Patience, Count," said the Prince, shaking off the hand which the
Count had placed upon his shoulder. "Decidedly, this fellow is worth
consideration. Since we have no swords, sir, and they seem to be
woman's weapons these days, we will use pistols. Of course, you have
come prepared. It is a fine time for shooting. This first light of
twilight gives us equal advantage. Will it be at ten or twenty paces?
I dare say, if we stand at twenty, in the centre of the road, we shall
have a good look at each other before we separate indefinitely."
"Your Highness insists?" murmured the Count.
"I not only insist, I command." The Prince took off his coat and
waistcoat and deposited them on the grass at the side of the road.
Hillars did likewise. There was a pleased expression on his face. "I
do believe, Count," laughed the Prince, "this fellow expects to kill
me. Now, the pistols."
"If you will permit me," said the innkeeper, taking an oblong box from
under his coat. "These are excellent weapons."
The Prince laughed. "I suppose, innkeeper, if the result is disastrous
to me, it will please you?"
The innkeeper was not lacking in courtesy. "It would be a pleasure, I
assure you. There are certain reasons why I cannot fight you myself."
"To be sure."
"It would be too much like murder," continued the innkeeper. "Your
hand would tremble so that you would miss me at point-blank. There
goes the last of the sun. We must hurry."
With a grimace the Count accepted the box and took out the pistols.
"They are old-fashioned," he said.
"A deal like the innkeeper's morals," supplemented the Prince.
"But effective," said the innkeeper.
The Count scowled at the old fellow, who met the look with phlegm. As
an innkeeper he might be an inferior, but as a second at a duel he was
an equal. It was altogether a different matter.
The Count carefully loaded the weapons, the innkeeper watching him
attentively. In his turn he examined them.
"Very good," he said.
The paces were then measured out. During this labor the Prince gazed
indifferently toward the west. The aftermath of the sun glowed on the
horizon. The Prince shaded his eyes for a spell.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I believe the Princess is approaching. At any
rate here comes the coach. Let us suspend hostilities till she has
passed."
A few minutes later the coach came rumbling along in a whirlwind of
dust. The stoical cavalrymen kept on without so much as a glance at
the quartet standing at the side of the road. Hillars looked after the
vehicle till it was obscured from view. Then he shook himself out of
the dream into which he had fallen. He was pale now, and his eyebrows
were drawn together as the Count held out the pistol.
"Ah, yes!" he said, as though he had forgotten. "There goes the woman
who will never become your wife."
"That shall be decided at once," was the retort of the Prince.
"She will marry the gentleman back at the inn."
"A fine husband he will make, truly!" replied the Prince. "He not only
deserts her but forsakes her champion. But, that is neither here nor
there. We shall not go through any polite formalities," his eyes
snapping viciously.
The two combatants took their places in the centre of the road. The
pistol arm of each hung at the side of the body.
"Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked the Count, the barest tremor in his
voice.
"Yes," said the Prince.
Hillars simply nodded.
"When I have counted three you will be at liberty to fire. One!"
The arms raised slowly till the pistols were on the level of the eyes.
"Two!"
The innkeeper saw Hillars move his lips. That was the only sign.
"Three!"
The pistols exploded simultaneously. The right arm of the Prince swung
back violently, the smoking pistol flying from his hand. Suddenly one
of the horses gave a snort of pain and terror, and bolted down the
road. No attention was given to the horse. The others were watching
Hillars. He stood perfectly motionless. All at once the pistol fell
from his hand; then both hands flew instinctively to his breast. There
was an expression of surprise on his face. His eyes closed, his knees
bent forward, and he sank into the road a huddled heap. The Prince
shrugged, a sigh of relief fell from the Count's half-parted lips,
while the innkeeper ran toward the fallen man.
"Are you hurt, Prince?" asked the Count.
"The damned fool has blown off my elbow!" was the answer. "Bind it up
with your handkerchief, and help me on with my coat. There is nothing
more to do; if he is not dead he soon will be, so it's all the same."
When the Prince's arm was sufficiently bandaged so as to stop the flow
of blood, the Count assisted him to mount, jumped on his own horse, and
the two cantered off, leaving the innkeeper, Hillars' head propped up
on his knee, staring after them with a dull rage in his faded blue
eyes. The remaining horse was grazing a short distance away. Now and
then he lifted his head and gazed inquiringly at the two figures in the
road.
"Is it bad, Herr?" the innkeeper asked.
"Very. Get back to the inn. I don't want to peter out here." Then he
fainted.
It required some time and all the innkeeper's strength to put Hillars
on the horse. When this was accomplished he turned the horse's head
toward the inn. And that was all.
"Dan?" said I.
The lids of his eyes rolled wearily back.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Bury me."
It was very sad. "Where?" I asked.
"Did you see the little cemetery on the hill, across the valley? Put
me there. It is a wild, forgotten place. 'Tis only my body. Who
cares what becomes of that? As for the other, the soul, who can say?
I have never been a good man; still, I believe in God. I am tired,
tired and cold. What fancies a man has in death! A moment back I saw
my father. There was a wan, sweet-faced woman standing close beside
him; perhaps my mother. I never saw her before. Ah, me! these
chimeras we set our hearts upon, these worldly hopes! Well, Jack, it's
curtain and no encore. But I am not afraid to die. I have wronged no
man or woman; I have been my own enemy. What shall I say, Jack? Ah,
yes! God have mercy on my soul. And this sudden coldness, this sudden
ease from pain--is death!"
There was a flutter of the eyelids, a sigh, and this poor flotsam, this
drift-wood which had never known a harbor in all its years, this friend
of mine, this inseparable comrade--passed out. He knew all about it
now.
There were hot tears in my eyes as I stood up and gazed down at this
mystery called death. And while I did so, a hand, horny and hard,
closed over mine. The innkeeper, with blinking eyes, stood at my side.
"Ah, Herr," he said, "who would not die like that?"
And we buried him on the hillside, just as the sun swept aside the rosy
curtain of dawn. The wind, laden with fresh morning perfumes, blew up
joyously from the river. From where I stood I could see the drab walls
of the barracks. The windows sparkled and flashed as the gray mists
sailed heavenward and vanished. The hill with its long grasses
resembled a green sea. The thick forests across the river, almost
black at the water's edge, turned a fainter and more delicate hue as
they receded, till, far away, they looked like mottled glass. Only
yesterday he had laughed with me, talked and smoked with me, and now he
was dead. A rage pervaded me. We are puny things, we, who strut the
highways of the world, parading a so-called wisdom. There is only one
philosophy; it is to learn to die.
"Come," said I to the innkeeper; and we went down the hill.
"When does the Herr leave?"
"At once. There will be no questions?" I asked, pointing to the
village.
"None. Who knows?"
"Then, remember that Herr Hillars was taken suddenly ill and died, and
that he desired to be buried here. I dare say the Prince will find
some excuse for his arm, knowing the King's will in regard to dueling.
Do you understand me?"
"Yes."
I did not speak to him again, and he strode along at my heels with an
air of preoccupation. We reached the inn in silence.
"What do you know about her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde?" I
asked abruptly.
"What does Herr wish to know?" shifting his eyes from my gaze.
"All you can tell me."
"I was formerly in her father's service. My wife----" He hesitated,
and the expression on his face was a sour one.
"Go on."
"Ah, but it is unpleasant, Herr. You see, my wife and I were not on
the best of terms. She was handsome . . . a cousin of the late Prince.
. . . She left me more than twenty years ago. I have never seen her
since, and I trust that she is dead. She was her late Highness's
hair-dresser."
"And the Princess Hildegarde?"
"She is a woman for whom I would gladly lay down my life."
"Yes, yes!" I said impatiently. "Who made her the woman she is? Who
taught her to shoot and fence?"
"It was I."
"You?"
"Yes. From childhood she has been under my care. Her mother did so
desire. She is all I have in the world to love. And she loves me,
Herr; for in all her trials I have been her only friend. But why do
you ask these questions?" a sudden suspicion lighting his eyes.
"I love her."
He took me by the shoulders and squared me in front of him.
"How do you love her?" a glint of anger mingling with the suspicion.
"I love her as a man who wishes to make her his wife."
His hands trailed down my sleeves till they met and joined mine.
"I will tell you all there is to be told. Herr, there was once a happy
family in the palace of the Hohenphalians. The Prince was rather wild,
but he loved his wife. One day his cousin came to visit him. He was a
fascinating man in those days, and few women were there who would not
give an ear to his flatteries. He was often with the Princess, but she
hated him. One day an abominable thing happened. This cousin loved
the Princess. She scorned him. As the Prince was entering the boudoir
this cousin, making out that he was unconscious of the husband's
approach, took the Princess in his arms and kissed her. The Prince was
too far away to see the horror in his wife's face. He believed her to
be acquiescent. That night he accused her. Her denials were in vain.
He confronted her with his cousin, who swore before the immortal God
himself that the Princess had lain willing in his arms. From that time
on the Prince changed. He became reckless; he fell in with evil
company; he grew to be a shameless ruffian, a man who brought his women
into his wife's presence, and struck her while they were there. And in
his passions he called her terrible names. He made a vow that when
children came he would make them things of scorn. In her great
trouble, the Princess came to my inn, where the Princess Hildegarde was
born. The Prince refused to believe that the child was his. My
mistress finally sickened and died--broken-hearted. The Prince died in
a gambling den. The King became the guardian of the lonely child. He
knows but little, or he would not ask Her Highness--" He stopped.
"He would not ask her what?"
"To wed the man who caused all this trouble."
"What! Prince Ernst?"
"Yes. I prayed to God, Herr, that your friend's bullet would carry
death. But it was not to be."
"I am going back to London," said I. "When I have settled up my
affairs there I shall return."
"And then?"
"Perhaps I shall complete what my friend began."
I climbed into the ramshackle conveyance and was driven away. Once I
looked back. The innkeeper could be seen on the porch, then he became
lost to view behind the trees. Far away to my left the stones in the
little cemetery on the hillside shone with brilliant whiteness.