THE MERRY VAGABOND
The man who stood in the middle of the freight-car, looking down in
wonder at the fugitives, was a tall vagabond of the most picturesque
type. No ragamuffin was ever so tattered and torn as this rakish
individual. His clothes barely hung together on his lank frame; he was
barefoot and hatless; a great mop of black hair topped his shrewd,
rugged face; coal-black eyes snapped and twinkled beneath shaggy brows
and a delighted, knowing grin spread slowly over his rather boyish
countenance. He was not a creature to strike terror to the heart of any
one; on the contrary, his mischievous, sprightly face produced an
impression of genuine good humour and absolute indifference to the harsh
things of life.
Long, thin lips curled into a smile of delicious regard; his sides shook
with the quiet chuckle of understanding. He did not lose his smile, even
when the match burned his finger tips and fell to the floor of the car.
Instead, the grin was broader when he struck the second match and
resumed his amused scrutiny of his fellow-lodgers. This time he
practised thrift: he lighted a cigarette with the match before tossing
it aside. Then he softly slid the car door back in its groove and looked
out into the moist, impenetrable night. A deep sigh left his smiling
lips; a retrospective langour took possession of his long frame; he
sighed again, and still he smiled.
Leaning against the side of the door this genial gypsy smoked in
blissful silence until the stub grew so short that it burned his already
singed fingers. He was thinking of other days and nights, and of many
maids in far-off lands, and of countless journeys in which he, too, had
had fair and gentle company--short journeys, yes, but not to be
forgotten. Ah, to be knight of the road and everlasting squire to the
Goddess of Love! He always had been that--ever since he could remember;
he had loved a hundred briefly; none over long. It was the only way.
Once more he turned to look upon the sleeping pair. This time he lighted
the stub of a tallow candle. The tender, winning smile in his dark eyes
grew to positive radiance. Ah, how he envied this great, sleeping
wayfarer! How beautiful his mistress! How fortunate the lover! And how
they slept--how tired they were! Whence had they come? From what distant
land had they travelled together to reach this holiday-garnished city in
the hills? Vagabonds, tramps! They were of his world, a part of his
family; he knew and had loved a hundred of her sisters, he was one of a
hundred-thousand brothers to this man.
Why should he stay here to spoil their waking hour? The thought came to
him suddenly. No; he would surrender his apartment to them. He was free
and foot-loose; he could go elsewhere. He _would_ go elsewhere.
Softly he tip-toed to his own corner of the car, looking over his
shoulder with anxious eyes to see that his movements did not disturb
them. He gathered up his belongings: an ancient violin case, a stout
walking stick, a goodly sized pack done up in gaudy cloth, a well-worn
pair of sandals with long, frayed lacings. As gently he stole back to
the door. Here he sat down, with his feet hanging outside the car. Then,
with many a sly, wary glance at his good comrades, he put on his
sandals and laced them up the leg. He tossed a kiss to the sleeping
girl, his dark gypsy face aglow with admiration and mischief, and was
about to blow out the light of his candle. Then he changed his mind. He
arose and stood over them again, looking long and solemnly at the face
of the sleeping girl. Ah, yes, she was the most beautiful he had ever
seen--the very fairest. He had known her sisters, but-no, they were not
like this one. With a sly grimace of envy he shook his fist at the tall
man whose leg served as a pillow for the tired head.
The girl looked wan and tired--and hungry. Poor thing! Never had he seen
one so sweet and lovely as she; never had he seen such a shockingly
muddy mackintosh, however, as the one she wore, never were hands so
dirty as the slender ones which lay limp before her. With a determined
shake of his head and a new flash of the eye he calmly seated himself
and began to open his ragged pack. Once he paused, a startled look in
his face. He caught sight of the revolver at Truxton's side for the
first time. The instant of alarm passed and a braver smile than ever
came. Ah, here was a knight who would fight for his lady love! Good
fellow! Bravo!
At last his small store of food lay exposed. Without hesitation he
divided the pieces of smoked venison, giving one part to himself, two to
the sleepers; then the miller's bread and the cheese, and the bag of
dates he had bought the day before. He tied up his own slender portion
and would have whistled for the joy of it all had he not bethought
himself in time.
From one of his pockets he drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. With
his back planted up against the wall of the car, his legs crossed and
his feet wiggling time to the inward tune he sang, he calmly rolled half
a dozen cigarettes and placed them, one by one, beside the feast. One
match from his thin supply he placed alongside the cigarettes. Then he
looked very doubtful. No; one might blow out. He must not be niggardly.
So he kept two for himself and gave three to the guest at his banquet.
Again he blew a kiss to the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Snuffing
his candle, he dropped to the ground and closed the door against all
spying, uncivil eyes.
The first grey of dawn was growing in the sombre east. He looked out
over the tops of cars and sniffed the air. The rain was over. He knew. A
tinge of red that none but the gypsy could have distinguished betrayed
the approach of a sunny day. Jauntily he swung off down the path between
the lines of cars, his fickle mind wavering between the joys of the
coming day and the memory of the loveliest Romany he had ever
encountered.
Daybreak found him at the wharf gates. It was gloomy here and silent;
the city above looked asleep and unfruitful. His heart was gay; he
longed for company. Whimsical, careless hearted, he always obeyed the
impulse that struck him first. As he stood there, surveying the wet,
deserted wharf, it came to him suddenly that if he went back and played
one soft love-song before the door of the car, they might invite him to
join them in the breakfast that the genie had brought.
His long legs were swift. In five minutes he was half way down the line
of cars, at the extreme end of which stood the happy lodging place of
his heart's desire. Then he paused, a dubious frown between his eyes.
No! he said, slapping his own cheek soundly; it would not be fair! He
would not disturb them, not he! How could he have thought of such a
thing. _Le bon Dieu!_ Never! He would breakfast alone!
Coming to an empty flat car, direct from the quarries, he resolutely
seated himself upon its edge, and, with amiable resignation, set about
devouring his early meal, all the while casting longing, almost
appealing glances toward the next car but one. Busy little switch
engines began chugging about the yards; the railroad, at least, was
exhibiting some signs of life. Here and there the crews were "snaking"
out sections and bumping them off to other parts of the gridiron; a car
here, a car there--all aflounder, but quite simple to this merry
wanderer. He knew all about switching, he did. It did not cause him the
least uneasiness when a sudden jar told him that an engine had been
attached to the distant end of the string in which he breakfasted. Nor
was he disturbed when the cars began to move. What cared he? He would
ride in his dining-car to the objective switch, wherever that was, and
no doubt would find himself nearer the main freight depot, with little
or no walking to do on his journey to the square.
But the "string" was not bound for another track in the yards; it was on
its way to the main line, thence off through the winding valley into
strange and distant lands.
Sir Vagabond, blissfully swinging his heels and munching his venison,
smiled amiably upon the yard men as he passed them by. So genial was the
smile, so frank the salutation, that not one scowled back at him or
hurled the chunk of coal that bespeaks a surly temper. Down through the
maze of sidetracks whisked the little train, out upon the main line with
a thin shriek of greeting, past the freight houses--it was then that Sir
Vagabond sat up very straight, a look of mild interest in his eyes.
Interest gave way to perplexity, perplexity to concern. What's this?
Leaving the city? He wasted no time. This would never do! Clutching his
belongings to his side, he vaulted from one hand, nimbly and with the
gracefulness of wide experience, landing safely on his feet at the
roadside.
There he stood with the wry, dazed look of a man who suddenly finds
himself guilty of arrant stupidity, watching the cars whiz past on their
way to the open country. Just ahead was the breach in the wall through
which all trains entered or left the city. Into that breach shot the
train, going faster and faster as it saw the straight, clear track
beyond. He waited until the tail end whisked itself out of sight in the
cut below the city walls, and then trudged slowly, dejectedly in the
opposite direction, his heart in his boots. He was thinking of the
luckless pair in the empty "box."
Suddenly he stopped, his chin up, his hands to his sides. A hearty peal
of laughter soared from his lips. He was regarding the funny side of the
situation. The joke was on them! It was rich! The more he thought of
their astonishment on awaking, the more he laughed. He leaned against a
car.
His immense levity attracted attention. Four or five men approached him
from the shadows of the freight houses, ugly, unsmiling fellows. They
demanded of him the cause of his unseemly mirth. With tears in his merry
black eyes he related the plight of the pretty slumberers, dwelling more
or less sentimentally on the tender beauty of the maiden fair. They
plied him with questions. He described the couple--even glowingly. Then
the sinister fellows smiled; more than that, they clapped each other on
the back and swore splendidly. He was amazed and his own good humour
gave way to fierce resentment. What right had these ruffians to laugh at
the misfortunes of that unhappy maid?
A switchman came up, and one of the men, a lank American whom we should
recognise by the sound of his voice (having heard it before), asked
whither the train was bound and when it would first stop in its flight.
"At the Poo quarries, seventeen kilometers down the line. They cut out a
few empties there. She goes on to the division point after that."
"Any trains up from that direction this morning?" demanded "Newport."
"Not till this afternoon. Most of the crews are in the city for the--"
But the switchman had no listeners beyond that statement.
And so it was that the news spread over town at five o'clock that
Truxton King was where he could do no harm. It was well known that the
train would make forty miles an hour down the steep grade into the lower
valley.
Up into the city strolled Sir Vagabond, his fiddle in his hand, his
heart again as light as a feather. Some day--ah, some day! he would see
her again on the road. It was always the way. Then he would tell her how
unhappy he had been--for a minute. She was so pretty, so very pretty! He
sighed profoundly. We see no more of him.
When Truxton King first awoke to the fact that they were no longer lying
motionless in the dreary yards, he leaped to his feet with a startled
shout of alarm. Loraine sat up, blinking her eyes in half-conscious
wonder. It was broad daylight, of course; the train was rattling through
the long cut just below the city walls. With frantic energy he pulled
open the door. For a minute he stared at the scudding walls of stone so
close at hand, uncomprehendingly. Then the truth burst upon him with
the force of a mighty blow. He staggered back, his jaw dropping, his
eyes glaring.
"What the dev--Great God, Loraine! We're going! We're moving!" he cried
hoarsely.
"I know it," she gasped, her body rocking violently with the swaying of
the wild, top-heavy little car.
"Great Scott! How we're pounding it! Fifty miles an hour. Where are we?"
he cried, aghast. He could scarcely keep his feet, so terrific was the
speed and so sickening the motion.
She got to her feet and lurched to his side. "Don't fall out!" she
almost shrieked. He drew back with her. Together they swayed like reeds
in a windstorm, staring dizzily at the wall before them.
Suddenly the train shot out into the open, farm-spattered valley.
Truxton fell back dumbfounded.
"The country!" he exclaimed. "We've been carried away. I--I can't
believe my senses. Could we have slept--what a fool, what an idiot! God
in heaven! The Prince! He is lost!" He was beside himself with anguish
and despair, raging like a madman, cursing himself for a fool, a dog, a
murderer!
Little less distressed than her companion, Loraine Tullis still had the
good sense to keep him from leaping from the car. He had shouted to her
that he must get back to the city; she could go on to the next town and
find a hiding place. He would come to her as soon as he had given the
alarm.
"You would be killed," she cried, clutching his arm fiercely. "You never
can jump, Truxton. See how we are running. If you jump, I shall follow.
I won't go on alone. I am as much to blame as you."
The big, strong fellow broke down and cried, utterly disheartened.
"Don't cry, Truxton, please don't cry!" she pleaded. "Something will
happen. We must stop sometime. Then we can get another train back, or
telegraph, or hire a wagon. It must be very early. The sun is scarcely
up. Do be brave! Don't give up!"
He squared his shoulders. "You put me to shame!" he cried abjectly.
"I'm--I'm unnerved, that's all. It was too much of a blow. After we'd
got away from those scoundrels so neatly, too. Oh, it's maddening! I'll
be all right in a minute. You plucky, plucky darling!"
The train whirled through a small hamlet without even slackening its
speed. Truxton endeavoured to shout a warning to two men who stood by
the gates; but they merely laughed, not comprehending. Then he undertook
to arrest the attention of the engineer. He leaned from the door and
shouted. The effort was futile, almost disastrous. A lurch came near to
hurling him to the rocky road bed. Now and then they passed farmers on
the high road far above, bound for the city. They called out to them,
but the cries were in vain. With every minute they were running farther
and farther away from the city of Edelweiss; every mile was adding to
the certainty of the doom which hung over the little Prince and his
people.
A second small station flew by. "Ronn: seven kilometers to Edelweiss."
He looked at her in despair.
"We're going faster and faster," he grated. "This is the fastest train
in the world, Loraine, bar none."
Just then his gaze alighted on the pathetic breakfast and the wandering
cigarettes. He stared as if hypnotised. Was he going mad? An instant
later he was on his hands and knees, examining the mysterious feast. She
joined him at once; no two faces ever before were so puzzled and
perplexed.
"By heaven!" he exclaimed, drawing her away from the spot in quick
alarm, comprehension flooding his brain. "I see it all! We've been
deliberately shanghaied! We've been bottled up here, drugged, perhaps,
and shipped out of town by fast freight--no destination. Don't touch
that stuff! It's probably full of poison. Great Scott! What a clever
gang they are! And what a blithering idiot they have in me to deal with.
Oh, how easy!"
Whereupon he proceeded to kick the unoffending breakfast, cigarettes and
all, out of the car door. To their dying day they were to believe that
the food had been put there by agents of the great conspirator. It
readily may be surmised that neither of them was given to sensible
deductions during their astounding flight. If they had thought twice,
they might have seen the folly of their quick conclusions. Marlanx's men
would not have sent Loraine off in a manner like this. But the
distracted pair were not in an analytical frame of mind just then; that
is why the gentle munificence of Sir Vagabond came to a barren waste.
Mile after mile flew by. The unwilling travellers, depressed beyond
description, had given up all hope of leaving the car until it reached
the point intended by the wily plotters. To their amazement, however,
the speed began to slacken perceptibly after they had left the city ten
or twelve miles behind. Truxton was leaning against the side of the
door, gloomily surveying the bright, green landscape. For some time
Loraine had been steadying herself by clinging to his arm. They had cast
off the unsightly rain coats and other clumsy articles. Once, through
sheer inability to control his impulses, he had placed his arm about her
slim waist, but she had gently freed herself. Her look of reproach was
sufficient to check all future impulses of a like nature.
"Hello!" said he, coming out of his bitter dream.
"We're slowing up." He looked out and ahead. "No station is in sight.
There's a bridge down the road a bit--yes, there's our same old river.
By George!" His face was a study.
"What is it?" she cried, struck by his sudden energy of speech.
"They're running slow for the bridge. Afraid of the floods. D'ye see? If
they creep up to it as they do in the United States when they're
cautious, we'll politely drop off and--'Pon my soul, she's coming down
to a snail's pace. We can swing off, Loraine. Now's our chance!"
The train was barely creeping up to the bridge. He clasped her in the
strong crook of his left arm, slid down to a sitting position, and
boldly pushed himself clear of the car, landing on his feet. Staggering
forward with the impetus he had received, he would have fallen except
for a mighty effort. A sharp groan escaped his lips as he lowered her to
the ground. She looked anxiously into his face and saw nothing there but
relief.
The cars rumbled across the bridge, picked up speed beyond, and
thundered off in the distance with never so much as a thought of the two
who stood beside the track and laughed hysterically.
"Come along," said the man briefly. "We must try to reach that station
back there. There I can telegraph in. Oh!" His first attempt to walk
brought out a groan of pain.
He had turned his ankle in the leap to the ground. She was deeply
concerned, but he sought to laugh it off. Gritting his teeth
determinedly, he led the way back along the track.
"Lean on me," she cried despairingly.
"Nonsense," he said with grim stubbornness. "I don't mind the pain. We
can't stop for a sprained ankle. It's an old one I got playing football.
We may have to go a little slow, but we'll not stop, my dear--not till
we get word to Dangloss!"
She found a long, heavy stick for him; thereafter he hobbled with
greater speed and less pain. At a wagon-road crossing they paused to
rest, having covered two miles. The strain was telling on him;
perspiration stood out in great drops upon his brow; he was beginning to
despair. Her little cry of joy caused him to look up from the swollen
ankle which he was regarding with dubious concern. An oxcart was
approaching from the west.
"A ride!" she cried joyously. She had been ready to drop with fatigue;
her knees were shaking. His first exclamation of joy died away in a
groan of dismay. He laughed bitterly.
"That thing couldn't get us anywhere in a week," he said.
"But it will help," she cried brightly, an optimist by force of
necessity.
They stopped the cart and bargained for a ride to Ronn. The man was a
farmer, slow and suspicious. He haggled.
"The country's full of evil men and women these days," he demurred.
"Besides I have a heavy enough load as it is for my poor beasts."
Miss Tullis conducted the negotiations, making the best of her year's
acquaintance with the language of the country.
"Don't tell him why we are in such a hurry," cautioned King. "He may be
a Marlanx sympathiser."
"You have nothing in your cart but melons," she said to the farmer,
peeping under the corner of the canvas covering.
"I am not going through Ronn, but by the high road to Edelweiss," he
protested. "A good ten kilometers."
"But carry us until we come up with some one who can give us horses."
"Horses!" he croaked. "Every horse in the valley is in Edelweiss by this
time. This is the great day there. The statue of--"
"Yes, yes, I know. We are bound for Edelweiss. Can you get us there in
two hours?"
"With these beasts, poor things? Never!"
"It will be worth your while. A hundred gavvos if you carry us to a
place where we can secure quicker transportation."
In time she won him over. He agreed to carry them along the way, at his
best speed, until they came up with better beasts or reached the city
gates. It was the best he could do. The country was practically deserted
on this day. At best there were but few horses in the valley; mostly
oxen. They climbed up to the seat and the tortuous journey began. The
farmer trotted beside the wheel nearly all of the way, descanting warmly
in painful English on the present condition of things in the hills.
"The rascals have made way with the beautiful Miss Tullis. She is the
American lady stopping at the Castle. You should see her, sir. Excepting
our dear Princess Yetive--God rest her soul--she is the most beautiful
creature Graustark has ever seen. I have seen her often. Not quite so
grand as the Countess Ingomede, but fairer, believe me. She is beloved
by everyone. Many a kind and generous word has she spoken to me. My
onion beds are well known to her. She has come to my farm time and
again, sir, with the noble personages, while riding, and she has in
secret bought my little slips of onions. She has said to me that she
adores them, but that she can only eat them in secret. Ah, sir, it is a
sad day for Graustark that evil has happened to her. Her brother, they
say, is off in the Dawsbergen hills searching for her. He is a grand
man."
His passengers were duly interested. She nudged the lugubrious Truxton
when the man spoke of the onions. "What a fibber! I hate onions."
"She is to be married to the Count Vos Engo; a fine lad, sir. Now she is
gone, I don't know what he will do. Suicide, mayhap. Many is the time I
have cautioned her not to ride in the hills without a strong guard.
These bandits are getting very bold."
"Do you know the great Count Marlanx?" demanded King, possessed of a
sudden thought. The man faced him at the mention of the name, a
suspicious gleam in his eyes.
"Count Marlanx!" he snorted. Without another word, he drew the beasts to
a standstill. There was no mistaking the angry scowl. "Are you friends
of that snake? If you are, get out of my cart."
"He's all right," cried Truxton. "Tell him who we are, Loraine, and why
we _must_ get to the city."
Five minutes later, the farmer, overcome by the stupendous news, was
lashing his oxen with might and main; the astonished beasts tore down
the road to Ronn so bravely that there seemed some prospect of getting a
telegram through in time. All the way the excited countryman groaned and
swore and sputtered his prayers. At Ronn they learned that the operator
had been unable to call Edelweiss since seven o'clock. The wires were
down or had been cut. Truxton left a message to be sent to Dangloss in
case he could get the wire, and off they started again for the city
gates, having lost considerable time by the diverted mile or two.
Not man, woman or child did they encounter as the miles crept by. The
country was barren of humanity. Ahead of them was the ascent to be
conquered by oxen so old and feeble that the prospect was more than
dubious.
"If it should be that my team gives out, I will run on myself to give
the alarm," cried the worthy, perspiring charioteer. "It shall not be!
God preserve us!"
Three times the oxen broke down, panting and stubborn; as many times he
thwacked them and kicked them and cursed them into action again. They
stumbled pitifully, but they _did_ manage to go forward.
In time the city gates came in sight--far up the straight, narrow road.
"Pray God we may not be too late," groaned the farmer. "Damn the swine
who took their horses to town before the sun was up. Curse them for
fools and imbeciles. Fools never get into heaven. Thank the good Lord
for that."
It seemed to the quivering Americans that the gates were mocking them by
drawing farther away instead of coming nearer.
"Are we going backward?" groaned Truxton, his hands gripping the side of
the bounding seat.
Near the gates, which were still open, it occurred to him in a single
flash of dismay that he and Loraine would be recognised and intercepted
by Marlanx watchers. Between the fierce jolts of the great cart he
managed to convey his fears to her.
It was she who had the solution. They might succeed in passing the gates
if they hid themselves in the bed of the cart, underneath the thick
canvas covering. The farmer lifted the cloth and they crawled down among
the melons. In this fashion they not only covered the remainder of the
distance, half stifled by the heat and half murdered by the
uncomfortable position, but passed through the gates and were taken
clattering down the streets toward the centre of town.
"To the Tower!" cried the anxious Truxton.
"Impossible!" shouted the farmer. "The streets are roped off and the
crowds are too great."
"Then let us out as near to the Tower as possible, cried the other.
"Here we are," cried the driver, a few minutes later, pulling up his
half dead oxen and leaping to the ground. He threw off the covering and
they lost no time in tumbling from their bed of melons to the
cobble-stone pavement of a narrow alley into which he had turned for
safety. "Through this passage!" he gasped, hoarse with excitement. "The
Tower is below. Follow me! My oxen will stand. I am going with you!" His
rugged face was aglow.
Off through the alley they hurried, King disdaining the pain his ankle
was giving him. They came to the crowded square a few minutes later. The
clock in the Cathedral pointed to twelve o'clock and after! The
catastrophe had not yet taken place; the people were laughing and
singing and shouting. They were in time. Everywhere they heard glad
voices crying out that the Prince was coming! It was the Royal band that
they heard through dinning ears!
"Great God!" cried Truxton, stopping suddenly and pointing with
trembling hand to a spot across the street and a little below where
they had pushed through the resentful, staring throng on the sidewalk.
"There she is! At the corner! Stop her!"
He had caught sight of Olga Platanova.
The first row of dragoons was already passing in front of her. Less than
two hundred feet away rolled the royal coach of gold! All this flashed
before the eyes of the distracted pair, who were now dashing frantically
into the open street, disregarding the shouts of the police and the
howls of the crowd.
"An anarchist!" shouted King hoarsely. He looked like one himself. "The
bomb! The bomb! Stop the Prince!"
Colonel Quinnox recognised this bearded, uncouth figure, and the flying,
terrified girl at his heels. King was dragging her along by the hand.
There was an instant of confusion on the part of the vanguard, a drawing
of sabres, a movement toward the coach in which the Prince rode.
Quinnox alone prevented the dragoons from cutting down the pallid madman
who stumbled blindly toward the coaches beyond. He whirled his steed
after an astonished glance in all directions, shouting eager commands
all the while. When he reached the side of the gasping American, that
person had stopped and was pointing toward the trembling Olga, who had
seen and recognised him.
"Stop the coach!" cried King. Loraine was running frantically through
the ranks of horsemen, screaming her words of alarm.
The Duke of Perse leaped from his carriage and ran forward, shouting to
the soldiers to seize the disturbers. Panic seized the crowd. There was
a mad rush for the corner above. Olga Platanova stood alone, her eyes
wide and glassy, staring as if petrified at the face of Truxton King.
He saw the object in her wavering hand. With a yell he dashed for safety
down the seething avenue. The Duke of Perse struck at him as he passed,
ignoring the frantic cry of warning that he uttered. A plain,
white-faced farmer in a smock of blue was crossing the street with
mighty bounds, his eyes glued upon the arm of the frail, terrified
anarchist. If he could only arrest that palsied, uncertain arm!
But she hurled the bomb, her hands going to her eyes as she fell upon
her knees.