Truxton King: A Story of Graustark

by George Barr McCutcheon

  CHAPTER VII

  AT THE WITCH'S HUT

  The next morning, before setting forth to consult the minister of policeat the Tower, he called up the Perse palace on the telephone and askedfor the Countess, to tell her in so many words that he had been followedfrom her door to the very gates of the Castle grounds. Not by one manalone, for that would have excited suspicion, but by half a dozen atleast, each one taking up the surveillance in the most casual manner asthe watcher before him left off. Tullis was amazed by the cunning whichmasked these proceedings; there was a wily brain behind it.

  The Duke's secretary answered the call. Tullis was completely bowledover by the curt information that the Countess Marlanx had leftEdelweiss before six that morning, to join her husband, who was shootingwild boars with a party in Axphain.

  "When does she return?" demanded the American, scarcely believing hisears. She had said nothing of this the night before. What could it mean?

  "I do not know, sir."

  "In a day or two?"

  "She took sixteen trunks, sir," was the laconic reply, as if that toldthe story in full.

  "Well, I'm damned!"

  "I beg pardon, sir!"

  "I beg _your_ pardon. Good morning."

  * * * * *

  In the meantime, our excellent young friend, Truxton King, was having asorry time of it. It all began when he went to the Cathedral in thehope of seeing the charming aunt of the little Prince once more. Notonly did he attend one service, but all of them, having been assuredthat the royal family worshipped there quite as regularly and asreligiously as the lowliest communicant. She did not appear.

  More than all this, he met with fresh disappointment when he ambled downto the armourer's shop. The doors were locked and there was no sign oflife about the shuttered place. The cafes were closed on this day ofrest, so there was nothing left for him to do but to slink off to hisroom in the Regengetz, there to read or to play solitaire and to cursethe progress of civilisation.

  Monday was little better than Sunday. Hobbs positively refused to escorthim to the Castle grounds again. No amount of bribing or browbeatingcould move the confounded Englishman from his stand. He was willing totake him anywhere else, but never again would he risk a personallyconducted tour into hot waters royal. Mr. King resigned himself to apurely business call at the shop of Mr. Spantz. He looked long, with asomewhat shifty eye, at the cabinet of ancient rings and necklaces, andthen departed without having seen the interesting Miss Platanova. If theold man observed a tendency to roam in the young man's eye, he did notbetray the fact--at least not so that any one could notice. Truxtondeparted, but returned immediately after luncheon, vaguely inclined todecide between two desirable rings. After a protracted period ofindecision, in which Olga remained stubbornly out of sight, he announcedthat he could not make up his mind, and would return later for anotherinspection.

  At his room in the hotel, he found a note addressed to himself. It didnot have much to say, but it meant a great deal. There was no signature,and the handwriting was that of a woman.

  "_Please do not come again_." That was all.

  He laughed with a fine tone of defiance and--went back to the shop atfive o'clock, just to prove that nothing so timid as a note could stophim. This, however, was after he had taken a long walk down CastleAvenue, with a supplementary stroll of little incident outside the grim,high walls that enclosed the grounds. If any one had told him that hewas secretly hoping to find a crevasse through which he could invadeparadise, I make no doubt he would have resented the imputation soundly.On the occasion of this last visit to the shop, he did not stay long,but went away somewhat dazed to find himself the possessor of a ring hedid not want and out of pocket just thirty dollars, American. Havingcome to the conclusion that knight-errantry of that kind was not onlyprofligate but distinctly irritating to his sense of humour, he lookedup Mr. Hobbs and arranged for a day's ride in the mountains.

  "You'll oblige me, Mr. Hobbs, by removing that band from your cap. Iknow you're an interpreter. It's an insult to my intelligence to have itflaunted in my face all day long. I'll admit you're what you say youare, so take it off before we start out to-morrow."

  And so, minus the beguiling insignia of office, Mr. Hobbs led hishypercritical patron into the mountain roads early the next morning,both well mounted and provided with a luncheon large enough to restorethe amiability that was sure to flag at mid-day unless sustained byunaesthetic sandwiches and beer.

  The day was bright and clear, warm in the valley where the city lay,cooler to cold as one mounted the winding roads that led past the loftyMonastery of St. Valentine, sombre sentinel among the clouds.

  A part of Edelweiss is built along the side of the mountain, its narrowstreets winding upward and past countless terraces to the very base ofthe rocky, jagged eminence at whose top, a full mile above the lastsprinkling of houses, stands the isolated, bleak Monastery. The viewfrom these upper streets, before one enters the circuitous and hiddenMonastery road that winds afar in its climb, is never to be forgotten bythe spectator, no matter how often he traverses the lofty thoroughfares.As far as the eye can reach, lies the green valley, through which windsthe silvery river with its evergreen banks and spotless whitehouses-greens and whites that almost shame the vaunted tints of oldIreland as one views them from the incoming steamers. Immediately belowone's feet lies the compact little city, with its red roofs and greenchimney pots, its narrow streets and vivid awnings, its wide avenues andthe ancient Castle to the north. To the south, the fortress and thebridges; encircling the city a thick, high wall with here and thereenormous gates flanked by towers so grim and old that they seem ready totopple over from the sheer fatigue of centuries. A soft, Indian summerhaze hangs over the lazy-lit valley; it is always so in the summer time.

  Outside the city walls stretch the wheat-fields and the meadows, thevineyards and orchards, all snug in the nest of forest-crowned hills,whose lower slopes are spotted with broken herds of cattle and the moremobile flocks of sheep. An air of tranquillity lies low over the entirevista; one dozes if he looks long into this peaceful bowl of plenty.

  From the distant passes in the mountains to the east and north come thedull intonations of dynamite blasts, proving the presence of thatdisturbing element of progress which is driving the railroad through theunbroken heart of the land.

  It is a good three hours' ride to the summit of Monastery Mountain. And,after the height has been attained, one does not care to linger longamong the chilly, whistling crags, with their snow-crevasses and bitterwinds; the utter loneliness, the aloofness of this frost-crowned crestappals, disheartens one who loves the fair, green things of life. In theshelter of the crags, at the base of the Monastery walls, looking outover the sunlit valley, one has his luncheon and his snack of spiritsquite undisturbed, for the monks pay no heed to him. They are nothospitable, neither are they unfriendly. One seldom sees them.

  Truxton King and Mr. Hobbs were not long in disposing of their lunch. Itwas too cold for comfort in their draughty dining-room, and they werenot invited to enter the inhospitable gates. In half an hour they werewending their way down the north side of the peak by gradually decliningroads, headed for the much-talked-of home of the Witch in Ganlook Gap,some six miles from Edelweiss as the crow flies, but twice that distanceover the tortuous bridle paths and post roads.

  It was three o'clock when they clattered down the stone road and up tothe forbidding vale in which lurked, like an evil, guilty thing, thelog-built home of that ancient female who made no secret of herpractices in witchcraft. The hut stood back from the mountain road ahundred yards or more, at the head of a small, thicket-grown recess.

  A low, thatched roof protruded from the hill against which the hut wasbuilt. As a matter of fact, a thin chimney grew out of the earthitself, for all the world like a smoking tree stump. The hovel was asqualid, beggary thing that might have been built over night somewhereback in the dark ages. Its single door was so low that one was obligedto s
toop to enter the little room where the dame had been holding forthfor three-score years, 'twas said. This was her throne-room, herdining-room, her bed-chamber, her all, it would seem, unless one hadbeen there before and knew that her kitchen was beyond, in the side ofthe hill. The one window, sans glass, looked narrowly out upon an oddopening in the foliage below, giving the occupant of the hut anunobstructed view of the winding road that led up from Edelweiss. Thedoor faced the Monastery road down which the two men had just ridden. Asfor the door yard, it was no more than a pebbly, avalanche-swept openingamong the trees and rocks, down which in the glacial age perhaps athousand torrents had leaped, but which was now so dry and white andlifeless that one could only think of bones bleached and polished by asun that had sickened of the work a thousand years ago.

  This brief, inadequate description of the Witch's hut is given inadvance of the actual descent of the personally conducted gentleman forthe somewhat ambiguous reason that he was to find it not at all asdescribed.

  The two horsemen rode into the glen and came plump upon a smalldetachment of the royal guard, mounted and rather resolute in their lackof amiability.

  "Wot's this?" gasped Mr. Hobbs, drawing rein at the edge of the pebblydooryard.

  "Soldiers, I'd say," remarked Mr. King, scowling quite glumly frombeneath the rim of his panama. "Hello!" His eyes brightened and his hatcame off with a switch. "There's the Prince!"

  "My word," ejaculated Mr. Hobbs, and forthwith began to ransack hispockets for the band which said he was from Cook's.

  Farther up the glen, in fact at the very door of the Witch's hut, weregathered a small but rather distinguished portion of the royalhousehold. It was not difficult to recognise the little Prince. He wasstanding beside John Tullis; and it is not with a desire to speak ill ofhis valour that we add: he was clutching the slackest part of thatgentleman's riding breeks with an earnestness that betrayed extremetrepidation. Facing them, on the stone door-step, was the Witch herself,a figure to try the courage of a time-tried hero, let alone thesusceptibilities of a small boy in knickers. Behind Tullis and thePrince were several ladies and gentlemen, all in riding garments and allmore or less ill at ease.

  Truxton King's heart swelled suddenly; all the world grew bright againfor him. Next to the tall figure of Colonel Quinnox, of the Royal Guard,was the slim, entrancing lady of his most recent dreams--the Prince'saunt! The lady of the grotto! The lady of the goldfish conspiracy!

  The Countess Marlanx, tall and exquisite, was a little apart from theothers, with Baron Dangloss and young Count Vos Engo--whom Truxton wasready to hate because he was a recognised suitor for the hand of theslim, young person in grey. He thought he had liked her beyond increasein the rajah silk, but now he confessed to himself that he was mistaken.He liked her better in a grey riding habit. It struck him sharply, as hesat there in the saddle, that she would be absolutely and adorablyfaultless in point lace or calico, in silk or gingham, low-neck or high.He was for riding boldly up to this little group, but a veryobjectionable lieutenant barred the way, supported in no small measureby the defection of Mr. Hobbs, who announced in a hoarse, agitatedwhisper that he's "be 'anged if he'd let any man make a fool of himtwice over."

  The way was made easy by the intervention of the alert young woman ingrey. She caught sight of the restricted adventurers--or one of them, tobe quite accurate--and, after speeding a swift smile of astonishment,turned quickly to Prince Bobby.

  A moment later, the tall stranger with the sun-browned face was thecentre of interest to the small group at the door. He bowed amiably tothe smiling young person in grey and received a quick nod in response.As he was adventuring what he considered to be a proper salute for thePrince, he observed that a few words passed between the lad's aunt andJohn Tullis, who was now surveying him with some interest.

  The Prince broke the ice.

  "Hello!" he cried shrilly, his little face aglow.

  "Hello!" responded the gentleman, readily.

  John Tullis found himself being dragged away from the Witch's doortoward the newcomer at the bottom of the glen. Mr. Hobbs listened withdeepening awe to the friendly conversation which resulted in TruxtonKing going forward to join the party in front of the hut. He came alongin the rear, after having tethered the tired horses, not quite sure thathe was awake. The Prince had called him Mr. Cook, had asked him how hisSons were, all of which was highly gratifying when one pauses toconsider that he had got his cap band on upside down in his excitement.He always was to wonder how the little monarch succeeded in reading thetitle without standing on his head to do so.

  Truxton was duly presented to the ladies and gentlemen of the party byJohn Tullis, who gracefully announced that he knew King's parents in NewYork. Baron Dangloss was quite an old friend, if one were to judge bythe manner in which he greeted the young man. The lady in grey smiled sosweetly and nodded so blithely, that Tullis, instead of presenting Kingto her as he had done to the Countess Marlanx and others, merely said:

  "And you know one another, of course." Whereupon she flushed veryprettily and felt constrained to avoid Truxton's look of inquiry. He didnot lose his wits, but vowed acquiescence and assumed that he knew.

  As a result of the combined supplications of the entire party, the oldwoman grudgingly consented to take them into her hovel, where, inexchange for small pieces of silver, she would undertake certainmanifestations in necromancy.

  Truxton King, scarcely able to believe his good fortune, crowded intothe loathsome, squalid room with his aristocratic companions, managing,with considerable skill, to keep close beside his charming friend. Theystood back while the others crowded up to the table where the hagoccupied herself with the crystal ball.

  Never had Truxton looked upon a creature who so thoroughly vindicatedthe life-long reliance he had put in the description of witches given bythe fairy-tale tellers of his earliest youth. She had the traditionalhook-nose and peaked chin, the glittering eyes, the thousand wrinklesand the toothless gums. He looked about for the raven and the cat, butif she had them, they were not in evidence. At a rough guess, hecalculated her age at one hundred years. A youth of extreme laziness,who Baron Dangloss said was the old woman's grandson, appeared to be herman-of-all-work. He fetched the old woman's crystal, placed stools forthe visitors, lighted the candles on the table, occupying no less than aquarter of an hour in performing these simple acts, so awkward that atleast two of his observers giggled openly and whispered their opinions.

  "Gruesome lady, isn't she?" whispered King.

  "I shall dream of her for months," whispered the lady in grey,shuddering.

  "Are you willing to have her read your future in that ball?"

  "Do you really think she can tell?"

  "I once had a fortune-teller say that I would be married before I wastwenty-three," he informed her. She appeared interested.

  "And were you?"

  "No. But she did her part, you know--the fortune-teller, I mean."

  "She warned you. I see. So it really wasn't her fault." She was watchingthe preparations at the table with eager eyes, her lips parted and herbreath coming quick through excitement.

  "Would you mind telling me how I am to address you?" whispered King.They were leaning against the mud-plastered wall near the little window,side by side. The whimsical smile that every one loved to see was on hislips, in his eyes. "You see, I'm a stranger in a strange land. Thataccounts for my ignorance."

  "You must not speak while she is gazing into the crystal," she warned,after a quick, searching glance at his face. He could have sworn that hesaw a gleam of concern in her eyes, followed instantly by a twinkle thatmeant mischief.

  "Please consider my plight," he implored. "I can't call you AuntLoraine, you know."

  She laughed silently and turned her head to devote her entire attentionto the scene at the table. Truxton King was in a sudden state oftrepidation. Had he offended her? There was a hot rush of blood to hisears. He missed the sly, wondering glance that she gave him out of thecorner of her eye a mo
ment later.

  Although it was broad daylight, the low, stuffy room would have beenpitch dark had it not been for the flickering candles on the tablebeside the bent, grey head of the mumbling fortune-teller, whose bonyfingers twitched over and about the crystal globe like wigglingserpents' tails. The window gave little or no light and the door wasclosed, the grinning grandson leaning against it limply. The picture wasa weird, uncanny one, despite the gay, lightsome appearance of thevisitors. The old woman, in high, shrill tones, had commanded silence.The men obeyed with a grim scepticism, while the women seemed reallyawed by their surroundings.

  The Witch began by reading the fortune of John Tullis, who had beenpushed forward by the wide-eyed Prince. In a cackling monotone sherambled through a supposititious history of his past, for the chief partso unintelligible that even he could not gainsay the statements. Later,she bent her piercing eyes upon the Prince and refused to read hisfuture, shrilly asserting that she had not the courage to tell whatmight befall the little ruler, all the while muttering something aboutthe two little princes who had died in a tower ages and ages ago. Seeingthat the boy was frightened, Tullis withdrew him to the background. TheCountess Marlanx, who had returned that morning to Edelweiss asmysteriously as she had left, came next. She was smiling derisively.

  "You have just returned from a visit to some one whom you hate," beganthe Witch. "He is your husband. You will marry again. There is afair-haired man in love with you. You are in love with him. I can seetrouble--"

  But the Countess deliberately turned away from the table, her cheeksflaming with the consciousness that a smile had swept the circle behindher graceful back.

  "Ridiculous," she said, and avoided John Tullis's gaze. "I don't care tohear any more. Come, Baron You are next."

  Truxton King, subdued and troubled in his mind, found himself studyinghis surroundings and the people who went so far to make theminteresting. He glanced from time to time at the delicate, eager profileof the girl beside him; at the soft, warm cheek and the caressing brownhair; at the little ear and the white slim neck of her--and realisedjust what had happened to him. He had fallen in love; that was the plainupshot of it. It had come to pass, just as he had hoped it would in hisdearest dreams. He was face to face with the girl of royal blood thatthe story books had created for him long, long ago, and he was doingjust what he had always intended to do: falling heels over head andhopelessly in love with her. Never had he seen hair grow so exquisitelyabout the temples and neck as this one's hair--but, just to confound hisbudding singleness of interest, his gaze at that instant wandered offand fell upon something that caused him to stare hard at a certain spotfar removed from the coiffure of a fair and dainty lady.

  His eye had fallen upon a crack in the door that led to the kitchen,although he had no means of knowing that it was a kitchen. To hisamazement, a gleaming eye was looking out upon the room from beyondthis narrow crack. He looked long and found that he was not mistaken.There was an eye, glued close to the opposite side of the rickety door,and its gaze was directed to the Countess Marlanx.

  The spirit of adventure, recklessness, bravado--whatever you may chooseto call it--flared high in the soul of this self-despised outsider. Hecould feel a strange thrill of exaltation shooting through his veins; heknew as well as he knew anything that he was destined to createcommotion in that stately crowd, even against his better judgment. Thedesire to spring forward and throw open the door, thus exposing aprobable con-federate, was stronger than he had the power to resist.Even as he sought vainly to hold himself in check, he became consciousthat the staring eye was meeting his own in a glare of realisation.

  Without pausing to consider the result of his action, he sprang acrossthe room, shouting as he did so that there was a man behind the door.Grasping the latch, he threw the door wide open, the others in the roomlooking at him as if he were suddenly crazed.

  He had expected to confront the owner of that basilisk eye. There wasnot a sign of a human being in sight. Beyond was a black little room, atthe back of which stood an old cooking stove with a fire going and akettle singing. He leaped through, prepared to grasp the mysteriouswatcher, but, to his utter amazement, the kitchen was absolutely empty,save for inanimate things. His surprise was so genuine that it was notto be mistaken by the men who leaped to his side. He had time to notethat two of them carried pistols in their hands, and that Tullis andQuinnox had placed themselves between the Prince and possible danger.

  There was instant commotion, with cries and exclamations from all. Quickas the others were, the old woman was at his side before them, snarlingwith rage. Her talon-like fingers sunk into his arm, and her gaze wentdarting about the room in a most convincing way. Some minutes passedbefore the old woman could be quieted. Then King explained his action.He swore solemnly, if sheepishly, that he could not have been mistaken,and yet the owner of that eye had vanished as if swallowed up by themountain.

  Baron Dangloss was convinced that the young man had seen the eye.Without compunction he began a search of the room, the old woman lookingon with a grin of glee.

  "Search! Search!" she croaked. "It was the Spirit Eye! It is looking atyou now, my fine baron! It finds you, yet cannot be found. No, no! Oh,you fools! Get out! Get out! All of you! Prince or no Prince, I fear younot, nor all your armies. This is my home! My castle! Go! Go!"

  "There was a man here, old woman," said the Baron coolly. "Where is he?What is your game? I am not to be fooled by these damnable tricks ofyours. Where is the man?"

  She laughed aloud, a horrid sound. The Prince clutched Tullis by the legin terror.

  "Brace up, Bobby," whispered his big friend, leaning down to comforthim. "Be a man!"

  "It--it's mighty hard," chattered Bobby, but he squared his littleshoulders.

  The ladies of the party had edged forward, peering into the kitchen,alarm having passed, although the exclamation "boo!" would have playedhavoc with their courage.

  "I swear there was some one looking through that crack," protested King,wiping his brow in confusion. "Miss--er--I should say--_you_ could haveseen it from where you stood," he pleaded, turning to the lady in grey.

  "Dear me, I wish I had," she cried. "I've always wanted to see some onesnooping."

  "There is no window, no trap door, no skylight," remarked the Baron,puzzled. "Nothing but the stovepipe, six inches in diameter. A mancouldn't crawl out through that, I'm sure. Mr. King, we've come upon areal mystery. The eye without a visible body."

  "I'm sure I saw it," reiterated Truxton. The Prince's aunt was actuallylaughing at him. But so was the Witch, for that matter. He didn't mindthe Witch.

  Suddenly the old woman stepped into the middle of the room and began towave her hands in a mysterious manner over an empty pot that stood onthe floor in front of the stove. The others drew back, watching her withthe greatest curiosity.

  A droning song oozed from the thin lips; the gesticulations grew inweirdness and fervor. Then, before their startled eyes, a thin film ofsmoke began to rise from the empty pot. It grew in volume until the roomwas quite dense with it. Even more quickly than it began, itdisappeared, drawn apparently by some supernatural agency into the draftof the stove and out through the rickety chimney pipe. Even Danglossblinked his eyes, and not because they were filled with smoke.

  A deafening crash, as of many guns, came to their ears from the outside.With one accord the entire party rushed to the outer door, a wild laughfrom the hag pursuing them.

  "There!" she screamed. "There goes all there was of him! And so shallwe all go some day. Fire and smoke!"

  Not one there but thought on the instant of the Arabian nights and thegenii who went up in smoke--those never-to-be-forgotten tales of wonder.

  Just outside the door stood Lieutenant Saffo of the guard, his hand tohis cap. He was scarcely distinguishable, so dark had the day become.

  "Good Lord!" shouted Tullis. "What's the matter? What has happened?"

  "The storm, sir," said Saffo. "It is coming down the valley like thewind." A
great crash of thunder burst overhead and lightning dartedthrough the black, swirling skies.

  "Very sudden, sir," added Mr. Hobbs from behind. "Like a puff of wind,sir."

  The Witch stood in the door behind them, smiling as amiably as it waspossible for her to smile.

  "Come in," she said. "There's room for all of you. The spirits havegone. Ha, ha! My merry man! Even the eye is gone. Come in, yourHighness. Accept the best I can offer--shelter from the hurricane. I'veseen many, but this looks to be the worst. So it came sudden, eh? Ha,ha!"

  The roar of wind and rain in the trees above seemed like a howl ofconfirmation. Into the hovel crowded the dismayed pleasure-seekers,followed by the soldiers, who had made the horses fast at the first signof the storm.

  Down came the rain in torrents, whisked and driven, whirled and shot bythe howling winds, split by the lightning and urged to greater glee bythe deafening applause of the thunder. Apple carts in the skies!

  Out in the dooryard the merry grandson of the Witch was dancing as ifpossessed by revelling devils.