A Knight of the Cumberland

by John Fox

  VII. AT LAST--THE TOURNAMENT

  At last--the tournament! Ever afterward the Hon. Samuel Budd called it"The Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms--not of Ashby--but of the Gap,by-suh!" The Hon. Samuel had arranged it as nearly after Sir Walter aspossible. And a sudden leap it was from the most modern of games to agame most ancient.

  No knights of old ever jousted on a lovelier field than the green littlevalley toward which the Hon. Sam waved one big hand. It was level,shorn of weeds, elliptical in shape, and bound in by trees that ran ina semicircle around the bank of the river, shut in the southern border,and ran back to the northern extremity in a primeval little forest thatwood-thrushes, even then, were making musical--all of it shut in bya wall of living green, save for one narrow space through which theknights were to enter. In front waved Wallens' leafy ridge and behindrose the Cumberland Range shouldering itself spur by spur, into thecoming sunset and crashing eastward into the mighty bulk of Powell'sMountain, which loomed southward from the head of the valley--allnodding sunny plumes of chestnut.

  The Hon. Sam had seen us coming from afar apparently, had come forwardto meet us, and he was in high spirits.

  "I am Prince John and Waldemar and all the rest of 'em this day," hesaid, "and 'it is thus,'" quoting Sir Walter, "that we set the dutifulexample of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are ourselvesher guide to the throne which she must this day occupy." And so saying,the Hon. Sam marshalled the Blight to a seat of honor next his own.

  "And how do you know she is going to be the Queen of Love and Beauty?"asked the little sister. The Hon. Sam winked at me.

  "Well, this tournament lies between two gallant knights. One will makeher the Queen of his own accord, if he wins, and if the other wins, he'sgot to, or I'll break his head. I've given orders." And the Hon. Samlooked about right and left on the people who were his that day.

  "Observe the nobles and ladies," he said, still following Sir Walter,and waving at the towns-people and visitors in the rude grandstand."Observe the yeomanry and spectators of a better degree than the merevulgar"--waving at the crowd on either side of the stand--"and thepromiscuous multitude down the river banks and over the woods andclinging to the tree-tops and to yon telegraph-pole. And there is myherald"--pointing to the cornetist of the local band--"and wait--by myhalidom--please just wait until you see my knight on that black chargero' mine."

  The Blight and the little sister were convulsed and the Hon. Sam wenton:

  "Look at my men-at-arms"--the volunteer policemen with bulginghip-pockets, dangling billies and gleaming shields of office--"and at myrefreshment tents behind"--where peanuts and pink lemonade were keepingthe multitude busy--"and my attendants"--colored gentlemen with spongesand water-buckets--"the armorers and farriers haven't come yet. But myknight--I got his clothes in New York--just wait--Love of Ladies andGlory to the Brave!" Just then there was a commotion on the free seatson one side of the grandstand. A darky starting, in all ignorance, tomount them was stopped and jostled none too good-naturedly back to theground.

  "And see," mused the Hon. Sam, "in lieu of the dog of an unbeliever wehave a dark analogy in that son of Ham."

  The little sister plucked me by the sleeve and pointed toward theentrance. Outside and leaning on the fence were Mollie, the big sister,and little Buck. Straightway I got up and started for them. They hungback, but I persuaded them to come, and I led them to seats two tiersbelow the Blight--who, with my little sister, rose smiling to greetthem and shake hands--much to the wonder of the nobles and ladies closeabout, for Mollie was in brave and dazzling array, blushing fiercely,and little Buck looked as though he would die of such conspicuousness.No embarrassing questions were asked about Mart or Dave Branham, but Inoticed that Mollie had purple and crimson ribbons clinched in one brownhand. The purpose of them was plain, and I whispered to the Blight:

  "She's going to pin them on Dave's lance." The Hon. Sam heard me.

  "Not on your life," he said emphatically. "I ain't takin' chances," andhe nodded toward the Blight. "She's got to win, no matter who loses." Herose to his feet suddenly.

  "Glory to the Brave--they're comin'! Toot that horn, son," he said;"they're comin'," and the band burst into discordant sounds that wouldhave made the "wild barbaric music" on the field of Ashby sound like alullaby. The Blight stifled her laughter over that amazing music withher handkerchief, and even the Hon. Sam scowled.

  "Gee!" he said; "it is pretty bad, isn't it?"

  "Here they come!"

  The nobles and ladies on the grandstand, the yeomanry and spectators ofbetter degree, and the promiscuous multitude began to sway expectantlyand over the hill came the knights, single file, gorgeous in velvets andin caps, with waving plumes and with polished spears, vertical, restingon the right stirrup foot and gleaming in the sun.

  "A goodly array!" murmured the Hon. Sam.

  A crowd of small boys gathered at the fence below, and I observed theHon. Sam's pockets bulging with peanuts.

  "Largesse!" I suggested.

  "Good!" he said, and rising he shouted:

  "Largessy! largessy!" scattering peanuts by the handful among thescrambling urchins.

  Down wound the knights behind the back stand of the base-ball field, andthen, single file, in front of the nobles and ladies, before whom theydrew up and faced, saluting with inverted spears.

  The Hon. Sam arose--his truncheon a hickory stick--and in a stentorianvoice asked the names of the doughty knights who were there to win gloryfor themselves and the favor of fair women.

  Not all will be mentioned, but among them was the Knight of theHolston--Athelstanic in build--in black stockings, white negligee shirt,with Byronic collar, and a broad crimson sash tied with a bow at hisright side. There was the Knight of the Green Valley, in green and gold,a green hat with a long white plume, lace ruffles at his sleeves, andbuckles on dancing-pumps; a bonny fat knight of Maxwelton Braes, inHighland kilts and a plaid; and the Knight at Large.

  "He ought to be caged," murmured the Hon. Sam; for the Knight at Largewore plum-colored velvet, red base-ball stockings, held in place withsafety-pins, white tennis shoes, and a very small hat with a very longplume, and the dye was already streaking his face. Marston was thelast--sitting easily on his iron gray.

  "And your name, Sir Knight?"

  "The Discarded," said Marston, with steady eyes. I felt the Blight startat my side and sidewise I saw that her face was crimson.

  The Hon. Sam sat down, muttering, for he did not like Marston:

  "Wenchless springal!"

  Just then my attention was riveted on Mollie and little Buck. Both hadbeen staring silently at the knights as though they were apparitions,but when Marston faced them I saw Buck clutch his sister's arm suddenlyand say something excitedly in her ear. Then the mouths of bothtightened fiercely and their eyes seemed to be darting lightning at theunconscious knight, who suddenly saw them, recognized them, and smiledpast them at me. Again Buck whispered, and from his lips I could makeout what he said:

  "I wonder whar's Dave?" but Mollie did not answer.

  "Which is yours, Mr. Budd?" asked the little sister. The Hon. Sam hadleaned back with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his white waistcoat.

  "He ain't come yet. I told him to come last."

  The crowd waited and the knights waited--so long that the Mayor rose inhis seat some twenty feet away and called out:

  "Go ahead, Budd."

  "You jus' wait a minute--my man ain't come yet," he said easily, butfrom various places in the crowd came jeering shouts from the men withwhom he had wagered and the Hon. Sam began to look anxious.

  "I wonder what is the matter?" he added in a lower tone. "I dressed himmyself more than an hour ago and I told him to come last, but I didn'tmean for him to wait till Christmas--ah!"

  The Hon. Sam sank back in his seat again. From somewhere had comesuddenly the blare of a solitary trumpet that rang in echoes around theamphitheatre of the hills and, a moment later, a dazzling something shotinto sight above the
mound that looked like a ball of fire, coming inmid-air. The new knight wore a shining helmet and the Hon. Sam chuckledat the murmur that rose and then he sat up suddenly. There was no faceunder that helmet--the Hon. Sam's knight was MASKED and the Hon. Samslapped his thigh with delight.

  "Bully--bully! I never thought of it--I never thought of it--bully!"

  This was thrilling, indeed--but there was more; the strange knight'sbody was cased in a flexible suit of glistening mail, his spear point,when he raised it on high, shone like silver, and he came on like aradiant star--on the Hon. Sam's charger, white-bridled, with long maneand tail and black from tip of nose to tip of that tail as midnight. TheHon. Sam was certainly doing it well. At a slow walk the stranger drewalongside of Marston and turned his spear point downward.

  "Gawd!" said an old darky. "Ku-klux done come again." And, indeed, itlooked like a Ku-klux mask, white, dropping below the chin, and witheye-holes through which gleamed two bright fires.

  The eyes of Buck and Mollie were turned from Marston at last, andopen-mouthed they stared.

  "Hit's the same hoss--hit's Dave!" said Buck aloud.

  "Well, my Lord!" said Mollie simply.

  The Hon. Sam rose again.

  "And who is Sir Tardy Knight that hither comes with masked face?" heasked courteously. He got no answer.

  "What's your name, son?"

  The white mask puffed at the wearer's lips.

  "The Knight of the Cumberland," was the low, muffled reply.

  "Make him take that thing off!" shouted some one.

  "What's he got it on fer?" shouted another.

  "I don't know, friend," said the Hon. Sam; "but it is not my businessnor prithee thine; since by the laws of the tournament a knight may ridemasked for a specified time or until a particular purpose is achieved,that purpose being, I wot, victory for himself and for me a handful ofbyzants from thee."

  "Now, go ahead, Budd," called the Mayor again. "Are you going crazy?"

  The Hon. Sam stretched out his arms once to loosen them for gesture,thrust his chest out, and uplifted his chin: "Fair ladies, nobles of therealm, and good knights," he said sonorously, and he raised one hand tohis mouth and behind it spoke aside to me:

  "How's my voice--how's my voice?"

  "Great!" His question was genuine, for the mask of humor had dropped andthe man was transformed. I knew his inner seriousness, his oratoricalcommand of good English, and I knew the habit, not uncommon amongstump-speakers in the South, of falling, through humor, carelessness, orfor the effect of flattering comradeship, into all the lingual sins ofrural speech; but I was hardly prepared for the soaring flight the Hon.Sam took now. He started with one finger pointed heavenward:

  "The knights are dust And their good swords are rast; Their souls are with the saints, we trust."

  "Scepticism is but a harmless phantom in these mighty hills. We BELIEVEthat with the saints is the GOOD knight's soul, and if, in the radiantunknown, the eyes of those who have gone before can pierce the littleshadow that lies between, we know that the good knights of old lookgladly down on these good knights of to-day. For it is good to beremembered. The tireless struggle for name and fame since the sunriseof history attests it; and the ancestry worship in the East and theworld-wide hope of immortality show the fierce hunger in the human soulthat the memory of it not only shall not perish from this earth, butthat, across the Great Divide, it shall live on--neither forgetting norforgotten. You are here in memory of those good knights to prove thatthe age of chivalry is not gone; that though their good swords are rust,the stainless soul of them still illumines every harmless spear pointbefore me and makes it a torch that shall reveal, in your own heartsstill aflame, their courage, their chivalry, their sense of protectionfor the weak, and the honor in which they held pure women, brave men,and almighty God.

  "The tournament, some say, goes back to the walls of Troy. The form ofit passed with the windmills that Don Quixote charged. It is with you tokeep the high spirit of it an ever-burning vestal fire. It was a deadlyplay of old--it is a harmless play to you this day. But the prowess ofthe game is unchanged; for the skill to strike those pendent rings is noless than was the skill to strike armor-joint, visor, or plumed crest.It was of old an exercise for deadly combat on the field of battle; itis no less an exercise now to you for the field of life--for the quickeye, the steady nerve, and the deft hand which shall help you strike themark at which, outside these lists, you aim. And the crowning triumphis still just what it was of old--that to the victor the Rose of hisworld--made by him the Queen of Love and Beauty for us all--shall giveher smile and with her own hands place on his brow a thornless crown."

  Perfect silence honored the Hon. Samuel Budd. The Mayor was noddingvigorous approval, the jeering ones kept still, and when after the lastdeep-toned word passed like music from his lips the silence held swayfor a little while before the burst of applause came. Every knight hadstraightened in his saddle and was looking very grave. Marston's eyesnever left the speaker's face, except once, when they turned with anunconscious appeal, I thought, to the downcast face of Blight--whereatthe sympathetic little sister seemed close to tears. The Knight of theCumberland shifted in his saddle as though he did not quite understandwhat was going on, and once Mollie, seeing the eyes through themask-holes fixed on her, blushed furiously, and little Buck grinned backa delighted recognition. The Hon. Sam sat down, visibly affected by hisown eloquence; slowly he wiped his face and then he rose again.

  "Your colors, Sir Knights," he said, with a commanding wave of histruncheon, and one by one the knights spurred forward and each heldhis lance into the grandstand that some fair one might tie thereon thecolors he was to wear. Marston, without looking at the Blight, held hisup to the little sister and the Blight carelessly turned her face whilethe demure sister was busy with her ribbons, but I noticed that thelittle ear next to me was tingling red for all her brave look ofunconcern. Only the Knight of the Cumberland sat still.

  "What!" said the Hon. Sam, rising to his feet, his eyes twinkling andhis mask of humor on again; "sees this masked springal"--the Hon. Samseemed much enamored of that ancient word--"no maid so fair that hewill not beg from her the boon of colors gay that he may carry them tovictory and receive from her hands a wreath therefor?" Again the Knightof the Cumberland seemed not to know that the Hon. Sam's winged wordswere meant for him, so the statesman translated them into a mutualvernacular.

  "Remember what I told you, son," he said. "Hold up yo' spear here tosome one of these gals jes' like the other fellows are doin'," and as hesat down he tried surreptitiously to indicate the Blight with hisindex finger, but the knight failed to see and the Blight's face wasso indignant and she rebuked him with such a knife-like whisper that,humbled, the Hon. Sam collapsed in his seat, muttering:

  "The fool don't know you--he don't know you."

  For the Knight of the Cumberland had turned the black horse's head andwas riding, like Ivanhoe, in front of the nobles and ladies, his eyesburning up at them through the holes in his white mask. Again he turned,his mask still uplifted, and the behavior of the beauties there, as onthe field of Ashby, was no whit changed: "Some blushed, some assumed anair of pride and dignity, some looked straight forward and essayed toseem utterly unconscious of what was going on, some drew back in alarmwhich was perhaps affected, some endeavored to forbear smiling and therewere two or three who laughed outright." Only none "dropped a veil overher charms" and thus none incurred the suspicion, as on that field ofAshby, that she was "a beauty of ten years' standing" whose motive,gallant Sir Walter supposes in defence, however, was doubtless "asurfeit of such vanities and a willingness to give a fair chance tothe rising beauties of the age." But the most conscious of the fairwas Mollie below, whose face was flushed and whose brown fingers werenervously twisting the ribbons in her lap, and I saw Buck nudge her andheard him whisper:

  "Dave ain't going to pick YOU out, I tell ye. I heered Mr. Budd tharmyself tell him he HAD to pick out some other gal."

  "
You hush!" said Mollie indignantly.

  It looked as though the Knight of the Cumberland had grown rebelliousand meant to choose whom he pleased, but on his way back the Hon.Sam must have given more surreptitious signs, for the Knight of theCumberland reined in before the Blight and held up his lance to her.Straightway the colors that were meant for Marston fluttered from theKnight of the Cumberland's spear. I saw Marston bite his lips and I sawMollie's face aflame with fury and her eyes darting lightning--nolonger at Marston now, but at the Blight. The mountain girl held nothingagainst the city girl because of the Wild Dog's infatuation, but thather own lover, no matter what the Hon. Sam said, should give his homagealso to the Blight, in her own presence, was too much. Mollie lookedaround no more. Again the Hon. Sam rose.

  "Love of ladies," he shouted, "splintering of lances! Stand forth,gallant knights. Fair eyes look upon your deeds! Toot again, son!"

  Now just opposite the grandstand was a post some ten feet high, with asmall beam projecting from the top toward the spectators. From the endof this hung a wire, the end of which was slightly upturned in line withthe course, and on the tip of this wire a steel ring about an inch indiameter hung lightly. Nearly forty yards below this was a similarring similarly arranged; and at a similar distance below that wasstill another, and at the blast from the Hon. Sam's herald, thegallant knights rode slowly, two by two, down the lists to the westernextremity--the Discarded Knight and the Knight of the Cumberland,stirrup to stirrup, riding last--where they all drew up in line, somefifty yards beyond the westernmost post. This distance they took thatfull speed might be attained before jousting at the first ring, sincethe course--much over one hundred yards long--must be covered in sevenseconds or less, which was no slow rate of speed. The Hon. Sam aroseagain:

  "The Knight of the Holston!"

  Farther down the lists a herald took up the same cry and the good knightof Athelstanic build backed his steed from the line and took his placeat the head of the course.

  With his hickory truncheon the Hon. Sam signed to his trumpeter to soundthe onset.

  "Now, son!" he said.

  With the blare of the trumpet Athelstane sprang from his place and cameup the course, his lance at rest; a tinkling sound and the first ringslipped down the knight's spear and when he swept past the last postthere was a clapping of hands, for he held three rings triumphantlyaloft. And thus they came, one by one, until each had run the coursethree times, the Discarded jousting next to the last and the Knight ofthe Cumberland, riding with a reckless Cave, Adsum air, the very last.At the second joust it was quite evident that the victory lay betweenthese two, as they only had not lost a single ring, and when the blackhorse thundered by, the Hon. Sam shouted "Brave lance!" and jolliedhis betting enemies, while Buck hugged himself triumphantly and Mollieseemed temporarily to lose her chagrin and anger in pride of her lover,Dave. On the third running the Knight of the Cumberland excited asensation by sitting upright, waving his lance up and down between theposts and lowering it only when the ring was within a few feet of itspoint. His recklessness cost him one ring, but as the Discarded had lostone, they were still tied, with eight rings to the credit of each, forthe first prize. Only four others were left--the Knight of the Holstonand the Knight of the Green Valley tying with seven rings for secondprize, and the fat Maxwelton Braes and the Knight at Large tying withsix rings for the third. The crowd was eager now and the Hon. Samconfident. On came the Knight at Large, his face a rainbow, his plumewilted and one red base-ball stocking slipped from its moorings--tworings! On followed the fat Maxwelton, his plaid streaming and his kiltsflapping about his fat legs--also two rings!

  "Egad!" quoth the Hon. Sam. "Did yon lusty trencherman of Annie Laurie'sbut put a few more layers of goodly flesh about his ribs, therebyprojecting more his frontal Falstaffian proportions, by my halidom, hewould have to joust tandem!"

  On came Athelstane and the Knight of the Green Valley, both with but tworings to their credit, and on followed the Discarded, riding easily, andthe Knight of the Cumberland again waving his lance between the posts,each with three rings on his spear. At the end the Knight at Largestood third, Athelstane second, and the Discarded and the Knight of theCumberland stood side by side at the head of the course, still even, andnow ready to end the joust, for neither on the second trial had missed aring.

  The excitement was intense now. Many people seemed to know who theKnight of the Cumberland was, for there were shouts of "Go it, Dave!"from everywhere; the rivalry of class had entered the contest and nowit was a conflict between native and "furriner." The Hon. Sam was almostbeside himself with excitement; now and then some man with whom he hadmade a bet would shout jeeringly at him and the Hon. Sam would shoutback defiance. But when the trumpet sounded he sat leaning forward withhis brow wrinkled and his big hands clinched tight. Marston sped up thecourse first--three rings--and there was a chorus of applauding yells.

  "His horse is gittin' tired," said the Hon. Sam jubilantly, and theBlight's face, I noticed, showed for the first time faint traces ofindignation. The Knight of the Cumberland was taking no theatricalchances now and he came through the course with level spear and, withthree rings on it, he shot by like a thunderbolt.

  "Hooray!" shouted the Hon. Sam. "Lord, what a horse!" For the first timethe Blight, I observed, failed to applaud, while Mollie was clapping herhands and Buck was giving out shrill yells of encouragement. At thenext tilt the Hon. Sam had his watch in his hand and when he saw theDiscarded digging in his spurs he began to smile and he was looking athis watch when the little tinkle in front told him that the course wasrun.

  "Did he get 'em all?"

  "Yes, he got 'em all," mimicked the Blight.

  "Yes, an' he just did make it," chuckled the Hon. Sam. The Discardedhad wheeled his horse aside from the course to watch his antagonist. Helooked pale and tired--almost as tired as his foam-covered steed--buthis teeth were set and his face was unmoved as the Knight of theCumberland came on like a demon, sweeping off the last ring with a low,rasping oath of satisfaction.

  "I never seed Dave ride that-a-way afore," said Mollie.

  "Me, neither," chimed in Buck.

  The nobles and ladies were waving handkerchiefs, clapping hands, andshouting. The spectators of better degree were throwing up theirhats and from every part of the multitude the same hoarse shout ofencouragement rose:

  "Go it, Dave! Hooray for Dave!" while the boy on the telegraph-pole wasseen to clutch wildly at the crossbar on which he sat--he had come neartumbling from his perch.

  The two knights rode slowly back to the head of the lists, where theDiscarded was seen to dismount and tighten his girth.

  "He's tryin' to git time to rest," said the Hon. Sam. "Toot, son!"

  "Shame!" said the little sister and the Blight both at once so severelythat the Hon. Sam quickly raised his hand.

  "Hold on," he said, and with hand still uplifted he waited till Marstonwas mounted again. "Now!"

  The Discarded came on, using his spurs with every jump, the red of hishorse's nostrils showing that far away, and he swept on, spearing offthe rings with deadly accuracy and holding the three aloft, but havingno need to pull in his panting steed, who stopped of his own accord.Up went a roar, but the Hon. Sam, covertly glancing at his watch, stillsmiled. That watch he pulled out when the Knight of the Cumberlandstarted and he smiled still when he heard the black horse's swift,rhythmic beat and he looked up only when that knight, shouting to hishorse, moved his lance up and down before coming to the last ring and,with a dare-devil yell, swept it from the wire.

  "Tied--tied!" was the shout; "they've got to try it again! they've gotto try it again!"

  The Hon. Sam rose, with his watch in one hand and stilling the tumultwith the other. Dead silence came at once.

  "I fear me," he said, "that the good knight, the Discarded, has failedto make the course in the time required by the laws of the tournament."Bedlam broke loose again and the Hon. Sam waited, still gesturing forsilence.

  "Summon the time
-keeper!" he said.

  The time-keeper appeared from the middle of the field and nodded.

  "Eight seconds!" "The Knight of the Cumberland wins," said the Hon. Sam.

  The little sister, unconscious of her own sad face, nudged me to look atthe Blight--there were tears in her eyes.

  Before the grandstand the knights slowly drew up again. Marston's horsewas so lame and tired that he dismounted and let a darky boy lead himunder the shade of the trees. But he stood on foot among the otherknights, his arms folded, worn out and vanquished, but taking his bittermedicine like a man. I thought the Blight's eyes looked pityingly uponhim.

  The Hon. Sam arose with a crown of laurel leaves in his hand:

  "You have fairly and gallantly won, Sir Knight of the Cumberland, andit is now your right to claim and receive from the hands of the Queenof Love and Beauty the chaplet of honor which your skill has justlydeserved. Advance, Sir Knight of the Cumberland, and dismount!"

  The Knight of the Cumberland made no move nor sound.

  "Get off yo' hoss, son," said the Hon. Sam kindly, "and get down on yo'knees at the feet of them steps. This fair young Queen is a-goin' to putthis chaplet on your shinin' brow. That horse'll stand."

  The Knight of the Cumberland, after a moment's hesitation, threw his legover the saddle and came to the steps with a slouching gait and lookingabout him right and left. The Blight, blushing prettily, took thechaplet and went down the steps to meet him.

  "Unmask!" I shouted.

  "Yes, son," said the Hon. Sam, "take that rag off."

  Then Mollie's voice, clear and loud, startled the crowd. "You betternot, Dave Branham, fer if you do and this other gal puts that thingon you, you'll never--" What penalty she was going to inflict, I don'tknow, for the Knight of the Cumberland, half kneeling, sprang suddenlyto his feet and interrupted her. "Wait a minute, will ye?" he saidalmost fiercely, and at the sound of his voice Mollie rose to her feetand her face blanched.

  "Lord God!" she said almost in anguish, and then she dropped quickly toher seat again.

  The Knight of the Cumberland had gone back to his horse as though to getsomething from his saddle. Like lightning he vaulted into the saddle,and as the black horse sprang toward the opening tore his mask from hisface, turned in his stirrups, and brandished his spear with a yell ofdefiance, while a dozen voices shouted:

  "The Wild Dog!" Then was there an uproar.

  "Goddle mighty!" shouted the Hon. Sam. "I didn't do it, I swear I didn'tknow it. He's tricked me--he's tricked me! Don't shoot--you might hitthat hoss!"

  There was no doubt about the Hon. Sam's innocence. Instead of turningover an outlaw to the police, he had brought him into the inner shrineof law and order and he knew what a political asset for his enemies thatinsult would be. And there was no doubt of the innocence of Mollie andBuck as they stood, Mollie wringing her hands and Buck with open mouthand startled face. There was no doubt about the innocence of anybodyother than Dave Branham and the dare-devil Knight of the Cumberland.

  Marston had clutched at the Wild Dog's bridle and missed and the outlawstruck savagely at him with his spear. Nobody dared to shoot because ofthe scattering crowd, but every knight and every mounted policeman tookout after the outlaw and the beating of hoofs pounded over the littlemound and toward Poplar Hill. Marston ran to his horse at the upper end,threw his saddle on, and hesitated--there were enough after the WildDog and his horse was blown. He listened to the yells and sounds of thechase encircling Poplar Hill. The outlaw was making for Lee. All at oncethe yells and hoof-beats seemed to sound nearer and Marston listened,astonished. The Wild Dog had wheeled and was coming back; he was goingto make for the Gap, where sure safety lay. Marston buckled his girthand as he sprang on his horse, unconsciously taking his spear withhim, the Wild Dog dashed from the trees at the far end of the field. AsMarston started the Wild Dog saw him, pulled something that flashed fromunder his coat of mail, thrust it back again, and brandishing his spear,he came, full speed and yelling, up the middle of the field. It was astrange thing to happen in these modern days, but Marston was an officerof the law and was between the Wild Dog and the Ford and liberty throughthe Gap, into the hills. The Wild Dog was an outlaw. It was Marston'sduty to take him.

  The law does not prescribe with what weapon the lawless shall besubdued, and Marston's spear was the only weapon he had. Moreover, theWild Dog's yell was a challenge that set his blood afire and thegirl both loved was looking on. The crowd gathered the meaning of thejoust--the knights were crashing toward each other with spears at rest.There were a few surprised oaths from men, a few low cries from women,and then dead silence in which the sound of hoofs on the hard turf waslike thunder. The Blight's face was white and the little sister wasgripping my arm with both hands. A third horseman shot into view out ofthe woods at tight angles, to stop them, and it seemed that the threehorses must crash together in a heap. With a moan the Blight buried herface on my shoulder. She shivered when the muffled thud of body againstbody and the splintering of wood rent the air; a chorus of shrieksarose about her, and when she lifted her frightened face Marston, theDiscarded, was limp on the ground, his horse was staggering to his feet,and the Wild Dog was galloping past her, his helmet gleaming, his eyesablaze, his teeth set, the handle of his broken spear clinched in hisright hand, and blood streaming down the shoulder of the black horse.She heard the shots that were sent after him, she heard him plunge intothe river, and then she saw and heard no more.

  VIII. THE KNIGHT PASSES

  A telegram summoned the Blight a home next day. Marston was in bed witha ragged wound in the shoulder, and I took her to tell him good-by. Ileft the room for a few minutes, and when I came back their hands wereunclasping, and for a Discarded Knight the engineer surely wore a happythough pallid face.

  That afternoon the train on which we left the Gap was brought to asudden halt in Wildcat Valley by a piece of red flannel tied to the endof a stick that was planted midway the track. Across the track, fartheron, lay a heavy piece of timber, and it was plain that somebody meantthat, just at that place, the train must stop. The Blight and I wereseated on the rear platform and the Blight was taking a last look ather beloved hills. When the train started again, there was a cracking oftwigs overhead and a shower of rhododendron leaves and flowers droppedfrom the air at the feet of the Blight. And when we pulled away from thehigh-walled cut we saw, motionless on a little mound, a black horse, andon him, motionless, the Knight of the Cumberland, the helmet on hishead (that the Blight might know who he was, no doubt), and both handsclasping the broken handle of his spear, which rested across the pommelof his saddle. Impulsively the Blight waved her hand to him and I couldnot help waving my hat; but he sat like a statue and, like a statue,sat on, simply looking after us as we were hurried along, until horse,broken shaft, and shoulders sank out of sight. And thus passed theKnight of the Cumberland with the last gleam that struck his helmet,spear-like, from the slanting sun.