The Rider showed his astonishment in the expression of his face.
“But,” he insisted, “I have Mr. Main’s word for it that you and your father are in favor of the match — that only your mother’s wish that you marry a titled European stands in the way.” He turned questioningly toward Carlotta.
“Her hi —— er-my daughter,” stammered the frightened nurse, “can marry only a titled European — it is her wish as well as my own. She does not wish to marry Mr. Main — you have heard her say so yourself. Please, oh, please, Mr. Rider, let us go.”
The Rider rubbed his chin in puzzled bewilderment. Whatever his reply to Carlotta’s appeal might have been it was interrupted by the sound of the approach of several men the foremost of whom burst into the shack with scant formality. The leader was a burly brute whose gaudy rags were rendered sinister by a bandoleer of cartridges across his breast and a formidable looking rifle which he carried in his right hand. He halted just within the doorway and eyed The Rider with a ferocious scowl. The latter’s head went up, and a scowl of disapproval darkened his brow.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “I did not send for you.”
“No,” growled the brigand, “you didn’t send for me; but I came — I came to tell you that you don’t let these fine birds get away so easy as you think. Why, we could get a million for ‘em; an’ here you are tellin’ ’em they can go if the young one will marry the man you want her to. What do you think we are, to stand around an’ let you lose the richest pickin’s we’ve had in years?”
“Get out of here,” snapped The Rider.
“Hold on now, my fine bird,” cried the brigand. “We’ve promised not to do you no harm, an’ we won’t unless you make us; but we’re goin’ to have these two women, an’ we’re goin’ to take ’em with us right now; so stand aside and you won’t get hurt,” and the fellow took a step as though to pass Prince Boris.
Carlotta shrank close to Princess Mary, who put her arms about her faithful servant and stood waiting the outcome of the altercation with calm and unruffled demeanor. The girl had heard the words of the brigand with surprise, and though she still had no reason to doubt the identity of him whom she took for The Rider she wondered not a little at the temerity and the mutinous spirit of his subordinates.
As the ruffian attempted to pass him Prince Boris took a single step forward, and at the same instant swung his fist to the fellow’s jaw, delivering a blow that stretched the man upon his back. Those in the doorway behind now attempted to surge into the room; but Boris drew his revolver and menaced them as they advanced. The man upon the floor, cursing and sputtering in pain and rage, staggered to his feet. In an instant his rifle was leveled.
“I don’t care who you are,” he shrieked, with a horrid oath, “you can’t come that on me and live,” but before he could press the trigger there was a spurt of flame from the revolver in the hand of Prince Boris and the man, dropping his rifle, staggered forward, reeled and fell at the feet of the prince he would have slain.
Some one of the men in the doorway fired a shot into the room, and instantly Boris’ revolver spurted a streak of fire and death into the group huddled there. One of the bandits screamed and fell backwards into the arms of those behind him. Boris fired again, and the pack fled, carrying their wounded with them.
Leaping to the door the crown prince of Karlova closed and barred it, then he turned back to the two women.
“Lie down close behind the chimney,” he commanded. “Their bullets are less apt to find you there. Quick, now! They will be back in a minute — you are too rich spoil for them to relinquish without a battle.”
He stepped to the smoky lantern and raising it extinguished the flame, leaving the room in utter darkness. Then he went to the side of the dead brigand, removed his bandoleer of cartridges, which he buckled about his own shoulders, and appropriated the fellow’s revolver and rifle.
“We can give them a fight for a while,” he said, with a laugh.
“Why don’t you let them take us for ransom?” asked Princess Mary. “They may kill us all.”
“They are beasts,’ replied Boris. “I would rather see you dead than alone in their power. If the ransom were all, I might make terms with them; though if it were not for you I’d rather take a chance with their bullets than give in to them.”
He had crossed to one of the two windows as he spoke; and an instant later a shot from his rifle crashed through the glass, announcing that he had discovered the enemy sneaking upon their little fortress.
“I think I got another of them that time,” he remarked, and then crossed the room to the window upon the opposite side. Again the report of his rifle crashed through the small room.
“They’re coming from both directions,” he announced. “I wish. Main had come — two of us might stand them off for a while.”
As he recrossed the room to the opposite window he felt the touch of a light hand upon his arm.
“Give me a revolver,” said a brave little voice at his side. “I can guard upon one side, while you guard upon the other.”
A sudden volley of shots from without shattered the glass in one of the windows and thudded against the logs of the walls. A bullet pinged close to the man’s head. Involuntarily he threw his arm about the girl beside him and forced her to the floor.
“You mustn’t take such chances,” he exclaimed. “My God, they might have hit you.” His fingers closed tightly upon her arm, and the contact sent a thrill through the man’s frame. “Go back to the chimney,” he said, hoarsely. “May God forgive me for exposing you to this danger, for I can never forgive myself.”
“You are a most remarkable brigand,” said the girl; “your actions belie your reputation. Are you always as solicitous of the welfare of your victims?”
Prince Boris laughed. “I am rather beginning to believe,” he said, “that I am a remarkable brigand,” and then, seriously, “I never before captured a goddess.”
The Princess Mary rose and shook his hand from her arm.
“I will guard this window,” she said; “you take the other. There is no use objecting, we shall all be killed if we do otherwise,” and she crossed the room to one of the windows, where she fired out upon the figures creeping through the brush toward the shack.
“Be careful!” he called back to her over his shoulder, and then, quite irreverently, “Why couldn’t you have been a European princess instead of an American queen!”
Chapter Thirteen
THE BANDITS had now settled down to a determined siege. The bullets were thudding against the walls or entering the windows with a business-like regularity which reflected the inflexible purpose of the attackers. It was only occasionally that Boris could find in the flash of a gun even a fair target for a return shot, and he would not waste his precious supply of ammunition without some likelihood of a hit.
The girl, upon her side of the room, fired with equal care and coolness; and as the man heard the report of her revolver from time to time something stirred in his heart which no woman ever had stirred before.
“Ah,” he thought, “what a queen she would make!” And the girl, oblivious alike of his thoughts and his identity, found herself regretting that he was but an unhung outlaw.
Presently there was a lull in the firing, and a voice bellowed out of the darkness, demanding that they surrender and promising freedom for the man and a fair ransom for the two women.
The replies of both the man and the girl were identical and simultaneous. Two shots rang out from the interior of the shack as the voice of the brigand ceased, and immediately the battle recommenced with increased violence. As the bullets shattered the few remaining remnants of splintered glass from the window panes the girl crawled across the floor to the man’s side.
“Give me some more ammunition,” she whispered. “I have used all that was in that belt.”
He turned and placed a hand upon hers where it rested on his arm.
“Go over to the chimn
ey and hide,’ he replied; “I have no more revolver ammunition — and only a few more rounds for the rifle.”
She made no move to obey him, nor did she remove her hand from beneath his.
“Hurry,” he said; “you might be shot here — uselessly.”
“You are very brave,” said the Princess Mary. “I do not understand why you, The Rider, should risk your life in battle with your own men to protect me.”
The man leaned closer to her. From the darkness of the night without came a sullen roar as the brigands, sensing the diminution of the firing from within, rose to rush the shack.
“It can do no harm to tell you now,” he said, “for death is very near, for me at least — there was a reason which was based on honor; but had that reason not existed there is another which would have made it a joy for me to give my life for you — would you like to bear it?”
And though the Princess Mary of Margoth knew the words that he was about to speak, and though she knew him for a brutal robber, for an outcast, for a pariah, she whispered: “Yes.”
“Because I love you,” he said, and raised her fingers to his lips.
And then a volley rattled loudly about them, he pushed her to the floor in the shelter of the log wall, and, rising, fired upon the charging ruffians without.
On they came, though some fell, until they battered at the door with their gun butts; smashed at the sturdy timbers that at last splintered and gave, while within the dark interior Prince Boris of Karlova stood with hot rifle pumping his remaining cartridges through the panels into the cursing, screaming mob without.
The door was swinging in upon its broken hinges when, of a sudden, there came a sharp volley from the edge of the ravine, a volley which was followed by the clear, piercing strains of a bugle sounding The Charge!
Mary of Margoth leaped to her feet. “The Guard!” she cried. “Stefan carried the word to Demia, and The Guard has come!”
A moment later the brigands were fleeing before the shots of the royal troopers; and as all officer stepped into the interior of the little room, a flash lamp in his hand, he saw a tall young man standing in the middle of the floor, an empty rifle dangling in his right hand and blood flowing down the side of his face, from a flesh wound across his temple. Behind the young man stood a much disheveled girl, and as the eyes of the captain crossed to her he sprang forward, and going upon one knee raised the girl’s fingers to his lips, with a fervent: “Thank God that Your Royal Highness in unharmed.”
Boris of Karlova turned wide and wondering eyes upon the tableau at his side. “Your Royal Highness,” he muttered to himself, and then other officers and troopers pushed into the room, in their midst a bloody and ragged prisoner.
“There he is,” shouted the prisoner. “There he is! There’s the man your lookin’ for — The Rider!” and he pointed a grimy forefinger at Prince Boris of Karlova. “And I want the reward that’s been upon his head these many years.”
The officers pressed forward to seize the renowned bandit, and at the same time Princess Mary of Margoth stepped between them and their prey.
“Wait!” she said. “He is indeed The Rider; but this night he has won the gratitude of Margoth, for at the risk of his life he has fought for me and saved me from these ruffians. Let him go Captain.”
“Who are you?” asked Boris of Karlova, turning wondering eyes upon the girl. “I thought that you were Miss Bass the American.”
“I am Mary, Princess of Margoth,” she replied; and, I am your friend, too, no matter what or who you are.”
“I am sorry, your highness,” interrupted Captain Polnik; “but I must place this man under arrest and take him back to Demia. Upon his hands is the blood of many innocent victims. He is a menace to the safety of the roads and to the people of Margoth. His defense of your highness will doubtless win him the clemency of the court before which he must be tried for his crimes; so that instead of expiating those crimes upon the gibbet he may hope for the lesser punishment of imprisonment for life.”
Boris of Karlova gave a long whistle. Imprisonment for life! Of course by divulging his identity he could escape all that; but the scandal! No! he dared not tell them who he was — he must wait and find a better way out of his difficulty, and so it was that the crown prince of Karlova was led back to the capitol city of Margoth and thrown into prison within sight of the palace where the Princess Mary took with unwonted meekness a severe lecture from her royal sire.
Chapter Fourteen
AS THE TRUE RIDER dropped to the shot from Hemmington Main’s revolver, the terrified priest, seeing in his own presence upon the scene of the crime, a sufficient evidence to implicate him in the assassination of the crown prince, slunk from the lodge, mounted his horse and galloped madly toward Sovgrad.
On the floor of the breakfast room he had just quitted Mrs. Abner J. Bass and two servants kneeled over the prostrate form of the wounded man. Hemmington Main stood where he had when he had fired the shot, and now Gwendolyn Bass crossed the room and took her place at his side, laying a trembling hand upon his arm.
“O, Hemmy,” she whispered, “what will they do to you? It is awful!”
“I don’t care what they do to me,” he replied miserably. “They’ll probably hang me eventually; but it’s worth it to have saved you from such a fate,” and he motioned toward the man upon the floor, a grimace of disgust accompanying the gesture.
Mrs. Bass turned toward them. “He lives,” she said; “it may not be a fatal wound, after all. Heaven grant that it is not.”
As she spoke two men entered the neglected doorway of the royal hunting lodge, saw the group in the breakfast room, and entered. One was a low browed, evil looking fellow; the other a red faced, well fed priest. The former was the first to speak and announce their presence to the tense, pre-occupied actors in the little tragedy upon which they had burst.
“Wot’s here?” he demanded, crossing to the side of the wounded bandit.
“Prince Boris has been shot,” said Mrs. Bass. “It was accidental. Some one must go for a physician at once.”
The man looked quickly about at the others in the room as he heard The Rider described as Prince Boris. No one contradicted or corrected Mrs. Bass. Then one of the servants spoke up.
“The priest who was here has, I think, gone for help,” he said. “He mounted and rode away in the direction of Sovgrad immediately after the-ah-accident. Doubtless he will inform the palace officials,” and he looked meaningly at the low browed new comer.
“How bad is he hurt?” asked the fellow.
Mrs. Bass shook her head. “I do not know — he is still unconscious.
The man thought for a moment; then he turned to the priest who had accompanied him. “We’ve got to get him away from here,” he said.
The priest nodded. The servants seemed relieved. The Americans could not but wonder at the heartless apathy of the royal retainers. No word of regret at the shooting of their prince had passed the lips of any of them, nor a single menace for the man who had shot him.
At the command of the priest’s companion two of the servants lifted the unconscious man and carried him from the lodge where they placed him in the arms of the low browed one, who had preceded them and mounted his horse in readiness to receive the prince. The priest meanwhile clambered laboriously into his own saddle, and presently the trio were lost to sight in the darkness.
The Americans, who had come to the verandah to watch the departure of the silent, mysterious company, now returned to the interior of the building, the royal servants following them. Mrs. Bass turned toward Hemmington Main.
“Hemmington,” she said; “we are in a frightful predicament. At any moment they come from Sovgrad. What are we to do? You have blasted what was, a few moments ago, my dearest ambition. I should feel resentment and anger; but I do not. Something, perhaps the shock of this unexpected tragedy, seems to have awakened me to a realization of the foolishness, yes, and the wickedness of the thing I was attempting to force Gwend
olyn into. It has taught me how great your love for my daughter must be, that you would willingly face the consequences of an attack upon a prince in his own country to protect her from him and from me and save her from an unholy union in which it is impossible that there could have been love upon either side.
“I realize that the fault is all mine, Hemmington; but the thing is done now and cannot be undone. All we can do is to work together to save you from the consequences of my foolishness. There is a motor car outside, and the Margothian border lies but a few miles to the east.”
Hemmington Main could not have been more surprised if the king of Karlova had ridden up and decorated him for shooting the crown prince. But though he felt his astonishment there was no time now to waste in useless expressions of surprise or thankfulness. He turned toward the servants — would they attempt to detain him? Unquestionably they would. As far as he could discover none of them was armed. Hemmington Main placed himself between the women and the servants; then he drew his revolver and covered the latter.
“Go out to the car,” he said to Mrs. Bass and her daughter, and then to the servants: “If you give an alarm or attempt to prevent our escape you’ll get precisely what your royal master got.”
The oldest of the servants, a venerable looking butler with the mien and dignity of a Roman emperor, permitted his face to relax into as near the semblance of a smile as his atrophied muscles would permit.
“You need have no fear, monsieur,” he said, “that we shall attempt to detain you. Nothing would suit us better than to have you safely across the into Margoth should it happen that the crazy priest has really gone to the palace with the story of what transpired here tonight. Then, surely, we shall have enough to explain without having to explain you and these two ladies.”
The American evidently revealed his incredulity of the man’s sincerity in the expression of his face following the butler’s words, for the latter hastened to reassure him.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 728