The Rider Read online

  “I am sorry, Miss Bass,” he said, “that you and your mother should be compelled to spend the night in so uncouth and repulsive a place; but I assure you that it cannot now be helped. One whom I expected, and whose presence would have made it possible for you to immediately continue your journey to Sovgrad is not here, and we must await him. Upon his coming and the amiable concurrence of your mother in my plans depends your prompt release-the terms will not be difficult.”

  “And what, may I ask,” demanded the princess, “is the amount of our ransom?”

  The light of the lantern played upon the girrs hafr and upon her comely features. It revealed the lines of her trim little figure, and the haughty tilt of her royal head which needed no diadem to distinguish it from the heads of ordinary, mortal maids. The Rider had half glimpsed, half guessed the beauty of his younger captive-or at least he had thought that he had; but the revealment of her features in the flickering light of the sordid lantern had left him almost dizzy with the intoxication of the actuality. It was not the beauty of perfection which enthralled him, as it enthralled all who looked upon the. Princess Mary of Margoth, for perfection, as measured by the standards of art, was not there. The little nose was a trifle too short, the upper lip a bit too long, the cheek bones just a hair higher than perfection demands, perhaps; but the whole was so moulded, and so animated by that indefinable something which is the essence of beauty that The Rider would have sworn that in all the world there existed no more beautiful woman than this daughter of a plebeian American millionaire, and he sighed because she was promised to another, forgetting for the moment that a still more formidable barrier separated them.

  So long he stood in silence looking at the girl that she finally repeated her question, quite peremptorily, and with a little stamp of her foot.

  “I asked you, fellow,” she said, “the amount of the ransom you demand.”

  The man who had been working over the stove had cocked an ear when he had heard the girl addressed as Miss Bass, and now he puttered about in an effort to prolong his work in the room that he might learn more of the prisoners and the amount of the ransom. The name was familiar, for the passage of the wife and daughter of Abner J. Bass through almost any civilized country on the globe was heralded broadcast upon the front pages of the newspapers, together with various estimates of the many millions which they represented. The fellow, a stupid lout, could not recall where he had heard the name, yet there was something about it which aroused his attention and held his interest.

  The Rider could not repress a smile at the manner in which the girl addressed him, and he hastened to reply, as though always he had been accustomed to obey the haughty commands of an imperious master.

  “The ransom,” he said “will not be in money. I know that the wife and daughter of Abner J. Bass could command a fabulous sum should I demand it; but I shall not demand a cent of money.”

  “What shall you demand, then?” asked the princess.

  “Something rather more valuable than all the riches of Abner J. Bass,” replied the man, and, after a pause,-“the hand of his daughter in marriage.”

  Both Carlotta and the Princess Mary went white as the full significance of this statement sank into their understandings. The former gave a little scream and moved closer to the princess as though to protect her royal charge from the contaminating touch of the bandit. The princess realized that her plight was a sore one, and that it might be better to conciliate rather than offend her captor.

  “You do not understand what you require,” she said. “It is absolutely impossible that you and I should wed. Name a ransom that may be paid in money, and it will be paid gladly; but do not lose all by attempting to force such preposterous terms upon us.

  “Wait!” said The Rider. “You do not understand. I am not asking your hand for myself; but for another whom I understand you would gladly wed would your mother permit. Your freedom, therefore, depends upon my ability to obtain from her the necessary consent to your immediate marriage to Mr. Hemmington Main, who is on his way here now with a priest who will perform the ceremony.

  Then The Rider looked eagerly from one to the other for evidence of the expected effect of his announcement. The girl should have been quite overcome by joy; but she was not. She appeared, on the contrary, far from relieved and even a little piqued. Could it be that the Princess Mary of Margoth was, after all, angered to discover that the bandit had not wanted her for himself at all, but for another? Impossible, and yet a princess is, whether she will or no, a woman; and Prince Boris of Karlova, even in the guise of a notorious cutthroat, was a most prepossessing figure.

  The bandit at the stove gasped as he heard the terms of the ransom and learned the identity of the captives. A cunning expression crossed his stupid face, as, satisfied with what he had heard, he slunk from the building and hastened to the tents of his fellows to communicate his store of intelligence.

  “You have made a mistake,” said the princess. “I do not wish to marry Mr. Main, and as you say that you have no wish for a money ransom may I ask you to return us to our car and let us go our way?”

  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 who 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 unruffied 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 Princ
e 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 fixe 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 i?reverently, “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 chimney and hide,” he replied; “1 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 hear 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 eried. “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 an 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 dishevelled girl, and as the eyes of the captain crossed to her he sprang forward, and going upon one knee raised the girls 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. “An’ I want the reward that’s b
een upon his head these many years.

  The officers pressed forward to sieze 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.