Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch

by Davis Brinton

  XXV

  THEY MEET JOSEF

  He dared not sleep. Thousands of aching demons in his weary limbspromised him surcease if he would. Every stir in nature, each drowsytwitter of the birds, coaxed him to relax his watchfulness, but heresisted. Time seemed a paralytic as Carter waited the passing of theday. A score of times his head bent forward in weariness. He could feelpain pass from him like a sigh, only to be called back as in reaction hewould jerk his head up to wakefulness.

  Slumber reigned indoors. As the hours dragged on, it seemed to thewatchful lover that something was surely wrong. He had heard no sound,no stir, no sigh, for an age of patience. Half ashamed of his ownboldness, he tiptoed in to where she lay. Her face was pale withlanguor; no breath appeared to stir her breast. With a great leap hismind went back, fearing, to that scene by the roadside as she layfainting in his arms. He reached out and touched her wrist. Again hegave thanks that, beneath his finger, life flowed serenely in itscourse.

  He turned and went back to his seat on the bench. He counted time nowby the throbbing of his nerves. The sun passed its zenith, began todroop; still Trusia slept and Carter kept a sleepless vigil. Great andred, in the west, the sun was setting as the girl came out and laid asoft, comforting hand upon his shoulder.

  "I have been selfish, Calvert," she said in self-accusation. "I shouldhave let you rest first. You have had the greater labor and worriment.We will eat something now, then I shall watch while you sleep."

  "I am not tired," he protested, yawning as he spoke. "Even though I havenot slept I have dreamed--of you." He marveled at the mystery which badea rose pink creep into a girl's cheek and pass and come again.

  The simple food provided by Hans was a delectable feast to the waywornpair, who appreciated it down to the last allotted crumb.

  After the final morsel had disappeared, they quietly conversed, butwhile they talked, Carter's head lurched forward and he was asleep.Sweetly, with the maternal impulse found even in maidens, she drew theheavy head to her and smiled happily at its weight upon her breast. Shebent forward to listen, for sweetened in the dream he held, she heardher name whispered in adoration.

  The shadows were creeping upon them. Evening had drawn the curtainacross reluctant day. In the dusk, sinister figures appeared to crouchand creep by every bush and tree. Inevitable as darkness it seemed, theygathered from every side. Her fright numbered them as a myriad. Theywere three. Unwilling in her solicitude to disturb her sleeping loveruntil the last moment, she drew her revolver. Then with chillingmisgivings she realized that these men had followed the path used byherself and Carter.

  Some acute sympathy--maybe his dreams, maybe a prescience which neverslumbers--awoke Carter with a full realization of the imminent dangerwhich threatened.

  "Come," he said, arising to his full height, "you must go in." He pushedher through the door and stood in the narrow entrance, awaiting theonslaught. "They outnumber me," he laughed, "but it is a dark night.That reduces the odds. You see, sweetheart, that while in the gloom theymay hit friends, yet if it comes to sword play I can't possibly hit anyone else but them." He actually chuckled as he rolled back the sleeve onhis right arm. "They won't use pistols unless I do, for they don't knowhow near we are to reinforcements. Neither do we for that matter," andhe smiled again. "Have you that revolver?" he inquired, quite seriousthis time. "No, I don't want it," he said as she held it out to him."You know what to do with it if the time comes."

  They had not long to wait. Their opponents, confident of success, camerapidly forward. One figure was familiar even in the gloom. It wasJosef. With a leap the trio were upon Carter. He felt the impact oftheir blades like pulse beats in the darkness as they met his own steel.As weapon met weapon in clanging song his spirits arose. He wanted tochant to the dainty, cruel rhythm of the tempered strokes. He knew onthe instant that he should vanquish these foes. Muscle after muscle,sinew after sinew, thickened and grew lean alternately as thrustfollowed guard. His body, moving with his arm, seemed following someprimitive dance--the orgy of the Sword, the prince of battle weapons.

  He heard a smothered gasp in the darkness, succeeded by a curse in afamiliar voice.

  "You, Josef?" he queried with a satisfied laugh.

  "Not yet, m'sieu the American," came back the sneering answer. "Youfirst," it taunted, just beyond Carter's reach in the gloom. The remarkwas followed by a slight touch in the shoulder from which the warmblood spouted as the keen point was withdrawn.

  "Not quite low enough for me, Josef," answered Carter. "That was only ascratch. Try a ripost. I don't intend to wound _you_. I am going to killyou."

  "You'll have no chance. We are three and we will carry off the LadyTrusia. She'll be a dainty bit for our feasting." A sob behind himapprised him that she had heard.

  "Cur," Carter cried, and drove straight for the neck he knew held asmirking face. With the slipping of Carter's foot, Josef escaped deathat the price of a companion's life, behind whom Josef had escapedCarter's vengeance. The American, hearing the suggestive thud in thedarkness, pushed his advantage, with the result that soon an angry snarltold him that the second Russian was wounded. The fellow dropped hissword to clasp his right wrist, then fled, closely followed by thediscreet servitor. When Calvert had recovered his balance, the Gray Manhad disappeared.

  "There is no time to lose," he called to Trusia, "we must start at oncebefore that old rascal brings reinforcements." Though he jestinglybelittled its importance, she insisted upon bandaging the wound in hisshoulder and made much of him, womanlike.

  "I do not care if they should send a dozen men," she said, dazzling thegloom with her eyes; "my king, my lover, could defeat them all!" Hedared not kiss her, then, as they both would have wished. Her isolationmade her holy.

  "That," he said, pointing southwardly, "is our general direction. Fatemust guide our steps."