“Here, good sir, take all—I have no more—and do not punish your wife for a kind action. I only am to blame.”
The ruffian took no further notice of his wife whom he left sobbing on the floor, but turned to take up with greedy hands the rich store offered by the traveller. Not content with money, however, he coolly demanded all the clothes he was wearing and possessed himself of the dagger into the bargain. Poor Kyūsuké! all the earnings of eight hard-working years had gone to fill the pockets of a villainous gentleman of the road.
“In pity, give me back my clothes, I cannot go either back or forward in this naked state,” pleaded Kyūsuké. “And my dagger—I need it to defend myself from gentlemen such as you—though I have nothing of which to be robbed now!” he added ruefully.
“Take these,” said the robber, throwing him a wadded garment and a girdle, both much the worse for wear.
“Thank you very much, but now my dagger....”
“That I shall find useful myself.”
“But without it I shall be at the mercy of any dog on the way....”
“What a troublesome fellow you are! But no one shall say I left you without the means of defence. Here, take this, and begone!”
With these words the robber produced from a cupboard an old sword doubtless acquired from some former luckless wayfarer and handed it to Kyūsuké, adding:—
“After leaving this house go straight on till you come to a broad road, follow this always turning to the north and in due time you will reach Oiwaké. Now go!”