THE RED FOX OF DHALMATIA
He entered in the house—his home no more;
For without hearts there is no home;—and felt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome.
—Byron: Don Juan.
Castle Dhalmatia proved to be but a short distance ahead. I held the unconscious Prince in my arms while Nick leaned forward and called road directions into the Japanese driver's ear. General Palmora remembered a byway which was a short cut across the Red Fox's estate and we saved several minutes thereby. The walls of the Prince's home loomed up black and sombre against the sky line on the top of a hill vacant of trees. Like Castle Comada it was a fortress built for defence rather than for comfort. Its battlements and watchtowers were stern and forbidding.
Rapid as were our movements, the news of the accident preceded us, borne no doubt by the returning horse with the empty saddle. Stable grooms were coming down the road toward us carrying lanterns; house servants were arousing the master. Some were weeping aloud, running wildly about; others were shouting orders and talking, like persons who desired to do something but did not know what to do. Lights began to show in different rooms of the castle and, when we drew up with a rush and a grinding of brakes under the porte-cochère, a crowd of retainers were there to meet us.
As soon as they caught sight of the limp figure in my arms they imagined the Prince dead and their wailings broke out afresh. In the midst of the excitement, which even the commanding voice of the General failed to quell, a little, bent, old man with a weazen, wrinkled face, but with a certain virility of manner which proclaimed him master, appeared in the doorway. His voice vibrated through the air and forced obedience. He called to his servants in the Bharbazonian dialect and a silence fell upon them, in which there was more of fear than of love. I knew at once that I was in the presence of the Red Fox of Dhalmatia, the father of the Prince.
Standing in the lantern light he made a curious picture. He was attired in black from head to foot. On his head was a black fez that only partially concealed a mass of hair which, though darker in shade and streaked with gray, was the same colour as his son's. The first part of the Red Fox's name was derived no doubt from the colour of his hair.
Around his neck was a broad lace collar of white, extending to his narrow shoulders. He wore a close fitting coat buttoned up the front with a row of large ornamental buttons. Knee breeches with buckles at the side, silk stockings, and buckled shoes made up the rest of his costume. Over his shoulders hung a long Spanish cloak which partially concealed the hilt of a jewelled sword suspended from his left hip. There was that about him which suggested the stern, hard, old Pilgrim fathers who conquered the Massachusetts wilderness and burned witches three centuries ago.
If he felt any emotion at the condition of his son, he did not permit himself to show it, but, with a gesture in which was the majesty of command, he bade me enter with my burden.
I carried the Prince to the nearest couch in the spacious hallway, followed by Nick and the General. The Red Fox shut the door in the faces of his servants and dismissed them with a few terse words. The only one he permitted to remain was an aged man whom I recognized was the butler. The room was dark and this old fellow held a lantern close to the boy's face and fell into a fit of weeping. As soon as I placed the Prince on the divan, and before I could make an examination, I was rather rudely brushed aside by the boy's father and the old butler, both of whom seemed suddenly crazed by the accident.
They crowded me away and bent over the Prince, together making a rapid, superficial examination of the boy for broken bones, and finding none. There was a slight wound above the right ear and a cut on the left arm above the elbow. The right arm was dislocated. With the old servant's assistance, the father experienced little difficulty in slipping it back into place. I was rather impressed with the Red Fox's deftness and sureness of touch.