Truxton King: A Story of Graustark

by George Barr McCutcheon

It was a trap. The men were not troopers, but brigands gotten up in the uniform of the guard. Once away from the main highway, they made prisoners of her and the two grooms. Then followed a long ride through roads new to her. At noon they came to a halt while the rascals changed their clothing, appearing in their true garb, that of the mountaineer. Half dead with dread, she heard them discussing their plans; they spoke quite freely in the presence of the well-beaten grooms, who were led to expect death before many hours. It was the design of the bandits to make their way to the almost impregnable fastnesses in the hills of Dawsbergen, the wild principality to the south. There they could hold her against all hope of rescue, until an immense sum of money was paid over in ransom by her dispairing friends.

When night came they were high in the mountains back of the Monastery, many hours ahead of any pursuit. They became stupidly careless, and the two grooms made a dash for freedom. One of them was killed, but the other escaped. She was afterward to recall that no effort was made to recapture him; they deliberately allowed him to escape, their cunning purpose becoming only too apparent later on.

Instead of hurrying on to Dawsbergen, they dropped swiftly down into the valley above the city. No secret was made of the ruse they had employed to mislead the prospective pursuers. The rescue party, they swore joyously, would naturally be led by John Tullis; he would go with all haste to the Dawsbergen hills. The word of the trusty groom would be taken as positive proof that the captive was in that country. She shuddered as she listened to their exultant chuckles. It had been a most cunningly conceived plan and it promised to result profitably for them in the end.

Some time during the slow, torturing ride through the forest she swooned. When she came to her senses she was in a dimly lighted room, surrounded by men. The gag had been removed from her mouth. She would have shrieked out in her terror, had not her gaze rested upon the figure of a man who sat opposite, his elbows on the back of the chair which he straddled, his chin on his arms. He was staring at her steadily, his black eyes catching her gaze and holding it as a snake holds the bird it has charmed.

She recognised the hard, hawk-like face. There could be no mistake. She was looking into the face that made the portrait of the Iron Count so abhorrent to her: the leathery head of a cadaver with eyes that lived. A portrait of Voltaire, the likeness of a satyr, a suggestion of Satan—all rushed up from memory's storehouse to hold her attention rapt in contemplation of this sinister figure.

He smiled. It was like the crumpling of soft leather. Then, with a word to one of the men, he abruptly left the room. After that she broke down and cried herself into the sleep of exhaustion.

All the next day she sat limp and helpless in the chair they had brought to her. She could neither eat nor drink. Late in the afternoon Marlanx came again. She knew not from whence he came: he stood before her suddenly, as if produced by the magic of some fabled genie, smiling blandly, his hands clasped behind his back, his attitude one of lecherous calculation.

Truxton King ground his teeth with rage and despair while she was breathlessly repeating the suave compliments that oozed from the lips of the tormentor.

"He laughed when I demanded that he should restore me to my friends. He chided me when I pleaded and begged for mercy. My questions were never answered. He only said that no harm was to come to me; I was merely touching purgatory that I might better appreciate paradise when I came to it. Oh, it was horrible! I thought I would go mad. Finally I called him a beast; I don't know what else I said. He merely smiled. Presently he called one of the men into the room. He said something about a sewer and a hole in the ground. Then the man went out and I heard the clicking of a telegraph instrument. I heard certain instructions. I was to be taken to a certain place in the city at nightfall and kept there until to-morrow night, when I am again to be removed by way of the river. That is all I know. Where am I, Mr. King? Oh, this dreadful place! Why are we here—you and I?"

King's heart throbbed fiercely one more. He was looking straight into the piteous, wondering eyes; his gaze fell to the parted, tremulous lips. A vast hunger possessed his soul. In that moment he could have laid down his life for her, with a smile of rejoicing.