France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction
“We had better move on,” said he, “that carcass of the horse there
draws the wolves; they are often mad with hunger in the winter time you
know, and especially when there is snow on the ground. I could easily
kill a pretty good number of them, but they might come down upon us by
scores, and if I should happen to fall asleep again it would not be
pleasant to wake up and find myself in the stomach of one of those
confounded brutes. When I was disposed of they would make only a
mouthful of you, little one! So come along, we must scamper off as fast
as ever we can. That fellow there was only the advance guard, the
others will not be far behind him—this carcass will keep them busy for
a while, and give us time to get the start of them. You can walk now,
Chiquita, can’t you?”
“Yes, indeed,” she replied cheerily, “that little nap has done me so
much good. Poor Agostino! you shall not have to carry me again, like a
great clumsy parcel. And Agostino,” she added with a fierce energy,
“when my feet refuse to walk or run in your service you must just cut
my throat with your big knife there, and throw me into the next ditch.
I will thank you for it, Agostino, for I could not bear to have your
precious life in danger for the sake of poor, miserable little me.”
Thereupon this strange pair, both very fleet of foot, set off running,
side by side, the brigand holding Chiquita by the hand, so as to give
her all the aid and support he could, and they quickly passed out of
sight. No sooner had they departed than the crows came swooping down
from their perch in the nearest tree, and fell to fiercely upon their
horrible feast, in which they were almost directly joined by several
ravenous wolves—and they made such good use of their time, that in a
few hours nothing remained of the poor old horse but his bones, his
tail, and his shoes. When somewhat later the tyrant arrived,
accompanied by one of Bellombre’s farm-hands, leading the horse that
was to take the chariot back with them, he was naturally astonished to
find only the skeleton, with the harness and trappings, still intact,
about it, for neither birds nor beasts had interfered with them, and
his surprise was increased when he discovered the half-devoured carcass
of the wolf lying under the chariot wheels. There also, scattered on
the road, were the sham _louis-d’or_ that did duty upon the stage when
largesses were to be distributed; and upon the snow were the traces,
clearly defined, of the footsteps of a man, approaching the chariot
from the way it had come, and of those of the same man, and also of a
child, going on beyond it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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