McClure's Magazine, Vol. 6, No. 6, May, 1896Various
General
McClure's Magazine, Vol. 6, No. 6, May, 1896
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals
Having registered these determinations, I was about to proceed with my
task of securing the door, when I heard a sound that startled me. There
was nothing hostile or alarming about it, rather it was pathetic and
appealing; and, in spite of my previous truculence of mind, it caused me
to exclaim: "Hullo, is that one of those poor beggars mauled?" For the
sound was a slight, painful sigh, as of somebody in suffering, and it
seemed to come from out of the darkness about a dozen yards ahead of me.
My first impulse was to go straight to the spot; but I had begun by now
to doubt whether the Neopalians were not unsophisticated in quite as
peculiar a sense as that in which they were good-hearted; so I called
Denny and Hogvardt, bidding the latter to bring his lantern with him.
Thus protected, I stepped out of the door, in the direction from which
the sigh had come. Apparently we were to crown our victory by the
capture of a wounded enemy.
An exclamation from Hogvardt told me that he, aided by the lantern, had
come upon the quarry; but Hogvardt spoke in disgust rather than triumph.
"Oh, it's only the little one!" said he. "What's wrong with him, I
wonder." He stooped down, and examined the prostrate form. "By heaven, I
believe he's not touched! Yes, there's a bump on his forehead; but not
big enough for any of us to have given it."
By this time Denny and I were with him, and we looked down on the boy's
pale face, which seemed almost death-like in the glare of the lantern.
The bump was not such a very small one, but it would not have been made
by any of our weapons, for the flesh was not cut. A moment's further
inspection showed that it must be the result of a fall on the hard,
rocky road.
"Perhaps he tripped on the cord, as you did on the cow;" suggested
Denny, with a grin.
It seemed likely enough, but I gave very little thought to it, for I was
busy studying the boy's face.
"No doubt," said Hogvardt, "he fell in running away, and was stunned;
and they did not notice it in the dark, or were afraid to stop. But
they'll be back, my lord, and soon."
"Carry him inside," said I. "It won't hurt us to have a hostage."
Denny lifted the lad in his long arms--Denny was a tall, powerful
fellow--and strode off with him. I followed, wondering who it was that
we had got hold of; for the boy was strikingly handsome. I was last in,
and barred the door. Denny had set our prisoner down in an armchair,
where he sat now, conscious again, but still with a dazed look in his
large, dark eyes, as he looked from me to the rest, and back again to
me, finally fixing a long glance on my face.
"Well, young man," said I, "you've begun this sort of thing early.
Lifting cattle and taking murder in the day's work is pretty good for a
youngster like you. Who are you?"
"Where am I?" he cried, in that blurred, indistinct kind of voice that
comes with mental bewilderment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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