OWEN WISTER Ultimate Collection: Western Classics, Adventure & Historical Novels (Including Non-Fiction Historical Works). Owen WisterЧитать онлайн книгу.
then suddenly gleaming on the white mounds where rocks lay deeply cloaked.
“He is pretty slow,” said Geoffrey, shifting the leg he was leaning on.
A black mass moved into sight, and from it came spoutings of fire that showed dark, jagged wings heavily flapping. It walked a little and stopped; then walked again. Geoffrey could see a great snout and head rocking and turning. Dismal and unspeakable sounds proceeded from the creature as it made towards the cellar-door. After it had got close and leaned against the panels in a toppling, swaying fashion, came a noise of creaking and fumbling, and then the door rolled aside upon its hinges. Next, the blurred white ridge towards Oyster-le-Main was darkened with moving specks that came steadily near; and man by man of the Guild reached the open door crouching, whispered a word or two, and crept inside. They made no sound that could be heard above the hissing of the downward flakes and the wind that moaned always, but louder sometimes. Only Elaine, with her ear to the cold iron key-hole of the passage-door, could mark the clink of armour, and shivered as she stood in the dark. And now the cellar is full,—but not of gray gowns. The candle flames show little glistening sparks in the black coats of mail, and the sight of themselves cased in steel, and each bearing an empty keg, stirred a laughter among them. Then the kegs were set down without noise on the earthy floor among the bins. The Dragon was standing on his crooked scaly hind-legs; and to see the grim, changeless jaw and eyes brought a dead feeling around the heart. But the two bungling fore-paws moved upwards, shaking like a machine, and out of a slit in the hide came two white hands that lifted to one side the brown knarled mask of the crocodile. There was the black head of Sir Francis Almoign. “’Tis hot in there,” he said; and with two fingers he slung the drops of sweat from his forehead.
“Wet thy whistle before we begin,” said Hubert, filling a jug for him. Sir Francis took it in both hands, and then clutched it tightly as a sudden singing was set up out in the night.
“Come, take a wife,
Come, take a wife,
Ere thou learnest age’s treasons!”
The tune came clear and jolly, cutting through the muffled noises of the tempest.
“Blood and death!” muttered Hubert.
Each figure had sprung into a stiff position of listening.
“Quit thy roving;
Shalt by loving
Not wax lean in stormy seasons.
Ho! ho! oh,—ho!
Not wax lean in——”
Here the strain snapped off short. Then a whining voice said, “Oh, I have fallen again! A curse on these roots. Lucifer fell only once, and ’twas enough for him. I have looked on the wine when it was red, and my dame Jeanie will know it soon, oh, soon! But my sober curse on these roots.”
“That’s nothing,” said Hubert. “There’s a band of Christmas singers has strolled into these parts to chant carols. One of them has stopped too long at the tavern.”
“Do I see a light?” said the voice. “Help! Give me a light, and let me go home.
“Quit thy roving;
Shalt by loving——”
“Shall I open his throat, that he may sing the next verse in heaven?” Hubert inquired.
“No, fool!” said Sir Francis. “Who knows if his brother sots are not behind him to wake the house? This is too dangerous to-night. Away with you, every one. Stoop low till ye are well among the fields, and then to Oyster-le-Main! I’ll be Dragon for a while, and follow after.”
Quickly catching up his keg, each man left the cellar like a shadow. Geoffrey, from the edge of the wood, saw them come out and dissolve away into the night. With the tube of the torch at his lips, Sir Francis blew a blast of fire out at the door, then covered his head once more with the grinning crocodile. He roared twice, and heard something creak behind him, so turned to see what had made it. There was Miss Elaine on the passage-steps. Her lips moved to speak, but for a short instant fear put a silence upon her that she found no voice to break. He, with a notion she was there for the sake of the legend, waved his great paws and trundled towards where she was standing.
“Do not forget to roar, sir,” said the young lady, managing her voice so there was scarce any tremble to be heard in it.
At this the Dragon stood still.
“You perceive,” she said to him, “after all, a dragon, like a mouse, comes to the trap.”
“Not quite yet,” cried Sir Francis, in a terrible voice, and rushed upon her, meaning death.
“The legend has come true!” she loudly said.
A gleaming shaft of steel whistled across the sight of Sir Francis.
“Halt there!” thundered Geoffrey, leaping between the two, and posing his sword for a lunge.
“My hour has come,” Sir Francis thought. For he was cased in the stiff hide, and could do nothing in defence.
“Now shalt thou lick the earth with thy lying tongue,” said Geoffrey.
A sneer came through the gaping teeth of the crocodile.
“Valiant, indeed!” the voice said. “Very valiant and knightly, oh son of Bertram of Poictiers! Frenchmen know when to be bold. Ha! ha!”
“Crawl out of that nut, thou maggot,” answered Geoffrey, “and taste thy doom.”
Here was a chance, the gift of a fool. The two white hands appeared and shifted the mask aside, letting them see a cunning hope on his face.
“Do not go further, sir,” said Elaine. “It is for the good of us all that you abide where you are. As I shall explain.”
“What is this, Elaine?” said Geoffrey.
“Your promise!” she answered, lifting a finger at him.
There was a dry crack from the crocodile’s hide.
“Villain!” cried Geoffrey, seizing the half-extricated body by the throat. “Thy false skin is honester than thyself, and warned us. Back inside!”
The robber’s eyes shrivelled to the size of a snake’s, as, with no tenderness, the youth grappled with him still entangled, and with hands, feet, and knees drove him into his shell as a hasty traveller tramples his effects into a packing-case.
“See,” said Elaine, “how pleasantly we two have you at our disposal. Shall the neighbours be called to have a sight of the Dragon?”
“What do you want with me?” said Sir Francis, quietly. For he was a philosopher.
“In the first place,” answered Geoffrey, “know that thou art caught. And if I shall spare thee this night, it may well be they’ll set thy carcase swinging on the gallows-tree to-morrow morning,—or, being Christmas, the day after.”
“I can see my case without thy help,” Sir Francis replied. “What next?”
At this, Elaine came to Geoffrey and they whispered together.
“Thy trade is done for,” said the youth, at length. “There’ll be no more monks of Oyster-le-Main, and no more Dragon of Wantley. But thou and the other curs may live, if ye so choose.”
“Through what do I buy my choice?”
“Through a further exhibition of thine art. Thou must play Dragon to-night once again for the last time. This, that I may show thee captive to Sir Godfrey Disseisin.”
“And in chains, I think,” added Elaine. “There is one behind the post.” It had belonged in the bear-pit during the lives of Orlando Crumb and Furioso Bun, two bears trapped expressly for the Baron near Roncevaux.
“After which?” inquired Sir Francis.
“Thou shalt go free, and I will claim this lady’s hand