High Noon Part 18

"Hush, Moka!" she said to the great beast when he sprang up once with a sudden growl. "He does not like the thunder," she explained. "Some people who were not welcome came here once, on a wild night like this, when he was but a puppy. They forced their way into this very room--and the old fellow never has forgotten."

In spite of her soothing words, the old dog was restless, and when, as the hour grew late, Paul said good-night, he noticed that the faithful brute was bristling as with anger at some unseen enemy.

Paul reached his chamber by the light of an ancient oil-lamp held aloft by a servant--a hulking chap of somewhat forbidding appearance.

Baxter had already prepared Paul's room for the night and was not waiting for his master. Paul said good-night to his attendant, and had turned his back upon the man--when he heard a shout which appeared to come from the hall below. He stopped short and turned--a movement which he always thought afterward must have saved his life--to receive a glancing, though still a stunning blow, from the b.u.t.t of a revolver.

Like a log, Paul fell with a crash that shook the room, and knew no more.

Paul was right. The shout did come from below. It was Peter's voice that had sent out that alarming cry.

Paul, it seems, had been gone but a few minutes, when the door of the great hall was flung open and a half-dozen men burst in. It was then that Peter gave a great shout to alarm the household, and in response to which a handful of servants rushed in, Alexander Andrieff, the red-bearded overseer, among them.

All the men were masked, not only their foreheads, but their faces right down to their chins being hidden in black.

The man who led them stepped forward and ordered the servants back; and they retreated.

A couple of armed and masked men sufficed to keep the few domestics penned in the corner. Two others were stationed on the stairs to check any advances in that direction, while two others kept the pa.s.sages closed against all further comers.

At the head of the intruders the leader walked swiftly towards Peter, who had advanced to meet him.

"Get back, Peter Vseslavitch," said the leader, still in a pleasant and easy voice; "get back, or I will not answer for your life."

Peter checked himself, but craned his head forward.

"By heaven!" he said in a low voice, "I believe that is you, Boris!"

"Never mind who I may be, but keep your tongue still. Unless you wish it to be forever quieted, refrain from mentioning names in my presence.

"Now turn about, if you please, and get back near the wall."

Mademoiselle's brother was a strong, courageous man. But what may one do against such odds? He looked straight and steadily at the veiled eyes of the intruder, and declined to turn about. So for a brief instant they stood.

The bl.u.s.ter of the storm had effectually drowned any noise of the disturbance except for those who had heard Peter's cry for help. Among them was Baxter. At a glance, he had taken in the position of affairs.

Nor did he hesitate for a moment. Breaking into a run, he dashed across the hall toward a wall where hung a heavy sword, an heirloom that had not been used for a hundred years. Before he could be stopped he tore it from its fastenings and started toward the nearest of the ruffians, who brought him to a standstill with a revolver.

The leader noted his progress, and turned about and cried, "Keep that man away. If he moves another foot--shoot!"

Baxter threw one contemptuous glance at Boris (for it was he) and came on. The man hesitated to fire.

"Fire! you fool," shouted Boris, but the man still held his hand and hesitated so long that Baxter had gripped the barrel of his revolver in his left hand before the fellow quite realized what was happening.

If the man had scruples, Boris had none. His revolver spoke quickly, and Baxter, with a little cough, fell forward on his face.

Turning from his butcher's work, Boris whipped round to meet the terror-stricken eyes of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch.

"It is not my fault," he said, "that you have been compelled to look on this."

Then his voice rang out clear and hard.

"Gentlemen," he cried, "I have no desire to create further disturbance. If you will listen to me all will be well."

Turning for a second to Peter, he said, "Get back to the corner of the room."

Peter had no other course but to obey.

Boris next proceeded to deal with the others.

"All of you," he said in a tone of easy command, "all of you get back into the corner, except Mademoiselle."

He watched the retreat through his mask, and when all had crowded together at the end of the room he gave them further orders.

"Let no man move," said he, "if he desires to see another day-break.

And if one of you stirs for a quarter of an hour after we leave this room, he will be shot down from yonder window like a dog."

"Now, Mademoiselle," he cried, almost gaily, "take the arm of my fascinating friend here. He will escort you out."

Natalie did not move. Instead she faced him with flaming eyes, the very picture of defiance, and stood there, looking scornfully at Boris and his men.

"Very well," he said. And he motioned to a tall figure a few paces distant. Then a huge red hand seized Natalie roughly by the arm and dragged her to the door.

Peter and his cousin, and the others in the corner hesitated, looking one to another; then Alexis, more bold than the rest, jumped forward, crying, "Never, you dirty scoundrel!" And dashed across the floor.

Boris let him come on, and it said something for the coolness of the man that he did not even fire, but waited till the lad was upon him.

Then he swung round, and catching him back of the ear with the b.u.t.t of his pistol, sent him sprawling senseless to the floor.

After that there was no demonstration of any kind. It was obvious that Boris and his scoundrels had provided against every contingency and had counted on complete success.

They backed toward the door, through which Michael, the pseudo-cousin, had dragged his captive, and Boris was the last to leave the hall. As he stood there, he made a little bow of mockery.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have to thank you for your hospitality and for your generosity. With your kind permission I will now withdraw."

CHAPTER XXIII

Out into the storm Michael thrust the lady with his murderous hands; and at once, with an ease his great strength gave him, he tossed her on his horse, which was tied with others in the court-yard. Then he swung himself into the saddle, and an instant later, when the rest of the pack came tumbling out into the night, they were off.

One wanton villain--it was the French gutter-snipe, Virot--paused a moment to ride up to a window of the hall and discharge his revolver through the gla.s.s. Fortunately his aim was as evil as his intent.

Beyond shattering a priceless vase, the bullet did no damage.

The night was black as pitch, and Michael cursed his horse roundly as the willing animal, jumping under the spur, grazed the great gate as he sprang through it. Soon they were all out on the main road, where the thoroughbred that carried a double burden settled down into a long swinging stride that fairly devoured the distance, league after league.

Looking out on the country in the flashes of lightning, Natalie's heart gave a little jump, for she recognized the high hedges between which they were running as those that lined the great highway to the west, which led to the chateau her cousin maintained, a day's journey distant from his shooting lodge near her own family estate. They were taking her there, then! And her heart sank at the thought.