Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 47: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE PROGRESS fog lifted before setting forth to camp. Not hearing Jack Bunyan’s roaring voice, I won- dered if the mob had overcome him and thrown him into the duck-pond. The face I had seen in the haze must be that of the lady on whose behalf I had just been fight- ing by the old well. It was some time before I placed past events in their proper order, and remem- bered my encounter with the king. Through the fog I heard voices, muffled and distant. One was the voice of the king, speaking in _low, rapid tones; another was also fairly familiar, but I could not recall where I had heard it before. - I was still very much confused in mind. Dimly I recalled some warning of danger behind me, Mistress Joyce’s arm lifting sud- denly, and the report of a discharging pis- tol. Ah, yes—I had been shot—must have been. I was also under a growing impres- sion that it was Mistress Joyce who had shot me—in defense of the king, of course. In a little while I opened my eyes again and found that the mist had dispersed some- what. I was able to recognize the room, remembering which further connected the threads of my affairs, and recalled me to the manor and my reason for being there. Through half-closed eyes I slowly took . in my surroundings. It was Mistress Joyce — a Oru, «- who was kneeling beside me and applying that coldness to the hot sear on my skull. Ruth Prynne came not within my vision, if indeed she was in the room at all. But the king and the other man—the man of the vaguely familiar voice—were there. At first I could hardly believe it was the king. He wore Roundhead morion, cuirass, and jackboots. The other man was similar- ly attired, but his back was to me, and I could not see his face. to know who he was. The presence of a Roundhead, other than myself, in that room was distinctly puzzling to my addled wits. But then it-might be hallucination—unless the man was a traitor to his Ironside dress and in the Royalist service. Hallucination, probably; for there was King Charles dressed similarly — King Charles in Roundhead cuirass and. jack- boots! I tried to raise myself and partly succeed- I would have liked _ OF J. BUNYAN. 329 ed. For a moment I swayed on one elbow. | Before a pair of soft’ arms laid me back on the floor, I received several distinct im- pressions. One was that the king was being urged to haste by the other person in Roundhead armor. Another was that old Falconer, the serving-man, was lying across the threshold of that door by which I had entered; and he looked to be dead. Then the mist closed before me once more and I sank back upon the floor. But I did not wholly lose consciousness again. I knew that the arm pillowing my head was Joyce’s, and that the stranger had noted my recovery of wits. He seemed exas- perated. . for the safety of the king!” was all I ‘caught of what he said. “ The king’s safety requires no such cold deed!”’ came Joyce’s voice, quivering like drawn steel. Then the king spoke. ‘ Nay! Let him have his chance, even as I take mine.” That was all. A great wind sprang up which did not disperse the fog, only dark- ened it with a blood-red tinge, deepening to purple and black. When a second time I got my wits back, dawn was breaking through a window of little leaded panes against which ivy leaves rustled. I was on a couch, and my head, feeling abnormally large, ached most fero- ciously. | I became aware that, while I was partly dressed, I had been divested of my russet coat, cuirass, and jackboots. My helmet, naturally, was not on my head. I managed to raise myself enough to look about the room. I had not been in it before. not that in which I had been shot. I could not see my coat, or pants, ' or armor any- where. He is a brave lad, if foolhardy. It was — I lay back on a pile of soft cushions and | thought as well as I was able to, recon- structing recent matters more clearly. I had failed in my enterprise, and I had a bullet wound for my rashness. The king had escaped me, and—yes, I now under- stood the crowning ignominy of my defeat. | He had probably escaped to his sympathiz- riginal frory Ho THE OHIO er ATE UR Ke SOLU Kc OO (0) = S C@