D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 154: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XX. KING OF PORTUGAL. “How now! Why, this is our lieutenant of the Messver!” exclaimed Porthos, sheathing his sword with a bang of the hilt. “Ha, ha! he has stuffed a bunch of grass into a wicker basket, flung it on a pole and at- tached that pole to a mule. That accounts for the wab- bling! Sailors are droll!” “Who goes there?’ was repeated in an irritated tone, as if the laughter, no doubt heard, had been taken in no merry mood. There was a rattle of clubs and of steel, but as the guarded light sent its ray only one way, little could be distinguished in the deep dark behind the animal thus converted into an ambulatory lighthouse. “France! friend!” shouted D’Artagnan, not desirous of drawing a shot. “Do you not know your best and only friend in these waters, Lieutenant Constant ?” ‘“Tihe French gentlemen!’’ was the joyous response. _. “But what are they carrying on the mule’s back?” de- manded M. du Vallon. “The money sacks with the mill- ions, by all that’s bright!” “No, no; it is a man in a bad way—flaccid as a jelly- fish. Now, if luck ‘holds good ‘s “This thing,” replied the lieutenant, coming up with a sailor leading the animal, and pointing to the burden across the back, “this 1s a peddler or cagot; a Jew or the like. We picked him up on the wayside when we mounted to the cliff top. The tide is rising all along- shore as if it would never know aturn! We were fairly driven up aloft as those fellows met us. This mule was grazing contentedly hard by the man—so it may be his.” “Did it have no panniers?” asked D’Artagnan, eagerly. “None, and no saddlebags. ‘The saddle is a wretched cloth, doubled to hide its holes and dirt!”’ “That mule thas kicked them off!’’ said Porthos, in horror. “I should thrash a mule like that!” (E@MManricel Novo) S (C(O) im