All Story Magazine, December 1913 — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

838 She opened the door cautiously, inch by inch, and peered into the outer room. Stertorous breathing met her ears on every side. The first ghastly rays of morning struggling through the single window lent the scene an added grimness. The long trestle yet stood with the remains of last night’s food and un- washed dishes upon it. The wedding guests—here a gigan- tic bearded man, there a disheveled woman—lay sprawled about on the floor, snoring, their mouths open, their clothes still on. The reek of stale beer was nauseating on the air. All were fast asleep. Cat-footed, the girl stole out among them, lifting her skirts high and step- ping over those of the sleepers whom she could not go around. Once one shaggy peasant almost un- der her very feet thrashed about with his arms, grumbling in a guttural tone. Vera stood rigid, sweaty with fear, in the belief that he might awaken. He did not, and, with a gasp, she got safely by him and out through the house door into the yard, where the air was cool and clean, Tt had already begun to grow light. The eastern sky was flooded with crimson, and the rim of the sun was rising like a fiery ball out across the flat expanse of the steppes. A bird twittered tentatively on the limb of an adjacent tree and cocked its head at the huddled figure by the door. Hugging the wall close, the girl turned the corner of the house and scurried across the intervening space between it and the stables. She could hear the ponies champing and stomp- ing in their stalls. ‘The smell of the hay was sweet in her nostrils. She paused there for a momentary glance back at the home she was leaving. As she turned to go a great shaggy shape stalked out of the black, yawn- ing barn door and blocked her path with bared fangs and hair bristling all along its spine. A menacing growl THE ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. rooted her to the spot as she recog- nized Janés, the boarhound of Tomasz, her betrothed. It was a frightful moment. The beast’s eyes gleamed redly wicked ‘at her. A wrong move and he would be at her throat. A single bark and he would awaken those whom she was de- serting. * Jands—down boy!” the girl whis- pered, casting back the shawl so that the dog might see her face plainly. * Don’t you know me, Janés? It is I, Vera, who has fed you so often.” Slowly the pricked ears relaxed and the beast’s tail began to wag in friend- ly fashion. He stalked forward and. thrust his cold, moist nose into the girl’s trembling palm. He looked up into her face under- standingly. as if to say: “ Ah, yes! I recognize you now, mistress. You are pretty little Vera, whom Tomasz, my master, loves so. Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. I will keep you safe for him.” The girl stroked the dog’s head with quick, persuasive fingers. She urged him back to the barn door and tried to make him go inside. ‘Lie down, Janés — be quiet,” she whispered. Then she tried to slip away, but in a trice he was up and at her heels’ again. Several times she tried to make him leave her, but always with- out success. In despair she at last set off at a run. ‘The hound followed cldse at her heels. The ground dipped low into a kind of valley in which the wind - blasted grass was dry and ankle-deep. Less than a quarter of a mile away a clump of ancient trees stretched gaunt, gnarled limbs heavenward, as if in protest against their desolate environ- ment. The fleeing girl kept her eyes fixed fast on them. ‘They were her destina- tion. Hidden in their shelter Nikolai Taroslaf was waiting with his droshky and fleet horses — waiting impatiently to bear her away to splendid things. comilicloooks.com