Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

36 “ He’s a fine brute to look at, but poorly , trained,” remarked the coachman, for Geof- frey, though he at first slackened his long trot and glanced back toward Jerry-on-the- Hill, soon broke into a gallop and regained his former position, though now he slunk farther to the side and his tail lowered, as though he understood ‘that he had done wrong. “Tll-trained?” repeated Samson. “I cannot understand it. He has hitherto obeyed every glance of mine. Back, Geof- frey!” The hound replied with a low, brief howl, but refused to alter his position. “ Perhaps the dog scents a kill,” sug- gested the coachman much interested, “ and wants to be in at the death. Well, let him be; he can do no harm. But what? You keep a pack of hounds at the tavern?” “ Geoffrey is the last of as fine a pack as ever bayed a deer. in the shire,” said Samson Integrity. are gone; he is the end of his line; the very last!” | The last phrase he muttered bitterly to himself. For to Samson the fine hound represented the departed glories of the house of Northam, and now a sad fancy came to him that Geoffrey had come to fol- low the fortunes of the last of the North- ams, a solitary adherent in a hopeless strug- cle to regain the honor of a fallen heritage. “Come,” broke in the coachman, and he turned to his companion with an air of greater interest than he had shown before, “here we sit with many a weary mile be- fore us and sleep jogging our elbows; tell me something of yourself, Master Northam, and I shall’ pay you back tale for tale, I warrant you.” ‘“T have no will to talk,” said Samson gloomily. ~ “Come, come!” adjured the coachman. “Do not show the prick-eared suspicion of a Roundhead. That part is out of date. What, man—a lonely road is a lonely road, and a friend is a friend even if he be only a coachman. I say it cuts me to the quick to see a noble old family like the Northams managing a damned tavern by the roadside. Why not to court, Master Northam? There are ways of coming to windward of those “ The rest of his blood ~ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. who have the ear of the king. What if your father roared on ‘the wrong side of the late troubles? Old Rowley is a kindly soul, men say; and he’ll bear never a grudge. Troth, he forgets his friends as quickly as he forgets his enemies, but that’s an old string ‘and an ill one to harp on.” “Friend coachman,” answered Samson Integrity coldly, ‘‘ the way, as you say, is long; and I have neither strength nor will to talk.” : “Why,” rejoined the coachman with a perfect good nature, “I will whistle any man’s tune to his measure—a jig or a death-— march. Good night to you, Master Solemn- ity!” . And, wrapping his cloak about him, he let his chin sink upon his breast and was in- stantly asleep. CHAPTER X. THE JOURNEY. - Y morning they reached a little farm- house, and here Samson stopped to water the horses and get food for the ladies. They would not leave the coach, but while Samson attended to the steaming horses, the coachman busied himself rous- ing the woman of the house and carrying out the food which she cooked. The ladies ate it in the coach, and when the horses were back in their traces the journey began again. All day they rumbled on, but more and more slowly. For the horses were reaching the limit of their endurance. When they trotted their knees sagged, and when they walked and pulled up a grade their heads hung almost to their knees. The same weari- ness oppressed the travelers themselves. Now and again the elder lady opened a conversation with her companion, but it was usually limited to a very few high-pitched, almost nasal remarks, and there was rarely an answer from the girl. Samson himself was sadly worn. Into the regularity of ‘his former life this loss of sleep cut a great breach, and as a rather warm and hazy afternoon came on he caught himself re- peatedly napping and awoke with a miser- able start and a sense of guilt. The coach- COnMIC OOO© S C©