Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

WHITE ‘Who are you?” panted Harchester. ‘* Man or devil, come both of you!” ‘No, no! Equal odds!” cried Samson Integrity. “‘ By the grace of our Father, punishment for your sins will this day over- take you, Lord Harchester.”’ _ “ What’s here?” panted MHarchester. “Some nameless Roundhead loon?”’ “One that will roundly finish off his words with equal deeds, Sinclair. Back, sir!” This to Malvern, who had picked up his fallen sword in his left hand and now made a clumsy rush from the side. ‘““Lower your point,” commanded the . coachman, putting aside the. thrust~ with contemptuous ease, “ or I’ll spit you in spite of your years!” The elder man stepped back with a groan at his helplessness. “Good speed! Speed, Master Samson!” cried the coachman. “ The house is raised.” Indeed, there was a crash of splintering wood from the lower portion of the tavern; an ample announcement that the men of the tap-room had broken clear. Up to that point Samson Integrity had pressed his at- tack warmly, but he had held his hand from any of those deadly tricks of fences which he had learned from the subtle blade of John Northam. The whole engagement had filled hardly more than a few seconds, but before the end of that time he felt the thrilling assurance that the life of Har- chester lay within his power. And he dal- lied with that assurance as the cat plays with the mouse. Harchester himself seemed to know that he faced his master. The sneering scorn of his earlier attitude was now quite gone, and as he thrust and parried his mouth grinned with the violence of his efforts and his forehead glistened with perspiration. He now met the call of the coachman by delivering a last desperate assault at Sam- son Integrity. His steel became a flicker of dancing marsh-light darting at the tall Puritan, and in the end he concluded his assault with a peculiar high thrust, his hilt driving apparently straight at the face, but the point deflecting down toward the body. He failed, his sword flung wide bv Sam- son’s strong parry. HEATHER WEATHER. Al as “Come on and be damned!”’ shouted Harchester, and fell back a pace on guard. What ensued the eye could not follow. It seemed that Samson Integrity was liter- ally flinging his naked body on the point of Harchester’s sword; yet that steel did not reach its mark. In an instant Sam- son was at half-sword distance, and from this he leaped suddenly back. As he did so, his sword-blade clanged against that of Harchester and then twined about it; the force of his backward spring wrenched the weapon from the nobleman’s hand and sent it flying far down the corridor. “‘ Bravo, by Heaven!” shouted the coach- man. “Finish the dog, Samson! He showed Vickers no mercy.” But Samson could not drive home the fatal stroke. ‘“ Live,” he said, ‘‘ and remember! You, coachman, get the ladies and start with - them down the hall.” He stopped and snatched a pistol from the belt of his first foe, who now lay quiet and groaning on the floor. “The first man that moves,” he said, “is no better than dead! My Lord Har- chester, as you are a man of honor you will not attempt to interfere again with our re- treat.” : But Harchester, in an agony of shame and rage, turned to the wall and buried his facé in his upflung arms. In the mean time the two ladies were hurrying toward the coachman, but in passing Malvern the girl ran to him and caught his unwounded arm. ‘‘ Dear father,” she cried swiftly in an undertone which Samson Integrity barely heard, ‘‘ forgive me if you can, but do not follow me. It is useless.”’ Her father thrust her roughly away. Wench,” he said, “if you could coin your blood drop by drop into words, all the blood in your body could not win me to forgive you. And follow you I shall—to Whitehall—or to hell!” ‘Haste! Haste!” urged the coachman, taking ther arm. “They are coming up the stairs!” And he hurried the two down the length of the hall. Behind them, at a more mode- rate pace, followed Samson, backing up, with the pistol steadily leveled at the dis- GCOMmiGcbdoo S ©