CHAPTER XIV

TAKE LARESCU

The hill people of Ironia were counted as giants, and their leader, Take Larescu, was a giant among them. He stood four inches over six foot, with the proportions generally of a grizzly bear. His head, carried at a dignified elevation, was covered with a red cap, closely approximating the Turkish fez in shape, and allowing a mop of curly black hair to protrude all around. If in his physical make-up he resembled the bear, his face showed a close approach to the fierce and noble lines of the eagle. With bold, commanding eye, heavy, hooked nose, and long black moustache, he gave more than a suggestion of imperturbable dignity and high-reaching ambition, while the general expression of his face showed determination, ruthless strength and cruelty. He was dressed in the usual costume of the Ironian, with broad white trousers and many-coloured blouse, and carried a brace of pistols in his belt. An incongruous touch was lent by an ornate scarab watch fob which dangled from his belt between the ivory-mounted pistols. If one cared to inspect this mountainous figure of a man in detail, further incongruities were brought to light in the heavy European boots and the knitted under-garment which showed beneath his voluminous sleeves.

Take Larescu stood on the side of a precipitous hill and watched a file of men slowly winding their way up toward him. His keen eye had already noted that the approaching party included two strangers, who from their clothing were apparently foreigners. The leader of the hill tribes did not waste much time in fruitless speculation as to the probable identity of the two new-comers, but, feeling in the loose folds of his scarlet sash, produced a decidedly modern-looking pair of field-glasses. Focussing them on the distant figures of the men toiling up the hill, he studied them intently for a few minutes. "Both Americans," was his mentally registered verdict as he closed the glasses and carefully replaced them in the ample store-room of his belt. Then from the belt he produced a cigarette and match, and later still an amber mouthpiece. The capacity of Larescu's sash was a constant source of wonder to those who came in contact with him. One could not help speculating as to what he would produce next.

The path up which the approaching party laboriously climbed brought them to the crest of the opposing slope, which was connected with the steep eminence on which he stood by a causeway formed by the fallen trunk of a huge tree. Hidden in the dense wood behind him, a handful of men could have held this position against an army. Moving with the apparent leisure of extreme ponderosity, Larescu took up his position at the end of the causeway, a formidable Horatius capable of holding the bridge against any odds. His new position was not taken for purposes of defence, however. In a booming voice he called out a gruff but hearty greeting.

Larescu studied the two strangers closely as they stepped cautiously across the fallen tree trunk. One was a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with an unhatted shock of fair hair. A blood-stained rag bound around his head indicated that this member of the party had met with an accident. The other stranger was shorter and broader, with a free and careless air, a much-freckled face and hair of flaming red. They in turn studied Take Larescu with an even greater degree of interest.

"Observe the comic opera Hercules," whispered Crane to Fenton.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Larescu, speaking in English. "I am indeed delighted to have you as my guests. You, sir, I regret to note, have had an accident."

The two travellers stared.

If the Statue of Liberty ever took upon itself to voice a message of welcome to incoming ships, the passengers would not feel a more complete degree of amazement than that which Fenton and Crane experienced on hearing this cordial message, phrased in the most perfect English, fall from the lips of this fierce and uncouthly apparelled brigand.

"Good morning," replied Fenton, recovering himself with an effort. "Yes, I had the misfortune to make a false step at a critical part of the trail. If it hadn't been for my friend here, I would be still lying where I fell. Am I addressing Take Larescu?"

"You are, sir," replied the Ironian, inclining his huge bulk in a courteous bow. "You are standing at the present moment where foot of any but Ironian has never before rested. That your mission is an important one I am assured, else my people would not have seen fit to escort you here. You are doubly welcome, sirs, if you bring news."

"Shades of Chesterfield!" said Crane to himself. "This isn't real life. If the orchestra doesn't tune up for a solo by the bass lead in a second or so, I'll know that I'm dreaming!"

Fenton in the meantime was fumbling in his coat pockets for a letter that the worthy priest had given him for the ruler of the hill country. He handed it over to Larescu, who immediately broke the seal and read the contents. At the conclusion he addressed them with even more cordiality than before.

"Mr Fenton, I am glad to know you, and you too, Mr Crane. You are just in time for breakfast. But before we sit down I shall look to your injuries, Mr Fenton."

He led the way back through the trees for some distance until they came to a low-lying, roughly finished house, with nothing on the outside to distinguish it from the typical Ironian abode excepting its size. Inside, however, they found cause for fresh astonishment. The room in which they found themselves might well have belonged to an Englishman of wealth and refinement. The walls were lined with well-filled bookcases and excellent engravings. There were plenty of comfortable leather chairs, and a thick rug covered the floor. Fenton and Crane looked the surprise they felt.

"You did not think to find anything of this kind up here in the hills?" chuckled the giant. "Yet if an abode of super-luxury could be concealed in the grottoes of Monte Carlo, why should you be surprised at finding such simple possessions as these in the mountains of Ironia? But I must not waste words while you, sir, are in such need of attention."

In another minute glasses of strong spirits had been placed before his two guests. Fenton felt a grateful warmth steal over him as he drained his glass. With almost professional deftness, Larescu examined the injuries that Fenton had sustained in his fall and adjusted fresh bandages.

"I know a little of medicine and surgery," he said, "and look after the health of my people. But now for breakfast, gentlemen."

They sat down to a meal of remarkable substantiality, backed up by excellent coffee. Fenton ate as well as his physical condition permitted. Crane, as he put it, made up for lost time; but together they could not equal the gastronomic feats of their host. The giant finished dish after dish with the appetite of a grizzly emerging from his long winter sleep. His table manners were as finicky and perfect as his capacity was immeasurable.

During the meal, which threatened to extend well on into the forenoon, Larescu talked on a wide range of subjects, giving an insight into the unique life that he led. He had travelled considerably. Each year he quietly vanished from his hill haunts and spent two months or more in the larger cities of Western Europe. He spoke French and German as well as English. He had studied medicine in London and Vienna, electricity in Berlin, and the art of living well in Paris. He was an omnivorous reader, and had magazines and papers brought to him at all times of the year. He knew something of music, much of philosophy and art, and all that there was to know on the subject of the government of primitive people. The wonder of his guests grew with each minute.

"I am telling you things about myself of which no one in Ironia, with the exception of my personal followers, has any idea," he confided to them. "In Serajoz they know me only as the leader of the hill people--and a rather good fighting man. You are the first guests from the outside world to sit at my table, and I have told you all this, serene in the knowledge that not a word shall go outside this room."

They hastened to assure him that his confidence would be respected completely. Larescu then went on to tell them of his work with the hill tribes; how he made and administered their laws, adjusted all differences that arose between individuals and even on occasions officiated at the marriage rites over the tongs, for the hill people, although intensely religious in many ways, still clung to customs that marked their blood relationship to the gipsy.

Finally, having completed his breakfast, Larescu shoved back his chair. His manner changed at once. "Now for business," he said briskly, even sharply. "My reverend friend, for whose opinion I have most high regard, has commended you to me. In what way can I be of service to you?"

Fenton hesitated a moment before replying. Divining quickly and accurately the reason for his guest's hesitancy, Larescu rose and, walking over to his secretary, fumbled through the contents of one of the pigeon-holes until he found a certain letter. This he placed in Fenton's hands.

"I judged from the padre's letter that your errand was in a certain sense a political one," he said. "Read this letter. It is from Prince Peter and will allay any uncertainties which you may have entertained with reference to my sympathies and trustworthiness."

A hasty glance through the letter convinced Fenton that not only did Larescu stand high in the regard of Prince Peter, but that he had pledged himself to the cause that Peter was championing.

"You must pardon me," he said to their host, "but the fact that I have been in this country a few days only is perhaps sufficient excuse for caution. I had only the assurance of the priest of Kail Baleski as to where you stood."

He then told Larescu of what he had heard in the gardens of the royal palace on the night of the ball, of the attempts on his own life and later on that of Prince Peter, of the carrying off of the Princess Olga, and finally of his own headlong pursuit. Crane, who had previously known little of the object of their journey, other than the mere fact that the princess had been abducted, hearkened to the recital with keenest interest and every evidence of excitement. The effect on Take Larescu was even more marked. He listened with a scowl that darkened as fresh evidence of the perfidy of Miridoff was brought forward. At the conclusion he thumped the table with his huge fist and swore with mighty Ironian oaths that he would not leave a stone standing at Kirkalisse.

"The Duke Miridoff is a double-eyed traitor!" he declared. "For German gold he would barter his country's opportunity to regain her lost provinces. I have a long score to settle with Miridoff. He has shown bitter animosity to the people of the hills. Three of my men were hanged at Serajoz ten months ago for a raid that his exactions had provoked. But now the day of reckoning has come! How is it your proverb goes?--This is the last straw that causes the worm to turn!"

The lust of conflict and the primitive craving for revenge showed in every line of the gigantic chief. The veneer of civilisation sloughed off. His eyes flashed, his nostrils dilated, and as he stood up his mighty arms swung menacingly like heavy flails.

"By to-night I can have three thousand of my men before the gates of Kirkalisse!" he declared.