The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume II | Page 2

was not superstitious, yet he felt his heart move quickly when the horseman galloped past him, and old legends about spectres rose up in his mind. Perhaps the rider was the wild huntsman of whom he had heard so much, or what was more likely, it was no spectre, but a robber. This last possibility frightened Pierre very much. He bent down and took a pistol out of the saddle-bag. He cocked the trigger and continued on his way, while he muttered to himself:
"Courage, old boy; if it should come to the worst you will kill your man."
Pierre rode on unembarrassed, and had reached a road which would bring him to Freiburg in less than half an hour. Suddenly a report was heard, and Pierre uttered a hollow groan. A bullet had struck his breast.
Bending with pain over his horse's neck he looked about. The bushes parted and a man enveloped in a long cloak sprung forth and rushed upon the servant. The moment he put his hand on the horse's rein, Pierre raised himself and in an angry voice exclaimed:
"Not so quickly, bandits!"
At the same moment he aimed his pistol and fired. The bandit uttered a moan and recoiled. But he did not sink to the ground as Pierre had expected. He disappeared in the darkness. A second shot fired after him struck in the nearest tree, and Pierre swore roundly.
"Confound the Black Forest," he growled as he rode along; "if I had not fortunately had my leather portfolio in my breast-pocket, I would be a dead man now! The scoundrel must have eyes like an owl: he aimed as well as if he had been on a rifle range. Hurry along, Margotte, or else a second highwayman may come and conclude what the other began."
The horse trotted along, and Pierre heard anew the gallop of a second animal. The bandit evidently desired to keep his identity unknown.
"Curious," muttered Pierre, "I did not see his face, but his voice seemed familiar."
CHAPTER II
THE GOLDEN SUN
Mr. Schwan, the host of the Golden Sun at Sainte-Ame, a market town in the Vosges, was very busy. Although the month of February was not an inviting one, three travellers had arrived that morning at the Golden Sun, and six more were expected.
Schwan had that morning made an onslaught on his chicken coop, and, while his servants were robbing the murdered hens of their feathers, the host walked to the door of the inn and looked at the sky.
A loud laugh, which shook the windows of the inn, made Schwan turn round hurriedly: at the same moment two muscular arms were placed upon his shoulders, and a resounding kiss was pressed upon his brown cheek.
"What is the meaning of this?" stammered the host, trying in vain to shake off the arms which held him. "The devil take me, but these arms must belong to my old friend Firejaws," exclaimed Schwan, now laughing; and hardly had he spoken the words than the possessor of the arms, a giant seven feet tall, cheerfully said:
"Well guessed, Father Schwan. Firejaws in propria persona."
While the host was cordially welcoming the new arrival, several servants hurried from the kitchen, and soon a bottle of wine and two glasses stood upon the cleanly scoured inn table.
"Make yourself at home, my boy," said Schwan, gayly, as he filled the glasses.
The giant, whose figure was draped in a fantastical costume, grinned broadly, and did justice to the host's invitation. The sharply curved nose and the large mouth with dazzling teeth, the full blond hair, and the broad, muscular shoulders, were on a colossal scale. The tight-fitting coat of the athlete was dark red, the trousers were of black velvet, and richly embroidered shirt-sleeves made up the wonderful appearance of the man.
"Father Schwan, I must embrace you once more," said the giant after a pause, as he stretched out his arms.
"Go ahead, but do not crush me," laughed the host.
"Are you glad to see me again?"
"I should say so. How are you getting along?"
"Splendidly, as usual; my breast is as firm still as if it were made of iron," replied the giant, striking a powerful blow upon his breast.
"Has business been good?"
"Oh, I am satisfied."
"Where are your people?"
"On their way here. The coach was too slow for me, so I left them behind and went on in advance."
"Well, and--your wife?" asked the host, hesitatingly.
The giant closed his eyes and was silent; Schwan looked down at his feet, and after a pause continued:
"Things don't go as they should, I suppose?"
"Let me tell you something," replied the giant, firmly; "if it is just the same to you, I would rather not talk on that subject."
"Ah, really? Poor fellow! Yes, these women!"
"Not so quickly, cousin--my deceased wife was a model of a woman."
"True; when she died I knew