Chapter III: Part 3

“Original!” echoes Elisaveta. “Ah! what a cowardly word. Original?” she repeats, as though interrogating her own thought. The young man frowns slightly, but she goes on with calm retrospection. “Only three years ago,” she said, “and he appeared among us like some brilliant meteor; fabulously rich; astonishing the world with his eccentric prodigalities. Then all those clod rooting swine, they deserted him when he was no longer wealthy.”

Her lover’s white teeth are like a wolfish danger signal as he turns to look at her.

“My dear,” he says coldly, “you can’t expect the world to be faithful to a proscript.”

“Proscript?”

“Exactly. They say that political complications were his ruin. At any rate he is banished from St. Petersburg.”

“Then he is in Siberia?”

With all a soldier’s diplomacy he says indifferently: “I believe not. The peasants tell a story of a hermit of the Steppes, who mends kettles, and plows for the farmers. Many believe it to be Hotzka with the remains of his own famous stud.”

“Farmers,--Kettles,” echoes Elisaveta, absently.

Suddenly she turns on her moody swain.

“Come, Alexander,” she cries; “I can see the crowds gather from here. Quick--we must hurry.”

It is scarcely a half-hour later and the race course presents a brilliant spectacle. The river Neva is now only a colossal roadway, between two walls of splendid rose granite that line its quays. It is a mirror of polished steel. Stands, richly decorated with flags, occupy at least a quarter of the inclosure, and over a hundred thousand spectators surround the arena. In the center of everything, a great pavilion draped in purple and gold shows that royalty is expected to take part in the city’s festival. A huge figure in a white uniform shows itself. The impassiveness of this countenance, with its eagle profile and small glittering eyes, is unmistakable.

’Tis he, the Autocrat--the Emperor of all the Russias.

From the human hive mounts and swells a growing noise; cries, oaths, calls from the _Kras_ senders, all blend themselves in a formidable roar: “Long live the Tzar!”

At this moment a rosewood sled, drawn by white horses, stops in front of the box nearest the royal pavilion; the president of the jury precipitates himself at the horses feet and aids a young woman to descend. The tall figure, with its long, loose wrap of priceless blue fox and its aureole of wonderful red hair, is well-known in St. Petersburg. She is the Princess Elisaveta Palorna, the beauty of three seasons. Repine follows her. Under her little fur cap, with its jeweled fez, Veta’s eyes look out, serene, impenetrable. A bell sounds and silence falls on the waiting multitude. From open gates stream a dozen or more horses harnessed to light sleds of gilded osier. They are pure blooded Arabians, thickset mustangs from the Steppes, and highly bred Orloffs with sweeping manes white and shiny as spun glass.

The people watch these preliminaries apathetically. They are waiting for the _piece de resistance_, the three-horse-race with princes as drivers. Already four races have been run, the track is cleared and the five hundred workers take up their task of sweeping away the powdered ice beaten up by the iron hoofs. Once more the gates open and three splendid bays appear with the same sled of gilded osier, but larger and more elegant; they are followed by three black Finlanders, with shaggy coats and tails that sweep the ground. The last comers are Orloff stallions, white and dazzling as the snow itself. Their short hair glistens as though oiled, and silver reflections shadow their smooth flanks and elegant necks; their mouths are black and their nostrils immense, quivering and rose-lined; their eyes, tender, yet prominent and full of fire, are circled by a sooty ring like those of the Asiatic women. They are the pets of the hour. There they stand, the nine superb creatures, controlled by a splendid discipline that does not permit the most timid pawing of their impatient hoofs, and with over two hundred thousand eyes admiring their matchless perfection.

Three sorry horses, emaciated and sad, splashed with mud, and covered with a ragged harness, half string, half leather, advance slowly into the arena; behind them trails a clumsy vehicle, made from the bark of the Russian fir tree, and shaped like the Laplander’s hunting sled. With drooping heads and dragging limbs the weary beasts come forward and place themselves beside their aristocratic predecessors. A cry of horror rises up from the crowd. Leaning back in her box, Veta watches the late arrivals with fixed intentness.

The bell rings noisily. The race commences.

The bays lead by several lengths. The middle horse, an old favorite, lifts his feet with all the alluring charm of a star of the nation’s hippodrome; his companions, brothers from the Don, thin and ardent, run without effort. After them come the Finlanders tearing furiously on the reins. Sufficiently in the rear to astonish their backers, are the Orloff stallions veritable wonders of beauty and breed.

Finally, following at a long distance behind their royal leaders, are the three strange beasts with their Laplandish sled. They run irregularly, and their little thin bells give out a melancholy sound. It is in this order that the sleds pass for the first time in front of the judges’ stand.

Half way on the second round the Finlanders fling out their sturdy heels with such velocity that they look like the half circle of a bounding hoop. They pass the bays. A quick swelling of their massive chests and they forge ahead.

“Hurrah!” shriek the people, ravished with the success of their favorites. At this moment the unknown peasant straightens up his giant frame. Pushing back the heavy hat drawn down to his eyes, he grips the reins with an iron hand and gives a curious prolonged whistle. His skeleton horses are strangely metamorphosed. As though in answer to some superhuman command, they give one gigantic leap and fairly fly. For a moment they run beside the white stallions.

“The Orloffs lead!” screams the multitude, then shudders.

Beyond the shapely heads of the city’s favorites stretch six dark, pointed ears, to be followed by three heads with glaring eyes, and foaming, blood-flecked jaws.

With her body stretched half out of her box, Veta watches them with fascinated eyes. Her chest heaves, her limbs tremble, and her face takes on the anguish of the laboring brutes.

“Don’t worry,” whispers Repine. “They will lose.”

“They will _win_!” she answers hoarsely. “I know them.”

“The Orloffs gain,” says somebody in the next box.

“Ah!” groans Veta and bites her lip to the blood.

Once more the peasant’s whistle startles the still air, and with a prodigious effort his horses leave the others behind. Transfigured by the waking of their unknown blood, carried away by a secret ecstacy, with floating manes and sonorous breath, they rush on toward the expected goal.

They reach it--victorious--winners by three lengths.

For one long moment the people rest mute with stupefaction, literally incapable of applause. They stare open-mouthed at the sordid beasts that have beaten the noblest blood of the land, then like one man they dash forward to look at them, to ask their race, and the name of their uncouth driver.

As the victors pass Veta leans out to look at them. “I must see them,” she says aloud.

At the sound of that voice, the peasant starts. Lifting his head their eyes meet. She pales but that is all.

Months have passed, and the extraordinary event that astonished the Peterbourgeois is no more than ancient history. Nobody has learned the identity of the mysterious peasant. Many believed him a sorcerer. Others thought him a great doctor of some unknown science, whose powerful potion had galvanized the exhausted beasts. But it is all only a memory now. A new sensation is on the _tapis_.

All St. Petersburg is talking of the marriage of Prince Alexander Repine to Princess Elisaveta Palorna.

It is evening, and Veta stands for the first time in her husband’s home. She is alone, on a great veranda that half circles the palace. She still wears her wedding dress, and the stones of a diamond tiara sparkle in her hair.

“Mistress,” says a voice behind her. She turns to confront her husband’s faithful old servant. “Mistress, a present awaits you at the palace gate. Shall I lead you thither?”

“Yes.”

She follows him down the steps with all the lazy insolence of a fine lady who grants a favor; her long gown sweeps the dew off the grass, and the moonlight mirrors itself in the soft curves of her naked arms and shoulders.

Presently she stops, stricken by a mysterious influence.

A moment more and a strange sight meets her view.

They are the winners of the Neva.

With a wave from her hand, Ivan goes.

The horses whinny softly at the sound of her voice, and nose her hair and face with dog-like gentleness.

“Why are you here?” she whispers, a sudden catch in her throat that she stifles against the emaciated cheek nearest her.

From out of the deep shadow comes a trembling voice. “Why do you weep, Princess?” it says.

She sees him now for the first time, still in his peasant’s garb and with head uncovered, low before her. It is a noble head, with splendid lines and a beautiful mouth, but worn and shadowed as those of the famished beasts beside him.

“Why are they like this, Sergius? The best racers in the kingdom could have brought their price; there certainly was no need to starve them.”

“We have starved together, Princess,” he answers gently.

“Then the story that the people tell is true?”

“Quite true.”

With the skeleton creatures between them they are silent a wavering moment. Then with a mute caress of their unkempt necks he says: “Be kind to Sergius Hotzka’s only friends. Good-night, Elizaveta Repine.”

“Repine!” she had forgotten that.

“Is it farewell?” she asks him blindly.

“Farewell!” he repeats.

The horses whinny piteously as the gates close behind him; then turn with dumb, questioning eyes to the pallid woman beside them.

Brutes that they are they tremble at the sight of that countenance, quivering and terrible.

“Wait,” is her husky whisper.

With her face pressed tight to the iron bars, she watches him turn an angle in the roadway; his footsteps die away in the distance; he is gone.

Flinging the gates wide open she says one word:

“Go.”

A sudden rush, and they are swallowed up in the night.

The next day the newspapers contain a sensation.

Three wild horses have killed a prince’s bride.

ETCHINGS: THE FERRYMAN

(Opie Read: “The Kentucky Colonel.”)

I followed, as nearly as possible, the roads I had pursued upon coming into the country, and reached the ferry where the peculiar old fellow had asked me to pray with him.

He still wore an expression of dejection, but, as we were crossing, a mischievous light of recognition shone in his eyes.

“Wall, parson,” said he, “I have had a mighty tough time sence you was along here--have had a powerful fight.”

“Whom did you fight?”

“A feller knowed in this here neighborhood as Satan.”

“Did you whip him?”

“Wall, kain’t say that I did. Choked him putty well one time, thought I had him foul, but he riz with me and used me powerful rough. I tried agin the next day, but he jumped straddle uv me, hooked his fingers in my mouth, socked his spurs in my flanks ’an rid me all over the cermunity.”

“You have decided, I suppose, not to fight him again?”

“Wall, I ain’t lookin’ for him. Ef he comes my way an’ tromps’ on me I’ll hit him, but I ain’t goin’ out on narry nuther still hunt atter him. Have you drawed many folks inter the church sence you went by here?”

“Not many.”

“Don’t reckon they are ripe enough ter be shuck offen the trees down whar you was.”

“Hardly.”

“Tell you what you mout do. You might pray with me a little jest fur luck.”

“No, I’m still in a hurry.”

“You won’t git another chance ter pray with as lively a man as I am.”

“I suppose not.”

“Ain’t you got a bottle in that kyarpet-bag?”

“No.”

“Look an’ see.”

“I know I haven’t.”

“Wall” (with a disappointed sigh, as we touched the other side), “here we air. I oughter charge you double price.”

“Why so?”

“Becaze you ain’t got no fun in you. Good-by.”

THE PLAYERS AT THE CHESS

(Sebastian Evans: Longmans.)

King Solomon ben David, the Wise, on whom be peace, was a mighty player at the chess before the Lord. And he sent unto Vaphres, King of Egypt, and Nabonassar, King of Babylon, and Shalmaneser, King of Assyria, and unto others of the Kings round about, whether they were friends or whether they were enemies; Hadad, King of Edom; Hiram, King of Tyre; and Reson, King of Damascus, who alone of the princes of Syria refused to bend the knee to the King of Israel, saying: “Greeting from my lord Solomon, King of Israel, who desireth to play with thee at the chess. And whosoever among ye is minded to play with me at the chess, either I will come unto him, or otherwise, if he will, he shall come to me at the House of Millo, in Jerusalem; and if he win of me a game he shall have ten of the cities of Israel of them that are nighest his own borders; but an if he lose, he shall forfeit me ten cities of those of his own country that are nighest the land of Israel.” And King Vaphres, which is Pharaoh, and the other Kings played with King Solomon, and the Lord gave King Solomon the upperhand of them all, so that he gat fifty walled cities beyond the borders of Israel, and made broad the borders of Israel from the River Euphrates unto the land of Egypt, so that he ruled all the kingdoms, as it is written, even from Tiphsah unto Uzzah.

And it came to pass after a time that there was no man so bold that he durst adventure to play King Solomon at the chess unless he should give him the advantage, as three of the foot soldiers, or an elephant, or a camel of the right hand and a knight of the left, or the like. And all of his viziers and all the poets and musicians of the Temple he made a-weary of their lives because of disappointment. For he would say, “O, such an one, do thou play me at the chess, and I will give thee three or four, as it might be, of my fighting men; and if thou win the game of me I will give thee a garment of broidered work of Hind worth a thousand pieces of gold, or a sword of the steel of Cathay with a hilt wrought of a single emerald, such as no King hath in his treasury, or a charger of the colts of the dams of Arabia by the steeds of the sea.” So they played at the chess with the King, and when he had won the game of any of them, then would he laugh and say: “Behold, I leave thee thy robe, for it is not meet for a King to take aught of his servants,” and he bade them fill him wine that he might forget the bitterness of his heart.

But after a time it came to pass that the King was weary of playing with his viziers and the poets and musicians of the Temple, and his Judges, and the Captains of his guard, and would fain find out others, whose manner of play he knew not, to play against him at the chess. But the dread of the King was sore in the hearts of them that he called to play against him, and he said, “Behold, they are all daunted by the terror of my wisdom, and I have no glory of all my skill; for though the gazelle be fleeter of foot than the leopard, yet ever the leopard leapeth on to the neck of the gazelle. Now therefore will I disguise me and they that play against me shall not know that they play against King Solomon.”

So he called unto him his chief vizier, Zabud ben Na, the King’s friend, and at eventide they stained their faces and put on garments as they had been merchants from Ophir, and went forth into the streets of the city. And at the corner of the King’s-avenue, which is before the House of Millo, they met a stranger clad in a rich garment of Baalbek, walking slowly as one perplexed, not lifting his eyes from the ground. And Solomon said, “Peace be upon thee, O brother.”

And the stranger answered, “Peace be upon thee, O brother, from the Lord of Peace, the One, the Merciful.”

And Solomon said, “Who art thou, and whither goest thou, for meseemeth thou art a stranger in the city?”

And the stranger said, “Men call me Jareb ben Othniel, and Vaphres, King of Egypt, this long time hath entertained me in his palace as one of his boon companions, for I am a poet and musician after his own heart; and even now am I come into Jerusalem as a messenger unto Jehoshaphat ben Abiud, King Solomon’s remembrancer, with whom I must needs be before midnight.”

Then said Solomon, “It wanteth yet some hours of midnight; come with us in the meanwhile to our lodging, and let us pass the time with wine and music.”

“I will well,” said Jareb. And when they came into the lodging King Solomon had prepared, Zabud let call for wine, and they made merry.

Then said King Solomon, “Let bring the tables, that thou and I may play a bout at the chess, and then shalt thou sing us a song of them that delight the heart of King Pharaoh.”

Then Jareb said, “Sweet is the song that closeth the eyes in sleep and giveth ease to the sick man who crieth aloud for the soreness of his pain. When he heareth my voice, the slave remembereth not his chain nor the outcast his poverty; the toiler layeth aside his work and the angry man his wrath. But as for playing at the chess at this time, I pray thee hold thy servant excused, for the One Merciful, to whom be glory, hath laid a burden on thy servant, so that he cannot lose a game at the chess even if he so would, and haply if he win a game of thee thou wilt be an-angered, and he should seem ungrateful in thine eyes for this grace thou has shown him.”

Then Solomon laughed, and spake within himself, “This minstrel is of the children of Eblis, the braggart, and the Lord hath given him into my hands that I may put his boasting to shame. Surely I shall win a game of him and pull his robe over his head, and then shall be given him a lute wherewith to comfort the sadness of his spirit.”

But the King’s lips spake otherwise than the thought that was in his heart, and he said, “Blessed be thou, Jareb ben Othniel! I would fain lose a game unto thee, and behold, I give thee this cloak of mine own in earnest of thy victory.”

And therewithal he set upon him his cloak, which was of stuff of Tyre, with lynx’s fur, worth a hundred pieces of gold.

Then Zabud let call for tables, and King Solomon played at the chess with Jareb ben Othniel; and King Solomon’s men were of the white and Jareb’s of the black. And Jareb played without thought, as one that could but little of the chess, so that in a brief space King Solomon had taken prisoner both his elephants and a knight and a camel, besides four of his foot soldiers, while Jareb had taken but one foot soldier of King Solomon.

And Solomon said, within himself, “There is no glory in playing with a foolish lutanist such as this. Shall leviathan put forth his strength against the gadfly? I will contrive a combination and make an end of him.” So he made a combination and took his captain.

Then Jareb rose up and made as though he would go. And Solomon said unto him, “Whither away? for the game is not yet played out.”

Then Jareb said, “O, my lord King Solomon, when thou walkest abroad the herbs of the field, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop on the wall, find themselves a tongue to tell thee of their several virtues, yet hast thou not heard the voice of these chess men. See now and behold if thy servant should move yonder foot soldier on to the next square, where would my lord the King be then?”

And Solomon looked at the tables, and behold if his adversary should play his foot soldier on to the next square the King was checkmated without redress.

And when he understood that his name was known of Jareb and that he was defeated, a mighty wrath gat hold upon King Solomon, and the world was straitened upon him. And the blackness of the tempest was in his forehead, and his voice was as the thunder in the hills. And he drew his sword and smote off the head of Jareb as he stood.

Then said he to Zabud, “Cast me this dog’s carrion into the ditch without the city, that the fowls of uncleanness may feast themselves therewithal.”

But behold there was no dead body, neither any blood; and Zabud said, “May God, to whom be glory, preserve my lord the King. Verily this man was a sorcerer.”

“Nay,” said King Solomon, “he was no sorcerer, for always the jewel of my girdle warneth me so often as one who useth witchcraft cometh into my presence; yet as at this time it spake not. But said he not that he was bound unto the house of Jehoshaphat, our remembrancer? Haste thee thither and bring tidings whether thou hear of him.”

So Zabud went to the house of Jehoshaphat, and asked at the gate whether such an one had been there. And the master of the gate made answer and said, “O my lord, of a truth such an one hath been here but even now, and he went in unto my lord, and even as he bowed his head to salute him my lord groaned thrice and gave up the ghost.”

So Zabud returned to King Solomon and told him all the tidings. And King Solomon rent his garments for the death of Jehoshaphat and said, “See now, this dog hath told me I know less than naught, yet knew he less than naught himself, otherwise would he never have thought to bear a message to a dead man. May God not have mercy on his soul.”

Now, it was about a seven years’ space, and King Solomon again disguised his countenance and went forth with his chief vizier to seek one to play at chess with the King. And as they walked along the covered way of the Thousand Fountains that leadeth to the House of Lebanon, at the corner of the street called Yellow there met them a damsel, as it were a moon, and her countenance was as a treasure house of the beauty of the elements. Her hair was golden as the flames in the circle of fire that is the uttermost girdle of the world; her eyebrows were as rainbows and her eyes as the stars of the air; her nose and cheeks were as flowers of the earth, white and red as roses in the rose gardens of Sharon, and the mole thereon of the color of the soil of Eden; her lips were as the coral of the Seven Seas, and her teeth as pearls of the waters of El Kerker; her garments were as the Milky Way for the glitter of jewels, and as the nest of the Phœnix for sweet smell of musk and myrrh and frankincense; and the swaying of her body as she walked was as the bending of the willow withes on the banks of Jordan when the wind of sundown reveals the inward whiteness of their leaves.

And King Solomon’s eyes waxed swollen for gladness to look upon her, and he said, “Peace be unto thee, O daughter of mine uncle.” And she answered, “Peace be unto thee, O my lord, and the mercy of the One Merciful.”

And Solomon said, “O, damsel, who art thou and whither goest thou?” And she said, “Thy servant is a slave girl of the household of Ahimaaz, to whom thy lord and mine, King Solomon, on whom be peace, hath given his daughter Basmath in marriage; and even now am I bound to the house of Ben Abinadab, to whom our lord King Solomon hath given his daughter Taphath in marriage, for there is a feast there toward this night, and thy slave hath been sent for to sing. And men call me Admatha, the daughter of Adaiah.”

And the King said, “What songs canst thou sing?” And she said, “O my lord, thy slave girl hath but little skill, and her voice to the many soundeth harsh and untuneable; yet the lover, when he swooneth in the extremity of his passion, is fain to hearken unto me, and my song is blessed of the wise man to whom the vanity of all things hath been revealed.”

And Solomon said, “O Admatha, it is not yet the hour of the feast; come with us awhile to our lodging that we have prepared, and let us pass the time with wine and music until it behoveth thee to depart.” And she answered, “Peace be upon ye; I will well.” So they came into the lodging, and Zabud let call for wine and they made merry.

Then King Solomon said, “Let bring tables, that thou and I may play a bout at the chess, and then shalt thou sing us a song to the lover in the torment of his passion.”

But Admatha said, “O my Lord, as for playing at the chess at this time, I pray thee hold thy slave excused.”

“Wherefore so?” exclaimed King Solomon; “for my heart is set to play with thee at the chess.”

Then said Admatha, “O my lord, the One Merciful, to whom be all glory, hath laid a burden on thy slave, forasmuch as she may in no wise lose a game at the chess, strive she never so sore; and if she play with thee and win her game, thou wilt haply be an-angered with her, and she should seem ungrateful to thee for this grace that thou hast shown her.”

And Solomon said within himself, “I have held converse with this damsel aforetime, for of a surety I do remember this word she hath spoken that none may have the upper hand of her at the chess.” And he looked upon her straitly for a long time, yet could he call nothing to mind as of her face or favor. And he said within himself, “Behold, that which is, that which hath been, and that which shall be, shall be even as that which is. Belike it was one of them I have defeated of old who boasted himself thus.”

But he spake with his lips and said, “O Admatha, even to lose a game at thy hands were sweeter than to overcome the King of Damascus, and, behold, I give thee this cloak in earnest of thy victory.”

Then Zabud let call for tables, and Solomon the King played at the chess with Admatha the slave girl; and Solomon’s men were of the white and Admatha’s men of the black. And Admatha played without thought, as one that could but little of the chess, so that in a brief space King Solomon had taken prisoner both her elephants and a knight of the right hand and a camel of the left, besides four of her foot soldiers, while Admatha had taken but one foot soldier of King Solomon. And Solomon said within himself, “What glory is it unto me to win at the chess of this music girl? Shall I lift a cimeter of the steel of Cathay to crop a flower of the balsam? I will contrive a combination and make an end of her.” So he made a combination and took her captain.

Then Admatha rose up and made as though she would go. But Solomon said, “Whither away, O Admatha? for the game is not yet played out.”

Then Admatha turned about and said, “O my lord King Solomon, when it listeth thee to sit on thy carpet the winds become thy chariot, and all the beasts of the field fare under thee to subdue thine enemies; and the fowls of the air fly overhead to shield thee from the sun; yet these chess men, that are but of ebony wood and the tusk of behemoth, refuse to obey thee. See now and behold; if thy slave should move yonder foot soldier on to the next square, where would my lord the King be then? As for playing at chess, thy slave girl knoweth naught, yet knoweth she more withal than my lord King Solomon.”

And when Solomon looked at the tables, behold if his adversary should move the foot soldier on to the next square the King was checkmated without redress.

And when he understood that he was known of Admatha and that he was defeated, a mighty wrath gat hold upon King Solomon, and the world was straitened upon him; the vein of fury stood out between his eyebrows, and the fire flashed from his eyes as the blaze leaps from a burning mountain, and the darkness which gathered on his brow was as the smoke thereof, and his words rolled forth even as the molten stone from the mouth of the caldrons of Eblis in the hills of Sikkel. And he drew his sword and smote off the head of Admatha as she stood.

And he cried aloud to Zabud, “Cast me this swine’s carcas into the ditch without the city, that the fowls of uncleanness may feast themselves therewithal.”

But, behold, there was no dead body, neither was there any blood; and Zabud said, “God preserve my lord the King! this damsel was a sorceress.”

“Nay,” said King Solomon, “for my ring spake no word of warning. But said she not that she was bound to the feast at the house of Ben Abinadab? Now, therefore, go straightway thither and bring me tidings.”

And as Zabud went toward the house he met a great company of men and women weeping and wailing and rending their garments; and when they saw Zabud they cried: “O my lord, mayst thou survive my lord Ben Abinadab! for, behold, as we all were feasting and making merry a certain slave girl came into the company whom my lord bade sing to her lute. And when she had tuned her lute she began to sing, and before ever she had sung two words my lord turned his face to the wall and died. Now, therefore, bear the tidings to King Solomon with haste, for our lady Taphath, the widow of Ben Abinadab, is a daughter of my lord the King.”

Then Solomon was sore troubled, and rent his garments and cast ashes upon his head, and the days were darkened upon him. And he said: “Who is this slave girl? for of a surety I do remember all these things of aforetime.” Howbeit he remembered not Jareb ben Othniel, and he said: “I am as one that resteth on his oar when the image of his oar is bent awry by reason of the water that is over it, so that he seeth not aright that which he seemeth to see. O! the waters! the waters! They have covered the whole world, so that no man seeth truly the things that have been for the waters that are above them.”

And about a space of one-and-twenty years, yet once more King Solomon and his chief vizier disguised themselves and went forth into the city, if haply they might find one to play at the chess with the King. And as they came nigh unto the Water Gate of the Temple, behold there stood at the bottom of the steps an old man, as it were a sheikh of the Sons of the Desert, and his hair was white as the water courses of the hills in winter, and his beard flowed down to his knees, as it were icicles of stone in the caverns of Hermon, and his eyebrows were as the snow on the branches of the cedars of the forest, and his eyes as the torches of them that seek for Thammuz on Lebanon.

And Solomon said unto him, “Peace be unto thee, O mine uncle.” And the old man answered, “Peace be unto thee and mercy from the One Merciful.” And Solomon said, “By what name shall I speak to my father’s brother, and whitherward shall we bear him company?”

And the old man said, “I am Habakkuk ben Methusael, the chief of the Benou Methusael, children of the Great Desert, and I have come hither to Jerusalem that I may play a game at the chess with my lord King Solomon.”

And Solomon said, “O Habakkuk, is there any of the Sons of the Desert who is the equal of my lord King Solomon?”

And Habakkuk said, “Nay, my son, there is none among the Kings of the earth who may be compared with my lord King Solomon in riches, or in majesty, or in wisdom; yet haply in this matter of playing at the chess, the Lord, to whom be all the glory, hath been minded not to lay up the whole of his treasure in a single treasure house; for thy servant hath played with men of understanding as well as with others these two hundred years and more, yet hath he never lost a game to any of the children of men.”

And Solomon said within himself, “Now will I win a game of this patriarch of the Desert, and afterward we will bring him to the palace, and when he seeth that it was none other than King Solomon himself who hath defeated him his shame shall be the less.”

So he spake to the old man and said, “Behold, as at this time my lord King Solomon hath gone to sup with the daughter of Pharoah, in the House of Lebanon, and of a surety he will not return till after midnight, for thy servants but even now met the bearers returning with his litter. Wherefore do thou come with us to our lodging, and if it irk thee not, win a game at the chess of thy servant.”

And Habakkuk said, “I will well.”

So they came into the lodging, and Zabud let call for wine and they made merry; howbeit Habakkuk excused himself as for drinking of the wine for that he was of kindred with Hammath of the tribe of Rechab.

And Zabud let call for tables, and Solomon the King played at the chess with Habakkuk the Son of the Desert, and Solomon’s men were of the white and Habakkuk’s of the black. And Habakkuk played without thought as one that could but little of the chess, so that in a brief space King Solomon had taken prisoner both his elephants and a knight of the right hand and a camel of the left, besides four of his foot soldiers, while Habakkuk had taken but one foot soldier of King Solomon. And Solomon said within himself, “What glory is it to win at the chess of a dog of the desert such as this? Doth the lightning make boast of slaying the frog that croaketh in the marsh? I will contrive a combination and make an end of him.” So he made a combination and took his captain.

Then Habakkuk laid hold on one of his ebony foot soldiers, and said: “O, my lord King Solomon, the One Merciful hath given thee dominion over all ghouls and afrits and jina and marids of the jinn, them that inhabit the houses of the fire and them that walk on the earth or creep within its bowels, them that dwell within the deep waters and them that fly upon the wings of the air; yea, all them that durst disobey thy behests, hast thou imprisoned against the Day of Judgment in vessels of copper, sealed in lead with thine own seal, and hast cast them into the sea of El Kerker. Yet hath not the One Merciful, to whom be glory, given thee lordship over these bits of ebony and ivory that they should do thy will; for lo, when I shall set down this foot soldier on yonder next square, where will my lord the King be then?”

And Solomon looked at the tables, and behold when his adversary should set down the foot soldier he was checkmated without redress. And when he understood that he was known of the Son of the Desert and had been defeated by him, a mighty wrath gat hold upon King Solomon and the world was straitened upon him; and his forehead waxed dark as the Night of Retribution, and his eyes flashed thereunder as it were the burning of the two Cities of the Plain, and his voice was as the roaring of the fire wherewith they were consumed. And he leapt to his feet and would have drawn his sword to smite off the head of Habakkuk. But Habakkuk abode still and lifted up the ebony foot soldier in his right hand, and the King was as one striken with a sudden palsy; and there came upon him a great whiteness and trembling, and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and the sword dropped from his right hand.

And Habakkuk said unto him, “O my lord King Solomon, where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee beyond all others of the sons of men? Behold now these three times hast thou gone about to slay the servant of the living God. How is it that thou hast not known me?”

And as Solomon looked straitly at Habakkuk the snow of his hair and his beard was melted away, and the manner of his garments were changed, and even while Solomon was yet marveling at the change, behold it was the slave girl, Admatha, who held up the ebony foot soldier against the King.

And the waters of forgetfulness were rolled back from the King’s memory, and he said: “Verily I should have remembered and repented, for lo this game is the very game, move for move, that I played with thee, O, Admatha, what time thou wert sent for to sing in the house of Ben Abinadab my son.”

And Admatha said, “O my lord King Solomon, of a truth this is even so, but where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee beyond all others of the children of men? How is it thou hast not known me?”

And as Solomon looked straitly at Admatha her countenance and the manner of her garments were changed, and even while the King was yet marveling at the change behold it was Jareb ben Othniel who held up the ebony foot soldier against the King.

And the things which had been were lifted above the waters of forgetfulness, and Solomon saw them even as they were. And he said, “Verily I should have remembered and repented, for lo these two games are the very same, move for move, and combination for combination, with the game I played aforetime with thee, O Jareb ben Othniel, when thou didst bear a message to Jehoshaphat my remembrancer.”

And Jareb said, “Oh, my lord King Solomon, of a truth this is even so, but where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee above all thy fellows? How is it that thou hast not known me?”

And as Solomon looked straitly at Jareb his countenance and the manner of his garments were changed, and even while the King was yet marveling at the change a glory as of the unspoken Name lighted his face, and his hair was as the rays of the sun at noonday, and his raiment was as a flame of fire, and from his shoulders came forth wings, whereof every feather was as a rainbow after the storm.

And the Angel said, “O, King Solomon, where is the wisdom wherewith the One Merciful hath gifted thee above thy brethern? Even yet hast thou not known me.” And the Angel still held up the ebony foot soldier against the King.

And Solomon said, “Verily long since should I have known thee and repented, O Azrael, angel of death, for none save the brother of the Four who uphold the throne of God, to whom be glory, could have played this game at the chess that thou hast played against me, lo these three times.”

And Azrael said, “Oh King Solomon, may the One Merciful have much mercy upon thee, for thou needest much!”

And he set down the ebony foot soldier.

And King Solomon was dead.

ETCHINGS: GO LEAD THE HORSE IN!

(From the Silician Folk Lore Dialect: E. C.: For Short Stories.)

Once upon a time there was a carter; he married, and took to wife a pretty girl. The wedding over, and the newly married pair alone, the carter turned and said to the bride:

“See, Rusidda (says he) now we are husband and wife. What happiness! Now I will buy me a horse, I will make me a cart, and so I will go with loads and we shall get bread. But there is this about it: When I come home, I will not work any more. Then, see, my little Rusidda, from now henceforth when I come home, you take the horse, unharness him from the cart, lead him in and water him; in short, care for him, for I am tired.” The girl began to shrug her shoulders and says, “I won’t do it!” “What do you mean? Then who is to lead the horse in, I?” “I don’t know how to do such things.” “Well,” says the young man, “I will teach you.” “No, I am not used to such things. At my home I was not taught in that way.” “Well, I will teach you now, little by little.” “No, I won’t lead the horse in!” “But what is to be done if you must lead him in?” “And I won’t lead him and I won’t lead him in!” “And I tell you, either you will lead him or you will come out badly.” “No, no; neither now or ever!” At this the young man arose in a rage, and unbuckled his leather belt. “Now I tell you either you lead the horse in, or I will set on you with my hands.... Go lead the horse in!” “No, I will not lead him in!”--“Ah, what is that?... Go lead the horse in” ... and he took her with a great blow of the strap on her shoulders. What would you expect of the girl? She began to scream like one burnt. “Alas, I’m dying ... I won’t lead the horse in! I won’t lead him in!” “Go, lead the horse in, I told you!...” and here blows with the strap that took off the skin. And “Go, lead the horse in,” and “I won’t lead him in!” The neighbors came running. “Children, children, what is it? You are just married and begin the quarrels! What is it? About the horse? Come off, we will lead him in.... Where is the horse?” “But,” says the young man, “It was talk ... we have yet to buy the horse.” “An apoplexy take you! For a talk, you make all this disturbance!” And the whole village fell upon them.

TWO AFTERNOONS

(Buckey O’Neill: San Francisco Chronicle.)

A hot day. The sun directly overhead, glowing with a fire that made the air in the shadeless canyon quiver as if heated in an oven. Not a tree in sight, not a bush--everything brown and barren. Everywhere boulders of lava immense in size and sometimes split in twain, as if in rapid cooling from the intense heat which gave them birth. Here and there between the gray-green of the giant cacti, raising their thorny forms fifty and sixty feet in the air, assuming with their strangely formed limbs the shapes of immense crosses or trunks of trees from which all leaves and smaller branches have been torn. Between the black and brown of the sunburnt lava an occasional tuft of tall, almost colorless grass. Over all a stillness that to one unaccustomed to the land would seem strange and oppressive. Not a bird to break it with its song. Even the lizards sought out what shade they could, making with their green, red and variegated coats, almost the only dash of color to relieve the monotony of the all-prevailing brown and black lava that each moment grew more oppressive to look at under the glow of the fierce heat.

Save these not a living thing was in sight except where off to the west a buzzard floated high in the air, and two men, with a burro lazily following, passing down the canyon.

Prospectors and their outfit.

Opened shirts, showing red, hairy breasts, while their loosely buckled belts, heavy with long, bright cartridges, whose tarnished surfaces, made doubly bright from the rays of the hot sun, seemed strangely out of place in such quietude.

Neither spoke. Each walked along as if alone, looking for the “float” that might indicate the presence of some mineral ledge higher up, more from habit than from hope, as the “formation” gave but little indication of treasure.

How hot the sun. The burro, patient-eyed, forgot his old trick of nipping the tops of the long gaete grass, and contented himself with keeping closely in the trail of the two men, whose worldly possessions of blankets, cooking utensils and tools, capped with an enormous canteen of water, he so patiently bore. Not a breath of air stirring. Only the quivering heat that made the eyes burn and ache. The men shifted their rifles constantly from one hand to another, as if to avoid getting blisters from the places where they touched the highly heated metallic parts of their guns.

Crack! crack! crack!

Not fifty yards ahead from behind a dozen boulders leap out as many jets of fire, while the snowy white puffs of smoke float up a few feet and disappear in the quivering air.

One of the men stops for an almost imperceptible instant, as if to brace himself. His hands rise to the level of his chest as if to bring his rifle to his shoulder and then--down he falls headlong to the ground in a limp mass. Dead! Shot through the head. Not a quiver; not a motion; without a sound, were it not for that made by his falling rifle.

As he falls his companion staggers back a pace or two, catches himself, and then, half crouching, half falling, drops behind one of the many boulders. “Hit!” he thinks to himself, “but, thank God! not fatally; only a scratch.” Life seems a new thing; to live, a new joy.

Only a scratch. “Where?” He hardly has time to think as he places his gun across the boulder and fires at a figure, naked, dark, clothed only in a breech clout and with a red scarf wound around the head. He notes almost unconsciously how pronounced its color is against the dark face and darker hair of its wearer. “A miss!” he mentally remarks, as the figure disappears. “But better luck next time,” he thinks, as he pushes down the lever of his gun and throws out the empty shell, replacing it with a cartridge. “Short range;” he should have hit. It can’t be that he was losing his old cunning; that his aim was bad. “No;” he fired in haste and was “rattled.” “Another shot and he will show them” are the thoughts that flash through his mind as he peers cautiously ahead to discover his enemies.

None in sight.

For the first time he feels pain. Half numbness, half fire; how it tears as he raises his shirt and looks at a little blue hole hardly larger than a pea near the right side in the short ribs. “Only a scratch or it would bleed worse. Did it go through?” he asks himself, as he passes his hand up his back to find if there be an orifice of exit. “No.” “That is bad, for there is no surgeon to be had to cut the missile out. Pshaw, what matters it? Other men have lived with bullets in them--why could not he? Night would soon come and then with darkness he would go. He was not losing blood sufficient to weaken him much, and by morning he would be far away. After all, it would only be a close call, something to tell about. But poor Tom! he was gone,” and as he looked at the lifeless form of his partner he could hardly keep back the tears.

Crack! crack! go a couple of shots off to his left, and he sees the dust flying up from near his feet. He tries to draw his limbs up to get them in a safer position. Tries again, and the cold sweat breaks from him. He cannot move them!

They are dead--paralyzed!

Something like a sob breaks from him. It is all over. In the first flush of possible escape he had not thought of the spine being injured. He knew it now. The game was played. A few hours longer at the best. To-morrow and the next day, and the days and the years to come would find him there. The end was only a question of a short time. Yet he had only thought it a scratch.

With his arms he drags himself into a safer position. This done, he unbuckles his belt, and as he lays it before him to have it handier he thinks of the time away back on the Platte when he had first put one on. How proud he then felt, as a stripling boy, of the outfit. How bright the future had looked, and now it was all to end. After all, life with him had been a hard one. It had brought to him few of the treasures for which he had longed. For an instant he thought “why not take the sixshooter and end it all?”

“Suicide?”

“No,” he would die fighting.

He would take some of them with him. Yet, why kill at all. They were but savages--Apaches. Their deaths would mean nothing, would gain nothing. Better to kill himself and keep from them the satisfaction of doing it. No; relief might come. Some of the many scouting parties of cavalry always in the field, or, perhaps, a party of prospectors might hear the firing, and then with a good doctor all would yet be well. He could find one at any of the military posts.

All these thoughts and a thousand others crowded through his brain while he was placing himself in a better position for defense. Cautiously raising himself he glanced over the boulder in the direction from whence the last shots came. Crack! crack! crack! the bullets whiz surlily around him.

Bang! bang! bang! goes the rifle.