Two of the men walked close beside the door, one of them bearing a

lantern. They conversed in low tones and in a language which Beverly

could not understand. After awhile she found herself analyzing the garb

and manner of the men. She was saying to herself that here were her

first real specimens of Graustark peasantry, and they were to mark an

ineffaceable spot in her memory. They were dark, strong-faced men of

medium height, with fierce, black eyes and long black hair. As no two

were dressed alike, it was impossible to recognize characteristic styles

of attire.

Some were in the rude, baggy costumes of the peasant as she

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had imagined him; others were dressed in the tight-fitting but

dilapidated uniforms of the soldiery, while several were in clothes

partly European and partly Oriental. There were hats and fezzes and

caps, some with feathers In the bands, others without. The man nearest

the coach wore the dirty gray uniform of as army officer, full of holes

and rents, while another strode along in a pair of baggy yellow trousers

and a dusty London dinner jacket. All in all, it was the motliest band

of vagabonds she had ever seen. There were at least ten or a dozen in

the party. While a few carried swords, all lugged the long rifles and

crooked daggers of the Tartars.

"Aunt Fanny," Beverly whispered, suddenly moving to the side of the

subdued servant, "where is my revolver?" It had come to her like a flash

that a subsequent emergency should not find her unprepared. Aunt Fanny's

jaw dropped, and her eyes were like white rings in a black screen.

"Good Lawd--wha--what fo' Miss Bev'ly--"

"Sh! Don't call me Miss Bev'ly. Now, just you pay 'tention to me and

I'll tell you something queer. Get my revolver right away, and don't let

those men see what you are doing." While Aunt Fanny's trembling fingers

went in search of the firearm, Beverly outlined the situation briefly

but explicitly. The old woman was not slow to understand. Her wits

sharpened by fear, she grasped Beverly's instructions with astonishing

avidity.

"Ve'y well, yo' highness," she said with fine reverence, "Ah'll p'ocuah

de bottle o' pepp'mint fo' yo' if yo' jes don' mine me pullin' an'

haulin' 'mongst dese boxes. Mebbe yo' all 'druther hab de gingeh?" With

this wonderful subterfuge as a shield she dug slyly into one of the bags

and pulled forth a revolver. Under ordinary circumstances she would have

been mortally afraid to touch it, but not so in this emergency. Beverly

shoved the weapon into the pocket of her gray traveling jacket.




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