"
"Am I a prisoner?"
"One that shall be well treated by us and by all, I trust. This rogue
here has led you off the road. A little further from the highway and I
suppose you would have robbed them, you scoundrel."
"No, sir, I only thought the dust would be less this way," Fairley
answered meekly.
Another man looked keenly at Martin, and then laughed.
"Surely this is that fiddler fellow we know something of?"
"Yes, sir," said Martin, crooking his arm as though a fiddle were in it,
and in a timid voice he sang a few notes, like a wail, but they had
often seemed a laugh to Barbara. She could not tell which they were now.
"My fiddle is lost, or I would play for you, so long, so sweetly, that
you would see flagons of ale around you, and think you tasted them too."
"I would the fiddle were found, then," said one.
"Having lost it, you carry pistols instead."
"Yes, sir, every gentleman does so, but there's many dare not use them.
I didn't use them. You'll remember that, for it's to my credit, and let
me go."
The man removed the pistols from his holster.
"They're dangerous toys for a fool."
"Truly, I feel much happier without them," said Martin.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286