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  " 'A pleasing symmetry, is it not?' commented the wizard; but his apprentice averted his gaze. No one responded—silence; so it went for several hours. Then, shortly after noon, the first break in the monotony appeared; Sir Carayne, leaning out the window—suddenly he cried—'Look! Up ahead!—a boulder!' We rushed to the window. Sure enough!—ahead, barely on the horizon, a boulder stood by the roadside. Not an especially large boulder, mind you—rather small, totally unremarkable, in fact; but in the midst of that wasteland it was a beacon in the darkness—an oasis—a work of art! We sat back in our seats, laughing a bit—so great the despondency of that place! The coach rolled on; then, suddenly—

  " 'Stand and deliver!'

  "The coach screeched to a halt. We rushed to the windows—who had cried out?—we wondered; but nothing; nothing was to be seen but the boulder, next to which the coach was drawn—and it was far too small for a man to hide behind. Except for that, the Drear stretched away in its awful solitude, unbroken in every direction.

  "The messenger sighed and resumed his seat. 'It is Rascogne de Sevigneois,' he said gloomily. 'Who?' we demanded. 'Rascogne de Sevigneois, the highwayman; it can be no other.' 'But there is no one to be seen!' protested Sir Carayne. 'He is a master of disguises,' replied the messenger.

  "In confirmation, at that very moment the mysterious voice was heard again. 'It is I, Rascogne de Sevigneois, cunningly disguised as a small boulder!' We rushed to the window anew—sure enough; imagine our astonishment! There—where we had thought to see a small gray boulder—stood instead a horseman—brightly caparisoned in scarlet cloak, emerald breeches, ruffled shirt, floppy feathered hat; a rapier scabbarded to his side. The fellow was short, very muscular; swarthy of complexion; his face adorned by an aquiline nose and dazzling white teeth, grinning at us from beneath a monstrous pair of waxed mustachios. He sprang from his horse and bounded over to the coach. Doffing his hat with a flourish, he opened the door.

  " 'Alight, my good people! Commerce awaits us!'

  "The driver and the guard—the latter dropping his crossbow as if it were a hot poker—climbed down from the coach and stood to one side; they seemed not overly aroused—plain as day, they had no intention of resisting the brute. 'Knaves!' roared the knight, shaking his fist at the two. Then, glaring fiercely at the highwayman—he flung himself out of the coach, his broadsword clutched in a meaty fist. 'Know, footpad,' he bellowed at Rascogne—the rascal's grin growing more impudent by the second as he bounded about, from level soil to coach top to saddle to ground—'that here you deal not with a brace of scurvy coachmen, but with a belted knight of the realm!' And with that, Sir Carayne swung a terrific blow at the robber. But he misjudged the character of the foe—for in a movement too quick for the eye to follow, the highwayman drew his rapier and deflected the broadsword with the greatest of ease.

  " 'Aha!' cried the rogue. 'A duel! A merry duel!' He bounded from the ground to the saddle to the top of the coach to the ground to the top of Sir Carayne's head to the ground to the saddle and back to the ground again; his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. 'You seek to undo Rascogne de Sevigneois! Take, then, varlet, this!' His rapier blurred—in a trice Sir Carayne was disarmed; his belt sliced in two, causing his trousers to fall; and—imagine his chagrin—there, carved upon his chain mail tunic, the words—'Rascogne de Sevigneois finds thee an ill-bred lout.'

  "Discretion overcoming the point of honor, Sir Carayne desisted from further combat. Retrieving his sword, he scabbarded it; then—was forced to clutch his trousers to his waist. The highwayman stretched out his palm; angrily, the flower of the Crapaude tossed over his purse; then—stalked off a ways and glowered at the horizon. Rascogne bounded over to the coach. 'Come, come!' he cried, 'Rascogne awaits!' He held the door open courteously.

  "There being nothing else to do, we descended from the coach. The messenger was the first one out, followed by the parson; the wizard and his apprentice came next, the latter toting his gigantic sack; then myself, followed by Il Conde and La Contessa. The latter, however, had no chance to set foot on ground. For, no sooner had her voluptuous figure filled the doorway of the coach than the highwayman's dark features reddened with passion. His eyes gleamed; his teeth sparkled like diamonds. 'Such beauty has not been seen on the Drear in many a day!' exclaimed the villain. La Contessa blushed under his admiring regard. Uttering no further words, Rascogne drew forth a bottle of champagne and two glasses from beneath his cloak; sprang into the coach—the door slammed shut. A boisterous laugh; some murmured words; the popping of a cork; the clink of glasses; some murmured words; a baritone and a soprano voice mingling in gay repartee—then—suddenly the coach was rocking madly on its springs; 'Aha! Furious passion!' came the robber's voice from within.

  "At this further outrage, Sir Carayne exploded with rage anew. 'Villain, wouldst do so?' Again he drew his sword and—clutching his pants with the other hand—hobbled to the coach. Rascogne's insolent face appeared above the windowsill. 'Aha!' he cried. 'The gallant knight seeks to throw Rascogne off his stroke! A futile endeavor, clod of a swordsman, I assure you—both my blades are unmatched in their skill!'

  "It could not be gainsaid; the coach continued its furious rocking even as the knave effortlessly disarmed Sir Carayne once again, this time carving on the steel of the knight's blade the words—'This rusted kitchen knife is of the same mettle as its owner's member.' Sir Carayne flung himself to the ground, gnawing the earth in bitter humiliation; La Contessa's cries grew louder from within. 'I say,' grumbled Il Conde peevishly, 'I believe that rascal is seducing my wife.' His rheumy eyes squinted suspiciously at the coach, whose bounces now took it quite off the ground. Suddenly a great sigh came from within; all motion ceased; then, a moment later, the highwayman's voice—'Ah, sweet aftermath of love;' the clink of glasses; murmuring voices; then, La Contessa's voice—'Perhaps?' 'Aha!'—this the villain—'let it not be said that Rascogne de Sevigneois left such a fair lady in distress!' A moment later the coach was back at its rocking.

  "Disgusting!" bellowed the Director. "Praise God Mrs. Lang wasn't there to witness it! Her pure soul—perhaps she herself!—her alabaster body—ravished—oh God!" His face filled with horror; though it was difficult to discern his features in the tropical nightfall. "Yes, well," said Barley, "they're a passionate lot, the Groutch. In any event, this escapade went on for quite some time—there seemed no end to the energy of the twain. Actually, I became quite concerned for the state of the coach, for that dilapidated vehicle was taking a beating which made the rigors of the past days' journey pale in comparison. At length, however, all was done; the coach remained intact. Stroking his mustachios complacently, the highwayman appeared in the doorway; he sprang to the ground—bounded over to us. 'And what have you to offer me?' he purred. From the window of the coach La Contessa's hand emerged, holding a bejeweled purse. 'Here, dear robber.' But the knave would have none of it—'Nay! Nay! Sweet lady, the pleasure of your smile is quite reward enough!' At this, Sir Carayne could contain himself no longer. Once again he hurled himself upon the dastard, hacking and hewing most vigorously with his sword—but in vain; for the scoundrel, leaping and capering about, voicing scurrilous taunts and gibes, committed the greatest indignities with his rapier upon the person of the knight. Again Sir Carayne flung himself to the ground, resuming his trenchwork.

  "Rascogne bounded over to me. Without a word, I handed over my purse. The rascal sprang over to the messenger. 'Ah, my good messenger—we meet again! Your purse, if you please.' 'I never carry one, as you well know,' responded the gloomy voice. 'Your satchel, then!' 'It is empty, as you well know,' responded the gloomy voice, showing the bare contents of the case cuffed to his wrist. 'I have afflicted you so much, then?' asked the rogue, grinning from ear to ear. 'For the moment,' responded the messenger, a bit of heat entering his voice. 'But soon you will be apprehended by the Consortium Constabulary!'

  " 'Ah, yes,' jeered Rascogne. 'The famed and feared Agent Grimstalk! But, tell me, how long have he and his
dreaded cohorts been hot on my trail?' The messenger scowled; said no more.

  "Rascogne then leapt to the cleric. 'And you, sir?' The parson spread his hands, smiling in the manner of one weary of the world and its wicked ways. 'Good sir,' he said, 'I am, as you can see, a man of the cloth. Therefore have I taken a vow of poverty; my sole earthly wealth, the poor clothes you see on my back. You may, if your faith be little, search my pockets to verify the truth.' The highwayman snorted. For the first time, his face clouded with anger. 'Ah, villain, wouldst trifle with me? Deceiver of the poor, meddler with their superstitions, well do I know the wealth you have garnered like the faithful reiver your raiment names you!' His sword flicked out; sliced the collar from the cleric's neck—a small torrent of gems spilled out from hidden pouches. 'Be glad, priestly buzzard, that I dispatch you not to that very place you preach of!' The cleric quailed, but Rascogne turned away and sprang over to the wizard and his apprentice.

  "And you, sir?'

  "The wizard coughed apologetically. 'I have a small purse, sirrah, of great value to me—not, as it happens, for its intrinsic worth, the which is small, but for its value relative to my present state of wealth, the which is meager. This, however, I cede to you—for, in truth, I am a philosophe, and as such my desire for worldly possessions is faint at all times and subject, moreover, to sudden change; such a change, I might add, as the one which has this very moment o'ertaken me.' He handed over his purse. 'You may also,' he continued, placing his hand upon the dwarf's quivering brow, 'take my apprentice to be your servant—and I will aver, sirrah, that though he is stupid and malformed, my apprentice is capable of carrying great burdens and suffering much deprivation as well, docilely and without excessive complaint.' Again, the apologetic cough; a slight straightening of the shoulders. 'Do not, however, I pray thee, take these my scrolls and tablets, nor these my tomes and talismans, nor these my artifacts and relics; for these are my very life and soul, without which I should be as a man lost on a chip in an endless ocean.'

  "The highwayman spat fiercely upon the ground. 'A pox on your sheepskins and toys, pedant—products of an unenlightened age! And as for this, your supposed servant—though more likely, judging from his appearance, some evil imp retrieved from a dank and moldy place—I am more moved to skewer him with my rapier, thereby cleansing the earth of one of the many blots upon its surface. But, I will satisfy myself with your purse;' he snatched said object from the wizard's grasp.

  "But then—most unexpected! The wretched gnome hopped forward and kicked the robber's shin. Then—kicked it again, and yet again! 'Just you try it!' he shrilled. 'You just try and stick me with that big knife! I have friends! Snarls, they are—and big ones—and one of them's huge! They'll eat you right up when they find out!'

  "I was absolutely astonished—first, at the dwarf's unlikely humor; but then—and more so—at the robber's response; for though Rascogne had drawn his blade, and I imagined the apprentice already buried, he stopped; frowned—for the first time a look of something other than utter surety on his face; then—'Snarls?' he demanded. 'You—a snarl-friend?' 'Well, I am, too!' insisted the dwarf. 'Tell him, master!'

  " 'Most strange,' muttered the highwayman. He snapped his fingers at the wizard—'Is this true, what he says?'

  " 'As to that,' responded the mage, 'the snarls did seem preoccupied with him—'

  " 'The big one licked my face!' cried the dwarf.

  " '—but I do not think, at least, judging by the literature—'

  " 'Enough!' interrupted Rascogne. 'I did not ask for a lecture. Still, 'tis odd, most odd.' He inspected the dwarf closely, frowning all the while; then—'I shall have to think on this,' he announced. Suddenly, his face cleared. 'Ah—but I forget me! Business first! And my business is not finished.' And with that he turned and sprang over to the side of Il Conde, hand outstretched again.

  "Il Conde peered up at him, leaning his frail weight upon his cane. 'You are a scoundrel, I believe,' he whined. 'People think I am nothing but an old fool, who can't see his nose in front of his face; but I have been watching you, sirrah, watching you carefully, and it is my firm conviction that you have, very recently in fact, taken liberties with my wife. Five times, if I am not mistaken.' The highwayman grinned impudently. 'Alas,' here Il Conde shook his ancient head, 'I am an old man, feeble in my limbs; I can assure you, sirrah, were I but fifty years younger you would be in a fine kettle of fish—be sure of it! But, as it is—'

  "Grumbling, Il Conde brought forth his purse with a trembling hand, veined and liver-spotted with age. The purse was quite large; Rascogne smiled broadly as he emptied its contents into his hand. 'Quite a catch, here!' he cried. 'Doubloons! Dinars! Drachmas! Shekels! Every manner and variety of fine coin! And—but what's this?' He gazed with puzzlement at a small coin, whose worn and shabby surface contrasted sharply with its gleaming fellows. Il Conde peered more closely; suddenly—his entire body became rigid; his rheumy eyes gaped wide. 'My Ruiz!' he gasped, reaching forth to retrieve it from the robber's hand. Rascogne laughed and sprang backward. 'Aha! The octogenarian seeks to regain his lost treasure! Nay, nay, not so, graybeard! Paltry though it is, this little coin as well must join my booty!'

  " 'Monster! Fiend!' wailed Il Conde. 'Unhand that coin!' The ancient threw himself upon the ruffian, belaboring wildly with his cane. 'My Ruiz! My Ruiz!'

  "Then—imagine this! Naturally enough, we thought to see Rascogne deal with the old fool as easily as he had done earlier with Sir Carayne; but it was not so, not at all!—so overwrought was Il Conde at the loss of his prized Ruiz that he wielded his cane with a maddened frenzy that should soon have maimed any but the greatest of swordsmen. Rascogne's grin was soon replaced with astonishment, then, as he gave ground before Il Conde's onslaught, to that intent concentration which is the hallmark of all masters of the fencing art.

  " 'O doughty dotard!' he exclaimed, parrying the whirling cane, 'O grim gaffer! Well struck—oh, well struck! And yet again!' The highwayman leapt back and forth, his rapier flashing in complex twirls and sweeps; Il Conde's implacable advance continued on tottering legs. 'My Ruiz, my Ruiz,' he wheezed. Never have I seen such a duel! Only Rascogne's genius with a blade sufficed to stave off the oldster's assault; sweat poured down his swarthy, corded neck. He was hard-pressed—more, he was in desperate straits! And now!—Il Conde had him pinned against the side of the coach—there was nowhere to retreat! Now were Rascogne's advantages of sound legs and functioning lungs of little avail—it was sword against cane at close quarters! Slash—stroke—lunge—parry! We were gripped in an intense excitement; the robber was lost!—it was plain to see—the end near, his strength failing at last under the inexorable rain of blows from Il Conde's cane. But then!—I had heard tell of it—dismissed it as a ridiculous fable—Rascogne executed the dégage sixte-carte du droite arriere à la potage de St. Germain! Il Conde was disarmed—the highwayman's swordpoint at his throat! The old nobleman wept bitter tears. 'My Ruiz, my lost Ruiz,' he sobbed.

  "Rascogne gasped a breath; sheathed his rapier. 'O valiant vieillard!' he cried, clasping the ancient to his breast. 'Never have I had such a match! Never such an opponent! Never crossed sword with such a cane!' He released Il Conde and drew forth the contested coin. 'Such art deserves its reward!—here, sirrah, take your coin in token of my esteem.' 'My Ruiz,' cried the nobleman, snatching the coin. He tottered off, clutching the piece. 'My Ruiz, my Ruiz,' we heard his faint whisper.

  "Just at that moment a distant cry was heard. 'It is Rascogne de Sevigneois! Hold, villain!' Turning, we saw a large body of horsemen, some twenty in number, appear on the western horizon. They drew their swords; galloped hotly toward us. 'Aha!' cried Rascogne. 'A chase! A merry chase!' With a laugh and a shout, the rogue sprang on his horse and galloped off, flourishing his hat at his pursuers. These worthies pounded past the coach a moment later. Grim of face, stern of demeanor, garbed all in black, their capes streamed behind them as they thundered off in the hunt. In a moment, highwayman and pursuers alike
had disappeared over the eastern horizon.

  " 'It's the Maréchal du Boeuf and the King's Men!' exclaimed the messenger, excitement tingeing his voice. 'Which King?' asked the cleric. 'Nobody remembers,' came the gloomy reply.

  "Before long we were on our way. There was no conversation in the coach; the only sound, Il Conde's murmurs and chuckles as he fondled his precious Ruiz. La Contessa slept in contented exhaustion; while Sir Carayne glowered at her the whole way, picking dirt from his teeth. The messenger's gloomy countenance was as always—but matched now by the cleric and the wizard; the former, raining down heavenly curses—the latter, sorcerous hexes—upon the highwayman. The dwarf, on the other hand, seemed rather cheerful.

  "We reached the Caravanserai with the setting sun. Its lingering rays lit up the white stone walls of the oasis. The minarets gleamed for a moment; then, twilight overtook them as well. The gates of the Caravanserai swung wide; before long we had pulled up into the courtyard of the depot—and debarked. The last I saw of the Rebel and his companion was the wizard's back and the dwarf's little legs, twinkling under his great sack, as they vanished into the darkness."