Jasper County Democrat, Volume 13, Number 98, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1911 — THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER STAR [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER STAR

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By Percy Brebner

This romance of the lost kingdom of Drassenland is one of the most fascinating tales that has appeared since the days when Rider Haggard enthralled the public with “She” and “King Solomon's Mines.” Read and you will follow a gallant hero of today into a realm where dwell strange people of the time of the crusades, a realm ruled by a beautiful princess, for whose love the Knight of the Silver Star battles with powerful enemies and participates in stirring adventures. CHAPTER I. T- ~~~ HE sun dropped behind the snow capped mountains to the westward as at the sumscabft] m j t o f the road I came niton the village of Brayle. I shifted my knapsack from my shoulder and, leaning upon my staff, stood contemplating one of the most glorious panoramas my eyes had ever rested upon. Behind me to the north, stretching away eastward and westward, the great mountain range lifted its frowning tops to heaven, and to the south and southwest, from whence I had come, the world fell down toward verdure and cultivation and lands watered by streams, which grew slowly and joined together into a river far away toward the horizon. As evening came rapidly over the lower lands and a chill wind struck the mountain road I entered the village and went toward a long, low building which seemed likely to afford a resting place for the night. Four men were sitting at a rough table smoking and drinking. They were in eager if not an angry conversation, but stopped as I entered and looked at me in surprise. One of them seemed delighted at my advent, for he cried out excitedly: "The proof! The proof!, Look! Here is one of them!” Another man, whom 1 rightly took to be the proprietor of the establishment. growled savagely at him to be silent and then rose and saluted me. “You are a traveler, just an ordinary traveler?” “Yes: oh, yes,” I answered. There was something in his tone ■which had the effect of taking the conceit out of one. I have never considered myself quite an ordinary traveler. “You see, Mustapha!” he said in triumph. The man addressed looked at me fixedly. but did not speak. He had sprung excitedly from his seat at my entrance. “I want to stay here tonight.” I Went on. “Tomorrow I may go farther, or the next day, or it may be next week. It all depends what I find to interest me. There is a fine waterfall near Brayle, I have heard.” “Is it only for this you have come?” asked Mustapha. with some contempt. “Yes,” I answered, throwing down my knapsack and spreading out my hands to the blaze. “What else should I have come for?”

The disappointment in the man’s face ■was quite comical, and his companions burst out laughing. “Take no notice of what he says,” laughed the landlord. “Mustapha is a dreamer. He sees armies along the mountain tops when others see only snow. He hears the ring of steel in every tinkling goat bell and the shout of war in the bark of every dog. A wonderful dreamer is Mustapha.” “I said nothing of armies; I said armed men,” the dreamer returned sullenly. “I am not armed,” I observed. “Many of the men I have seen are riot armed.” he returned, “but they are no ordinary travelers. They all go the same way—yonder,” His attitude was unconsciously dramatic as he stretched out his arm, pointing toward the mountains to the north. “Where is yonder?’* I asked, more for the sake of saying something than because I wanted to know. “I only know the legend which everybody knows and which everybody laughs at, but I am wiser than everybody, because I don’t laugh.” A roar of merriment greeted this assertion. I could not help joining in it. _ ■ “Let me eat first, and then we’ll have the story. The story will wait, and my hunger is too ripe to keep.” Of necessity in this history I must talk of myself. I am the hero of it, and he’s a poor hero indeed who isn’t worth talking about. I was a wanderer by inclination, not of necessity, and, although not actually seeking adventure, I was not unwilling to enjoy some mild form of enterprise should such come my way, l>ut I little thought of the strange experiences which lay before me. Few people even if they are Interested will believe the story and will say of me, as was said of Mustapha, “He is a stupid, dreamer.” To these I can honestly confess that I should sometimes doubt the history ! i ■ '

myself had I not always before me one incontestable proof of the truth trf it. For my personal appearance I stand Over six feet, am broad shouldered and athletic, have fair hair and am clean shaven, and I believe there are less well favored men in the world than myself. Brayle lies, if indeed there Is still a village there, at the foot of one of the southern spurs of the great Caucasian range.' .! It is an out of the way place which probably few tourists have discovered. It is enough to say that, while the slopes of the western range are clad in verdure, the central range, as it may be called, is arid, rocky and desolate. Of comparatively uniform height, the mountain tops rise majestically into the region of perpetual snow. There are, practically speaking, no passes, only here and there a goat track, dizzy enough to contem plate, of a mountaineer’s zigzag path which leads nowhere in particular, and in the neighborhood of Brayle sheer rock rises ‘perpendicularly from the mountain road which runs through the village. So to my story.

Supper finished and a brier pipe set going, I suggested another log on the fire, more ■ wine—it was very thin wine and harmless and ■ Mustapha’s tale. The man had drunk at my expense or 1 do not think he would have told the legend. “It’s little I know,” he said. “Every one knows nearly as much, only they do not believe. Long ago, long before Brayle existed, somewhere near here there was a pass from this side of the mountains to a country beyond. There was constant intercourse between the people on this side of the mountains and that country, whose inhabitants, though different, were friendly. The men were strong and warlike and the women more than beautiful, far superior to ours, it is said, and the wealth of the country was enormous. In the king’s treasury were stored gold and sliver and precious stones, greater wealth than man could name. It was a pleasant country, too, warm and sunny. for the great mountains shut It in and sheltered it. They were a strong people and therefore dwelt in safety, a contented people and therefore happy. A day came when the pass was no more. It was a year of fierce storms, such as had uot been known until that time nor have been since. Mountains split asunder and changed their shapes, and when the storms were over the pass was gone. The mountain walls of it had split and fallen in, shutting that fair land out of the world forever." “The legend improves with every telling,” said tlie landlord. ' “And ’it's all a lie,” said one of the other men contemptuously. “I’ve been lost a day and a night Upon the mountains and know every inch of them that is to be known. It’s all a tale. Mustapha is a stupid dreamer.” Mustapha watched me. My criticism was the only one he cared about- His companions’ jeers he had heard often enough before. ■■■'■ “I thought it all a tale once,” he said when I made no comment “I know better now. There was until lately a wise woman in Brayle, and she told me that though the pass was destroyed, there remained a secret entrance to this fair country through the mountains and that she had seen armed men going there. I did not believe it, and I laughed, but now I laugh no more. I have seen these strange men more than once.” ‘ “Where T’ I asked.

“On the road you will take tomorrow if you travel to the east. I ■will show you the place.” “Very well; you shall show me tomorrow. We will start early, Mustapha,” I said as I prepared to go to rest for the night. “I shall wake at dawn,” he answered. ' “And you will return ?”< asked thi landlord. “We shall be back before sunset, ready for an excellent supper,” 1 answered. ’ - Back before sunset I I little knew how many sunsets would sink into night before I saw Brayle again. It was a brilliant but cold morning

when we entered the new country. On the way I chatted with Mustapha. Frequently I asked him about various places of which he had told me. I questioned him about the legend and as the strange men he bad seen. He showed me the fall which he had previously described, where he had hid and where he had had adventures. We came to rough places, sharp turns and yawning declivities. Sometimes I had to crawl, and often I grew dizzy and sick. We reached what looked like a platform. Suddenly I heard Mustapha shriek. He tried to retrace his steps and failed. In trying to make my own footing secure I fell forward, I began sliding downward. To the left there was a straight, sharply defined black line and nothing'beyond it, and there was the sound of rushing water. I succeeded in keeping myself from being drawn to the left, but I accelerated my speed. The way was hard and smooth, and I dashed down, going faster than the rolling mass before me. It was on a lower level than I was, and I got abreast of it as it came to the straight black line. Then—good God, it was horrible! As I passed it upon my straight course the ball gave a final bound and shot out’ over the black line into space, no longer the ball, but a man, arms and legs widespread. “Mustapha!’’ I cried, and my cry rang out and echoed away into the silence of the night, but there was no answer. A moment later I plunged into loose snow and came to rest. Half stunned, I lay quite still for awhile, and then I picked myself Up, wondering if there were any help for Mustapha. The sudden red glare of a torch flared up and dazzled me. I saw the gleam of it flash pointedly to my breast along a steel blade, and then a stentorian voice rang out: “In the king’s name, halt!” Halt! It hgyer occurred to me to do anything else. I was dazed and hardly able to stand- The challenge had

brought others upon the scene, and half a dozen torches danced fiercely before my eyes. The sword was still pointed toward my breast, and I concluded that in coolness lay my only chance. “I am unarmed/’ I said. “We don’t cut courtesy so fine as that in this country—the blow first and the pardon begging afterward.” He laughed as he lowered his sword. “Who are you, and how the devil did you get here?” ‘Just slid,” I answered. “A few moments ago I was on the mountains somewhere behind me.” “And, by St. Patrick, you’re English, with a touch of Irish blood in you for choice.” “Pure English.” “Faith, and I’m sorry for that. You are plucky enough to be an Irishman,” I was too bewildered to be surprised at so strange a meeting. My only clear thought was that an Irishman with a drawn sword in a country known only in legend was probably a very different person from an ordinary Irishman on College Green. It would be wise to let him lead the conversation.

“You’re my prisoner,” he said. “Will you give me your word not to attempt to escape?” a “Certainly.” “My name is Dennis O’Ryan, Captain Dennis O’Ryan,” he said, motioning me to follow him. “A few moments ago I had a comrade, Captain O’Ryan. " Xs we came down from the mountains he lost control of himself and was carried away yonder. I should like to look for him " ,

"You’ll see him in the morning if your eyesight is good. He won’t move. Was he a friend?” “Yes, a*.new acquaintance, but danger made us friends.” “Well, Mr.”- - ■ “Verrail,” I said. “Well, he’s just a corpse j now and not a good specimen of a 1 corpse either. You will understand why tomorrow-” We went through a narrow cutting in the solid rock, the torches casting i weird and fantastic shadows about us, 1 and presently came to a natural cavern, high pitched and of considerable I size. was burning in the cen- j ter, the smoke, after thickening the atmosphere, finding its way out through a cleft in the roof, and an Iron pct was on the fire, a strong, meaty smell coming from it, which, being hungry. I did not find unpleasr.t. The rzound of the cave was of loose I >!!. rr.d my comjtanions threw them-1 •’-eq f,,—., round the fire. O’Ryan a--.- ! • •' to do the same. It was ■ > ' primitive meal I had ever Cut 1 have rarelv enjoyed Th,” w >:•;• a wild looking crew, not •"(•?!»’ ii’g Captain O’Ryan. They were r. >v. orfi:l men. big limlied. with shaggy d::rk hair r.nd mustaches, not ill looking and rather picturesque thap other- i wise. They wore somewhat tight neth- I er garments and a rough, easy fitting leather shirt reaching nearly to the knees, but cut up at the thighs to give | perfect freedom to the legs. Over this ! they wore a coat of mail, a compromise I between plate and chain armor, and long boots pf stiff hide, into the heels | of which was fixed a spike about half an inch long. A low steei helmet fitting close on to the head completed their attire. For arms each man carried a long serviceable looking sword, which hung from a broad belt fastened I loosely round the waist. Except that his armor was brighter and that be had a short feather at the side of his I helmet, Captain O’Ryan did not differ from his comrades. During the meal I was considerably I surprised to find that I could under-1 stand my companions’ conversation. I O’Ryan when speaking to me spoke in English, or, rather, Irish, with a brogue, especially when he got excited. I which I shall make no attempt to reproduce in these pages. When talking to his men he spoke in their language, which was the most curious conglom eration I have ever heard. It was apparently made up of several tongues, with a general groundwork of NormanFrench. English. German and Italian were represented, and, although there were words here and there which I could attach no meaning to, being a good linguist, I could understand most of what was said, and if at first I was not so easily understood I soon managed to talk pretty freely. The meal ended, O’Ryan kicked the fire into a blaze. “The history of your strange coming among us should be Interesting,” he said. (To be continued.)

"IN THE KING’S NAME, HALT!"