The Ball of Snow by Alexandre Dumas (Illustrated) by Alexandre Dumas

Author:Alexandre Dumas [DUMAS, ALEXANDRE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Parts Edition 31 of 43 by Delphi Classics
Publisher: Delphi Classics (Parts Edition)
Published: 2017-07-22T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IX.

THE PRECIPICE.

MEANWHILE Iskander Beg had found a path that wound around the mountain.

On his right dropped a precipice; on his left arose walls furrowed at intervals as by thunderbolts.

But there was no return for the dauntless traveller; he needs must always advance. The way was too narrow for a horse to turn, and he went forward.

At last lie came to an overhanging rock, under whose arch ho must pass.

Beneath its vault the road was missing, but a block of ice, dislodged from the mountain, constituted a frail, transparent bridge.

Below this bridge, at the bottom of the abyss, thundered a torrent.

The young man halted; for an instant lie paled, and the perspiration dampened his brow; but a thought of Kassime restored his self-possession.

Then his practised eye observed a horse’s tracks on the ice; he pressed his own forward, urging him on with knees and voice. By crossing swiftly, the strain would be less.

Behind, he could hear the broken ice crashing into the gorge.

At last he began to breathe more freely, perceiving at the farther end of the tunnel the light’s increasing brightness from the reflection of the snow.

But suddenly, enframed in the opening, appeared a horseman whom the optical effect rendered of gigantic proportions.

“Halt, and throw down your arms, or you ‘re a dead man!” cried the horseman to Iskander; “I am Mullah Nour.”

In his first surprise at the unlooked for apparition, Iskander had reined in his horse; but, upon hearing the name of Mullah Nour, one danger made him forget the other.

He spurred on his horse, and, detaching the gun from his shoulder, he said, —

“You are Mullah Nour? Well, out of my way, Mullah Nour! You see very well that there is not room here for two.”

“Let God decide, then, who shall pass,” said the brigand, aiming his pistol at the breast of Iskander, who was not more than ten paces distant. “Shoot first.”

“Shoot yourself. I am not hiding behind my horse, ami?”

They stood thus for some seconds face to face, each with his weapon raised, and waiting for the other to fire.

Then the one lowered his pistol, the other his gun.

“Well, you are brave, Iskander,” said Mullah Nour, “and no one deprives a brave man of his arms. Give me your horse, and go where you will.”

“Take my arms first, and then you shall take my horse; but as long as I have a load for my gun, as long as the soul remains in my body, the hand of dishonor shall not touch my horse’s bridle.”

Mullah Nour smiled.

“I do not need your gun, nor your horse,” said he; “I merely wish you to do my will. Not for the sake of miserable plunder has Mullah Nour made himself a chief of brigands, but because he is accustomed to command. Then ill befall him that obeys not his command. I have many times heard you spoken of; often has your courage been extolled to me, and now I see for myself that you are brave, Iskander. But I did not cross your path for nothing.

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