A SHORT STORY.

Thames Star, Volume LVII, Issue 15129, 21 February 1922, Page 7

A SHORT STORY.

THE BEAR-TAKER’S DAUGHTER. A TALE OF LOYE AND DARING (By Konrad Berccvici.) (Concluded.) As she sat on the ground in front of her tent she suddenly heard the beat of a horse's hoofs at a distance. Margarita listened and when she was sure that the rider came toward the gully she entered her tent. The hoofbeats soon ceased. A dog barked. After that she heard a sharp, long, penetrating whistle. Margarita’s ears, accustomed to catch sounds, soon knew that the birds in the surrounding chestnut trees were Renting danger. The flight of a chipmunk told her the intruder was within sight of the camp. Again the dog barked; just one short yelp and no more. Someone had thrown him a piece of raw meat. She had heard the flop as it fell to the ground. Then some one whistled softly from very near. Margarita could hardly contain herself for joy. It was Petrackio. He was a real one and she was taming him! It was the old sensation of taming bears with a thousand new thrills added. She forgot all about the loss of her tresses. What did they matter when weighed against such pleasure 1 Something in her, urged her to rush out to the man and talk to him. But something stronger held her back, gave promise of greater pleasure if she but sat quiet and watched the taming. It was like drinking good wine in small gulps to prolong the pleasure, to satiate oneself with the exquisite taste. She heard the whistling again and again and every time she heard the shrill sounds she_ thought it the sweetest music. Not the loudest howl from the fiercest bear she had ever tamed could compare with that. He, Petrackio, was a real one and she was taming him. And not with a cowhide whip. Not with red-hot coals and a piece of sheet iron on which the bear was compelled to dance. No, no, with another weapon, an invisible weapon a sharper and more potent one. She would have screamed for joy but she controlled herself. Silence added to the sting of the weapon. More than that. It was the weapon.

Daylight was coming in through rents in the canvas of the tent. The few last screeches of a preying owl then the clicking of wild pheasants proclaimed that the sun was peeping over the mountain tops, like a red-faced boy over a garden fence. He, Petrackio, was calling her. He was calling her. But she would no* answer. There was a last appeal in an “Iho, oho l 5 ’ coming from behind her tent, then there was silence for a while. After that, and before there were too many sounds in the valley, Margarita heard the hoof-beats of a departing horse. Tired, feverish, she fell asleep. “Ho, ho, ho!” She awoke suddenly, hearing her father’s voice outside her tent. “The sun has gone to Hungary and you are still sleeping! Was'the wine too strong for you? What?” “Yes, no, yes, no, tatuca. Let me sleep. I want to sleep. My head aches.” “That comes from washing your hair too often,” the father answered before leaving. After that he muttered to himself, “When the time comes, they are 'all like that.” She heard her father approach her tent several times before nightfall but she made believe that she was asleep. He left some food near Tier cot. But, as in the days when they had a real one to tame, she felt no hunger only a horrible thirst. An hour after sunset, Margarita was listening for tITe hoof-beats. She heard none.

Her pain was now sharper than yesterday’s joy. She waited and listened until midnight. Not ’a sound. She went out of her tent and looked at the sky. Her whip, the weapon in which she had had so much confidence all the year, was at her feet. She scorned it now. It was a weapon as crude as a child’s plaything. After she had waited and listened for many hours she whistled loud and long. The sound reverberated, thrown from one mountain wall to the other and back, until it died in some distant gully. It was like the call of some wild animal. She waited silently. There was no answer to her call. But when she lifted the flap of her tent ah daybreak sha found the two braided tresses lying across the cot. Startled, shocked, mad, speechless, Margarita took one of the tresses in each hand and rushed out again. Nobody to be seen. The dog was peacefully licking his chops. Wildeyed, the girl loked Around her. Seized by an uncontrollable rage, she went for 'her whip and began to lash the dog with its thongs. “So, ha, ha, you will let thieves

go and come as they please, will you, will you, ha? Take this and take that."

“Why do you hit the dog V ’ asked Costa, coming out of the tent, awakened by the animal’s howls. “Why? Why? Because, look look, Look at my hair. Someone has entered my tent and sheared them off while I was asleep. Ancl he did not. move* did not bark, nothing.’’ “What? What is that ?” Costa screamed. “Who did that ? Who did that ? If I did not know that Ursu was lame, by fire and water! Margarita—my poor girl—my poor girl —who could Have done it? 1 will go to the. end of the world to find him.”

“A thief, a coward, a triple coward one who dared not fight me in daylight,” screamed Margarita 'at the top of her voice, “knowing that Petrackio could not be too far off to hear her words. Costa was soon on his horse. “I shall not return before finding the thief, the coward,” was all he said before riding away. Costa was hardly out of sight when Petrackio showed himself, emerging from behind a tree only a few paces behind the girl. ‘.‘Well, I 'heard you calling me a while ago, so I arrived astride an eagle and chopped your tresses on ,your cot through the airhole on top of your tent. Why have you called me?”

“Called you? I called you?” “I heard your whistle !” “That was for the dog.” “Be it as you say,” Petrackio grinned. “Well then, I may go, Costa’s daughter. 1 gave you back what I took from you.” He turned to leave her. “I was sorry, afraid that, your father might beat .you.” “Did I ask my hair back from you? No. I did noC'.'*’ <,T thought -you might want it back,’ he said banteringly, without looking at the girl, “ and as I happened to pass this way, 1 just dropped it in the tent. “You lie; you came on purpose” answered Margarita. She felt a sudden pang as she saw the deep gash her whip had cut in the boy’s face. They iooked each other over. The glint of his eyes gripped her eyes, even more strongly than bis steely fingers had gripped her a day before. The sound of a galloping horse was coming nearer and nearer. Her father was returning. She looked at Petrackio. He, too, had heard the hoof-beats yet there was no trace of fear on his face.

Margarita watched the boy’s face while she measured the nearing sound of the hoof-beats. Her father must have entered the mouth of the gully. Petrackio knew that as well as she, yet he did not move a foot. He looked at her steadily. When she had heard her father’s voice talking to the horse and seen that the bdy had made no move to leave, to hide between the trees, esh to him, trembling with fear: “Hide, for God’s sake, hide. He comes.” cc l will wait for you on Sunday at the inn,” Petrackio said quietly before vanishing behind a tree And as the bear-tamer’s daughter passed by the tree to which the bear was chained, she felt that she herself was as a bear that had been tamed, or trainer that had been tamed by a real live bear, tame'd to do the master’s will, yet she was already unhappy, thinking of the long days and long nights between then and Sunday. THE END.