306 
The Broad Highway 
American Agriculturist, March 
By Jeffery Farnol 
(For synopsis of preceding installments, see page 307 ) 
H AGGARD of face, with hair and beard matted and unkempt, he presented a wild 
and terrible appearance; and beneath one arm he carried two bludgeons. As I 
met the giant’s smouldering eye, I felt my mouth become suddenly parched and dry, 
and my hands grew moist and clammy. 
For a moment neither of us spoke, only we looked at each other steadily in the eye; 
and I saw the hair of his beard bristle. 
“George!” said I at last, and held out my hand. 
George never stirred. 
“Won’t you shake hands, George?” 
His lips opened, but no words came. 
“Had I known where to look for you, I should have sought you out days ago,” 
I went on; “as it is I have been wishing to meet you, hoping to set matters right.” 
Once again his lips opened, but still no word came. 
“You see, Prudence is breaking her heart over you.” 
A laugh burst from him, sudden, and harsh. 
“You’m a liar!” said he, and his voice quavered strangely. 
“Prudence loves you, and always has,” said I. “Go back to her, George, and to 
your work—be the man I know you are; go back to her—she loves you. If you still 
doubt my word—here, read that!” and I held out his own letter, the letter on which 
Prudence had written those four words: “George, I love you.” 
He took it from me—crumpled it slowly 
in his hand and tossed it into the ditch. 
“You’m a liar!” said he again, “an’ a— 
coward!” 
“And you,” said I, “you are a fool, a 
blind, selfish fool, who, in skulking about 
the woods and lanes is bringing black 
shame and sorrow to as sweet a maid 
as ever-” 
“It don’t need you to tell me what she 
be an’ what she bean't,” said Black 
George, in a low, repressed voice. “I 
knowed ’er long afore you ever set eyes on 
’er. Ye see, I loved 'er—all my life— 
that’s why one o’ us two’s a-goin to lie 
out ’ere all night—ah! an’ all to-morrow, 
likewise, if summun don't chance to find 
us,” saying which, he forced a cudgel into 
my hand. 
“ What do you mean, George? ” 
“I means as if you don’t do for me, then 
I be a-goin’ to do for ’ee. 
“ But I tell you she loves George, and no 
other—she never had any thought of me, 
or I of her—this is madness—and worse!’ 
and I tossed the cudgel aside. 
“An’ I tell ’ee,” broke in the smith, his 
repression giving way before a fury as 
fierce as it was sudden, “I tell ’ee—you 
be a liar, an’ a coward. I’ve heerd an 
I’ve seen—your lyin’, coward’s tongue 
sha n’t save ’ee—you be a shame to the 
woman as loves ye, an’ the woman as bore 
ye!—stand up, I say, or by heaven! I’ll 
do for ’ee!” and he raised his weapon, 
George pressed on, untiring, relentless, 
showering blow on blow, while my arm 
grew ever weaker and weaker. 
How long had we fought? five minutes 
— ten—half-an-hour? I could see the 
sweat gleaming upon his cheek, his eyes 
were wild, and he drew his breath in great 
sobbing pants. But, as I looked, his 
cudgel broke through my tired guard, 
and, taking me full upon the brow, drove 
me reeling back; my weapon slipped from 
my grasp, and, blinded with blood, I 
staggered and slipped to the grass. But 
Black George stood above me, panting, 
and, as his eyes met mine, he laughed and 
whirled up his cudgel to beat out my 
brains, even as the Pedler had foretold, 
and, looking into Black George's eyes— 
I smiled. 
“Get up!” he panted, and lowered the 
cudgel. “Get up—or—I’ll do—for ’ee!” 
Sighing, I rose, and took the cudgel 
he held out to me, wiping the blood from 
my eyes as I did so. 
A ND now, as I faced him once more, all 
■ things vanished from my ken save the 
man before me—he filled the universe, 
and even as he leaped upon me, I leaped 
upon him, and .struck with all my 
strength; there was a jarring, splintering 
shock, and Black George was beaten 
down upon his knees, but as, dropping 
my*weapon, I stepped forward, he rose, 
and stood panting, and staring at the 
you an’ me—I said a ’ ow one on us would 
Ihfiout ’ere all night—come on—fists be 
best arter all!” 
This was the heyday of boxing, and, 
while, at Oxford, I had earned some small 
fame at the sport. But it was one thing 
to spar with a man my own weight, with 
limited rounds governed by a code of rules, 
and quite another to fight a man like 
Black George, in a lonely meadow, by 
the light of the moon. 
Brief though the respite had been, it 
had served me to recover my breath, and, 
though my head yet rung from the cud¬ 
gel-stroke, and the blood still flowed 
freely, getting, every now and then, into 
my eyes, my brain was clear as we fronted 
each other. 
The smith stood with his mighty 
shoulders stooped something forward, his 
left arm drawn back, his right flung across 
his chest, and, so long as we fought, I 
watched that great fist and knotted fore¬ 
arm, for, though he struck oftener with 
his left, it was in that passive right that 
I though my danger really lay. 
I 
Without another word I picked up the broken cudgel in his hand. 
cudgel, and, pointing to a gate a little 
farther along the road, I led the way into 
the meadow beyond. On the other side of 
this meadow ran the lane I have men¬ 
tioned before, and beyond the lane was 
the Hollow, and glancing thitherward, I 
bethought me that supper would be 
ready, and Charmian waiting for me, just 
about now, and I sighed as I drew off my 
coat, and laid it, together with my hat, 
under the hedge. And now, as I stooped 
and gripped my weapon, I remembered 
how I had, that morning, kissed her 
fingers, and I was strangely comforted 
and glad. 
George!” said I. 
“You’m a-bleedin’, Peter!” 
“For that matter, so are you.” 
“ We be—even so fur—but fists be bet¬ 
ter nor—sticks any day—an’ I—be goin' 
to try ye—wi’ fists!” 
“Have we not bled each other suffi¬ 
ciently?” 
“No,” cried George, between set teeth, 
“theer be more nor blood-lettin’ ’twixt 
FOUGHT desperately now, savagely, 
taking advantage of every opening, for 
though I struck him four times to his 
once, yet his blows had four times the 
weight of mine; and always I watched 
that deadly “right.” And presently it 
came, with arm and shoulder and body 
behind it—-quick as a flash, and resistless 
as a cannonball; but I was ready, and, as 
I leaped, I struck, and struck him clean 
and true upon the angle of the jaw; and, 
spinning round, Black George fell, and 
lay with his arms wide stretched, and 
face buried in the grass. 
Slowly, slowly he got upon his knees, 
and thence to his feet, and so stood pant¬ 
ing, bruised and 'cut and disfigured, 
staring at me, as one in a maze. 
Now, as I looked, my heart went out to 
him, and I reached forth my right hand. 
“George!” I panted. “Oh, George!” 
But Black George only looked at me, 
and shook his head, and groaned. 
“Oh, Peter!” said he, “you be a man, 
Peter! I’ve fou’t—ah! many’s the time, 
an’ no man ever knocked me down afore. 
I—I could love ’ee for it—if I didn’t hate 
the very sight of ’ee—come on, an’ let’s 
get it over an’ done wi’.” 
So once again fists were clenched and' 
jaws set—-once again came the trampling 
of feet, the hiss of breath, and the thud¬ 
ding shock of blows given and taken. 
A sudden, jarring impact—the taste of 
sulphur on my tongue—a gathering dark¬ 
ness before my eyes, and, knowing this 
was the end, I strove desperately to close 
with him; but I was dazed, blind—my 
arms fell paralyzed, and, in that moment, 
the smith’s right fist drove forward. A 
jagged flame shot up to heaven—the 
T 
HE night air, 
which had been warm 
heretofore, struck chilly now, and, as 
I stood up fronting Black George, I shiv¬ 
ered, seeing which he laughed, short and 
fierce, and, with the laugh, came at me, 
striking downwards at my head as he 
came, and tough wood met tough wood 
with a shock that jarred me from wrist 
to shoulder. 
To hit him upon the arm, and disable 
him, was my one thought and object. 
I therefore watched for an opening, 
parrying his swift strokes and avoiding 
his rushes as well as I might. Time and 
again our weapons crashed together, now 
above my head, now to right, or left, 
sometimes rattling in quick succession, 
sometimes with pauses between strokes, 
pauses filled in with Ihe sound of heavy 
breathing and the ceaseless thud of feet 
upon the sward. I was already bruised in 
half-a-dozen places, with a shooting pain 
in the shoulder, that grew more acute 
with every movement; my breath also was 
beginning to labor. Yet still Black 
Last week’s blot-out represented an elephant. 
next week, with a brand 
The answer to this one will appear 
new blot-out. 
earth seemed to rush up towards me— a 
roaring blackness engulfed me, and then 
—silence. 
CHAPTER XX 
HOW I CAME UP OUT OF THE DARK 
S OME one was calling to me, a long 
way off. 
Some one was leaning down from a 
great height, and the voice was wonder¬ 
fully sweet, but faint, because the height 
was so very high, and the depths so very 
great. 
And, little by little, it seemed that it 
grew nearer, this voice; was I being lifted 
up to the heights where, I knew, blackness 
could not be? I could feel a hand upon 
my brow—a smooth, cool hand that 
touched my cheek, and brushed the hair 
from my forehead; a strong, gentle hand 
it was, with soft fingers, and it was lifting 
me up and up from the loathly depths 
which seemed more black and more hor¬ 
rible the farther I drew from them. 
And so I heard the voice, ever nearer, 
until I could distinguish words, and the 
voice had tears in it, and the words were 
very tender. 
“Peter—speak!—speak to me, Peter!” 
“Charmian?” said I, within myself; 
“why, truly, whose hand but hers could 
have lifted me out of that gulf of death, 
back to light and life?” Yet I did not 
speak aloud, for I had no mind to, yet 
a while. 
“Ah! speak to me—speak to me, Peter! 
How can you lie there so still and pale?” 
And now her arms were about me, < 
strong and protecting. 
“Oh, Peter!—my Peter!” 
N AY, but was this Charmian, the cold, 
proud Charmian? Truly I had never 
heard that thrill in her voice before. And 
lying thus, with my head on this sweet 
pillow, I could hear her heart whispering 
to me, and it seemed that it was striving 
to tell me something—striving, striving, 
could I but understand. 
“I waited for you so long—and—the 
supper is all spoiled—a rabbit, Peter—you 
liked rabbit, and—and oh, I want you— 
don’t you hear me, Peter—I want you— 
want you!” and now her cheek was 
pressed to mine, and her lips were upon 
my hair, and upon my brow—her lips! 
Was this indeed Charmian, and I Peter 
Vi bar t? 
And while I lay, something hot splashed 
down upon my cheek, and then another, 
another; instinctively, raising my arms, 
I clasped them about her. 
“Don’t!” I said, and my voice was 
a whisper; “don’t, Charmian!” 
For a moment her clasp tightened 
about me, she was all tenderness and 
clinging warmth; then I heard a sudden 
gasp, her arms loosened and fell away, 
and so I presently raised my head, and, 
supporting myself upon my hand, looked 
at her. And then I saw that her cheeks 
were burning. 
“Peter.” 
“Yes, Charmian?” 
“Did you—hear-” Again’shebroke 
off, and still her head was averted. 
“I heard your voice calling to me from 
a great way off, and so—I came, Char¬ 
mian.” 
“Were you conscious when—when I — 
found you?” 
“No,” I answered; “I was lying in a 
very deep, black pit.” Here she looked 
at me again. 
“I—I thought you—were—dead, Pe¬ 
ter.” 
“My soul was out of my body—until 
you recalled it.” 
“You were lying upon your back, and 
—oh, Peter! your face was white and 
shining in the moonlight—and there was 
blood upon it, and you looked like one 
that is—dead!” and she shivered. 
“And you have brought me back to 
life,” said I, rising; but, being upon ni.v 
feet, I staggered giddily, to hide which. 
I laughed, and leaned against a tree. 
(i Continued on page 307 ) 
