The Redemption of David Corson | Page 8

the night. Every member of the bibulous party
was as happy as he knew how to be. The landlord's till was full of
money, the loafers were full of liquor, and the doctor's heart was full of
vanity and trust in himself.
CHAPTER III.
THE EGYPTIANS
"Steal! to be sure they may; and egad, serve your best thoughts as
gypsies do stolen children,--disfigure them to make them pass for their
own."
--Sheridan.
In order to comprehend the relationship of this strangely mated pair, we
must go back five or six years to a certain day when this same Doctor
Aesculapius rode slowly down the main street of a small city in
Western Pennsylvania, and then out along a rugged country highway. A
couple of miles brought him to the camp of a band of gypsies.
A thin column of smoke ascending from a fire which seemed almost
too lazy to burn, curled slowly into the air.
Around this campfire was a picturesque group of persons, all of whom,

with a single exception, vanished like a covey of quail at the approach
of the stranger. The man who stood his ground was a truly sinister
being. He was tall, thin and angular; his clothing was scant and ragged,
his face bronzed with exposure to the sun. A thin moustache of
straggling hairs served rather to exaggerate than to conceal the vicious
expression of a hare-lipped mouth. He stood with his elbow in the palm
of one hand and his chin in the other, while around his legs a pack of
wolf-like dogs crawled and growled as the traveler drew near.
Throwing himself lightly to the ground the intruder kicked the curs
who sprang at him, and as the terrified pack went howling into the door
of the tent, said cheerily.
"Good-morning, Baltasar."
The gypsy acknowledged his salutation with a frown.
"I wish to sell this horse," the traveler added, without appearing to
notice his cold reception.
The gypsy swept his eye over the animal and shook his head.
"If you will not buy, perhaps you will trade," the traveler said.
"Come," was the laconic response, and so saying, the gypsy turned
towards the forest which lay just beyond the camp. The "doctor"
obeyed, and the dogs sneaked after him, still growling, but keeping a
respectful distance. A moment later he found himself in a sequestered
spot where there was an improvised stable; and a dozen or more horses
glancing up from their feed whinnied a welcome.
"Look zem over," said the gypsy, again putting his elbow in his left
hand and his chin in his right--a posture into which he always fell when
in repose.
The quack, moving among the animals with an easy, familiarity,
glanced them over quickly but carefully, and shook his head.
"What!" exclaimed the gypsy with well feigned surprise; "ze señor

doez not zee ze horse he wanz?"
"Horses!" exclaimed the quack; "these are not horses. These are
boneyards. Every one of them is as much worse than mine as mine is
than the black stallion you stole in Pittsburg on the twenty-first day of
last October."
"Worze zan yourz! It eez impozzeeble!" answered the gypsy, as if he
had not heard the accusation. "Ziz horze ov yourz eez what you call a
crow-zcare! Zhe eez two hunner year ol'. Her teeth are fell oud. Zhe
haz ze zpavins. Zhe haz ze ringa bonze. But, señor," growing suddenly
respectful, and spreading out his hands in open and persuasive gestures,
"ere eez a horze zat eez a horze. Ee knowz more zan a man! Ee gan
work een ze arnez, ee gan work een ze zaddle; ee gan drot; ee can
gallop; ee gan bead ze winz!"
The gypsy had played his part well and concealed with consummate art
whatever surprise he might have felt at the charge of theft. His attitude
was free, his look was bold and his manner full of confidence.
The demeanor of the quack suddenly altered. From that of an easy
nonchalance, it turned to savage determination.
"Baltasar," he said, his face white and hard; "let us stop our acting.
Where is that stallion?"
"Whad ztallion?" asked the imperturbable gypsy, with an expression of
child-like innocence.
"I will not even take time to tell you, but if you do not take me to him
this instant there will be a dead gypsy in these woods," said the quack
fiercely.
"Ze zdranger jesz!" the gypsy answered blandly, showing his teeth and
spreading out the palms of his hands.
The quack reached into his bosom, drew forth a pistol, pointed it at the
right eye of the gypsy, and said: "Look into the mouth of that and tell

me whether you see a bullet lying in its throat!"
"I zink zat ze señor an' heez piztol are boz