Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1903-05-23
CHAPTER XLVI.
The Hunting of a Man.

xiii the hereticsI Kill! Killr' cried the
men of the Maison Rouge, dashing out INTO
the night like swarm of angry wasps
And had it not been for the Catholic Of
fcers most of Cavaliers new troops might
have fallen victims to the opinions which
they had forsakan. Nay Jean Cavalier
himself was struck at and wounded in the
arm The marshal In the first moments OF
his terrible grief hardly noticed anything
that went on about him, and 1t was Col.
Verlat who took Flower-o'-the-Corn and
her father back to the chambers of the
Marechale's quarters.
The Camisard regiments had withdrawn
tsilently and sullenly to their camp whence
by swimming the Tarn and scattering over
the Causes in the darkness but few re-
NAMED to nold their leader in countenance
in the morning.
But through all the tumult of the sudden
l. assassination and the hubbub of the camp
there were certain who from the first fol-
! lowed doggedly the track of the murderer
Prominent among these there was that
sergeant ma jor of the Maison Rouge who
had so long admireds Yvette afar off. There
was one of the invited guests, Monsieur
Bechet of the military prison, to whom she
had scarcely spoken save to make him her
| tool. There was "a captain of artillery and
young subalterp sof foot, to neither. of
whom had she ever uttered sentence. Yet
| they followed Martin Foy relentleSsly over
| the rough sharps; and slaty debris-up-up-
| toward the wide tableland of the Larzac.
On the way out of camp the fugitive had
rushed deserted guard house, holding his
great CamiSard knife red in his hand. 1t
was night when a certain SlackneSS of dis
cipline was permissible, and the under Of
ficers had most of them gone off to see the
sight down at the great pavilion.
The shout of the single, startled. sleepy
private left in charge was followed by his
instant flight.
Whereupon Gas was Known afterward) the
l ttNnrp llyy to
and ammunition. The weight made him the
easier to come up with for barefoot. on his
native Larzac and carrying no weight,
hardly wolf dog cot,ld have turned him.
| And indeed 1t is now none SO sure that es-
cape was the mans purpose.
It was in the plain midst of the limestone
desert of the largest Cause in France that
| they hemmed him in-or. rather, perhaps,
| that Martin Foy kneeled down, looked over
| his two muskets. and laid out his ammunt-
| ton ready to his hand.
He laughed in gurgling murmurs. chuck
| ling to himself he made his prepara-
tons.
Now" he said. smiling triumphantly,
| '1et them come. 1t is fair challenge. I
| will try my craftsmanship against theirs
as soon as the light comes-
| At last out Of the cloud slid the moon.
| The mailman was kneeling on one knee his
| musket to his shoulder. Not in vain had
| he been accounted the best shot among the
| men of the Larzac. company or hshters
and hunters. all mighty before the Lord.
| Therer'
Indeed every man of them saw him clear
| in the chill moonlight of the Larzac, gray
and frOst-tempered with the altitude
But the quarry also saw his hunters, ana
| with a sigh Sergt Peyrat of the Maison
| Rouge rolled over and lay still-very still
| with bitten bullet in his SIDE
"One!" said Martin Foy. NO, two! ne
inns
| glee as he marked the moonlight shine on
| the blade of his knife.
All the time, up the sides of the LarEac,
| by the narrow defileS of the Dour bic, men
were NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. men, brave
| men. all eager to shed the blood Of the
| murderer of their chieftain's wife.
| In an hour they had formed circle al
| most complete, some lying on the scanty
| juniper, crawling over the dwarf heath,
| spread abroad upon the lavender and sage
| sprawling. clinging, gliding and sliding
hither and thither like lizards on not rocks,
| all eager for the death of one mana man
who asked no better than to lie. While
there. out on the open waste, knclt Martin
Foy, figure of fear hatless, mis- long gray
hair clotted with sweat and blood, his
clothing mere rags and tatters, his white
teeth showing in the moonlight like these
| of trapped wolf, now singing By snatches
| his Camisard psalms now yelling in the
mere joy of madness and the lus- of blood.
OF all that were out upon the lace OF the
LarZac that night he alone made no con-
cealment. He sought no shelter. He dis
dained alike rock shelter and juniper clump.
| A grim black figure out on the waste, rear
compelling, the spent moon shedding
| misty aureole about him. loading and firing
| as fast as he could send the powder and
| shot down the barrel yelling in unison with
| the ring of his ramrod-that was Martin
| FOy, the mad Camisard, fighting his last
| fght-the knife, with his daughters blood
| yet red on the haft,- displayed on the pal
| lid limestone before him.
And thus the man was hunted--a thou
sand against one.
/ And as Martin Foy loaded and fired.
and as this one and that other, Capt. Yey-
rat and young Thee de iBanville, and Mon
sieur. Beckett himself-fell over with the
groan of the bullock p2leaxed between the
hills. and died-thinking 1t light thing to
die for a woman like Yvette. the wife OF
the Marshal de M6ntrevel.
And at that momentshe saw one come up
| care to be made readyAthe old soldier. de
Montrevel. his sword OF vengeance bright
=; in his hand IA 81
And he saw his enemy. black against the
illumined mist loading and firing, with
| laughter and singing. So. being the hus-
band of the wofhah slain. and caring
| naught for the death that sprang toward
every one thst advanced, he shouted, Fol
low me! I am Nicholas de Baume. the
husband Of her whom the murderer slewr'
And like a. charging bull ne rushed full
tine single 81 aeess ON ts Mart aa
| Foy had a loaded musket In mis- hand, and
the Marshal de Montrevel was clear black
| against the moon as he came toward him.
| The mailman could have shot him dead. as
| he had done SO many others that hight.
But he had heard the word. new idea
| flashed across his BRAIN now crystal clear,
! anon working like yeast.
Her husbandr' he shouted in a mighty
| voice. Then l. Martin Foy. have shed in
| nocent blood 1t Is here upon this blade!'
| 1t up. God Of Gods let me bear the SIM!
| And with a hand sure and tried. he
plunged the great carnisard knife, yet red
with blood of his daughter. deep into his
| own heart -
selah-A Song in Antiphony.
Catinat. the prophet, and one Roland
called the Red, were standing at the door
of the Protestant Temple in the village, Of
La Cavalerie. The daily service was be-
! ginning. Within the psalms were being
chanted. and without the two leaders. hav-