Beverly of Graustark | Page 8

Yetive to come and take the fugitive if she could. The
poor princess was between two ugly alternatives, and a struggle seemed

inevitable. At Balak it was learned that Axphain had recently sent a
final appeal to the government of Graustark, and it was no secret that
something like a threat accompanied the message.
Prince Gabriel was in complete control at Serros and was disposed to
laugh at the demands of his late captors. His half-brother, the dethroned
Prince Dantan, was still hiding in the fastnesses of the hills, protected
by a small company of nobles, and there was no hope that he ever could
regain his crown. Gabriel's power over the army was supreme. The
general public admired Dantan, but it was helpless in the face of
circumstances.
"But why should Axphain seek to harass Graustark at this time?"
demanded Beverly Calhoun, in perplexity and wrath. "I should think
the brutes would try to help her."
"There is an element of opposition to the course the government is
taking," the officer informed her in his own way, "but it is greatly in the
minority. The Axphainians have hated Graustark since the last war, and
the princess despises this American. It is an open fact that the Duke of
Mizrox leads the opposition to Princess Volga, and she is sure to have
him beheaded if the chance affords. He is friendly to Graustark and has
been against the policy of his princess from the start."
"I'd like to hug the Duke of Mizrox," cried Beverly, warmly. The
officer did not understand her, but Aunt Fanny was scandalized.
"Good Lawd!" she muttered to the boxes and bags.
As the coach rolled deeper and deeper into the rock-shadowed
wilderness, Beverly Calhoun felt an undeniable sensation of awe
creeping over her. The brave, impetuous girl had plunged gaily into the
project which now led her into the deadliest of uncertainties, with but
little thought of the consequences.
The first stage of the journey by coach had been good fun. They had
passed along pleasant roads, through quaint villages and among
interesting people, and progress had been rapid. The second stage had

presented rather terrifying prospects, and the third day promised even
greater vicissitudes. Looking from the coach windows out upon the
quiet, desolate grandeur of her surroundings, poor Beverly began to
appreciate how abjectly helpless and alone she was. Her companions
were ugly, vicious-looking men, any one of whom could inspire terror
by a look. She had entrusted herself to the care of these strange
creatures in the moment of inspired courage and now she was
constrained to regret her action. True, they had proved worthy
protectors as far as they had gone, but the very possibilities that lay in
their power were appalling, now that she had time to consider the
situation.
The officer in charge had been recommended as a trusted servant of the
Czar; an American consul had secured the escort for her direct from the
frontier patrol authorities. Men high in power had vouched for the
integrity of the detachment, but all this was forgotten in the mighty
solitude of the mountains. She was beginning to fear her escort more
than she feared the brigands of the hills.
Treachery seemed printed on their backs as they rode ahead of her. The
big officer was ever polite and alert, but she was ready to distrust him
on the slightest excuse. These men could not help knowing that she was
rich, and it was reasonable for them to suspect that she carried money
and jewels with her. In her mind's eye she could picture these traitors
rifling her bags and boxes in some dark pass, and then there were other
horrors that almost petrified her when she allowed herself to think of
them.
Here and there the travelers passed by rude cots where dwelt woodmen
and mountaineers, and at long intervals a solitary but picturesque
horseman stood aside and gave them the road. As the coach penetrated
deeper into the gorge, signs of human life and activity became fewer.
The sun could not send his light into this shadowy tomb of granite. The
rattle of the wheels and the clatter of the horses' hoofs sounded like a
constant crash of thunder in the ears of the tender traveler, a dainty
morsel among hawks and wolves.
There was an unmistakable tremor in her voice when she at last found

heart to ask the officer where they were to spend the night. It was far
past noon and Aunt Fanny had suggested opening the lunch-baskets.
One of the guides was called back, the leader being as much in the dark
as his charge.
"There is no village within twenty miles," he said, "and we must sleep
in the pass."
Beverly's voice faltered. "Out here in all