Two o'clock in the morning, on the king's highway, and a small body of
horse making progress. The moon was beginning to roll away toward the
west, but the world was still frost-white, and the broad road stretched
out like a silver ribbon before the horsemen, until it was lost in the
blue mist of the forests.
The troop consisted of ten men, two of whom rode with their hands tied
behind their backs and their feet fastened under the bellies of the
horses. The troop was not conspicuous for this alone. Three others had
their heads done up in handkerchiefs, and a fourth carried his arm in a
sling.
Five miles to the rear lay the sleeping city of Bleiberg, twenty miles
beyond rose the formidable heights of the Thalians. At times the horses
went forward at a gallop, but more often they walked; when they galloped
the man with his arm in the sling complained. Whenever the horses
dropped into a walk, the leader talked to one of the prisoners.
“You fight like the very devil, my friend,” he said; “but we were
too many by six. Mind, I think none the less of you for your attempt;
freedom is always worth fighting for. As I said before, no harm is meant
to you, physically; as to the moral side, that doesn't concern me. You
have disabled four of my men, and have scarcely a dozen scratches to
show for it. I wanted to take only four men with me; I was ordered to
take eight. The hand of providence is in it.”
“You wouldn't be so polite, Colonel,” spoke up the trooper whose arm was
in the sling, “if you had got this crack.”
“Baron, who told you to call me Colonel?” the leader demanded.
“Why, we are out of the city; there's no harm now that I can see.”
“Is it possible,” said Maurice ironically, “that I have had the honor of
hitting a baron on the head and breaking his arm?”
The baron muttered a curse and fell back.
“And you,” went on Maurice, addressing the leader, “are a Colonel?”
“Yes.”
“For the duchess?”
“For the duchess.”
“A black business for you, Colonel; take my word for it.”
“A black business it is; but orders are orders. Have you ever been a
soldier?”
“I have.”
“Well, there's nothing more to be said.”
“America--” Maurice began.
“Is several thousand miles away.”
“Not if you reckon from Vienna.”
“I'd rather not reckon, if it's all the same to you. Your friend--I
might say, your very valuable friend--takes the matter too much to
heart.”
“He's not a talkative man.”
Fitzgerald looked straight ahead, stern and impassive.
“But now that we are talking,” said Maurice, “I should like to know how
the deuce you got hold of my name and dragged me into this affair?”
“Simple enough. A card of yours was given to me; on it was your name and
address. The rest was easy.”
Maurice grew limp in the saddle.
“By George! I had forgotten! The woman is at the bottom of it.”
“Quite likely. I thought you'd come to that conclusion. Sometimes when
we play with foxes they lead us into bear traps. Young man, witness
these gray hairs; never speak to strange women, especially when they
wear veils.”
Fitzgerald was now attending the conversation.
“And who is this woman?” asked Maurice.
“Mademoiselle of the Veil, according to your picturesque imagination; to
me she is the intimate friend and adviser of her Highness Stephonia.” He
wheeled to the troopers with a laugh: “Hoch, you beggars, hoch!”
Maurice indulged in some uncomplimentary remarks, among which was: “I'm
an ass!”
“Every man improves on making that discovery; the Darwinian theory is
wrong.”
After a pause Maurice said: “How did you get on the ground so quickly?”
“We arrived yesterday afternoon as the escort of your charmer. A pretty
woman finds it troublesome to travel alone in these parts. When you
slapped your friend on the back and bawled out his name--a name known
from one end of the kingdom to the other--the plan of action was
immediately formed. You were necessary, for it was taken for granted
that you knew too much. You had also promised your sword,” with a
chuckle.
“I made no promise,” said Maurice. “I only said that I should easily be
found when wanted.”
“Well, so you were; there's no gainsaying that.”
Maurice said some more uncomplimentary things.
“It was neatly done, you will admit. Life is a game of cards; he wins
who plays first.”
“Or he doesn't. Colonel, a game is won only when it is played'.”
“That's true enough.”
“Kings are a tolerable bother on earth,” Maurice declared, trying to
ease his wrists by holding them higher against his back.
“What do you know about them?”
“When I was in the army I often fell in with three or four of a night.”
“Eh?--kings?”
“Yes; but usually I was up against aces or straight flushes.”
“Cards! Well, well; when you get down to the truth of the matter, real
kings differ but little from the kings in pasteboard; right side up, or
wrong side up, they serve the purpose of those who play them. There's a
poor, harmless devil back there,” with a nod toward Bleiberg. “He never
injured a soul. Perhaps that's it; had he been cruel, avaricious, sly,
all of them would be cringing at his feet. Devil take me--but I'm a
soldier,” he broke off abruptly; “it's none of my business.”
“Have you any titles?” Maurice asked presently.
“Titles?” The Colonel jerked around on his horse. “Why?”
“O,” said Maurice carelessly, “I thought it not unlikely that you might
have a few lying around loose.”
The Colonel roared. “You Americans beat the very devil with your
questions. Well, I am politely known as Count Mollendorf, if that will
gratify you.”
“What! brother of Mollendorf of the king's police?”
“God save the mark! No; I am an honest man--some of the time.”
Maurice laughed; the old fellow was amusing, and besides, this
conversation helped to pass away the time.
“Wake up, Jack; here's entertainment,” he said.
A scowl added itself to the stern expression on Fitzgerald's face.
“I trust that none of your teeth are loose,” ventured the Colonel.
“If they are, they'll be tight enough ere many days have passed,” was
the threatening reply.
“Beware the dog!” cried the Colonel, and he resumed his place at the
head of the little troop.
Maurice took this opportunity to bend toward Fitzgerald. “Have you
anything of importance about you?” he whispered significantly.
“Nothing. But God send that no chambermaid change the sheet in my bed at
the hotel.”
“Are they--”
“Silence.” Fitzgerald saw the trooper next with his hand to his ear.
After a time the Colonel sang out: “Fifteen miles more, with three on
the other side, men; we must put more life into us. A trot for a few
miles. The quicker the ride is done, baron, the quicker the surgeon will
look to your arm.”
And silence fell upon the troop. Occasionally a stray horse in the
fields whinneyed, and was answered from the road; sometimes the howl of
a dog broke the monotony. On and on they rode; hour and mile were left
behind them. The moon fell lower and lower, and the mountains rose
higher and higher, and the wind which had risen had a frosty sting to
it. Maurice now began to show the true state of his temper by cursing
his horse whenever it rubbed against one of its fellows. His back was
lame, and there was a dull pain in one of his shoulders. When he had
made the rush for the door, clubbing right and left with the empty
revolvers, he had finally been thrown on an overturned chair.
“Here, hang you!” he said to the trooper who held the bridle of his
horse, “I'm cold; you might at least turn up my collar about my throat.”
“You are welcome to my cloak,” said the trooper, disengaging that
article from his shoulders.
“Thank you,” said Maurice, somewhat abashed by the respectful tone.
The trooper offered his blanket to Fitzgerald.
“I wish no favors,” said the Englishman, thanklessly.
The trooper shrugged, and caught up Maurice's bridle.
At length the troop arrived at the frontier. There was no sign of life
at the barrack. They passed unchallenged.
“What!” exclaimed Maurice, “do they sleep here at night, then? A fine
frontier barrack.” He had lived in hopes of more disturbance and a
possible chance for liberty.
“They will wake up to-day,” answered the Colonel; “that is, if the wine
we gave them was not too strong. Poor devils; they must be good and cold
by this time, since we have their clothes. What do you think of a king
whose soldiers drink with any strangers who chance along?”
Maurice became resigned. To him the present dynasty was as fragile as
glass, and it needed but one strong blow to shatter it into atoms. And
the one hope rode at his side, sullen and wrathful, but impotent; the
one hope the king had to save his throne. He had come to Bleiberg in
search of excitement, but this was altogether more than he had bargained
for.
The horses began to lift and were soon winding in and out of the narrow
mountain pass. The chill of the overhanging snows fell upon them.
“It wouldn't have hurt you to accept the blanket,” said Maurice to
Fitzgerald.
“Curse it! I want nothing but two minutes freedom. It would be warm
enough then.”
“No confidences, gentlemen,” warned the Colonel; “I understand English
tolerably well.”
“Go to the devil, then, if you do!” said Fitzgerald discourteously.
“When the time comes,” tranquilly. “Of the two I like your friend
the better. To be resigned to the inevitable is a sign of good mental
balance.”
“I am not used to words,” replied the Englishman.
“You are used to orders. I am simply obeying mine. If I took you off
your guard it was because I had to, and not because I liked that method
best. Look alive, men; it's down hill from now on.”
A quarter of an hour later the troop arrived at the duchy's frontier
post. There was no sleep here. The Colonel flung himself from his horse
and exercised his legs.
“Sergeant,” he said, “how far behind the others?”
“They passed two hours ago, Excellency. And all is well?” deferentially.
“All is indeed well,” with a gesture toward the prisoners.
“I've a flask of brandy in my hip pocket,” said Maurice. “Will you help
me to a nip, Colonel?”
“Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were still in
cords. Corporal,” to a trooper, “relieve their hands.”
The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and cold.
Maurice produced his flask.
“I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle,” he said, as he
extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it. “I'd offer
you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping coals of fire on your
head; and, besides, I want it all myself.” He returned the emptied flask
to his pocket, feeling a moderate warmth inside.
“Drink away, my son,” said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle;
“there'll be plenty for me for this night's work. Forward!”
The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest kept clear
of dead wood by the peasants. It abounded with game. The shrill cry of
the pheasants, the rustle of the partridges in the underbrush, the bark
of the fox, all rose to the ears of the trespassers. The smell of warm
earth permeated the air, and the sky was merging from silver into gold.
When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his
mushroom nobles, who placed too much faith in the man of destiny,
selected this wooded paradise as a residence. He built him a fine castle
of red brick, full of wide halls and drawing rooms and chambers of
state, and filled it with fabulous paintings, Gobelin tapestries, and
black walnut wainscot. He kept a small garrison of French soldiers
by converting the huge stables partly into a barrack. One night the
peasantry rose. There was a conflict, as the walls still show; and the
prince by patent fled, no one knew where. After its baptism in blood
it became known far and wide as the Red Chateau. Whenever children were
unruly, they were made docile by threats of the dark dungeons of the Red
Chateau, or the ghosts of the French and German peasants who died there.
As it now stood, it was one of the summer residences of her Highness.
It was here that the long night's journey came to an end.
“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel, dismounting, “permit me, in the name of
her Highness, to offer you the hospitality of Red Chateau. Consider;
will you lighten my task by giving me your word of honor to make no
attempt to escape? Escape is possible, but not probable. There are
twenty fresh men and horses in the stables. Come, be reasonable. It will
be pleasanter on both sides.”
“So far as I'm concerned,” said Maurice, who needed liberty not half so
much as sleep, “I pass my word.”
“And you, sir?” to Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald gazed about him. “Very well,” he said, as he saw the futility
of a struggle.
“Your humble servant, Messieurs,” touching his cap. “Take the ropes off
their ankles, men.”
When Maurice was lifted from his horse and placed on the ground, his
legs suddenly bent under him, and he went sprawling to the grass. A
trooper sprang to his assistance.
“My legs have gone to sleep!”
The Englishman was affected likewise, and it was some moments before
either could walk. They were conducted to a chamber high up in the left
wing, which overlooked the forest and the mountains. It was a large airy
room, but the windows were barred and there were double locks on the
doors. The Colonel followed them into the room and pointed to the table.
“Breakfast, Messieurs, and a good sleep for you till this noon. As for
the rest, let that take care of itself.” And he left them.
Maurice, after having tried all the bars and locks in answer to his
conscience, gave his attention to the breakfast. On lifting the covers
he found fish, eggs, toast and coffee.
“Here's luck!” he cried. “We were expected.”
“Curse it, Maurice!” Fitzgerald began pacing the room.
“No, no,” said Maurice; “let us eat it; that's what it's here for,” and
he fell to with that vigor known only to healthy blood.
“But what's to be done?”
“Follow Solomon's advice, and wait.”
“You're taking it cursed cool.”
“Force of habit,” breaking the toast. “What's the use of wasting powder?
Because I have shown only the exterior, our friend the Colonel has
already formed an opinion of me. I am brave if need be, but young and
careless. In a day or so--for I suppose we are not to be liberated at
once--he'll forget to use proper caution in respect to me. And then,
'who can say?' as the Portuguese says when he hasn't anything else to
say. They'll keep a strict watch over you, my friend, because you've
played the lion too much. Just before I left the States, as you call
them, a new slang phrase was going the rounds;--'it is better to play
the fox some of the time than to roar all of the time.' Ergo, be foxy.
Take it cool. So long as you haven't got that mint packed about your
person, the game breaks even.”
“But the king!”
“Is as secure on his throne as he ever was. If you do not present those
consols, either for renewal or collection, on the twentieth, he loses
nothing. As you said, let us hope that the chambermaid is a shifty,
careless lass, who will not touch your room till you return.” Maurice
broke an egg and dropped a lump of sugar into his cup.
“Is this the way you fight Indians?”
“Indians? What the deuce has fighting Indians to do with this? As to
Indians, shoot them in the back if you can. Here, everything depends not
on fighting but the right use of words. A man may be a diplomat and
not render his country any large benefit; still, it's a fine individual
training. Thrones stand on precipices and are pushed back to safety by
the trick of a few words. Have an egg; they're fresh.”
Fitzgerald sat down and gulped his coffee. “They broke my monocle in the
struggle.”
Maurice choked in his cup.
“I've worn it twelve years, too,” went on Fitzgerald.
“Everything is for the best,” said Maurice. “You will be able to see out
of both eyes.”
“Confound you!” cried Fitzgerald, smiling in spite of himself; “nothing
will disturb you.”
“You mean, nothing shall. Now, there's the bed and there's the lounge.
Since you are the principal, that is to say, the constituent part of
this affair, and also the principal actor in this extravaganza, suppose
you take the bed and leave me the lounge? And the deuce take the
duchess, who is probably a woman with a high forehead and a pair of
narrow eyes!” He threw down his napkin and made for the lounge, without
giving any particular attention to the smile and frown which were
struggling in the Englishman's eyes. In less than a minute Maurice was
dozing.
Fitzgerald thought that the best thing he could do was to follow the
philosophical example of his friend. “These Americans,” he mused, as he
arranged the pillow under his ear, “are `fifteen puzzles'; you can move
them, or you can't.”
As for Maurice, he was already dreaming; he was too tired to sleep.
Presently he thought he was on a horse again, and was galloping,
galloping. He was heading his old company to the very fringe of the
alkali. The Apaches had robbed the pay train and killed six men, and
the very deuce was to pay all around.... Again he was swimming, and a
beautiful girl reached out a hand and saved him. Ah! how beautiful she
was, how soft and rich the deep brown of her eyes!... The scene shifted.
The president of the South American republic had accepted his sword
(unbeknown to the United States authorities), and he was aiding to quell
the insurrection. And just then some one whispered to him that gold
would rise fifty points. And as he put out his hands to gather in the
glittering coins which were raining down, the face of Colonel Beauvais
loomed up, scowling and furious.... And yet again came the beautiful
girl. He was holding her hand and the archbishop had his spread out in
benediction over their heads.... A hand, which was not of dreamland,
shook him by the arm. He opened his eyes. Fitzgerald was standing over
him. The light of the sun spangled the walls opposite the windows. The
clock marked the eleventh hour of day.
“Hang you!” he said, with blinking eyes; “why didn't you let me be?
I was just marrying the princess, and you've spoiled it all. I--” He
jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, and, forgetful of all save his
astonishment, pursed his lips into a low whistle.