bearded face of the occupant appeared in the doorway, which he
cautiously closed behind him. He held up a warning finger. Approaching
Trusia's side, he uncovered his head and humbly lifting her skirt's edge
kissed its hem. He spoke in a tone too low for Carter's ear, but Trusia,
turning, conveyed to her escort the substance of his remarks.
"He says that he already has guests--uninvited ones--in his home. A
Cossack picket has been quartered upon him. At present they are asleep.
He learned of our possible fate from them, and waited at the window,
watching for such chance stragglers as might escape. He offers to guide
us to a cave, which Krovitzers deserting from the Russian army have
been accustomed to make their refuge against pursuit. We can lie safely
hid there to-night and to-morrow he will guide us to the Vistula. Or, if
we would rather, he will immediately lead us to a path which if we
follow should bring us to the riverside by dawn. Which shall it be,
Calvert?" He was stirred to the depths of his nature by her unreserved
trust in him.
"Can you stand the longer journey?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes, with you," she replied gently.
"Let us push on, then," he suggested. "We cannot put too many miles
between us and pursuit. Tell him, though, to bring some food and at
least one blanket for you."
Upon learning her decision the faithful fellow disappeared into the
cabin, from which he presently emerged carrying two parcels which he
handed to Carter. Cautioning them to follow as silently as might be, he
plunged without further comment into the darkest shadows about them,
which, upon their nearer approach, disclosed a tiny footpath in which
they found it impossible for them to ride abreast. The peasant, with the
lantern which he had lit when well out of sight of the hut, was plodding
silently ahead, so Carter dropped back, keeping both eyes and ears open
for any sight or sounds that might warn him of the neighborhood of
strangers. The path grew each moment wilder and more impassable for
equestrians. The low branches of the trees more than once whipped their
faces. Three times did Trusia's horse stumble over some projecting root
directly in their route. After the eternity it takes to cover five miles
on an unknown road in chaotic darkness, the charcoal burner turned to
his princess.
"From now on, Highness," he said with an apologetic gesture, "the road
is too narrow for horses."
She turned to Carter, awaiting his decision. It was an odd picture they
made. He could not but note it. The peasant held his lantern on a level
with his shaggy head which alternated in deep shadows and high lights.
About them, within the zone of its rays, the huge trunks of trees stood
out on every side, their tops lost in the surrounding darkness. Before
him, but partially revealed by the illumination, sat the girl upon her
horse, her head turned to him with an expression emphasized by the
encircling gloom.
"Well?" she asked, recalling him from his observations.
"We'll have to abandon them," he answered, dismounting and reluctantly
helping her to the ground. When Trusia offered the horses to Hans, he
refused, saying that their possession might lead to the pursuit of the
fugitives.
Trusia fondly drew the satiny muzzle of her own steed down to her cheek.
"I hate to do it, Saladin," she murmured chokingly, "but I have to; you
understand, dear horse." She kissed the soft nose that was resting
affectionately on her shoulder. "You will have to drive him away,
Calvert," she said turning to the man at her side, "I cannot." The steed
seemed to comprehend, for with a whinny that was almost a sigh, he
coaxingly nozzled her hand and rubbed his shapely head against her arm.
"Good-bye, Saladin," she cried wistfully, as in obedience to a sharp
smack on their flanks, the horses trotted off into the thicket and were
swallowed up in the gloom.
Hour after hour Carter and Trusia, led by Hans, trudged ahead, silently
advancing upon the wall of darkness ever facing them. Their reflections
were absorbing them and each respected the sanctity of the other's
thoughts. After the second five miles had been accomplished, they
suddenly came upon a clear space under the unveiled splendor of the
stars. At their feet, reflecting the glory of the heavens, bubbled a
forest spring. Hans dropped at Trusia's feet, and catching her hand,
mumbled some grief-hampered words.
"He must go back now," she explained to Carter. "He says our way is
plain from here on. We are to follow this path until daylight. By then
we should reach a similar clearing, where his brother, Carl, has his
ovens. There we can get shelter. When we have had sufficient rest, Carl
will guide us to the frontier. That last part of the road Hans does not
know. Once at the river, he says, there is a ferry, used by peasants,
which will take us across to Austria."
"Why must he go?" Carter inquired, his every suspicion aroused for the
woman he loved.
"Should he be missing in the morning from his hut, the soldiers would
guess the reason for his absence. His wife and infant would probably pay
for his loyalty with their lives."
"And this Carl, how can he vouch for his loyalty?" Carter persisted.
"I know Carl," said the girl sweetly. That was enough.
The peasant stood to one side as the pair passed him. One glance into
the honest eyes was sufficient to convince Carter that the man had
spoken the truth.
Soon nothing could be seen of the shadowy figure on the forest edge
which stood watching until darkness swallowed the form of his beloved
suzerain. Side by side again, the two persisted along the starlit way of
their hopes, until they, too, entered another forest beyond. Here,
though aided by the lantern Hans had left with them, they lost the
narrow lane a score of times; disuse had made it almost invisible.
At last, gray with mourning, the tardy day awoke. With heavy limbs and
straining eyes, they stumbled at last into view of the promised haven of
thatch.
A premonition of something amiss caused Carter to pause as they hastened
toward it. The door, unlatched, swung open desolately upon creaking
hinges. No smoke beckoned from its chimneys, no sign of personality bade
them draw near. Trusia choked back the sob as she clung heavily to
Carter's arm.
"It is empty," she prophesied.
"The fellow is about some place, doubtless," Carter answered cheerfully,
that she might not be panic-stricken by his acquiescence. "You stay
here. I'll scout about a bit,--and find him," he added as an
afterthought. Leaving both his pack and revolver with her, he approached
the house with the same caution he would have displayed in routing out a
grizzly bear.
In the tiny enclosure in front of the cabin, he found the disturbing
evidence of the visitation of a number of horses in the marred and
furrowed soil of the garden, torn by a score of hoofs. Cossacks had been
here. He paused, with straining ears, by the door, listening for some
portent from within. No sound gave him a clue as to the situation inside
the single room which made up the peasant home. He entered boldly.
Trusia's heart pounded in lonely centuries, it seemed, as she prayed
fervently for his reappearance. Presently, staggering beneath a burden
of suggestive shape, Carter came out and took his way to the dense
underbrush behind the cabin. He returned to the hut for a spade and pick
and went back to the underbrush. His absence seemed interminable. Then,
with blistered hands, he stepped out of the thicket at her side.
"What was it? What kept you so long?" she asked, startled by his sudden
appearance and petulant with exhaustion.
"Don't ask me, sweet," he begged, "but come and rest for an hour or so.
I'll be the sentry at your gate."
"But the Cossacks may come," she hesitated.
"Lightning never strikes twice in the same place," he assured with a
grim meaning for himself in the words. "Come, the coast is clear."
"But that you carried," she held back as the doubt arose, for she had
seen.
"Without benefit of clergy, poor fellow," he replied seeing that it was
too late to deceive her. "I hoped you wouldn't notice."
Gently he urged her to the hut. Freshening the pallet with twigs and
leaves, he spread the double blanket they had brought upon the bed and
then withdrew to mount guard while she might snatch some rest.
With his back against the wall, seated on a rude bench outside the
cabin, he watched the heavy-eyed sun arise and yawn. Once from the cabin
a sigh floated.
"Rest well, sweetheart," he called. "Our flight has just commenced."
XXV
THEY MEET JOSEF
He dared not sleep. Thousands of aching demons in his weary limbs
promised him surcease if he would. Every stir in nature, each drowsy
twitter of the birds, coaxed him to relax his watchfulness, but he
resisted. Time seemed a paralytic as Carter waited the passing of the
day. A score of times his head bent forward in weariness. He could feel
pain pass from him like a sigh, only to be called back as in reaction he
would jerk his head up to wakefulness.
Slumber reigned indoors. As the hours dragged on, it seemed to the
watchful lover that something was surely wrong. He had heard no sound,
no stir, no sigh, for an age of patience. Half ashamed of his own
boldness, he tiptoed in to where she lay. Her face was pale with
languor; no breath appeared to stir her breast. With a great leap his
mind went back, fearing, to that scene by the roadside as she lay
fainting in his arms. He reached out and touched her wrist. Again he
gave thanks that, beneath his finger, life flowed serenely in its
course.
He turned and went back to his seat on the bench. He counted time now
by the throbbing of his nerves. The sun passed its zenith, began to
droop; still Trusia slept and Carter kept a sleepless vigil. Great and
red, in the west, the sun was setting as the girl came out and laid a
soft, comforting hand upon his shoulder.
"I have been selfish, Calvert," she said in self-accusation. "I should
have let you rest first. You have had the greater labor and worriment.
We will eat something now, then I shall watch while you sleep."
"I am not tired," he protested, yawning as he spoke. "Even though I have
not slept I have dreamed--of you." He marveled at the mystery which bade
a rose pink creep into a girl's cheek and pass and come again.
The simple food provided by Hans was a delectable feast to the wayworn
pair, who appreciated it down to the last allotted crumb.
After the final morsel had disappeared, they quietly conversed, but
while they talked, Carter's head lurched forward and he was asleep.
Sweetly, with the maternal impulse found even in maidens, she drew the
heavy head to her and smiled happily at its weight upon her breast. She
bent forward to listen, for sweetened in the dream he held, she heard
her name whispered in adoration.
The shadows were creeping upon them. Evening had drawn the curtain
across reluctant day. In the dusk, sinister figures appeared to crouch
and creep by every bush and tree. Inevitable as darkness it seemed, they
gathered from every side. Her fright numbered them as a myriad. They
were three. Unwilling in her solicitude to disturb her sleeping lover
until the last moment, she drew her revolver. Then with chilling
misgivings she realized that these men had followed the path used by
herself and Carter.
Some acute sympathy--maybe his dreams, maybe a prescience which never
slumbers--awoke Carter with a full realization of the imminent danger
which threatened.
"Come," he said, arising to his full height, "you must go in." He pushed
her through the door and stood in the narrow entrance, awaiting the
onslaught. "They outnumber me," he laughed, "but it is a dark night.
That reduces the odds. You see, sweetheart, that while in the gloom they
may hit friends, yet if it comes to sword play I can't possibly hit any
one else but them." He actually chuckled as he rolled back the sleeve on
his right arm. "They won't use pistols unless I do, for they don't know
how near we are to reinforcements. Neither do we for that matter," and
he smiled again. "Have you that revolver?" he inquired, quite serious
this time. "No, I don't want it," he said as she held it out to him.
"You know what to do with it if the time comes."
They had not long to wait. Their opponents, confident of success, came
rapidly forward. One figure was familiar even in the gloom. It was
Josef. With a leap the trio were upon Carter. He felt the impact of
their blades like pulse beats in the darkness as they met his own steel.
As weapon met weapon in clanging song his spirits arose. He wanted to
chant to the dainty, cruel rhythm of the tempered strokes. He knew on
the instant that he should vanquish these foes. Muscle after muscle,
sinew after sinew, thickened and grew lean alternately as thrust
followed guard. His body, moving with his arm, seemed following some
primitive dance--the orgy of the Sword, the prince of battle weapons.
He heard a smothered gasp in the darkness, succeeded by a curse in a
familiar voice.
"You, Josef?" he queried with a satisfied laugh.
"Not yet, m'sieu the American," came back the sneering answer. "You
first," it taunted, just beyond Carter's reach in the gloom. The remark
was followed by a slight touch in the shoulder from which the warm
blood spouted as the keen point was withdrawn.
"Not quite low enough for me, Josef," answered Carter. "That was only a
scratch. Try a ripost. I don't intend to wound _you_. I am going to kill
you."
"You'll have no chance. We are three and we will carry off the Lady
Trusia. She'll be a dainty bit for our feasting." A sob behind him
apprised him that she had heard.
"Cur," Carter cried, and drove straight for the neck he knew held a
smirking face. With the slipping of Carter's foot, Josef escaped death
at the price of a companion's life, behind whom Josef had escaped
Carter's vengeance. The American, hearing the suggestive thud in the
darkness, pushed his advantage, with the result that soon an angry snarl
told him that the second Russian was wounded. The fellow dropped his
sword to clasp his right wrist, then fled, closely followed by the
discreet servitor. When Calvert had recovered his balance, the Gray Man
had disappeared.
"There is no time to lose," he called to Trusia, "we must start at once
before that old rascal brings reinforcements." Though he jestingly
belittled its importance, she insisted upon bandaging the wound in his
shoulder and made much of him, womanlike.
"I do not care if they should send a dozen men," she said, dazzling the
gloom with her eyes; "my king, my lover, could defeat them all!" He
dared not kiss her, then, as they both would have wished. Her isolation
made her holy.
"That," he said, pointing southwardly, "is our general direction. Fate
must guide our steps."
XXVI
THE VISTULA!
It was a weary journey. Confused, discouraged, losing their paths a
score of times each hour, they lurched forward through the gloom of
night and the unfeeling dawn of the next day. They prayed a ceaseless
prayer for succor and--the Vistula. They were hungry, for the last crumb
of food had been lost in fording a boisterous stream in their road, and
in the darkness they had been unable to recover it. Rough stones cut
Trusia's feet, but she uttered no complaint. The brambles tore her
clothes, and scarred her hands, while more than one low-hanging limb
clutched at her hair. Nor did Carter fare any better.
The second morning found them helplessly lost in the forest. By sheer
strength he broke down saplings and built a wigwam in which Trusia could
rest. He caught a rabbit, off which they fared for one meal and still
frugally saved a portion for the necessities of mid-day. When that time
came around, the girl generously insisted that he should take it all,
there not being enough for both, and he having been unable to snare any
other unwary woodland denizen. Of course he refused. She looked at him,
grief-stricken and imploring. Still he would not yield. Then came their
nearest approach to a quarrel. Fatigued, depressed, bewildered, it is no
wonder that the strained nerves gave way.
"See, Calvert," she said at last, looking at him through tear-dimmed
eyes, "I give in. I'll feel like a cannibal, though; I know I
shall--eating your strength." Unable to refrain under the yielding
influences, he bent toward her for a kiss of reconciliation, but she
gently held him off.
"Not yet," she said gravely, "not yet."
With mid-afternoon they resumed their weary advance and maintained their
plodding way through the night. Along toward dawn of this, the third,
day of their flight, a suggestive, recurrent, monotonous sigh in the air
told their hopeful ears that they were drawing near a large body of
water.
"Do you hear it, Calvert?" she asked ecstatically, a convulsive hand
upon his elbow.
"Yes," he answered in a voice husky with thanksgiving, "it is right over
the breast of that bank of firs. Oh, little girl," he said bending the
depths of his eyes into her soul, "I am glad for you. You are safe."
"I have been safe all along with you, Calvert," she smiled up into his
face.
He half turned away his head, her smile was as intoxicating as strong
wine. "Don't say that," he said guiltily. "I am but a man and more than
once--in the solitude--I was tempted."
She smiled an Eve-taught reproof. "Yet you did not yield, my lover.
Come, let us race the last few steps for the first view of the river."
Their clothes in flags, disheveled, bruised, unkempt, like wild things
of the woods, they rushed from the forest to the edge of the river. The
Vistula!
"There lies Austria," he cried exultantly, pointing to the other shore.
"And here--and here," she cried with a little sob halting her
words,--"and here lies--here lies poor, poor Krovitch." Tears came and
saved her reason, for under the heavy strain her senses reeled. Then
both together they searched for the ferry; but doubtless miles away from
the end of the tiny path, it was a hopeless task to search further. As
despondently they gave up the quest, Carter turned a grove-covered bend
in the river.
"Look, Trusia," he called back to her; "a yacht--an American yacht!
See," he cried in a frenzy of delight, "there is the flag. The flag--the
stars and stripes! Oh, fate is kind." He seized the girl and whirled
her around in a dervish dance of joy, hallooing at the top of his voice.
There came an answer presently to his cheers. "They have heard us,
doubtless," he said, peering shipward. Then his eyes lit with a new
discovery. "That's the New York Yacht Club pennant. Owner's aboard and
I'm darned--I beg pardon--if it isn't Billy Saunderson's signal at the
peak. Funny that they answered our hail when no one seems on deck."
"Hark, Calvert, what is that?" asked Trusia apprehensively. He bent his
head fearfully toward the forest. Shouts, the crackling of fallen twigs,
cheers and commands in Russian, greeted their ears.
"And we thought it was some one on the boat," was his only comment. "You
are too late, Mr. Tsar," he called back as he waved his hand as if in
farewell. "My countryman is a friend of mine," he said in explanation to
the trembling girl. "He will give us a berth, never fear. We will have
to swim for it, though."
"But I can't swim a stroke, Calvert. I will only hamper you. You save
yourself, sweetheart. They will never take me. I promise you. Do go,
dear."
"Nonsense. Will you trust yourself with me? I can handle two like you."
She looked at him with that look that a man need see but once in a
woman's eyes and hold life cheap for its purchase.
"Calvert, I would trust you any place after this journey."
In the unlit gray of dawn, the waters were dark and chill. Carter was
numbed; he realized for the first time how mercilessly their cruel
journey had drawn on his strength. His stroke seemed laborious from the
very start, and his clothes hampered him. The girl obediently clung to
his shoulders.
About a quarter of the distance to the island in midstream was
accomplished. That diminutive patch of soil was a mutually acknowledged
boundary between Russia and Austria. A fierce yell of triumph caused the
swimmer to pause in his efforts. He looked back over his shoulder to see
the first pair of pursuers push their wiry mounts into the river. Then
with a groan he realized that the stream was dotted with horsemen.
It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That haven
of safety was anchored a good two hundred yards below and beyond the
isle. Gritting his teeth, however, he redoubled his efforts.
"They are gaining on us, dear," Trusia prompted.
"If it comes to the worst we can go down together, but we are not caught
yet. How close are they?"
"Not two hundred yards away," she replied after a careful backward look.
Carter caught sight of a man on deck of the vessel and hailed him with
desperately good lungs. The seaman seemed to take one fleeting look at
the struggle in the water and then disappeared hastily down a
companionway.
"How near are they now, Trusia?" gasped Carter.
"They have gained only about ten yards."
Calvert's head seemed the bursting hive of a million stinging bees. His
arms ached horribly. His legs were flung out like useless flags. He made
superhuman efforts to keep up the unequal struggle.
"How near are they now, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice rasping
out sharply under his strain.
"They have gained only another ten yards, beloved," she responded
solacing as a sweet woman does in the very teeth of despair.
His mouth and tongue were swollen and his throat was parched. His head
throbbed wildly with an ugly drumming, while each breath seemed a solid
thing racking his burning lungs with a novel pain.
"I'll make it--I'll make it--I'll make it," he repeated in
semi-conscious determination. "How near now?" he gasped back to her.
"They have gained in all about fifty yards." She began to weep softly.
It acted like a spur to his flagging strength. It was helpless womankind
calling upon man for succor. His eyes felt like overripe fruit, ready to
burst, and blue flashes of pain danced before them. Then all things
looked black--a veil had fallen in front of him.
"I'll make it--I'll make it--I'll make it," his iteration sounded like a
mocking echo flung back into his ears. "I must not sink," he asserted to
himself. "Not until I have saved Trusia," his thoughts were becoming
incapable of coherence.
"Aboard the _Bronx_. Aboard the _Bronx_." His voice sounded a long way
off. His movements were becoming feebly automatic. He was sure a
maliciously grinning horseman was reaching out for Trusia, though it was
impossible to see him.
"Now?" he gasped.
"Only five yards away," she answered calmly.
It is easy to die, easier to drown, when there is no escape.
XXVII
YOU ARE STILL MY KING
It seemed that the shadows were being withdrawn from his eyes, just as a
curtain is pulled back from a window. As consciousness became a more
certain quantity he wondered vaguely why he did not feel drenched and
uncomfortable, instead of cozy and warm. He was aware of a pinkish-gray
blur hanging above his head; this slowly resolved itself into a human
face. While he could not distinguish the features in the darkened light
of the room, he was certain that it was that of a woman.
"Trusia," he cried ecstatically.
"Please be quiet," responded an unfamiliar voice in a tone of
undemurrable authority. He pondered. He puzzled. Finally he gathered
courage to speak.
"Who are you?" he queried dubiously.
"I am the nurse," came back indulgently through the dim haze of
semi-consciousness still enveloping him.
"Nurse," he exclaimed, throwing off the gray mist, to notice for the
first time that he was in his own bed and room, in New York City.
Accepting conditions as they were for the time being, he settled back
and sighed the long, indolent sigh of convalescence. He glanced
expectantly toward the door, Carrick should be coming soon with the much
needed shaving things. Carrick? It all came back to him now. He no
longer was satisfied to lie back comfortably on the pillow and dream the
hazy dreams of the convalescent. Carrick was dead and he himself had
been drowned--but Trusia? He groaned in great distress. The nurse
hastened to his side.
"Are you in pain?" she asked, a trifle surprised that such a symptom
should appear in this case.