Miss Calhoun, tourist extraordinary, again consulted the linguist in the
saddle. She knew at the outset that the quest would be hopeless, but she
could think of no better way to pass the next hour then to extract a
mite of information from the officer.
"Now for a good old chat," she said, beaming a smile upon the grizzled
Russian. "Is there a decent hotel in the village?" she asked.
They were on the edge of the village before she succeeded in finding out
all that she could, and it was not a great deal, either. She learned
that the town of Balak was in Axphain, scarcely a mile from the
Graustark line. There was an eating and sleeping house on the main
street, and the population of the place did not exceed three hundred.
When Miss Beverly awoke the next morning, sore and distressed, she
looked back upon the night with a horror that sleep had been kind enough
to interrupt only at intervals. The wretched hostelry lived long in her
secret catalogue of terrors. Her bed was not a bed; it was a
torture. The room, the table, the--but it was all too odious for
description. Fatigue was her only friend in that miserable hole. Aunt
Fanny had slept on the floor near her mistress's cot, and it was the
good old colored woman's grumbling that awoke Beverly. The sun was
climbing up the mountains in the east, and there was an air of general
activity about the place. Beverly's watch told her that it was past
eight o'clock.
"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "It's nearly noon, Aunt Fanny. Hurry
along here and get me up. We must leave this abominable place in ten
minutes." She was up and racing about excitedly.
"Befo' breakfas'?" demanded Aunt Fanny weakly.
"Goodness, Aunt Fanny, is that all you think about?"
"Well, honey, yo' all be thinkin' moughty serious 'bout breakfas' 'long
to'ahds 'leben o'clock. Dat li'l tummy o' yourn 'll be pow'ful mad
'cause yo' didn'--"
"Very well, Aunt Fanny, you can run along and have the woman put up a
breakfast for us and we'll eat it on the road. I positively refuse to
eat another mouthful in that awful dining-room. I'll be down in ten
minutes."
She was down in less. Sleep, no matter how hard-earned, had revived her
spirits materially. She pronounced herself ready for anything; there was
a wholesome disdain for the rigors of the coming ride through the
mountains in the way she gave orders for the start. The Russian officer
met her just outside the entrance to the inn. He was less English than
ever, but he eventually gave her to understand that he had secured
permission to escort her as far as Ganlook, a town in Graustark not more
than fifteen miles from Edelweiss and at least two days from Balak. Two
competent Axphainian guides had been retained, and the party was quite
ready to start. He had been warned of the presence of brigands in the
wild mountainous passes north of Ganlook. The Russians could go no
farther than Ganlook because of a royal edict from Edelweiss forbidding
the nearer approach of armed forces. At that town, however, he was sure
she easily could obtain an escort of Graustarkian soldiers. As the big
coach crawled up the mountain road and further into the oppressive
solitudes, Beverly Calhoun drew from the difficult lieutenant
considerable information concerning the state of affairs in Graustark.
She had been eagerly awaiting the time when something definite could be
learned. Before leaving St. Petersburg early in the week she was assured
that a state of war did not exist. The Princess Yetive had been in
Edelweiss for six weeks. A formal demand was framed soon after her
return from America, requiring Dawsbergen to surrender the person of
Prince Gabriel to the authorities of Graustark. To this demand there was
no definite response, Dawsbergen insolently requesting time in which to
consider the proposition. Axphain immediately sent an envoy to Edelweiss
to say that all friendly relations between the two governments would
cease unless Graustark took vigorous steps to recapture the royal
assassin. On one side of the unhappy principality a strong, overbearing
princess was egging Graustark on to fight, while on the other side an
equally aggressive people defied 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.