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.




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