From the highlands below the Monastery, Captain Haas and his men were able to study the situation in the city. The impracticability of an assault on any one of the stubborn, well-guarded gates was at once recognised. A force of seven hundred men, no matter how well trained or determined, could not be expected to surmount walls that had often withstood the attack of as many thousands. The wisdom of delaying until a few thousand loyal, though poorly armed countrymen could be brought into play against the city appealed at once to Prince Dantan and John Tullis.
Withdrawing to an unexposed cut in the hills, safe from the shells that might be thrown up from the fortress, they established their camps, strongly entrenched and practically invulnerable against any attack from below. Squads of men were sent without delay into the hills and valleys to call the panic-stricken, wavering farmers into the fold. John Tullis headed the company that struck off into the well-populated Ganlook district.
Marlanx, as if realising the nature of the movement in the hills, began a furious assault on the gates leading to the Castle. The watchers in the hills could see as well as hear the conflict that raged almost at their feet, so to speak. They cheered like mad when the motley army of the usurper was frustrated in the attempt to take the main gates. From the walls about the park, Quinnox's men, few as they were, sent such deadly volleys into the streets below that the hordes fell back and found shelter behind the homes of the rich. With half an eye, one could see that the rascals were looting the palaces, secure from any opposition on the part of the government forces; through the glasses, scattered crowds of men could be seen carrying articles from the houses; more than one of the mansions went up in flames as the day grew old and the lust of the pillagers increased.
The next morning, Captain Haas announced to his followers that Marlanx had begun to shell the Castle. Big guns in the fortress were hurling great shells over the city, dropping them in the park. On the other hand, Colonel Quinnox during the night had swung three Gatling guns to the top of the wall; they were stationed at intervals along the wall, commanding every point from which an assault might be expected. It was a well-known fact that there was no heavy ordnance at the Castle. All day long, Marlanx's men, stationed in the upper stories of houses close to the walls, kept up a constant rifle fire, their bullets being directed against the distant windows of the Castle. That this desultory fusillade met with scant response at the hands of Quinnox, was quite apparent to the uneasy, champing watchers near the Monastery.
"Marlanx will not begin the actual bombardment until he knows that Tullis is drawing together a formidable force," prophesied Prince Dantan.
"But when he does begin the real shelling," mourned Truxton King, chafing like a lion under the deadly inaction. "I can't bear the thought of what it means to those inside the Castle. He can blow it to pieces over their heads. Then, from the house tops, he can pick them off like blackbirds. It's awful! Is there nothing that we can do, Prince? Damn it all, I know we can force a gate. And if we once get in where those cowardly dogs are lording it, you'll see 'em take the walls like steeple-chasers."
"My dear Mr. King," said Prince Dantan calmly, "you don't know Colonel Quinnox and the House Guard. The Quinnoxs have guarded Graustark's rulers for I don't know how many generations. History does not go back so far, I fear. You may depend on it, there will be no living guardsmen inside those walls when Marlanx lays his hands on the Prince."
That night recruits from the farms and villages began to straggle into the camp. They were armed with rifles, ordinary shotguns and antique "blunderbusses;" swords, staves and aged lances. All were willing to die in the service of the little Prince; all they needed was a determined, capable leader to rally them from the state of utter panic. They reported that the Crown foragers might expect cheerful and plenteous tribute from the farmers and stock growers. Only the mountaineers were hostile.
The army now grew with astonishing rapidity. The recruits were not fighting men in a military sense, but their hearts were true and they hungered for the chance to stamp out the evil that lay at their feet. By the close of the second day nearly three thousand men were encamped above the city. Late that night John Tullis rode into camp at the head of a great company from the Ganlook province. He had retaken the town of Ganlook, seized the fortress, and recruited the entire fighting strength of the neighbourhood. More than that, he had unlimbered and conveyed to the provisional camp two of the big guns that stood above the gates at the fortress. There had been a dozen skirmishes between the regulars and roving bands of desperadoes. A savage fight took place at Ganlook and another in the gap below the witch's hut. In both of these sanguinary affrays the government forces had come off victorious, splendid omens that did not fail to put confidence into the hearts of the men.
Marlanx trained two of his big guns on the camp in the hills. From the fortress he threw many futile shells toward their place of shelter. They did no damage; instead of death, they brought only laughter to the scornful camp. Under cover of night, the two Ganlook cannons were planted in a position commanding the southeastern city gate. It was the plan of the new besiegers to bombard this gate, tearing it to pieces with shot. When their force was strong enough offensively, an assault would be flung against this opening. Drill and discipline were necessary, however, before the attempt could be made. In the present chaotic, untrained condition of their forces, an assault would prove not only ineffectual, but disastrous. Day after day the recruits were put through hard drill under the direction of the regular officers. Every day saw the force increased. This made hard work for the drill-masters. The willingness of the recruits, however, lessened the task considerably.
The knowledge that Marlanx had no big guns except those stationed in the fortress was most consoling to Tullis and his friends. He could not destroy the Castle gates with shells, except by purest chance. He could drop shells into the Castle, but to hit a gate twenty feet wide? Never! Field ordnance was unknown to this country of mountains.
The Iron Count's inability to destroy the Castle gates made it feasible for the men in the hills to devote considerable more time to drill and preparation than they might have sacrificed if the conditions were the reverse. They were confident that Quinnox could hold the Castle for many days. With all this in mind, Captain Haas and Prince Dantan beat down the objections of the impatient Americans; the work of preparation against ignominous failure went on as rapidly as possible. Haas would not attack until he was ready, or it became absolutely certain that the men at the Castle were in dire need.
Signalling between the Castle and the hills had been going on for days. The absence of the "wigwag" system made it impossible to convey intelligible messages.
Truxton King was growing haggard from worry and loss of sleep. He could not understand the abominable, criminal procrastination. He was of a race that did things with a dash and on the spur of the moment. His soul sickened day by day. John Tullis, equally unhappy, but more philosophical, often found him seated upon a rock at the top of the ravine, an unlighted pipe in his fingers, his eyes intent upon the hazy Castle.
"Cheer up, King. Our time will come," he was wont to say.
"I've just got to do something, Tullis. This standing around is killing me." Again he would respond: "Don't forget that I love some one down there, old man. Maybe she's worrying about me, as well as about you." Once he gave poor Mr. Hobbs a frightful tongue-lashing and was afterward most contrite and apologetic. Poor Hobbs had been guilty of asking if he had a headache.
Truxton was assigned to several scouting expeditions, simply to provide him with action and diverting excitement. One of these expeditions determined the impossibility of entering the city through the railroad yards because of the trestle-work and the barricade of freight cars at the gap in the wall.
They had been in camp for a week. The stategists had practically decided that the assault could be made within a day or two. All was in readiness—or as near as it could be—and all was enthusiasm and excitement.
"If Haas puts it off another day I'm going to start a round robin, whatever that is," said Truxton. As he said it to a Dawsbergen officer who could not understand English, it is doubtful if that gentleman's polite nod of acquiescence meant unqualified approval of the project.
At first they had built no fires at night. Now the force was so formidable that this precaution was unnecessary. The air was chill and there were tents for but a few of the troopers. The fires in the ravine always were surrounded by great circles of men, eagerly discussing the coming battle. At the upper end of the ravine were the tents of the officers, Prince Dantan and John Tullis. The latter shared his with King and Mr. Hobbs. Up here, the circle about the kindly pile of burning logs was small, select and less demonstrative. Here they smoked in silence most of the time, each man's thoughts delivered to himself.
Above, on the jutting rock, sat the disconsolate, lovesick Truxton. It was the night before the proposed assault on the gates. The guns were in position and the cannonading was to begin at daybreak. He was full of the bitterness of doubt and misgiving. Was she in love with Vos Engo? Was the Count's suit progressing favourably under the fire of the enemy? Was his undoubted bravery having its effect upon the wavering susceptibilities of the distressed Loraine?
Here was he, Truxton King, idle and useless for more than a week, beyond range of the guns of the foe, while down there was Vos Engo in the thick of it, at the side of the girl he loved in those long hours of peril, able to comfort her, to cheer her, to fight for her. It was maddening. He was sick with uncertainty, consumed by jealousy. His pipe was not out now: he was smoking furiously.
The sound of a voice in sharp command attracted his attention. One of the sentries in the road below the elbow of the ridge had stopped some one who was approaching the camp. There was a bright moon, and Truxton could see other pickets hurrying to join the first. A few moments later the trespassers were escorted through the lines and taken directly to headquarters. A man and two women, King observed. Somewhat interested, he sauntered down from his lonely boulder and joined the group of officers.
John Tullis was staring hard at the group approaching from the roadway. They were still outside the circle of light, but it was plain to all that the newcomers were peasants. The women wore the short red skirts and the pointed bonnets of the lower classes. Gaudy shawls covered their shoulders. One was tall and slender, with a bearing that was not peasant-like. It was she who held Tullis's intense, unbelieving gaze until they were well inside the fire-light. She walked ahead of her companions. Suddenly he sprang forward with a cry of amazement.
It was the Countess Ingomede.
Her arrival created a sensation. In a moment she was in the centre of an amazed circle of men. Tullis, after his first low, eager greeting at the edge of the fire circle, drew her near to the warmth-giving flames. Prince Dantan and Captain Haas threw rugs and blankets in a great heap for her to sit upon. Every one was talking at once. The Countess was smiling through her tears.
"Make room for my maid and her father. They are colder and more fatigued than I," she said, lifting her tired, glorious eyes to John Tullis, who stood beside her. "We have come from Balak. They suffered much, that I might enjoy the slender comforts I was so ready to share with them."
"Thank God, you are here," he said in low, intense tones. She could not mistake the fervour in his voice nor the glow in his eyes. Her wondrous, yellowish orbs looked steadily into his, and he was satisfied. They paid tribute to the emotion that moved him to the depths of his being. Love leaped up to him from those sweet, tired eyes; leaped with the unerring force of an electric current that finds its lodestone in spite of mortal will.
"I knew you were here, John. I am not going back to Count Marlanx. It is ended."
"I knew it would come, Ingomede. You will let me tell you how glad I am—some day?"
"Some day, when I am truly, wholly free from him, John. I know what you will say, and I think you know what I shall say in reply." Both understood and were exalted. No other word passed between them touching upon the thing that was uppermost in their minds.
Food was provided for the wayfarers, and Tullis's tent was made ready for the Countess and her maid.
"Truxton," said he, "we will have to find other quarters for the night. I've let my apartment—furnished."
"She's gloriously beautiful, John," was all that Truxton said, puffing moodily at his pipe. He was thinking of one more beautiful, however. "I suppose you'd think it a favour if I'd pot Marlanx for you to-morrow."
"It doesn't matter whether he's potted or not, my friend. She will not go back to him. He will have to find another prisoner for his household."
Truxton's thoughts went with a shudder to the underground room and the fair prisoner who had shared it with him. The dread of what might have been the fate of Loraine Tullis—or what might still be in store for her—brought cold chills over him. He abruptly turned away and sat down at the outer edge of the group.
The Countess's story was soon told. Sitting before the great fire, surrounded by eager listeners, she related her experiences. Prince Dantan was her most attentive listener.
She had been seized on the night of the ball as she started across her father's garden. Before sunrise she was well on her way to Balak, in charge of three of the Count's most faithful henchmen. As for the messages that were sent to Edelweiss, she knew nothing of them, except the last, which she had managed to get through with the assistance of Josepha's father. She was kept a close prisoner in a house just outside of Balak, and came to learn all of the infamous projects of her husband. At the end of ten days her maid was sent to her from Edelweiss. She brought the news of the calamity that had befallen the city. It was then that she determined to break away from her captors and try to reach the Monastery of St. Valentine, where protection would be afforded her for the time being. After several days of ardent persuasion, she and Josepha prevailed upon the latter's father to assist them in their flight. Not only was he persuaded, but in the end he journeyed with them through the wildest country north of Ganlook. They were four days in covering the distance, partly on foot, partly by horse. Near the city they heard of the presence of troops near the Monastery. Farmers' wives told them of the newly formed army and of its leaders. She determined to make her way to the camp of those who would destroy her husband, eager to give them any assistance that her own knowledge of Marlanx's plans might provide.
Many details are omitted in this brief recital of her story. Perhaps it is well to leave something to the imagination.
One bit of information she gave created no end of consternation among the would-be deliverers of the city. It had the effect of making them all the more resolute; the absolute necessity for immediately regaining control in the city was forced upon them. She told them that Count Marlanx had lately received word that the Grand Duke Paulus was likely to intervene before many days, acting on his own initiative, in the belief that he could force the government of Graustark to grant the railway privileges so much desired by his country. Marlanx realised that he would have to forestall the wily Grand Duke. If he were in absolute control of the Graustark government when the Russian appeared, he and he alone would be in a position to deal with the situation. Unless the Castle fell into his hands beforehand, insuring the fall of the royal house and the ministry, the Grand Duke's natural inclination would be to first befriend the hapless Prince and then to demand recompense in whatsoever form he saw fit.
"The Grand Duke may send a large force of men across the border at any time," said the Countess in conclusion. "Count Marlanx is sure to make a decisive assault as soon as he hears that the movement has begun. He had hopes of starving them out, thus saving the Castle from destruction, but as that seems unlikely, his shells will soon begin to rain in earnest upon the dear old pile."
Truxton King was listening with wide open ears. As she finished this dreary prediction he silently arose to his feet and, without a word to any one, stalked off in the darkness. Tullis looked after him and shook his head sadly.
"I'll be happy on that fellow's account when daybreak comes and we are really at it," he said to Prince Dantan, who knew something of King's affliction.
But Truxton King was not there at daybreak. When he strode out of the camp that night, he left it behind forever.
The unfortunate lack of means to communicate with the occupants of the Castle had been the source of great distress to Captain Haas. If the defenders could be informed as to the exact hour of the assault from the outside, they could do much toward its speedy success by making a fierce sortie from behind their own walls. A quick dash from the Castle grounds would serve to draw Marlanx's attention in that direction, diminishing the force that he would send to check the onslaught at the gates. But there was no means of getting word to Colonel Quinnox. His two or three hundred men would be practically useless at the most critical period of the demonstration.
Truxton King had all this in mind as he swung off down the mountain road, having stolen past the sentries with comparative ease. He was smiling to himself. If all went well with him, Colonel Quinnox would be able to rise to the occasion. If he failed in the daring mission he had elected to perform, the only resulting harm would be to himself; the plans of the besiegers would not suffer.
He knew his ground well by this time. He had studied it thoroughly from the forlorn boulder at the top of the ravine. By skirting the upper walls, on the mountain side, he might, in a reasonably short space of time, reach the low woodlands north of the Castle walls. The danger from Marlanx's scouts outside the city was not great; they had been scattered and beaten by Haas's recruiting parties. He stood in more danger from the men he would help, they who were the watchful defenders of the Castle.
It must have been two o'clock when he crossed the King's Highway, a mile or more above the northern gates, and struck down into the same thick undergrowth that had protected him and Hobbs on a memorable night not long before.
At three o'clock, a dripping figure threw up his hands obligingly and laughed with exultation when confronted by a startled guardsman inside the Castle walls and not more than fifty yards from the water gates!
He had timed his entrance by the sound of the guardsman's footstep on the stone protecting wall that lined the little stream. When he came to the surface inside the water gate, the sentry was at the extreme end of his beat. He shouted a friendly cry as he advanced toward the man, calling out his own name.
Ten minutes later he was standing in the presence of the haggard, nerve-racked Quinnox, pouring into his astonished ears the news of the coming attack. While he was discarding his wet clothing for others, preparations for the sortie were getting under way. The Colonel lost no time in routing out the sleeping guardsmen and reserves, and in sending commands to those already on duty at the gates. The quick rattle of arms, the rush of feet, the low cries of relief, the rousing of horses, soon usurped the place of dreary, deadly calm.
When the sun peeped over the lofty hills, he saw inside the gates a restless, waiting company of dragoons, ready for the command to ride forth. Worn, haggard fellows, who had slept but little and who had eaten scarcely anything for three days; men who would have starved to death. Now they were forgetting their hunger and fatigue in the wild, exultant joy of the prospect ahead.
Meantime, King had crossed the grounds with Colonel Quinnox, on the way to the Castle. He was amazed, almost stupefied by the devastation that already had been wrought. Trees were down; great, gaping holes in the ground marked the spots where shells had fallen; the plaza was an almost impassable heap of masonry and soil, torn and rent by huge projectiles. But it was his first clear view of the Castle itself that appalled the American.
A dozen or more balls had crashed into the façade. Yawning fissures, gigantic holes, marked the path of the ugly messengers from Marlanx. Nearly all of the windows had been wrecked by riflemen who shot from the roofs of palaces in and about the avenue. Two of the smaller minarets were in ruins; a huge pillar in the lower balcony was gone; the terrace had been ploughed up by a single ricochetting shell.
"Great God!" gasped King. "It is frightful!"
"They began bombarding yesterday afternoon. We were asked to surrender at three o'clock. Our reply brought the shells, Mr. King. It was terrible."
"And the loss of life, Colonel?" demanded the other breathlessly.
"After the first two or three shells we found places of shelter for the Prince and his friends. They are in the stone tower beyond the Castle, overlooking what still remains of the ancient moat. Ah, there are no faltering hearts here, Mr. King. The most glorious courage instead. Count Vos Engo guards the Prince and the ladies of the household. Alas! it was hunger that we feared the most. To-day we should have resorted to horse's flesh. There was no other way. We knew that relief would come some day. John Tullis was there. We had faith in him and in you. And now it is to-day! This shall be our day, thank God! Nothing can stand before us!"
"Tullis is very anxious about his sister," ventured Truxton. Quinnox looked straight ahead, but smiled.
"She is the pluckiest of them all."
"Is she well?"
"Perhaps a trifle thin, sir, that is all. I dare say that is due to scarcity of nourishment, although the Prince and his closest associates were the last to feel deprivation."
"How does the Prince take all this, Colonel?"
"As any Prince of Graustark would, sir. There is no other way. It is in the blood."
"Poor little chap!"
"He will rejoice to know that you have found his lucky stone so effective. The Prince has never wavered in his loyalty to that pebble, sir."
Together they entered the Castle. Inside there were horrid signs of destruction, particularly off the balconies.
"No one occupies the upper part of the Castle now, sir."
Attendants sped to the tower, shouting the battle tidings. No compunction was felt in arousing the sleeping household. As a matter of fact, there was no protest from the eager ladies and gentlemen who hurried forth to hear the news.
The Prince came tumbling down the narrow iron stairs from his room above, shouting joyously to Truxton King. No man was ever so welcome. He was besieged with questions, handshakings and praises. Even the Duke of Perse, hobbling on crutches, had a kindly greeting for him. Tears streamed down the old man's cheeks when King told him of his daughter's safe arrival in the friendly camp.
Truxton picked the Prince up in his arms and held him close to his breast, patting his back all the while, his heart so full that he could not speak.
"I knowed you'd come back," Bobby kept crying in his ear. "Aunt Loraine said you wouldn't, but I said you would. I knowed it—I knowed it! And now you're going to be a baron, sure enough. Isn't he, Uncle Caspar?"
But Truxton was not listening to the eager prattle. He remembered afterward that Bobby's hands and face were hot with fever. Just now he was staring at the narrow staircase. Vos Engo and Loraine were descending slowly. The former was white and evidently very weak. He leaned on the girl for support.
Count Halfont offered the explanation. "Vos Engo was shot last week, through the shoulder. He is too brave to give up, as you may see. It happened on the terrace. There was an unexpected fusilade from the housetops. Eric placed himself between the marksmen and Miss Tullis. A bullet that might have killed her instantly, struck him in the shoulder. They were fleeing to the balcony. He fell and she dragged him to a place of safety. The wound is not so serious as it might have been, but he should be in bed. He, like most of us, has not removed his clothing in five days and nights."
King never forgot the look in Loraine's eyes as she came down the steps. Joy and anguish seemed to combine themselves in that long, intense look. He saw her hand go to her heart. Her lips were parted. He knew she was breathing quickly, tremulously.
The Prince was whispering in his ear: "Keep the lucky stone, Mr. King. Please keep it. It will surely help you. I gave her your kiss. She was happy—awful happy for awhile. 'Nen the Count he saved her from the bullet. But you just keep the lucky stone." King put him down and walked directly across to meet her at the foot of the steps.
She gave him her hands. The look in her tired eyes went straight to his heart. Vos Engo drew back, his face set in a frown of displeasure.
"My brother?" she asked, without taking her gaze from his eyes.
"He is well. He will see you to-day."
"And you, Truxton?" was her next question, low and quavering.
"Unharmed and unchanged, Loraine," he said softly. "Tell me, did Vos Engo stand between you and the fire from the—"
"Yes, Truxton," she said, dropping her eyes as if in deep pain.
"And you have not—broken your promise to him?"
"No. Nor have I broken my promise to you."
"He is a brave man. I can't help saying it," said the American, deep lines suddenly appearing in his face. Swiftly he turned to Vos Engo, extending his hand. "My hand, sir, to a brave man!"
Vos Engo stared at him for a moment and then turned away, ignoring the friendly hand. A hot flush mounted to Loraine's brow.
"This is a brave man, too, Eric," she said very quietly.
Vos Engo's response was a short, bitter laugh.
Soon after five o'clock, a man in the topmost window of the tower called down that the forces in the hills were moving in a compact body toward the ridges below the southern gates.
"Give them half an hour to locate themselves," advised Truxton King. "They will move rapidly and strike as soon as the shells have levelled the gates. The proper time for your sortie, Colonel, would be some time in advance of their final movement. You will in that way draw at least a portion of Marlanx's men away from the heart of the city. They will come to the assistance of the gang bivouacked beyond the Duke of Perse's palace."
One hundred picked men were to be left inside the Castle gates with Vos Engo, prepared to meet any flank movement that might be attempted. Three hundred mounted men were selected to make the dash down Castle Avenue, straight into the camp of the sharpshooters. It was the purpose of the house guard to wage a fierce and noisy conflict off the Avenue and then retire to the Castle as abruptly as they left it, to be ready for Marlanx, should he decide to make a final desperate effort to seize their stronghold.
King, fired by a rebellious zeal, elected to ride with the attacking party. His heart was cold with the fear that he was to lose Loraine, after all. The fairy princess of his dreams seemed farther away from him than ever. "I'll do what I can for the Prince," he said to himself. "He's a perfect little brick. Damn Vos Engo! I'll make him repent that insult. Every one noticed it, too. She tried to smooth it over, but—oh, well, what's the use!"
The dash of the three hundred through the gates and down the avenue was the most spectacular experience in Truxton's life. He was up with Quinnox and General Braze, galloping well in front of the yelling troop. These mounted carbineers, riding as Bedouins, swept like thunder down the street, whirled into the broad, open arena beyond the Duke's palace, and were upon the surprised ruffians before they were fully awake to the situation.
They came tumbling out of barns and sheds, clutching their rifles in nerveless hands, aghast in the face of absolute destruction. It was all over with the first dash of the dragoons. The enemy, craven at the outset, threw down their guns and tried to escape through the alleys and side streets at the end of the common. Firing all the time, the attacking force rode them down as if they were so many dogs. The few who stood their ground and fought valiantly were overpowered and made captive by Quinnox. Less than a hundred men were found in the camp. Instead of retreating immediately to the Castle, Quinnox, acting on the suggestion of the exhilarated King, kept up a fierce, deceptive fire for the benefit of the distant Marlanx.
After ten or fifteen minutes of this desultory carnage, it was reported that a large force of men were entering the avenue from Regengetz Circus. Quinnox sent his chargers toward this great horde of foot-soldiers, but they did not falter as he had expected. On they swept, two or three thousand of them. At their head rode five or six officers. The foremost was Count Marlanx.
The cannons were booming now in the foothills. Marlanx, if he heard them and realised what the bombardment meant, did not swerve from the purpose at present in his mind.
Quinnox saw now that the Iron Count was determined to storm the gates, and gave the command to retreat. Waving their rifles and shouting defiance over their shoulders, the dragoons drew up, wheeled and galloped toward the gates.
Truxton King afterward recalled to mind certain huge piles of fresh earth in a corner of the common. He did not know what they meant at the time of observation, but he was wiser inside of three minutes after the whirlwind brigade dashed through the gates.
Scarcely were the massive portals closed and the great steel bars dropped into place by the men who attended them, when a low, dull explosion shook the earth as if by volcanic force. Then came the crashing of timbers, the cracking of masonry, the whirring of a thousand missiles through the air. Before the very eyes of the stunned, bewildered defenders, dismounting near the parade ground, the huge gates and pillars fell to the ground.
The gates have been dynamited!
Then it was that Truxton King remembered. Marlanx's sappers had been quietly at work for days, drilling from the common to the gates. It was a strange coincidence that Marlanx should have chosen this day for his culminating assault on the Castle. The skirmish at daybreak had hurried his arrangements, no doubt, but none the less were his plans complete. The explosives had been laid during the night; the fuses reached to the mouth of the tunnel, across the common. As he swept up the avenue at the head of his command, hawk-faced and with glittering eyes, he snarled the command that put fire to the fuses. He was still a quarter of a mile away when the gates crumbled. With short, shrill cries, scarcely human in their viciousness, he urged his men forward. He and Brutus were the first to ride up to the great hole that yawned where the gates had stood. Beyond they could see the distracted soldiers of the Prince forming in line to resist attack.
A moment later his vanguard streamed through the aperture and faced the deadly fire from the driveway.
Like a stone wall the men under Quinnox stood their ground; a solid, defiant line that fired with telling accuracy into the struggling horde. On the walls two Gatling guns began to cackle their laugh of death. And still the mercenaries poured through the gap, forming in haphazard lines under the direction of the maddened Iron Count.
At last they began to advance across the grassy meadow. When one man fell under the fire of the Guardsmen, another rushed into his place. Three times the indomitable Graustarkians drove them back, and as often did Marlanx drag them up again, exalted by the example he set.
"'Gad, he is a soldier," cried Truxton, who had wasted a half dozen shots in the effort to bring him down. "Hello! There's my friend Brutus. He's no coward, either. Here's a try for you, Brutus."
He dropped to his knee and took deliberate aim at the frenzied henchman. The discovery that there were three bullets in Brutus's breast when he was picked up long afterward did not affect the young man's contention that his was the one that had found the heart.
The fall of Brutus urged the Iron Count to greater fury. His horse had been shot from under him. He was on his feet, a gaunt demon, his back to the enemy, calling to his men to follow him as he moved toward the stubborn row of green and red. Bullets hissed about his ears, but he gave no heed to them. More than one man in the opposing force watched him as if fascinated. He seemed to be absolutely bullet-proof. There were times when he stumbled and almost fell over the bodies of his own men lying in the path.
By this time his entire force was inside the grounds. Colonel Quinnox was quick to see the spreading movement on the extreme right and left. Marlanx's captains were trained warriors. They were bent on flanking the enemy. The commander of the Guard gave the command to fall back slowly toward the Castle.
Firing at every step, they crossed the parade ground and then made a quick dash for the shelter of the long balconies. They held this position for nearly an hour, resisting each succeeding charge of the now devilish foe. Time and again the foremost of the attacking party reached the terrace, only to wither under the deadly fire from behind the balustrades. Marlanx, down in the parade ground, was fairly pushing his men into the jaws of death. There was no question as to the courage of the men he commanded. These were not the ruffians from all over the world. They were the reckless, devil-may-care mountaineers and robbers from the hills of Graustark itself.
Truxton King's chance to pay his debt to Vos Engo came after one of the fiercest, most determined charges. The young Count, who had transferred his charges from the old tower to the strong north wing of the Castle, had been fighting desperately in the front rank for some time. His weakness seemed to have disappeared entirely. As the foe fell back in the face of the desperate resistance, Vos Engo sprang down the steps and rushed after them, calling others to join him in the attempt to complete the rout. Near the edge of the terrace he stopped. His leg gave way under him and he fell to the ground. Truxton saw him fall.
He leaped over the low balustrade, dropping his hot rifle, and dashed across the terrace to his rival's assistance. A hundred men shot at him. Vos Engo was trying to get to his feet, his hand upon his thigh; he was groaning with pain.
"It's my turn," shouted the American. "I'll square it up if I can. Then we're even!"
He seized the wounded man in his strong arms, threw him over his shoulder and staggered toward the steps.
"Release me, damn you!" shrieked Vos Engo, striking his rescuer in the face with his fist.
"I'm saving you for another day," said King as he dropped behind the balustrade, with his burden safe. A wild cheer went up from the lips of the defenders, scornful howls from the enemy.
"I pray God it may be deferred until I am capable of defending myself," groaned Vos Engo, glaring at the other with implacable hatred in his eyes.
"You might pray for my preservation, too, while you're at it," said Truxton, as he crept away to regain his rifle.
There were other witnesses to Truxton's rash act. In a lofty window of the north wing crouched a white- faced girl and a grim old man. The latter held a rifle in his tense though feeble hands. They had been there for ten minutes or longer, watching the battle from their eerie place of security. Now and then the old man would sight his rifle and fire. A groan of anger and dismay escaped his lips after each attempt to send his bullet to the spot intended. The girl who crouched beside him was there to designate a certain figure in the ever-changing mass of humanity on the bloody parade ground. Her clear eyes sought for and found Marlanx; her unwavering finger pointed him out to the old marksman.
She saw Vos Engo fall. Then a tall, well-known figure sprang into view, dashing toward her wounded lover. Her heart stopped beating. The blood rushed to her eyes. Everything before her turned red—a horrid, blurring red. With her hands to her temples, she leaned far over the window ledge and screamed—screamed words that would have filled Truxton King with an endless joy could he have heard them above the rattle of the rifles.
"A brave act!" exclaimed the old man at her side. "Who is he?"
But she did not hear him. She had fallen back and was gasping supplication, her eyes set upon the old man's face with a stare that meant nothing.
The corner of the building had shut out the picture; it was impossible for her to know that the man and his burden had reached the balcony in safety. Even now, they might be lying on the terrace, riddled by bullets. The concentrated aim of the enemy had not escaped her horrified gaze. The cheering did not reach her ears.
The old man roused her from the stupor of dread. He called her name several times in high, strident tones. Dully she responded. Standing bolt upright in the window she sought out the figure of Marlanx, and pointed rigidly.
"Ah," groaned the old man, "they will not be driven back this time! They will not be denied. It is the last charge! God, how they come! Our men will be annihilated in—Where is he? Now! Ah, I see! Yes, that is he! He is near enough now. I cannot miss him!"
Marlanx was leading his men up to the terrace. A howling avalanche of humanity, half obscured by smoke, streamed up the slope.
At the top of the terrace, the Iron Count suddenly stopped. His long body stiffened and then crumpled like a reed. A score of heavy feet trampled on the fallen leader, but he did not feel the impact.
A bullet from the north wing had crashed into his brain.
"At last!" shrieked the old man at the window. "Come, Miss Tullis; my work is done."
"He is dead, your Grace?" in low, awed tones.
"Yes, my dear," said the Duke of Perse, a smile of relief on his face. "Come, let me escort you to the Prince. You have been most courageous. Graustark shall not forget it. Nor shall I ever cease thanking you for the service you have rendered to me. I have succeeded in freeing my unhappy daughter from the vile beast to whom I sold her youth and beauty and purity. Come! You must not look upon that carnage!"
Together they left the little room. As they stepped into the narrow hall beyond they realised that the defenders had been driven inside the walls of the Castle. The crash of firearms filled the halls far below; a deafening, steady roar came up to them.
"It is all over," said the Duke of Perse, hobbling across the hall and throwing open the door to a room opposite.
A group of terrified women were huddled in the far corner of the spacious room. In front of them was the little Prince, a look of terror in his eyes, but with the tiny sword clutched in his hand—a pathetic figure of courage and dread combined. The Duke of Perse held open the door for Loraine Tullis, but she did not enter. When he turned to call, she was half way down the top flight of stairs, racing through the powder smoke toward the landing below.
At every step she was screaming in the very agony of gladness:
"Stand firm! Hold them! Help is coming! Help is coming!"
A last look through the window at the end of the hail had revealed to her the most glorious of visions.
Red and green troops were pouring through the dismantled gateway, their horses surging over the ugly ground-rifts and debris as if possessed of the fabled wings.
She had seen the rear line in the storming forces hesitate and then turn to meet the whirlwind charge of the cavalrymen. Her brother was out there and all was well. She was crying the joyous news from the head of the grand stairway when Truxton King caught sight of her.
Smoke writhed about her slim, inspiriting figure. Her face shone through the drab fog like an undimmed star of purest light. He bounded up the steps toward her, drawn as by magnet against which there was no such thing as resistance.
He was powder-stained and grimy; there was blood on his face and shirt front.
"You are shot," she cried, clutching the post at the bend in the stairs. "Truxton! Truxton!"
"Not even scratched," he shouted, as he reached her side. "It's not my—" He stopped short, even as he held out his arms to clasp her to his breast. "It's some one else's blood," he finished resolutely. She swayed toward him and he caught her in his arms.
"I love you—oh, I love you, Truxton!" she cried over and over again. He was faint with joy. His kisses spoke the adoration he would have cried out to her if emotion had not clogged his throat.
"Eric?" she whispered at last, drawing back in his arms and looking up into his eyes with a great pity in her own. "Is he—is he dead, Truxton?"
"No," he said gently. "Badly hurt, but—"
"He will not die? Thank God, Truxton. He is a brave—oh, a very brave man." Then she remembered her mission into this whirlpool of danger. "Go! Don't lose a moment, darling! Tell Colonel Quinnox that Jack has come! The dragoons are—"
He did not hear the end of her cry. A quick, fierce kiss and he was gone, bounding down the stairs with great shouts of encouragement.
Leaderless, between the deadly fires, the mercenaries gave up the fight after a brief stand at the terrace. Six hundred horsemen ploughed through them, driving them to the very walls of the Castle. Here they broke and scattered, throwing down their arms and shouting for mercy. It was all over inside of twenty minutes.
The Prince reigned again.
Nightfall brought complete restoration of order, peace and security in the city of Edelweiss. Hundreds of lives had been lost in the terrific conflict of the early morning hours; hundreds of men lay on beds of suffering, crushed and bleeding from the wounds they had courted and received.
"I knowed we'd whip them," shouted the Prince, wriggling gleefully in John Tullis's straining embrace half an hour after the latter had ridden through the gate. Tears streamed down the big man's face. One arm held the boy, the other encircled the sister he had all but lost. In the Monastery of St. Valentine there was another woman, waiting for him to come to her with the news of a glorious victory. Perhaps she was hoping and praying for the other news that he would bring her, who knows? If he came to her with kisses, she would know without being told in so many words.
Truxton did not again see Loraine until late in the afternoon. He had offered his services to Colonel Quinnox and had worked manfully in the effort to provide comfort for the wounded of both sides. General Braze was at work with his men in the open city, clearing away the ugly signs of battle. The fortress and Tower were full of the prisoners of war. Baron Dangloss, pale, emaciated, sick but resolute, was free once more and, with indomitable zeal, had thrown himself and his liberated men at once into the work of rehabilitation.
It was on the occasion of the Baron's first visit to the Prince, late in the day, that Truxton saw the girl he worshipped.
Prince Robin had sent for him to appear in the devastated state chamber. Publicly, in the presence of the Court and Ministry, the little ruler proclaimed him a baron and presented to him a great seal ring from among the ancient crown jewels.
"Say, Mr. King," said Bobby, after he had called the American quite close to him by means of a stealthy crooking of his finger, "would you mind giving me my lucky stone? I don't think you'll need it any longer. I will, I'm sure. You see a prince has such a lot of things to trouble him. Wars and murders and everything."
"Thank you, Prince Robin," said King, placing the stone in the little hand. "I couldn't have got on without it. May it always serve you as well."
"Noblesse oblige, Baron," said Prince Robin gravely.
"Hello!" in an excited whisper. "Here's Baron Dangloss. He's been in his own gaol!"
Truxton withdrew. Near the door he met Loraine. She had just entered the room. There was a bright look of relief in her eyes.
"Count Vos Engo has asked for you, Truxton," she said in a low voice. A delicate flush crept into her cheeks; a sudden shyness leaped into her eyes, and she looked away.
"Loraine, have you told him?"
"Yes. I am so sorry for him. He is one of the bravest men I have ever known, Truxton dear. And, as it is with all men of his race, love knew no reason, no compromise. But I have made him see that I—that I cannot be his wife. He knows that I love you."
"Somehow, darling, I'm sorry for him."
"He will not pretend friendship for you, dear," she went on painfully. "He only wants to thank you and to apologise, as you did, not so long ago. And he wants to ask you to release him from a certain obligation."
"You mean our—our fight?"
"Yes. He is to lose his right arm, Truxton. You understand how it is with him now."
Late that night it was reported at the Castle that a large force of men were encamped on the opposite side of the river. A hundred camp-fires were gleaming against the distant uplands.
"The Grand Duke Paulus!" exclaimed Count Halfont. "Thank God, he did not come a day earlier. We owe him nothing to-day—but yesterday! Ah, he could have demanded much of us. Send his messengers to me, Colonel Quinnox, as soon as they arrive in the morning. I will arise early. There is much to do in Graustark. Let there be no sluggards."
A mellow, smiling moon crept up over the hills, flooding the laud with a serene radiance. Once more the windows in the Castle gleamed brightly; low-voiced people strolled through the shattered balconies; others wandered about the vast halls, possessed by uncertain emotions, torn by the conflicting hands of joy and gloom. In a score of rooms wounded men were lying; in others there were dead heroes. At the barracks, standing dully against the distant shadows, there were many cots of suffering. And yet there was rejoicing, even among those who writhed in pain or bowed their heads in grief. Victory's wings were fanning the gloom away; conquest was painting an ever-widening streak of brightness across the dark, drear canvas of despair.
In one of the wrecked approaches to the terrace, surrounded by fragments of stone and confronted by ugly destruction, sat a young man and a slender girl. There were no lights near them; the shadows were black and forbidding. This particular end of the terrace had suffered most in the fierce rain of cannon-balls. So great was the devastation here that one attained the position held by the couple only by means of no little daring and at the risk of unkind falls. From where they sat they could see the long vista of lighted windows and yet could not themselves be seen.
His arm was about her; her head nestled securely against his shoulder and her slim hands were willing prisoners in one of his.
She was saying "Truxton, dear, I did not love Eric Vos Engo. I just thought it was love. I never really knew what love is until you came into my life. Then I knew the difference. That's what made it so hard. I had let him believe that I might care for him some day. And I did like him. So I—"
"You are sure—terribly sure—that I am the only man you ever really loved?" he interrupted.
She snuggled closer. "Haven't I just told you that I didn't know what it was until—well, until now?"
"You will never, never know how happy I am, Loraine!" he breathed into her ear.
"I hope I shall always bring happiness to you, Truxton," she murmured, faint with the joy of loving.
"You will make me very unhappy if you don't marry me to-morrow."
"I couldn't think of it!"
"I don't ask you to think. If you do, you may change your mind completely. Just marry me without thinking, dearest."
"I will marry you, Truxton, when we get to New York," she said, but not very firmly. He saw his advantage.
"But, my dear, I'm tired of travelling."
It was rather enigmatic. "What has that to do with it?" she asked.
"Well, it's this way: if we get married in New York we'll have to consider an extended and wholly obligatory wedding journey. If we get married here, we can save all that bother by bridal-tripping to New York, instead of away from it. And, what's more, we'll escape the rice-throwing and the old shoes and the hand-painted trunk labels. Greater still: we will avoid a long and lonely trip across the ocean on separate steamers. That's something, you know."
"We could go on the same steamer."
"Quite so, my dear. But don't you think it would be nicer if we went as one instead of two?"
"I suppose it would be cheaper."
"They say a fellow saves money by getting married."
"I hate a man who is always trying to save money."
"Well, if you put it that way, I'll promise never to save a cent. I'm a horrible spendthrift."
"Oh, you'll have to save, Truxton!"
"How silly we are!" he cried in utter joyousness. He held her close for a long time, his face buried in her hair. "Listen, darling: won't you say you'll be my wife before I leave Graustark? I want you so much. I can't go away without you."
She hesitated. "When are you going, Truxton? You—you haven't told me."
It was what he wanted. "I am going next Monday," he said promptly. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten the day of the week they were now living in.
"Monday? Oh, dear!"
"Will you?"
"I—I must cable home first," she faltered.
"That's a mere detail, darling. Cable afterward. It will beat us home by three weeks. They'll know we're coming."
"I must ask John, really I must, Truxton," she protested faintly.
"Hurray!" he shouted—in a whisper. "He is so desperately in love, he won't think of refusing anything we ask. Shall we set it for Saturday?"
They set it for Saturday without consulting John Tullis, and then fell to discussing him. "He is very much in love with her," she said wistfully.
"And she loves him, Loraine. They will be very happy. She's wonderful."
"Well, so is John. He's the most wonderful man in all this world."
"I am sure of it," he agreed magnanimously. "I saw him talking with her and the Duke of Perse as I came out awhile ago. They were going to the Duke's rooms up there. The Duke will offer no objections. I think he'll permit his daughter to select his next son-in-law."
"How could he have given her to that terrible, terrible old man?" she cried, with a shudder.
"She won't be in mourning for him long, I fancy. Nobody will talk of appearances, either. She could marry Jack to-morrow and no one would criticise her."
"Oh, that would be disgusting, Truxton!"
"But, my dear, he isn't to have a funeral, so why not? They buried his body in quicklime this afternoon. No mourners, no friends, no tears! Hang it all, she's foolish if she puts on anything but red."
"They can't be married for—oh, ever so long," she said very primly.
"No, indeed," he said with alacrity. But he did not believe what he said. If he knew anything about John Tullis, it would not be "ever so long" before Prince Robin's friend turned Benedict and husband to the most noted beauty in all Graustark.
"I shall be sorry to leave Graustark," she said dreamily, after a long period of silent retrospection. "I've had the happiest year of my life here."
"I've had the busiest month of my life here. I'll never again say that the world is a dull place. And I'll never advise any man to go out of his own home city in search of the most adorable woman in the world. She's always there, bless her heart, if he'll only look around a bit for her."
"But you wouldn't have found me if you hadn't come to Graustark."
"I shudder when I think of what might have happened to you, my Princess Sweetheart, if I hadn't come to Edelweiss. No; I would not have found you." Feeling her tremble in his arms, he went on with whimsical good humour: "You would have been eaten up by the ogre long before this. Or, perhaps, you would have succeeded in becoming a countess."
"As it is, I shall be a baroness."
"In Graustark, but not in New York. That reminds me. You'll be more than a baroness—more than a princess. You will be a queen. Don't you catch the point? You will be Mrs. King."
The Grand Duke Paulus was distinctly annoyed. He had travelled many miles, endured quite a number of hardships, and all to no purpose. When dawn came, his emissaries returned from the city with the lamentable information that the government had righted itself, that Marlanx's sensational revolution was at an end, and that the regents would be highly honoured if his Excellency could overlook the distressingly chaotic conditions at court and condescend to pay the Castle a visit. The regents, the Prince and the citizens of Graustark desired the opportunity to express their gratitude for the manner in which he had voluntarily (and unexpectedly) come to their assistance in time of trouble. The fact that he had come too late to render the invaluable aid he so nobly intended did not in the least minimise the volume of gratefulness they felt.
The Grand Duke admitted that he was at sea, diplomatically. He was a fifth wheel, so to speak, now that the revolution was over. Not so much as the tip of his finger had he been able to get into the coveted pie. There was nothing for him to do but to turn round with his five thousand Cossacks and march disconsolately across the steppes to an Imperial railroad, where he could embark for home. However, he would visit the Castle in a very informal way, extend his congratulations, offer his services—which he knew would be declined with thanks—and profess his unbounded joy in the discovery that Graustark happily was so able to take care of herself. Incidentally, he would mention the bond issue; also, he would find the opportunity to suggest to the ministry that his government still was willing to make large grants and stupendous promises if any sort of an arrangement could be made by which the system might be operated in conjunction with branch lines of the Imperial roads.
And so it was that at noon he rode in pomp and splendour through the city gates, attended by his staff and a rather overpowering body-guard. His excuse for the early call was delicately worded. He said in his reply to the message from the Count that it would give him great pleasure to remain for some time at the Castle, were it not for the fact that he had left his own province in a serious state of unrest; it was imperative that he should return in advance of the ever-possible and always popular uprising. Therefore he would pay his respects to his serene Highness, renew his protestations of friendship, extend his felicitations, and beg leave to depart for his own land without delay.
As he rode from Regengetz Circus into Castle Avenue, a small knot of American tourists crowded to the curb and bent eager, attentive ears to the words of a stubby little person whom we should recognise by his accent; but, for fear that there may be some who have forgotten him in the rush of events, we will point to his cap and read aloud: "Cook's Interpreter."
Mr. Hobbs was saying: "The gentleman on the gray horse, ladies and gentlemen, is his Highness, the Grand Duke Paulus. He has come to pay his respects to his Serene Highness. Now, if you will kindly step this way, I will show you the spot where the bomb was thrown. 'Aving been an eye-witness to the shocking occurrence, I respectfully submit that I," etc. With a pride and dignity that surpassed all moderate sense of appreciation, he delivered newly made history unto his charges, modestly winding up his discourse with the casual remark that the Prince had but recently appointed him twelfth assistant steward at the Castle, and that he expected to assume the duties of this honorary position just as soon as Cook & Sons could find a capable man to send up in his place.
The American tourists, it may be well to observe, arrived by the first train that entered the city from the outside world.
The audience was at two o'clock. Prince Robin was in a state of tremendous excitement. Never before had he been called upon to receive a grand duke. He quite forgot yesterday's battle in the face of this most imposing calamity. More than that, he was in no frame of mind to enjoy the excitement attending the rehabilitation of the Castle; oppressed by the approaching shadow of the great man, he lost all interest in what was going on in the Castle, about the grounds and among his courtiers.
"What'll I do, Uncle Jack, if he asks any questions?" he mourned. They were dressing him in the robes of state.
"Answer 'em," said his best friend.
"But supposin' I can't? Then what?"
"He won't ask questions, Bobby. People never do when a potentate is on his throne. It's shockingly bad form."
"I hope he won't stay long," prayed Bobby, a grave pucker between his brows. He was a very tired little boy. His eyes were heavy with sleep and his lips were not very firm.
"Count Halfont will look after him, Bobby; so don't worry. Just sit up there on the throne and look wise. The regents will do the rest. Watch your Uncle Caspar. When he gives the signal, you arise. That ends the audience. You walk out—"
"I know all about that, Uncle Jack. But I bet I do something wrong. This thing of receiving grand dukes is no joke. 'Specially when we're so terribly upset. Really, I ought to be looking after the men who are wounded, attending to the funerals of—"
"Now, Bobby, don't flunk like that! Be a man!"
Bobby promptly squared his little shoulders and set his jaw. "Oh, I'm not scared!" He was thoughtful for a moment. "But, I'll tell you, it's awful lonesome up in that big chair, so far away from all your friends. I wish Uncle Caspar would let me sit down with the crowd."
The Grand Duke, with all the arrogance of a real personage, was late. It was not for him to consider the conditions that distressed the Court of Graustark. Not at all. He was a grand duke and he would take his own time in paying his respects. What cared he that every one in the Castle was tired and unstrung and sad and—sleepy? Any one but a grand duke would have waited a day or two before requiring a royal audience. When he finally presented himself at the Castle doors, a sleepy group of attendants actually yawned in his presence.
A somnolent atmosphere, still touched by the smell of gunpowder, greeted him as he strode majestically down the halls. Somehow each person who bowed to him seemed to do it with the melancholy precision of one who has been up for six nights in succession and doesn't care who knows it.
No one had slept during the night just passed. Excitement and the suffering of others had denied slumber to one and all—even to those who had not slept for many days and nights. Now the reaction was upon them. Relaxation had succeeded tenseness.
When the Grand Duke entered the great, sombre throne room, he was confronted by a punctiliously polite assemblage, but every eyelid was as heavy as lead and as prone to sink.
The Prince sat far back in the great chair of his ancestors, his sturdy legs sticking straight out in front of him, utterly lost in the depths of gold and royal velvet. Two-score or more of his courtiers and as many noble ladies of the realm stood soberly in the places assigned them by the laws of precedence. The Grand Duke advanced between the respectful lines and knelt at the foot of the throne.
"Arise, your Highness," piped Bobby, with a quick glance at Count Halfont. It was a very faint, faraway voice that uttered the gracious command. "Graustark welcomes the Grand Duke Paulus. It is my pleasure to—to—to—" a helpless look came into his eyes. He looked everywhere for support. The Grand Duke saw that he had forgotten the rehearsed speech, and smiled benignly as he stepped forward and kissed the hand that had been extended somewhat uncertainly.
"My most respectful homage to your Majesty. The felicitations of my emperor and the warmest protestations of friendship from his people."
With this as a prologue, he engaged himself in the ever-pleasurable task of delivering a long, congratulatory address. If there was one thing above another that the Grand Duke enjoyed, it was the making of a speech. He prided himself on his prowess as an orator and as an after-dinner speaker; but, more than either of these, he gloried in his ability to soar extemporaneously.
For ten minutes he addressed himself to the throne, benignly, comfortably. Then he condescended to devote a share of his precious store to the courtiers behind him. If he caught more than one of them yawning when he turned in their direction, he did not permit it to disturb him in the least. His eyes may have narrowed a bit, but that was all.
After five minutes of high-sounding platitudes, he again turned to the Prince. It was then that he received his first shock.