Trusia Part 30

"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 sh.o.r.e.

"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 s.h.i.+pward. 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 hors.e.m.e.n.

It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That haven of safety was anch.o.r.ed 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 a.s.serted 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.