CHAPTER XIII

IN THE HILL COUNTRY

It was after ten when they quietly emerged from the house of the old priest. The sky was overcast so that not a star showed. A peasant silently emerged from the shadows at the side of the road and placed himself before them, hat in hand.

"Sashu will take you to Larescu," said the priest. "You can depend upon him. He is a peasant from the estate of his highness, the Prince Peter, and would give his life willingly for any member of the family."

"Father, you have indeed been a friend in need to us. I wish I could repay a small share of what we owe you," said Fenton, his hand straying toward his pocket.

Crane noticed the movement and nudged him under cover of the darkness. "Not that," he whispered. "They are very proud, these Ironians, and very glad at all times to offer hospitality. You would mortally insult him."

"Perhaps," said Fenton hastily, "there is something we could procure for the church--a new altar cloth, say. I would like to do something for your people in that way, Father. Suppose I leave the matter in your hands. If this is not sufficient we could fix it up on our return trip."

The old priest accepted the money that Fenton proffered with an eagerness that showed how deeply he had been touched. He thanked them earnestly, explaining that there were many things he could purchase with the donation. They struck off into the darkness with his parting benediction following them.

For a long time they tramped on in silence. Sashu, their guide, led the way along rough country side-roads, Fenton and Crane following side by side. After covering about half a mile in this way the villager turned abruptly to the left and led them up a winding path directly into the heavily wooded approach to the hills. The walking now became very difficult as the grade was a steep one and the ground rough. The two men began a conversation, but lack of breath rendered it spasmodic. Finally they reached a wider and fairly even road on which the ascent was more gradual.

"By the beetling eyebrows of Beelzebub!" gasped Crane. "Another hundred yards and I'd have been knocked out. The food you get in an Ironian jail doesn't fit you for mountain-climbing."

"I wouldn't mind the grade so much if the moon would only show itself," said Fenton, whose determination to get on to their journey's end had carried him through the ascent with less difficulty. "If we could only see where we were going we could make something like decent time over these hills. Our guide doesn't seem to be having any difficulty."

"An Ironian peasant can see in the dark," asserted Crane. "They're a queer lot--a good deal like animals in some ways. They don't look much farther into the future than the next square meal. When his stomach's full your peasant has just one ambition--to curl up in the sun and go to sleep. Beat him and he'll do your bidding like a sullen donkey, and the first time you come within kicking distance he puts his heels into you, figuratively speaking. Treat him well and he'll die for you like a faithful dog."

"Perhaps you could get something out of this picturesque fellow ahead of us," suggested Fenton. "Find out from him where we're going and when we can expect to get there."

"I don't think it would be much use," said Crane doubtfully. "The Sphinx is a positive chatterbox compared with one of these peasants. You have to treat them like electors; prime them with a gallon or two of extra strong liquor before you can pump anything out of them. I don't suppose you have anything of the kind handy?"

"No," replied Fenton. "That was another thing I forgot to equip myself with before starting out. It has just occurred to me too that I neglected to bring along a revolver. We're not very well equipped for an expedition of this kind."

Crane stopped short, and indulged in a hearty, unrestrained laugh.

"Fenton," he said, as soon as he recovered, "I'll wager you've kept your guardian angel working night shifts ever since you were born. By the twisted horn of the off ox of Ind! You start up into a mountainous country teeming with blood-thirsty brigands in pursuit of a band of villains who've carried off a princess--and with no other weapons than those with which nature was good enough to provide you. You accept the services of the first guide offered and, if his villainous visage is any indication of what we can expect from him, he'll cut our throats the first chance he gets."

"You don't need to come any farther," said Fenton, with some heat. "I warned you in the first place that it might be a dangerous mission."

"Don't misunderstand me," pleaded Crane. "This is only my way of expressing admiration. It's not so much that I admire courage as that I bow humbly before originality whenever I meet it. And lord, man, you are certainly original! I'll wager no one has ever tackled a job like this one before. But don't think I'm not as keen for the trip as ever. The longer the odds the better I like it. Only--I think it would be advisable under all the circumstances if I got as much information as I could out of the pleasant-looking cut-throat ahead."

He called to their guide in Ironian, and Sashu's deep voice answered from the darkness ahead of them. Crane quickened his pace until he had drawn even with the villager and for a space of ten minutes they talked. Sashu answered Crane's questions volubly. The latter then dropped back again.

"Friend Sashu is the exception that proves the rule of Ironian taciturnity," he stated. "He avers that we'll reach the place we're making for some time between now and morning."

"And where is he taking us?" asked Fenton.

"Well, he seemed rather vague on that point," acknowledged Crane, "or perhaps cross-examination isn't my long suit. I didn't get a great deal of information out of him on that point. In fact, not any. These natives are as close as oysters about the haunts and movements of Take Larescu."

"Then we are really being taken to the headquarters of this brigand chief?"

"We're headed that way," said Crane, "and likely to arrive provided we don't slip off a precipice on the way or meet any wandering parties of brigands. These hill billies have the pleasant habit of potting at you first and inquiring about you afterward."

"To think of the princess being in the power of these people!" groaned Fenton. "Say, Crane, can't we travel faster than this? Tell the guide we can't dawdle along this way any longer."

"It wouldn't be safe to go any faster, not in this darkness," protested the engineer. "Do you realise that the path we are on now is just four feet wide and that one false step would take us back to where we started from in about three seconds?"

Nevertheless, they responded to Fenton's impatience by quickening their pace and, in silence again, climbed higher and farther into the rough hill country. Sometimes they had a clear, even path, but more often Sashu led them along narrow ledges where the footing even in the daylight would have been precarious, so that they had to grasp hands and feel cautiously ahead before making a step. Sometimes they left the trail entirely and clambered up over the rocks, guided by husky directions from Sashu and sometimes assisted bodily by the guide. It was gruelling work, and in a short time the two westerners were muscle weary and puffing for breath. Fenton urged himself along after the last ounce of physical initiative had left him by conjuring up lurid pictures of the Princess Olga in the power of the unscrupulous Miridoff. Even when so weak that he had to clutch several times at a rock before gaining a hold, Fenton was able to spur himself on to increased speed by the thoughts of the possible dire consequences of delay.

They had finished a particularly difficult climb over a rocky promontory that projected across the path. Sashu cautiously swung himself down until his feet touched the narrow ledge of the path on the other side. Fenton followed suit, releasing one hand from its tenacious grasp of the rock while he slowly let his weight down. Unable to bear the full strain, the other hand lost its grip and, with a gasp of horror, Fenton felt himself slipping. He lunged frantically for a saving hold with the free hand, but the effort came too late. He continued to slip and came down so rapidly that, when one foot struck on the edge of the narrow ledge, his weight and the momentum of his fall threw him outward.

At such moments the mind acts with lightning rapidity. In the brief second that precedes a plunge to death, the events of a lifetime can flash in fleeting panorama through the human consciousness. Fenton thought of Olga, of the helpless position in which his death would leave her, of Varden, of Ironia and the war--and again of Olga. And then his downward, headlong fall was arrested, brought to a stop with a jarring, crushing violence! He felt a sharp pain in his head, and then darkness closed in.

When Fenton regained consciousness he found himself stretched full length on a ledge of rough rock. His left arm was hanging partly over the ledge. Soon he became aware of numbness and a racking pain in his head. The darkness of night had given way to the dull grey of early dawn, by which token Fenton knew that some hours had elapsed since his fall.

He groaned and shifted himself slightly with a painful effort. For a few moments he remained perfectly still, collecting his strength, and then raised his voice in a call for help. Immediately he heard an exclamation from above and a dark object showed against the grey of the wall of rock that shut off all view of the sky on one side of him. Fenton focused his wandering glance on this object and it finally resolved itself into a head peering over the ledge of the path higher up.

"Fenton! Where are you?" the voice of Crane floated down to him.

"Here," he called back. The hammering pain in his head made his voice seem small and far away.

It was several moments before the voice of Crane again reached his ears. "I see you now," he cried. "Thank heaven you're safe, old man! I've been sitting up here for a century waiting for dawn so that I could get down below and hunt for your body. Sashu left ages ago for help and ought to be back any time now. Are you badly hurt?"

"I think my head's broken," replied Fenton faintly, "and I suspect other injuries."

His voice apparently did not carry to the ledge above, for Crane went right on: "Cheer up, Fenton! I'll have you up out of there in no time. I believe I can see a path leading down there some distance ahead! Just keep easy in your mind and I'll soon be with you."

There was a long silence after that. Several times Fenton called but got no answer. The pain in his head became wellnigh unbearable. When he had just about convinced himself that the presence of Crane on the ledge above had been purely a figment of his fevered imagination, he heard a voice from behind.

"Here I come, Fenton. I don't believe anything but a bird ever negotiated this path before, but, by the tail of the sacred cow, such trifles as narrow ledges and the laws of gravitation can't thwart Philip Aloysius Crane! And what's more, we're both going back the way I came."

There was a short interval during which Fenton heard laboured breathing and the sharp impact of Crane's heavy shoes on the rocks, gradually drawing nearer, and then he felt a hand on his forehead.

"How are you, anyway?" asked Crane. "Don't think I was ever so thankful in all my life as when I heard your voice. I had given you up, of course. I sat up there on the rocks for three solid hours waiting for daylight so that I could do something, and I hope I never put in such a night again. Can you sit up?" he went on, quite cheerfully now.

Fenton exerted himself and, with the help of a powerful tug from his companion, struggled into a sitting position. He felt very weak and dizzy still, but his ability to move convinced him that he had sustained no serious injuries.

"Fine!" exclaimed Crane with enthusiasm. "You're a long way from dead yet. Here, I want your belt."

He took the belts from around his own and Fenton's waist and dexterously knotted them together. Then, slipping one arm under Fenton's shoulders, he helped him to his feet. Turning quickly he drew the latter's right arm around his neck and strapped him to his back with the belts.

"I'm too heavy a load for you," protested Fenton. "Strapped up this way I'll be able to walk all right. Let's try it anyway."

Crane straightened up until Fenton's feet touched the rock again. The latter's strength was slowly coming back, and after a moment's hesitation he stepped out. Thus slowly and uncertainly, with locked step, Fenton buoyed up by the pressure of the strap, they negotiated the steep pathway. Every few yards they paused to allow Fenton to regain his strength, and as the grade increased, these stops became more frequent and of longer duration. The path was a narrow and winding one that would have tried the skill and daring of an Alpine guide. It was plentifully interspersed with sharp corners, around which they edged with the utmost care, and rocks over which they laboriously climbed. A terrific strain was imposed on Crane, for there were times when he had to practically carry his companion, and the brunt of working their way over the obstructions and around sharp corners fell entirely on his shoulders. All that Fenton was capable of was an automatic power of motion. Several times they were on the verge of collapse into the yawning chasm, but on each occasion the coolness and intrepidity of Crane saved them. And in time they won their way to the top, though the feat had seemed practically impossible at the outset.

"Didn't think we could do it!" gasped Crane, as he dragged his companion over the edge of the road to safety. He fumbled with almost nerveless fingers at the belts, and when the knot was unloosed, two inert masses of flesh and bone sank limply on the rough surface of the rock. The path at this point was fairly wide, so that they could recline upon it with perfect safety. For a long time they lay there without a move, too exhausted even to speak. Finally Fenton turned a little toward his companion and stretched out his arm.

"You're a wonder, Phil," he said.

Crane sat up and gripped Fenton's hand. "A mere trifle, Don," he said. Then he gave vent to to a glad halloa. "Here comes Sashu and a whole male chorus of brigands! I was beginning to think it was time he got back."