The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon

because you treat me one moment as if I were a princess, and the next as if I were a child. Humble goat-hunters do not forget their station in life.”

      “I have much to learn of the deference due to queens,” he said.

      “That’s just like ‘The Mikado’ or ‘Pinafore,’” she exclaimed. “I believe you are a comic-opera brigand or a pirate chieftain, after all.”

      “I am a lowly outcast,” he smiled.

      “Well, I’ve decided to take you into Edelweiss and—”

      “Pardon me, your highness,” he said firmly, “That cannot be. I shall not go to Edelweiss.”

      “But I command you—”

      “It’s very kind of you, but I cannot enter a hospital—not even at Ganlook. I may as well confess that I am a hunted man and that the instructions are to take me dead or alive.”

      “Impossible!” she gasped, involuntarily shrinking from him.

      “I have wronged no man, yet I am being hunted down as though I were a beast,” he said, his face turning haggard for the moment. “The hills of Graustark, the plateaus of Axphain and the valleys of Dawsbergen are alive with men who are bent on ending my unhappy but inconvenient existence. It would be suicide for me to enter any one of your towns or cities. Even you could not protect me, I fear.”

      “This sounds like a dream. Oh, dear me, you don’t look like a hardened criminal,” she cried.

      “I am the humble leader of a faithful band who will die with me when the time comes. We are not criminals, your highness. In return for what service I may have performed for you, I implore you to question me no further. Let me be your slave up to the walls of Ganlook, and then you may forget Baldos, the goat-hunter.”

      “I never can forget you,” she cried, touching his injured arm gently. “Will you forget the one who gave you this wound?”

      “It is a very gentle wound, and I love it so that I pray it may never heal.” She looked away suddenly.

      “Tell me one thing,” she said, a mist coming over her eyes. “You say they are hunting you to the death. Then—then your fault must be a grievous one. Have you—have you killed a man?” she added hastily. He was silent for a long time.

      “I fear I have killed more than one man,” he said in low tones. Again she shrank into the corner of the coach. “History says that your father was a brave soldier and fought in many battles,” he went on.

      “Yes,” she said, thinking of Major George Calhoun.

      “He killed men then, perhaps, as I have killed them,” he said.

      “Oh, my father never killed a man!” cried Beverly, in devout horror.

      “Yet Graustark reveres his mighty prowess on the field of battle,” said he, half laconically.

      “Oh,” she murmured, remembering that she was now the daughter of Yetive’s father. “I see. You are not a—a—a mere murderer, then?”

      “No. I have been a soldier—that is all.”

      “Thank heaven!” she murmured, and was no longer afraid of him. “Would—would a pardon be of any especial benefit to you?” she asked, wondering how far her influence might go with the Princess Yetive.

      “It is beyond your power to help me,” he said gravely. She was silent, but it was the silence of deep reflection. “Your highness left the castle ten days ago,” he said, dismissing himself as a subject for conversation. “Have you kept in close communication with Edelweiss during that time?”

      “I know nothing of what is going on there,” she said, quite truthfully. She only knew that she had sent a message to the Princess Yetive, apprising her of her arrival In St. Petersburg and of her intention to leave soon for the Graustark capital.

      “Then you do not know that Mr. Lorry is still on the Dawsbergen frontier in conference with representatives from Serros. He may not return for a week, so Colonel Quinnox brings back word.”

      “It’s news to me,” murmured Beverly.

      “You do not seem to be alarmed,” he ventured. “Yet I fancy it is not a dangerous mission, although Prince Gabriel is ready to battle at a moment’s notice.”

      “I have the utmost confidence in Mr. Lorry,” said Beverly, with proper pride.

      “Baron Dangloss, your minister of police, is in these mountains watching the operations of Axphain scouts and spies.”

      “Is he? You are very well posted, it seems.”

      “Moreover, the Axphainians are planning to attack Ganlook upon the first signal from their ruler. I do not wish to alarm your highness, but we may as well expect trouble before we come to the Ganlook gates You are known to be in the pass, and I am certain an effort will be made to take possession of your person.”

      “They wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed. “Uncle Sam would annihilate them In a week.”

      “Uncle Sam? Is he related to your Aunt Fanny? I’m afraid he could do but little against Volga’s fighting men,” he said, with a smile.

      “They’d soon find out who Uncle Sam is if they touch me,” she threatened grandly. He seemed puzzled, but was too polite to press her for explanations. “But, he is a long way off and couldn’t do much if we were suddenly attacked from ambush, could he? What would they do to me if I were taken, as you suggest?” she was more concerned than she appeared to be.

      “With you in their hands, Graustark would be utterly helpless. Volga could demand anything she liked, and your ministry would be forced to submit.”

      “I really think it would be a capital joke on the Princess Volga,” mused Beverly reflectively. He did not know what she meant, but regarded her soft smile as the clear title to the serenity of a princess.

      She sank back and gave herself over to the complications that were likely to grow out of her involuntary deception. The one thing which worried her more than all others was the fear that Yetive might not be in Edelweiss. According to all reports, she had lately been in St. Petersburg and the mere fact that she was supposed to be traveling by coach was sufficient proof that she was not at her capital. Then there was, of course, the possibility of trouble on the road with the Axphain scouts, but Beverly enjoyed the optimism of youth and civilization.

      Baldos, the goat-hunter, was dreamily thinking of the beautiful young woman at his side and of the queer freak Fortune had played in bringing them together. As he studied her face he could not but lament that marriage, at least, established a barrier between her and the advances his bold heart might otherwise be willing to risk. His black hair straggled down over his forehead and his dark eyes—the patch had been surreptitiously lifted—were unusually pensive.

      “It is strange that you live in Graustark and have not seen its princess—before,” she said, laying groundwork for enquiry concerning the acts and whereabouts of the real princess.

      “May it please your highness, I have not lived long in Graustark. Besides, it is said that half the people of Ganlook have never looked upon your face.”

      “I’m not surprised at that. The proportion is much smaller than I imagined. I have not visited Ganlook, strange as it may seem to you.”

      “One of my company fell in with some of your guards from the Ganlook garrison day before yesterday. He learned that you were to reach that city within forty-eight hours. A large detachment of men has been sent to meet you at Labbot.”

      “Oh, indeed,” said Beverly, very much interested.

      “They must have been misinformed as to your route—or else your Russian escort decided to take you through by the lower and more hazardous way. It was our luck that you came by the wrong road. Otherwise we should not have met each other—and