g, because of the
extreme caution required. A wide detour was made by the canny
Hobbs--wider, in fact, than the impatient American thought wholly
necessary. In time, however, they came to the Highway.

"Well, we've got a start, Hobbs. We'll win out, just as I said we would.
Easy as falling off a log."

"I'm not so blooming sure of that," said Hobbs. He was recalling a
recent flight along this very road. "We're a long way from being out of
the woods."

"Don't be a kill-joy, Hobbs. Look at the bright side of things."

"I'll do that in the morning, when the sun's up," said Hobbs, with a
sigh. "Come along, sir. We take this path here for the upper road. It's
a good two hours' walk up the mountain to Rabot's, where we get the
horses."

All the way up the black, narrow mountain path Hobbs kept the lead. King
followed, his thoughts divided between the blackness ahead and the
single, steady light in a certain window now far behind. He had seen the
lighted window in the upper balcony as he passed the Castle on the way
to the gate. Somehow he knew she was there saying good-bye and Godspeed
to him.

At four o'clock, as the sun reached up with his long, red fingers from
behind the Monastery mountain, Truxton King and Hobbs rode away from
Rabot's cottage high in the hills, refreshed and sound of heart. Rabot's
son rode with them, a sturdy, loyal lad, who had leaped joyously at the
chance to serve his Prince. Undisturbed, they rode straight for the
passes below St. Valentine's. Behind and below them lay the sleeping,
restless, unhappy city of Edelweiss, with closed gates and unfriendly,
sullen walls. There reigned the darkest fiend that Graustark, in all her
history, had ever come to know.

Truxton King had slipped through his fingers with almost ridiculous
ease. So simple had it been, that the two messengers, gloating in the
prospect ahead, now spoke of the experience as if it were the most
trivial thing in their lives. They mentioned it casually; that was all.

Now, let us turn to John Tullis and his quest in the hills. It goes
without saying that he found no trace of his sister or her abductors.
For five days he scoured the lonely, mysterious mountains, dragging the
tired but loyal hundred about at his heels, distracted by fear and
anguish over the possible fate of the adored one. On the fifth day, a
large force of Dawsbergen soldiers, led by Prince Dantan himself, found
the fagged, disspirited American and his half-star