Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1907-01-11
CHAPTER xxv.-(oOntinued.)

l was nervous that night, and about
one in the morning thought l heard a
noise in the passage outside. Very eau
tiously opened my door and peeped out.
Ny fathers door was the next to mine
and between the two lay Reski in
great fur rug that he had. He waved
his hand to me with a little smile, as if
were a child he was bidding to be of
good courage. 1 slept undisturbed after
that.
1t was as we took our place for
twelve O'clock dejeuner that we received
the second telegram. This is how it
read:
IF danger presses, communicate fully
police. We started on receipt of your
message, and will be at Thusis by three.
Should be at Pontresina at one o'clock
tonight. Order rooms.-Graden."
l called in Reski at once; for he had
refused to have his meals with us, though
my father had invited him. He looked
very grave, indeed, when l translated the
message.
"You sent no telegram, Fraulein?'
"No, Herr Reski"
"Nor you, mein Herr?'
mo, Reski, no." said my father.
Then someone has sent it in your
name do not like it. 1t would seem
a trap"
"A trapT
/ stared at him with fear gathering
about my heart. Who had done this
thing? And why?
at would seem, Fraulein, some scheme
of the old grey devil. What he intends,
] cannot guess; nor can | think how he
diconUnHad that Vryoo a. 4,
a thing plainly to do. l will start for
Thusis, to warn those who are hasten
ing to u.s."
II will come with you, Reski," said
my father.
you know that cannot be. 1 have
no fear, with Reski to protect me. 1
will 60"
Love gives great strength to woman,
and | spoke as one who expects to be
Obeyed. 1t was much trouble to per
suade them; yet from the first l did not
mean to yield. My dear father had bare
" recovered from the fatigues of bis
long journey; to let him take this drive
of forty miles would be the gravest folly.
Yet it was not right that we both should
leave our duty to a man of whom we
had no real knowledge. Mr.. Harland and
his cousin had endangered their lives to
save us; now that peril seemed to be
closing round those gallant gentlemen,
we could not both sit idle. Plainly it
was / who should go.
And so at last 1t was agreed between
us.
1t was shortly after one o'clock when
Reski and l rhmbled off in our post-car-
riage across the snOw-bound slopes of
the valley to Ponte. Then began a climb
of dreary monotony. Up and up we drag
ged, turn after turn through forests of
larch and pine, with the Engadine grow.
ing wider, and its houses sinking into
specks beneath US. At last we reached
the crest of the Albula Pass, and trotted
forward over the. snow levels till we
plunged down the steep descent of the
rock-strewn DEVILS Hall-as the noun
taineers named it of old. The sun had
set ere we ratified into Breda, and the
moon had swung out from the southwark
when Bergun was reached. Half an hour
later we had passed through the forests
into the shadows of that black and dan
gerous gorge-the Berguner Stein.
Fresh snow had clogged the road on
the Albula, and we had made slow bro
gress, to our increasing anxiety. 1t was
now impossible that we should reach
Thusis before they started; but we had
calculated that near TiefenkasteU we
might meet them. That the snow had
not fallen so deeply on the lower slopes.
and that they had moved more quickly.
we could not know.
We had passed the last bend that turn
ed upward, leading in 2 long slope to
the entrance of the gorge, when we stop
ped suddenly. Reski sprang out; clam
bering after, found him by the driver.
who was pointing with his whip up the
road. The man had been warned to give
us notice of any approaching vehicle.
1T Is a post-carriage," he said 'aThey
have stopped to breathe their team"
The road had been carved and ioisted
along the cliff side, and where we stood
under the mighty wall of rock, the shad
ows were gathered darkly. To our left
the rugged barrier rose dimly into the
night, clear only where its battlements
broke the pearl of the sky at some great
height above us; to our right, low stone
coping hid the grim uncertainties of the
precipice. But fifty yards up the slope
the cliffs fell back, and the road stepped
out into the silver moonlight, mounting
the hill, through a border of stunned
trees, in a simple curve, as white and
we'll defined as a chalk mark on a black
board. On its crest could see the patch
on the snow carpet that marked the wait
ing carriage. 1t was, perhaps, the half
Of a mD4 away.
CHAPTER XVI
The parch of shadow moved slowly for
ward.