presented rather terrifying prospects, and the third day promised even
greater vicissitudes. Looking from the coach windows out upon the quiet,
desolate grandeur of her surroundings, poor Beverly began to appreciate
how abjectly helpless and alone she was. Her companions were ugly,
vicious-looking men, any one of whom could inspire terror by a look. She
had entrusted herself to the care of these strange creatures in the
moment of inspired courage and now she was constrained to regret her
action. True, they had proved worthy protectors as far as they had gone,
but the very possibilities that lay in their power were appalling, now
that she had time to consider the situation.

The officer in charge had been recommended as a trusted servant of the
Czar; an American consul had secured the escort for her direct from the
frontier patrol authorities. Men high in power had vouched for the
integrity of the detachment, but all this was forgotten in the mighty
solitude of the mountains. She was beginning to fear her escort more
than she feared the brigands of the hills.

Treachery seemed printed on their backs as they rode ahead of her. The
big officer was ever polite and alert, but she was ready to distrust him
on the slightest excuse. These men could not help knowing that she was
rich, and it was reasonable for them to suspect that she carried money
and jewels with her. In her mind's eye she could picture these traitors
rifling her bags and boxes in some dark pass, and then there were other
horrors that almost petrified her when she allowed herself to think of
them.

Here and there the travelers passed by rude cots where dwelt woodmen and
mountaineers, and at long intervals a solitary but picturesque horseman
stood aside and gave them the road. As the coach penetrated deeper into