XXVI
THE VISTULA!
It was a weary journey. Confused, discouraged, losing their paths ascore of times each hour, they lurched forward through the gloom ofnight and the unfeeling dawn of the next day. They prayed a ceaselessprayer for succor and--the Vistula. They were hungry, for the last crumbof food had been lost in fording a boisterous stream in their road, andin the darkness they had been unable to recover it. Rough stones cutTrusia's feet, but she uttered no complaint. The brambles tore herclothes, and scarred her hands, while more than one low-hanging limbclutched at her hair. Nor did Carter fare any better.
The second morning found them helplessly lost in the forest. By sheerstrength he broke down saplings and built a wigwam in which Trusia couldrest. He caught a rabbit, off which they fared for one meal and stillfrugally saved a portion for the necessities of mid-day. When that timecame around, the girl generously insisted that he should take it all,there not being enough for both, and he having been unable to snare anyother unwary woodland denizen. Of course he refused. She looked at him,grief-stricken and imploring. Still he would not yield. Then came theirnearest approach to a quarrel. Fatigued, depressed, bewildered, it is nowonder that the strained nerves gave way.
"See, Calvert," she said at last, looking at him through tear-dimmedeyes, "I give in. I'll feel like a cannibal, though; I know Ishall--eating your strength." Unable to refrain under the yieldinginfluences, he bent toward her for a kiss of reconciliation, but shegently held him off.
"Not yet," she said gravely, "not yet."
With mid-afternoon they resumed their weary advance and maintained theirplodding way through the night. Along toward dawn of this, the third,day of their flight, a suggestive, recurrent, monotonous sigh in the airtold their hopeful ears that they were drawing near a large body ofwater.
"Do you hear it, Calvert?" she asked ecstatically, a convulsive handupon his elbow.
"Yes," he answered in a voice husky with thanksgiving, "it is right overthe breast of that bank of firs. Oh, little girl," he said bending thedepths of his eyes into her soul, "I am glad for you. You are safe."
"I have been safe all along with you, Calvert," she smiled up into hisface.
He half turned away his head, her smile was as intoxicating as strongwine. "Don't say that," he said guiltily. "I am but a man and more thanonce--in the solitude--I was tempted."
She smiled an Eve-taught reproof. "Yet you did not yield, my lover.Come, let us race the last few steps for the first view of the river."
Their clothes in flags, disheveled, bruised, unkempt, like wild thingsof the woods, they rushed from the forest to the edge of the river. TheVistula!
"There lies Austria," he cried exultantly, pointing to the other shore.
"And here--and here," she cried with a little sob halting herwords,--"and here lies--here lies poor, poor Krovitch." Tears came andsaved her reason, for under the heavy strain her senses reeled. Thenboth together they searched for the ferry; but doubtless miles away fromthe end of the tiny path, it was a hopeless task to search further. Asdespondently they gave up the quest, Carter turned a grove-covered bendin the river.
"Look, Trusia," he called back to her; "a yacht--an American yacht!See," he cried in a frenzy of delight, "there is the flag. The flag--thestars and stripes! Oh, fate is kind." He seized the girl and whirledher around in a dervish dance of joy, hallooing at the top of his voice.
There came an answer presently to his cheers. "They have heard us,doubtless," he said, peering shipward. Then his eyes lit with a newdiscovery. "That's the New York Yacht Club pennant. Owner's aboard andI'm darned--I beg pardon--if it isn't Billy Saunderson's signal at thepeak. Funny that they answered our hail when no one seems on deck."
"Hark, Calvert, what is that?" asked Trusia apprehensively. He bent hishead fearfully toward the forest. Shouts, the crackling of fallen twigs,cheers and commands in Russian, greeted their ears.
"And we thought it was some one on the boat," was his only comment. "Youare too late, Mr. Tsar," he called back as he waved his hand as if infarewell. "My countryman is a friend of mine," he said in explanation tothe trembling girl. "He will give us a berth, never fear. We will haveto swim for it, though."
"But I can't swim a stroke, Calvert. I will only hamper you. You saveyourself, sweetheart. They will never take me. I promise you. Do go,dear."
"Nonsense. Will you trust yourself with me? I can handle two like you."
She looked at him with that look that a man need see but once in awoman's eyes and hold life cheap for its purchase.
"Calvert, I would trust you any place after this journey."
In the unlit gray of dawn, the waters were dark and chill. Carter wasnumbed; he realized for the first time how mercilessly their crueljourney had drawn on his strength. His stroke seemed laborious from thevery start, and his clothes hampered him. The girl obediently clung tohis shoulders.
About a quarter of the distance to the island in midstream wasaccomplished. That diminutive patch of soil was a mutually acknowledgedboundary between Russia and Austria. A fierce yell of triumph caused theswimmer to pause in his efforts. He looked back over his shoulder to seethe first pair of pursuers push their wiry mounts into the river. Thenwith a groan he realized that the stream was dotted with horsemen.
It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That havenof safety was anchored a good two hundred yards below and beyond theisle. Gritting his teeth, however, he redoubled his efforts.
"They are gaining on us, dear," Trusia prompted.
"If it comes to the worst we can go down together, but we are not caughtyet. How close are they?"
"Not two hundred yards away," she replied after a careful backward look.
Carter caught sight of a man on deck of the vessel and hailed him withdesperately good lungs. The seaman seemed to take one fleeting look atthe struggle in the water and then disappeared hastily down acompanionway.
"How near are they now, Trusia?" gasped Carter.
"They have gained only about ten yards."
Calvert's head seemed the bursting hive of a million stinging bees. Hisarms ached horribly. His legs were flung out like useless flags. He madesuperhuman efforts to keep up the unequal struggle.
"How near are they now, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice raspingout sharply under his strain.
"They have gained only another ten yards, beloved," she respondedsolacing as a sweet woman does in the very teeth of despair.
His mouth and tongue were swollen and his throat was parched. His headthrobbed wildly with an ugly drumming, while each breath seemed a solidthing racking his burning lungs with a novel pain.
"I'll make it--I'll make it--I'll make it," he repeated insemi-conscious determination. "How near now?" he gasped back to her.
"They have gained in all about fifty yards." She began to weep softly.It acted like a spur to his flagging strength. It was helpless womankindcalling upon man for succor. His eyes felt like overripe fruit, ready toburst, and blue flashes of pain danced before them. Then all thingslooked black--a veil had fallen in front of him.
"I'll make it--I'll make it--I'll make it," his iteration sounded like amocking echo flung back into his ears. "I must not sink," he asserted tohimself. "Not until I have saved Trusia," his thoughts were becomingincapable of coherence.
"Aboard the _Bronx_. Aboard the _Bronx_." His voice sounded a long wayoff. His movements were becoming feebly automatic. He was sure amaliciously grinning horseman was reaching out for Trusia, though it wasimpossible to see him.
"Now?" he gasped.
"Only five yards away," she answered calmly.
It is easy to die, easier to drown, when there is no escape.
Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch Page 26
