CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE "BOB" RUN

In the far north of Grimland, seemingly secure in its snow-blocked passes and its improvised fortifications, the mountain town of Weissheim basked serenely in the unclouded sunshine of its exalted plateau. The life of the place went on, little affected outwardly by the rude shocks of a revolution that had unseated a dynasty at Weidenbruck, and incidentally horrified the sober-minded people of Europe. The railway was cut that connected Weissheim with the capital, and the telegraph wires were drooping, limp and useless, from their stark poles. The foreign contingent,--the English and American visitors of the "Pariserhof,"--pursued their life of unadulterated pleasure-seeking as thoroughly and unconcernedly as was their wont. Each morning found the curling rink well filled with knickerbockered mortals, bearing brooms, and hurling granite bowls over the perfect ice, and using weird expressions of Scottish origin tempered with Anglo-Saxon profanity. The snows of the hillsides were scarred with the double-tracked impressions of innumerable ski-runners, and the great toboggan run--the Kastel run--found its daily complement of votaries for its dangerous attractions. Each night the thermometer showed its zero frost, and each day the winter sun proclaimed its potency with no uncertain ray. Nature was as serenely unconscious of politics as the guests of the Pariserhof were of the series of fogs that was at that time choking the streets of London with obfuscating blackness. This winter, indeed, was singularly like other winters at this ideal resort of athletic and convalescent humanity. It is true that horrible tales of rioting and violence had come through from Weidenbruck,--but similar reports had been transmitted many times previously,--and if the present rumours were rather more highly-coloured and substantial than heretofore, that was no reason why able-bodied men and women should not skate and ski, and play innumerable rubbers of bridge over cups of hot chocolate and cream-stuffed _éclairs au café_. It was true that bands of swarthy men in uniform, and armed with shovels, were perpetually throwing up snow-works on the surrounding bluffs, but they respected the skating-rinks and the toboggan-runs--which was all the visitors cared about. Moreover, they furnished rather a picturesque note as they dragged their grim pieces of ordnance over the steep snow slopes, and slowly hauled them into position in the aforementioned snow-works. What the guests of the Pariserhof failed to appreciate was, that a miracle was taking place. Weissheim was loyal! Weissheim,--for years the home of sedition and intrigue,--was all for Karl! Just as in the days of his prosperity it had turned against him, so now in the hour of his discomfiture it rallied to him as one man. The troubles of 1904 had taught the good Weissheimers that they had a man for a Sovereign, that the tall, good-natured, sunburnt gentleman in spectacles had a hard fist inside his fur-lined gloves, and a stout heart under his Jäeger cardigan. And the fact that Weidenbruck had cast him out was a good enough reason for their taking him in. The men of the mountain despised the dwellers of the plain. Rough, cruel, mutable as they were, there were still certain primitive virtues among the hardy hill-folk, and when one day Karl and the ever-popular Saunders turned up unexpectedly at Weissheim with their tale of woe, they let loose an enthusiasm that had never yet been accorded to Grimland's legitimate Sovereign. So, contrary to his fears, Meyer's task had been an easy one. A more than capable engineer, he soon put the place on as sound a footing of defence as shovel and energy directed by German book-lore and Jewish brains could put it. Within a week of his arrival the whole plateau was secure in its well-planned redoubts and in the excellent temper of the civil and military population.

On the twentieth of January, eight days after the King's arrival, the race for the Cobham Cup took place on the bob-sleigh run. For this event bob-sleigh crews had foregathered from far and near, for the Weissheim "bob" run is acknowledged to be the fastest, the most difficult, and the most sporting in the world. A bob-sleigh,--let me explain for the benefit of the uninitiated,--is a very long toboggan capable of holding half a dozen persons. Unlike an ordinary toboggan, it is steered from the front by ropes, or, in the most up-to-date "bobs," by a wheel. The rearmost man manipulates a brake with a lever on either hand, and he awaits the commands of the steersman, who sees the curves coming and realises when the pace must be checked to avert disaster. Originally, the "bobbing" was done along the high road, but this was so dangerous to horse-sleighs and pedestrians, and resulted in such fearful accidents, that a special track was constructed every winter, avoiding the town and ultimately joining the highway somewhere near Riefinsdorf. The winning-post was now at this junction, but for ordinary pleasure "bobbing," crews sometimes continued their course along the road itself, the constant declivity permitting the craft to travel at a great speed almost as far as Wallen, ten miles distant, or by branching to the left, to descend the Rylvio Pass into Austria. The difficulty of dragging the "bob" back made these distant expeditions events of some rarity, and, indeed, the first part of the course was so much more exciting than the roadway, that it was mainly on this portion that practising for the cup took place.

Imagine a track some six feet in width, formed of snow turned to ice by the process of constant watering, and so smooth and slippery that a burnished mirror would be rough and dull in comparison. Imagine this track inclined at a steep angle, walled in on both sides with low ice-banks, and trailing a long and sinuous course for a length of over a mile! Here we have the potentialities of speed when we remember that racing "bobs" are just low frameworks of wood whose steel runners glide over the polished track with as little friction as a flash of lightning traversing a thunder-cloud. When we add that the bends of the course are sharp, and often flanked by sheer precipices, and that to negotiate these bends at high speed requires the greatest nerve and skill for all concerned, it is hardly necessary to add that the sport is one which appeals to wandering foreigners in search of sensations.

"It is a pity you have not got a crew," said Karl to Saunders, who, with his wife, General Meyer, and Frau von Bilderbaum, were seated in a wooden shelter erected at one of the most exciting bends of the course. "With your skill at the brake and Mrs. Saunders' skill at the wheel, you would have stood a fine chance of securing Lady Cobham's trophy."

"It is always a pity when politics interfere with sport," replied Saunders. "We manage these things better in England. When the shooting season commences politicians take a rest."

"Here," said Meyer, "the shooting season commences when the politicians are most active. Only we don't shoot grouse in Grimland--only kings and councillors."

Karl laughed.

"I should like to have seen Saunders take his crew down the run in approved style," he said; "I'd have wagered my forest lands to a frost-bite that he'd have done the best time."

"I should have liked nothing better," said Saunders, "but it is impossible to do oneself credit without practice. And I have been busy in other ways: I have been studying Meyer's treatise on Winter War, and I am not sure that the possibilities it holds forth are not more exhilarating even than the competition for Lady Cobham's cup."

"We are likely to have that statement verified, if what I hear is true," said the Commander-in-Chief quietly.

"And what you hear generally is true," muttered Karl.

"In this case I have no doubts," said Meyer. "A large military expedition left Weidenbruck the day before yesterday; its destination and object are not difficult to surmise."

"I am glad," said Frau von Bilderbaum truculently. "If blows are to be struck, the sooner the better; we are ready for them."

There was a sound of cheering from the direction of the starting point, signifying that the first crew was launched on its downward course.

It was morning--10.30 A.M., to be precise--for the race had to be run before the sun's power waxed hot enough to affect the surface of the track. And the scene was a gay one: blue and white flags were flying from poles at every hundred yards of the course, and from the crowded stands erected at the several points of vantage.

And the day was a typical Weissheim day: the sky was of a deep and ever-deepening blue. Not a breath of air stirred over the snow-veiled face of the country. The sun had risen above the shoulder of the mighty Klauigberg, and had turned the myriad crystals into a sparkling ocean of unbelievable whiteness. To draw breath was to fill one's lungs with perfect air and one's heart with ecstasy. To gaze at the shimmering panorama of towering peaks and snowy buttresses was to behold the finest view in central Europe.

"Here they come!" ejaculated Karl excitedly, as a "bob" came into view, accompanied by a slight scraping sound, as the runners slithered over the adamantine track.

All held their breath, for the speed of the descending craft was absolutely terrifying. At the prow was a goggled figure in a white sweater, with a red dragon--the badge of his crew--worked on his chest. Behind him was a young girl, and behind her again four men, all similarly attired. With the exception of the steersman, who crouched forward,--a tense thing of staring eyes and straining muscles,--all were leaning back as far as possible to minimise wind pressure.

"Too fast!" was Saunders' comment.

Suddenly, in response to a hoarse cry from the steersman, the crew swung their bodies to the left and simultaneously flung out their arms in the same direction. The manœuvre was designed to bring the "bob" round the corner without checking the pace by applying the brake. The result was unsatisfactory. The prow of the "bob" struck the counter-bank violently, there was a gasp from a hundred throats, and a feathery cloud of snow rose, in which the limbs of half a dozen human beings were whirling in an intricate and inextricable confusion. No one, fortunately, was damaged, and in a few seconds the crew had sorted themselves and resumed their chequered career.

"Heroism and no brake!" muttered Karl. "How like our friend the American!"

"May his fall be as harmless!" said Saunders.

Frau Bilderbaum snorted.

"I should like to see him go over the precipice!" she exclaimed.

"You probably will--metaphorically speaking," said Meyer. "He is accompanying this expedition against us, and he has outwitted me twice."

A minute later another "bob" was making its nerve-shattering descent of the lightning run. This time its crew,--a well-drilled sextet in blue jerseys bearing the facetious badge of a tortoise,--swept round the dangerous bend without mishap.

"Well done, Miss Reeve-Thompson!" cried Mrs. Saunders, naming the lady who was steering the successful craft.

"That's done me good," sighed Karl in a note of satisfaction. "God's sky and the best of sports! Clean snow and the champagne air of Weissheim, and what care I for the rabble of the plains."

And so the morning wore on, with cheers for the skilful, gasps for the rash, and murmurs of pity for the unfortunate. There were more spills, of course, but fortunately no disasters of magnitude, and at mid-day the great competition was over. The "times" were added up and checked, and ultimately Miss Reeve-Thompson's crew were adjudged the winners, and accompanied by a cheering throng they received the cup from Lady Cobham at the Pariserhof.

The royal party waited till the crowd of onlookers had dispersed, and then wended their way back to the Brunvarad--the Winter Palace--on foot. As they followed the track that bordered the run they fell in with General von Bilderbaum, struggling up the hill in a great grey overcoat, very moist and red of face.

"Well," said Karl, "how are the new forts looking?"

"Very workmanlike, sire. We have got two new quick-firers on to the south escarpment of redoubt A, and some old but serviceable _mitraileuses_ in position in the long fosse between redoubts C and D."

"Excellent," drawled Meyer. "And our dear, loyal gunners--are they continuing to make good practice at the ice-targets?"

"I am sorry for anything they get sight of within two kilometres," responded the General.

"I am well served," said Karl. "Herr Saunders here has developed into a student of minor tactics, and I fancy would handle a brigade as well as a Moltke or a Kuroki."

At this moment they reached the point of the path where it crosses the bob-sleigh run, and the races being over and the track closed, a wooden plank had been laid across the glassy surface to afford secure foothold. The men halted to allow the ladies,--Mrs. Saunders and Frau Generalin von Bilderbaum,--to pass first. But the latter,--a lady, as the reader knows, of somewhat egregious proportions,--was not gifted by nature with a rapid gait through trampled snow. Holding high her green skirt, and planting her cumbrous snow-boots with deliberate precision, she advanced puffing and panting like a mountain engine in a snow-drift. Before, however, she had come up with the others, a strange man accosted the royal party from the opposite direction. The individual in question was wearing skis, and looked fatigued and travel-stained, as though he had come fast and far. A black slouch hat was pressed over his forehead, and it was not till he was quite close that Karl and his companions recognised the features as those of Von Hügelweiler.

The Captain's salutation was as abrupt as his appearance.

"Hail! King of half a country," he said.

Quietly, swiftly, and without ostentation, Saunders and Meyer covered the newcomer with their revolvers.

"Hands up when you speak to his Majesty," said the latter.

Von Hügelweiler dropped his ski-ing pole and held up his hands.

"I have a weapon in my breast," he said, "but it is not for any here."

Meyer quietly inserted his hand into the Captain's breast pocket, and drew out a revolver. It was of the Grimland army pattern, and loaded in all its chambers. He swiftly extracted the cartridges and transferred them to his own person, and then,--having satisfied himself that the Captain had no further munitions of war,--replaced the unloaded weapon in its original position.

"Now you may talk without the inconvenience of holding your hands in that fatiguing posture," he said. "What is it?"

"I come from Weidenbruck," said Von Hügelweiler, "and I bring news. The day before yesterday an expedition left the capital for Weissheim."

Meyer nodded.

"That is so," he agreed; "we get to know things, even in this charmingly remote district. Still, details are always agreeable. What does the force consist of?"

"The whole brigade of Guards, two battalions of Guides, and the Kurdeburg Sharpshooters."

"They do me honour," said the King. "But they will find the railway somewhat disorganised. You see, we have dynamited the principal viaducts, to say nothing of the two-mile tunnel under the Kahberg--and these things are not easy to repair when the snow is down."

"The railway is open as far as Eselbruck," the Captain returned, "and from thence they will come over the passes on skis. They will come quicker than they would in the summer."

"That is true enough," agreed Meyer. "And who is in command of this imposing force?"

"Bernhardt."

"Indeed! And the second in command?"

"A cursed American."

Meyer smiled.

"That describes Herr Trafford admirably," he said. "But how about yourself, Von Hügelweiler? How is it you are not occupying a distinguished position in this amiable field-force?"

"Because there are limits even to my dishonour," retorted Von Hügelweiler fiercely. "In transferring my services from his Majesty King Karl to her Majesty Queen Gloria, I knew I was sinking, but I only learned a little while ago to what great depths."

"You are the man who was sent to hold the Strafeburg for me," said Karl sternly, "and who handed it over to the mob rather than risk your skin."

"I did not yield to fear," retorted the Captain, turning almost savagely on his sovereign. "I yielded to an even more odious thing--passion. The Princess pleaded with me, balancing her woman's grace against my loyalty. I could face the fury of the multitude, but I succumbed to the blandishments of a wanton!"

The word drew an exclamation of surprise and indignation from Saunders.

"And you had your reward!" he said with a sneer.

"Aye, I have had my reward," was the bitter answer. "Love such as mine always has its reward. I learned who it was upon whom the fickle Gloria had bestowed her worthless heart. Who was it, do you think? A nobleman, a great soldier, a Prince? No! She was conducting a guilty intrigue with the schweinhund Trafford--the man who betrayed his party by immuring the enemy in a spikeless _Eisenmädchen_.

"Yes, that's true enough," said Karl. "The schweinhund Trafford, as you call him, possesses some rudimentary ideas of humanity, despite his absurd predilection for anarchy. I may remember that when my time comes."

"It was an act of folly and weakness," said the Captain recklessly, "an act of treachery to the side he had espoused. As soon as I heard of it I hastened to Bernhardt's chambers with the news."

"And he said?" asked Karl.

"He said he loved and hated you," replied the Captain.

Karl nodded thoughtfully.

"I believe that expresses his mental attitude towards me very well," he said.

"It was the mad paradox of an _absintheur_," Von Hügelweiler interrupted. "He was half drunk and wholly dangerous, and I left him. I roused the people against Trafford, but the scoundrel defended himself cunningly, and in the end the devil-ridden Bernhardt turned up and rescued him with a troop of Dragoons."

"And why are you here?" asked General Bilderbaum.

"For one thing, there are two hundred kronen on my head in Weidenbruck," replied Von Hügelweiler. "That makes the place unhealthy. Neither do I desire to serve that delightful trinity, the wanton Queen, the dipsomaniac priest, and the _verdomte_ American."

"But why come here?" persisted Bilderbaum, growing, if possible, still redder in the face.

Von Hügelweiler ignored the speaker, and turned to Karl.

"I have no claim on your trust," he said to his late sovereign, "no claim on your mercy--but my services may be useful. I ask no high command, I merely crave to be put somewhere in the firing-line, where I can put a bullet into the heart of the cursed American."

A silence followed this savage request. Then Karl turned to General Bilderbaum.

"What say you, General?" he asked. "Do you like the look of your new recruit?"

"No, sire," said the old soldier bluntly. "I have some blackguards in my command, but no double-dyed traitor such as this."

"What!" Von Hügelweiler's nerves,--never well under control,--were raw and ragged from his recent bitter experience, and by no means improved by the forced and hasty journey he had undertaken to Weissheim. With a cry of rage and indignation he swung round on the plain-spoken old General, maddened at the insult, and raising his fist as though to avenge it with a blow. But, as on a previous occasion, the General's wife was near at hand to protect the sacred person of her lord and master. Boiling with indignation, she hurled her ample person at the mutinous captain. Von Hügelweiler gave ground--he would have been a Samson had he not done so. And he stepped, not on to the snow, not on to the plank that crossed the run, but on to the surface of the bob-sleigh track itself. He might have trodden on a cloud or a trembling bog for all the foothold it afforded, and with a cry he fell, the Frau von Bilderbaum falling heavily and incontinently on him. Hands were stretched out, but too late. Before the General could clutch the skirt of his devoted partner, the ill-assorted pair,--struggling, writhing, uttering noises of wrath and fear,--had commenced the descent of the "bob" run. Nothing could stop their downward progress. Swifter and swifter the terrified twain glided, impotent hands clutched at the frictionless banks, and impotent heels were pressed fiercely and fruitlessly on to the glassy surface of the track. Down they went, the Captain struggling and swearing, the woman struggling and bellowing. The pace grew. They became disengaged. Von Hügelweiler slithered swiftly on his side, Frau von Bilderbaum rotated slowly in a sitting posture, descending with ever-growing momentum. Up a banked curve she swung, fat arms were raised frantically, a roar of pathetic discomfort shook the frosty air, and the devoted woman disappeared from view round a bend of the track.

Much of the colour had left General Bilderbaum's face. No one laughed, for the ludicrous mishap might well be a prelude to a serious, even fatal, accident. Saunders climbed up a high mound of piled snow, from which the further bends of the track might be visible.

"There are some men at work lower down sweeping the course," he said, speaking clearly for all to hear. "They have heard the cries and they are preparing to stop them. Two have put their brooms across the track--but the speed is gathering. They have stopped her--no! the impetus was too great--the sweepers are rolling backwards in the snow. Wait! the pace is checked--others are helping. They've got her. Now--ah! Hügelweiler's on the top of them! What a collision! She's up, unhurt! It's all right, General; your good lady is safe and sound of limb. She's had a shaking, but her nerves are good, or I'm no judge of physiology. Go down and look after her."

"Aye, and after Hügelweiler, too," spluttered the veteran. "I've a heavy reckoning with that young scoundrel that will take some paying, or I'm not the son of Karl Bilderbaum the Fierce."

"I wonder,"--said Karl, as soon as General Bilderbaum had left to recover his hapless spouse,--"I wonder whether this man Von Hügelweiler might not prove a valuable addition to our force. He seems to have the enemy's discomfiture, if not our interests, very much at heart."

"Where would you put him?" asked Saunders.

"I should put him where David put Uriah the Hittite," said Meyer. "Where he has himself asked to be put--in the firing line."