are
looking for," said Anguish, stretching out his legs comfortably. "I'll
admit it has been a tiresome journey, and I'll be glad when we can step
into a decent hotel, have a rub, and feel like white men once more. I
am beginning to feel like these dirty Slavs and Huns we saw 'way back
there."

"There's one thing certain," said Lorry, looking out of the window.
"The people and the habitations are different and the whole world seems
changed since we left that station. Look at those fellows on horseback
over there."

"What did I tell you about brigands and robbers!" exclaimed Anguish.
"If those fellows are not bandits I'll lose faith in every novel I ever
read."

The train rolled slowly past three mounted men whose steeds stood like
statues upon a little knoll to the right of the track, men and beasts
engaged in silent contemplation of the cars. The men, picturesquely
attired and looking fierce, carrying long rifles, certainly bore an
aspect that suggested the brigand. When the guard entered the carriage
Anguish asked in German for some information concerning the riders.

"Dey're frontier police-guards," responded the man in English, smiling
at their astonishment. Both Americans arose and shook hands with him.

"By George, it's good to hear a man talk white man's language," cried
Anguish.

"How do you come to be holding a job on this road? An Englishman?"
demanded Lorry. He looked anything but English.

"I'm not an Englishman," said the guard, flushing slightly. "My name's
Sitzky, and I'm an American, sir."

"An American!" exclaimed Lorry. Sitzky grew loquacious.

"Sure! I used to be a sailor on a United States man-o'war. A couple of
years ago I got into trouble down at Constantinople and had to get out
of de service. After dat I drifted up dis way and went to railroadin'."
He hadn't exactly the manner of a man-of-warsman.

"How long have you been on this road?" asked Grenfall.

"'Bout a year, I should t'ink. Been on dis branch only two months,
dough."

"Are you pretty well acquainted in Edelweiss?''

"Oh, I run in dere every other day--in an' out ag'in. It's a fine
place,--purtiest you ever saw in your life. The town runs right up the
mountain to the tip-top where the monks are--clear up in d' clouds. Dey
say it snows up dere almost all d' time."

Later on, from the loquacious guard, the two Americans learned quite
a good bit about the country and city to which they were going. His
knowledge was somew