“He is not so big a fool, this Armitage,” remarked Durand.  “He is quite deep, in fact.  I wish it were he we are trying to establish on a throne, and not that pitiful scapegrace in Vienna.”

“I gave him his chance down there in the valley and he laughed at me.  It is quite possible that he is not a fool; and quite certain that he is not a coward.”

“Then he would not be a safe king.  Our young friend in Vienna is a good deal of a fool and altogether a coward.  We shall have to provide him with a spine at his coronation.”

“If we fail—­” began Chauvenet.

“You suggest a fruitful but unpleasant topic.  If we fail we shall be fortunate if we reach the hospitable shores of the Argentine for future residence.  Paris and Vienna would not know us again.  If Winkelried succeeds in Vienna and we lose here, where do we arrive?”

“We arrive quite where Mr. Armitage chooses to land us.  He is a gentleman of resources; he has money; he laughs cheerfully at misadventures; he has had you watched by the shrewdest eyes in Europe,—­and you are considered a hard man to keep track of, my dear Durand.  And not least important,—­he has to-night snatched away that little cablegram that was the signal to Winkelried to go ahead.  He is a very annoying and vexatious person, this Armitage.  Even Zmai, whose knife made him a terror in Servia, seems unable to cope with him.”

“And the fair daughter of the valley—­”

“Pish!  We are not discussing the young lady.”

“I can understand how unpleasant the subject must be to you, my dear Jules.  What do you imagine she knows of Monsieur Armitage?  If he is the man we think he is and a possible heir to a great throne it would be impossible for her to marry him.”

“His tastes are democratic.  In Montana he is quite popular.”

Durand flung away his cigarette and laughed suddenly.

“Has it occurred to you that this whole affair is decidedly amusing?  Here we are, in one of the free American states, about to turn a card that will dethrone a king, if we are lucky.  And here is a man we are trying to get out of the way—­a man we might make king if he were not a fool!  In America!  It touches my sense of humor, my dear Jules!”

An exclamation from Zmai arrested them.  The Servian jerked up his horse and they were instantly at his side.  They had reached a point near the hunting preserve in the main highway.  It was about half-past one o’clock, an hour at which Virginia mountain roads are usually free of travelers, and they had been sending their horses along as briskly as the uneven roads and the pace of Zmai’s laggard beast permitted.

The beat of a horse’s hoofs could be heard quite distinctly in the road ahead of them.  The road tended downward, and the strain of the ascent was marked in the approaching animal’s walk; in a moment the three men heard the horse’s quick snort of satisfaction as it reached leveler ground; then scenting the other animals, it threw up its head and neighed shrilly.