CHAPTER

     I the makers of maps
    II by special despatch
   III in argument
    IV the baroness Helena
     V one of the women in the case
    VI the boudoir of the baroness
   VII regarding Elisabeth
  VIII Mr. Calhoun accepts
    IX A Kettle of fish
     X mixed duties
    XI who giveth this woman
   XII the Marathon
  XIII on secret service
   XIV the other woman
    XV with madam the baroness
   XVI dejeuner A la fourchette
  XVII A Hunter of butterflies
 XVIII the missing slipper
   XIX the gentleman from Tennessee
    XX the lady from Mexico
   XXI politics under cover
  XXII but yet A woman
 XXIII success in silk
  XXIV the whoa-Haw trail
   XXV Oregon
  XXVI the debated country
 XXVII in the cabin of madam
XXVIII when A woman would
  XXIX in exchange
   XXX counter currents
  XXXI the Payment
 XXXII Pakenham’s price
XXXIII the story of Helena von Ritz
 XXXIV the Victory
  XXXV the proxy of Pakenham
 XXXVI the palo alto ball
       epilogue

CHAPTER I

THE MAKERS OF MAPS

     There is scarcely a single cause in which a woman is not engaged in
     some way fomenting the suit.—­Juvenal.

“Then you offer me no hope, Doctor?” The gray mane of Doctor Samuel Ward waved like a fighting crest as he made answer: 

“Not the sort of hope you ask.”  A moment later he added:  “John, I am ashamed of you.”

The cynical smile of the man I called my chief still remained upon his lips, the same drawn look of suffering still remained upon his gaunt features; but in his blue eye I saw a glint which proved that the answer of his old friend had struck out some unused spark of vitality from the deep, cold flint of his heart.

“I never knew you for a coward, Calhoun,” went on Doctor Ward, “nor any of your family I give you now the benefit of my personal acquaintance with this generation of the Calhouns.  I ask something more of you than faint-heartedness.”

The keen eyes turned upon him again with the old flame of flint which a generation had known—­a generation, for the most part, of enemies.  On my chief’s face I saw appear again the fighting flush, proof of his hard-fibered nature, ever ready to rejoin with challenge when challenge came.

“Did not Saul fall upon his own sword?” asked John Calhoun.  “Have not devoted leaders from the start of the world till now sometimes rid the scene of the responsible figures in lost fights, the men on whom blame rested for failures?”

“Cowards!” rejoined Doctor Ward.  “Cowards, every one of them!  Were there not other swords upon which they might have fallen—­those of their enemies?”