“Dere’s d’ Burnowentz, one block north of d’ depot.”  The travelers looked at one another and smiled, Sitzky observing the action.  “Oh,” he said, pleasantly, “dere’s a swell joint uptown called d’ Regengetz.  It’s too steep fer me, but maybe you gents can stand it.  It you’ll hang around d’ depot fer a little while after we get in I’ll steer you up dere.”

“We’ll make it worth your while, Sitzky,” said Lorry.

“Never mind dat, now.  Americans ought to stick together, no matter where dey are.  We’ll have a drink an’ ’at’s all, just to show we’re fellow countrymen.”

“We’ll have several drinks, and we’ll eat and drink tonight at the ‘swell joint’ you talk about,” said Anguish.

“We may drink dere, but I’ll not eat dere.  Dey wouldn’t let a railroad guard inside de feedin’ pen.  Why, nothin’ but royal guys eat dere when dey’re down town shoppin’ or exposin’ demselves to public gaze.”

True to his word, when they reached Edelweiss late that afternoon Sitzky, their friend of uncertain origin, hurriedly finished his work and joined the travelers in the station.  Lorry and Anguish were deeply interested in all they saw, the strange people, the queer buildings, the odd costumes and the air of antiquity that prevailed.  Once upon the narrow, clean street they saw that Edelweiss was truly a city of the mountain-side.  They had expected something wonderful, but were not prepared for what they found.  The city actually ran up into the clouds.  There was something so grand, so improbable, so unusual in the spectacle confronting them that they stared like children, aghast and stupefied.  Each had the startling impression that a great human-dotted mountain was falling over upon his head; it was impossible to subdue the sensation of dizziness that the toppling town inspired.

“I know how you feel,” observed Sitzky, laughing.  “I was just d’ same at first.  Tomorrow you walk a little ways up d’ side of d’ mountain an’ you’ll see how much of d’ city dere is on level ground down here.  Dem buildings up dere ain’t more’n one-fiftieth part of d’town.  Dey’re mostly summer homes.  It gets hot as blazes down here in d’ valley in d’ middle of d’ summer and d’ rich ones move up d’ mountain.”

“How in thunder do people get up to those houses?” demanded Anguish.

“Mules,” answered Sitzky, specifically.  “Say!  See dat little old feller comin’ on horseback—­wid d’ white uniform?  Well, dat’s de chief of police, an’ d’ fellers behind him are police guards.  ’At’s old Dangloss himself.  He’s a peach, dey say.”

A short, grizzly-faced man, attired in a white uniform with red trimmings, followed by three men similarly garbed, rode by, going in the direction of the passenger station.  Dangloss, as Sitzky had called him, was quite small in stature, rather stout, gray-bearded and eagle-nosed.  His face was keen and red, and not at all the kind to invite familiarity.  As he passed them the railroad guard of American citizenship touched his cap and the two travelers bowed, whereupon the chief of police gave them a most profound salutation, fairly sweeping his saddleskirts with his white cap.