Then someone started the cry:
“The Queen! It may be the Queen!”
There was a rush towards the carriage. Danbury fired through the bottom––a signal to the driver to dash for it. The horses sprang but were brought back upon their haunches. Beatrice spoke to Danbury.
“Wait. Not yet,” she pleaded as he raised his weapon.
It was almost like Providence; a shout from across the street which grew in volume until it drowned out all other cries. Then a rush in that direction which was followed blindly by every man of them. In a few seconds the carriage was deserted. Danbury rose to his feet and looked out. He almost lost his breath as he saw Stubbs, Wilson, and a girl, the center of a thousand excited men. The girl, white-cheeked, turned a moment in his direction. He was dumbfounded. Then he caught the cry, “Down with the traitors!”
The cry was taken up and voiced by a hundred throats. He saw Stubbs thrust his fists in the faces of the crowding men,––saw him fight them back until 338 his own blood boiled with the desire to stand by his side. But the driver had whipped up the horses again and the carriage was taking him away––out of danger to her. In spite of the look of quick relief he saw in the face of Beatrice, he felt almost like a deserter.
It was what Stubbs took to be a return of the bad luck which had pursued him from childhood––this chance which led the three into the city at such a time as this. They had thought of nothing when they rose early that morning but of pushing through as soon as possible to Bogova. Wilson felt that it was high time that the girl reached civilization even as crude as it was in that city, with some of its comforts. The hardships were beginning to show in her thin cheeks and in dark rings below her eyes. The outskirts of the city told them nothing and so they trudged along with joyous hearts intent only upon finding decent lodgings. They had not even the warning of a shout for what was awaiting them. The upper street had been empty and they had turned sharply into this riot as though it were a trap set to await them.
Both men were quick to understand the situation and both realized that it meant danger. But Stubbs was the first to shake himself free. He recognized the crew at the head of the motley army. It roused his ire as nothing else could. Instantly he felt himself again their master. They were still only so many mutinous sailors. He turned upon them with the same fierceness which once had sent them cowering into the hold.
“Ye yaller dogs,” he roared. “Get back! Get back!”