"I'm going to give you drafts on New York, Dick," Mr. Denniston had said. "In ordinary times, that wouldn't be the best way—I'd simply arrange for transfer of your money by mail or cable. But now, in war times, with the mails badly held up and most of the cables cut, that is more difficult. There might be months of delay in getting the money if we trusted to ordinary arrangements."

"I see, sir," said Dick, though he did not understand the details of international banking any too well.

"You've had such a hard time getting this, and you've done so splendidly that I'd hate to think there was any chance of some slip making trouble for you now," the consul went on. "But with these drafts you'll be all right. Take good care of them—but I needn't tell you that, I suppose."

"Hardly!" said Dick, with a laugh. "But no one else could cash them, even if I lost them, I suppose?"

"Not if payment were stopped. The only danger would be if you lost them in such a way that whoever got them forged your signature and then kept you from being able to warn the people in New York not to pay them. But of course there'd be a long delay and it's just possible that you might lose heavily. So guard them carefully—just as if they were actual money. I'll give you a money belt to put them in—"

"I have one myself, thanks," said Dick.

"General Dushan has arranged for your trip, I understand," said the consul. "How do you go?"

"Through Nisha to the Greek border—no, to the Bulgarian line, I believe," said Dick. "They decided that that was safer than the direct route to Athens. I sail from Salonica. Stepan Dushan says there are raiding bands of Albanians south of Uskub and getting near to Monastir, and that that section isn't safe, anyhow—that it hasn't settled down properly since the last wars."

"It's true enough," said Mr. Denniston, with a faint frown. "That whole region is unsettled. You see, Servia took a good deal of territory Bulgaria claimed and there are a good many Bulgarians living in it. I hope that Servia will see its way, if it gets what it wants from Bosnia and Herzegovina, to give that section back to Bulgaria. That's the only way we can have a real and lasting peace here in the Balkans—and Heaven knows we need it, after three great wars in as many years!"

All arrangements were made finally. After the great victory that had driven the Austrians from her soil, Servia was like a man panting for breath. The whole country was resting, gathering its strength after that tremendous effort. But there was a good deal of activity, nevertheless. The ruin the invaders had wrought was being repaired. Railroads had to be rebuilt; ammunition and stores brought up. For the Austrians, badly beaten though they had been, were likely to come again.

So it had seemed best for Dick and his chum, with the escort of hardy Servian cavalrymen General Dushan provided, to ride to the border.

"It'll take us longer, of course," said Stepan, "but not so much. The railroad is torn to pieces, and even where trains are running, the military service has the right of way."

"I'd just as soon ride, anyhow," said Dick. "It gives one a much better chance to see the country."

So it was arranged, and they started from Belgrade before the sun was up on a morning of mist and heavy clouds. Later the sun swept the mist and clouds away, and they rode through a devastated, horrible country. The ravages of war were visible on all sides.

"Ah, well!" said Stepan, with a sigh, as he looked out at the ruin of what had been a smiling, happy land, "the ones who are coming after us will live in peace! Those who have been driven from their homes and have died have suffered for them. Servia will be able to live after this war without feeling that Austria may move at any minute to crush her. And that is worth some suffering!"

"Everything's so quiet here I don't see why we need an escort at all, Stepan," said Dick. "We haven't seen anyone who'd harm a fly—if it was a Servian fly."

"That's true so far," said Stepan, but a grim look came into his eyes. "We shall come, though, to a country where we may meet more trouble. I hope we shall not need the escort—but one can never tell. And I haven't wanted to alarm you, Dick, but this Hallo has a reputation for not giving things up easily. You have a great sum of what he may think is his money, though he stole it from your family. He will not let you get home with that if he finds a way to stop you."

"But how can he do that while he is a prisoner in Belgrade?" laughed Dick.

"He is a prisoner—yes," said Stepan, somberly. "But there are many who have worked for him who are not prisoners. Oh, I may be wrong, and I shouldn't worry you without reason, Dick! But I don't want you to feel too secure; I don't want you to think that all the danger is over. It won't be until we are safely in Salonica."

They had to bid farewell to their escort at last. The troopers went with them to a lonely spot, marked only by a border monument and two small houses—quarters of the Servian and Bulgarian frontier guards. Here there was peace but not friendship. The memories of the bitter summer of 1913, when the allies who had been fighting the Turks, side by side, turned against one another in one of the bloodiest and sharpest wars in history, were all too fresh. The Bulgarians scowled at the sight of the Servian uniforms; they subjected the two scouts to a close scrutiny when they crossed the line, but their papers were in order and they were allowed to proceed.

Now, however, there seemed to be something sinister in the very air. Scowling faces met them wherever they came upon peasants or soldiers, and soldiers seemed almost unduly numerous. Then after a few hours of riding, they saw no more soldiers. In their places, however, they encountered bands of men in the national Bulgarian costume, rough, hard-faced men with modern rifles, who seemed to be riding aimlessly. Stepan ground his teeth at the sight of them.

"They're not soldiers, oh, no!" he said. "You see they're not in uniform. But do you notice how they sit their horses, and how they ride in files? Undisciplined men never did that! Those bands are the ones that cross over, raiding our borderlands. But what can we do? We have enough without fighting Bulgaria, too, so we have to accept apologies the Sofia government makes. If possible we want Bulgaria on our side. But—! The treacherous dogs!"

"Don't get so excited, Stepan," advised Dick. "I believe you hate them more than you do the Austrians!"

"I'll be glad when we cross over into Greece," grumbled Stephan. "The Greeks are our allies and our friends. The only reason they have not come to our aid is that they must watch Bulgaria. That helps us, of course—Bulgaria dares not move while Greece is ready."

It was late in the afternoon when they first noticed that they were no longer traveling alone. Two Bulgarian merchants—so Stepan said, judging from their appearance—passed them, riding wiry little horses; a little later they overtook them, and after that the two Bulgarians stayed about a hundred yards behind them, no matter how often they altered their pace.

"I don't like their looks," said Stepan. "I wish we didn't have to sleep to-night on Bulgarian soil. Their inns—Dick, why should we sleep in an inn? Let us buy provisions and spend the night out of doors! It will be cold, but we have faced worse hardships than that together!"

"I'm game!" laughed Dick. "Any inn we find on this road is sure to be dirty, anyhow. It'll be a last adventure to think of, after all the rest!"

So it was agreed. In the first village they reached they stopped and bought provisions. After dark they hobbled their horses and built a lean-to shelter and a big camp-fire. The two Bulgarians passed them as they began; soon one rode back.

"I thought so!" said Stepan. "They're watching us, Dick."

Dick looked at him curiously. There was a strange light in Stepan's eyes. It was as if he could see things that are hidden from ordinary sight. And before he could answer Stepan sprang to his feet.

"Come!" he said. "Tear your shirt up into strips—I'm going to muffle the feet of the horses."

He went to work with a will, and Dick followed his example, smiling to himself. He knew Stepan too well to argue with him in such a mood. But that there was serious danger he could not believe for a moment.

"Come!" said Stepan again, when they had finished. He took his horse and led it into the field. They were in wooded country but the trees were not thick, and they could pick a way through them.

Dick looked back at the blazing fire regretfully.

"Are you going on—now?" he asked.

"For your sake," said Stepan, curtly. And Dick said no more.

"A mile away there is another road. We have maps of all this region, of course, and I studied them," said Stepan. "If we can reach a place I have just thought of we may be safe."

They came undisturbed to the parallel road. Then they mounted.

"The horses are pretty tired," suggested Dick.

"I'm sorry for them, but I can't help that," said Stepan. "Come on—ride!"

From the start he set a hot pace. Before long Dick felt his horse was growing more and more tired and finally he protested.

"Slow up, then, if you like!" said Stepan, fiercely. "Don't you know by this time that I don't speak of danger unless it is real? Perhaps you want to be caught by these people! But they know me—and I know what they would do to me! I don't intend to have them catch me, I can tell you!"

"Then why did you come with me?" asked Dick, angrily. He had never seen his friend in such a mood before. Stepan's tone made him so angry that he was almost able to forget how much he owed him.

Stepan didn't answer. But just then, as they still rode on, forcing their pace, they came to a turn in the road. A lone figure, mounted on a big horse, was standing guard. At sight of them he leaned forward, then cried out sharply, "Halt!"

For answer Stepan spurred his horse on; Dick's followed. A shot rang out; then another, and another, but no bullets came near them.

"He's signalling. Now will you believe I was right?" asked Stepan bitterly.

The thunder of hoofs sounded on the road behind them. They sped on, but suddenly Dick's horse lurched and almost threw him over its head, Dick pulled him up; the poor brute was limping.

"He can't go on!" said Dick. "Stepan—"

"Then you'll have to shift for yourself!" shouted Stepan, brutally. "I've done all I can for you!"

And, leaving Dick dumbfounded, he spurred on and was soon visible only as a cloud of dust! Dick could scarcely believe his eyes and ears. That Stepan, his trusted friend, who had shared every imaginable peril with him, could desert him so now! But he had not long to think. The pursuers whose horses they had heard were on him in a minute more. Without a struggle, since the odds were overwhelming—ten or twelve men assailed him—he let himself be dragged from his horse and bound.

One man came to him and searched him. When he found the belt he gave a cry of triumph. The next moment he was examining the drafts.

"Another one was with you?" he said, in excellent English and with a marked American accent. Dick started. This looked like Hallo's work, certainly. "Where is he?"

"He's gone—to save himself," said Dick, bitterly.

"Ah, well—you are the one we want," said his captor, who was plainly the leader of the band. "Now, my young friend, endorse these drafts, in blank, at once!"

"I will not!" said Dick, hotly. "And you can tell Hallo so, too!"

"You will not?" said the other, smoothly. "Then I will tell you what will happen. I give you an hour—because I have lived in New York, and done well there. I like you Americans. If you have not signed then, I shall sign for you."

"That will be forgery—and I shall stop payment!"

"So? Suppose, when I leave you here, I leave you under the earth? There are many graves in the Balkans in these days—new graves! One more or less will matter little. Do you think it will ever give up its secret—the one that shall hold you?"

Something in the man's cool tone made Dick shiver. It carried conviction—it made him believe that this was no idle threat. And yet he felt that he could not yield. Oh, if only Stepan had not left him! He was glad, now that his anger had cooled, that his chum was not involved in this new trouble. And yet—he would have felt better had Stepan been beside him, to share this peril, as he had shared so many others.

"It is eleven o'clock now," said the brigand. "If at midnight you have not signed—!"

"That's enough," said Dick. "I'll think it over."

"Light a fire—it is chilly," directed the chief of Dick's captors. "I am a kindly man. I would not want this hour to prove a chilly one for you."

Strange and weird indeed Dick found the scene. There were eleven men, he found, when he could count them. All wore the Bulgarian national costume; all looked like soldiers, but he thought all were not Bulgarians. There were Turks and Albanians among them. And then, suddenly, one man pitched forward, very quietly, and lay still. The others started toward him; two or three of them fell. They fell as Dick had seen men fall when they were struck by bullets, though he had heard no sound of a shot, but only a faint noise, like the cough of an animal.

Then wild panic spread among his captors. They blazed away in all directions with their guns; for the moment they forgot him. And then silent, fierce figures were suddenly among them, cutting, stabbing—and Stepan's cry rang out.

"Dick! Dick! Are you safe?" he shouted.

It was all over in a moment. Stepan, the tears streaming down his cheeks, released Dick.

"I lamed your horse—I had to pretend to desert you so that they would believe you and let me go!" he cried. "I knew our horses were too tired for us to escape unless we could delay them. A few miles from here is a little colony of Serbs. We, you see, have to do something to get warning of the border raids. They have guns with silencers—I knew I could get help. Now we must ride for the Greek line, but we can make it now!"

On through the night they rode, leaving the dead and wounded behind, while those who had been captured unhurt were tied and gagged. And before daylight they came to a Greek frontier post. Greek soldiers greeted them; there was a captain who had served with Stepan's father against Bulgaria.

"The road to Salonica is safe and open now!" he told them.

And so it proved. Dick had recovered his papers and a week later, his adventures over, he sailed from Athens, and waved to Stepan, standing on the deck, until he could no longer see him. He was homeward bound.

Hallo had played his last card—and lost.

The End.