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
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?”
