“Then what can we do?” asked Sandoff uneasily.
“Only one thing,” was the reply. “Wade up the shallow bed of the river. It is only partly frozen, owing to the swiftness of its current. The Cossacks may suspect our ruse, it is true, but they will follow the stream southward down the valley, and not to the north, in which direction we must go. But come! Vera will be expecting us.”
Without hesitation they waded into the icy waters and worked their way up stream, keeping close to the shore, where it was quite shallow, and sometimes stepping from one to another of the rocks that, covered with snow and ice, rose above the surface of the current.
Two full hours were required to traverse the two miles and a half that separated the settlement from the gold placers where the convicts had recently been working, but at last the ungainly heaps of sand and gravel began to appear here and there. Peering through the falling snow Shamarin descried at a little distance the hollow where his sister had promised to await their coming.
Forgetful of pain and fatigue they pressed on, and as their weary feet trod the soft snow that carpeted the shore of the river, a dull report echoed through the night and shattered the stillness of the valley. Then another, and another—each seeming louder than the last.
No need to tell the fugitives the meaning of the booming cannon. It was all plain enough. Their escape had been discovered, and in a few moments mounted Cossacks would be riding to and fro through the snowy night. From one end of the settlement to the other the news would spread, and all would be on the alert for the escaped prisoners.
“If we only could have had one night’s start,” panted Shamarin, as he plunged forward through the drifted snow into the mouth of the little hollow. “But the case is not hopeless by any means. Keep your spirits up, Sandoff.”
Then he uttered a glad cry as a figure muffled in heavy furs rose from behind a rock and came swiftly forward.
“Vera!”
“Felix, my brother!”
They fell into each other’s arms and embraced passionately for a moment. Then in a few words Shamarin revealed the identity of his companion, and Vera’s sorrow and remorse on learning the truth were pitiful to see. She bitterly reproached herself for Sandoff’s misfortune.
“Believe me, you are not to blame,” said Sandoff gently, when he had told her all the circumstances. “Ientreat you to let it cause you no distress. It is all past now, and we have too much at stake to think of anything but the future.”
“Yes, that is true,” added Shamarin. “Be sensible, Vera, and think of what lies before us. We must act promptly if we would elude the Cossacks who will soon be scouring the valley. I am impatient to hear your story. Some strong motive must have prompted you to escape at such an unfavorable time. I have enough faith in you to be convinced that you acted for the best.”
“I did,” replied Vera with forced calmness. “A few words will explain all. The women’s prison at Lower Kara has been overcrowded of late, and I discovered accidentally that the governor intended to send some of the inmates to Irkutsk in a few days. I was to be included in that number. As this would have separated us forever, I determined to escape and then try to get word to you, for I knew that you had been transferred to Middle Kara. I escaped from the prison at night by a broken window, and went straight to the homes of the Free Command—to some people whom I knew in the prison, and who had been released on parole while I was there. These noble people—who once belonged to the Revolutionary Committee, but before your time, Felix—gave me stout boots, an abundance of warm clothing, a pistol and ammunition, a supply of food, even a little money, and the tools that I gave you yesterday. But this is not all. They gave me information that is more valuable than their gifts, for without it an attempt to escape at this time of year would be madness indeed. They told me that on the bank of the Shilka River, less than a mile below the Kara, lives a peasant who has a large boat, and some miles down the Shilka, just before it empties into the River Amur, stands a hut hidden in a dense wood. This hut was used last fall by some poor fellow who escaped from the mines. He stored a quantity of provisions there, intending to wait until spring and then strike for the coast; but one day when he had ventured out in search of game the Cossacks caught him and brought him back. But the hut was not found, and the store of food is probably still there. My friends gave me written directions for finding the hut, but I have not time to show them to you now. And so do you see my plan, Felix? We must get the boat, float down the Shilka River to this hut, and live there until spring opens. Then we will do our best to reach Vladivostok on the Pacific coast, and once there we shall surely find, among the vessels of all nationalities in the harbor, one that will help us and bear us away to some free country.”
“It is a noble plan,” cried Shamarin. “My brave girl, I believe it will succeed. The obstacles in the way are many, but we won’t stop to consider them now. We will try to look continually at the bright side. The first step is to reach the mouth of the Kara River, which is about eight miles distant, as nearly as I can judge. Unfortunately, to get there we must pass three of the settlements, commencing with Middle Kara, but we can do so in comparative safety by making a circuit. Let us strike across the valley from here, so as to avoid the Kara River and the settlements, and then follow the ridge southward. That will bring us to the Shilka, and by tracing it for a short distance we shall come to the house where lies the boat. As yet the snow is not deep, and if we travel rapidly we can cover the distance by two o’clock in the morning. The danger of pursuit during that period of our escape is slight, for the snow will obliterate our footsteps before the Cossacks can trace us to this point. The chief danger lies in our track being discovered by prowling squads.”
“And that is very improbable,” said Sandoff. “It need not cause us much uneasiness. Your plan is a good one, Shamarin. Let us lose no time in carrying it out!”
“We can start at once,” exclaimed Vera. “Wait until I get my things.”
She led the way to the top of the bluff, and showed them the spot that had served her as a hiding place for the past twenty four hours—a dry, sheltered nook among rocks and dense bushes.
Shamarin took the bundle that contained her supplies—Sandoff assuming charge of the other package—and then at their top speed the little party of three crossed the Kara by the bridge of stepping stones, and headed due east across the valley. Its level surface—barely two miles wide—was crossed in safety, and after ascending the range of low foothills, the fugitives turned to the south and followed the line of the ridge. The wisdom of Shamarin’s plan now became apparent, for but little snow had forced its way through the young timber, and they were able to travel rapidly. The successive settlements were passed at a distance. Twice the crisp air bore to the fugitives the muffled tramp of hoofs, but the sounds remained at a distance and finally faded away.
At length, about two o’clock in the morning, as near as could be guessed, the lights of Ust Kara, the settlement nearest to the mouth of the river, showed them that the first stage of their journey was nearly at an end. They felt no fatigue. Even Vera had indignantly refused her brother’s offer of assistance, and in spite of the bitter cold they were all fairly warm from the brisk speed at which they had been traveling.
Presently the ridge began to slope downward until they were on level ground; and after crossing a belt of pine forest, less than half a mile wide, they emerged on a low bluff and the River Shilka was below them. For a moment they contemplated the scene in silence, and not without some dread, for the pale glow of the moon showed the river to be clogged with huge cakes of ice, whirling down stream with a great grinding and crashing, while each shore was frozen solidly for a distance of some yards from the bank.
“It will be perilous work,” muttered Shamarin to himself, “perilous work!” Then he said aloud, “Well, now for the next step. In what direction is that to be? Up stream or down?”
“Down, I think,” replied Vera. “We are hardly a mile from the Kara as yet. The house must be close at hand, though.”
“Down it is, then,” said Shamarin. He led the way to the beach and thence along the snow covered pebbles, until, on rounding a sharp bluff, the fugitives caught sight of a tiny cabin standing near the water’s edge, in the shadow of a clump of pine trees.
Shamarin crept forward alone to investigate, and presently came back with a joyful face.
“All right,” he announced; “no one is stirring in the cabin, and I have found the boat. Follow me with as little noise as possible.”
The boat was lying in a rude covered shed within a yard or two of the river, and had not been used for so long a time that its keel was frozen tight. The united efforts of the two men freed it, and then they began to drag it over the intervening section of beach, very slowly and cautiously, for the cabin was not ten yards away. When they got it on the belt of firm ice it moved more easily, and they pushed it forward, sounding each step of the way until it was almost on the edge of the whirling black water. The boat was apparently in good condition, and had three seats, one in the middle and one at each end. The owner had probably used it to ferry passengers across the river.
Then Sandoff went back to the shed, and returned with two long, iron pointed boat hooks and a pair of paddles.
“Now get in, Vera,” said her brother, “and Sandoff and I will push the boat into the water and make a leap for it.”
But the girl drew back and took a shining gold coin from her pocket.
“Wait just a moment,” she entreated. “I want to give this to the poor man who owns the boat. We may be taking away his only means oflivelihood. Perhaps we shall need the money, but it is better that he should have it.”
Without waiting for a reply she sped swiftly over the ice and up the beach. The two anxious watchers saw her reach the cabin and stoop in front of the door.
She rose and started back, but before she could take three steps a dog began to bark furiously from within. The brute had scented the presence of an intruder.
Vera came swiftly down the beach, and bounding over the ice sprang lightly into the boat. Another instant and the two men had pushed it free of the edge, springing safely in as it settled deep in the black water. Each seized a boat hook, and as they prodded and lunged at the great ice cakes that struck the little craft on all sides, and threatened to grind it to fragments, the door of the cabin opened and a man appeared on the threshold—a frowsy looking peasant, only half clad. His dog, a small noisy cur, slipped between his legs and ran down to the shore, where it stood and barked hoarsely at the retreating boat.
The man stooped and picked up the coin, but at first he did not comprehend what had taken place. When his dull faculties finally grasped the truth, he ran down to look into the shed, and then began to shout loudly, gazing out upon the river. Evidently the money did not console him for the loss of his boat.
Meanwhile the strong current was bearing the fugitives rapidly down stream at imminent risk of an upset, for the boat swirled in every direction, now sinking deep in the water, now rising high on the drifting ice cakes.
“That noisy fellow and his dog will prove our ruin,” muttered Shamarin. “Their cries can be heard at Ust Kara.”
“Courage, courage!” whispered Sandoff. “We will soon be out of sight and reach. Careful now, my friend! Below us the river narrows and flows close to rugged hills. There we shall be likely to encounter a swifter and more dangerous current.”
As they skillfully guided the boat onward, striving to keep it headed with the tide, both heard distinctly, above the roar of the water and the grinding of the ice, a quick, dull noise strangely like the galloping of horses.
Vera heard it too, and started from her seat in alarm. All three forgot for a moment the nearer and more imminent peril, and turned for a look at the spot they had just left. The moonlight shone brightly on the cabin, and on the man and dog standing by the shore, and then its pale rays fell on foaming horses, and rifle barrels, green uniforms, and bearded faces, as a troop of Cossacks spurred at top speed around the bluff and out on the broad stretch of shore.
At sight of that dread body of horsemen they shivered and felt that hope was indeed gone. Sandoff was the first to fling off the lethargy of despair. His mental eye showed him what chances were favorable and what unfavorable. Besides, he would rather have died than submit to recapture.
“Don’t despair,” he whispered sharply to his companions. “We have a chance yet—and a good one. The country below us looks rugged, too rough for the Cossacks to traverse with any speed. If the current continues as it does now, we shall easily distance them. Help me to get the boat toward the other shore as far as possible, Shamarin; they may take it into their heads to fire at us.”
The latter obeyed unquestioningly, and with some trouble the boat was headed obliquely across the current. Then the terrific struggle began anew—the battle with the waves and the impetuous ice floes that constantly menaced the destruction of the craft and its inmates, only to be flung sullenly to one side by the skilled hand of Sandoff or Shamarin. Slowly the boat made headway toward the desired shore, and Vera cheered the men in their labors by timely words of encouragement.
But by this time the ferryman had given the Cossacks all the information they needed, and at the sharp word of command from their officer they spurred down the shore, unslinging their rifles as they rode, until a timbered bluff, jutting into the river, stopped further progress.
The boat was now well toward the other shore, and some distance down stream, but it was still within sight and range. Just as the fugitives dropped flat by Sandoff’s hurried command, a straggling volley was fired, and the leaden bullets plowed into the ice cakes and splashed in the patches of black water. But the boat was untouched. A moment later the current swept it around the curve, and the danger was past for the present.
“Now head it straight—straight with the tide,” said Sandoff. “There! That’s it. Let it take its own course now. All we need do is to keep it trim and fend off the ice.”
The Shilka was at this point less than a quarter of a mile wide, and the fugitives saw with delight steep ridges falling sheer into the water on each side of them.
“If this keeps up,” said Shamarin, “and if the snow storm lasts and grows heavier, as it shows promise of doing, the Cossacks will be compelled to give up the chase. That is one advantage of escaping in the dead of winter—the troops are useless during and after a heavy snow fall.”
The snow was indeed coming down more rapidly, and in small, thick flakes that boded long continuance. The fugitives began to suffer terribly from cold.
More peril was close at hand—in spite of predictions to the contrary. The boat stuck for a time on a projecting reef of rocks, and when it finally floated off again, and had passed down stream for half a mile or so, the steep banks suddenly fell away. Though a continuation of them was visible some distance off, in the interval was a stretch of open country. As the boat drifted out from the shadow of the hills, the ominous thud of hoofs was heard a second time, and down a slight declivity rode the Cossacks at full speed. The relentless pursuers had made a circuit and ridden hard to cut the fugitives off. The officer in command came down to the shore, and descrying the approaching boat he made a trumpet of his hands and shouted hoarsely:
“Come in here at once! If you refuse we will riddle you with bullets.”
“Don’t reply,” whispered Sandoff to his companions. “The situation is critical, but not altogether hopeless. For my part I prefer the chances of being shot to giving myself up. You know what lies in store for us if we are taken?”
“We will go ahead by all means,” whispered Shamarin, and Vera was of the same mind, showing not a particle of fear.
So, without deigning to answer the Cossack, who had by this time repeated his threat, the fugitives dropped below the gunwales, and the boat was allowed to take its own course.
For half a minute there was deep silence and then the valley echoed with ringing reports. Crack!—crack!—crack!—crack—!—crack! So it continued intermittently as the Cossacks quickly loaded and fired, and the boat drifted on its course with provoking slowness. It was a terrible ordeal through which the three crouching figures were passing. The hissing bullets fell everywhere, plowing furrows and holes in the ice cakes, splashing water over the sides of the boat, and not infrequently imbedding themselves in the timbers of the little craft. Had it been closer to the left shore, none of its inmates could have escaped—for the Cossacks were fair marksmen, and kept up the fusillade with untiring persistency. Fortunately no bullets struck very close to the water line, but Sandoff was grazed on the thigh and had his cap shot off, while Shamarin was hit in the fleshy part of his left arm.
At last the firing became less continuous,dwindling down to a few stray shots. When a full minute passed in silence, Sandoff ventured to lift his head, and saw that the boat had once more passed into the shadow of the overhanging hills. He drew his head back, cautioning his companions to do the same, for if they could put the Cossacks under the impression that all three had been killed, it would greatly increase their chances of ultimate escape.
The fugitives crouched thus for twenty minutes or more. Then, as the boat could ill spare their attention, and was being driven dangerously among the ice floes, the two men seized the boathooks and stood up.
The Cossacks and the open country had both disappeared. Dark, gloomy hills encircled the river as far as the eye could reach.
Sandoff noted with satisfaction that the snow was still falling thickly.
“If we can reach the hut that you speak of,” he said to Vera, “we shall be quite safe as far as pursuit is concerned. The cold is our greatest enemy now.”
“We must fight it off,” replied the girl. “Even with this swift current we cannot reach the hut before tomorrow afternoon, for it lies very near the point where the Shilka and the Amur River meet.”
“How shall we know the place, Vera?” asked her brother.
For answer she produced a tiny scrap of paper covered with close writing. While Shamarin held a lighted match over her shoulder, she read the contents aloud:
You will pass a small island in the center of the river, on the crest of which grow four big pine trees. Just below this island, on the left bank of the river, is a narrow ravine among thickly wooded hills. Pursue this for a quarter of a mile, and you will find the hut on your right. It lies among rocks and pine trees.
You will pass a small island in the center of the river, on the crest of which grow four big pine trees. Just below this island, on the left bank of the river, is a narrow ravine among thickly wooded hills. Pursue this for a quarter of a mile, and you will find the hut on your right. It lies among rocks and pine trees.
“That has a cheerful and definite ring to it,” remarked Sandoff. “It is a pleasant prospect to look forward to—a sheltered hut among the hills, and in a wild and desolate spot, where the Cossacks will never think of looking for us.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Shamarin. “The valley of the Shilka is a lonely region. If we find this hut, we can safely remain there for some weeks. If we run short of food, there is game in the forest.”
Conversation gave way to silent watchfulness as the boat drifted on through the long, dark hours of the early morning. When daylight came the misty outlines of the hilly shores showed dimly through the driving snow. There was little to be feared from the Cossacks under such circumstances, so the fugitives continued to float down the center of the stream, keeping a sharp lookout, nevertheless, on each bank.
Soon after noon an island hove in sight in mid stream. Four tall pine trees stood on its crest, and when they had passed this and driven the boat far to the left shore, a dark, narrow ravine was visible, with wooded hills on each side. This was the place, beyond doubt, so they landed on the rim of firm ice, and were about to send the boat adrift when Sandoff interfered.
“We had better make sure, first, that the cabin is here,” he said. “I will go up the valley and search for it. If I am successful I will give a sharp whistle. Then turn the boat bottom up—so that the Cossacks, if they find it, will think we have perished—and send it adrift. Then follow my footsteps up the ravine.”
This wise plan was carried out. The others watched Sandoff as he plodded up the ravine, almost waist deep in the drifted snow, and ten minutes later a shrill whistle came distinctly to their ears. Taking out the bundles, they cast the boat adrift, bottom up, and followed the path Sandoff had taken.
Vera’s information proved to be correct. Slightly more than a quarter of a mile from the river, they met Sandoff just starting back to meet them.
“Yes, I have found the hut,” hesaid. “It is close by, and in a splendid location.”
He led them on for a few yards, and then turned up the hill to a thick cluster of pine trees and scattered rocks. In the very center of this was what they sought—a small, square cabin, strongly built. It was provided with a door and a window, both of which were tightly closed. An entry was effected with little difficulty, and the fugitives examined the interior with growing delight and amazement. In one corner of the floor lay a great heap of withered grass, and a rude closet in the wall held a plentiful supply of dried meat and a lump of brick tea. Everything was just as the former occupant had left it on the morning when he went away in search of game—never to return. A heap of ashes lay in the fireplace, and near by were some plates and a cup rudely fashioned out of wood.
“Nothing could be better suited to our purpose,” said Shamarin. “Here we can live in safety, for the ravine will soon be choked up with snow and no one can come near us.”
“Let us have something to eat,” suggested Sandoff. “I am nearly famished.”
That night was one to be remembered. In spite of the bitter cold outside, the interior of the cabin was snug and comfortable, and the fugitives slept in peace until the sun was far up. They were well provided with coverings, for in addition to their warm clothing each had a heavy blanket—Vera had brought one for herself—and Sandoff owned two overcoats, his own and the one taken from the Cossack.
On the following morning Shamarin partitioned off one end of the cabin for Vera’s use, taking timber for that purpose from a pile that lay outside among the pine trees. It was all drift wood—of which material the cabin itself was made—and the poor fellow who built it must have dragged every piece up the ravine from the river. The tools used in its construction were found in the cabin—a small blunt axe and a rusty saw. Vera knew nothing of the identity of the builder, but the fact of his having these tools showed pretty conclusively that he had belonged to the Free Command.
The fugitives now settled down to a manner of life that was painfully dreary and monotonous. For three whole days it snowed. On the fourth night a small avalanche dropped from the hillside above, and, crashing through the pine trees, completely buried the cabin. This proved to be a rather fortunate thing, for from that time on the little dwelling was snug and warm. After half a day’s labor the men opened communication with the outer world by means of a tunnel leading from the cabin door. At night they slept, and during the day they whiled away the time by conversation and story telling. Not once, however, did either Sandoff or Shamarin touch on his past life. By tacit consent that subject was always avoided. Each felt that it was better to forget the great gulf that had once separated them—better to remember only that they were comrades now, with the same perils and the same hopes.
So the days passed into weeks, and the weeks went by until February was half gone. Food was getting scarce, and all three grew so heart-sick of their cheerless life that a change of almost any sort would have been welcome. One evening when they were all sitting about the fireplace, where a few sticks of wood were burning for the purpose of light, Sandoff said abruptly:
“I have come to the conclusion, my friends, that we had better leave this place at once and begin our journey to the Pacific. I will explain my reasons,” he continued, as his companions gave him their earnest attention. “In the first place, as you know, alternate slight thaws and heavy frosts have put a crust on the snow that will easily bear our weight, while horses would break through it at once. Two months of winter yet remain—a period which is usually one of steady cold—and I maintain that duringthese two months is the best time for us to travel. The way to Vladivostok leads down the valley of the Amur River. That is really the only path we can take. As you know, the great Siberian post road also follows the windings of the stream. Of course we will keep back among the foothills, and at this time of year, when the post road is little traveled and but few persons are abroad, the danger of discovery would be lessened. If the crust remains on the snow we should be able in two months to cover the thousand miles that separate us from the Pacific. Moreover, if my plan succeeds we shall reach Vladivostok in the early spring, when vessels from foreign countries are coming into the harbor, and when those that have wintered there are preparing to depart. If, on the other hand, we remain here until spring, our progress will be delayed by melting snows and swollen streams, and we shall reach Vladivostok at a very bad season. Still, there are many obstacles in the way of an immediate start—the cold, the difficulty of finding shelter at night, and the necessity of procuring food.”
Sandoff had hardly ceased when Shamarin leaned over and clasped his hand.
“You’ve taken the words right out of my mouth, comrade,” he said eagerly. “I have been thinking of that very thing for the past week or so, and I agree exactly with what you say. As for the obstacles you speak of, we are warmly enough clad to defy the cold. Caverns and bushes will give us shelter by night. We can find an abundance of small game, and now and then pick up food from the friendly peasants who live along the post road. The sooner we start the better—that is my firm opinion. As for Vera, no doubt she is of the same mind.”
“I am,” exclaimed the girl eagerly. “I am anxious to start at once. The journey holds no terrors for me. You know that, Felix?”
“Yes, I know it,” returned her brother proudly. “I know you have twice as much courage and endurance as most men.” At which remark Vera blushed and drew back into the shadow.
So the question was settled without further discussion, and at daybreak on the following morning the fugitives were up and preparing for the eventful journey. That preparation, as may be imagined, was very slight. Shamarin possessed quite an inventive faculty, and in less than an hour he constructed a long flat sledge, rudely but strongly put together.
“This will serve to carry our baggage,” he said, “or any one of us who may be worn out or unable to walk. Moreover, if we come to any long, smooth inclines we can all get on board and go sliding down.”
The blankets, extra clothes, and the small quantity of food that remained, were put up in a neat bundle and strapped to the sledge. Sandoff took the rifle and ammunition, and Shamarin the pistol. Then, with a last look at the dark cabin where so many weary days had been spent, they passed through the door, closing it behind them, and thence along the hard trodden tunnel to the outer air. The day was just two hours old when they started. The sun was shining brightly, and the hard, frozen crust that covered the snow sparkled like myriads of diamonds. They turned up the eastern side of the ravine, pulling the sledge lightly behind them, and stopped for a moment on the summit of the ridge to admire the view that lay before them—range after range of snow topped hills as far as the eye could reach. Then briskly and with light hearts they started away and traveled for hours up one hill and down another—keeping the Shilka River constantly in sight—until the sun was far toward the horizon. The country was desolate and deserted; so when they chose a stopping place in a deep, wooded hollow, they did not hesitate to build a cheerful fire. This was kept up all night, Sandoff and Shamarin mounting guard by turns. Inthe morning the march was resumed, and during that day the fugitives crossed the Shilka River, very near its mouth, by means of an ice gorge that had formed during the previous night. An hour later they were tramping along the shore of the Amur, the vast watery highway that flows to the Pacific coast. It was now a sheet of ice, and as the Siberian post road—marked by the long line of telegraph poles—skirted the shore, the fugitives made haste to draw back into the forest.
From this time dated a period of progress and security which lasted for three weeks. Day after day they traveled on down the valley, keeping as far back from the river as possible, and during all this time they met not a single human being. The snow crust remained firm, and they made fair progress, covering about fifteen miles every day. At night they suffered much from cold—for sometimes villages were close at hand and they dare not make fires—but they found sufficient shelter to prevent them from freezing.
They nearly starved, however, in spite of the birds and hares that Shamarin skillfully succeeded in trapping. When they halted on the twenty second night after leaving the hut, in a thick wood overlooking the Amur, it was evident that a crisis had been reached. They were worn out with incessant traveling, faint and sick from hunger, and all the shelter they had was this strip of wood—their only food a couple of raw quail.
For themselves the two brave men cared little, but that Vera, whose lips never uttered a word of complaint, should have to endure such suffering was more than they could stand. Especially aggravating to them tonight was the sight of the post station, a mile away, where lights shone cheerily through the twilight from houses in which men were eating and drinking and sitting by warm fires.
“Something must be done,” declared Sandoff earnestly. “We can’t stand this another day. We must have nourishing food or we can go no farther.”
“And where shall we get it?” asked Shamarin moodily. “The outlook is bad enough. We have come less than one third of the distance, and still have seven hundred miles before us.”
For once Vera had no words of cheer for her companions. She knew they had defined the situation truly, and that nothing she could say would help them. Her eyes sought the ground sadly and remained there, fixed with repugnance on the miserable birds that Shamarin had taken from his snares that morning.
“Yes, something must be done,” repeated Sandoff, “and without delay—tonight. I will go down and reconnoiter around yonder post station. If I don’t return soon you need not be alarmed, for I intend to be very careful.”
His companions made no attempt to dissuade him, except that Shamarin offered to go in his place. But Sandoff would not hear of this.
“It is best for me to go,” he said firmly. “My knowledge of government regulations at these post stations will help me if I get into a tight place.”
He hurriedly exchanged the coat he was wearing for the dark green Cossack cloak—knowing that he would attract less attention if seen in this guise. The muff shaped fur cap he had been wearing constantly, and when Shamarin handed him the rifle he looked a thorough Cossack soldier. The deception was still further assisted by the tangled beard and mustache he had grown since his escape from the mines. Thus equipped he bade farewell to his companions, and struck off at a rapid pace through the forest. He had no definite purpose in view—merely a vague hope that he might in some manner procure a supply of food.
The post station was less than a mile distant. By following a ravine covered with thick bushes, Sandoff came out in the rear of a little cluster of houses bunched together on both sides of the post road—the stationitself with the square courtyard in front, the telegraph office and half a dozen tiny cabins across the way. A careful glance showed him that no one was in sight and that only one light was visible—a yellow glimmer shining from the rear window of the post station. Toward this Sandoff directed his steps, moving slowly and cautiously over the snow crust.
The post station was simply a square log building with a stockaded court yard in front. The first floor was thrown into one room, and when Sandoff approached the rear window with noiseless tread, and raised his eyes slowly above the sill, he beheld a scene of cheer and comfort that fairly made his heart ache. In one corner, near the door, stood a large iron stove, heated to a fiery redness. In the center of the room was a table laden with bread, meat, pickles, a bottle of vodka and a steaming samovar of tea, and around it sat three men, evidently Siberian merchants, drinking and eating. In the corner of the room opposite the stove lay a Buriat peasant and a dog, sleeping side by side, and on a bench by the door sat thestarostaor station keeper. The window sash was raised half a foot, no doubt because of the extreme heat of the room.
While Sandoff was trying to catch the fragments of conversation from within, the distant tinkle of sleigh bells fell on his ear. The sound came nearer and nearer, now mingled with the tramp of hoofs. Sandoff left his position and crept to the angle of the house, reaching it just in time to see a long covered sledge drawn by atroika—three horses harnessed abreast—come spinning along the post road from the west, and draw up before the court yard gates.
“Some one bound for the Pacific,” muttered Sandoff. “I wonder who it can be.”
Curiosity had by this time mastered his hunger, so he crept back to the window and looked once more into the room. Thestarostahad gone out—no doubt to welcome the new arrival—and the three merchants were looking inquiringly toward the door. The Buriat and the dog still slept profoundly.
A moment or two later thestarostareturned, followed by a short spare man muffled up in furs. His face was clean shaven, and his black, bead-like eyes twinkled at sight of the fire and the well spread table.
Sandoff shot one glance at the stranger, and then drew quickly away from the window and leaned against the end of the house. His hands were clinched, his face black with passion, and he panted fiercely for breath.
“I know him,” he muttered. “It is Serge Zamosc!What can that scoundrel be doing here? I would give my chances of escape to put my hands on his throat for one moment. But this won’t do—I must be calm. I must find out the meaning of this strange thing. To think that the traitor should turn up here in Siberia! How easily I could shoot him through the window!”
Repressing the temptation to do so—but not without difficulty—Sandoff once more put his eyes to the window. Zamosc was standing near the stove, talking in a low tone to thestarosta. At that instant the door opened, and a Russian officer in undress uniform entered the room—evidently the head official of the village.
He favored Zamosc with a slight bow, and said abruptly. “I beg your honor’s pardon, but I must trouble you for your passport.”
Zamosc glanced at the other occupants of the room and then led the officer directly to the window, pausing within two feet of Sandoff, who drew his head down and turned his ear upward. Zamosc began to speak in a low voice, but from the fragments that reached him, such as “traveling in secret,” “Inspector of Police,” “government report,” Sandoffwas at no loss for a clew to the situation. Then the speakers raised their voices slightly, and the unseen listener heard every word that was spoken.
“Inspector Serge Zamosc and companions,” said the officer, evidently reading from the passport. “How does it come that you are alone?”
“Why, have you not heard?” asked Zamosc in surprise. “I met with an unfortunate accident yesterday about twenty miles back. My horses got off the post road and broke through the ice into the Amur River. I had two Cossacks with me beside the driver. The latter and one of the Cossacks were drowned, and the other soldier was so badly kicked by the horses that I had to leave him at the next station back. I telegraphed on here for a fresh escort. Did you not get the message?”
“No,” said the officer decidedly. “I received no message.”
“That is unfortunate,” exclaimed Zamosc angrily. “The stupid fellow at the office shall pay dearly for his negligence. I will see to that later. But now what am I to do? I am in haste to reach Vladivostok—for I intend to return to Russia by water—and I can’t go on by myself. The driver whom I brought along tonight must return in the morning to the station he came from. Can’t you spare me two of your Cossacks, captain?”
“Impossible, your excellency,” was the quick but courteous reply. “I am short of men now, or I would gladly oblige you. At the next station, however, which is thirty miles distant, you can readily obtain Cossacks and a driver. The latter I could furnish you, but the man I have in view is really not trustworthy and I dare not recommend him.”
“Then I won’t think of taking him,” said Zamosc. “If the next station is but thirty miles away I will drive there alone. I have good horses, and know how to manage them. Bear in mind that I am traveling secretly,” he added in a lower voice.
“Certainly, your excellency. My lips shall be sealed.”
This ended the discussion. Zamosc turned to thestarostaand said in a loud voice, “Bring us food and drink for two, my worthy man, and see to it that my sledge is in readiness at three o’clock in the morning. I wish to make an early start.”
Sandoff remained in his place of concealment for fully five minutes, and then rising slowly up he made a cautious survey of the room. The three merchants were spreading rugs on the floor in preparation for going to sleep. At the table they had recently occupied now sat Zamosc and the Russian officer, hobnobbing sociably over food and a bottle of vodka.
Sandoff watched them with a half smile on his face. “A passport for himself and companions!” he whispered. “Traveling on secret service to Vladivostok! He wants an escort and a driver!—Well, he shall have them, if I can provide them for him. You and I will settle up old scores, Serge Zamosc. It is a daring plan—but I will attempt it.”
With this enigmatic self communing Sandoff turned away. Creeping noiselessly around the angle of the house, he passed on to the courtyard stockade—first making sure that no one was in sight. What he had hoped to find was there—a crevice large enough to see through—and putting his eyes to it he obtained a good view of the station yard, and of Serge Zamosc’s sledge. This Sandoff examined long and intently. There was just enough light to reveal its ample dimensions, the huge waterproof hood that covered it, and the mass of furs, rugs, and straw that peeped out from the rear.
“Good,” muttered Sandoff. “Nothing could be better suited for the purpose.”
In the same cautious manner in which he had come he retraced his steps to the ravine. Once there he started off with great strides, and in ten minutes appeared, breathless andexcited, before his companions, who had been on the point of starting to look for him, alarmed by his long absence.
“Your hands are empty,” said Shamarin sadly. “You have brought no food?”
“I have brought something better than food,” was the reply. “I bring good news. If you will bear me out in the plan I have formed, I can promise you a quick journey to the Pacific—a journey in a sledge—food in plenty, and a warm shelter. There will be a certain risk, but we won’t talk of that now.”
Before Shamarin and Vera could ply him with questions, he told them what he had just seen and heard. Then he outlined hurriedly the daring plan which had entered his mind.
“All I ask of you,” he concluded, “is strict obedience, courage, and constant presence of mind, no matter what may occur. I know you both well, and I am convinced that you have these qualities.”
His companions were at first stunned with amazement at Sandoff’s daring proposition, but they soon realized its practicability.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Shamarin. “Truly wonderful! But it can be carried out—the chances are all in our favor. I am with you, Sandoff, body and soul. And what a glorious way to turn the tables on that traitorous Zamosc.”
Vera tried to speak, but, woman-like, broke into tears, and silently clasped Sandoff’s hand.
Judging from the length of time that had passed since sunset, it was now very close to midnight. By Sandoff’s directions the baggage was taken off the hand sled, and the latter was buried deep under the soft snow, in a hole made by cutting the crust with the axe. Then the fugitives struck off at a brisk pace through the forest. They turned aside before reaching the post station, and finally, when the settlement was beyond sight, they struck boldly out to the great Siberian road, and followed it to the eastward. No living or moving object was in sight. On the left lay the frozen Amur, and on the right the sloping foothills. Straight away before them stretched the white frozen road marked by a vanishing line of low telegraph poles.
After walking on for two miles they came to just such a spot as Sandoff hoped to find. A rocky ridge jutted almost to the river, and the road made a sharp turn around it. The view was thus cut off in one direction, while in the other the road was open and straight for several miles. Just beyond the rocky spur a small stream, now ice bound, came down to the river and passed under a low wooden bridge. Beneath this the fugitives discovered a dry, snug spot among the rocks. Nothing could have better suited Sandoff’s plan.
“Wrap yourselves up now and go to sleep,” he said to his companions. “I intend to go on guard at once. I am not weary, and I want time for thought and reflection. I will give you early warning when the decisive moment approaches.”
Shamarin demurred a little, wishing to share his friend’s vigil, but soon acquiesced in the latter’s decision, and he and his sister disappeared under the bridge. Sandoff shouldered his rifle and paced rapidly up and down the strip of road that led from the bridge to the turning place at the point of rocks, from whence he could see without obstruction far back toward the post station. The silence was unbroken. Minutes passed into hours, and hours dragged by until Sandoff was convinced that it was past three o’clock in the morning.
He had been standing for some time at the point of rocks, gazing earnestly to the westward, with a deadly fear creeping into his heart—a fear that something had occurred to spoil the plan on which he and his companions placed such high hopes. Suddenly a dim black speck appeared in the distance. It grew blacker and larger, and came rapidly nearer. It was a sledge beyond doubt, the sledge of Serge Zamosc.Now a tinkle of bells was heard, and a muffled clatter of hoofs.
In haste Sandoff sped back to the bridge, his heart throbbing with excitement. A low call brought forth Shamarin and Vera, still drowsy with sleep. The keen air soon sharpened their senses, and they understood the situation. Sandoff took Vera in charge and led her down to the point of rocks.
“There comes the sledge,” he said, pointing along the frozen road. “Now get in here and crouch down,” pointing to a hollow spot among the rocks. “Your task is simple. When the sledge has gone past, watch the road before you, and if anything approaches give us prompt warning.”
With these instructions he hastened back to the bridge, where Shamarin was waiting. The daring men then took up positions on opposite sides of the road, crouching behind masses of frozen snow. Sandoff had the rifle, Shamarin the pistol, and both weapons were loaded.
“There must be no failure,” said Sandoff grimly.
“Therewillbe no failure,” echoed Shamarin from across the way.
Then all was silent—except for the musical tinkle of bells and crunching of hoofs on the snow. Five minutes later—it may have been less and it may have been more—the sledge whizzed into view from around the point of rocks. The three horses, harnessed abreast, were galloping at full speed, and the only occupant of the sledge was Serge Zamosc, muffled to the nose in furs and holding the lines with a practiced hand.
On and on it came until the planking of the bridge was less than half a dozen yards away. The moment had come. Sandoff and Shamarin sprang up, reaching the center of the road at a bound, and turned their weapons straight into Serge Zamosc’s eyes.
“Stop, or we fire,” they cried loudly.
Zamosc, for all his treacherous traits, was no coward. His first impulse was to check his horses, and he acted upon it—partly. Then he turned to grasp his gun, but finding it out of reach, he struck his horses a terrific blow with the whip and rolled backward from his seat into the body of the sledge.
The frightened steeds plunged forward, but Shamarin was on the alert, and clutched at the lines. He caught them, was dragged along for a few yards, still holding tight, and then, gaining a foothold, he turned the tide and brought the triple team to a standstill on the very edge of the bridge.
Meanwhile Sandoff had bounded into the sledge, and was struggling over the straw, interlocked with Zamosc, who fought with the fury of a madman, believing that he had fallen into the hands of the Siberian assassins who frequently ply their calling along the post road. But he was no match for Sandoff—weakened as the latter was by privation—and soon he was helpless in the grasp of the convict. The horses were by this time quite subdued, and having no fear of a runaway Shamarin left them and ran back to help his companion. There was plenty of strong rope in the sledge, and Zamosc was soon tightly bound, hand and foot. Then his captors placed him in one corner, and proceeded to examine the interior of the sledge. It contained a small iron chest, two trunks, a hamper of provisions, two rifles with ammunition, and nine splendid fur robes.
Sandoff opened one of the trunks. It held clothes—just what they wanted most. He and Shamarin quickly took off their prison garments, and substituted suits of dark material. The coats fitted fairly well, but the trousers were lamentably short—a defect which their high boots partially remedied. This exchange was made by the side of the road, out of Zamosc’s sight. Then Sandoff put on the huge fur cloak, which they had taken from Zamosc before binding him, and handed the Cossack coat and cap to his comrade, who found them a good fit. Shamarin took the discardedgarments, wrapped them about a big stone, and dropped them into a black air hole in the Amur, a short distance from the bank.
Up to this time Zamosc had been perfectly quiet, but now he gave voice to a loud cry. Sandoff entered the sledge and gagged him with a handkerchief, performing the operation with as little discomfort as possible to his prisoner, but with such skill that any outcry was out of the question.
“I will have my interview with the fellow later,” he said to Shamarin. “As yet he does not recognize us. The first thing is to get away from this locality.”
A short whistle brought Vera from her post. She was overjoyed at the success of Sandoff’s plan, and reported the road to the westward clear. Five minutes was spent in covering Zamosc up among the rugs in one end of the sledge, and Vera in the other. Then the hood was dropped over the rear end and buttoned down, and Sandoff mounted to the seat, drawing the collar of his fur coat high about his ears, and thrusting his hand into the inner pocket to make sure that Zamosc’s little packet of valuable documents was safe. Shamarin mounted beside him, looking every inch a Cossack with his green uniform, his rifle, and his black, matted beard.
“Remember,” said Sandoff warningly, as he gathered the lines together and flicked the spirited horses with the whip, “remember that from this time on I am Inspector Zamosc!”
Then the sledge bounded forward, rumbled across the bridge, and sped over the frozen road, toward the Pacific, Vladivostok—and freedom.
The gray dawn stole over the sky, and when it was sufficiently light for his purpose Sandoff drew out the bundle of papers and examined them closely. One was the passport, made out in the name of Serge Zamosc and companions—a form which admitted of a very wide construction. The others were letters of instruction, which made clear—at least to a certain point—the object of Zamosc’s journey across Siberia. It appeared that the inspector was to report on the condition of Siberian prisons, with a view to changes which the Minister of Police had in contemplation. Moreover the nature of these letters showed that Zamosc’s mission was a secret one, and among them was one document which enjoined all government officials along the route to give him whatever aid he might require.
“I rely on this more than anything,” said Sandoff to his companion, “for it puts us beyond the reach of unpleasant questioning. As for Vera, I have a plan that promises well. I will say that she is the wife of some Russian officer at Irkutsk, who is going to visit friends at Vladivostok, and whom I have agreed to see to her destination.”
“Yes, that is a splendid plan,” rejoined Shamarin. “But yourself, are you in no danger?”
“Very little, I think,” said Sandoff confidently. “It is not likely that we shall encounter any one who ever saw Zamosc, for he was never out of Russia before. We will travel rapidly and make as few stops as possible. We will part company with our captive as soon as Vladivostok is reached.”
“And what will you do with him in the meantime?” asked Shamarin. “Would it not be best to put him out of the way?”
“By no means,” answered Sandoff decidedly. “I don’t propose to commit murder. We will keep him constantly gagged and bound, and at night—whenever we happen to be stopping at a post station—you, Shamarin, will have to sleep in the sledge with him. We will keep him well covered up, and with care none but ourselves will ever see him.”
Shamarin was satisfied with this plan, and promised to perform his part faithfully. It was now fully light, and on reaching a lonely spot along the road Sandoff turned thehorses aside into the forest. The hood was lifted from the end of the sledge, and while Vera was taking the provisions out of the hamper, Sandoff placed the captive in an upright position and removed the gag from his mouth. The early rays of the sun were now shining into the sledge. As Zamosc surveyed the faces of his companions his eyes gleamed with sudden recognition.
“I know you,” he muttered savagely. “I thought you were all drowned—they told me so at the mines. You will pay dearly for this outrage. You know full well that you can never escape.”
Sandoff turned to him with such ill repressed fury that the traitor’s face grew livid with fear.
“I am glad that you know me, you black hearted scoundrel,” he cried hoarsely. “If I gave you your deserts I should put an end to your life, as I at first intended. But I have changed my mind, and shall be satisfied to make you the instrument of our escape. I don’t intend to part company with you, Zamosc, until we have reached the Pacific, and I warn you now that if at any time you attempt to escape or to endanger us, I will kill you as I would a dog.”
Zamosc made no reply, but a strange look of exultation shone about his little eyes that quite escaped the notice of Sandoff and his companions. A short time later, after gagging the captive and placing him in his nest of rugs, Sandoff took the lines and drove the sledge back to the post road.
During the next two weeks the fugitives traveled rapidly, obtaining relays of horses whenever needed. They met plenty of travelers coming from the opposite direction—merchants, squads of Cossacks, and Russian officers journeying from one post to the other, but Sandoff’s distinguished bearing and appearance, and the presence of Shamarin by his side in Cossack uniform, precluded all possibility of detention or suspicion. Vera and Zamosc were at all times out of sight, the covering of the sledge being kept closely down. Sometimes they bivouacked along the road, building fires for comfort and protection from wild animals. Whenever they chanced to spend a night at a post station all passed off well. Thestarosta’swife usually took charge of Vera, who was now known as Madame Gunsburg, and Shamarin kept a close watch over Zamosc, both sleeping in the sledge in the courtyard.
The latter bore his enforced captivity well in spite of the fact that he was constantly bound and gagged—except when food was given him. He stoutly refused to answer any questions, however—especially in regard to the key of the small iron chest found in the sledge. The key was certainly not on Zamosc’s person, and a thorough search of the sledge failed to reveal it.
During the first week of their sledge journey the fugitives covered nearly four hundred miles. But after they left the valley of the Amur and turned southward along the valley of the Ussuri River, the weather changed suddenly—an unusual event at this time of year, for it was but the middle of March—and a thaw began, which speedily turned the post road into a bed of slush and water. This lasted for two whole weeks, making rapid traveling out of the question. At the end of that period Sandoff and his companions found they had covered but one hundred and fifty miles, and were still an equal distance from Vladivostok. They now rarely met travelers, for it was the season of the year when journeying by sledge or wagon is equally impossible, and from present indications it would take them three weeks or a month to cover the brief distance remaining.
But on the last night of March a cheering change came. They were stopping at a post station on the Ussuri, and when Sandoff rose early, as was his wont, and went out into the courtyard to see how Shamarin and Zamosc had fared, he found the air bitterly cold, and the river, which had partly broken up on the previous day, ice bound from bankto bank. The post road, as far as the eye could reach, was smooth, hard and glassy.
No time was lost in starting, and as the fresh relay of horses bounded forward under loose rein, with the sledge trailing lightly behind them, Sandoff turned to his companions and cried exultantly: “Hurra! We are safe! This cold spell won’t last long, but it will be quite sufficient to carry us to Vladivostok—or nearly there, for I have no intention of entering the town. We will make no more stops but push right on, and by tomorrow night we ought to reach our journey’s end.”
At noon a village of some size was reached, Riga by name, and here the passports of the travelers were demanded by a bearded Russian officer who stopped the sledge before the military post in the center of the town.
He glanced over the document with sudden interest, whispering to several companions standing near, and then handed it back to Sandoff.
“If your excellency wishes a good hotel,” he said, “I can direct you to one—or perhaps you would prefer the hospitality of the barracks? The best we have is at your service. Our commander, Colonel Nord, is absent, but will return before evening.”
Sandoff looked doubtfully at the speaker, with a dim suspicion that something was wrong.
“Give my best regards to Colonel Nord,” he said calmly. “Tell him that I am in haste, and must go on to the next station.”
The officer was plainly taken aback by this answer. He looked at Sandoff, and then at his companions, who were no less surprised. From his nest of rugs, deep down in the sledge, Zamosc uttered a faint chuckle that no one heard. Sandoff bowed with dignity to the officer, calmly gathered up the lines, and called to the horses. The sledge moved slowly off, gaining speed with each second, but the sharp command to stop that Sandoff more than half feared did not come.
Vera was on her knees, peeping through a hole in the rear curtain.
“The officer is still standing in the center of the road,” she announced eagerly. “He is talking to his companions, and pointing. Now the Cossacks are coming out of the military post—a dozen of them. People are running from their houses to see what is the matter.”
An interval of silence and suspense, during which the sledge moved rapidly down the street.
“Now the officer has gone back,” continued Vera in a tone of relief, “and the Cossacks are moving away too. Only a few peasants are in sight.”
A moment later the sledge passed into a hollow that concealed the town from view, and when it reached the crest of the next ridge a single Cossack could be seen standing before the military post. As the village receded in the distance the fugitives began to feel more easy.
“I was greatly alarmed for a few seconds,” admitted Sandoff. “The officer evidently expected us to stop, though I have no idea why. It is possible that trouble will come out of this affair yet. If I thought so I would suggest that we abandon the sledge and take to the forest with the horses.”
“Tryhim,” suggested Shamarin with a backward jerk of his arm. “He’ll know all about it.”
Sandoff was favorably impressed with this idea. Handing the lines to his companion, he dropped into the sledge, hauled Zamosc out of the rugs, and took the gag from his mouth.
“You heard our conversation at Riga a few moments ago,” he said sternly. “Don’t try to deny it,” for Zamosc had suddenly assumed an expression of guileless amazement.
“And suppose I did hear it,” he retorted defiantly, “what then?”
“Simply this,” replied Sandoff. “I wish to know, and I intend to know, what it means. It will be to your interest to answer me, for if I find hereafter that we are in danger of recapture I will shoot you withoutmercy, whereas if we get safely to the coast you will be liberated.”
This plain statement seemed to have an effect on Zamosc.
“Since you take advantage of my helplessness I will tell you,” he said reluctantly. “For more than a year past Colonel Nord, the military commandant at Riga, has been beseeching the authorities at St. Petersburg for a new barracks, and shortly before I began my journey he was notified that I was coming and that I would make an inspection of the building and report on its condition. I hope you are satisfied now.”
He bore Sandoff’s keen glance without flinching. Either he was telling the truth, or he was an adept in the art of lying.
“That certainly seems plausible,” said Sandoff, as he regagged the captive and put him back among the rugs. “Circumstances seem to bear out his story. When I get to the next station I will telegraph back to Colonel Nord that I was compelled to—no, I won’t either. I’ll let matters go as they are. The colonel will be furious with rage, and will open communication with St. Petersburg at once, but by the time he gets any definite answer we shall be out of reach.”
Faster and faster sped the sledge. Mountains and hills, forests and ravines loomed up ahead, shot swiftly by, and faded into the distance. At last far off on the plain a speck appeared, and soon the speck was transformed into a tiny Siberian village—a post house, a military station, a telegraph office, and a few lonely cabins—not more than five or six.
The sun was just sinking into a crimson bed of clouds when the faithful horses entered the little street on a gallop. An instant later they were pulled back on their haunches with foaming nostrils and steaming flanks, as a gate swung suddenly across the road checking further progress. It was directly in front of the little box-like military post that this occurred, and as Sandoff broke into an angry exclamation at the audacity of the deed, an officer came out into the road.
“What do you mean by this?” cried Sandoff angrily.
The man bowed almost to the ground. “Pardon, a thousand pardons, your excellency!” he entreated. “There was no other way—you were going so fast. The noise of the bells would have prevented you from hearing my voice.”
“And now what do you want—my passport?” demanded Sandoff roughly.
“No! No! Your excellency, I beg you not. It is a matter of a different nature. You are the honorable Inspector Serge Zamosc—I am not mistaken on that?”
“Yes, I am he. Go on.”
“Well, your excellency, I have a telegram from Colonel Nord at Riga. He wishes you to remain here until he comes. He has already started.”
“The devil you have!” exclaimed Sandoff blankly. “Well, my good fellow, I am sorry I can’t oblige the colonel. I am in haste to get to Vladivostok, and I really can’t afford to lose so much as an hour. Tell the colonel that a man will come on from Vladivostok in a day or so to look into that little matter of the barracks.”
“I—I am sorry, your excellency,” stammered the officer, “but Colonel Nord will take no denial. He insists that you wait here, and I dare not allow you to proceed.”
It was clear that Inspector Serge Zamosc might be a great man at home in Russia, but here in Eastern Siberia Colonel Nord was a greater.
“Well,” said Sandoff, as he realized the situation and choked down his anger, “I suppose you are only doing your duty. Since Colonel Nord is so importunate I will await his arrival. How soon do you think that will be?”
“In two hours at the most,” replied the officer, “probably less. Until then let me offer you the use of my guard house.”
“Thank you,” replied Sandoff shortly, “I will go to the post station and get supper and order a relay offresh horses. Colonel Nord will find me there.”
He slowly turned the sledge around and drove into the court yard of the station, which was but a few yards away. Thestarostacame out to meet the new arrival, rubbing his hands in gleeful anticipation of legitimate robbery.
“You will remain over night, your honor?”
“No,” said Sandoff, “but I want a fresh relay of horses and some refreshment. Attend to these tired beasts first, and when supper is ready let us know. Meanwhile we will remain here.”
Thestarosta’scheerful expression faded away, but without more words he unharnessed the horses and led them off to the stable. Sandoff climbed to the ground, followed by Shamarin, and the latter assisted Vera to dismount.
“Well,” said Sandoff, “what do you think of the situation?”
“Unfavorable!” replied Shamarin.
“I don’t agree with you,” exclaimed Vera quickly. “It is vexatious—that is all. If this obstinate Colonel Nord will not be pacified, Victor”—these two had long since dropped all formality of speech—“we’ll have to return to Riga and inspect his barracks—that is, if the colonel’s visit relates to this matter.”
She spoke in a peculiar tone that piqued Sandoff’s curiosity.
“What do you mean?” he asked quickly.
Vera placed her finger to her lips, and glanced toward the sledge.
“I will talk to you later on,” she whispered.
Shamarin did not observe this little bit of byplay. His eyes had been fixed on the ground, and now he looked up and said uneasily, “It would be better to escape if possible. One can’t predict what may come of this visit.”
“I rather agree with you,” replied Sandoff. He walked to the courtyard gate, looked out for a moment, and then came slowly back.
“Escape is impossible,” he said. “Two Cossacks are standing at the western end of the street, and the gate before the military post is still closed and guarded.”
Thestarostanow appeared with the news that supper was waiting, so Sandoff and Vera entered the house, leaving Shamarin with the sledge, and promising to send him out some food.
Vera and her companion felt little desire to eat as they sat down at opposite sides of the table. The post room was quite empty, and they could talk without being overheard.
“Vera, what do you wish to tell me?” asked Sandoff, as he poured a cup of tea from the samovar.
“Nothing,” she replied. “At least, nothing definite. I have only a vague suspicion.”
“Of what?”
“Of the contents of that iron chest. I believe that Serge Zamosc invented the story he told us about Colonel Nord, and I believe that the chest, if opened, would enlighten us somewhat. I can’t tell you why I think so, unless it is because Zamosc has been smiling to himself all day long and turning his eyes in the direction of the chest, when he thought he was unobserved.”
Sandoff did not reply for a moment. He ate a few mouthfuls of food, and then rose from the table.
“Your suggestion is worth acting upon,” he said. “I intend to get that chest open—by force if necessary, though I will make another short search for the key.”
They passed out into the courtyard, the gate of which was already closed for the night. Sandoff climbed into the sledge—to Shamarin’s surprise—and hauling Zamosc to an upright position began a thorough search of his clothing. It proved unsuccessful, and Sandoff was about to desist when a sudden inspiration struck him. Dropping Zamosc on his back he drew off his right boot. When Sandoff shook it something rattled, and placing his hand inside he drew out a small iron key.
“At last!” he exclaimed. “Why did I not think of that before?”
“Hold on,” said Shamarin. “I will tell thestarostathat we have lost something in the straw, and will borrow a lighted lantern from him.”
He went off in haste, and meanwhile Sandoff put his captive back among the rugs and covered him up completely.
Shamarin returned in a moment, bringing the lantern, and handed it to Sandoff. The latter drew the side and rear curtains of the sledge tightly down and placed the lantern on one of the trunks, while Vera dragged the iron chest from its place of concealment in the straw.
The key fitted the lock, and with a trembling hand Sandoff raised the lid.
A simultaneous cry of amazement issued from his and Vera’s lips. The chest was more than half full of bank notes and stacks of gold coin. On the top of them lay a folded paper. Sandoff was as pale as ashes as he lifted this and glanced at its contents.
“That scoundrel Zamosc has deceived us,” he cried hoarsely. “But for you, Vera, we should be lost. This paper explains it all. The government took advantage of Serge Zamosc’s journey of prison inspection to appoint him paymaster and send him on to Vladivostok with the annual salaries of the East Siberian officials. Here is the list of names. It commences with Colonel Nord, at Riga, 5,000 rubles, and, with the exception of two points along the way, the others are in Vladivostok. No wonder that the colonel is anxious to see me. He must have been apprised of Zamosc’s visit beforehand. When he arrives I will pay him the money, make suitable apologies, and then we will resume our journey. Help me to carry this money into the post room. That will be the proper place for the interview with the colonel.”
The two men conveyed the chest into the house between them, groaning not a little under its ponderous weight, and then, leaving Vera to take charge of it, Shamarin returned to the sledge, while Sandoff hunted up thestarostaand ordered glasses and a bottle of wine to be taken into the post room.
“I expect a visitor in a short time,” he said, “and as I may be delayed with him longer than I expect I want you to put fresh horses into my sledge at once. What do I owe you for your services?”