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diff --git a/old/67865-0.txt b/old/67865-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2385e34..0000000 --- a/old/67865-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11200 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Samovar Girl, by Frederick F. -Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Samovar Girl - -Author: Frederick F. Moore - -Release Date: April 18, 2022 [eBook #67865] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAMOVAR GIRL *** - - - - - -═════════════════════ - - THE SAMOVAR GIRL - FREDERICK MOORE - -═════════════════════ - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - - THE SAMOVAR GIRL - - BY - - FREDERICK MOORE - - AUTHOR OF - “SAILOR GIRL,” “SIBERIA TO-DAY,” “THE DEVIL’S ADMIRAL,” - “ISLE O’ DREAMS,” ETC. - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - - - - - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - NEW YORK :: 1921 :: LONDON - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - - Copyright, 1921, by Frederick Moore - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - - - TO - ROBERT H. DAVIS - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - PROLOGUE: THE VALLEY OF DESPAIR 1 - I. TWENTY YEARS AFTER 17 - II. THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER 32 - III. THE FIRING SQUAD 44 - IV. THE PLACE OF THE VOW 60 - V. THE ATAMAN’S DECISION 69 - VI. THE PRISON ON THE HILL 79 - VII. OLD RIMSKY THINKS 94 - VIII. PETER LAYS HIS PLANS 105 - IX. ILYA USES HIS WITS 111 - X. “AN AMERICAN HAS COME!” 121 - XI. THE FLIGHT 131 - XII. HIDDEN AGAIN 140 - XIII. KATERIN PLANS TO MEET THE AMERICAN 151 - XIV. THE SAMOVAR GIRL 160 - XV. THE TRAP SHUTS 174 - XVI. KATERIN’S STRATAGEM 182 - XVII. SETTING THE SNARE 195 - XVIII. THE TRAIL GROWS HOT 206 - XIX. FACE TO FACE 217 - XX. THE BLOW 232 - XXI. THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS 244 - XXII. THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN 254 - XXIII. A LIFE FOR A LIFE 265 - XXIV. A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE 274 - XXV. THE FINAL RECKONING 285 - XXVI. FAREWELL 294 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE SAMOVAR GIRL - - - - - PROLOGUE - - THE VALLEY OF DESPAIR - - -_Clank! Clank! Clank!_ - -It was the music of chains. A column of unfortunates from the big prison -on the hill swung down the road and turned into the wide street between -the log houses. They were on their way out into the _taiga_ to cut wood -and hew timbers under a guard of Cossacks. The chains hanging from the -wrists of the convicts to their ankles, crossed in front of them but -hidden under the _khalats_—long gray capes worn by exiles—made the -doleful music as the long line of marchers, gray as the cold fog of the -morning, moved up the Czar’s road and was lost in the frozen mists that -masked the edge of the wilderness. - -The sun was up, but it was only a patch of weak yellow light against the -dull sky which roofed the Valley of Despair. Lowering wisps of fog still -shrouded the hills about the exile settlement—fog that had lifted from -the frozen and desolate reaches of the Ingoda, from the smoking huts of -the tiny plain, from the snow-streaked slopes on which squatted like a -hideous monster the great low, rambling prison of yellow-painted logs. - -The morning was bitter cold. The streets were almost deserted. The -windows of the log buildings still glowed with the dim yellow light of -guttering candles behind the frost-bound panes. White smoke from the -chimneys of the houses and huts rose straight up into the air, for there -was not even the ghost of a breeze. And the cold still air carried -sounds with startling clearness—the tolling of a bell at lazy intervals, -the barking of a dog, the distant cry of a wolf, and now the ringing -clatter of axes being driven into frost-laden wood by the invisible -exiles. - -Shadows appeared at the windows frequently. For the Czar’s mail was due -this morning from Irkutsk, and the house-huddled people were waiting for -the first tinkle of the sledge-bells. The mail! The mail from Moscow, -from Petersburg, from Tambov, from the Valley of the Beloved Volga, so -many heartbreaking versts away! The mail would bring life and death, joy -and sorrow, sentence and pardon to Chita, in the Valley of Despair. The -mail would bring the Czar’s word, the heaven-sent mercy, or the curt -condemnation. The mail, by the relays of sledges, was the reach of the -scepter from the throne of majesty to the Valley of Despair in Siberia. - -None listened more eagerly for the first jingle of the mail-sledges that -morning than Peter, son of Peter, in the tiny hut of Gorekin the -bootmaker, an exile but by the gracious compassion of the governor a -member of the “free gang.” Peter, son of Peter, was only ten years old. -He worked with his father in the boxlike hut on the Sofistkaya, helping -to make boots for the officers of the Czar and the Cossacks. - -Peter’s blue eyes were set deeply in his head, for he had never had -enough to eat—not even enough sticky black bread, or enough _eèkrah_ -which is the raw, red eggs of the big salmon. Peter was a tall boy for -his age, but not very sturdy. His yellow hair was clipped close to his -scalp, and his little round head was bent low while his hammer -_tap-tapped_ at the wooden pegs in the boot soles by the candlelight. - -Peter’s father was a political. He had been sent to Siberia for -thinking—thinking about government, and inducing others to think. Which -was foolish, for the Czar and his ministers settled all affairs of -government for the good of the people. Yet God was good, for Peter’s -father had been admitted to the free gang because he could make boots, -and so did not have to stay in the big prison on the hill. And Michael -Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, Excellence, and Czar’s Governor, allowed Peter -and his father to have a tiny hut to themselves—a place of one room, one -window, a fire-pit with a stone chimney, and shelves against the log -wall on which to sleep. They even had a battered brass samovar in which -to boil water for their tea. - -Peter’s father was not old, though his back was bent by years in chains -before Peter was born, and then by more years of stooping over a -stitching-frame sewing boots. “Gorekin the old bootmaker,” everybody -called him, partly because his face was covered with a long and heavy -beard, and partly because his eyes had such an old look in them—eyes -which looked past everybody far into the future and seemed to be waiting -for some strange vision to appear. - -Peter was proud of his father, and loved him beyond expression. For his -father knew everything—even knew how many versts it was to Moscow, -information which many people gave money to know, and knowing, kept the -secret for themselves. There are many things in an exile colony which it -is forbidden to know, so whisper talk is bought and sold, some dealing -in secrets of a certain kind, and some selling coming news about -revolutions. - -Peter’s little round head was always being puzzled, and his blue eyes -were always full of questions. He loved the Czar, just as everybody else -loved the Czar—only when there were no soldiers listening, or no secret -police of the Third Division, men would swear bitter oaths in whispers -against majesty. It was not easy to tell who might be secret police, for -your friend to-day, talking against the government of the Czar, might -to-morrow prove to be one of the Third Division, and then doors of the -big prison on the hill would open for you, and dawn would meet you with -an execution squad. - -Peter could not remember his mother. She had followed his father into -exile, and Peter had been born in The Street of the Dames. His mother -had died that day. Peter’s father said now it was just as well, for life -was really death in the Valley of Despair. And though Peter was only -ten, he already knew something of the bitterness of life. Had he not -seen a man with a back all raw from whipping, who had escaped from the -prison? Yes, he had come crawling to the bootmaker’s hut, too weak to go -on into the wilderness with the others who had escaped, and could only -lie all night close to the fire-pit, waiting for the soldiers to come in -the morning and take him away. - -But there were pleasant things in life for Peter. There were the ladies -who came from The Street of the Dames. They spoke Czar’s Russian and -were grand ladies. They came to have boots mended, but they stayed long -and whispered much with Peter’s father, winking and nodding their heads -about nothing at all. Sometimes they brought little cakes with spices in -them, or a handful of dry tea, or a bit of sugar from China, or -sweetened ginger-root. And sometimes they gave Peter as much as a ruble. -Their husbands were up in the big prison on the hill, and the grand -ladies had followed to the Valley of Despair and had built for -themselves with their own hands a whole street of log houses. - -And for some reason which Peter could never fathom, after these ladies -from The Street of the Dames came to have their shoes mended, Peter’s -father always remembered that he had to go up to the prison with a pair -of new boots for an officer, or to measure feet for a new pair, or to -get some leather—always an errand. And the ladies would wait till he -returned, when they cried quietly into their handkerchiefs, and after -much whispering went away to their log houses. - -But the greatest puzzle of all to Peter was that his father had been -exiled for reading books, yet his father now read the Bible, which was a -book, and told all about God and the Czar. But, of course, the Bible was -always hidden behind the pile of wood close to the fire-pit. - -And Peter’s father read the almanacs which came every year from Moscow, -and everybody knows an almanac is nothing more nor less than a book. -Everybody had a new almanac every year, and wonderful books they were -too, for they told about the sun, moon, and stars, the holy days of Holy -Russia, the goodness and greatness of the Czar, the names and name days -of grand dukes and grand duchesses and all the wonderful things they had -done for the poor people, and had pictures of saints, and depictions of -miracles, pictures of watches which might be purchased in Moscow or -Petrograd by people who were rich, and pictures of skeletons of dead -men! Oh, the almanacs were wonderful! - -Peter had worn his last year’s one out from much reading of it by the -fire of nights with his father. And now the new one from Moscow was two -months late. That was why Peter watched so anxiously every morning for -the mail-sledges from Irkutsk, which was on the Petersburg side of Lake -Baikal. - -So this morning he was pegging away fast with his hammer, his father -working near by and whispering to himself, a way he had when busy. The -candle was still guttering between them, the fire in the pit was smoking -comfortably, and the old brass samovar was singing merrily on a shelf. - -Peter leaned over from his bench every few minutes, to blow a hole in -the frost on the windowpane, and look up the Sofistkaya in the direction -of the post-house. But he could not see far yet, from the fog, though he -did see the column of unfortunates going out into the wilderness with -the Cossack soldiers. - -Peter rather feared the Cossacks. They were “free men”—big swaggering -fellows with blue breeches and yellow stripes on their tunics and some -of them with colored tops in their tall _shlapkas_—round caps of fuzzy -wool. And though Peter feared the Cossacks, he was also proud of them, -for they were a part of Holy Russia and the power of the Czar flashed -from the points of their lances as they galloped over the plains. And -the Czar was Ataman of all the Cossacks, just as he was Emperor of all -Russians. And there were more Russians in the world than all other -peoples put together, counting the barbarians of far lands across the -seas. - -Peter longed for the day when he would be big enough to become a soldier -of majesty, and wear on his cap the little oval button—“The Eye of the -Czar.” Then he would know all things. His father always smiled sadly at -such ideas. - -“Peter Petrovitch Gorekin, a soldier of the Czar!” Peter’s father would -say. “A soldier against the people, a soldier to bind our chains the -tighter! Oh, Peter Petrovitch! The day will come when your eye will see -and understand!” - -Which was a surprising thing for Peter’s father to say, for Peter could -see well enough with his eyes, except when the smoke from the fire-pit -blew down the stone chimney and got into his eyes while he was reading -from the almanac and learning new words. - -Peter’s father was most anxious for Peter to learn to read as well as -the priest—yes, even as well as Michael Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, the -Colonel Governor. Peter could have made many kopecks in the evenings, -helping to skin sheep for the butcher, but Peter’s father insisted upon -lessons with the almanac by the fire. - -“The labor of a man’s hands can be forced to do the will of a master,” -his father would say gravely, “but the labor of a man’s head is his own, -and no man can control it.” - -Peter could not understand that, because it was impossible to drive pegs -with one’s head—it could only be done with hands and the hammer. And his -father worked with his hands, too, and never did a thing with his head, -or so Peter supposed. - -It was not long after the column of unfortunates and Cossacks had -disappeared into the _taiga_ that Peter saw two black spots rise on the -little hill across the Ingoda River, and drop again out of sight. - -“Ee-yah!” cried Peter joyfully. “The mail comes!” - -His father lifted his head and looked up from his stitching-frame to -listen. - -“I hear nothing but the music of the samovar,” he said. - -“They have crossed the bend to the river,” insisted Peter. “I heard the -bells and I saw the sledges! The horses are coming fast!” - -Both sat still and listened, with only the snapping of the fire and the -song of the samovar in their ears. Though they waited in silence, the -sound of the bells did not come to them down the chimney. - -“Watch the road,” said his father, and returned to his stitching. Peter -put his eye to the hole in the frost and watched the street up beyond -the post-house. But he saw only an occasional Buriat, or a Cossack -striding along, with now and then a Tartar hunter coming in from the -hills with raw fur thrown over his shoulders, and soldiers hurrying down -from the prison above the settlement. - -Then, the bells! The first faint jingle came to Peter’s ears, and at the -same time he saw the galloping horses of the leading sledge come up into -the road from the river hollow, running free for the post-house. - -“Now!” cried Peter. “The post is here! With the new almanacs! Please! -Give me the kopecks! And may I run to see if the new almanac has come -for sure?” - -Peter’s father stopped work and filled his glass from the samovar, threw -on the fire a fresh chunk of wood and dug some kopecks from his pocket. - -“Go, little son, but dress warmly—it is too cold outside for a Tartar.” - -Peter shoved his rag-bound feet into pink felt boots, whirled his long -muffler about his neck and got into his gray coat. Pulling his cap over -his head and ears, he took the kopecks from his father and flew out -through the door in a cloud of white steam made by the warm air from -inside the hut as it escaped into the frigid atmosphere outside. - -Already the sledges had arrived in front of the post-house. The street -was filled with people and there was a great to-do and gabbling. Peter -could see the Cossack guards who had come with the sledges dismounting -from their horses. The half-frozen drivers of the sledges were rolling -stiffly out of their blankets, to clump through the icicle-fringed door -of the post-house for their hot bowls of _borsht_ and their drams of -vodka. - -Peter ran up to the crowd surrounding the sledges and breathlessly -pushed in between the legs of the soldiers and onlookers. Surely, he -thought, this month the almanacs must have come! Twice before he had -been disappointed by the monthly mail and now he was shaking with -eagerness. He wanted to cry out at once to those about the sledges, “Has -the new almanac come?” - -But there were no mail sacks on the first sledge. Instead it had five -travelers—an old woman, an officer who was an aide of the Colonel -Governor, two fur-buyers, and a little girl—a pretty little girl, who -was about the same age as Peter. She had pulled back her beautiful cap -of ermine, and Peter could see the pink of her cheeks, her laughing blue -eyes and the scarlet silk lining of her coat of sables where she had -turned the collar away from her chin. She was standing up in the sledge -and looking over the heads of the crowd and chattering with her old -nurse in delight at having arrived back at her home. - -Peter stared at the little girl. He knew who she was—Katerin Stephanovna -Kirsakoff, daughter of the Colonel Governor. Peter had seen her many -times driving through the settlement with her Cossack outriders guarding -her. He knew she was kind to the poor people and to the unfortunates. On -Butter Weeks she always threw silver kopecks from her carriage to the -crowds at the fair. It was said that she knew even the Czar himself. - -Peter thought Katerin was as beautiful as a picture in a holy icon. He -almost forgot about his beloved almanacs as he stood and gazed at the -beauty of Katerin. Her furs were so rich and gorgeous, her skin was so -clear and rosy, her eyes were so sparkling bright. She had plenty of -good things to eat, he was sure—and the cold did not hurt her, the -guards of Cossacks protected her from the gaunt tigers in the hills, the -officers bowed to her, the soldiers worshiped her, and she lived in the -great and grand house of her father, the Colonel Governor, Michael -Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff. - -“The Governor comes!” rose the warning cry from those on the outer -fringes of the throng about the sledges. The soldiers at once began to -drive the people back from the sledge in which Katerin was standing to -clear the way for the droshky of the Colonel Governor. - -Peter was inside the ring of people about the sledge. He was pushed away -roughly. His heart sank, for he felt that he was to be cheated out of -the news for which he had run to the post-house—news about the almanacs. -He could restrain his eagerness no longer, and fearing that he would be -left in doubt about the almanacs if the soldiers hustled him up the -street with the other people, he ran from a soldier in toward the -sledge, and making an obeisance to Excellence, raised his arms and cried -out to Katerin, “Did your Excellence bring the almanacs of the new -year?” - -But Katerin did not hear him. She was standing up and clapping her hands -as she saw her father’s droshky come whirling down the street toward -her. - -The officer in the sledge got out of the robes wound round him, and to -the ground. He commanded the soldiers to drive the people away farther -so the Colonel Governor might not be delayed in getting to his daughter. - -Peter turned to run from this officer, but slipped and fell. And before -he could regain his footing on the hard and slippery snow, the officer -came hurrying from the sledge and tripped and fell over the boy—fell -flat in the road before the post-house. - -“Fool!” cried the officer, glaring at Peter. “Get away with you! You -dare address Excellence, and now you are in my road!” - -Peter stood up. The officer struck the boy in the face, and Peter fell -again, almost stunned by the blow. He saw the officer’s boots stride -away and recognized them as boots which he and his father had made. -There was a forest of boots in all directions, and the sound of voices -reached Peter’s ears in a confused medley. - -Peter was ashamed. The blood was flowing from his nose and making a mess -on his chin and muffler. The tears which came into his eyes from the -pain were freezing on his cheeks and his eyelids were freezing together, -making a film through which he could see but dimly. - -The crowd had drawn away from the sledge now, leaving Peter lying in the -dirty snow. Such a sight to make of himself, he thought, in view of -Katerin! And how angry she would be to see that he had gotten in the way -of the officer and had made him fall down like a clumsy bear. - -Peter heard the voice of his father calling to him. - -“Little son! Get up quickly and run! The Governor comes! Do not let the -Excellence see you there!” - -But Peter could not move quickly for his arms and legs seemed strangely -stiff and numb and helpless. His father ran out into the open space just -as Governor Kirsakoff got out of his carriage to hasten to his little -daughter in the sledge. He was a tall man, ruddy of face, with white -teeth showing in a smile under black mustaches. He wore a high cap of -sable with a badge of the Czar upon it. His longskirted coat of black -was lined with fur which stuck out in fringes at the edges, and he wore -a belt with silver doubleheaded eagles at the buckle. A scarlet strap -depended from one shoulder and crossed his breast, and he wore a saber -at his side—a saber with a gold hilt, bearing upon it the initials of -his Emperor. - -Governor Kirsakoff held out his arms toward his daughter as he -approached the sledge. The officer who struck Peter was beside the -Governor, with watchful eyes for the safety of his chief and the little -girl. - -Peter’s father lifted him to his feet, and Peter brushed the icy film -from his eyes. - -“Get away, you and that boy!” the officer growled as the Governor strode -swiftly to the sledge. - -“The boy meant no harm, Excellence,” said Peter’s father, pulling off -his cap and making a deep bow, as he tried to push Peter on before him. - -“Who is this here?” demanded the Governor, catching sight of Peter and -his father, and seeing that the boy’s face was bleeding. Governor -Kirsakoff’s smile vanished, and he scowled angrily, sensing something in -the nature of a calamity in the presence of his daughter. - -“Excellence, this boy yelled at Katerin Stephanovna,” explained the -officer. “And he tripped my feet when I came down from the sledge.” - -Peter’s father swept his cap to the ground in an abject bow. - -“Pardon, Excellence—I will take the boy away.” - -“What now!” exclaimed Kirsakoff, with a close look at the bootmaker. “Is -this Gorekin? Is this what I put you into the free gang for? to be under -the feet of your Governor?” - -Peter’s father bowed once more. - -“True, Excellence, I am Peter Pavlovitch Gorekin, the bootmaker.” - -“Then you should be at your boots and not under my feet!” raged -Kirsakoff. “Do I give you the liberty of the settlement to have you in -the way with a bloody-nosed youngster when my little daughter comes -home?” The Governor turned wrathfully to the commander of the Cossack -guard about the sledges. “Take this Gorekin away to the prison!” he -commanded. - -“Excellence, my son!” cried Peter’s father, stricken to his soul by the -disaster in the Governor’s order. “Oh, Excellence, I beg—if I go to the -prison, what is to become of my son?” - -“You should have prized your liberty and kept your son out of the way,” -said the Governor. “You think nothing of ruining the happiness of my -little daughter! So your son must learn his place.——Take them both to -the prison!” - -And Kirsakoff turned away and hurried to the sledge. - -“What has happened to the poor people?” asked Katerin, her face troubled -as she watched Peter and his father. She saw that the boy had been hurt -and was crying, and that the soldiers now menaced them. - -“Do not look at them, little daughter,” said Kirsakoff. “They have -disobeyed the rules. Was it cold coming from Irkutsk? And did you bring -me many kisses?” - -The Governor lifted her out of the sledge and smothered her in his arms. -At this moment a Cossack interposed himself between the bootmaker and -the Governor, and two soldiers closed in on Peter and his father, their -bayonets fixed upon their rifles. - -Gorekin held up his hand in a plea to speak once more to the Governor. -The bootmaker had dropped his cap, his face showed the agony of his -despair, and the tears streamed down his face. His mouth was open and -his lips trembled with the chagrin and horror of what had befallen him. - -“Excellence! I submit!” he pleaded. “But by the mercy of God, condemn -not my son to the prison too!” - -One of the Cossacks pushed him back violently so that he spun round and -staggered blindly in an effort to keep his footing on the slippery snow. -Then he turned with a cry and thrust the Cossack aside, to run after the -Governor, hands stretched out in supplication. - -“Mercy for my son!” he called after Kirsakoff. - -A Cossack’s saber flashed, and Gorekin received its point in the -back—once, twice—and with a scream, fell writhing on the snow-packed -street before the post-house. - -Kirsakoff ran with little Katerin in his arms toward the near-by droshky -which was awaiting them. The crowd closed in at once about the stricken -bootmaker and his son. - -Little Peter fell to his knees beside his father, who had been rudely -rolled upon his back by the Cossack with the saber. This Cossack -searched hastily through the pockets of the greatcoat of Gorekin. Peter, -screaming in terror, supposed that all this was being done to help his -father. - -The Cossack found the curved leather-knife of Gorekin in a pocket of the -dying man’s coat, and flung the knife upon the ground. “He held this -knife in his hand!” cried the Cossack. “It is the knife with which he -would have killed the Governor!” - -Peter could not realize yet the disaster which had come to him and his -father. He knew only that the one human being who loved him, and whom he -loved above everything in the world, was hurt and bleeding. The slowly -reddening snow beside his father gave the boy a vague idea of a wound -which might in time be cured. - -And it might not be real at all, this tragic morning, but a dream. Peter -saw about him the black circle of boots like the trees of a forest; he -saw the print of nails in the hard snow; he noted a small round stone -close by his father’s head—the world appeared to be full of trifling -things, yet suddenly all trifles were invested with terror. He prayed -even as he screamed, that he might wake to find his father reading from -the new almanac beside the fire in their little hut. - -“Little father! Little father!” he cried in his agony. - -The bootmaker coughed harshly. - -“He tried to kill the Governor,” said a voice. “There lies the knife—and -I ran him through with my saber.” - -Peter recognized the voice as that of the Cossack who had struck down -his father. - -“Little son—” gasped Gorekin, his dimming eyes on Peter, and his hand -moving slowly toward the boy. - -“Thou whom I love!” cried Peter, “come quickly for the man who has -medicine and can cure you! Come to the watch-fixer who has the charms -and the herbs!” - -“God’s blessing on you—I go—to meet—the—dead!” whispered Gorekin. - -“You are not to die!” cried Peter, and flung himself down upon his -father and kissed him. Then he sat back on his heels, moaning wildly as -he saw his father’s face graying to the color of the trampled snow. - -“I shall kill Kirsakoff!” Peter shouted. “I shall kill—the Governor——!” - -“Pray!” said his father weakly. “Pray to God for—power and—” but he -could say no more, and making an effort to cross himself with both hands -he died, staring up into the leaden sky. - -“He is dead,” said a voice. “Take the boy to the prison. It is the order -of the Governor.” - -And Peter, sobbing and kicking out against the soldiers who grasped him -and dragged him away, left his father lying in the snow before the -post-house. - -The soldiers dragged Peter up the Sofistkaya. His eyes clung to the mail -bags being carried into the post-house, and though he was crying -bitterly, he wondered if the almanacs had come from Moscow after all. - -Next he knew he found himself in the sandy snow of the Sofistkaya, -passing his own little hut, and saw the white smoke rising from the -crude stone chimney. He thought of the samovar inside singing on a -shelf, of the warmth and comfort that he would never know again, of his -beloved father who somehow, by some terrible fate which had descended -upon him out of the skies, was gone forever from the bench and the -stitching-frame. - -The two soldiers drove Peter on and in time they went over the wooden -bridge across the frozen Ingoda, and up a hill. The tears on his face -and frozen in his lids gave him great pain from cold. But he brushed his -eyes clear of the ice particles and looked ahead. Before him were the -yellow upright logs of the great prison stockade—and the great gate -waiting to receive him into the Gethsemane of the Valley of Despair. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - TWENTY YEARS AFTER - - -KATERIN was awake before dawn. She lay still, listening in the dark for -sounds of conflict in the city. For months she had been accustomed to -the rattle of rifle-fire through day and night, and now she found it -hard to realize that the looting and burning had ceased. - -The windows of Katerin’s room were hung with heavy blankets to conceal -the candlelight by night, even though in the winter the glass of the -panes was always nearly covered with heavy frost. She had no way of -knowing how near it was to dawn, or if the day had come. - -Katerin Stephanovna Kirsakoff—that was her full name. And she was hiding -in an old log house with her father, who had been retired from the army -of the Czar with the rank of general. And her father was Michael -Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff, once Governor in the Valley of Despair, as it -was known in the exile days before the revolution. And the log house was -in Chita, where Kirsakoff had ruled his Cossacks, but Kirsakoff and his -daughter were now hiding from the Cossacks. - -Katerin rose from her bed, and guided by the dim, shaded flame burning -before the icon in the corner of the room, she held out her arms to the -image of the Virgin Mother, and whispered, “Save us, Mother of God, -again this day, from those who beset us, and bring to us help from our -enemies in our time of danger!” - -She continued to whisper her prayers while she dressed in the dark. Then -she went to one of the windows and pulled aside the blanket. She scraped -a tiny hole in the frost so that she might look down into the courtyard, -to the end of the street and out over the plains which stretched away -from the city toward the border of Manchuria, many versts away. In that -direction lay safety, but Katerin knew that she could not get out of the -city, much less cross those frozen plains. - -The subdued light of morning coming in through the white frost on the -panes revealed her as a woman of medium height, of figure slender and -supple, and clad in a trailing velvet house-dress of wine-red. Thrown -over her shoulders, and partly covering the faded velvet of the dress, -was a sleeveless coat of sable. She had the oval, high-bred face of the -untitled nobility of Russia. The Kirsakoffs were one of the old boyar -families who had always served their emperors as officers and -administrators in the empire which spanned half the world. - -Katerin had inherited all the best qualities of her race and her class. -As the daughter of General Kirsakoff she had grown up like an Imperial -princess. Educated by tutors from Paris and Petersburg, she had also -learned to ride like a Cossack. And as her mother had died when Katerin -was a small girl, she had the poise of a woman, who, though still young, -had presided over her father’s table in the Governor’s palace—the -Government house. So all her life she had been accustomed to a deference -which was akin to that granted to royalty. - -Now Katerin and her father were fugitives. The fighting between the -various factions in Chita was over; the Cossacks were in control of the -city—and controlling the Cossacks was a Mongol chieftain who had set -himself up as the ruling prince and ruled with firing squads. - -Months of terrorism in the city had made Katerin pale and wan. Her blue -eyes were sad and deep set, and she had an expression of melancholy. The -pallor of her cheeks was accentuated by her black hair, which was drawn -down over her ears tightly. Her long neck, with its delicate lines, -suggested pearls. She had pearls, but she did not dare wear them in -these days. They were buried in the courtyard of the old log house. - -When she walked it was with a slow and languorous grace. The carriage of -her beautiful head was reminiscent of the portraits of the members of -the Imperial family which had once hung on the walls of the home from -which she had fled. It was now only a charred ruin. - -Katerin remained at the window, peering out with anxious eyes. A trio of -Cossack soldiers were huddled about the glowing remnants of their -night-fire in the street. These were men in the army of the Ataman -Zorogoff, the half-Mongol, half-Cossack _hetman_ who ruled the Valley of -Despair. The Ataman, in spite of his pretensions to leadership, was only -a brigand with an army of adventurers and conscripts at his back, bent -upon enriching himself by levying upon the fortunes of all the rich -people in his territory. And he collected the tribute which he exacted -from them under threats of death—and by executions. - -Katerin watched the gray light of the new day grow over the frozen and -desolate landscape. A thin mantle of snow covered the plains below the -hills which walled in the valley on three sides. There were a few rude -peasants’ huts out on the flats, with white smoke rising up from stone -chimneys. A long column of staggering telegraph poles ran off beyond a -spur of hill and marked the line of the railroad in this direction. - -She saw a small band of Cossacks come galloping in toward the city. They -were racing to the warmth of the barracks after a night spent on patrol. -These men belonged to the outer cordon—the chain of mounted soldiers -which Zorogoff kept about the city to make sure no one entered without -his knowledge, and to insure that none escaped. Before he had organized -his power, some of the wealthy citizens had escaped by the railroad, but -now the Ataman had his troops on guard at the railroad station. And his -spies were busy in the city. It was impossible to leave if he did not -grant permission. The Kirsakoffs did not dare to ask for it. - -The room in which Katerin stood looking out of the window was filled -with a queer mingling of rich furnishings and crudely built peasant -household goods. The floor was covered with a thick blue carpet, thrown -down hastily after being smuggled by night from her old home before the -building had been burned. Faithful servants had brought it, but there -had been no attempt to put it down properly—it was merely tucked in at -the sides of the room in order to make the fabric fit. - -The walls were covered with an ancient and faded paper. The ceiling had -once been covered with colorful decorations, but now the plaster was -cracked, and leaks in the roof had turned the paint of the figures into -grotesque patterns. - -The bed was hidden by a Chinese screen of carved leather, also saved -from the old home before the looters had plied the torch; a great -samovar of chased and filigreed silver stood upon an old wooden bench -brought from the kitchen on the floor below; a table of rough boards was -covered by purple silk, and on it stood an ornate candelabra of marble -and bronze with the arms sadly bent, so that the candles could not stand -erect; blankets of fur covered chairs rudely cut with an ax and -fashioned with a primitive hammer; and a monstrous black stove built -into the wall reached to the ceiling. - -Katerin pulled the blanket away from the window and made it fast to the -casing with a string. Just then a gentle tapping came at one of the -doors of the room. She laughed cheerily and opened the door. Her father -stood before her. - -General Kirsakoff was tall, but thin and bent with age. His face was -gaunt, but the bones of his cheeks were partly concealed by a white -beard which was indifferently trimmed to a point at the chin. His gray -eyes were dim, yet held some of their old fire and the look of an -eagle—stern eyes looking out from under gray brows and a forehead -furrowed by worries and his years. His head was covered with sparse -white hair, which had a tendency to stand straight up, and waved when he -moved his head quickly. - -“Ah, the cold is like a wolf!” said Michael, his hands clasped together -as he shivered. “Has not Wassili come up with the fire? My teeth ache -from the cold!” - -Katerin gave him a look of solicitude, and then took his hands and -rubbed them. - -“I thought you would sleep longer, so I did not call for Wassili. And -here you are dressed—but you should have a blanket over your shoulders.” - -“It is only my feet and my hands—and my teeth—that are cold. Let us have -the samovar singing, and something hot. My poor old bones cannot stand -the cold so well as they did. And this old house is damp—we must have a -good fire to-day, happen what will.” - -He looked at Katerin closely, searching her face for signs of anxiety, -but her whole manner had changed at his entrance to the room, and now as -she went to the door to the hallway to call down to Wassili, the -servant, she hummed a tune. She knew her father well enough to -understand that his spirit must be kept up. He had been giving way -recently to long spells of despondency. - -Michael was wearing one of his old uniforms of a general. It had been -Katerin’s idea that he resume the discarded garments of authority, for -she knew that he gained some comfort from it and that it helped him to -forget the dark days which had come upon them. But Michael was only a -shadow of his former self. His knees bent under him, his attenuated form -did not fill the tunic, his hands were white and withered. They shook, -as did his head at times, with the palsy of his age and feebleness. Yet -the old general was still a striking figure in the gray tunic with the -white cross hanging from its collar, the wreath and sword of another -order of the Czar on his breast. A leather strap crossed his shoulder -and came down athwart the front of the tunic. The heavy gold straps on -his shoulders marked his rank. His trousers were blue with a pair of -narrow gold stripes at the sides, and the belt about him had a silver -buckle in front with the double-headed eagle of the Romanoffs. - -“So this is another day, little daughter,” said Michael, as he sat down -upon a bench and stroked his beard. “Another day of waiting—waiting till -these devils have lost their power to the army of the Emperor.” - -“Another day of hope, my father,” said Katerin. “What! Does not the day -at the windows give you courage. Perhaps the Americans will come up from -Vladivostok and save us. It is then that Zorogoff will have to change -his ways.” - -“Poof! The Americans will not come,” said Michael wearily. “Do not put -your hopes in the foreigners. Nothing will happen from that direction -which will be of any good to us.” - -“Something is bound to happen that is good for us,” insisted Katerin. -“The forces of evil cannot always be in power. Have we not sent word to -our friends who escaped? Will they not get our letters? Will they not do -something to get us away from the city? All we must do is to have -patience and be brave. God is with the brave.” - -“Yes, the young are brave,” said Michael. “And it is you who are brave, -my daughter. I am too old to have much heart left. But there are two -things against us—one of them is our accursed money. I wish we had never -saved it, but for that you will need it.” - -“And what is the other thing that is against us?” asked Katerin with -surprised eyes, as she turned to the door to look below for Wassili. - -“Your beauty, Katerin Stephanovna,” said her father. “How many times in -the old days have I thanked the holy saints for your beauty! Yet I mourn -now that you are so beautiful, for it may be your curse. I have had a -dream of evil omen, yet I cannot remember it—though it left me downcast. -If these devils of Zorogoff dare lay a hand upon you——” - -Katerin ran to him and kissed him hastily. - -“Oh, nonsense! I will not be so beautiful, and you will not be so -depressed as soon as the samovar sings and you have had your tea. You -make much of little things—and you must not keep dreams in your mind. -Now! Here comes Wassili with the fire for the samovar!” - -Wassili came in, a whiskered _moujik_ in clumsy boots, bearing fire on a -shovel. Some of the burning coals he put into the stove, and with the -scattered remnants fired the samovar and went below again for water. - -“It is more dangerous to give the money than to keep it,” went on -Michael musingly. He seemed bent on studying out the problems which -confronted him, as if the dream which he had mentioned had driven him -into making some decision. - -“If we could buy our way out of the city,” suggested Katerin, “I would -be willing to give it up to see you in comfortable surroundings.” She -was before a little mirror on a table, combing out her hair. - -“Once Zorogoff had the money, he would destroy us so there would be no -witness against him—no claim against him in future,” said Michael. “That -is what happened to Rioumines—he gave up his money willingly—and then he -was killed. So there is no safety for us in beggaring ourselves. By the -Holy Saints! I would rather burn all the rubles than give them to -Zorogoff—but even then he would not believe that they had been -destroyed, and would kill us for refusing to surrender them. And I would -sooner die a beggar than have your fortune fall into the hands of this -Mongol!” - -“Come! Sit by the fire and warm yourself,” said Katerin, pushing a bench -toward the front of the stove, which was now crackling merrily with the -wood. “We are safe enough here till the Americans come.” - -“Oh, the Americans will never come,” said Michael, as he settled himself -before the fire and held out his hands to the heat. “We must use our -wits and get away from Chita—to Harbin or Vladivostok. Others have done -it. We might send Wassili to Harbin for help.” - -“That would do no good. Our friends cannot come back here to help us. If -they did, they could not fight Zorogoff’s army. We must keep up good -hope for whatever the future holds for us, and——” - -There came a hammering at the outer gate of the courtyard. Katerin -checked her words and stood immovable, her eyes on her father in sudden -fear of what the summons below might mean. The noise outside stopped as -abruptly as it had begun, and then was resumed—insistent, compelling, -ruthless. It sounded like the thumping of rifle butts against the planks -of the gate. Whoever it was that demanded admittance was not to be -denied. There was in the noise a peremptoriness which indicated that if -there happened to be any appreciable delay in opening the gate, it would -be smashed down without further ado. - -“What is that?” asked Michael. “By the Holy Saints! The soldiers of the -Ataman have come upon us!” - -He sprang up and went to the window, where he put his eye to the hole in -the frost, and looked out. Katerin pressed close to him. - -“Soldiers at the gate!” whispered Michael, and as he stood staring at -his daughter, they heard Wassili shouting in the hall below. - -“Master! Master!” - -Katerin crossed herself and bowed her head in the direction of the icon -as she ran to the door and called down to Wassili, asking what it was -that he wanted. - -“The soldiers are outside—pounding to get in!” - -“Then let them in,” commanded Katerin. “We cannot fight them.” She ran -back across the room to the window and looked down to the court—she -could see the tops of the tall Cossack caps over the upper edge of the -paling. There were at least a dozen of them, and above them here and -there was the glittering point of a bayonet. - -“We are in God’s hands!” cried Katerin. - -“We shall know what fate holds for us now,” said her father, drawing up -toward the stove. “We have been in doubt long enough. It was the smoke -from our chimney which drew them, without doubt.” - -“They will want the money,” said Katerin. “It may as well go to -them—enough to stop their greed.” - -Michael went to her and put his hands upon her shoulders. He looked into -her face, tears in his own eyes. “We will not give them the money,” he -whispered. “Let them kill me if they will. I doubt that they will dare -to do it—but my time is short at best. This is my dream! But you must -think of yourself and know that if they take all we have, you will be -helpless—a beggar in a land that is beggared, to die of hunger or by -your own hand. Make no bargain with them between me and the money! I -command you! Do not give a ruble of it to keep me alive a minute!” - -“If you die, I shall not live,” said Katerin, and taking his face -between her hands, kissed him tenderly on the forehead and threw her -arms about his neck, dry-eyed in her anguish. - -“I should like to reach the sky, but my arms are too short,” said -Michael, expressing his helplessness by the old Russian proverb. “I -think of having an army at my back—I, an old man, weak and already -looking into my own grave. It is of you I think, Katerin Stephanovna! I -would sell my soul to save you—yet the money must be kept if you are to -live!” - -“I can hear the soldiers in the yard,” said Katerin. “What can we do? We -have a few rubles in the Chinese casket—five thousand in fives and tens. -They make a fat bundle. We can give them up—and say they are all we -have.” - -“Do not be too ready to surrender the money,” said Michael. “But that is -what we shall do. If they demand more——” - -“Hush! They are coming up the stairs. Come! Quick! Sit here by the -table! And take your saber! Be bold with them, as befits your rank and -your old place, but remember that we cannot resist!” - -As she talked, Katerin grabbed from a chest her father’s saber and -snapped it into the old general’s belt. Then she pulled him to the table -and sat him on a bench so that he faced toward the fire. This was no -more than done when a man could be heard mounting the top of the stairs, -and presently the visitor looked in cautiously at the open door. - -The intruder was a Cossack officer. He wore a tall cap of white, shaggy -wool, thrust back on his head. A lock of his black hair hung down -athwart his forehead. His eyes were black and small, his mouth heavily -lipped, his cheeks inclined to swartness from exposure, though the cold -of the morning had given his skin a ruddy glow. He wore a long greatcoat -with the cream-colored skin of the sheep outside and the wool inside -visible at the edge in front and at the bottom of the skirt. On his -shoulders were tin stars—he was a captain in Zorogoff’s army. From the -skirt of his coat on one side hung the toe of a heavy saber-scabbard. - -The captain stepped into the room after a sharp glance at Katerin and -her father. Then he looked about the room suspiciously, and having made -sure that no others were present, he bowed politely, at the same time -clicking the spurred heels of his black boots. - -“You are Kirsakoff,” said the officer abruptly. “I am Captain Shimilin, -and I have come from the Ataman Zorogoff.” - -Michael, his hand on the hilt of his saber, sitting erect, turned his -head and surveyed the Cossack coldly. Finally, he said, “Captain, you -are speaking to General Kirsakoff.” - -Shimilin shrugged his shoulders, and a smile lurked on his lips. “You -were once a general—but the Czar is dead. I do not have to be told who -you are, Kirsakoff.” - -“Oh, you have heard of the Czar!” said Katerin. - -Shimilin stared at her, and then took off his cap. He seemed willing to -ignore her irony, but his look conveyed an appreciation of her beauty, -and he allowed his eyes to linger upon her. But there was no disrespect -in his manner. - -Katerin met his steady gaze without any indication that the Cossack -captain’s scrutiny meant anything more than the usual deference and -adulation due her person and position as in the old days. She made a -pretty picture, standing beside her father—the superb carriage of her -head, the slashes of red velvet of her sleeves, the gray of the sable -coat and the swirl of the red trailing skirt about her feet. She -suggested a queenly consort at an audience by royalty. - -Shimilin stood as if waiting for something to happen. In a short time -two men came in with rifles. Their faces were rotund, their noses short -and flat, and they were dark enough to be full-blood Mongols—Buriats, -these were, descendants of the men who had followed Genghis Khan as his -conquering hordes swept over Asia. They were poorly dressed in ragged, -old coats, with boots reinforced with skins and furs wrapped about their -tops. But they wore the high caps of Cossacks, which made them appear to -be taller than they really were. This pair appraised the contents of the -room, and having judged the value of its visible loot, turned their -beadlike eyes upon Katerin—eyes full of menace, eyes like the eyes of -wolves upon a quarry. - -“Have you come with a message from the Ataman?” asked Katerin, when she -saw that the Cossack did not seem to know how to proceed with his -business. She wanted to hold the situation in her own hands as well as -she could, and so far she felt that Shimilin had not shown himself to be -particularly dangerous. She did not intend to betray to him that she and -her father were in any way perturbed by an informal call on the part of -soldiers from the Ataman Zorogoff. To show fear would be fatal and only -her wits could save her. - -The Cossack did not reply at once, but strode across the room, threw off -his greatcoat, and sat down on a bench opposite Michael. Shimilin seemed -in no hurry, but acted as if he wished to impress father and daughter -with his own importance as expressed in his uniform. He wore a gray -tunic with gold shoulder straps, a brace of pistols in his belt, a fine -saber with a hilt of silver, and blue riding breeches. - -“Yes, I bring a message from the Ataman,” he began, elbows on knees, and -leaning forward and staring at the floor. “You know, of course, that the -Ataman’s army has been protecting the city from looters.” - -“Beggars are always safe from robbers,” said Michael. - -Shimilin lifted his head and looked at the general in surprise. - -“Beggars! I like a joke, Kirsakoff.” - -“It is no joke being a beggar,” put in Katerin. - -“You have millions of rubles,” said Shimilin. - -“It is easy to count the money in the pockets of other people,” said -Katerin. “We were robbed of all we had long before the Ataman Zorogoff -began to rule.” - -Shimilin’s face took on a sly look. “Is it that you do not like the -Ataman Zorogoff? Are you opposed to his rule?” - -“I suppose Zorogoff would give up his power if we said we preferred -another ruler,” retorted Katerin. “If you came here to trick us into -saying anything against Zorogoff, it will not be said. And it takes -little of your breath to talk of millions of rubles. Does the Ataman -expect us to hand over to him a fortune which does not exist?” - -“You talk like all the others,” said Shimilin wearily. “Partridges are -killed with silver bullets—and so are robbers. An army cannot live on -air. The Ataman needs money.” - -“Protection from bandits! What difference does it make whether bandits -and looters take our money, or Zorogoff?” asked Michael sharply. “If we -had the money—what would it matter to us who got it if we lost it?” - -“The Ataman asks a loan,” said Shimilin. “His government will repay you. -Am I to tell the Ataman that you regard him as a robber?” - -“We have but a few rubles,” said Katerin hastily, to prevent her father -from saying something which would draw the wrath of the captain, for the -old man was showing his anger and was ready to defy Shimilin. “It is all -the money we have left.” - -“How much?” asked Shimilin. - -“Probably ten thousand rubles,” said Katerin. “I have not counted it -lately, but it is all we have to buy our food. What shall we eat if you -take it?” - -Shimilin smiled. “That is not my problem. You can find more money, or -borrow. But we know you have plenty. Ten thousand rubles will not -satisfy the Ataman. I will take it, but only with the understanding that -it is mine—to intercede with the Ataman for you. You might find it -difficult to argue with his soldiers—in his military prison.” - -Katerin shrugged her shoulders. “True. If the Ataman should want to send -us to prison, we could not prevent him. At least, he would have to feed -us there.” - -“And is that the way Zorogoff will protect us from robbers?” demanded -Michael. “If we have no more money, we must go to prison, eh! And that -is what Zorogoff calls ruling, I presume. Hah!” - -Katerin went behind the screen which shielded her bed and returned with -a large lacquered cabinet. She opened it and took out several packets of -rubles of the old Imperial issue. - -“This is our fortune,” she said, with a gesture at the casket, and -turned away. - -“Do you expect the Ataman to believe that?” asked Shimilin, as he stood -up and looked into the casket. - -“I cannot do the Ataman’s thinking,” she retorted. “I do not give it—you -must take it.” - -Shimilin got into his greatcoat, and leisurely stuffed his pockets with -the packets. When he had taken the last, he bowed to the glowering -Michael in a show of politeness. - -“I will do what I can with the Ataman in your behalf,” he said. “But I -doubt if I will be able to alter his intentions toward you—and I am sure -that we shall meet again.” - -And Shimilin made a gesture to his two soldiers, walked through the -door, and the trio clumped down the stairs. - -“This means war with the Ataman,” said Michael, as they heard the gate -creak on its ancient hinges as their visitors went into the street. -“Before prison, we shall take the poison together, my daughter.” - -“We shall not die by our own hands till the last minute,” said Katerin. -“We must pray that the Americans will come.” - -“If they come at all it will be too late,” said Michael. “We, who have -conquered Asia, will be destroyed by Asia—we shall be lost in a yellow -flood. The Mongol rules now.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICER - - -AN American army transport came lurching out of the Japanese sea, and, -following the lead of a gray and gaunt destroyer which had come out to -meet the troopship, she swung slowly into the Gulf of Peter the Great. - -The cliffs of the shore line of Siberia looked bleak and wind-whipped, -desolate and snow-slashed. The first blasts of winter had swept the -land. Brown and dull it looked, sullenly waiting the onset of northern -winds with smothering cold from the Pole. - -The transport seemed reluctant to approach the shore of such an -inhospitable land. Her gray war-painted sides were festooned with -sea-grime from the Pacific. Her pace was slow, as if she mistrusted the -hills overhanging Vladivostok. She was all for caution, though the -tumbling destroyer drove ahead of her like a terrier leading the way for -a suspicious mastiff. - -Among the officers crowding the upper deck of the transport was a young -man wearing single silver bars on the shoulders of his khaki tunic. On -his collar were little circles of bronze enclosing eagles fashioned from -the same metal. To those who understood such things, they proclaimed him -to be a First Lieutenant of the Intelligence Division of the General -Staff of the United States Army. - -Lieutenant Gordon was a sturdy chap, of good height. His cleanly shaven -face was inclined to ruddiness. His chin was generously molded, his jaw -had a squat squareness to it which gave the lower half of his face a -suggestion of grimness, but the good-natured twinkle of his blue eyes -belied this grimness. Still, he was reserved—perhaps too serious for one -of his age, too moodily self-contained. - -He had kept to himself a good deal on the passage of the transport from -San Francisco. While others of his age had been romping the decks and -singing and making gay, he had clung to his cabin. He said that he was -studying Russian. - -When the transport began to draw near to the coast of Siberia, Gordon -had stood nearly all day alone in a sheltered nook at the head of the -upper deck where the shrouds came down to the rail and prevented more -than one person’s getting into the corner. He seemed always to gravitate -to spots in the ship which would insure his being alone or cut off in -some way from the crowds. Then he would stand motionless, gazing out -over the bows to the horizon ahead, busy with his own thoughts. - -Yet for all his aloofness, Lieutenant Gordon was an affable chap. And he -was keenly interested in all things Russian—showed a most laudable -ambition to learn all he possibly could about the country in which he -was to serve. There was a captain at Gordon’s table who had a cabin full -of books about Russia, and Gordon listened most attentively to the -informal lectures by the well-read captain. - -And there was a major who had been military attaché in Petrograd. He -spoke Russian well, and gave lessons in the language to the other -officers. Gordon attended some of the lessons, but his progress in -learning the language was distressingly slow. Still, Gordon did -extremely well at times. One day the major had asked the class to repeat -a Russian sentence. Gordon was the only one to repeat the words with -anything approaching correctness. - -“Splendid!” exclaimed the major enthusiastically. - -“You are getting a good accent. That’s really excellent, Mr. Gordon. And -somehow you resemble Russians—if it were not for your uniform, you might -easily be taken for a Russian.” - -The class laughed. Gordon reddened. When he was asked to repeat another -sentence in Russian, he rather bungled it. And that day he quit the -Russian class, saying that he could learn faster alone with his grammar. -And he kept more to himself after that. - -So no one thought it strange that Lieutenant Gordon preferred to stand -by himself at the head of the upper deck as the transport was nosing -into the harbor of Vladivostok. He scanned the islands sliding past, and -he watched the boat which came out flying the white and blue flag of the -Czar’s navy—the old Cross of St. Andrew. He watched the shattered hulks -of the navy of the Second Nicholas, lying in on the beach like the bones -of dead sea birds. And he saw the warships of Britain, of France, of -Japan, of the United States, all spick and span at anchor below the -city. - -Many strange flags flew from the tops of buildings on the terraced -streets over the bay. The green spires of churches glistened in the -afternoon sun. Soon the gashes running down to the water were seen to be -streets with people moving in them—carriages, motor cars, and hurrying -throngs of civilians and soldiers. - -On the hills above the city was a queer fringe of flat white piles, some -of them sheeted with canvas. These were vast stores of things gathered -to the port from all the world for the war against Germany—acres of -goods and metals, all idle and wasting because the throne of the -Romanoffs had toppled and the Czar himself was dead in a well. - -The transport moved up to a dock at the end of the bay, past the city. -Gordon stood in his nook, watching Vladivostok pass in review before -him, and listening to the comments of the other officers who crowded the -upper deck for their first sight of this far port of a shattered -dynasty. - -As the troopship warped in, Russians in belted blouses and great boots -stood on the dock and stared up at the ship and its soldiers in khaki -from a distant land. These Russians loafed and gossiped and ate -sunflower seeds. Cossack soldiers in high woolly caps swaggered about -with sabers jingling at their sides. German prisoners of war labored -with heavy cases. These men were still clad in the dirty finery of gaudy -uniforms, sorry-looking specimens of what had been once smart soldiers. -Shaggy horses in rude wagons, driven by peasant girls with shawls over -their heads and wearing men’s heavy boots, did the work of strong men -with sacks and bales, loading the carts. The Russians could find nothing -else to do but gossip. - -Gordon watched the people on the dock with interest. When the hawsers -were fast to the pier, he left the deck and went to his cabin. There, -alone, he loaded his automatic pistol. He filled extra magazines with -the blunt-nosed bullets, and distributed the magazines through his -pockets in such way that they would not be noticeable through the fabric -of his garments. - -He looked at himself in the mirror on the bulkhead. His face had -increased its grimness, and the blue of his eyes had taken on a steely -sheen. He seemed to be angry about something. But he forced a smile at -himself—a tight-lipped smile of satisfaction. - -“Speed is good for nothing but catching fleas,” he whispered to his -image in the glass. - -Soon an orderly came to tell him that an automobile waited on the dock -to take all officers who had to report direct to Headquarters to the -building in the city where the Commanding General and his staff were -housed. Gordon followed the orderly, and stepping from the end of the -gangplank, saluted the land. - -The car bumped away up the street with a group of officers. Gordon was -silent, while the others chattered. The water-front streets were muddy -and unpaved. Squalid buildings with crude signs in Russian announced -that within many of the buildings might be had tea and food and liquors. -Pigs were loose in the streets, scratching themselves amiably on -house-corners. Old Russian songs were being bawled from lusty throats of -roisterers inside the _kabaks_. Russians wandered about aimlessly, -staring at all the strange things which had come to Siberia—the American -army mules, the motor cycles whizzing about among the pigs and wagons, -and the honking car with the party of American officers. - -Everybody seemed on holiday but the Chinese. They trotted about with -burdens on their backs, working like ants, apparently unaware that -freedom had come to Russia and that no one need work. Military motors -were shooting about in all directions, dilapidated trolley cars packed -with humanity creaked over bad rails, droshkies careened crazily among -the burden-bearing Chinese coolies. - -The car carrying Gordon rolled into the Svetlanskaya, the main street of -Vladivostok, and began to climb one of the many hills. There was a great -stream of confused traffic, and mixed in it were strange men in -uniforms—black Annamites in French blue, yellow Japanese in buff, -bronzed Czechs in brown, Cossacks in natural gray; Canadians in brown -short coats, and Americans in snuff-colored khaki. On them all were the -musty odors and the ancient dust of Asia. - -The city was a place of swarming tangles of people—beggars and princes, -vagabonds and viceroys, generals and stragglers, friends and enemies, -conquerors and conquered, all whirling about in mad antics and hurrying -as if they expected the end of the world to come with sundown. Refugees -from the interior carrying their few poor possessions in old blankets -mingled with nobles of the old régime who still tried to keep up a -semblance of importance; poor women in rags with frightened red eyes and -crying children clustered about them stood on the curbs and stared at -foreign-looking ladies lolling in carriages and clad in suspicious -grandeur. The human parasites had gathered from all the ports of the -Orient to this land where people were starving in the streets. -Adventurers seeking command and harpies hoping to get their fingers into -stolen jewels, pushed aside blind beggars to get into the cafés. - -The crisp cold air of winter was seething with joy. There were flags -everywhere. The restaurants were crowded with people who lacked -lodgings, gabbling, whispering, gaming. But there was something sinister -lurking in the background of the mad show, glimpsed now and then in a -squad of soldiers with bayonets fixed to their rifles and marching from -some mysterious place to some other mysterious place with an attitude of -deadly earnestness. The temper of the people was fickle. They were ready -to rally to any leader who presented some dramatic ideal, or to submit -to any ruler who was strong enough to subdue them by force of arms. But -just now they were occupied with having a grand celebration and believed -that life from now on would be nothing but a carnival. - -The car carrying Gordon and the other officers arrived at the big -building overlooking the bay where flew the flag of the United -States—American Staff Headquarters. Gordon found the Chief of -Intelligence in a large room filled with map-makers, translators, -clerks, officers, busy orderlies. But Gordon did not approach the desk -of his chief at once. The grave-faced colonel with spectacles was busy -just then, and Gordon lingered among the office workers. There was a -great buzzing of conversation and a mighty clacking of typewriters. - -Gordon was keenly interested in everything. The walls were covered with -maps of the Russian empire stuck full of tacks with colored heads—the -fever spots of a sick nation, showing where the disease was most rampant -and dangerous. And Gordon listened to the talk of the Russians, who -discussed the Americans frankly, knowing that they were not understood -by the strangers. - -In time Gordon presented himself at the colonel’s desk, saluted, gave -his name, and turned over certain papers. The colonel looked him over -casually, not especially interested that another Intelligence officer -had been added to his staff by Washington. - -“You’ll want to look about the city, Mr. Gordon, after your month in a -transport. You’ll be quartered in this building. Report to me again in -the morning,” said the colonel. - -So Lieutenant Gordon spent the afternoon in the teeming cafés along the -Svetlanskaya. He mingled with the various factions scattered through the -city—monarchists, anarchists, nihilists out of a job, German secret -agents, and the adherents of new men and new parties intriguing for -power with the next throw of the national dice. It was all a great orgy -of talking and whispering and singing. Gordon could make neither head -nor tail of it. But he watched the throngs closely. Every man got a -scrutiny from the American lieutenant. An observer might think that -Gordon was looking for some particular person in all that motley throng. - -At the officers’ mess that evening Gordon overheard a conversation in -which the necessity of sending an Intelligence officer to Irkutsk was -discussed. And Gordon was on the alert at once. He said nothing, but he -watched the Chief of Intelligence up at the head of the table and -followed him from the mess-room to his desk upstairs. - -“Sir,” began Gordon, “I understand that an officer will be sent up -toward Lake Baikal—Irkutsk—to look into the situation there.” - -The colonel looked at Gordon wonderingly. It struck the chief that this -new arrival was dipping into things rather hastily. There was enough to -learn around Vladivostok for a stranger, thought the colonel. - -“Yes, it has been mentioned,” said the colonel. “We need an observing -officer up there. That country is controlled now by Zorogoff, the Ataman -of the Cossacks, and we don’t know any too much about Zorogoff. What do -you know about him?” - -“Nothing, sir. But I would like to—see the country.” - -“You ought to have a little more time to get acquainted with the -situation here before you go into the interior. The Baikal region is a -long way from here.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Gordon. “I don’t want to appear too confident of my own -abilities, but it strikes me, sir, that the back country explains what -is going on here, rather than what you see here explains the country.” - -The colonel smiled. “You like to travel, young man.” - -“Yes, sir. Frankly, I’d like to see all I can.” - -“Have you been assigned to any duty here yet?” - -“No, sir. Perhaps when I got back from the Baikal region I’d be more -valuable—have a better understanding of the situation as a whole.” - -“I’ll think it over,” said the colonel, and reached for his ringing -telephone. - -And the colonel evidently did think it over, for within an hour -Lieutenant Gordon was handed his orders to leave at once for Irkutsk in -a train carrying Czech soldiers and supplies toward Omsk and that place -known so vaguely as “the front.” And an American soldier who was a -native of Russia was detailed to accompany Lieutenant Gordon as an -orderly and interpreter. - -Gordon did not delay. He went at once to the Trans-Siberian station to -find his train, leaving the Russian orderly to bring on baggage and -bedding-roll. Gordon found the station filled to overflowing with -refugees from the interior—sick and well, women and children, lame and -blind, hungry and unclean. They lay on the floors, cooking and eating, -begging and filching food wherever they could find it. They were like a -dirty froth thrown up on a beach after a tidal wave, a pitiful human -wreckage fighting for existence after having survived a typhoon which -had destroyed a nation. The sights, the smells, the misery were -appalling. It almost made Gordon ill. He longed to find some one person -who could be blamed for it. A wrath began to grow in his soul. - -He stumbled down the railroad yards in the growing dark, seeking the -train among a labyrinth of box cars. Though he was already in his furs -and his sheepskin-lined coat against the wolf of winter which was -howling across the landscape, the wind from the bay chilled him to his -bones. - -Candles gleaming through the windows of an old fourth-class car drew -him. He found soldiers within—Czechs cooking their supper of stew over -crude heating stoves amid clouds of yellow sulphurous smoke from the -awful Manchurian coal. - -The interior of the car was so jammed with men that there seemed to be -no more room. The shelves were full of soldiers, and the floor was -littered with coal and wood and boxes and bundles. It was like a pen on -wheels, that car. It was filthy, battered, and broken. But it belonged -to the train leaving for the front, and Gordon was content. - -Presently the orderly came, laden with baggage. He explained to the -Czechs that the American officer was to travel in that car by order of -the Czech commandant. The soldiers smiled and provided two shelves. And -in a few minutes the train began to grind slowly away from Vladivostok, -to carry Lieutenant Gordon and his orderly some two thousand versts -away. - -They reached Nikolsk-Ussurisk the next morning. An American captain came -to the train. His orderly had been sent back to Vladivostok, ill. The -captain was without an interpreter. - -“Look here,” said Gordon. “You can’t go on here without an -interpreter—and I’ll not need mine till I get to Irkutsk. You’ll have a -new interpreter sent up to you by that time. I’m all right on this -train—for a week or two. Send mine along to me when I telegraph where I -am.” - -“Well, that’s an idea!” said the captain. “A most pious idea! Perhaps I -can send your man along after you in a couple of days. He can catch this -train all right, on a passenger train.” - -“Hold my man, sir, till you hear from me,” said Gordon. “I’ll wire when -I need him. There is a Czech in this car who speaks fairly good English. -I’ll get on all right.” - -“Now that’s mighty decent of you,” said the captain. “What’s your -name—so there won’t be any hitch about sending your man on?” - -“Gordon, sir—Peter Gordon.” And the train rumbled on, leaving behind the -native of Russia who had been detailed as interpreter for Lieutenant -Peter Gordon. - -The railroad followed old caravan trails into Manchuria and Mongolia, -over plains and up through mountains in which yellow _bonzes_ hid -themselves from the world on sky-kissing peaks in secret monasteries. -Then, winding down through the passes, the train traversed the millet -plains where the conquerors of ancient Tartary and China recruited their -hordes of warriors—and on into the wilderness of Siberia where wolves -still ruled. - -The land was now held in the grip of a desperate cold. The wheels whined -as they ground along on frosty rails. Bridges lay in ruins across -rivers, replaced by shaky structures of logs that swayed and groaned -under the weight of the train. - -And at every station Peter found mobs of refugees fighting to get aboard -anything that moved. Some were trying to get to Vladivostok, some wanted -to go in the opposite direction to Perm, or Ufa, or Samara. They wanted -to get anywhere but where they were. Long strings of box cars in the -sidings were packed with men, women, and children, ragged, filthy, -hungry, dying, dead. Those alive threshed grain by hand from the rotting -piles in the fields, or fished in the rivers with wooden spears. And -there were trains coming back from the front filled with human -derelicts—in cattle cars festooned with crimson icicles! - -Yet the people seemed patient in their misery. They waited patiently -while first one faction rose to power only to fall again. And usurpers -gambled for power with bands of brigands which their leaders called -armies. The people had destroyed one government. Now they waited for -some one to create another for them. - -Lieutenant Peter Gordon watched day by day in silence. At times, his -eyes flamed with anger. But he smiled sometimes, too, when he mixed with -peasants in the station restaurants and ate cabbage soup with a wooden -spoon. For the peasants had many queer and amusing things to say about -the _Americansky_ after they had assured themselves that the stranger -could speak but a few words of Russian, and understood less. But Peter -understood enough to know that these peasants were not at all friendly -to officers, no matter what country they came from. They wanted no -aristocrats in Siberia, American or otherwise. They were going to kill -all the aristocrats, and be free men. They were not going to leave all -the land to aristocrats, and pay taxes so that their rulers could make -slaves of them. Not any more. - -One evening Peter strolled up toward the engine while the train was -stopped in a station. - -“When will we get to Chita?” he asked the engineer. - -“Perhaps to-morrow.” - -“Are you sure we won’t go through Chita sometime to-night?” - -“No, not to-night. Not till long after daylight.” - -“Thank you,” said Peter, and walked away. The Russian engineer stared -after the American officer in bewildered surprise, for the American -officer was speaking in perfect Russian. There was something queer about -it, the engineer knew—but, of course, Americans are educated and speak -all languages. Still, that was the first one the engineer had ever heard -who could speak the Czar’s Russian—as good as the conductor. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - THE FIRING SQUAD - - -AFTER Captain Shimilin’s demand for a million rubles for the Ataman -Zorogoff, Katerin and her father knew that they were no longer safe. -They had a fortune hidden in the old log house. It consisted of packets -of Imperial rubles which had been smuggled from Kirsakoff’s bank before -the looters had begun their raids in the city. The soldiers would come -now and strip the house of all its contents to find the money. And if -they did find the money, Michael and Katerin would be accused of -opposing Zorogoff’s government and dealt with as many of the friends of -the Kirsakoffs had already been dealt with—a secret firing squad in a -prison yard at dawn. - -As Michael had said, to surrender the fortune would not mean safety. -Others had done that, only to be destroyed so that no embarrassing -claims might be made against Zorogoff in the future. Zorogoff was but a -brigand chief, maintaining an army at the expense of the wealthy people -in his district and using the peasants and former workmen to build up -his new autocracy—destroy the aristocrats with the workers and then -enslave the workers who had done the business for him. Thus he played -the poor against the rich and controlled both. And it was his purpose to -leave none living who understood his aims. - -In Michael’s room there was a stove of tile built into the wall. It -reached to the ceiling, and stuck out into the room like the half of a -supporting pillar—a great black column faced with blackened zinc sheets -of half-cylinders. At the bottom was a small iron door to admit the -wood, with a circular damper through which the flames might be seen when -there was fire in the stove. But the Kirsakoffs did not use this stove. -They used their scant supply of fuel in the stove in Katerin’s room, not -only to conserve their heat in the most comfortable room, but to reduce -the amount of smoke visible from the chimneys outside during the day. - -The stove in Michael’s room had been selected as the hiding place for -the Imperial notes which had been smuggled from the bank weeks before. -It was Katerin’s idea that the packets could be stacked against the -tiles on the outside of the stove, and the sheets of zinc replaced. And -unless a fire was maintained in the stove for a time long enough to heat -the tiles to the danger point, the paper money would not be injured. If -the Cossacks came to search for the money, she planned to light a -smoldering fire in the stove. And by night, a couple of candles in -behind some pieces of charred wood, would throw out light through the -damper so that it would appear that the stove was burning. - -The packets of rubles were now concealed in a lot of discarded peasants’ -clothing. The various garments had been distributed through the house, -but Katerin had gathered them in her father’s room, and was ripping them -open, while Michael was preparing the stove for the money by removing -the zinc facing against the tiles. - -It was the evening of the day on which Shimilin had visited them. -Katerin was ripping open old gray coats which smelled of stables and -were covered with patches, breeches contrived out of cloth and the old -skins of animals, uncouth jerkins which had originally been padded with -cotton against the cold of many long-gone Siberian winters. - -The windows were blanketed to keep the candlelight from being seen in -the street below, and father and daughter talked in low tones as they -worked, while Wassili and the old woman below in the kitchen kept a -sharp watch against intruders. - -Michael stood on a bench and worked out the screws which held the zinc -plates in place against the wall. It was now so cold in the room that -his breath showed white in the light of the candles, for they had let -the fire in his room die early, and the door to Katerin’s room was kept -closed so that the heat might not escape from it. - -“Be careful lest the metal sheets fall and make a clatter,” warned -Katerin as she stripped open an old coat, and released a shower of -packets of rubles of large denomination, from which the face of the dead -Czar smiled up at her wistfully from the engraving. The rubles made a -colorful pile at her feet—blues, crimsons, and yellows, some worth a -hundred rubles, some worth a thousand. - -“Now!” said Michael, as he lifted off the top plate. “We are ready for -the hiding—and my back is nearly broken, too. May Zorogoff break his -neck if he ever finds where it is hidden!” - -Katerin got to her feet and looked up at the rude clay tiles and the -stone blocks mortared in behind them. The fire did not touch the -tiles—they merely retained the heat and radiated it slowly into the -room. And between the stone blocks and the tiles there was an air space, -wider in some places than in others, so that the thickness of the -packets of money would have to be gauged for the crevices they were to -fill. - -Katerin began filling the spaces under the zinc plates above the stove -door. Then the plate above was put into place, and the aperture behind -it packed with money. They worked more than an hour before they had -disposed of the bulk of the packets. They could hear the calling of the -sentries in the streets. At times Michael and Katerin stopped and -listened to the cracking of the frost in the timbers of the house, and -once they put out the candles when they thought they heard the gate to -the courtyard being opened cautiously. But the noise proved to be but a -whim of the wind with the boards hanging loosely from the roof of the -old wagon-shed. - -When all the zinc plates were back in place, Katerin took a piece of -candle, and putting charred sticks of wood back into the stove, she so -arranged the candle that when she lighted the wick and closed the iron -door, a flickering light appeared through the holes in the door. - -“We have a fire in the stove,” she said to her father. “Who is to look -for paper rubles in a burning stove? When the soldiers come to search, -you have a fire going in an instant. And the wood can burn and not harm -the rubles.” - -“We could not do better,” said Michael. “Your wits will save us yet. And -that money is all that stands between you and beggary—even I, alive, -without the fortune, could not save you from hunger and cold. There is -your treasure! It must be saved to you, my daughter, at all cost.” - -“I care only for you, my father,” said Katerin. “And now you are tired -and worn—to bed, for we must keep our strength and have our sleep, even -though disaster crouches in the future.” - -She kissed him, and went to her own room to get behind the blankets -which curtained the window and to blow a tiny hole in the frost coating -the pane. Outside, the night was brilliant, with a haloed moon throwing -a silvery sheen over the glistening plains, with a tree here and there -doubly black from its shadow on the powdery snow. Out in the end of the -street the fire of the sentries was burning redly. It threw into heavy -relief the black forms squatting about the glowing coals. - -“Merciful God!” she whispered in prayer. “Are we to be saved? Help must -come to us, or we perish!” - -She closed the blankets and went back to her father’s room. She made -sure that he was properly covered, kissed him tenderly, and took away -the candle, for she had known him to lie all night smoking cigarettes -till the dawn by candle light. - -In her own room once more, she prayed before the icon, and prepared for -bed. Worn out with the worry of the day and anxiety for what the new day -might bring, she finally fell asleep. - -But the next day came and went without any word or sign from the Ataman -that he was dissatisfied with the report of Captain Shimilin. Several -days passed, and still there was nothing to indicate that Zorogoff would -annoy them again. Michael began to have hopes that something would -happen which might distract the attention of the usurper from them. But -every hour they lived in expectation of another visit from Captain -Shimilin—and no news came that the American troops were moving up the -railroad to give protection to the people. - -Michael seemed to grow weaker as time passed. He fretted under the -restraint of what was practically imprisonment. He worried constantly -about the future for Katerin’s sake. He devised many a scheme by which -they were to escape from the city, only to abandon each one when Wassili -returned from buying food in the market and reported that Zorogoff’s -soldiers were guarding every outlet from Chita. - -Among other plans, Michael had thought of getting a droshky or a sledge -and attempting to dash through fog or darkness, down the line of the -railroad to the Manchurian border. He thought it might be possible to -get into some Manchurian city, or to board a train bound toward -Vladivostok at some point along the railroad which was outside the zone -controlled by Zorogoff. - -But while it might be possible to get through the cordons of Cossacks -around the city, either by eluding them or bribing them, Michael knew -that he might be betrayed before leaving the house at all. To carry out -such a plan, it would be necessary to take a droshky driver into -confidence, and though he might accept a large sum in payment, he might -also betray Michael. For Zorogoff’s spies were everywhere. - -Then it was that Captain Shimilin returned to the house where the -Kirsakoffs were concealed. His soldiers came pounding at the gate of the -courtyard one day just before noon, and the Cossack captain once more -faced Michael and Katerin in the room with the blue carpet, the silver -samovar, and the battered candelabra. - -Shimilin was frankly arrogant now, and he looked at Katerin with an air -of bold assurance that, no matter what she might say, it would be of no -avail to her. His pair of Mongol soldiers came with him, their eyes -hungrier than ever for the things in the room. Katerin involuntarily -pulled her sable coat closer about her when she saw the greedy gaze of -the precious pair upon it. She had decided to be outwardly gracious as -long as she could. But she was ready to stand out against the demands of -the Ataman, as expressed by Shimilin, as long as she could, and then -abide by the consequences. - -Shimilin entered without a word, threw off his coat, and lighted a -cigarette. It was plain that his course of action was settled, and that -he knew perfectly what he would do from first to last. And his air -indicated that he would stand no trifling. - -Michael sat by the table. He had been playing at solitaire when Shimilin -arrived, and the cards were still spread out on the board. Katerin had -agreed with her father that she should handle the situation, for the old -man might be trapped by Shimilin into saying something which would be -used by the Cossack as an excuse for arresting the old general. Zorogoff -had his own methods for giving a tinge of legitimacy to his unwarranted -actions and justifying himself in the eyes of his soldiers. And Shimilin -knew what Zorogoff demanded now. - -“And what have you come for this time?” asked Katerin, as Shimilin -continued to sit silently and smoke his cigarette. - -“The Ataman will take no more excuses,” said Shimilin. “I talked with -him about you and your father, but he would heed neither me nor your -protests that you have no money for him.” - -“You mean that the Ataman expects us to provide a fortune for him? And -that having taken all we possess, you come back wanting more money?” -demanded Katerin. - -“That is what I have come for. I am sorry that I have to put you to the -trouble, but——” - -“Perhaps if I should talk to Zorogoff,” suggested Katerin. - -“You can only talk to the Ataman with money,” said Shimilin. He spoke -without belligerency, almost apologetically, yet there was no doubt that -he was completely in earnest. - -“My answer to that—I am dumb,” said Katerin. She sat down near her -father, and folded her hands in an attitude of helpless resignation. - -“You know of some of the things that have happened here since the Ataman -began to rule,” replied Shimilin. “I can tell you that the dumb have -been made to speak for Zorogoff. This is a matter that you would do well -to consider with great care.” - -Michael picked up one of the cards before him, and resumed his game, as -if what was being said held no interest for him. - -Katerin leaned forward from the bench and looked into the black eyes of -the Cossack. - -“This is a matter that I have considered,” she said slowly. “I have -given thought to it much longer than you suppose—and I have considered -that you, who are a Cossack, might even kill Russians by order of a -Mongol chief. I am wondering if you have thought of that, Captain -Shimilin, and——” - -Shimilin sprang to his feet, his face flushed and his eyes menacing. - -“Take care what you say about the Ataman!” - -Katerin smiled. - -“Oh, yes,” she said. “I also understand what you seek. It is to have it -to say that we insult the Ataman. If calling him a Mongol is an insult, -that is his affair—we only speak the truth, and if the truth be against -him as he sees it and he resents it, we have nothing to do with that. I -am not making little of him for his blood or his race. There have been -many great men among his people, and he is of royal line. But it is to -you, Captain Shimilin, that I am speaking. My father and I have always -been friends of the Cossacks. Now you put a Mongol into power here. Do -you expect him to give you what we Russians have always given you? The -rank of free men? Even our Czar was Ataman of all the Cossacks. Have you -not learned to rule in your own way?” - -As Katerin went on, her confidence grew. She saw that there was shame as -well as anger in Shimilin. - -“We Cossacks held up the throne on the ends of our lances,” said -Shimilin doggedly. “We have our own master now, and we ask no advice -from you or your father.” - -“Your own master?” Asked Katerin with gentle irony. “If you are your own -masters—why not a Cossack?” - -“This is our country, and we shall rule it as we wish.” - -“As you wish now? And how long before the Mongol will be ready to -dispense with Cossack lances and turn your country, as you call it now, -over to those who are closer to him in blood?” - -“You forget,” raged Shimilin, “that the Ataman protects you—and that you -must give him help with money, as there is none in your family who can -aid him with a sword!” - -“Tribute or death!” cried Katerin. “Is that protection? And if a Russian -cannot pay, the Mongol gets a Cossack to kill us! Do you think that if I -could wear a sword I would take service under Zorogoff at those -terms—and help to destroy my own race?” - -“Your father ruled here with the help of Cossacks,” retorted Shimilin. -“We paid for the bread of majesty with our lives and our service—and -killing Russians is no new business for us—eh, Michael Kirsakoff? How of -that, old one? Did we not get well schooled in killing Russians in your -time?” - -“True!” cried Michael, turning to look at Shimilin. “But you were in the -service of Russians. Think well of that. And those you killed broke the -law, or had killed in their own turn, with their hand lifted against -their fellow Russians or against the throne. The law is the law and -justice is justice. Men are not all just, as we were not always just. -But what law have we broken here in this house against your Ataman, that -you should threaten us because we have no fortune?” - -Shimilin gave no reply. - -“Do you see no difference between the Czar and a Mongol princeling?” -asked Katerin. - -Shimilin turned to his soldiers. “Wait outside for me,” he commanded -with a gesture of dismissal. “I will call you when you are needed.” - -The two men with rifles went outside and closed the door behind them. - -Shimilin sat down again in an effort to compose himself. “I did not wish -my men to hear the Ataman insulted,” he began. “I have come here by -order of Zorogoff to take your money—all of it. It is only to be a loan -and you will lose nothing in the end. This is my advice—give your money -to me. I will promise you safety.” - -He was frankly conciliatory. It appeared that he wished to cover his -chagrin over what Katerin and her father had said and to put himself in -a better light with them by a tacit agreement with them that he had no -stomach for the business. - -“And if we had money and we gave it,” said Katerin, “how do we know that -we would not be destroyed to hide the debt, as has happened to others?” - -“Then it is that you do not trust Zorogoff,” said Shimilin. - -Katerin laughed lightly. “Those who have trusted him are dead. He has -taken fortunes before—and then the firing squad. What need has he to -destroy us? We should be safe because we are poor.” - -Shimilin glanced at the door. He leaned forward and whispered, “Then -trust me. Turn over your money to me—and I promise safety. On my word as -a Cossack! Come!” - -Michael turned quickly and looked at Shimilin in surprise, but Katerin -gave her father a glance of caution. She suspected that Shimilin was -trying to trap them. - -“You must trust us, Captain Shimilin. We have no fortune for Zorogoff or -any other man.” - -Shimilin scowled in disappointment, and seemed to have more to say, but -evidently thought better of it. - -“You will have a glass of tea with us,” said Michael. “My house is poor, -but no man goes from it without——” - -“No!” shouted Shimilin. “I will not have it from you. You do not trust -me!” and he stepped to the door and flung it open. The two soldiers came -back into the room. - -“Kirsakoff, you must go with these men,” said Shimilin. - -“What!” cried Michael. “I am to go? Where am I to go?” - -“Before the Ataman. It is his orders,” said Shimilin quietly, and folded -his arms. - -“Does this mean that my father has been arrested?” gasped Katerin, -staring in horror at the Cossack. - -“Call it what you like,” grunted Shimilin. - -“But arrested for what? For being poor? You mean that my father is to be -taken away by soldiers and no charge is made against him?” pressed -Katerin, now aware that disaster had come. - -“Get ready to go, and say no more, Kirsakoff,” said Shimilin. “I shall -stay here with your daughter.” - -“But I shall go with my father,” insisted Katerin, doing her best to -conceal the agony which possessed her. She knew that if her father were -taken she might never see him again. “Please! I shall go with my father! -Surely, there can be nothing against my going.” - -“Have no fear,” said Shimilin. “Zorogoff wishes to talk with your -father, that is all. No harm will come to him. And I shall see that no -harm comes to you here while we wait. It will be better for you, and -easier for your father if you do not make any trouble about it. You will -only have to submit in the end.” - -“I shall go,” said Michael, rising unsteadily to his feet. “I have no -wish to oppose the Ataman if he desires to talk with me. Come, my -daughter—fetch me my coat and my cap. The sooner this is over, the -sooner we shall know what the Ataman expects of me.” - -Katerin hesitated, scanning the face of Shimilin as if hunting out some -secret motive behind the taking of her father from her. Then with sudden -resolution she went and brought her father’s cap and coat from his room, -and put them on him with loving care. When she had pulled the fur cap -down about the old general’s ears, she threw her arms about his neck and -kissed him, her heart torn with anguish at the parting, but determined -not to give way to her fears and doubts before him. - -“God go with you and may you return to me soon,” she said. “And do not -worry for me, my father.” She smiled at him. - -“And God be with you, Katerin Stephanovna, the brave one,” said Michael. -Then turning to Shimilin, he said, “I am ready to obey your commands and -I submit myself to your soldiers.” - -“Take Michael Kirsakoff to the Ataman,” said Shimilin to his men, and -they fell in on each side of Michael. Between the two, Michael marched -across the room, doing his best to keep his weak old legs from betraying -the unsteadiness of his age. At the door he crossed himself twice, and -turning back, said to Katerin, “Hope is mightier than fear—remember that -you are the daughter of a soldier and that we do not fear death, but -only the loss of honor. Think not of me, but of yourself, and God’s -blessing and mercy upon you.” - -He turned and was gone, leaving Katerin standing with folded arms -staring at the open door through which he had passed. Her face was -white, her lips drawn tightly together. She remained thus, listening to -the footfalls of her father and of the soldiers going down the stairs. -When she could hear them no more, Wassili came up and peered in at the -door, his eyes full of terror, and by his look silently questioning the -truth of the scene he had just witnessed below. - -“See that the doors are properly closed, Wassili,” said Katerin, and the -_moujik_ went below again. She walked to a bench and sat down facing the -stove, partly turned away from Shimilin who stood in the center of the -room. She ignored his presence, but sat watching the flames dancing -inside the stove behind the iron door, her hands gripped together in her -lap. - -Shimilin walked to the window and smoothed away the frost to look into -the courtyard and the street. Soon he turned from the window and looked -at Katerin. - -“You may as well tell me where the money may be found,” he said. “There -is nothing to be gained by keeping it—and much to lose. I gave you your -chance, but you preferred to trust Zorogoff. You would not give it to -me—Zorogoff will take it. Where is the money to be found?” - -“Where?” she asked, speaking as if in a dream, and not looking at him. -“Where is the money to be found? That is a question.” - -“I do not enjoy this business,” said Shimilin, cajolery in his voice. -“If you would trust me——” - -“I trust only in God,” she said. “We trusted the Cossacks and they have -turned against us. We are in your hands.” - -Shimilin walked across the room, passing behind Katerin, and drew a -glass of water from the samovar and poured into it some tea from the pot -on the top of the samovar. He stood examining the things on the table, -drinking the hot tea noisily. - -There came the sharp crack of a board being broken in the courtyard -below. Katerin turned her head in an attitude of listening, startled by -the noise, and conscious that its meaning might hold some import of -terrible significance. She had supposed that her father had gone from -the house with the soldiers. She stood up to go to the window. - -Shimilin stepped quickly in her way. “You are not to look out,” he said -calmly. “All that you are to do is to tell me where the money may be -found. Why do you make all this trouble about it? I tell you it is bad. -You could be happy and gay if you would trust me.” - -“Perhaps you will have another glass of tea,” suggested Katerin. She -returned to the bench and sat down to mask her worry over the noise she -had heard in the court. - -“Do you wish to see your father again?” asked Shimilin. - -Katerin looked at him, unable to conceal the swift terror which struck -at her heart with the Cossack’s words. He returned her look with steady -eyes. - -“I wish to see my father again, if it be God’s will,” she said. - -“Zorogoff is God,” said Shimilin. - -She gave no reply. - -“I warn you—you must submit to Zorogoff’s will.” - -Still she gave no answer. The frost from the upper part of the window -had melted away in the heat of the room, and the ridge of ice across the -bottom of the panes was dripping water to the floor, like the ticking of -a clock. - -Katerin turned to the fire again. Her face was drawn as if she were -crying but her eyes were free from tears and she made no sound. - -There came the sound of dull thuds from the courtyard. Something was -striking frozen ground with regular blows, and soon could be heard the -sharp rasping of metal on stone. - -Katerin moved as if she would get up to look out of the window, but -seeing Shimilin standing in front of her as if he intended to block the -way, she sank back on the bench. Her terror grew as she began to -understand the meaning of the sounds outside. - -“What is that?” she whispered to Shimilin. “Tell me! What is happening?” - -“Come and see for yourself,” said Shimilin, and moved aside so that she -might pass to the window. - -She got up and started to cross so that she might look out. But she had -not gone half the distance, when she stopped at hearing Wassili -screaming below stairs. - -“Mistress! Mistress! The soldiers are——” - -But Wassili’s cries were checked. There were sounds of a scuffle, -followed by harsh warnings from soldiers that the _moujik_ must be -still. - -Katerin ran to the window. As she looked below, she gave a gurgling cry -as if she had been struck in the mouth, and put her hands up to her face -to shut out the sight of what she saw. For below in the courtyard her -father was working with a shovel and throwing up broken, frozen, brown -earth. A soldier was breaking the ground with a pick. And about the -workers stood a large group of soldiers with their rifles, watching -Kirsakoff dig a grave! - -Katerin backed away from the window, sobbing, and threw herself upon a -bench. - -“You submit to Zorogoff or you die—both of you!” said Shimilin. “There -is yet time to save your father.” - -Katerin stood up and faced Shimilin. - -“You have betrayed us!” she cried. “There is no truth in you, you are -not worthy of trust! Death is better than life where there is no honor, -no truth, no faith in any man!” She turned her back upon the Cossack, -and held out her arms to the icon of the Virgin Mother. “Mercy on the -soul that goes to greet you—mercy, mercy, oh Mother of God!” - -A whistle broke shrilly on the cold air outside. Shimilin leaped at -Katerin, and grasping her by the shoulders, swung her round and thrust -her at the window. - -“Look!” he commanded. “If you can be so stubborn! Look, and see if you -still wish to disobey the orders of the Ataman!” - -Katerin saw her father standing with his back to the old wall of the -court and six soldiers before him with their rifles upraised and aimed -at the old general. - -She fell back against Shimilin, half fainting, but recovering herself, -staggered away from the window and fell upon her knees, her head bent -toward the icon, moaning prayers. - -“Your father can be saved,” warned Shimilin. “Would you send him to -execution? Tell me where the money is hidden—or when I lift my hand to -the window, the soldiers will fire!” - -“We are ready for death. I commend my soul and the soul of my father to -God! Better death than life under the cruelty of a Mongol and the -treachery of our Cossacks!” - -“You will not trust me,” said Shimilin. “I could save you both. Fools! I -am ready to risk my own life to save you, yet you will not believe!” He -raised his hand to the window. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - THE PLACE OF THE VOW - - -A NEW conductor boarded the train in the night. He was a big fellow, -with a body round as a bear’s and covered with many coats. He wore a big -sheepskin cap, and carried a smoking lantern which was made of tin and -was square, with a red circular glass in one side, a blue one in the -other, and white ones on opposite sides. He held the lantern aloft and -studied the sleepers on the shelves, making rainbows in the dim light of -the car as he turned his prismatic lantern. - -Snicking the ice from his whiskers, he waited till the train moved out -again, when he promptly lay down in the passage between the -sleeping-shelves and began snoring into the red light of the lantern on -the floor beside him. - -Lieutenant Peter Gordon, who was on a lower shelf, was awake with the -first glimmer of gray light through the frosted windows. And as he -looked out upon the floor of the car, he was startled by the sanguinary -face of the new conductor in the red glow of the lantern as it rattled -with the jolting of the car. Peter studied the queer figure prone on the -floor, and observed the booted feet stretched out toward the cold stove -in the corner. - -Before long the conductor sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned a chasm of -a yawn. He dug into his clothing with a burrowing motion of his arm and -brought forth through many strata of coats a watch fit for a giant. He -put it to his ear, tilting his great cap to one side, and listened to -the ticking. Then he squinted at it in the red light, and having assured -himself that the new day had arrived on time, he buried the watch -somewhere in Pliocene recesses and hove himself to his feet and -attempted to look out of the window. - -There was a remnant of candle stuck to the dirty window-sill by its own -frozen cataract of tallow. The conductor fumbled for a match, struck it, -and lighted the candle. The heat from its flame began to melt a widening -oval in the frost. The jumping flame revealed more of the interior of -the car—rifles hanging to the walls and rattling against the boarding -with every lurch of the train, shoes hung on nails, garments swinging -from the upper shelves, bare feet sticking out from blankets, outlandish -bundles tied with bits of rope and twisted cloths, cartridge belts -toothed with the brass tops of cartridges. And above the complaints of -the laboring train could be heard the snores and sleep-mutterings of the -Czech soldiers—men of an improvised army which had fought its way across -Siberia and was now on the back trail to fight again that their comrades -might be saved from annihilation by treacherous enemies. - -The conductor studied the frozen wilderness through the window. Having -satisfied himself with the landscape, he stared at the cold stove. He -took the big ax which braced the door of the car shut and attacked a -chunk of wood on the floor with crashing blows. With the splinters split -off he started a fire and dumped in slabs of Manchurian coal, which -crackled like a line of musketry and threw out into the car ribbons of -yellow stifling smoke. - -All the sleepers began to cough as the smoke penetrated the car. Soon -there was a chattering and a rattling of mess gear, and some one at the -other end of the car started the other stove—and a counter smoke-screen -against the conductor’s. Another day had begun in the filthy -rabbit-hutch of a car. And the gallant Czechs, content to endure their -Valley Forge of Siberia, chanted the songs of their homeland. - -Peter threw off his blankets and sat up. The conductor smiled at him and -reached Peter’s boots up to him from the floor. - -“The fire will make it warm soon,” he said, not knowing that Peter was -an American officer and not supposed to understand or speak Russian. - -“How soon will we get to Chita, my friend?” asked Peter. - -“To Chita? Oh, soon.” - -“And how soon?” - -“Perhaps half an hour. But you are going to Omsk?” - -“Only to Irkutsk,” said Peter. He broke the ice in his canvas bucket and -washed his face, while the conductor looked on awe-struck at any person -who could be so mad as to wash in ice water. He scanned Peter’s tunic, -which hung from the shelf. - -“Are you Czech?” he asked finally. - -“No, I am an American—an officer.” - -The conductor opened his mouth wide and crossed himself with both hands. - -“But you speak Russian,” he said. “It is not right that you should speak -Russian like a Russian and be an American!” - -“I am really Russian,” said Peter. “But it is that I have been in -America a long time. I came from Petersburg, and now I have come back to -help Russia to be free. Do you know Chita well?” - -“I? Yes, a little. My wife’s cousin died there in the time of the -pestilence. He was a fur-hunter, but he was a stingy. I am not sorry -that he died. He ate much when he came to see us, and never had an extra -kopeck for the children.” - -“Who is the governor of Chita now?” - -The conductor gave a snort of disgust. “How could there be a governor in -this time of freedom? That is the old way. But we are free men now, as -good as anybody. Am I not as good as an officer?” - -“Better,” said Peter. “But there was a governor in the old days. Every -place had a governor for the Czar. You know that as well as I, my -friend.” - -“True, I know it. But what does it matter now? This is not the old -time.” - -“There was a prison in Chita—or was there?” - -“True, there was a prison. A big one on a hill. You shall see it in time -as we come to the city. But it is empty now, and the devil may live in -it for all I care.” - -“I have heard that there was a Colonel Governor in Chita with one eye. -He lost the other in a fight with a tiger, but he killed the tiger.” - -“Poosh!” said the conductor. “That is somebody’s vodka-story. I have -been on the railroad from the time it began, and I never heard of any -Colonel Governor who killed a tiger, or who had one eye. The last -governor at Chita was named Kolessow, and he had a bad leg, not a bad -eye. He ran away when the revolution came. Before that was Kirsakoff, -and I can tell you Kirsakoff had both his eyes. I never saw him—and a -good thing, too, or——” - -“There never was a governor here named Kirsakoff,” said Peter. - -“No!” cried the conductor. “You have been in foreign lands, but you know -more than I about this, do you? I say that there was a governor—Michael -Alexandrovitch, and a general!” - -“Perhaps I am wrong after all. Forgive me. But I had forgotten, because -Kirsakoff went to Odessa.” - -“Perhaps he did. I don’t know,” said the conductor. “Are you looking for -him?” - -“Oh, no,” said Peter. “I am looking for my brother. All I know is that -my brother was in a place where a Colonel Governor with one eye -lived—the fellow who had a fight with a tiger. But it was not Kirsakoff, -surely.” - -“No,” said the conductor. “It could not be he. So you have lost your -brother? It is always the same story. Since we got freedom everybody is -lost. I have not had my pay for six months, and I have seven children -living and my wife is sick. My children cannot eat freedom, but it is -the capitalists who are keeping us poor. In the old days I had a cow. -And now the Americans have come. It is said that they want to steal our -railroad and take our work away from us.” - -“That is a lie,” said Peter. “The Americans are your friends.” - -“What kind of friend comes to steal your work? I don’t know anything -about politics, but my children have nothing to eat but cabbage. I know -that, and they know it. I think it was better with the Czar. These -fellows who come and talk politics—they are smart men—and good men. They -gave us a lot of rubles. But with freedom it costs a hundred rubles for -a loaf of bread, and I get no pay. And those fellows who talked politics -ate my cow, and nobody wants the rubles they gave me. What kind of -business is that? Not to take rubles after my cow has been eaten!” - -Peter shook his head, helpless for an answer, and finished his dressing. -He went out on the platform between cars. The cold air assailed him -witheringly, for it was more than sixty degrees below zero that morning. -He pulled the fur strap of his cap across his nose and leaned out from -the car steps to scan the snow-streaked plain. - -In the distance were low hills covered with sparse fringes of pines and -larches. At the base of the hills, huddled against them like a flock of -sheep seeking shelter, were primitive huts of the aboriginal Buriats, -and stray Mongol herdsmen in winter quarters. - -The train made a detour on temporary trackage to get round the wreck of -a bridge that had been blown up. The little river was frozen and -peasants were cutting a hole in the ice to get water for a pair of -scraggly little Siberian ponies with coats of long frost-covered hair -and icicles hanging from their nostrils. The men stopped to watch the -train go past, and flailed their bodies with their arms to keep warmth -in their blood. - -Once more the slowly moving train changed direction and drew near to low -hills ahead, their crests serrated by timber and their sides slashed -with snow which was held in the frozen water courses. As it rounded -these hills and ran in through a low pass, a city of bizarre appearance -was unmasked. It lay in a great cup between hills—in a wide valley, -level as a plain. - -At first sight the city looked more like the smoldering ruin of a vast -settlement that had recently been destroyed by fire. Rising from a sea -of small huts was what appeared to be a forest of gigantic white -fungi—columns of ivory smoking from the tops, or some poisonous growths -like giant toadstools, or a land filled with tiny craters from which -rose gray fumes that spread high in air into motionless clouds. These -queer pillars were nothing but smoke rising from the buildings of the -city and the warm air from chimneys rising straight up in the still, -frigid air. - -Through the pillars of steam and smoke could be seen taller buildings, -and here and there minaretlike spires lifted out of the ruck, and -catching the morning sun, reflected the light with tints of gold and -bluish green. And there were great blue domes marking the synagogue, -while a cross and a crescent glinted with gilt from the top of a Moslem -mosque. The old exile settlement of Chita—the Valley of Despair—had -grown to a city and filled the plain. - -On the slopes of the hill above, Peter saw a great yellowish stockade -built of upright logs which enclosed low, rambling buildings. The sun -flashed from tiny windows which were smaller than the gun ports of a -frigate, or where the tiny windows were broken there were black holes -like eye sockets in a skull. Many stubby chimneys built of stone gave -the low buildings the appearance of castellated walls. But no smoke -issued from the chimneys. - -In contrast with the smoking city below, the place of the stockade -seemed to be deserted. The scant snow all about it was unbroken by any -path, showing that if there was a road leading to the stockade, it was -not in use. The yellow color of the walls suggested an unhealthiness—a -place shut away from the population of the city. The lines of the place -were clearly etched upon the slope like the skeleton of some monstrous -animal which had died upon the dreary and deserted hillside. And it was -a dead thing—the wreck of the old prison of the Valley of Despair. - -The train puffed into the station. The platform was thronged with a -surging mob of people making a mad clamor to get into the cars filled -with soldiers. They pleaded to be allowed to ride to any place, but -there was no room for them in the stifling train and the Czechs refused -to allow the refugees aboard. So they gathered up their pitiful -belongings and swarmed back into the station out of the cold to wait for -other trains which might take them away. - -Peter gathered up his blanket-roll and his bag and slipped out of the -car. He got a porter at the station, a big _moujik_ in a dirty white -apron, to take the things to a droshky in the square. - -Once free of the mob, and with the station between him and the train, -Peter looked across the square. Some soldiers were drilling in the open -place—short chaps, of heavy build and awkward movements, learning to -march and countermarch under the commands of Cossack officers. - -There were many brick buildings of three and four stories. But between -them were the low, squat log houses of old times, battered and unkempt, -run-down pioneers now relegated to the position of poor relations and -long neglected. - -Peasant women trotted round and round their crude carts, selling blocks -of frozen soup and loaves of black bread to refugees from the station. -The cold air was laden with sour odors. There was a great gabbling -between buyers and sellers. The women and men kept running round in -circles for warmth, their breath bearding them with steam from their -nostrils. To the half-clad and hungry, merely keeping alive in such cold -was an agony. - -A group of boys with tattered newspapers gathered about Peter, noting -his furs and his brown field-boots with curious eyes. These boys were -wrapped with long woolen scarfs, and wore uncouth clothes and men’s -boots long since thrown away by the original owners—boots lacking soles -except for rags bound round the feet. If the lads stood still for but a -minute, it was to shiver violently, so they kept jumping up and down -like marionettes moved by a string. Peter’s eyes filled with tears at -the sight of them, and he threw them a handful of paper rubles and -kopecks that they might have hot cabbage soup. - -“Poor little chaps!” he said, and, getting into a droshky, told the -_iswostchik_ to drive to the best hotel. The horses broke into a gallop -at once, straight across the square, and it was then that Peter noticed -an ancient building in the line of the street ahead. It was built of -logs in the old style. - -“Is that the old post-house?” he shouted to the driver. - -“Yes, that is it,” said the driver. - -“Then stop! In front of the post-house!” cried Peter, slapping the -driver on the back with a lusty thump. “Turn, please—and stop!” - -“But it is a restaurant now,” said the driver. He seemed bewildered, but -he swung his horses into the street before the old building and brought -them up abruptly, muttering in his whiskers. - -“You said to go to a hotel, and this is a restaurant,” he complained. -“How am I to know what you want, when you say two different things to me -about where you want to go?” - -“I wish to stop here but a minute,” said Peter. He jumped out of the -droshky, and, standing in the street, looked up and down its length, and -turned to survey the old post-house. Sure enough, the sign over it said -it was a restaurant, and through the tops of the partly clear windows he -could see the gaudy colors of curtains hanging within. - -“The Sofistkaya!” whispered Peter. “I would never have known it.” He -studied the square, the big white station, and the buildings of the -street. He walked through the loose sand to a spot directly in front of -the door of the old post-house, but well out from it, and crossed -himself twice with both hands in the old way. - -He looked down at the sand and dirty snow. - -“Blood of my father!” he whispered. “I have come back to keep the vow! I -pray that I am not too late—that Kirsakoff still lives!” - -He stood there a few minutes, the tears streaming down his cheeks and -freezing on the flesh. He uttered prayers, and then strode back to the -droshky, entered it, and was once more rolling up the Sofistkaya. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - THE ATAMAN’S DECISION - - -WHEN Captain Shimilin raised his hand to the window, there was a sharp -command in the courtyard below, followed by the crash of a volley from -the rifles of the soldiers Katerin had seen standing before her father. - -Katerin, kneeling in front of the icon, fell forward upon the floor at -the sound of the volley. Shimilin, still at the window, stood gazing -across the room at her, a puzzled look upon his face, as if he did not -know what to do next. He heard Wassili wailing in the kitchen below, and -from the court came the sounds of metal being thrust into flinty soil -and laughter and joking comments from soldiers. - -Katerin lay still for several minutes. Then she sat up, and stared at -Shimilin as if she had just been awakened from a dream and was still in -doubt about her surroundings and why she should be there. - -“It is finished,” said Shimilin. “Your father is dead. I am sorry for -you, but the Ataman must be obeyed. If you will give up the money now, I -will protect you.” - -She did not answer him, but continued to stare at him, attempting to -grasp what had happened. - -“You have killed my father!” she whispered, putting her hands up to her -cheeks. “You have killed my father! And now you want me to pay you for -it!” - -“It is Zorogoff who has killed your father,” said Shimilin. “I obey his -orders—as you must.” - -He walked over to Katerin and held out his hand to help her to her feet. -But she evaded him, and stood up. - -“You are a murdering dog,” she said quietly, hatred and revulsion in her -look as she shrank away from him. “You lied to us—and you lie now! You -are no better than the Mongol—worse than Zorogoff, for he would not kill -his own kind for you!” - -“Take care!” he warned, moving toward her threateningly. “Take care! My -soldiers are still below.” - -She cried out with rage against him, and sprang at him and struck him in -the face with her open hand. Then she threw up her arm and whirled away -from him, to run behind the screen of her bed as if to get a weapon. But -Shimilin grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back into the -center of the room. She tore away from him. - -“Kill me!” she cried. “There is nothing left in life for me now. Kill -me, too!” - -“No, I will not kill you,” said Shimilin suavely. “We do not kill women -like you too soon, Katerin Stephanovna.” - -“You are swine!” she raged. “You told us my father was to go to the -Ataman. Talk to me no more, but kill me here!” - -Shimilin said nothing, but stood looking at her with every sign of being -on the verge of complying with her command. But he did not put hand to -pistol. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled, went to the bed -behind the screen and pulled off a blanket. He threw it to her but she -let it fall upon the floor. - -“Take the blanket,” he said gruffly. “You may have death if you want it, -but not by my hand. Take the blanket and come with me to the soldiers -below.” - -Katerin kicked the blanket aside. - -“I do not fear the cold any more than I fear death,” she said quietly, -and moved to the door. “Come! I will show you how a Russian woman can -die!” - -Shimilin followed her down the stairs to the hall below. The old woman -in the kitchen who did the cooking was crying in a room beyond the -kitchen, out of sight. Katerin felt impelled to call a farewell to the -old woman, and to Wassili, but she refrained because she suspected that -the two servants might protest to the soldiers and draw ill treatment -and probably death. - -So she passed down the hall and out through the double doors into the -courtyard. The place was full of soldiers, and her eyes lit at once upon -a pile of fresh, brown earth near the wagon-shed. That, she knew, was -her father’s grave. She walked straight to the mound, and stopping -beside it, turned and faced the soldiers. - -The heavily clad men stood about with their rifles, looking like great -beetles, their heads topped with big caps, their faces wrapped in fur or -rags, their bodies rotund with many garments, and the breath from their -nostrils making what might have been inverted white horns as the air -they breathed out turned to steam and spurted out from their faces -behind the straps over their noses. They were not in ranks, these men, -but gathered in groups as if waiting for some one to tell them what they -should do next. - -Captain Shimilin followed Katerin halfway across the yard, where he -stopped to speak to a tall soldier in a long coat. The pair talked -together quietly, looking at Katerin. Shimilin carried a towel which he -had snatched up as he had passed out of the hall. He whipped the towel -against his coat while he talked with the other soldier, and it was -plain that the Cossack was in bad humor. - -Katerin glanced at the spade and the old pickax which had been cast -aside from the mound of earth. She lifted her eyes to the upper windows -of the house. Then she threw open her sable coat, revealing the dull -crimson of her velvet gown and the white of her throat. Gray and white -and crimson, she made a striking picture against the dull background of -the old buildings. The morning breeze which whipped in gustily over the -courtyard wall and rattled the dead vines along its top, lifted wisps of -her hair about her ears. The cold tortured her, but she gave no -indication of her suffering. She looked like a beautiful flower which -had grown in a drab garden now infested by wild things which had broken -in for destruction and hated all things beautiful. - -She let her hands fall to her sides. The cold was numbing her. - -“I am ready!” she called to Captain Shimilin. - -The Cossack moved to her, and held out the towel. “I shall cover your -eyes so that you shall not see the rifles,” he said. - -“Please do not touch me,” she begged. “It is all I ask. Let them shoot!” - -The soldier who had been talking to Shimilin walked up to Katerin and -peered into her face. His features were concealed by a strap of fur. -Katerin knew by his manner that he must be an officer, though he wore no -insignia. After a casual glance at him, she looked beyond him and fixed -her gaze upon the house. - -“Do you understand that you can save your life if you will follow the -advice of Captain Shimilin?” asked the stranger. - -“I do not seek the advice of Captain Shimilin—nor any other person,” -said Katerin. - -“You prefer to die?” - -“I have done with life.” - -“You talk like a brave woman,” went on the stranger. - -“Oh, be done! I am cold!” said Katerin. She noted that a group of -soldiers had fallen into line before her, and that the others about the -yard gathered closer, regarding her with curious eyes. - -The tall officer drew apart again with Shimilin, and they carried on a -low conversation once more. The men in line began to examine their -rifles to be in readiness. Both Shimilin and the other officer returned -and stood before her again. - -“Because your father, General Kirsakoff, was Governor here in the old -days, is no reason why you should expect to oppose the new ruler,” said -the officer. - -Katerin did not answer. - -The officer threw open his long coat, showing a uniform of gray tunic -and blue breeches. He pulled the strap from his face and revealed the -dark face of a Mongol. Sparse mustaches fell from the ends of his upper -lip, clinging to his jowls as they drooped past the side of his mouth. -His black eyes were set in close to a wide flat nose. Yet his face had a -proud and serious mien—the face of an Asiatic of high degree, the face -of a stoical and cruel man. - -“I am the Ataman Zorogoff,” he said. “I rule. Your father would not loan -his fortune to my government. That is all I ask of you. I give you your -choice—submit or die.” - -Katerin looked at him scornfully. - -“I am nobody,” she said. “I submit only to God and the saints of heaven. -I do not recognize your right to rule, even though you take my life. -Tell your brave soldiers to shoot.” - -Zorogoff laughed harshly. - -“You have the spirit of the devil, mistress.” - -“Speak of the devil and we see his tail,” retorted Katerin, using an old -Russian proverb. - -“You are a brave woman,” repeated Zorogoff. “You have the blood of good -ancestors—a fighting, ruling breed—as were mine.” - -“My ancestors have never feared death.” - -“Do you know that I am a prince in Mongolia?” asked Zorogoff tartly. He -seemed nettled by Katerin’s way of looking at him, rather than by her -scornful words. - -“I do not doubt it, sir. And you belong there.” - -“Ah! Is that true? Though your father is governor no longer, you still -tell people where they belong. My people ruled this land before your -people came, and once more we shall rule. But if you will give up your -money to the government, in time you shall have it back. My soldiers -need food and clothing. What is your answer, mistress?” - -A tremor of cold shook Katerin’s body. The air was stifling her, and she -was chilled till she no longer felt pain. - -“Death!” she answered through quivering lips. - -Zorogoff turned to Shimilin. - -“The better the horse the worse his bite,” said the Ataman. “But once he -is broken, you have a good horse. I do not want to kill a woman so brave -as this one.” Turning to Katerin, he went on, “Your sons would know how -to rule, mistress.” - -“I leave no sons,” she said, now too chilled to care or perceive what -the Ataman’s meaning might be. - -“I was thinking of what your sons might be like,” went on Zorogoff. “Do -not be too sure about sons.” - -Katerin gave a cry of agony. She knew now what Zorogoff meant—and she -feared now that she might not die after all. She looked at Zorogoff, as -he stood before her, peering into her face. - -“Kill me!” she cried, and then realizing that unless she angered him by -insults, he might not give the order to the soldiers, she spoke with -infinite loathing, loud enough so that the soldiers might hear. “You are -a lowborn dog! Your mother was a scullion and your father a mover of -dead bodies! You are neither Cossack nor Mongol, but vermin from mud -huts and a disgrace to both white and yellow!” - -“Ah!” said Zorogoff. “Now I know that there is fear in you, and fear for -what, my lady! You prefer the rifles to a palace. What if I should give -you the fate you dislike?” - -“Go to the market place for your women, you swine!” cried Katerin. - -The Ataman stepped aside and beckoned Shimilin after him. “Let us see -how brave she is,” whispered Zorogoff, and he made a gesture to the men -with the rifles. The muzzles lifted promptly and the men took aim at -Katerin. - -“I will show you who rules now,” called Zorogoff. - -“And I will show you how a woman of the nobility can die, lowborn one!” - -“Fire!” commanded Zorogoff, throwing up an arm in a gesture of command. - -But the rifles did not speak, though they remained leveled at Katerin. -She began a prayer, gazing steadily into the muzzles which faced her, -and waiting for the impact of the bullets. - -Seconds passed. They became minutes. Katerin closed her eyes against the -cold. After a wait she opened her eyes again and eight rifles still -pointed straight at her. - -“Shoot!” she pleaded. “Please shoot!” - -She closed her eyes once more. The minutes passed, and Katerin’s body -wavered, swayed, and she collapsed in a faint across the fresh mound of -earth. - -“Take her up and carry her into the house,” commanded the Ataman. “She -is a brave woman—but stubborn. She shall submit.” - -The soldiers picked Katerin up and carried her through the hall to the -kitchen. Wassili and the old serving woman began to scream, thinking -that their mistress had been killed. - -Zorogoff and Shimilin walked out of the yard and into the street. -Shimilin whistled on his fingers. Soon the troika of the Ataman swung -out of a side street and the horses came galloping up. There were three -men in the troika—two soldiers—and Michael. - -“Where is my daughter?” demanded the old general. “What have you done -with her? Does she still live?” - -“You will find her inside the house,” said Shimilin. “She is not dead.” - -“God is good,” said Michael, at once careful of his words. - -“Go back to your house,” said Zorogoff, “and wait till I return.” - -“So?” asked Michael. “And why do you return?” - -“You shall know then. There has been too much talk to-day.” - -Michael got out of the troika and the Ataman got in with Shimilin. -Already the soldiers were marching out from the yard, and swinging back -into the city. - -“Take care that you do not leave the house,” warned Zorogoff, as Michael -stood waiting for the soldiers to be clear of the gate. “I do not wish -to have you and your daughter run the danger of being fired upon by the -sentries. I wish you both to live as long as God lets you.” - -Michael, afraid that there was still a trap and that the Ataman had no -intention of leaving, though he had been covered by the robes in the -troika and had swathed his face and head in furs, did not dare turn his -back upon the precious pair in the vehicle. - -“I thank you for your consideration,” said the old general. “I thought I -was to die, but I still live and my daughter is safe.” - -Zorogoff leaned out and spoke earnestly. “If the cat wants a fish, let -her wet her feet,” he said. And then added with taunting irony, “You are -proud of your rank and your race, Michael Alexandrovitch—you and your -daughter hold yourselves superior to a Mongol who is of the blood of -rulers, and who rules. But I, too, have pride. You should know more of -me and mine, and to that purpose you and your daughter shall live in my -palace. I go to prepare for you, and you shall both live under my roof.” - -“What?” cried Michael. “That is a new string to the fiddle! Why should -we live in your palace?” - -“So that I may take care of your health, Michael. And I shall need your -advice in government.” - -“My advice in your government! You come with a firing squad to kill me -and now you talk of taking me to your palace! Surely, this is a day of -madness, and I do not understand!” - -“You will in time,” replied the Ataman. “You have a lesson to learn. It -is that you must not hold yourselves superior to Mongol princes. For -your grandchildren, Michael, are to be Mongols, and you and your -daughter shall hold them in your arms. You both shall love them—though -they be of Mongol blood.” - -Zorogoff spoke to the driver and the horses galloped away, leaving -Michael cursing under his breath. Then he ran into the yard as fast as -his cold-stiffened legs could carry him, and entered the house, calling -for Katerin. - -Wassili burst through the door of the kitchen into the hall, and cried -out in terror at sight of the master whom he supposed to be dead. The -_moujik_ fell to his knees, crossing himself and making the sign to ward -off devils. - -“Katerin! Katerin!” shouted Michael, as he saw the form of his daughter -stretched upon an old bench that had been turned into a couch. The old -serving woman was giving her mistress restoratives and attempting to -warm her—but she fled, screaming, as Michael entered. - -Katerin opened her eyes and shivered violently. She stared at her -father, who stood over her, and then closed her eyes again and began to -cry. She supposed that she was delirious and that her father was not -really there. - -“Have they tortured you?” cried Michael. “Oh, Katerin Stephanovna, you -are spared to me—and I live! Look, my daughter!” - -He lifted her up from the bench and kissed her, crying to her again and -again that he was not dead. - -“Oh, God! Thou art good!” she moaned, and then she was swept by sobs of -joy and fell back upon the bench. - -Michael collapsed upon the floor, and when Wassili and the old woman -overcame their fears and entered the kitchen again they found father and -daughter crying quietly and clinging to each other consolingly. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - THE PRISON ON THE HILL - - -PETER did not stop at the Hotel Dauria to see the room which a -sleepy-eyed youth said might be had. There was a red-hot stove in the -entrance-hall, a dirty stairway leading to an upper floor, a pair of -stuffed bears standing among pots of rubber plants, and a few old -benches on which in better days the droshky-drivers, the fur-hunters and -the gossips of the city gathered of nights. The front windows were -boarded up and the place still bore signs of the work of looters—leather -hinges on the double doors, wall-paper ripped off in great gashes which -exposed the rough plaster, and here and there the mark of a bayonet -point or the pock marks of wild bullets. - -Peter simply dumped his baggage in the entrance-hallway and went out -again to pay off the _iswostchik_. Where he went, Peter wanted no one -watching, so he set out as if on a casual ramble through the almost -deserted streets. - -He knew the way to the old prison. It would be up the Sofistkaya and -over the little bridge which spanned the frozen stream running through -the city. But it was not the same old wooden bridge which Peter expected -to find. It proved to be a sturdy arch of concrete, level and wide. - -Some of the buildings near by had been half wrecked or burned. One big -building was but a shell, a black ruin streaked with snow, with the -windows out and the interior walls revealing old log pillars and a few -crazy rafters. From a lower window there fluttered a bit of curtain, -like a distress signal from an abandoned derelict. It was the old house -of the governor—Kirsakoff. - -Peter lingered and studied this building. There were few people in the -streets, and they paid no attention to him, for in his furs there was -little about him to mark him as a foreign officer, or a soldier at all, -for that matter, because he wore his pistol under his outer coat in such -way that he could reach it through a pocket. - -Water-carts hauled by ponies passed, bringing water from the city wells. -They were shrouded in ice. A few peasants were on their way to the -station bazaar with bundles of vegetables or partridges. Chinese trotted -about with packs on their backs, smugglers in sugar and tea, or traders -in luxuries brought in by hand over the railroad—such luxuries as -candles, buttons, cigarettes, and salt. - -Peter went on till he could see above him on the hill the yellow walls -of the old stockade. He mounted the slope, but headed as if to pass the -prison far below, and walking as if he had no other intention than to -wander up the hill and look back upon the city. He stopped at times, and -looked behind him. - -As he went up the slope he managed to draw in closer to the stockade. -The old road had no tracks upon it, proof that the prison must be -deserted. And, in fact, the city itself seemed to be deserted as he -looked down into it from the upper land. Though smoke came from the -chimneys, the people kept mostly indoors. There was an ominous hush in -the air, as if the inhabitants were afraid to be seen. The forests gave -off no sound of woodsmen or hunters. Away on the side of the plains -toward Manchuria Peter could see groups of three and four horsemen on -patrol. But the Valley of Despair seemed like a place in which a -pestilence raged, so bare was it of living beings except around the -station. - -“The place is accursed!” said Peter, as he stood and gazed out over the -valley and the city. “After America, I know now what this all means. And -there is something which has brought me back. My father, can it be you? -Can you know? Have you guided me so that justice may be done? I pray -that Kirsakoff be still alive!” - -And Peter did know the meaning of it all. Chita was a ghastly city built -from the weeping of women and the curses of men doomed to chains and -living deaths in dark cells. The very soil reeked with the blood of -exiles. - -And Peter Gordon, the American, was once more Peter Petrovitch Gorekin, -the Russian. During the three weeks that he had been on the train from -Vladivostok, he had become more Russian every day. He knew now that the -Russians were not free, though the throne had been overturned. There was -still work to do. - -Peter went on, now straight for the entrance to the prison, where he -found the heavy gate lying in the snow, torn from its iron hinges and -covered with the dents of logs and rocks which had battered it down. - -He entered the prison yard. There were broken tables and piles of half -burned records among charred logs. The sentry platforms had been dragged -down from the inner wall and made a clutter of wrecked timbers. The -little windows gaped open and the iron bars across them had been bent -outward. Fine, hard snow covered the wreckage like a powder, gathered -here and there in the cracks of the stone walks and in the holes where -the flat stones had been ripped out and overturned. - -The place was without life. Yet it seemed to throb with life. Peter half -expected to find people inside the long galleries of the prison -buildings, though he knew that there could be no living person in such a -place of horrors. - -The door opening to the inner guardroom was also down, a thing of planks -strapped together with iron bars. It lay askew across the stone -threshold, and Peter walked over its side. It gave out a dull, hollow -sound, which set the echoes going through the long inner galleries of -the cell-wings. A vile odor assailed him as he stepped inside, and he -shivered. - -He knew this place well. There were broken desks here, and gun-racks on -the walls had been ripped from their supports. It was here that he had -been taken the morning after his father had been cut down by the Cossack -before the post-house. And Peter saw again in his mind’s eye the -commandant with the gold bars on his shoulders, he heard again the -careless questions snapped at him. Then he saw himself, a terrified -little boy, led down the long gallery and thrust into a dark cell. - -He pushed on now into the gallery with its battered cell doors lying -half inside and half outside the cells, some swinging crazily on bent -hinges, some partly burned and lying in bits of charred wood, others -splintered and their fragments strewn along the stone-floored passage. - -His feet made dull echoes. There was a sound of frightened things -scampering into dark holes before him. And to Peter it seemed that there -were thousands of men in the place—men who peered out at him derisively -and gave long hooting laughs at him. - -It was colder inside the prison than outside in the clean air—a dark, -dank, penetrating cold combined with the sickly smell of an old cage in -which frozen white shoots of growing vegetation killed and preserved by -the cold glimmered uncannily in the rank air. - -He found the cell that had been his—sixth on the right side. The big -door was swung inward. The stone benches inside were black and polished -with years of dirt and years of being sat upon. The stained log walls -were covered with thousands of marks which recorded days and years spent -in the cell by exiles. Among these rows of time-keeping scratches were -also etched words of hate and messages of comfort and the scribbled -jeers of men who had made a jest of going from such a place to the -execution yard. - -One line on the wall caught Peter’s eye under the searching beam of his -pocket flash light. “God curse Kirsakoff,” Peter read. The letter had -been formed by his own boyish fingers with a nail—fingers stiff with -cold. He laughed at the sight of it now, and slapped the pistol on his -hip under his greatcoat. His laugh came back to him multiplied a hundred -times from the cells of the long galleries stretching away in the -darkness. The echoes sounded like a scornful chorus from ghosts. - -He sat down on the stone bench and looked at the dirty hole in the door -through which food had been passed in to him—black bread and greasy soup -made from the refuse of cabbages. He sat there several minutes, and -threw his memory back to the days and nights which he had spent there -buried alive, doubting at times that he existed till food was brought -and the rats gathered round him, squeaking for their share. - -Fear gripped him. He sprang up and ran, his boots making a clatter over -the planks of the broken doors in the passage. He gained the prison yard -and his whole body was laved in a sweat of agony. He got out into the -open, and stopping an instant to scan the slopes below to see if he had -been observed or followed, he turned away to the left to the fenced-in -grove which was the old burial ground of the prison. - -It was in there that his father had been buried, but Peter did not know -where. A few rotten boards lay upon the ground; a few weather-beaten -crosses scored and twisted out of shape, littered the ground. Peter -stood with tears in his eyes and looked over the rough ground. - -“Peter Petrovitch has come back, my father,” he said. And crossing -himself, he said a prayer. Then he turned and descended the slopes -toward the city, bearing off to the right and trying to make it appear -to any watcher that he had been wandering about aimlessly. The thought -struck him that he had been unwise in going to the prison. It might lead -to gossip, especially when it became known in the city that he was an -American. Why should an American officer go prowling about the old -prison of a city which—— - -Peter checked his thoughts in that direction. It seemed strange that he -should refer to himself as an American. America was now very far away, a -dim vista in his memory, hard to realize, like an old dream faintly -remembered. It seemed odd that America had receded so far into the -background of his mind. For was he not a Russian? Yes, he knew that he -was Russian to the core. His Americanism had never been anything but an -outer shell, a readjustment to new conditions, a learning of new things, -and a new life. But he had not changed—only the clothes upon his back. -True, he thought, the clothes would serve a purpose. Who would ever -suspect that an American officer had come to Chita to do what he hoped -to do? Who would ever suspect that the American lieutenant, Peter -Gordon, could be Peter Petrovitch Gorekin, the son of an unfortunate? - -He entered the city again, this time far to the right of where he had -gone up the slope, and rambled along the Sofistkaya till he came to the -old post-house again—the restaurant. He went in, and found a few -soldiers sitting about tables talking and playing games. He took a table -to himself and when the gypsy girl came for his order, he called for -vodka. He was chilled by his walk on the hill and his spirits were -depressed by the prison. The liquor warmed him. - -The restaurant was a dirty place. The old plank floors were spotted with -mud where the ice-balls from the heels of patrons had melted, and the -blackened log rafters were cobwebby and sooty. There was an ancient icon -in the corner. The walls had been partly stripped of a moldy old paper -so that the yellow plaster showed through the gashes. And here, as in -the hotel, there were bullet craters. - -Peter finished his glass of vodka and went out again. He hurried back -toward the hotel, but he had not gone far when he espied in between two -modern buildings and well back from the street, an old hut—an _isba_ of -the old days. He stopped in his tracks and stared at it. The building -was not more than eight feet square, of single story, with a small -window under the eaves. There was a rude chimney of stones at one end. A -sign over the door told that cigarettes, matches, and holy cards were -sold within. - -Peter went in between the two buildings and pushed open the low and -sagging door of the hut. There was an old man sitting on a bench under -the window with a newspaper—a thin old hulk of a graybeard with a face -shrouded in white whiskers that were stained yellow about his hidden -mouth. He wore a tiny black skullcap on his head which brought out the -bleached whiteness of his whiskers and the pallor of his crinkled -forehead. His hands were tucked in the sleeves of his ragged old coat, -and he huddled up toward the smoldering fire in the ancient fire-pit. - -Startled by Peter’s entrance, the old man thrust the newspaper behind -him quickly. As he got to his feet he kicked the paper out of sight -behind a box. He stood looking at Peter with questioning eyes, knowing -that there was something strange about the visitor but not being able to -tell what in the vague light coming through the frosted window. - -“Do you sell cigarettes here?” asked Peter. - -“Yes, I sell cigarettes here,” croaked the graybeard. “Is it that you -have come for cigarettes to this poor place—you, who are dressed in odd -clothes?” - -“What else should I come for?” asked Peter pleasantly. “Do you think I -have come to rob you?” - -The old one appeared relieved, but he was still on his guard. - -“We never know what a man comes for these days. And you are not a man of -Chita, I can tell that.” - -“What does it matter where I came from, if I pay for what I take? Come! -Let me see some cigarettes!” - -The graybeard grunted and shuffled across the room to a shelf and took -down some packets of tin covered with a faded paper. - -Peter looked the room over. It was hard to believe that this tiny hut -was the place in which he had worked with his father. In his memory it -had taken on vaster proportions, yet in reality it was but a boxlike -hovel. There was the same old adz-hewn plank bench well polished by -years of use; the floor near the fire-pit had the very depressions worn -into the wood by the legs of his father’s stitching-frame. And the same -stone in the chimney on which his father had whetted the leather-knives! -By that fire-pit Peter had spent many nights studying out Russian -letters and words in battered almanacs. The place still smelled of -leather—or Peter fancied it did. - -“Here are cigarettes of the best quality from Harbin, _gospodeen_,” said -the old man, proffering a long tin box. “I keep them for such as are of -the upper class. I must pay grease to Chinese for bringing these -cigarettes in, and if you buy, you will be back for more—and twenty -rubles for the box.” - -Peter sat down on the bench and pretended to examine the packet of -cigarettes. But he was really looking at the little battered samovar on -the little wooden table. Beside the samovar was a blackened piece of tin -which was used to transfer hot coals from the fire-pit to the samovar. -And the rude shelves with their packages of “Moscow biscuits,” matches, -cigarettes, and holy cards for the holidays and the name days of -children drew Peter’s eyes. The stock in trade was smoke-blackened and -fly-specked by countless summers and winters. And the room reeked with -smoke, which made the old man’s eyes red and watery. - -Peter saw that the cigarettes were of the cheapest grade. - -“Why do you double the price because I am a stranger?” asked Peter. “You -know that half a ruble would buy these in the old days, and now with the -money bad, ten is enough for them?” - -“God protect us! You speak the Czar’s Russian, though you wear a foreign -coat! Have you come here to buy from me, or to find who is smuggling? -There is no duty now, true, but I have to pay grease, as I said. I would -say the same to the Ataman himself.” - -“But I know something about the price of cigarettes,” said Peter. He was -willing enough to pay the price but he knew that reluctance would draw -the old man out, and that an argument would probably develop an -acquaintance which might be useful. - -“But the troubles have come and that makes the price high,” whined the -old man. “Am I to starve among my cigarettes? There are few enough to -buy these days, I tell you.” - -“I will pay, but you are an old robber,” said Peter, going into his -pockets and fetching out two ten-ruble notes of Imperial money. The old -man’s eyes danced, for he knew Imperials to be worth twice again the new -paper money on which his prices were based. - -“Did you come here for a _ruganie_?” demanded the old man, meaning a -mutual slandering of each other in Russian in which both parties to the -argument call names of an import so evil as to chill the marrows of -respectable listeners. “And you! You look like a gentleman. From what -place have you come?” - -“From the place I go back to. Have you been in Chita long, little -grandfather?” - -“I?” asked the old man, stroking his whiskers. “Yes. What does it -matter? I shall be here all time. See the hills outside? My bones shall -build them higher,” and he broke out into a cackling laugh as if the -joke were one that he used often and still liked its flavor. - -“You were here in the old days?” pressed Peter. - -The old one gave Peter a keen look, and sat down on the end of the -bench, hiding the precious ten-ruble notes away somewhere under his -arms. - -“I? Why not?” - -“You were here when the prison was full of unfortunates?” - -“I was here when it was emptied, too,” and he laughed again and bent to -poke the fire with an old cane. But he was getting cautious again, as if -he suspected that there might be more behind the twenty rubles than he -had bargained for. - -“What happened when the prison was emptied? It must have been a joyful -time.” - -Graybeard made a noise in his throat which might have been a chuckle, -and turning from the fire stood up and straightened his back, to gaze -frankly at Peter as if to ask why so many questions were being asked. It -was plain that he disapproved of giving gossip extra with what he sold. - -“You should have been here if you wanted to know,” he said. - -“I suppose they killed the soldiers,” went on Peter. - -“No, the unfortunates did not kill the soldiers—except, perhaps, the bad -soldiers who had been cruel. Were not the soldiers made free also by -revolution? As well as the unfortunates?” - -“True,” assented Peter. “But the officers? Many of the officers were -killed, eh?” - -“The square down there by the station,” and graybeard threw out his arm -and his eyes took on a reminiscent look, “the square is full of dead -folks—old and young, officers and all, rich and poor, high and low, -witches and holy men. But the unfortunates did not harm me. I am Rimsky -and the friend of all, though many were drunk and did not know who were -friends. But I got into a potato-cellar till the worst was over, though -I was stiff in the legs a good month after. But I was out in time to see -them all go off to Petersburg to kill the Little Father, the fools!” - -“Would you have the Czar back? Is that what you mean?” asked Peter. - -“I? Why do you ask me that? Is it not enough to know that in the old -days there was peace—and that I would have peace in which to die. Should -not a man have peace in which to meet the dead? That is all I ask you.” - -“But are not the new times better than the old?” asked Peter. “Would you -have the old times back—and the prison on the hill full of people?” - -Rimsky lighted the fragment of an old cigarette and smoked a minute -before he replied, pulling at his whiskers. - -“New times, new troubles,” he said with tired voice. “We knew in the old -times what to do to be happy, and likewise what not to do. It was all -put down plain in the laws and the rules of the governors. Those who -wanted better government did not know that bad government is better than -none. Now it is all fighting, and no man trusts another. But I am not -afraid, for my life is behind me. Now, when the railroad came here, it -was said that everybody would be rich and happy. Before then we had only -the mail-sledges, with their bells and horses. The people were happy -enough, but for these educated fools always talking about what should be -done with government and getting themselves and poor people into -trouble. Now what do we have? All night an accursed ringing of railroad -bells and screeching whistles till a man wakes in his bed, thinking the -devil is calling. And people and cows get killed by the railroad—and mad -soldiers come to kill and burn honest people. Is that good? Who is made -rich thereby, and who is made happy?” - -“Then you think you would be happier if the Czar were back,” suggested -Peter. - -“Is that what you have come to ask me?” demanded Rimsky, giving Peter a -shrewd look. “Is it that you are counting those who want the Czar back?” - -“No, no,” said Peter. “I have nothing to do with the government. I will -not say to any one what you say.” - -“I cannot be too sure of that,” said Rimsky, and blew the smoke from his -cigarette upward. “But when the Czar ruled, I had a watch.” - -“Do you want a Czar back?” asked Peter. - -“_Tchuk!_” cried Rimsky. “The Czar is in a well, they tell me. But how -do I know what to believe? First it is one lie, and then another, till -our heads whirl and we get drunk to forget so much talk about nothing. -How do I know but that the Czar is on his throne and eating fish-pie for -his dinner?” - -“But suppose a new Czar should come to the throne?” - -“Ah, now you are trying to have me talk politics and get into prison. It -does not matter. I want only a fire, my tea, a good soup with meat and -bones in it, and a pair of boots—and men who can be trusted, even if -they be Czar’s governors and cruel. Who is a man to appeal to now if he -is robbed, as was I last month? In the old days robbers were hanged, and -it taught them something, too.” - -“But you are speaking of Chita, of course. You had no complaint here, -for you had a good Governor.” - -Rimsky went to the samovar and took off the little teapot, shook it with -a circular motion, filled it with hot water and poured a glass made from -the bottom of a bottle full of tea for Peter. - -“You talk too much for a stranger,” said Rimsky. “What do you know about -our Governor? Is this the first time you have been in Siberia, young -man?” - -“Of course,” said Peter, taking the tea. “But I have heard about Chita -before.” - -“You may know more than you want to know about it before you get out,” -warned Rimsky. “Are you going to stay long—and buy more of my -cigarettes?” - -“I’ll be here a few weeks, I suppose. I came to see if I could buy some -furs.” - -“Oh, but you are a soldier,” said Rimsky. “And you will find no furs -that are good. Everybody is hunting men these days,” and he broke out -again in his cackling laugh, as he drew himself some tea in a little -yellow bowl. - -“Did the unfortunates kill the Governor who was here when they got out -of the prison and freedom came to the people?” - -“Did they?” asked Rimsky. “You tell me.” - -“But you were here, and you know. I was not here,” said Peter. - -Rimsky shrugged his shoulders and sucked his tea from the bowl. - -“The _provodnik_ on the train told me that the soldiers killed the -Governor here. What was the name? Kir—— well, I can’t remember.” - -“Those fellows on the trains do a lot of talking,” said Rimsky. “They -are know-it-alls, and all they do is take grease from people who want to -have food sent up to us.” - -“I’m afraid they don’t tell the truth,” said Peter. - -“So they told you the soldiers killed Kirsakoff, did they? But Kirsakoff -was not the Governor. You see that they lied.” - -“Perhaps they did not say he was Governor when he was killed. But they -said he had been a Governor in the old days.” - -“If Kirsakoff had been killed, I would know it,” said Rimsky. - -“True,” agreed Peter. “I thought the _provodnik_ was talking to make -wind and a big man of himself. I knew he was lying.” - -“How did you know that?” - -“I guessed it. Now that you say Kirsakoff was not killed, I know it was -a lie. Just big talk.” - -“Why should anybody kill Kirsakoff?” demanded Rimsky. - -“That is what I should like to know. Everybody said he was a good man, -but perhaps some people did not like him—people in the prison, of -course, who were against the government.” - -“General Kirsakoff had been retired when the troubles came,” said -Rimsky. “More than seven years ago he was retired. I remembered well the -time—I had a sore foot.” - -“Was he gone from Chita when the troubles came?” - -“No, he was here,” said Rimsky, looking straight at Peter. - -“Ah!” said Peter. “So the _provodnik_ lied when he said Kirsakoff was -dead. He is still here.” - -“What does it matter where he is?” asked Rimsky. - -“It does not matter,” said Peter, and set the glass on the table, -buttoning his coat about his neck in preparation for leaving. - -“I hear much gossip in this place,” said Rimsky. “Where do you live in -the city?” - -“Thank you for the tea,” said Peter. “It is cold outside. I may want -some more cigarettes—at twenty rubles a box.” - -“I hear many matters spoken of here,” hinted Rimsky with confidential -air. “About where governors are and such talk.” - -“Is Zorogoff a good man?” asked Peter. - -“It is a very cold day outside, true,” said Rimsky. “But this is a good -place to hear gossip.” - -“I care nothing for gossip. But I can see that you live on it, as an old -gander lives on snails,” said Peter laughingly. “I am going to the -Dauria—I am an American officer. But see that you do not gossip about -me, old fellow.” - -Rimsky wagged his old head and cackled wisely. - -“A tight lip fools the devil,” warned Peter. “If you talk I’ll tell -Zorogoff you charged me double for cigarettes. But I’ll come in and see -you some day, and bring a bottle of vodka.” - -“Then God guard you till you return!” cried Rimsky, and Peter went out -through the door of the hut. - -Rimsky sat chuckling into his beard after Peter had departed. And more -than once the old cigarette-seller told himself, “The sturgeon does not -become a sterlet because he leaves the river for the lake, and the -Russian does not become a foreigner by changing his coat.” That was a -saying of wise men. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - OLD RIMSKY THINKS - - -OLD Rimsky had a wise head. Many people were afraid of him and said that -he talked with witches and had charms against evil—and he did sell -charms against sickness, bad luck and poor crops. Besides, he had the -reputation of knowing many things before they happened. But he was -merely a wise old owl with the keen perception of human motives which is -sometimes given to the unlettered man, though he could read well enough -to get the meanings out of newspapers if there were not too many words -in the articles invented by aristocrats to fool the poor people. - -He spent the remainder of the day thinking about the Russian in the -American coat who paid double for cigarettes and took a profit in -getting answers to questions. He had watched Peter closely, and turned -the whole matter over mentally, sitting by his fire and drinking tea. - -Rimsky decided that he had not been clever enough with the stranger. It -was plain enough now that the stranger had come to learn something about -Michael Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff who had been Governor. And the stranger -did not know where Michael was to be found. In some way the business -could be turned to profit and over many glasses of smoky tea Rimsky -evolved a plan by which he could put money in his purse. - -There was an old pig-killing _moujik_ named Ilya Andreitch who slept in -the basement of a bakery on a street up near the bazaar. Ilya had worked -for Kirsakoff years before, and should know where the general lived if -anybody did. As for that, Rimsky now remembered that Ilya had once -boasted that he knew where Kirsakoff lived since the troubles came and -all the rich people were in hiding. - -But there might be little in the boast, for Ilya was an old fool who was -always pretending to know things. But for all his outward stupidity, -Ilya was a sly rascal. His father had been sent into exile for taking -money from revolutionists in Moscow by pretending to have knowledge of -what the secret police were going to do—who was going to be arrested, -and so on. - -It happened that Rimsky had Ilya pretty much under the thumb, as the -saying is. For Ilya had once fed the pigs of a watch-fixer in the city, -and had stolen from his employer a whole handful of silver holy medals. -Rimsky had bought them from Ilya for a tenth of their value. Out of -appreciation for buying them, Ilya had spent all the money he got on -vodka with Rimsky. The vodka had been stolen by a waiter in a restaurant -owned by a Greek, and at half price sold it to Ilya, which was quite all -right, for everybody stole from foreigners if they could. The thing for -the foreigners to do is to stay at home and not go about selling food -and drink at prices too high. - -Rimsky knew that he might be able to induce Ilya to tell where Kirsakoff -was living. That might mean double money for Rimsky. Kirsakoff would no -doubt pay well to know that an American was seeking him, and the -American would probably pay well to know where Kirsakoff might be found. -It was only a matter of handling them properly. - -And by delaying the information sought by both Kirsakoff and the man who -called himself an American, a pretty penny might be realized. It was by -such smart methods, Rimsky felt sure, that rich folks got rich. And by -getting rich, they made poor folks poorer. Being rich was all simple -enough, for there was only so much money in the world, and the trick was -to get a lot of it by being smarter than other folks. There being many -fools, the problem was easy enough. Rimsky knew that the Jews got rich -by being able to figure interest on money, and by selling only when -people wanted to buy and buying only when people wanted to sell. - -So he contrived a plan by which Ilya was to supply the information for -little or nothing, and Rimsky was to sell it for a bundle of rubles. It -would not do to tell Ilya what was wanted. It would be best to loosen -his tongue with vodka, and then accuse him of having lied when he had -said he knew where Kirsakoff was living. That method would get Ilya to -boasting and he would pop it all out. It could all be passed off as -drinking talk, and if Ilya insisted on keeping his secret, it would be -easy enough to turn the talk to holy medals. That would make Ilya see -the honey pot, as the saying is; then he would get Ilya so drunk that he -would forget all that had been said. - -So when the lights began to appear in the shops across the Sofistkaya, -Rimsky put up his own shutters over the window and wandered toward the -bazaar to look in at the bakery where Ilya might be found. - -It was quite dark when Rimsky reached the courtyard in rear of the -building of the bakery. There was a shaft of flickering light dancing -out from a partly open door, and the yard was filled with the comforting -odor of burning dough. Rimsky planned to ask the bakers first for a man -who once hauled wood for them—a peasant dead several months before. That -would be excuse enough for coming, and talk could be made till it was -time to ask casually for Ilya. That would throw sand in Ilya’s eyes as -to why Rimsky appeared at the bakery. - -The old cigarette-seller prowled in through the door and stumbled over -loose wood in the hall till he came to the great room where the bakers -were working. A big man, bare to the waist, was drawing huge loaves from -the stone stove with a wooden shovel. His damp skin shone in the dancing -light. A group of men and women was sitting on benches in the dark side -of the room about a samovar. A ball of dough was smoking on an iron -sheet laid on the shoulder of the stove. - -There had been the murmur of voices till Rimsky stood framed in the -doorway of the room, looking in. When he appeared there was a sudden -hush and silence, except for the grating of the wooden shovel as it drew -out the steaming loaves and the cracking of the fire in the fire-pit. - -“God’s blessing on those who labor for us,” said Rimsky, crossing -himself. - -Some one gave a muttered reply. The man drawing the loaves turned and -peered at Rimsky and then went on deftly pulling out the bread, -puckering his face against the heat. - -A man came clumping down the hall and fell over the wood. Rimsky stood -aside from the door, and the light from the fire revealed the man with a -face shrouded by long and unkempt whiskers, and on his head a sheepskin -cap black with dirt. He wore a ragged old coat with a rope turned round -his middle several times as a belt. - -“So this is my old friend, Ilya Andreitch!” exclaimed Rimsky. “It is -long since I have seen you. Perhaps you can tell me of the friend I am -looking for.” - -Ilya ogled him suspiciously. - -“What has gone wrong that you should be here?” he growled. He had a -healthy fear of Rimsky and wanted to forget the business of the holy -medals. - -“Can you tell me where I can find Vanusha?” - -“You are chasing ghosts,” grumbled Ilya, crossing himself at mention of -a dead man. “That man is dead. Or is it that you are looking for souls -for the devil?” - -“Dead!” exclaimed Rimsky. “Now that is a pity. I came to get a drinking -friend, but now I shall have to go and have a glass of vodka by myself -in his memory. He owed me two rubles but he was a good man, I can say -that for him.” - -“Better than I can say for you,” Ilya called out into the dark yard -after Rimsky, who had retreated abruptly from the hall. “He never drank -his vodka alone, for one thing, like others I know, and they not far -off. He was civil to his friends, I can say that—and when you are dead -you had better take care that folks say the same of you.” - -“Then you didn’t learn your manners from him,” retorted Rimsky, stopping -in the court. “You swing your tongue too much for an honest man—or to -have it wet with vodka. When I drink I wish to be merry.” - -“You are an old wolf with the fleas!” called Ilya. - -Rimsky laughed at him. - -“May you die blind!” bawled Ilya. - -“Oh, come and warm your belly with a sup of vodka,” said Rimsky, “unless -you think that if you turned good-natured you would come down with a -distemper.” - -Ilya ran after him and the pair walked down to the little restaurant -kept by a one-eared gypsy from Bessarabia where in the old days the -thieves gathered to dispose of their loot to Chinese. - -There were but a few people inside the place. A Buriat, who had probably -sold some cattle, was lying across a table in a drunken stupor, his -purple conical cap on the floor under his feet. A crippled beggar was -drinking soup from a bowl with a wooden ladle, and a Chinese peddler of -charms was gambling in a corner with a Mongol holy man. - -Rimsky led the way to a table distant from the others and called for the -serving girl. He was in good humor and ordered a whole bottle of vodka, -swearing that he would take only the best and would break the tax seal -with his own fingers. - -“Something has turned your way, you old shark!” said Ilya. “Or perhaps -this is your name day.” - -“No, it is that I am getting old and may as well spend my money before -it falls into the hands of robbers,” said Rimsky. “Soon I shall go to -meet the dead. I pick up a few rubles a day. What is the use of keeping -them these days? I want to spend them with my friends, and you are a -good fellow and a great joker, Ilya Andreitch.” - -“True, I can make jokes if I have the wine,” said Ilya, and hastened to -take a swig from the first glass poured. - -They proceeded to talk of nothings, and finished the bottle. - -“Fetch another!” Rimsky called to the girl, “and I’ll drink a health to -the rings in your ears, my damsel. When you were—what am I saying?—when -I was younger you would not have escaped without a kiss.” - -“You had better be putting your grandchildren to bed,” retorted the -girl, but she brought the bottle. - -Ilya was suddenly filled with a desire to be modest in his drinking. He -felt it would not be wise to abuse such a show of hospitality on the -part of Rimsky. And the _moujik’s_ crafty brain suspected that there was -a purpose behind Rimsky’s unlimited generosity. Folks were not so -free-handed without having good cause, he reasoned. So for every full -glass that Rimsky drank, Ilya managed to dispose of but half a glass. He -had a notion that if he could get Rimsky drunk there might be part of a -bottle left which could be made away with and the joyous occasion could -be carried on alone into the night and perhaps the following day. Also, -he took good care that Rimsky always paid in advance by making a joke -with the gypsy girl that Rimsky had no more money. Rimsky’s generosity -made Ilya suspicious. - -“Pooh! Money!” said Rimsky, when the third bottle was brought. “I have -enough money to buy all the vodka in the city.” - -“That’s the vodka talking,” sneered Ilya. “I feel as if I could buy a -farm, but it would be another matter for me to find the money. That is -the way with you.” - -“Don’t go on so with big talk,” warned Rimsky, “or I will begin to talk -of the holy medals.” - -“Talk and the devil take you!” cried Ilya, thumping the bottle down on -the table angrily. “If you do I’ll go my way and wish a curse on you!” - -“Sit still!” commanded Rimsky. “I’ve money enough, I tell you. If not, I -can go and borrow from my rich friends.” - -Ilya laughed so loudly at this that he disturbed the drunken Buriat, who -lifted his black head from the table and glared about the room. He -looked like a mandarin, with his long thin drooping mustaches. - -“But I tell you I have rich friends,” insisted Rimsky. “I could go now -and get a hundred rubles if I needed them—yes, twenty and a hundred and -no interest. Kirsakoff would let me have them, and no questions asked, -and nothing about when they should be paid back.” - -“What!” exclaimed Ilya, staring at Rimsky. “You say the old Governor -would lend you twenty and a hundred rubles! _Tfu!_ That’s crazy talk!” - -“Yes! You think I don’t know the old Governor, eh! Well, Kirsakoff is a -friend of mine, you had better know that.” - -“Pooh!” snorted Ilya. “You are an old mud-head! You don’t even know -where the old Governor lives in the city, and you sit there telling to -me that he is your friend! Oh, ho, ho!” - -“Perhaps you think you are the only one who knows where Kirsakoff lives? -You are a fool who thinks he is wise, and that’s the worst fool of all.” - -Ilya was cautious at once. He gave Rimsky a careful look, but Rimsky -paid no attention to the look. - -“Who told you I said I knew where Kirsakoff lived?” demanded Ilya. - -“You said it yourself. I heard you say it last Butter Week in the -bazaar. You were drunk and you went boasting about to the old man from -Pischenko with the red boots. I heard you say it, Ilya Andreitch.” - -Ilya ruffled his brow and tried to remember when he had been talking to -a man with red boots from Pischenko. He knew no one in that town who had -red boots—unless it was the butcher’s assistant who married the -cake-maker. - -“True,” said Ilya. “I might have known then where Kirsakoff lived. I -don’t deny it. Perhaps I was drunk Butter Week. It wasn’t my fault if I -was sober. But that was a long time ago as time runs now—and I don’t -know where Kirsakoff lives now. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” - -Rimsky laughed good-naturedly. “Let us have another drink. You are a -good fellow. Of course you do not know where Michael Alexandrovitch -lives. If you did, you could have money, as I have. It is worth money to -know where the old Governor lives.” - -Ilya saw that Rimsky was getting very drunk and seeking an argument. - -“If you knew where Kirsakoff lived, who would pay?” asked Ilya, becoming -greedy at the mention of money. - -“Who? There are many. That is something I do not want to talk about, -Ilya. Hold your tongue,” and Rimsky picked up his glass and filled it -again. - -Ilya drank with sad mien, turning over in his mind Rimsky’s statement -that it was worth money to know where Kirsakoff lived. If that were -true, Ilya argued to himself, he should have the money, for he knew -where Kirsakoff lived with his daughter in an old log house in the -outskirts of the city. - -“I don’t intend to hold my tongue,” Ilya announced. “What I want to know -is who would pay money to know where Kirsakoff lives!” - -Rimsky was startled by the suddenness and vigor with which Ilya had put -the matter before him. And Ilya leaned across the table, with a big and -dirty fist thrust forward. - -“Who?” asked Rimsky. “Why do you ask me that? What is there to fight -over? We are good friends—we are—you are friend to me, or——” - -Rimsky swayed in his chair and could not finish. He made an effort to -rally his drugged brain, but slipped deeper into the chair and his eyes -closed on him despite all he could do to keep them open. His right arm -flopped across the table limply, as useless as a dead seal’s flipper. - -“Everybody knows where Michael Kirsakoff lives,” went on Ilya. “Why -should any one pay money for what every one knows. That knowledge is not -worth a beggar’s kopeck.” Ilya lied, but he sought to learn all he could -before Rimsky got too deep into drunken slumber. - -“True,” muttered the befuddled Rimsky. “You talk true talk, Ilya -Andreitch. But why do you fight with me when I can’t see? What did I -say?” - -“You talked about there being money in knowing where Kirsakoff lived,” -accused Ilya. - -Rimsky tried to remember why he had said any such thing. The matter must -be as Ilya said—no one would give a beggar’s kopeck to know where -Kirsakoff lived. For that matter, Rimsky cared about nothing. The world -was a very pleasant place for all people said about bad times. He could -feel himself slipping away into a delicious unconsciousness, and he -talked aloud the thoughts which crossed his mind. - -“There is something wrong about this,” he confided to himself, unaware -that Ilya could hear what was said. Then he went on, head on chest, and -almost under the table, muttering into his whiskers. - -“The American officer—no, a Russian—well, the American officer—he wants -to know where Michael lives. And he—will pay well. Didn’t he come to my -place asking about the old Governor? And where did he go? Yes, the -Dauria, I remember, even if I am drunk—to the Dauria, where the -Bolsheviki smashed all the windows. I know. I remember the time my -father’s cow fell in the river. Was Ilya there? No. How could Ilya be -there—I am dreaming now. Let us all—be merry, for this is Carnival. Am I -not a young man? That is right—dance—dance——” - -Rimsky began to snore softly. The gypsy girl came and grinned at Ilya, -who reached out unsteadily and plucked the flame from the candle. - -“Let him sleep,” said Ilya to the girl. “He is a good fellow,” and -putting the cork back into the vodka-bottle which was half full by the -best of good luck, he slipped it into his pocket, pulled his ragged old -coat about his shoulders and tightened the rope belt. Then he slipped -out of the restaurant, chuckling at his cleverness at putting Rimsky -under the table and learning something which might put money into his -own purse. Besides, he had the half-bottle of vodka. - -He made up his mind to go at once to the house of Michael Alexandrovitch -Kirsakoff and sell the news he had heard—an American officer was at the -Hotel Dauria and wanted to find the old Governor. Perhaps Michael would -give five rubles for that news—if not five, then four, anyhow, a piece -of boiled partridge. But Ilya decided that he would do his best to get -five rubles. Michael Kirsakoff had plenty of money, and who was he -anyway?—once a Governor, true, but no better now than Ilya Andreitch. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII - - PETER LAYS HIS PLANS - - -PETER went back to the Hotel Dauria after his talk with Rimsky. The -sleepy-eyed youth who had promised a room, carried Peter’s baggage to -the upper floor, where Peter signed the register in a cage-like little -office. - -Then they went on down a hall past a dining room which was deserted. -Peter looked in. It was filled with battered tables, tubbed rubber -plants in the window sills, and crazy chairs which had been used in -defense and had legs in splints. - -The walls had been stripped of paper. The mirrors of the buffet-counter -at one end of the room had been smashed out and triangles of broken -glass still stuck in the frames. The curtains had been pulled from the -poles over the windows and the doors. Painted decorations on the -wainscoting had been smeared with the contents of catsup and vinegar -bottles, which had burst against the walls like star shells and the -acids had discolored the pictures of the crude drawings so that the wall -was spotted and leprous-looking. - -Peter was taken to a large room at the end of the hall. It had three -double windows overlooking the end of a side street that ran into the -Sofistkaya, with a view of the latter. He could see the old post-house -and the roof of Rimsky’s hut sticking up between two higher buildings. - -There was an iron bed without bedding. There was a standing screen in -front of it. The chairs had been broken but were repaired. There were -slashes in the woodwork about the door where bayonets had evidently been -thrust at former guests. And some of the guests had fared badly, judging -by the dark stains on the old oilcloth which covered the floor. - -The plaster of the walls was pitted with bullet-holes, especially -opposite the windows, and the panes of glass were newly puttied and -still marked with the thumb-prints of the workmen. - -“Can I have my meals served in the room?” asked Peter. The youth yawned. - -“Yes. If you pay extra. Ring this bell three times for the samovar -girl,” and he pointed to a button in the wall near the door, and the -youth departed, as if afraid that he would be asked to do something. - -There was an electric drop lamp on a writing table, and running water in -a little sink against the wall behind the screen. There was a tall -wardrobe set against a second door which evidently led to another room. - -It was hard for Peter to realize that Chita could be so modern. And the -room, poor as it was, seemed like a palace to Peter. His mind had been -readjusted to the things he had known as a boy by his visit to Rimsky. -Peter Petrovitch Gorekin would have thought himself a king to have a -room like this one in which Peter Gordon was to live. - -But there was no Peter Gordon now. Peter Gorekin was back in Chita. The -scene which opened to him from the windows had been for twenty years in -the back of his brain. The little hut, the post-house, the Sofistkaya! -He found it hard to believe that he had ever been away from Chita at -all. - -He sat down by the window. The mild heat from the radiator had thawed -away most of the frost in the panes and he looked out over the city. -Things that had been but memories were now real, truly existing before -his eyes in spite of his years of trying to blur their images out of his -mind. - -The old superstitions of peasants and exiles which he had learned in his -father’s hut as a boy returned to his mind—tales of werewolves who took -the shapes of men for diabolical purposes. Was there not something in it -all? Was not he himself something like a werewolf? Was he not a Russian -in an American coat? Michael Kirsakoff would never suspect an American -officer of being the son of a dead exile. Nor would Kirsakoff suspect an -American officer of being the same poor boy who had been thrown into -prison for a whim—now come for vengeance. - -The mysticism inherent in his race, the queer inarticulate yearnings and -the dissatisfactions of the Slavic soul, came to the surface in Peter’s -consciousness. But now he had knowledge of things, and power, and the -means of carrying out his own ends. He would play the game carefully to -an end in Chita, and then go on to Irkutsk without any one’s suspecting -that the American officer had killed Kirsakoff. - -He began to think of his return to Chita as a holy mission. Affairs had -turned out well for him from the first. He had managed to get to Siberia -instead of going to France. He had managed to get himself ordered to -Irkutsk, and had slipped away from his Russian orderly with no one the -wiser that Peter Gordon was really a Russian. And there was every -evidence that Kirsakoff was still alive and that he was still in Chita. -The reticence of Rimsky in discussing Kirsakoff was proof enough to -Peter that the former Governor might be found somewhere in the Valley of -Despair. - -He took off his tunic and rang for a samovar. A slattern of a girl, -dirty and unkempt, came trembling to the door to ask what was wanted. -She was not more than fifteen—round-cheeked, with scared blue eyes, and -brown hair down her back. She was wearing men’s cast-off old shoes. -Peter looked at her with pity. - -“Will you bring me some spice-cakes and a samovar?” he asked gently. - -“Yes, master,” she said, and turned to escape. - -“Don’t be frightened,” said Peter. “I am an American.” - -“Yes, master,” she repeated. But she had no comprehension of what he had -said. - -“Here are five rubles for you,” said Peter, holding out the note to her. - -But she fled through the door as he moved toward her. - -“The same old system working,” thought Peter, as he watched the poor -girl running down the hall. “The poor people frightened out of their -wits by the ruling class! Damn such a country!” - -He closed the door. He realized now that oppression was not dead in the -country. His years in America had dimmed his memories of such scenes. He -had begun to think that the revolution had bettered conditions for the -people, that in the twenty years since he was a boy in Siberia there had -been improvement. - -The old rage began to grow in him again. He lusted to kill. He wanted to -help the people, aside from his own blood vengeance. He wondered if his -dead father had not been able to help in having the son return to Chita. -His return might be in the nature of a destiny which it would be sinful -to avoid, even divine in its workings. It was all as if some controlling -star had put power into his hands, and had swung him back to the land of -his boyhood. It would be impossible to go against fate. He felt that no -man could stand out against what had every sign of being a directed -destiny. - -Peter was filled with a strange exaltation, a very frenzy of joy over -the thought that it would now be possible to pay off his old debt of -revenge against Michael Kirsakoff. The words of an old folk song began -to run through his mind and he hummed it gently, pausing to catch some -of the almost forgotten words. - -He got out his razor and shaved himself before the big wall mirror -between the windows. The peace and quiet of his room were luxuries after -the days and nights of living and sleeping on the pounding train among -the Czech soldiers. He had time now for careful planning, and he desired -to make the acquaintance of Kirsakoff at leisure, arrange the details of -how the Governor should be killed and then carry through the project -with all possible skill so that his tracks might be covered. There would -be many pitfalls to avoid, many nicely balanced circumstances. - -It would not be enough for Peter merely to kill Kirsakoff. The Governor -must know who brought death to him, must understand before he was sent -into eternity that it was Peter Petrovitch Gorekin, son of the -bootmaker, who took vengeance. - -The girl came with the samovar and the cakes and left them on the table. -She fled again without taking the five-ruble note which Peter had left -upon the table for her. - -Peter sat by the window and ate and drank. The sun dropped behind the -rim of the hill and twilight came swiftly. In the street below a line of -rude carts passed, drawn by frosty ponies with their drivers plodding -along behind the carts. They walked like men in their sleep, oblivious -of everything about them and steeped in the torturing cold. - -Farther up the street four men were drifting about aimlessly, tipsy with -vodka. They drew together at times to engage in maudlin argument, and -staggered about like clumsy bears, lurching at one another in wild -plunges and falling in the street. - -The four roisterers disappeared. A squad of Japanese soldiers came -stumbling down the street, evidently going on guard at the station for -the night. They appeared to be half frozen, but they doggedly maintained -some semblance of military formation. Their heads were so wrapped in -cloths that they could hardly see their way, and the fur straps across -their faces were white with frost from the moisture of their nostrils. -Their big shoes were stuffed with straw, which hung out over the tops. -The agonizing cold, despite the heavy clothing of the men, had -penetrated to their bodies and had chilled them to a condition akin to -lethargy. They walked as if through semiliquid air which impeded their -movements. - -Peter remained by the window smoking, while the frost gradually grew up -the windows. He was wondering how he could find Kirsakoff. It would not -do to make direct inquiries. It might be possible to draw more from -Rimsky, but it would be wise to wait before pressing the -cigarette-seller to talk about Kirsakoff. The graybeard would be -suspicious—he was already suspicious that Peter had some other motive in -going to the hut than buying cigarettes. Yes, it would be safer to keep -away from Rimsky for a few days, and perhaps wise not to move about the -city too much and start gossip. He might be watched at first, but after -a few days his presence in the city would be taken as a matter of -course. Then he could begin his quest for Kirsakoff. - -With this decision for the future, Peter prepared for bed. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IX - - ILYA USES HIS WITS - - -ILYA ANDREITCH, having left Rimsky in a state of gorgeous befuddlement -at the gypsy’s restaurant, hurried up the street to the house of Michael -Kirsakoff and his daughter. It would be great news, the coming of an -American who wished to find Kirsakoff. It might be a government matter, -for as everybody with an ounce of brains in his head knew, the Americans -were going to take full control of Russia—some wise folk even said that -the Americans would annex Russia as a province of America. Others said -the Czar had gone to America and had conquered it, including Venice. -Those were matters which Ilya considered in spare moments; just now he -felt that this news of the American needed full attention. - -Ilya could see the glowing coals of a sentinels’ bonfire up near the -church. Also, there were sounds of music and singing in the direction of -a barrack, and the rattle of a droshky coming across the little bridge -over the Ingoda. So he did not feel too lonely. There was no moon up -yet, but the stars were out and hanging low. The thin, sweet air -drenched his lungs, and cleared his brain somewhat. - -Now he heard a man walking near by. Ilya stopped to listen, cocking his -head to one side. But when Ilya stopped, the man stopped also—and then -Ilya realized that it was his own footsteps which he had heard, -crunching the hard snow musically. He laughed discreetly, taking care -that the sentries should not hear him, and started on again toward the -outer rim of the city. - -But he was a little afraid that he might not get past some of the sentry -groups without being stopped and questioned, or perhaps arrested. He got -off the hard walk and into the center of the sandy street, so that his -boots would not make a noise. He got out his bottle—the bottle which he -had taken from the restaurant table—and had a swig from it to give -himself courage. It would be no simple matter to go talking to -Kirsakoff, who, though an Excellence, was a cruel old bones of a man. - -But Ilya reflected that times had changed. He was as good as anybody -now, and knew as much as anybody. The revolution had done that for him, -and a revolution was good fun. Was not even Rimsky, who had once held -himself to be better than a _moujik_, now buying vodka for _moujiks_? -Hurrah for the revolution! And as for that, hadn’t he fooled Rimsky and -drawn from him the news that the American had come to see Kirsakoff? -That was proof enough as to who had the better wit. Ilya gave himself -credit for the manner in which he had handled the whole matter. - -Kirsakoff should give at least five rubles for the news, not a kopeck -less. Ilya settled that to his own satisfaction, took another swig, and -went on. A wolf howled in the hills above the city, and Ilya crossed -himself against the wiles of the devil. - -He passed the black dome of the church. The air was like crystal and -nothing cast a shadow, not even the iron fence about the old cemetery of -the church. And when the stars are so bright and hang so low that -nothing throws a shadow, there are witches about. - -Ilya hurried on, getting more nervous with every step, till he was in -the outer limits of the city. Then he crossed some old gardens to get in -among the log houses which stood at the end of the street. In that way -he avoided a group of sentries who were singing about their fire. - -He located Kirsakoff’s house. It stood on a corner of two streets, with -a log wall enclosing the _dvor_, or courtyard—the garden, the well, the -wagon-sheds. The windows let out no light, but stood out like tablets of -ivory set into the dark house, their frosty panes glistening under the -stars. - -Ilya went round to the great gate. Some old water casks were lying about -it in disorder. One of them was close to the wall of the court. Ilya -moved it a little, and mounting it, reached up to some old cords and -dead vines running along the top of the logs. He took off his mittens -and felt for a cord that had tied in it a certain number of knots. He -pulled it thrice, and then climbed down from the cask, and stood in -close to the wall, so that any person looking up the street would not -see him, for his figure would be merged with the dark background of the -wall. - -A sentry-fire burned redly out in the end of the street. A few dark -figures were visible about it. Somewhere Ilya heard a Cossack challenge, -and the rattle of a riflebolt in the crisp air. A pig began to squeal -away in the direction of the Chinese quarter. Ilya missed the friendly -barking of dogs, for the dogs of the city had somehow disappeared since -the troubles came and many people were starving. The unnatural stillness -of the night held a covert menace, as if all creatures, humans and wild -beasts, were walking about on their toes in dread, or crouched to spring -upon some lurking enemy. It was likely that hill tigers were about. The -occasional howl of a wolf seemed to be tinged with a note of triumph, as -if they were waiting for their old wilderness to be restored to them by -men. The wolves were once more hunting close to the city and getting -arrogant and fat. Men were too busy hunting each other to waste time or -ammunition on the great packs of timber wolves. - -A small door in the wall, close to where Ilya stood, opened inward a few -inches, slowly and cautiously, for the frost cracked the ancient hinges -with sharp complaints. - -“It is Ilya—Ilya Andreitch,” he whispered into the aperture of the gate. - -“You are a fool to come here in the starlight,” growled Wassili. “Are -you blind, that you cannot see the brightness of the stars, or have you -a mole for an uncle?” - -“What does it matter?” whispered Ilya easily. He did not mind being -insulted by Wassili, knowing in time that he would have the laugh on -Kirsakoff’s _moujik_. - -The gate opened a few more inches, and Ilya needed no greater hint, but -slipped through, and the gate closed after him. - -“You smell like a _kabak_,” grumbled Wassili. - -“That is why you opened the gate,” said Ilya with a chuckle. “You have a -nose for vodka, even if you are not civil to your friends.” - -“But you will be seen by enemies, to come here so boldly,” went on -Wassili, not so easily altered in his temper. - -“I? No one saw me. I am as secret as an owl. Those fools of soldiers are -all drunk and talking in their sleep. They shoot their guns at the moon -every night, to scare honest folk away.” - -“What brings you?” demanded Wassili. “Am I to stand here freezing -because you want to gossip?” - -“I came to talk with Michael Alexandrovitch,” said Ilya with pomposity. -He swayed unsteadily on his feet, for the vodka he had drunk was again -asserting its potency because he had been standing still so long outside -the gate. He blew gently down into his whiskers to melt away the ice -which had formed in the bristles from his breath. - -“Hmf!” growled Wassili. “Perhaps you think Michael Alexandrovitch has -baked a pig for your coming? Have you forgotten that Michael -Alexandrovitch is an Excellence?” - -“I am as good as he, Excellence or no Excellence,” retorted Ilya. “What -I remember is the revolution, and that Ilya Andreitch is as good as the -Czar. But I have brought news for the Excellence. Are we to stand here -warming the night with our breaths, when Michael Alexandrovitch would be -glad to know what I know?” - -“He could salt his porridge with what you know,” scorned Wassili. “What -news do you bring?” He was still doubtful of the legitimacy of Ilya’s -visit, and suspected his coming to be a desire for drunken argument. - -“When a man brings news in these times, he might have a glass of hot -tea,” hinted Ilya. “It is about government, and I have come with big -news about what is being done outside this place.” - -“You have brought a monkey with you, that is what,” muttered Wassili, -meaning that Ilya was foolishly drunk. But he fastened the bolt of the -gate. He was now shivering with the cold and sulky about it, though he -did not dare risk sending Ilya away if there was any chance of valuable -information’s coming to the attention of his master, Kirsakoff. - -“Whoosh! Is not a monkey smarter than a fox? You old pothead, you sit -here all day looking at your feet, while I learn government news and -risk my neck to bring it here and——” - -“Be still!” commanded Wassili. “You can be heard to the hills a night -like this! You smell of fresh-killed pig and vodka, for all your -government talk. Is that the way to come to the house of Excellence? -Follow along with that noisy tongue of yours, but keep your fingers on -it, for it wags too freely and you will lose it along with your head, if -you are not careful.” - -“Yes, and I’ll bring a drink of vodka along for you, if you have a fire -in your samovar, you old spider.” - -“It is good you bring something besides talk,” grumbled Wassili, as he -led the way under the overhanging roof of the shed and along through the -gloom to the door of the kitchen. Ilya stumbled along after him, -blundering among the kettles and other gear and making such a racket -that Wassili cursed him for having too many legs. But Ilya, in a gay -mood, chuckled into his beard and was only concerned lest he lose his -footing and have a tumble that would break the precious bottle in his -pocket. - -They entered the kitchen, which had its windows hung with old blankets -to keep the light hidden. There was a wall-stove and a cooking stove -with ovens built of stone. A candle burned on the table. There were -partridge feathers in a sink and the remnants of cabbages that had been -cut up on a board. A big earthen jar of gooseberry jam stood open on the -table and beside it a fat yellow bowl full of white honey, which gave -off a sweet odor and made Ilya think of bees in the fields in summer. - -Wassili sat down and rested his elbows on the table. His pockmarked face -had a glum look, and his pale yellow whiskers bristled with belligerency -for Ilya, as if the _moujik_ were in for trouble unless his story should -be of sufficient import for the visit. Wassili’s blue caftan, pale and -washed out like the garment of a Chinese coolie, was strapped about him -with a bit of scarlet cloth which had once been embroidered. His feet -were wrapped in skins, ready to be slipped into the big boots standing -limply by the bench upon which he sat. He had not put them on when he -went out to admit Ilya. - -“Let us be merry while we can,” began Ilya, anxious to improve the -atmosphere of the kitchen as represented by the scowling Wassili. So -Ilya threw himself down sprawlingly on a bench opposite Wassili, and -loosened the old rope about his coat. Then he pulled his bottle from his -pocket with a flourish of good-fellowship and slammed it down upon the -table with a thump. “We will all be dead in time that will come soon -enough, so I will have a glass of tea and a spice-cake before I talk -with the Excellence.” - -“The wind is full of news,” said Wassili sadly, but the sight of the -bottle put him in slightly better humor. He leaned down and squinted -across it, to gauge its contents. - -“How is the health of Excellence?” asked Ilya, his courage bolstered by -a sudden remembrance of his own importance and a desire to return to the -subject of statecraft in connection with Michael Kirsakoff. - -Without answering, Wassili poured himself a generous draft from the -bottle into a thick glass, and nodding to Ilya in place of speaking a -health, tossed the liquor off with a clicking sound in his throat and a -harsh appreciative grunt. - -“Bring the spice-cakes and the glasses for tea,” he called out to the -other room. An old serving woman peered into the kitchen, appraised Ilya -with critical eyes, and then shambled away for the cakes and glasses. - -Ilya’s yellowed teeth grinned across the table at Wassili. - -“Now when am I to talk with Michael Alexandrovitch, eh?” he demanded, -crossing his legs importantly and rubbing one knee with his paw of a -hand. “Don’t forget why I have come, Wassili, and that my business is -with the master.” - -“You will see Excellence when you see him,” said Wassili. - -“True!” said Ilya. “But I shall not leave that to you, if I have to -hammer him up myself. This is a matter of government.” - -“There is no one in the house but the old woman and myself,” said -Wassili, with a flourish of his arm. “Excellence is gone, and your -whiskers will be longer before you see him.” - -“May the devil tear out your tongue, for it does not speak the truth,” -said Ilya without anger. “This is not a time for lying, when your master -is waiting for news from me.” - -Wassili flourished his arm as an expression of his annoyance, and -blurted out surlily, “Then go above for yourself and see, if you know -better than I.” - -The old woman shuffled into the room, and put the glass and a plate of -cakes before Ilya, giving him a suspicious eye, and glancing -disapprovingly at Wassili for permitting what she regarded as a -dangerous intrusion. But she did not linger at the table longer than was -necessary to throw down the plate and the tea-glass. - -Ilya picked up a spice-cake and inspected it carefully by the light of -the candle, the maneuver being nothing but a way of delaying his speech -till the old woman had disappeared. - -“I have come with news about an American who is in the city,” he began, -and bit into the cake. - -Wassili turned upon him quickly. - -“You are a liar!” he exclaimed with ferocity. “There are no Americans in -the city here—they are only in Vladivostok, and you are blowing a -trumpet in this house while you eat our cakes.” Wassili’s attitude was -almost ferocious. - -“Then you know better than I,” said Ilya, blinking at him across the -table and munching the dry cake. - -“You are drunk, and you dare come here in these times and put a fool’s -cap on me—and the master!” - -“True, I am drunk,” replied Ilya through a mouthful of dry cake. “And I -hope I’ll die drunk and go to heaven. But do you think I’m fool enough -to run my legs off and come here, risking bullets in my back when I -might be sitting by the fire with my bottle? Do you think I come here -just to look at your old mud-head? I cared nothing for your master -before the revolution, but now that I’m as good as he, why should I not -do him a good turn if I can—and he has a few spare rubles to make it -worth my time?” Ilya blew crumbs of dry biscuit at Wassili with the -words. - -“Don’t come here and preach at me like a pope!” cautioned Wassili, who -was puzzled by Ilya’s newly acquired attitude of independence. Ilya was -evidently sure of his ground—or gone mad entirely. - -“What!” cried Ilya. “You talk to me like that! And I have come to tell -the master news! Very good. I know the way home again, and may your -bones never know what it means to be buried.” - -“Where are these Americans you talk about?” demanded Wassili, as he saw -that it would be wiser to let Ilya have his say. - -Ilya snorted, but showed his teeth in a grin of triumph. “I shall go and -tell the American officer that Kirsakoff and his daughter have gone, eh? -That is what you say. Very good. That will be all right, I suppose—till -it happens that way, and then Excellence will kick you till you squeal. -Then you will wish that you had listened to Ilya Andreitch and had not -tried to make yourself into an Excellence with big manners.” - -“Come, come,” protested Wassili amiably. “Let us not argue. Tell me what -you know and——” - -“I shall tell Excellence myself,” broke in Ilya. “I am a free man. What -good is a revolution if one man cannot speak to another? Go and tell -Excellence that Ilya Andreitch, who cut wood for him in the year of the -pestilence, has come with news.” - -Wassili laughed, and taking advantage of a fit of sneezing suffered by -Ilya from having breathed particles of dry cake, helped himself to -another draft from the bottle of vodka. - -“Perhaps I had better tell Excellence that a Grand Duke has come to see -him, eh?” and Wassili reached across the table and poked Ilya in the -ribs. - -“Am I not as good as a Grand Duke?” demanded Ilya. “I am alive to enjoy -my vodka and many a Grand Duke would like to be able to say that, you -old fish-gut! Go and tell the Excellence that I have come.” - -Wassili got up. “See that you don’t finish the bottle while I’m gone,” -he warned Ilya, and disappeared through a door into a hall, and Ilya -heard him climbing a creaky stairs. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - X - - “AN AMERICAN HAS COME!” - - -MICHAEL KIRSAKOFF was seated at a table writing a letter by the light of -a candle when Wassili knocked at the door of his room. The old general’s -eyes lifted to the door and made a pair of gleaming points against the -gloom behind him. The broad gold straps on the shoulders of his uniform -jacket set off his white old head so that it appeared to be resting on a -golden tray which threw out a quivering sheen of yellow light with the -trembling of his shoulders. His thin white hand dropped the pen. He -motioned to Katerin to move behind him so that she stood in the shadow -of his body, and recognizing Wassili’s cautious knock, he ordered the -_moujik_ to enter. - -“Master, Ilya Andreitch has come with news of the government.” - -“Who is Ilya Andreitch?” demanded the old general. - -“Ilya, he who once cut wood for the Excellence. I know the man well. He -has often bought food for us in the bazaar since we came here. He helped -me to bring many things to this house from the other, but he is drunk -to-night. Yet he vows he has news of the government.” - -The old general was puzzled. Katerin stepped into the light and looked -at Wassili eagerly. - -“What is the news Ilya brings?” she asked gently, afraid that her father -might say something which would discourage Wassili from permitting Ilya -to tell his story. - -“There is an American officer come to Chita to find the Excellence,” -said Wassili, with a bow. “I do not know—it is Ilya Andreitch who says -it and he——” - -Katerin struck her hands together and gave a cry of joy. “An American!” -she cried. “Can it be, my father, that our friends have at last sent -help to us?” - -“You say an officer?” exclaimed Michael, his eyes on Wassili, and -burning with an eager light. - -“So it is said, master.” - -“By the Holy Saints!” exclaimed Michael. “We shall escape Zorogoff if -this is true! Who else can have sent him but our friends?” - -Katerin was crying with joy. She threw her arms about her father’s neck -and kissed him. Till now she had restrained her emotions, hidden her -fears, and faced death calmly, but the news that aid was at hand -released all her terrors and flooded them with a burst of happiness. - -“True, our friends have got our letters and have sent an American to -save us!” she exclaimed through her tears. “God of the heavens is good -to us, and has answered our prayers at last, so that we shall have peace -and safety. This is the end of your tortures, my father!” - -“It is of you I think, Katerin Stephanovna,” said Michael, and he -grasped her hands and pulled them to his mouth to kiss them. “What I -have suffered I have suffered for you, for death means nothing to me if -you can be safe.” - -“Tell us, Wassili,” urged Katerin. “Did the American officer bring word -from friends? Is he to come here for us and take us away? And did he say -who sent him?” - -The gray old head of Michael snapped forward, the wisps of white hair -waving gently. His eyes bored into Wassili while waiting for the -_moujik_ to answer. - -“Ilya Andreitch told me but little, master. At first I thought he was -drunk and did not trust him. And when I told him that he must tell me, -he said he would talk with no one but Excellence, and that it was -secret. Thus I would not bring him up till you had given the order for -his coming.” - -“Then he is below now? Bring him up, and hasten, for we have no time to -lose. Zorogoff may be here again with the light of morning and I am but -now writing what shall be done when he has killed me. We must see this -American officer with all speed before the Ataman is able to balk him. -By the Holy Saints! This will save my daughter from death—for she will -die before she submits to the will of this Mongol brigand! Go! Bring -Ilya Andreitch before me and we shall hear his say!” - -Wassili ran out into the hall and down the stairs, well pleased with the -results of his report to his master, for he had feared that he had made -a mistake in admitting Ilya at all. - -Michael and Katerin could scarcely wait for Ilya to come up. The news of -deliverance from their dangers—safety so close at hand after long weary -months of hiding and worry—came like a pardon to two who were condemned -to death. It had been five days since the Ataman had left them. He was -still torturing them, for his threat against Katerin would undoubtedly -be carried out unless she killed herself. They knew that Zorogoff would -attempt to take them to his “palace” in revenge for their insults. And -they had planned to die together rather than to permit the Mongol to -carry out his evil purpose. That was the only way in which they could -defeat him. - -“Our letter to the Baranoffs got through,” said Michael. “It is they who -have sent this American.” - -“And do you think he will come here—to-night?” asked Katerin, her pale, -drawn face alight with the joy of escape. “I cannot believe yet that we -are to be safe again! God has answered my prayers! My father, I had -given up hope!” - -“Perhaps Ilya brings a letter from the American officer,” said Michael. -“If he has sent word to us by Ilya, he must have also given Ilya -something so that we shall know the American comes from friends. We -cannot delay. If the Ataman should hear of this American——” - -“They are coming up,” said Katerin, and they heard Wassili and Ilya -mounting the stairs. Soon the light of a shaking candle appeared down -the hall, and Katerin threw open the door of the room. - -Wassili blew out the candle when he entered, and thrust Ilya in ahead of -him. - -“Here is Ilya Andreitch, master,” said Wassili, and Ilya blinked at the -candle on Michael’s table, bowed, and stood nervously fingering his cap. - -“You bring us news, Ilya Andreitch,” began Michael when Katerin had -closed the door. Michael’s thin, weak voice took on some of the relief -he felt at knowing that help was at hand after months of danger in a -world which had apparently gone mad, and he spoke somewhat in his old -manner of authority. - -“I?” asked Ilya. “Yes, Excellence. I bring good news to your house—and -to the mistress.” He bowed again, this time to Katerin, who had gone to -her father. - -“Wassili says an American officer has sent you,” prompted Katerin, -seeing that Ilya was perturbed and might be stricken dumb by fear of -being before the former Governor. - -“He is at the Dauria, mistress,” said Ilya faintly, and turned to -Wassili as if he expected the _moujik_ to take up the story now, and go -on with it. - -“At the Dauria Hotel,” agreed Katerin. “And you have brought a message -from him to us?” - -Ilya looked round the room wildly, seeking some escape from the eyes of -Michael which bore upon him steadily. - -“Have you a message from the American?” asked Katerin gently. - -“I?” Ilya looked at her in amazement, and turned toward the door. Then -he bowed again to Michael and Katerin to cover his confusion. - -“What did the American say?” urged Katerin, and Wassili gave utterance -to a faint snort of disgust and prodded Ilya in the back. - -“What did the American say? Who knows?” asked Ilya. - -“The fool is drunk!” growled Michael. “Come! Speak up! Or have you -drowned your tongue in vodka and come here to make fools of us?” - -Ilya’s face began to perspire, and he twisted his cap into a rope. - -“Have no fear, Ilya,” said Katerin soothingly. - -“May God smite me!” cried Ilya. “It was Rimsky who told me about it and -I ran here to tell the Excellence!” - -“And who is Rimsky?” demanded Michael. “Where did he learn of the man -who has come to see me?” - -Ilya brushed his brow with the back of his hand. “Rimsky is an old -friend of mine—a good man, Excellence, who means harm to no one and is a -loyal man to his Czar.” - -“And what did this Rimsky tell you?” - -“That the Excellence would pay me well to bring the news.” - -Michael laughed and his irritation disappeared. - -“So you have a friend named Rimsky who gives away my money, eh? And so I -will pay you—if we can dig the news out of your skull. Now tell us what -it is that the American said.” - -Ilya began to twist his cap into a rope with both hands, and swallowed -spittle. - -“Excellence, I have done no harm,” he began. “I am a poor man. I once -cut wood for the Excellence. I am very secret. Rimsky tried to fish it -from me where the Excellence was living, but I did not tell him. I left -him drunk, and he does not know that I know where the Excellence lives, -and he does not know I have come to the house of Excellence.” - -Ilya looked triumphantly at Katerin after this speech, and bowed again, -feeling that he had handled the matter well, though he sought a sign of -approval from the daughter of the Governor. - -“What has all this to do with the American officer?” asked Michael. -“That is what we are talking about, Ilya. You are very smart to have -done what you did—now tell us more of it.” - -“Rimsky sells cigarettes in an old _isba_ in the Sofistkaya,” resumed -Ilya. “He told me it was a pity he did not know where the Excellence -lived, and he fished me for it. That is all. And I have come to tell -Excellence.” - -Michael expressed his dismay by a look at Katerin. He believed now that -Ilya’s visit was only some drunken foolishness, or probably a trick. - -“They have told this to Ilya so that they might follow him here. This is -the work of enemies,” said Michael. - -“Master!” began Wassili, holding up his hand, and then turning to Ilya, -said, “You told me it was a matter of government. You said there was an -American. Tell the master, as you told me, fool!” - -“May God smite me, it is as I say!” retorted Ilya to Wassili with a show -of anger. “There is an American come for Michael Alexandrovitch -Kirsakoff, the master general and Governor. It is truth!” - -“You say it, but how do you know it?” asked Katerin. She was beginning -to feel that her father was right—that there were no grounds for their -hopes other than a desire of this crafty _moujik_ and some of his -fellows to squeeze money from her father. But she concealed her -disappointment. - -“Rimsky told me, mistress, that is how I know,” said Ilya with a bow. - -“And it was Rimsky who sent you to this house?” said Michael. “Now, the -truth!” - -Ilya stared at the floor and tried to think. In a way, it was true that -Rimsky had sent him to the house, and yet it was not true in just the -way that Michael was saying. The _moujik’s_ brain was not equal to a -quick and accurate reply when folk of education twisted things up so. - -“I? No, master. Rimsky does not know I came to this house. How could he -send me here when he has no knowledge of where the Excellence lives? I -told no one because I am very secret, master.” - -“Then the American did not send you?” snapped Michael. - -Ilya turned to Katerin. “There is an American, mistress,” he insisted. - -“You know nothing of an American but what this fool Rimsky told you?” -insisted Michael. “Come! You have not seen the American?” - -“How could I see him, master?” asked Ilya. - -Michael gave a snort of disgust and leaned back in his chair. “It is -nothing,” he said sadly. “Send Ilya away,” with a look at Wassili. - -“I can see the American, mistress,” pleaded Ilya, aghast at the idea -that his visit had come to nothing and fearful of what Wassili might do -once they were in the courtyard again. “I speak truth! There is an -American officer come seeking the master general!” - -“Ilya Andreitch, I will give you fifty rubles if you will find this -American,” said Katerin, hopeful again as she saw that Ilya was in -earnest—at least she was determined not to make the mistake of sending -Ilya away without making sure of what he did know. She knew that he was -frightened, and that behind his fear there was more information than he -was able to put into words. - -“I can find him, mistress, if he is at the Dauria—I know the place well. -I was there but yesterday with pig-livers.” His eyes glittered with the -richness of the reward promised. - -“This is a trap of Zorogoff’s to get us to leave the house,” growled -Michael. - -“Not if there is an American in the city to see us,” said Katerin. - -“Some spy got Rimsky to tell this story to Ilya and then watch him to -see where he went. I do not like it. Or perhaps they want you to go to -the hotel seeking this mythical officer and seize you there. I tell you -it is a trap, my daughter.” - -But Katerin picked up the pen on the table and wrote on a sheet of paper -this note in Russian: - - _The man who takes this to you can find us again. Time is - precious for we are in great danger. Be discreet. Say who sends - you that we may know you are from friends._ - -She did not sign the note, but dried the ink over the candle, folded it, -and handed it to Ilya with a handful of rubles which she took from -between the leaves of a book on the table. - -“Give this to the American officer if you find him at the Dauria. If he -has come for us, let him tell you so. But you are not to come back here -to our house—Wassili will meet you at the _sobrania_ at midnight, and -you are to tell Wassili what the American says. Do not tell the American -where we are but let him send a message and the name of the friend who -has sent him. That will be our proof that he is not an enemy. Talk with -no one about this—and when you have told Wassili what the American says, -go home to bed and do not drink. If you give a true message to Wassili -you shall have fifty rubles more to-morrow.” - -“He will be drunk as an owl ten minutes after he gets to the Sofistkaya -and the first _kabak_,” grumbled Michael. “And if he finds this -American, how is the American to read Russian?” - -“If he come from friends, he must know something of Russian, else he -would not have come by himself—and perhaps he has with him some man who -can read it for him.” - -“You are wasting your breath and my ink,” said Michael. “I think nothing -of this business.” - -“God’s blessing on you, mistress,” said Ilya, crossing himself twice and -turning to follow Wassili out of the room. “I shall be very secret and -do as you command—and I shall not go drinking wine with the money.” - -Wassili lighted his candle from the flame of the one burning on the -table and opened the door. Ilya went out before him, and they both -descended the stairs. - -“It is all a trap, as I have said,” Michael went on again, staring -disconsolately into the flame of the candle, his head bent forward on -his breast. “This is the Ataman’s work—and he will come again in the -morning to mock us.” - -“I have faith that God has saved our lives,” said Katerin. “If an -American is in the city who seeks us, I shall go to him myself in case -Ilya fails us.” - -“Then you would be going to your doom, my daughter,” and Michael dropped -his face into his outspread arms upon the table to conceal the dejection -which had come over him again since he believed that Ilya had come on a -fool’s errand. - -“Hope is greater than fear, my father,” said Katerin, and lifted his -head from the table to kiss him. “Who knows? By dawn we may be safe with -this American. We must pray that Wassili will bring us a message at -midnight which means the end of our troubles. Zorogoff will not dare -defy an American officer.” - -“Zorogoff will defy the devil himself,” said Michael. “I put little hope -in this fool’s tale, but if it will make you happy, I will hope and -believe till we know that there is nothing to be gained from this Ilya -and his foolishness. And what you have just said about going to the -hotel yourself—that must not be. I shall not let you out of my sight.” - -“Then perhaps we may both go,” said Katerin. “We would be in no greater -danger if we tried to find the American than if we waited here for -Zorogoff.” - -“We shall stay here,” said Michael. “I am too old and wise to be fooled -by Mongol tricks. If I knew you could be safe I would be happy to say -farewell to you forever—but God tells me that we are in greater danger -now than ever, and we must trust no one. Come! Hand me my pen again, -that I may write down the things you should remember when I am dead.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XI - - THE FLIGHT - - -WASSILI lurked in front of the _sobrania_ from midnight till near -morning. There was a ball going on inside the building and many people -coming and going during the night, mostly officers of Zorogoff’s forces -and their women. But Wassili saw nothing of Ilya, though he gossiped -with the droshky-drivers about the _sobrania_, warming himself against -the biting cold by frequent drinks of tea at a restaurant across the -street. - -When he had almost decided to return to Kirsakoff and report that he had -not seen Ilya, he heard that Ilya had been killed. Then Wassili gathered -such details as he could, and along toward morning hastened homeward -with his story. - -Katerin saw the disaster in the _moujik’s_ face when he appeared at the -door of her room, breathing hard from a run up the stairs. His hands -were covered with candle wax as a result of their shaking. - -“What news, Wassili?” she cried. - -“The Cossacks killed Ilya soon after he left this house, mistress,” -panted Wassili. “He crossed an old garden to evade the sentries, and did -not stop when they halted him. He fell with six bullets in him—and they -say in the city that he was a spy, for he carried a secret message.” - -“Your message to the American,” said Michael, who had waited up for the -return of Wassili. “It is as I said—Ilya was bait for the Ataman’s trap. -There is no American. If you had gone with Ilya you would have been -seized, my daughter, and if I had gone, I would have been shot down. We -are lost—the story about the American was a myth to draw us from the -house.” - -“But, master, there is truth in what Ilya told us,” put in Wassili. - -“What?” cried Michael. “You, too? Are you fool enough to believe now -what Ilya Andreitch said?” - -Katerin had sat down on a bench when she heard that Ilya had been -killed, her hope crushed again. Now she sprang up at Wassili’s words, -waiting for him to go on. - -“It is truth, master,” insisted Wassili. “I had the news in the city, so -what Ilya said must have been true.” - -“Who told you?” cried Katerin. “Did they say he had come for us? Is he -at the Dauria? Did you see him?” - -Wassili was overwhelmed by such a volley of questions, and he paused to -catch his breath and assort his information from his memory before he -should reply. - -“Come! Come! Rattle your tongue, Wassili!” commanded Michael. “Sit here -and talk!” - -Wassili sank upon the bench while Michael and Katerin hovered over him. - -“An _iswostchik_ told me,” began Wassili. “His father was in the -Siberian Rifles with mine and I can trust his word. He told me that he -drove an American officer to the Dauria—two days ago. If the American -officer is there now, I cannot say. But there is none among the -_iswostchiks_ who has taken him back to the station. That I know, for I -asked many of them—and they would know if the stranger had been taken -away.” - -“Thanks to God!” cried Katerin. “Then though poor Ilya is dead, there is -still hope for us. We must pray that he spoke the truth. Tell us more, -Wassili.” - -“It came about this way,” resumed Wassili. “I heard my friend boasting -of how he had brought a rich American to the Dauria—this officer—and how -he paid double fare in Imperial rubles without any complaint. Not -knowing what was the right fare, and not knowing that Imperials are -worth thrice the money now in this city prove him to be a stranger. That -he was an American, my friend is sure, for he was in Vladivostok last -month and smuggled opium in here for the Chinese when he came up by the -train. Why, he even knows the Americans so well that he speaks American. -He cannot be fooled—he got rich in Vladivostok changing money for -Americans.” - -“But does the American seek us?” urged Katerin. She was anxious to -establish the fact that the American had come to help them escape the -Ataman. - -“I heard nothing of that, mistress,” replied Wassili. - -Michael pondered the matter carefully. - -“It all means no good for us,” he said finally. “This officer may have -sent Ilya to us, but why was Ilya shot? I say it looks like a trap.” - -“But Zorogoff’s spies may have known that the American sent Ilya, and -may have killed Ilya so no word could go back from us,” said Katerin. - -“I grant that, yes,” said Michael, but still he had his doubts, and -shook his head sadly. - -“And if Zorogoff knows that an American officer has come, then the -Ataman will not dare persecute us further. Did you hear the name of this -American, Wassili?” asked Katerin. - -“Mistress, I know nothing more. I did not dare go to the hotel when I -heard that Ilya had been killed, but came back here for the orders of -Excellence.” - -“And that was right,” said Michael. - -“Shall I go now to the American officer, master?” asked Wassili. - -“Let me think on it,” said Michael. “They killed Ilya and they may also -kill you. It is dangerous business and we must be cautious. If it is -true that an American has come, then the Ataman will do one of two -things—strike speedily or leave us in peace. I believe that he will -destroy us. I wish my wits were equal to telling me what I should do.” - -“We must not leave it to the Ataman,” declared Katerin. “The time has -come for us to make our decisions—we it is who must act and not wait for -the Ataman to make up his mind.” - -“We! What do you mean, my daughter? What is it we can do?” - -“Do something before the Ataman returns.” - -“What? What is it we can do, surrounded as we are?” - -There was a new look of determination in Katerin’s face. “The time has -come to be bold,” she said. “If Zorogoff expects us to wait here for his -will or his coming, we must surprise him—we must go straight to this -American officer and ask him to help us to escape the city, even if he -has not been sent to us by friends. But I’m sure we will find that he -has been dispatched here to rescue us.” - -Michael put his hands to his face and stared at Katerin, aghast at her -suggestion. He turned and sat down in his chair as if he had no strength -to remain standing longer. “What in the name of God are you saying?” he -whispered. “Do you mean we should put ourselves at the mercy of the -Ataman?” - -“Are we not now at the mercy of the Ataman? Are we not waiting for his -men to knock at the door? How much worse off will we be if we make an -attempt to reach this American?” - -“And how much better?” asked Michael. “Will it do us more good to be -shot down by the sentries as was Ilya than to remain here waiting for -some turn of fortune which will save us?” - -“Fortune has made the turn,” replied Katerin. “What more do we ask than -that an American officer be in the city?” - -“But if we never reach the hotel? What good would a regiment of -Americans do us if we are shot on the way?” - -“We must take the chance and get to the hotel,” declared Katerin. -“Surely, you must see that it is better to risk ourselves for the short -time necessary to get to the Dauria than to remain here and wait for -certain doom.” - -“Madness!” exclaimed Michael. “What we would be going to would be death -in the dark.” - -“We shall go by the first daylight, while the sentries are being changed -in the streets,” said Katerin quietly. It was plain that her mind was -settled upon the thing. - -Michael peered at her across the candle flame as if he doubted her -sanity. But Katerin looked back at him without the slightest sign that -she wavered in her determination to abandon the house. - -“I see what you mean,” said Michael sadly. “You prefer to die by bullets -rather than by the poison. Perhaps it is the better way—and I shall go -with you and we shall die together.” - -Katerin went to him and took up his hands. “I shall not cross the -threshold of that Mongol’s house alive, my father. I prefer to chance -death—and if we fail—then we are with God and have died as Russians. It -is better to die by the bullet of a soldier than by my own hand. -Remember the threat of Zorogoff and consider my reasons for not fearing -death.” - -Michael gave the table a mighty thump with his fist. “Truth, by the Holy -Saints!” he exclaimed. “But I am the one to make the attempt to get to -the hotel—and find the American. I cannot see you walk into the streets -with such wolves about.” - -“No,” said Katerin, “I do not wish you to go alone. We shall go -together—and if we must, we shall die together. But we cannot go against -the designs of God—if the American officer has been sent to this city by -friends to save us, we must not lose a minute in making ourselves known -to him. The Ataman said he would come back—and he will come. He knows -what I fear more than death. Very good. We must not wait here for him to -come—It is not in us to lie hidden here like jackals in traps for the -pleasure of the Mongol dog. We must flee with all possible speed toward -the American.” - -“You are right,” agreed Michael. “Zorogoff will lose no time if he -learns of this American—and perhaps he knows of the stranger now. At -least, as Wassili heard it, it must be common gossip in the city. So -whatever Zorogoff plans against us he will accomplish without delay. But -how are we to escape from the house? Are we to go out openly, as we -are?” - -“We shall escape through the servants’ gate,” said Katerin, her eyes on -the candle as she planned. “It will be safer to wear the clothing of -peasants. If there is a morning fog, it will help to conceal us. The -greatest risk is in being seen as we get into the street. We cannot know -how closely the house is being watched. But once clear and into the -street, who is to think that two poor peasants are Michael Kirsakoff and -his daughter—unless we should be stopped by soldiers and made to tell -what our business is, where we came from, and who we are.” - -“True, that is the difficulty,” said Michael. “But as you say, if we -once get to the hotel, Slipitsky, the old Jew, if he is still alive, -will take us to the American. Do you know if Slipitsky is still in -charge of the Dauria, Wassili?” - -“When I heard last, master, Slipitsky still lived,” said the _moujik_. -“Am I to go with the master and the mistress and do what I can to -protect them?” - -“No,” said Katerin. “You would be recognized and betray our identity to -observers. You are to stay here with the old woman, and if we die, you -shall be rewarded for your loyalty. Bring us old boots—the worst you can -find—and cabbages to carry in a bundle, that we may appear to be -peasants come in from the country to market.” - -Wassili went out and at once Katerin began plans and preparations for -their flight from the house. By the time the morning sun revealed a -white fog over the landscape everything was in readiness. An old shawl -had been filled with packets of rubles wrapped in old newspapers, and on -top had been put her sable coat and other clothing. But before the shawl -was tied up at the corners, three cabbages had been put in on top so -that they showed through the openings. - -The thick fog of morning gave promise that they could get away from the -house without being observed, unless there were sentries close by the -servants’ gate. - -When they were ready to depart, Michael put on the ancient gray -coat—that one which was padded with paper rubles. He belted the shabby -garment about him with an old rope and dropped his pistol into a side -pocket. A dirty old sheepskin cap covered his head and a long muffler -was wound about his neck, the ends trailing over his back. With the -muffler pulled up over his face he could see through the mesh of the -fabric, but his face was concealed. He also carried a short-stocked whip -with a dozen lashes, such as the farmers carry with them. In such attire -it was hard to believe that he had been a general of the Czar and once -Governor—now he was but a bent old _moujik_ who thought of nothing but -his crops and what money he could get for the few provisions he was -carrying into the city. - -Katerin wrapped her head in an old shawl, tied a raggy towel across her -nose against the cold, and drew the shawl down over her brow so that she -peered out through a narrow slit. Her chin was concealed in the collar -of a dirty and torn coat which had been mended with many faded patches. -She wore a discarded pair of Wassili’s boots, which had been retrieved -from the wagon-shed, where they had been hung up to be used for hinges -or pieces of leather for repairs. But she also took with her in the -bundle her light shoes and her slippers. - -When she finally picked up the bundle with the cabbages, she was a poor -farmer’s daughter come in from the plains to sell her cabbages and buy -salt and candles in the bazaar—and say a prayer at the church. - -Before they set out from the house Wassili was sent into the street and -pottered about the casks at the small door in the wall to see whether -the house was being closely watched. He came back soon and reported that -he could see no one. - -The old woman who had been doing the cooking stood crying and rubbing -her eyes with her red hands as she saw the mistress ready to go forth -and face the dangers of the city. She cried and prayed by turns, being -sure that disaster awaited them both. Michael quieted her by a plentiful -handful of rubles and an assurance that if they made to the hotel -safely, she should be provided for before they escaped the city—but the -old woman was disconsolate. - -“God go with you, master and mistress,” said Wassili, as he said -farewell. He stood in the kitchen door and watched Michael and Katerin -slip through the gate, bent on reaching the hotel and seeking the help -of the American officer against the menace of Zorogoff. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XII - - HIDDEN AGAIN - - -MICHAEL trudged along stolidly through the dirty snow in the middle of -the street, his head bent against the cold in peasant style. Katerin -followed him, close behind, carrying the bundle which showed the -cabbages. - -Once away from the house they felt they had a chance of getting to the -hotel without being halted if they did not appear too eager. So they -proceeded without haste, plodding along as if weary after a long walk in -from the plains. To any one who might watch them they were apparently -heedless of their surroundings and concerned only with where their feet -were to be planted for each step, but they were really watchful through -the cloths which hid their faces. It was not possible to see more than a -hundred yards in any direction, for the fog shut them in and helped to -conceal them from observation. - -They had not gone far before they made out the glow of a sentry-fire. -Having planned carefully what they should do in various circumstances, -they had no intention of attempting to avoid any soldiers, so Michael -bore straight for the group about the fire. The soldiers looked up and -scanned the approaching couple for a minute, then resumed their talk. -Michael turned out just enough to pass them, lifted his head to stare at -them through his muffler, gave them a gruff good-morning, and passed on. -The four men about the fire supposed that the man and the woman must -have passed through the outer cordons of sentries and given a -satisfactory account of themselves. So Katerin also walked past them -with a friendly nod, and though she was nervous for a few minutes after -she had turned her back on them, they said nothing. - -As the two drew in toward the business section of the city they passed -people who peered suspiciously at them. There were times when Michael -feared that they were being followed, but in time the supposed followers -turned up side streets and went about their business. - -Then a band of roistering soldiers swarmed out of a _kabak_ and bore -down upon the father and daughter. The men were tipsy after a night of -drinking and were singing wild songs and indulging in pranks among -themselves. They hailed Michael with pleasantries but made way for him, -and were respectfully silent when they passed Katerin, willing enough to -let peasants go on without being molested. Had they known that the two -“peasants” were General Kirsakoff and his daughter their attitude might -have been entirely different. - -Katerin struggled along, the great boots tiring her, for they were heavy -and ill-fitting, and where the snow was packed hard at the street -crossings, the boots slipped under her and with the heavy bundle she -found it hard to walk. But she knew her father could not help her if -they were to keep up the pretense that they were peasants. But Michael -slowed his pace at times to let Katerin come up with him. - -They reached the church, and stopped before it a few minutes to rest. -They prayed and crossed themselves and lingered as long as they dared, -for though they were both tired and cold, they hoped to get to the hotel -before the fog was dispersed by the sun. They were fortunate that so few -people were abroad. - -“Have good heart,” muttered Michael. “It is not far now to the hotel, -and the roads will be better.” - -“The boots make me slow,” whispered Katerin. “But do not think of me. -Save your strength, for I can walk all day. And we must not appear to be -in a hurry.” - -“It is plain that no one has suspected us,” said Michael, peering back -through the fog to make sure that they were not being trailed. - -“The test will come at the hotel,” said Katerin. “There we may encounter -spies, so we must be most careful.” - -“It is too early for many officers of the Ataman to be about,” said -Michael. “But there is safety in boldness.” - -They went on. Soon they passed the ruin of the great house which had -been their home in the years while Michael was Governor. Only one wall -stood, black and charred and penciled with white in crevices of the -timbers where the powdered snow had sifted in. The vacant windows yawned -upon them, showing a dismal background of drifting fog. In that house -they had lived as rulers of the Valley of Despair. - -In time they came to the upper end of the Sofistkaya where a road turned -off to the prison on the hill. They moved down past the big store which -had been looted thoroughly by the Bolsheviki and the exiles who had been -freed from the prison after the fall of the throne. The great windows -along the street were boarded up, and a pair of Japanese sentries stood -by the entrance. From the roof flew a red and white flag which marked -the headquarters of the Japanese commander. - -Next they passed the wrecked bank. It was there that Michael’s partner -had been slain while attempting to save what was left of the bank’s -money after the first big raid. The windows were also boarded, so that -in case of another uprising by revolutionists the building could not be -used as a rifle-nest for snipers. - -Now there were more people in the streets. But every one was going about -his business and paid little attention to Michael and Katerin. Such -soldiers as they saw ignored them. They reached the bridge over the -Ingoda, and now could see the front of the Dauria, not far ahead. They -soon gained a position on the street opposite the entrance to the hotel, -and crossed in the middle of the street after the manner of people from -the country. Michael paused before the door, and waited for Katerin to -come up with him. - -“This is the place,” said Michael gruffly, and then he pushed open the -door. He was afraid that there might be a group of people inside, but -his fears were relieved at finding a sleepy-eyed youth drowsing by a -fire-reddened stove on a bench. - -Once through the door, Katerin let her bundle drop to the floor. It was -so warm inside that she began to worry lest they be expected to uncover -their faces, and in that case, if they did not find Slipitsky at once, -they might be recognized by some casual passer-by who would carry the -news of their arrival at the hotel to some of Zorogoff’s spies. - -The youth by the fire roused himself reluctantly and gave an angry look -at the intruders. It was plain he felt that people so poorly dressed had -no business in the hotel. He eyed the bundle which Katerin had put down, -and then motioned them out of the door with an angry gesture. - -“Get away with your cabbages!” he snarled. “This is no public place -where people can warm themselves. This is the best hotel in the city and -only for rich people.” - -Michael bowed abjectly. “I have come to pay to Mr. Slipitsky money which -I owe him.” - -The youth stared the harder. The heat from the stove was oppressive -after the cold of the streets, but Michael and Katerin made no move to -uncover their faces. - -“You can give me the money,” said the youth, holding out his hand, -though he did not rise from the bench. “Slipitsky is not here and if he -were, he would have no time to bother with you. Come! Hand the money to -me and get out!” - -“Slipitsky not here?” demanded Michael. “But he told me to come. You -mean that he has gone away?” - -“I said he is not here,” said the youth curtly. “I have other things to -do besides answer questions. I’ll take the money.” - -“No, no,” said Michael. “Mr. Slipitsky must sign the paper if I pay him -the money—it is always so. I do not know who you are. I must see Mr. -Slipitsky, I tell you.” - -The youth got to his feet and looked closely at Michael, as if -suspicious of his purpose. He had probably been shrewd enough to -understand that Michael did not talk wholly as a peasant. Having -scrutinized Michael, he turned and looked at Katerin, but she ignored -his gaze and looked about the walls at the dirty old posters with -pictures of Russian ships. - -“Go away!” said the youth finally. “I can’t be troubled. This is no time -to come asking for Mr. Slipitsky.” - -“But I have come twenty versts this morning to see Mr. Slipitsky and -give him the money and I must get back to my cow,” insisted Michael, -seeing that he was making an impression on the youth despite the -latter’s show of contempt. “And if I have to go back to my house, it -will be two months again before I can pay——” - -A black figure appeared at the top of the stairs while Michael was -talking, and called down sharply, “Dazo! What are you doing? Who is -there?” - -“I don’t know who it is,” said Dazo. “Some fools in from the country who -have lost their way and——” - -“And is it a grand ball or something you are having down there with all -this talk I hear, till I can’t do anything with my figures?” demanded -the one above wrathfully. “Who is it come to talk with you so early in -the morning? Maybe some rich gentleman from Moscow, eh?” - -Michael now recognized the person above as Slipitsky, and knowing that -they were safe at last, called out, “Mr. Slipitsky, I have come to pay -you the money I owe to you.” - -Slipitsky leaned forward and peered down the stairs. “What! Somebody -would be paying me money and that stupid goat of a Dazo does not know -what is wanted. Dazo! Is it money you would let slip away from me in -these times? Oy! A poor man you would make of me, stupid one! Tell the -gentleman to come up.” - -But Michael did not wait to be urged by Dazo to go up. He started at -once, and Katerin picked up the bundle and followed. Slipitsky remained -standing in the dim light of the upper hall at the head of the stairs, -peering down, and as Michael drew near the top, waved him forward. “Come -this way to my office, please. And you—Dazo! Keep the door shut or I -shall be beggared with buying wood from the Buriats. It is the house we -wish to warm, and not all of Chita.” - -Slipitsky trotted ahead of Michael and led the way into a tiny room. By -the time Michael entered, the old Jew was standing behind a desk. - -“You have come to pay me money?” he demanded when Katerin had entered -the room. “Who is it, I ask?” he added, suspicious now because Michael -had not uncovered his face. - -Slipitsky was old and bent himself, with long black whiskers, a grave -and wrinkled face, small black eyes that seemed to grasp what they -looked at. He wore a round black cap on his head, and about his -shoulders was a long black cape tied in at the middle with a green cord -which had ended its usefulness as a curtain cord. His brow was furrowed, -and he had no teeth that were visible, but his face had a benevolent -expression as if he found it hard to be stern with people. There was -something about his manner as he stood behind the desk which suggested a -teacher. A wrinkled little smile lurked about his eyes—a ghost of a -smile which had dissipated perhaps under the cruel times that had come. -His breath smelled of boiled onions and the same odor pervaded the close -little room. - -“Who is it, I ask?” repeated Slipitsky when Michael made no answer but -turned to close the door behind Katerin. The old Jew was on his guard at -once, for he knew these muffled figures might be robbers or secret -police sent by Zorogoff to arrest him. - -“We have come to have a talk with you privately,” whispered Michael. -Slipitsky’s face was instantly screwed up with terror, and his jaw -dropped. For an instant he was in something of a panic and he drew back -into a corner, for he knew that no rude peasant would speak so correctly -as had this stranger before him. And whispers always meant secrecy if -not imminent danger. - -“You are not peasants!” mumbled Slipitsky. “You have come in here by a -trick! You do not speak now as peasants! Who has sent you here to make -trouble for me in my house?” - -Michael whipped the muffler down from his face by way of answer and -thrust his face forward into the light from the frosted window so that -Slipitsky might recognize him without further talk. - -“Prophets of Israel!” cried the Jew, suddenly relieved of his worry as -he recognized Michael. “You are dead!” - -“Not yet, by the kindness of God,” whispered Michael, and turning to his -daughter, said, “Also Katerin Stephanovna has come with me. You must -hide us both, for we are beset by the Ataman and have fled away from our -house to save our lives.” - -“True enough, it is Michael Alexandrovitch, his Excellence who was -Governor!” whispered Slipitsky as if assuring himself that he was not -deceived by his eyes. He clapped his hands over his ears. “It was said -that you were both dead! Four months ago I heard you had been killed! Is -it that you have risen from the dead by a miracle, my old friends? By -the patriarchs! This is a sight for me! Both of you—and dressed in poor -rags like serfs come in from a farm to sell butter!” - -Katerin had exposed her face and smiled joyfully at the old Jew. - -“Take care or you will be heard speaking to us and we shall be -betrayed,” warned Michael. “No one must know we are here, or Zorogoff -comes——” - -“Enough!” cried Slipitsky, and ran out from behind his desk, keys -jangling in his pockets, and shot the bolt on the door. “As you say, the -place is like a beehive with spies,” he whispered, turning back to -Michael. “That rascal, Dazo, below stairs is one of Zorogoff’s men, I -know! The Cossacks made me make a place for him there at the door to -watch—but I know he is an underground for the Ataman!” - -“Then we shall be delivered,” said Michael, pulling up his muffler over -his face again. “If it be already known to him that we are here——” - -“We must fool him,” said Slipitsky. “What is the good of having a head -if we do not use it? You must go out again and——” - -“But where shall we stay?” demanded Michael, alarmed at the Jew’s saying -they must go. To be turned into the streets again meant certain capture -by soldiers of the Ataman. - -“Please, you must hide us for our lives!” pleaded Katerin. “If you do -not hide us somewhere we shall be killed!” - -“We shall all be killed!” exclaimed Slipitsky. “Take off your covering -and let me see your face again, mistress! Ah, yes, it is you! Can you -doubt that I will not do what I can for old friends? Be patient.” - -“Then we can stay?” asked Katerin. “But what of the spy below? Will he -not reveal us?” - -“We are desperate,” urged Michael. “Zorogoff has given us the mental -torture—if he finds us again he will take my daughter to his palace -to——” - -“Toosh!” exploded Slipitsky. “Zorogoff is not to find you. I have known -persecution in my day—who of my people have not? And in your time you -were good to some of my friends. Ah, I never forget, my friend! I will -hide you well. But if Zorogoff knows, then we are all dead together—as -dead as the prophets! That Ataman is a robber, Excellence! Every week I -must pay him money till I am beggared. Taxes, he calls it! Is the last -kopeck from a poor man taxes, I ask? And every name that goes in the -book he watches, for fear I would have a stranger under my roof who -might be a spy against him! And that dog of a Dazo is his eyes. But we -must fool Dazo, as you shall see.” - -“He will know if we do not go away again,” said Katerin. “How are we to -fool him on that?” - -“Toosh! Who is to suspect that the two peasants who came this morning to -pay me money were his Excellence the General and his daughter? It is how -you get out again, as Dazo sees it, that gives me troubles. But I shall -put you in rooms and no names in the book for the spies. So we must fool -that stupid one below. Wait here for me, Excellence.” - -The Jew unbolted the door with cautious fingers and looked down the -hall. Then he went out and closed the door after him to look down the -stairs. He saw Dazo lying on the bench, his back to the stove, -apparently napping. - -“Dazo!” yelled Slipitsky frantically, at the same time beginning a wild -caper like a dance, “Dazo! Stop the two—the old man and the woman with -the cabbages! Stop them I say, or I am ruined for twenty rubles! Oh, oh, -oh!” - -Dazo rolled off the bench and sat up, staring about him in bewilderment, -startled out of a sound doze by the screams of Slipitsky. - -“What is the trouble?” called the youth. “What has happened now?” - -“Enough has happened!” cried Slipitsky. “The two peasants who came in -with the cabbages to pay me money! Stop them! Oh, I am ruined!” - -“But I saw no one!” cried Dazo. “I tell you no one has come in or gone -out from this place while——” - -“Stop the talk and run!” screamed Slipitsky, wringing his hands in -agony. “I signed the receipt but the rubles they gave me were bad! -Twenty rubles, I say, I lose! They just went out the door while you were -dreaming of the wife you beat in Irkutsk! They just went out the door! -Run for them and drag them back by their hair! Run, run—hurry!” - -“You are crazy,” muttered Dazo, but he reached for his coat to the -wooden hook on the wall, not sure now that the two strangers had not -evaded him while he was asleep. - -“I am crazy for my twenty rubles!” raged Slipitsky, and Dazo pulled on -his coat and dashed into the street. - -Slipitsky ran back to his little office and let himself in. - -“Come!” he commanded. “I will put you in rooms, now that I have sent -that fool of a Dazo down the Sofistkaya looking for you.” - -Michael and Katerin followed him down the long hall. The Jew put a big -brass key into a door, and, turning the lock, thrust Michael into the -room and handed him the key. “Keep quiet till I come with food, and if -any one knocks do not answer. We have fooled that fox of a Dazo, and we -shall fool the Ataman!” - -And the old Jew put his fingers to his lips against the thanks which -Michael and Katerin would have expressed, slipped out through the door -and was gone, wailing through the hall about the fictitious twenty -rubles which he had lost by the carelessness of Dazo, the spy. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIII - - KATERIN PLANS TO MEET THE AMERICAN - - -SLIPITSKY returned to the Kirsakoffs in an hour, bringing with him a -small samovar, some bread, and a cold partridge. In his pocket he -carried a bottle of wine for Michael. - -“You will need something to warm and hearten you, Excellence, for there -is not much warmth,” he said when Katerin had let him in. - -Michael was sitting on the bed, his boots off and his eyes blinking, for -he had been sleeping, being worn out with waiting up for the return of -Wassili the night before, the preparation for the flight, and the -journey afoot into the city. - -“Ah, that is good!” said Michael. “I am famished, though I have had a -good sleep—without bad dreams, for now we are out of danger, old -friend.” - -Slipitsky turned and looked at him in surprise. “Out of danger! Do not -think my hotel is so safe, Excellence. Zorogoff may ask for all my rooms -any day for more of his officers—and when he takes the notion he -searches the place. So you are still in danger—unless you have a plan -for escape from the city. Surely you and the daughter must have some -scheme for getting out by an underground!” - -“Oh, true!” said Michael, taking a glass of wine from Katerin’s hand. -“That is why we have come—there is an American here?” - -“Friends have sent an American officer to us,” explained Katerin to the -Jew. “Is he not here in the house?” - -“So-o!” whispered Slipitsky, betraying his amazement. “It is you he has -come for? And that is why so little has been seen of him! Two nights he -has been under the roof and he has not stirred out, but sits all day -smoking by a samovar! I have seen him in the hall once—a big fellow, -maybe a colonel! And he has paid a week in advance, too, but I could not -read what he wrote in the book for Dazo. So he got word to you that he -was here—well, that is good for you.” - -“We have heard that he was in the city looking for us,” said Michael. -“But we are not sure—we must look into the matter. But I doubt if -Zorogoff will dare interfere with an American—or us if the American has -come to help us.” - -Slipitsky sat down and pulled his beard thoughtfully while Katerin -busied herself with brewing the tea at the samovar. - -“It is hard for us to tell what that devil of an Ataman will do with -anybody,” said Slipitsky. “But an American—that is different. So your -friends have done this for you! And the American has sent word to you -that he is here waiting for you, eh?” - -“We heard it through Ilya Andreitch, a peasant, who came to our house -last night with the news,” explained Katerin. “But when Ilya was sent -here with a message last night he was killed. But the American did not -tell Ilya to go to us—Ilya got news from friends of his.” - -Slipitsky opened his eyes at that, and rolled them thoughtfully. “Then -the American did not send the word to you by Ilya?” He was puzzled—and -troubled again. “And Ilya was shot? That is bad.” - -“We shall have to be very cautious about it,” put in Michael, “for I am -afraid of a trap.” - -“Ilya got the news from Rimsky, an old cigarette-seller,” said Katerin. - -“What!” exclaimed Slipitsky. “From that old liar? He will say anything -for ten kopecks. What does he know about our American? Rimsky has not -been here to see him. I tell you, there is something wrong about this—it -may be that Rimsky is a spy.” - -“Ah, yes!” said Michael, frowning thoughtfully. “What if Rimsky is a -spy, as you say, and Ilya was fooled about the American’s having come -for us? That is what I said from the first!” - -“But it may be that the American asked Rimsky about us before he came to -the hotel at all,” said Katerin. “And perhaps Rimsky gave the news to -poor Ilya, and perhaps the news was truth. Then would it not be right?” - -“I would like to see something that is right if Rimsky has had a hand in -it,” grumbled Slipitsky, who was getting more worried as he considered -the matter. He was reluctant to ask too many questions, for he supposed -there might be angles to the situation which the Kirsakoffs would prefer -not to discuss. - -But Katerin was becoming alarmed by Slipitsky’s doubts. She realized -well enough that there had never been any proof beyond Ilya’s word that -the American had come seeking them, and that Ilya himself had been -dependent upon what Rimsky had said. But she did feel that there was -protection of some kind for them in the bare fact that an American was -under the same roof with them now, and that Zorogoff might not dare -persecute them openly or take them from the hotel. She was determined to -appeal to the American, but she wanted time to make her own plans. What -she feared now was that Slipitsky, by his suspicions and doubts, would -put her father back into his mood of dejection and discouragement. So -she laughed gayly and served her father with tea and the cold partridge. - -“I shall find some way of talking with the American,” she declared to -Slipitsky. “You must help me in some plan.” - -“I can go to him and tell him that I know where the Kirsakoffs may be -found,” suggested the Jew. “He will tell me, I think, at once, if he -seeks you or not.” - -“I am not so sure,” said Katerin. “He may not want to discuss a secret -with you—he will be suspicious of any person who talks with him about -us, if he is trying to find us unbeknownst to others in the city. He -might deny that he seeks us, and thus we should be deprived of his -help.” - -“True,” said Slipitsky. “The owl says little but thinks much, so what he -knows is his own, which is wisdom. We need not fear the American—I wish -there were more of them here. But this old fox of a Rimsky! It would be -well to know what he is at.” - -“No,” said Michael. “You cannot go running to a stranger and saying you -know where we are hidden. And we cannot go to him and make ourselves -known till we know for sure that he is seeking us. The matter will have -to be arranged with more care.” - -“Yes, Excellence, the wolf knows the forest and its ways,” said the Jew. -“We must be wise about it, for there is no tax on wisdom. It would be -well for me to bring Rimsky to the house and question him about what he -knows—and what he said to Ilya.” - -“You say you do not trust Rimsky,” said Katerin. “You say he is a -liar—and may be a spy for the Ataman. Even if the American asked Rimsky -about us, Rimsky might lie about it—and even if he tells the truth, -whatever he says we will mistrust it. And we must be careful that we do -not set his tongue wagging in the city. Till we have thought more about -it, we must be most cautious.” - -“Then shall I ask the American about it, mistress?” asked the Jew. - -“No, thank you—I shall go and see the American myself.” - -“See the American yourself!” gasped Michael in astonishment. - -“Yes, I shall see him,” replied Katerin calmly. “That is the simplest -and best way to learn what we want to know.” - -“That is sensible,” agreed Slipitsky. - -“You mean that you will go and tell him who you are?” demanded Michael, -his horror intensifying at the idea the more he realized that Katerin -meant what she was saying. - -“He may know who I am when he sees me,” said Katerin. - -“It must not be done, my daughter,” said Michael, his agitation only -growing. “We can trust no one, especially not a strange man who comes -from whom we know not. This is no time to be rash, and I cannot let you -put yourself into danger.” - -“If this American has come seeking Michael Kirsakoff and his daughter, -will he not have descriptions of us? And if he is not seeking us, how is -he to know who I am? I shall not tell him my name, you may be assured of -that, unless he knows me—or unless he tells me that he seeks us. So what -can the danger be, my father?” - -“There is some truth in what you say,” admitted Michael, as he resumed -eating the partridge. “If he knows you, he knows, and that would mean he -has come from friends. But if he does not recognize you, and he does not -tell you that he is seeking us, what have you learned? And how are you -to go talking with a man you do not know? I tell you you must not take -risks on what Ilya has said!” - -“That is wisdom,” assented the Jew, nodding his head slowly. “You must -always test the ice before you walk upon it, else you will find yourself -in the river with the fish.” - -“Tell me, where is the room of the American?” asked Katerin. - -“The other way—down at the end of the hall with windows that look up the -Sofistkaya, mistress.” - -“Can you put us in rooms near him?” - -“Yes, mistress, I could. When Dazo goes out later in the day, it can be -accomplished secretly. Is it that you intend to watch the American? You -will see little of him if he keeps to his room as he has.” - -“What good would it do us to watch him?” asked Michael. “It would tell -us nothing to see him going and coming.” - -“No,” said Katerin. “But I wish to be near him for protection in case -the Ataman’s officers come here. Now, have you a servant for us who can -be trusted not to talk about us?” - -“Yes, mistress—a sister of my cousin. She waits upon some of the -Ataman’s officers who live in the house. It is she who will bring you -your samovars and your food. She is safe—not too much sense and little -to say to any one.” - -“Then this is my plan,” said Katerin. “If you will contrive to put us -near the American officer, the next thing will be to take care that when -the American rings for a samovar the girl does not take it to him, but -brings it to us. And I shall carry the samovar to him. He, thinking I am -but a samovar girl, may talk with me and I may learn if he seeks among -the people of the city for a man by the name of Kirsakoff.” - -“A Kirsakoff a servant! You, Katerin Stephanovna, a samovar girl in this -hotel! How can you think of such a thing?” cried Michael. - -Katerin laughed merrily and tossed her head, already in a mood for the -plan which she had evolved. “I would not be a samovar girl because I -play at it, my father,” she said. “What is it but fun? Who can help the -Kirsakoffs better than God and themselves?” - -“But I say you are not to be a servant!” objected Michael. - -“Better a living servant than a dead aristocrat,” replied Katerin. “What -harm can come of it? Is it not wise to be known here as a servant? We -have come here as peasants and wish to be known as such for safety. Look -at my old black dress! I have on my slippers—see—and I can let down my -hair. How will an American know that I am not a samovar girl—unless, as -we have said, he recognizes me at once as a Kirsakoff? And I can talk -with him, perhaps. He will not be afraid of saying things to a girl who -is a servant which he would keep from others.” - -“And what then?” asked Michael with a frown. “Do you think that this -American is going about telling his secret business to any samovar girl? -Fi! You must take him for a fool before you have seen him!” - -“I am afraid that he will know you are not a servant, if I am allowed to -say my opinion, mistress,” said the Jew dolefully. - -“But he is an American,” persisted Katerin. “He probably knows little -Russian. But what I wish to learn at once is whether he will know me for -a Kirsakoff. And if he does not recognize me, and yet sees that I am not -of the servant class, all the more reason why he should suspect that I -might know the Kirsakoffs. So he might ask me if I know them. Why should -he not ask a samovar girl, when he has asked old Rimsky for General -Kirsakoff? Do you think I will only take his food to him and then run -away without a word?” - -“And what else can you do?” asked her father. - -“I shall talk to him—of the weather, and the troubles that have come -upon the people. And if he does not tell me why he has come to Chita, I -shall try and learn it from him. Can he speak Russian, do you know, Mr. -Slipitsky?” - -“He must speak a little,” said the Jew. “He is alone, and he has made -his way about. He talked with Dazo, who knows nothing but Russian, the -stupid ox. But the American wrote in the book in English and I could -make nothing of it—just a scrawl.” - -“Then he will be able to talk a little with me,” said Katerin. “At -least, enough so that I may gain his confidence and be able to talk with -him in a way of gossip about General Kirsakoff who was Governor here.” - -“By the Prophets!” said Slipitsky. “The mistress Katerin Stephanovna -should be in the secret police, Excellence! It is all a good plan, and -the mistress should be allowed to have her way in it.” - -“I wish there were some other way to go about it than this business of -being a samovar girl,” said Michael as he lighted a cigarette. “We shall -know how wise it all is when we see what we shall learn by it. But I -shall not prevent its being done, for we are in danger enough, and -making danger for you, my friend.” - -“Think not of my danger,” said the Jew. - -“Then I shall do it,” said Katerin. “We cannot delay, and we cannot take -outsiders, like this man Rimsky, into our confidence. Our safety now -depends upon keeping secret where we are, and upon making the best of -such time as we have. Who knows when the Ataman will learn where we have -gone from the house? And you shall be well paid for your help, Mr. -Slipitsky, and for what you have done.” - -“Ah, it is not for money,” said the Jew. “When are you to begin as -samovar girl, mistress? I must make the arrangements and be sure that -everything is ready.” - -“The morning is the best time for me to go to the American,” said -Katerin. “I shall take his morning samovar to him, the girl bringing it -to me first. And I shall go on serving him till I have learned what I -need. And if he should not tell me before he is to leave the city, I -shall tell him that we wish to escape the city under his protection. -Surely, we need not be afraid of an American!” - -“No,” agreed Michael. “He cannot be from enemies if he is not from -friends. But it is best to learn what we can first, and you must have a -good rest before you begin a battle of wits.” - -The Jew left them again, and later in the day he put Michael and Katerin -into two rooms next to the room in which Peter was resting and planning -how he should deal with Michael Kirsakoff if he could be found in Chita. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIV - - THE SAMOVAR GIRL - - -IT was nine o’clock by his wrist-watch when Peter got out of bed that -morning. From what he could see of the city through the frosted windows, -it was a cold gray day, with the position of the sun above the ridge of -hills marked by a yellow blotch through the scattering fog. - -The room was cold and he dressed rapidly. He rang at once for a samovar, -and began shaving. He had made up his mind to make definite efforts this -day to trace Michael Kirsakoff, for he was now rested from his journey -on the train. He thought of Rimsky. It might be wise to go in and see -the graybeard again, and pick up once more the conversation and the -gossip. In time Rimsky would be willing to talk more freely, Peter was -sure. - -The samovar girl was slower than usual in coming. Peter rang again—three -times, and with as much insistence as he could put into the pressure of -the button. He finished shaving, and had a mind to go out to the dreary -dining room and see what could be done about getting some hot tea there. -It was apparent that the stupid and slatternly girl who had been serving -him could not be depended upon for prompt service—and he was beginning -to suffer from the cold. - -When he had decided that he should wait no longer, there came a knock at -the door. He opened it—and stared! For instead of the peasant girl who -had been serving him since his arrival at the hotel, there was a tall -young woman with a beautiful face—a patrician face, the face of a woman -of noble lineage! And he was startled, though he was too well trained in -his business to reveal his amazement to her. Still, he paused for an -instant, not sure that she had not mistaken the room and had not come in -response to his ringing. He looked at her over the top of the big brass -samovar which she bore on a tray before her, and her keenly intelligent -blue eyes met his with a self-possessed and frank gaze. He half expected -her to mutter some apology and go away. Instead, she stood gazing at -him, waiting for him to make way for her, and the trace of a smile came -into her eyes, as if she felt like saying to him, “Here is your samovar! -How do you expect to get it if you stand all morning in the doorway?” - -Peter bowed slightly, and said good-morning with an effort to be casual. -In the second which he had stood stock still looking at her, a suspicion -had crossed his mind—this well-born woman had not taken the place of his -unkempt serving girl without good reason. It was quite possible, and -quite in the Russian style, to send an attractive woman to serve him and -spy upon him. Very well! He decided that he should play a little at that -game himself. - -“Good-morning, master,” Katerin replied modestly, and came through the -door when Peter stepped aside to admit her. She smiled as a matter of -duty, and went about her business of placing the samovar and the -breakfast things on the table. - -Peter went before the big mirror on the wall between the windows and -pretended to be combing his hair. He wished to conceal from the new -samovar girl his close observation of her, and he could watch her image -in the mirror without appearing to pay any special attention to her. - -Katerin wore her old black dress. Peter knew at once that it was not a -cast-off garment such as might be given to a serving girl by a woman of -the upper class—it was obviously her own garment, cut and made -especially for her. Though the material was old, he knew it for fine -stuff, probably imported. A real American might have been deceived into -the belief that this woman was nothing but a servant; Peter, however, -knew that such a delicate face, such fine features, such a carriage of a -proud head were to be found only among the nobility of his native -country. If she had been sent to watch him, he knew that whoever had -sent her could not know that he was a native Russian—it was presumed -that he was an American so unfamiliar with Russia as to be easily -misled. - -He smiled as he watched her. She handled the crude dishes as if they -were of the most fragile china or of fine glass. She put down the heavy -blue sugar-urn gently; she transferred the tea-glass, which was made -from the bottom of a bottle, from the tray to the table with infinite -care. She laid out the old brass spoon beside the heavy plate on the -dingy cloth as if instead of being brass it were of the finest silver. - -He noted her hands. The fingers were slender—and clean. The nails were -polished. Her black hair, braided down her back and tied with a bit of -velvet black ribbon, had a sheen which indicated the care which had been -given to it. And the low collar of her gown revealed the fine texture of -her skin. - -Having arranged the dishes on the table, Katerin stood with her back to -Peter, hands on hips and watching the teapot atop the samovar. This was -all in startling contrast to the abrupt manner of the other girl, who -had dumped the things down upon the table and departed. This new girl -seemed suspiciously solicitous about the comfort of the American—and was -possessed of plenty of time for lingering in the rooms of guests! - -Peter walked to the table, and sat down with his back to the window. She -remained standing before the samovar in thoughtful attitude, -disregarding him. He saw that her face showed traces of strain—a pallor -which was not natural to her skin and a gauntness about her eyes which -gave her a sad and melancholy expression. Presently she picked up the -blue sugar-urn as if to put it better within his reach. - -“Ah!” said Peter, rubbing his hands and smiling up at her. “On cold -mornings like this one the song of the samovar makes pretty music in our -ears!” - -It was an old saying of his father’s—and Peter spoke the Russian words -with casual rapidity, for he wanted to see what she would think of -him—an American who spoke Russian as only one born under the Czar could -speak it. - -The sugar-urn slipped from Katerin’s fingers and crashed down upon the -metal tray, spilling the sugar. And he heard her give a startled gasp. A -look of utter astonishment came into her face and she gave him a -frightened stare. The Russian words had put her into a swift panic—she -was more than astonished—she was actually alarmed at hearing her own -language flow so freely from the lips of a man she supposed to be an -American. - -“Have I frightened you?” he asked, looking at her with feigned concern, -and speaking gently. “Do you fear the sound of your own language?” - -“You are Russian,” she said simply, but with the faintest trace of a -question in the words. - -“Oh, no, I am an American,” he replied easily. “True, I am of Russian -blood.” He smiled at her, and she looked away from him swiftly, renewing -her efforts to save the sugar which had been spilled from being wet in -the bottom of the tray. He saw her fine white skin show a sudden flush -of color that rose from her throat and mounted slowly to her cheeks, -tinting the pale skin under her eyes. He thought now that she was more -beautiful than he had at first realized. - -“Is it because I am Russian that you show fear?” he went on. - -She tossed her head a trifle, as if in defiance. “I do not fear you,” -she said lightly, and gave him a shy smile. - -“I would be sorry if you did.” - -“It is very pleasant—that we may speak to each other and understand. I -was surprised—yes. Now, there is your sugar, and I must go.” - -“No, please!” he objected as she turned as if to go to the door. -“Everybody is surprised to hear the American officer speak real Russian, -but no one stops to talk with me—and I am hungry for talk—talk in -Russian. I have only just come, and the other girl would say only, ‘Yes, -master’ and ‘No, master,’ and run away frightened, just as you are about -to do.” - -“But I am not frightened,” she said, pretending to bother with the -teapot on the top of the samovar. - -“But just now, at hearing your own language, you dropped the sugar dish. -Is it not true?” - -Peter was joking her now in an effort to get on friendly terms with her. -But she still appeared a bit distrait, as if she had not yet recovered -from the shock of hearing a foreigner speaking the Czar’s Russian. - -“Yes, I was startled,” admitted Katerin, and now smiled at him frankly, -though she gave him a searching look—the silver bars on his shoulders, -the buttons of his blouse, the circle of brown tape at the cuffs of his -tunic. “And you would be surprised, American, if a samovar girl should -speak to you in perfect English.” - -“Probably I should,” said Peter. “As it was, you surprised me this -morning—I was expecting the other girl to come.” - -She said nothing to that. She realized now that it would be foolish to -expect him to think of her as of the servant class, and had already -given up all ideas of making a pretense. - -And as for Peter, he was beginning to abandon his theory that she was a -spy. There was probably some other reason for her being a servant. He -was chiefly concerned now with making her a friend, for the thought -crossed his mind that this girl might be able to give him information -about Kirsakoff, though the subject of the former Governor would have to -be approached with great caution. - -“The other girl could not come this morning,” she said. “But I shall not -always bring your samovar—my work is on the other floors.” - -“I hope you will, though it is too bad that you have to work as a -samovar girl.” This was direct angling for enlightenment as to why she -was serving as a samovar girl—he wanted to give her a chance to set -herself right with him. If she did happen to be a spy, it would make it -easy for her to improvise a history for herself and so find it easy to -talk with him and deflect his suspicions—if she thought he was -suspicious of her true status. He knew it was quite possible that she -was a refugee who had turned “worker” for protection against the wrath -of the masses toward the wealthy. - -“People once rich are now poor,” said Katerin, and looked at him -significantly. She was hoping that he might take this hint, and by a -closer scrutiny, recognize her as Kirsakoff’s daughter. In that case, he -would make it known to her that he had come from friends to find her and -her father. But, as a matter of fact, Peter had forgotten that Kirsakoff -had a daughter—except for a little girl. - -“And it is necessary now that you work?” he asked. - -“It is most necessary. I must have food and shelter by some method.” - -“You are working here—as a samovar girl—for food and shelter? Is it as -bad as that with you?” - -“Why not I as well as others?” she asked simply, with a shrug of her -shoulders. “And others have fared worse. What better could I do while I -wait—for friends—to send help to me—and my people?” - -Once more she gave him that steady gaze which she thought would add -meaning to her words, but though his face was serious, not a glimmer of -understanding did she see in his eyes. She thought it strange that if he -had been sent to rescue her father and herself he could not grasp the -meaning behind her words and her glances. Surely, he would have been -shown a picture of her, or have a description of her from friends which -would cause him to recognize the daughter of Michael Kirsakoff easily. -There were not so many young women of her age, education, and appearance -in Chita, she knew. - -She turned her eyes from his, and colored again, embarrassed by having -looked so long and steadily into the eyes of a stranger. She drew him a -glass full of hot water from the samovar for a fresh glass of tea and by -this means covered her sense of having appeared too bold with a strange -man. - -“So you are waiting for help to come to you, eh?” asked Peter. He pitied -her—yet he was still reserving his judgment about her. It was possible -that her story was only to mislead him as to her real motive in bringing -the samovar to his room. - -Katerin smiled sadly. “Yes, I wait for a chance to get away from the -city. We have sent letters to friends in Harbin and in Vladivostok—weeks -ago, months ago. We are not sure that they got the letters, for we have -had no answer. Yet we hope some one will come to help us. Perhaps—_they -will send some one to us_,” she added with special significance and -looked at him again with intent eyes. - -Peter was puzzled now. He saw that she was trying to make him understand -something without putting it into words—it might be that she was seeking -to learn for some other person what his object was in coming to Chita. -Or he had been mistaken for some other person who was expected. - -“Why do you not go to Vladivostok yourself?” he asked, evading saying -anything that bore upon what he was thinking. “The trains are running. -Is it lack of money that prevents you from going?” - -“No, not money,” she said, and then with a glance at the door, she -lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “Do you not know about the Ataman -Zorogoff who is in this city?” - -“Yes, I have heard of him. I hope to know more about him. The Americans -want to help the people. Perhaps you will tell me about Zorogoff.” - -Peter thought that was enough for him to say about Zorogoff. He did not -care to commit himself on the subject of the Ataman—did not wish to -betray any antagonism toward the Mongol ruler. The Ataman was a man to -be wary about, and Peter had no intention of taking this girl into his -confidence as to where he might stand in any matter which involved -Zorogoff. - -Katerin suddenly clenched her hands. “Do the Americans think they can -help us if they remain in Vladivostok?” she demanded with passion. Then -she lapsed back into her easy manner as suddenly as she had blurted out -her feelings, and turned as if she would go. - -“Please wait!” he commanded. “This is something that it would be well -for me to know.” Then dropping his voice as she paused and looked back -at him over her shoulder, he went on, “You mean that the people are -oppressed by the Ataman Zorogoff?” - -She returned and stood before the samovar, as if settling in her mind -what her answer should be. - -“I think I had better not talk about the Ataman,” she said finally. “He -is not a safe subject for discussion by a poor and helpless samovar -girl.” - -“Tell me,” he urged, bending forward and speaking confidentially, “are -you in danger from the Ataman?” - -She gave him that quick look again, as if she were not quite sure that -he could be trusted. “It is better for me not to talk of the Ataman—but -I am a samovar girl here for my own safety—till some one comes for -me—_and my father_.” - -Once more he understood that he was to get some meaning from her words. -He noticed that a sudden change had come over her—there was a softer -look in her eyes, as if she had abandoned all thought of using any -artifice with him and was on the verge of giving him her confidence. Her -eyes seemed to burn with a kindlier light for him. - -Peter was right about Katerin. She was at that time strongly tempted to -tell him who she was. She watched him with a quivering expectancy, -waiting for him to whisper to her that he was the man who had been sent -by her friends to find her and Michael Kirsakoff. But when he said -nothing and observed her without any sign that he had comprehended her -meaning in words or looks, she felt a fear that perhaps she had gone too -far in her attempts to enlighten him as to her identity. - -“Do you live here—in Chita?” he asked. It was in his mind that this was -a good time to test her as to whether she might have any knowledge of -Kirsakoff. He realized that if she had her home in Chita, she was of the -class who would know the former Governor. - -Katerin’s lips moved as if to reply, but she did not speak. She had -recovered her caution. She wanted to evade the answer, for once more she -had built up a mental resistance against him and was beginning to be -afraid. She realized that if she pretended to be a stranger in the city -she would defeat his purpose if he had really come from friends, by -misleading him. If she told him that she was a stranger in the city he -would be thrown entirely off the track and never suspect that she was -Katerin Stephanovna Kirsakoff. - -“I have been in Chita long enough to know it well,” she said. “And I -have been here long enough to be willing to go, too.” - -“Then you have friends here,” he said. “You must know many of the -people—the wealthy people, that is.” - -“They are almost all gone—or dead. Most of them are in Vladivostok, or -in hiding here. But we cannot get away now—it is impossible for us to -leave by ourselves. We wait for our friends—_to send us help_.” That -should be plain enough for him, she thought. - -“How would they send help?” he asked. “You mean that they would send -soldiers?” - -“Perhaps they would send a man who would be able to take us away from -the city—they might even send a—foreigner. A man Zorogoff would not dare -to hinder from going with us.” - -Peter now had full understanding of her searching looks, her broad hints -about help, and her surprise at finding that he spoke perfect Russian -though supposed to be an American. Also, he saw her reason for coming to -him as a samovar girl—unless she was really a spy delving into his -object for being in the city. - -“I am sorry I have been so stupid,” he said. “You must think I am a -fool—but I am not a messenger sent by your friends.” - -Katerin was standing at the far end of the table from him, close by the -door. He saw her turn pale, either with sudden fear of him, or great -disappointment that she had revealed to him that she was expecting a -messenger. She was calm enough, but he saw that his admission that he -was not the expected messenger, chilled her with some unaccountable -terror. - -It was this that had terrified Katerin: This American now denied that he -was seeking her father—but where had Ilya gotten the word that an -American was hunting for Michael Kirsakoff? And this American was really -a Russian! Could it be that instead of being a friend, or from friends, -he was in reality an enemy? What could this man want with her father? -she asked herself. He could not have come from friends, else he would -have easily recognized her. And if he had asked Rimsky for the -whereabouts of Michael Kirsakoff and was willing that the old -cigarette-seller and Ilya Andreitch the pig-killing _moujik_ should know -that he was seeking Kirsakoff, why was he not willing that she should -know of his quest? She saw that he was willing to ally himself with -peasants but withheld the object of his coming to the city from -aristocrats. She saw that she had failed in misleading him as to her -class. He gave his secrets to peasants—thus he must be an enemy to her -father and herself! - -She laughed suddenly, as if all that had passed between them had been a -joke. She must change her tactics and get his secret. She must not -arouse his suspicions as to her identity now, but baffle him in every -way, for if he were not a friend he must be a new menace to her and her -father. - -“Of course you are not the messenger,” she said, and returning to the -samovar, took down the teapot, shook it swingingly and looked into it. -Her face was flushed again under the excitement of what she had -discovered about him. “Come! Have another glass of tea, -please—_master!_” She gave a joking twist to the last word, and threw -back her head and laughed gayly. - -“But it is too bad if you have been expecting a messenger,” said Peter. - -“Oh, it is nothing. Everybody in Siberia is waiting to hear from -friends! You Americans! You are too serious about everything—what does -it matter if you be not the man?” - -But Peter _was_ serious. He almost wished now that he had led her to -believe that he was a messenger. For he was afraid that she would go -away and he would see her no more. He wanted to see her again and again, -and in time bring their conversation to the subject of the former -governor and get from her some information as to where he might look for -Kirsakoff. - -“Is it true that you are in danger?” he asked. “That you must get away -from the city?” - -“We are all in danger here,” she retorted. “Trust no one—the city is -full of spies, and you must be careful what you say—even what you say to -me.” - -“But I think I could trust you,” he said conciliatingly. - -“Please don’t trust me. I would rather not have any secrets. The -greatest danger in this city is in having a secret which some person -wants. I prefer to know nothing and be safe.” - -“Perhaps I could be of help to you,” said Peter, having an idea that by -offering protection he could gain her confidence and learn from her -where Kirsakoff might be found. “I am an American officer, and if I -should employ you for my government no one would dare threaten your -safety.” - -“Perhaps you could help me,” she said thoughtfully. “But I know little -about you—what part of Russia are you from?” - -Peter hesitated. It would not do to tell her he had been a boy in Chita -for that news would start gossip, and he would be under suspicion at -once if Kirsakoff were killed. He drank some tea before he answered the -question. - -“Oh, I have not been in Russia for years—I left Kiev when I was a boy. -Come! What is your name? We must be friends if we are going to go into -these matters.” - -“What is your name?” she countered. - -“Call me Peter—that is my name.” - -“Peter! That is no name for a Russian. What are your other names?” - -“Peter Petrovitch.” - -She laughed at him with a touch of saucy insouciance, and lifted her -shoulders as if she put small faith in the name. “What is your generic -name?” - -“Gordon, but I hoped you might call me Peter Petrovitch—it has been many -years since I heard it thus. You make me forget that I am an American, -I, who am Russian.” - -She turned toward the door. “I am afraid that I must go now,” she said. - -He rose from his chair and moved after her. “But you have not given me -your name.” - -“Call me Vashka.” - -“But that is no name for a Russian,” he insisted. “The generic name, -please.” - -“That will do for now—it is good enough for a samovar girl.” She moved -toward the door, but lingeringly, as if she had other things she would -say but refrained from saying them at this time. - -“Ah, but I know you are not really a samovar girl,” he said seriously. -“You are a lady, and I shall be happy to help you and serve you if it is -in my power. Promise that you will come back to me.” - -“Perhaps I shall come,” she replied, and smiled over her shoulder at -him. She felt unable to cope with him at this time, knowing that Ilya -had said he sought her father. She knew that before she talked with him -further she must consider the matter and consult with the sagacious -Slipitsky. “You are very kind,” she said, smiled again, and went through -the door. - -Peter bowed as she disappeared, looking back at him from the hall as if -fearful that he would run after her and see where she went. But he -closed the door, and stood smiling at himself in the big mirror—smiling -over his thoughts of the amazing samovar girl he had found in Chita! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XV - - THE TRAP SHUTS - - -SLIPITSKY was with Michael when Katerin returned from Peter’s room. The -old Jew was consumed with curiosity about the American, and worried for -the safety of his guests, for he sensed menace in the stranger. Schooled -all his life in the secret intrigues among exiles and living in an -atmosphere of spies and counter spies, he had an astounding mental -perception in devious ways. The fact that Rimsky and Ilya, two peasants, -had knowledge of the American which pointed to some hidden purpose in -his arrival in the city, was proof enough to Slipitsky that something -was seriously wrong. The chasm of caste in Siberia prevents an officer -from dealing with the lower class of peasants—unless he is using them -for an advantage against his own class. To the Russian, an officer comes -from the upper classes, so the idea that Peter could have ever been a -peasant was beyond the comprehension of Slipitsky or Kirsakoff. - -Katerin slipped into the room quickly and fastened the bolt of the door. -Slipitsky rose from his chair and turned to her inquiringly, but she put -her finger to her lips for caution. Michael was sitting on the bed. He -saw the trouble in Katerin’s face, and knew that she could not bring the -good news which they had hoped for—that the American had come from -friends. - -“What is the word?” whispered Slipitsky. “What says the American?” - -“He is a Russian!” said Katerin. - -“Holy Saints!” gasped Michael, astounded, and his head began to shake -with excitement. - -“Russian!” exclaimed Slipitsky, looking at Katerin as if what she had -said exceeded all probability. “How could he be a Russian? Is it that he -has come to my house dressed as an American and is really a spy?” - -“All I know is that he speaks the Czar’s Russian,” said Katerin. “He has -not come from friends,” and then she went on and hastily told them how -she had given Peter every hint that she dared, so that he might -understand who she was, and that he had denied being sent to Chita to -help anybody. - -“Then that fool of an Ilya was lying!” said Michael wrathfully. “He has -made fools of us! We came here expecting to find a dove and we have -found a hawk. Ilya had sand in his brains! It was all done to fool us -and get money! An American who is a Russian—what good can he do us?” - -“Hah! A riddle!” said the Jew, and he rubbed his hands and drew himself -a fresh glass of tea. “Now we must consider what it all means, -Excellence! The rope is tangled and we must find the end of it!” - -Michael sat for a few minutes with his eyes screwed up against the light -from the window, his wrinkled old face twitching nervously. Presently he -got up and began to pace the floor in his stockinged feet, hands behind -his back, his shoulders bent forward in dejection. His weak knees bent -beneath him as he shuffled about. His body quivered with excitement and -his eyes glowed as if he were racked by a fever. - -Katerin sat down by Slipitsky, and stared at the floor in reflection, -seeking to piece together in her mind again the whole time of her visit -to Peter and to gauge the value of what both of them had said. If only -Ilya were still alive and could be questioned as to how he had learned -that the American wanted to find her father! - -“He knew at once that I was not of the servant class,” said Katerin. - -“Only a Russian could do that,” mused Slipitsky. “It is all very -strange,” and he wagged his head slowly and thoughtfully as he puzzled -over it. “Did he tell you why he had come to Chita at all?—did he say -nothing of his mission to this place?” - -“Nothing. Yet if Ilya spoke the truth, Rimsky was told why the American -had come. Why does he trust a _moujik_ and hide his purpose from me?” - -“It would not be wise to have too many in the secret,” said the Jew. “He -knew you were not what you pretended to be, and was careful. The man who -rides a tiger cannot get off, and this Peter Petrovitch from Kiev is not -too trusting. I give him credit for that, though we would like to know -his business.” - -“He is an enemy!” declared Michael. - -“Then we shall know in good time,” said the Jew. “An awl cannot be -hidden in a sack.” - -“A Russian from America—the worst of all,” said Michael into Slipitsky’s -ear, as the old general came and hung over the Jew’s chair. “They come -back here from America with their accursed ideas of liberty! And what do -they do? Kill the Czar and ruin the country—turn it over to the Mongols! -Old friend, we have an enemy on our hands who is a greater danger than -the Ataman. And we have brought trouble to you and your house.” - -“We are all in the same boat, Excellence. If we lose our wits, we are -lost. I am no worse for your coming, and you are no worse. The thing to -do is to weigh and consider—and in time settle with this fellow who -calls himself an American officer but hunts with peasants.” - -Katerin was discouraged. She had set her hopes on the American’s coming -to solve their problems and relieve them of the danger from the Ataman. -But now they were involved in a new puzzle, and could not see their way -out of it. For more than two years she and her father had managed to -save themselves, but now it seemed that all their bravery, all their -devices and stratagems had but pushed them further into a trap. Life had -become an intolerable nightmare, and the trifles of daily existence had -become a burden. It seemed easier to die than to go on with the struggle -against the madness which had come over their world. - -Michael went roaming about the room again while Katerin and Slipitsky -sat in thought. He gazed abstractedly at the furniture, as if he -expected to find in it some astounding quality which he had never -noticed before. After he had walked about in this way for several -minutes, he returned to his position between the chairs of his daughter -and the old Jew, and leaning down between them, whispered, “We must rid -ourselves of this man! We cannot live here under his nose and wait for -him to strike. He is a Russian hunting me. That is no new thing—but it -proves he wants me for no good. We must poison him!” - -“No, no!” said Katerin, taking her father’s arm and pulling him toward -her. “We cannot kill a man just because Ilya said Rimsky told him the -stranger was seeking you—we must learn from Rimsky what we can, as much -of the truth as we can get.” - -“I say that, also,” declared Slipitsky. “It must be done. I shall send -for Rimsky and question him so that he will not know the reason for my -questions.” - -“What! You will let Rimsky know that we are here?” asked Michael, -alarmed at the idea. - -“No, Excellence. But I can comb him for what he knows. A few drinks of -wine and he will be as putty in my hands. You must trust to me to solve -this riddle.” - -“Then it is well,” said Michael. “But I am resolved upon one thing—we -must do away with this American, no matter what Rimsky says.” - -“I shall send for Rimsky at once,” said the Jew, rising and going to the -door. “Be careful till I have had a talk with the old liar.” And with a -gesture of caution, Slipitsky drew the bolt and disappeared in the hall. - -Katerin secured the bolt, and sat down again, her hands clenched in her -lap. She felt that she was at the end of her resistance. Yet she went on -trying to think of some way in which to learn from Peter the truth of -why he had come to Chita. There was no reason to fear him, so long as he -did not know who she was. And there was a chance that the talk that he -had come for her father was all foolishness, or a shrewd scheme to play -upon the fears of herself and her father and gain money. In that case, -she saw that the American might be a protection—that he might take them -from the city. - -“I shall go back to him and talk,” she said to her father. - -“You shall go back to poison his samovar,” said Michael. “I have a -feeling that this man knows already who you are, and is blinding your -eyes. You must end his life!” - -“Would you have me murder an innocent man on the word of Ilya?” she -asked, making talk now only to keep her father’s mind engaged and -prevent him from the despondency which threatened him. - -“This man is an enemy!” insisted Michael. “We cannot risk such a menace. -We have trouble enough with the Ataman, and I speak only for your own -safety. Oh, Katerin Stephanovna! I care nothing for my own life! It is -you I would save. I would sell the days I have left to live if they -could be turned into years for you, my daughter. I would die this -minute, if I could loan you life!” - -The old general put his hand on her head and caressed her gently, his -eyes full of tears and his body shaking with his sorrow for her. - -“I know, little father,” she whispered, taking his hands in hers and -kissing the withered skin. “But your life is dear to me—so dear that I -would do as you say to save you to me. But I cannot believe that this -young man intends to harm us. He is a Russian, true enough, but have you -lost faith in all of our people? And this Peter Petrovitch appears to be -kind and gentle. You and Slipitsky think in the old ways—only the old -thoughts of violence and death. This man has been to America and he may -not be an enemy at all. But if it is true that he is seeking you out for -evil, then we must be sure of that before we do anything against him.” - -“And how are you to find it out? Can you go to him and tell him that I -am in the next room and ask him what he seeks me for? Do you forget that -he is using peasants to trace me?” - -“I shall learn his secret,” declared Katerin. “A woman has her own ways -for such things—if he hunts you, he shall first tell me, and the why of -it.” - -“Ah, you women trust too much,” said her father. “This is a matter in -which no time must be lost with wiles. We must know before the Ataman -finds——” - -“I, too, think of the Ataman,” put in Katerin. “What if the American, -though an enemy, should protect us from the Ataman?” - -Michael gave her an incredulous stare. “Impossible!” he said. - -“But it is not impossible,” insisted Katerin, who already had the -inspiration of a sudden way out of the difficulty. “What if I should -tell this American that I am seeking Michael Alexandrovitch? Would he -not confide in me then? And if both of us are seeking you, it is not -likely that he will keep his secret from me—especially if I should admit -to him that I plan to have your life.” - -Michael sat down upon the bed, speechless for a moment at the boldness -of the plan. - -“Holy Saints!” he whispered after a minute. “You would do that, Katerin -Stephanovna? That is something worthy of the best of the Czar’s police! -Ah, but you will be playing with fire—you will need your wits at every -instant.” - -“True, I shall need my wits,” said Katerin. “I am willing to play with -fire, and match my wits against the stranger. And when I learn what I -want—then we shall need our wits all the more.” - -“I am old and my head is addled,” said Michael. “Sometimes I think I -must be going mad—here I am, who was governor, hiding in my own city, -helpless and with——” - -There came a cautious knock at the door. Katerin went to it, and heard -Slipitsky’s voice outside. She let him in—and with him was Wassili! - -“You stupid one!” exclaimed Michael at sight of the old _moujik_. “Why -have you come here? The Ataman will——” - -Slipitsky made frantic signals for quiet, and when he had shot the bolt -behind him, threw up his hands in an attitude of resignation. - -Wassili was wrapped to the eyes against the cold, and stood dumbly -waiting till he should be asked what he had come for. - -“This is the last of us!” whispered the Jew. “We shall all be killed -now! Zorogoff has been to your house, Excellence—and he told Wassili -where you were—here in my house—the floor and the room! So poor Wassili -has run away with the warning that you are discovered.” - -Michael’s head sank upon his breast, as if he now submitted to fate. - -“We must go at once!” said Katerin. “We cannot let you draw the wrath of -the Ataman because you are hiding us, our friend! We shall prepare to go -at once!” - -“Go!” said the Jew. “You shall not till I am dead! We can all die -together, mistress. Let the Ataman come, I say, and may he die with ten -thousand devils dancing before his eyes!” - -“Truth! Let him come,” said Michael. “You are here, Wassili, now stay -with us. Let Zorogoff come, and by the Holy Saints he or I shall be -carried out of the place on a board!” - -“And perhaps the American will be glad to meet the Ataman, eh?” said -Slipitsky. “We may as well bring him to the test, now that the Ataman -knows where you are. We are riding a tiger, and we may as well pull his -ears!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XVI - - KATERIN’S STRATAGEM - - -PETER found himself enmeshed in a maze of conjecture about Vashka. He -knew that she was not a samovar girl, yet it was quite possible that she -had been compelled to become one for her own safety. But whatever her -purpose might be, it was apparent to him that she had expected to find -in him a messenger—and that the expected messenger would be an American -officer. - -As Peter studied the matter, he saw that she would not know the expected -messenger by sight, but would have to submit him to some test. It was -plain enough that she had been greatly disappointed in Peter, for he had -seen in her face signs of actual terror when she realized that she had -blundered with him. - -It was the possibility that some other American officer was expected in -the city which worried Peter. Such an event might well interfere with -his plans for killing Kirsakoff. Peter did not want it known to the -American army that he had stopped in Chita—at least, only casually. He -did not want his presence in the city, nor the time, established too -well. He hoped to flit away to Irkutsk and report himself there without -any mention of having been in Chita. Then he could come back, report -himself in Chita and go on to some other city. In this way he wanted to -establish the fact that he had been in Chita, but make it appear that -his time in the city had been after Kirsakoff had been killed rather -than during the period of the former Governor’s death. - -But it might take Peter a week or more to find Kirsakoff, and then it -would take time to work out the details of the affair in such a way that -there would not be the slightest indication that the American officer -who had been staying at the hotel had had anything to do with it. But -another American officer in the city would complicate the business. The -newcomer would expect to keep in close touch with Peter, and would -probably expect to share his room—and the stranger might have a -Russian-speaking orderly with him. And that would mean that Peter’s -facility with the language would be discovered, his request to be sent -over into Trans-Baikailia would become significant, the leaving of the -orderly at Nikolsk would build up a chain of circumstantial evidence. -All that might be awkward for Peter if some slight trifle connected -Peter with the killing of Kirsakoff. - -Peter wondered if he would see Vashka again. It seemed a remote -possibility that she would return. Why should she? She knew now that he -was not a messenger, and to visit Peter again could do her no good and -might reveal to him the line on which she was working. There was a -slight chance that she might be in the American service, but he -dismissed that thought, for she had given him no sign that she was a -member of the military secret service. His mind being occupied along a -certain channel, he had no basis on which to begin to analyze the aims -of Vashka. The key to the solution of the problem, for him, was old -Rimsky. But that Rimsky was in any way concerned with the visit from -Vashka, was as remote from Peter’s mind as would be a suggestion that -the samovar girl was the little daughter of Kirsakoff. That little girl -still lived in Peter’s memory as a child sitting in a sledge the morning -Peter’s father had been killed. His mind held that picture—held it -without change. It was a picture which did not take cognizance of the -passage of years, a butterfly caught in amber, say, through the ages. - -If Vashka did not return, Peter resolved that he would go out and try -his hand again with Rimsky. The old cigarette-seller might be induced to -tell something which would afford a clew of the whereabouts of -Kirsakoff. And it might be wise to loaf in the restaurant of the old -post-house, and strike up an acquaintance with anybody who would talk. -There was no time to be lost, if Peter was to find Kirsakoff and get -about the business which had brought him back to the Valley of Despair. - -When noon came, he rang for a samovar. Before long he heard some one -moving in the hall, and after a short interval, there came a gentle -tapping at his door. - -“Come!” he called, and turned his head. “Vashka” entered with the -samovar, pushing the door open before her with the forward end of the -metal tray. - -“Oh, I am sorry,” he said, rising from his chair. “I did not expect to -see you—I thought the other girl would come.” - -She smiled at him, quite gay and playful now, with a trace of coyness in -her manner. She seemed amused at him because he had not expected her to -return. - -“Would you feel sad if I never came back? Would you miss me so much?” - -“Of course I would miss you,” he replied, not sure what else would be -safe to say. He would have preferred some light pleasantry which would -answer her more in keeping with her mood, but he was afraid that she -might resent gayety on his part, even though she affected it herself. - -“Then I may presume to say that I am the favorite samovar girl of the -American.” - -“And it would not be presumption at all,” he said. - -He moved and closed the door after her, while she busied herself at the -table with the samovar. He had a mind for an instant to lock the door -and to demand that she give an explanation of herself and her reason for -coming to him in the guise of a servant. But he smiled at his own -Russianism—his impulse to do the dramatic thing. He decided to draw her -out in a more careful manner. One thing he was determined upon—to -settle, as far as possible, her motives in playing servant. - -“How long since you have seen Zorogoff?” he asked, going close to her -and standing so that the light from the window fell across her face. - -“I? Why, not so long ago.” She looked at him with curiosity as to why he -had asked the question. - -“Have you seen him since you were here?” - -She laughed lightly. “If I had, it is quite likely that I would not have -come back.” - -“Then I’m glad you did not see the Ataman. And please don’t see him, if -it is going to mean that you will come no more.” - -“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what you mean—but it appears that -there is an implied compliment. Do you mean it as a compliment?” - -“What other things could I mean?” - -“You might mean many things.” She shrank away from him now the least -bit, as if she distrusted him. - -Peter sat down in the chair at the end of the table. - -“And what might I mean, for one thing?” he asked with a quick glance at -her. - -“You—you might mean—that you are suspicious of me, and that would make -me feel sad.” - -She stood, as if half intending to flee from the room, and observing him -in wonderment. - -“Suspicious! Why should you be under suspicion?” - -“Everybody is under suspicion—no one trusts another here,” she replied. - -“No doubt you have suspicions of me—because I speak Russian,” he -countered. - -“I am not sure of you,” she said frankly. “What have I but your coat to -prove that you are an American officer?” - -“You have no more than I have to prove that you are a samovar girl. Oh, -come now! Let us not play with words! What did Zorogoff say when he -learned that the American officer speaks good Russian?” - -She straightened up suddenly and her body seemed to grow rigid. He heard -the hiss of her breath, and then an hysterical laugh came gurgling from -her lips. - -“So that is it!” she cried. “You think I am a spy for Zorogoff!” - -There was no mistaking the revulsion which she felt. Peter knew now that -she was sincere. - -“I don’t think so now,” he said. “But if I trust you, I must know that -you are not a spy. You know that I am not the messenger you are waiting -for, yet you have come back to me. I am glad that you came—but why?” - -“Because death threatens me,” she replied. “And Zorogoff is my danger. I -seek your help.” She uttered the words in a low monotone, but with an -intensity of feeling which startled Peter. He got up and went to the -door quickly and turned the big brass key in the lock—and pocketed the -key. - -“Does that mean I am your prisoner?” she demanded. But there was no fear -in her. - -“Sit down, please,” said Peter gently, ignoring her question. He made a -gesture toward the chair at the end of the table opposite his own. - -Katerin—“Vashka”—obeyed, willingly, it appeared. But her readiness to -obey was not so much submission to his will as he supposed. She knew now -that Peter had come seeking her father, though the reason was still a -mystery. She was determined to solve the mystery and learn his secret. - -Slipitsky had gone to Rimsky shortly after Wassili arrived at the hotel -with the news that Zorogoff knew where the Kirsakoffs were hiding. The -old cigarette-seller, alarmed by the fate which had overtaken Ilya, went -into a panic of fear when Slipitsky charged him with knowledge of the -American officer’s purpose in coming to Chita. - -The Jew charged Rimsky with knowing more than Rimsky did—and Rimsky -lied. He attempted to put the burden of the affair on Peter. Ilya was -dead, so Rimsky felt safe in lying. And, in fact, he did not know -exactly what he had said to Ilya over the vodka. So to clear his own -skirts, Rimsky made the flat statement that the American had asked -directly where Kirsakoff might be found. It was a lie—yet it was the -truth in so far as Peter’s purpose was concerned. - -Thus the story of Ilya was verified. Katerin and her father knew Peter -sought them. And Katerin had been tempted to reply to Peter’s demand as -to why she had returned to his room, by demanding why he had come to -Chita. She refrained because she did not expect that Peter would tell -her the truth in case he was an enemy. She intended to get at the secret -by more devious methods. - -“Now, you must trust me,” he began, in tones barely audible to her. “You -have already told me that you are in danger from Zorogoff—which -indicates that you do trust me to some extent. Why do you fear -Zorogoff?” - -“Because he has already threatened me with death—and worse,” she -replied, calmly. “He is half Mongol. I do not fear death itself, because -if he should take me from this place, I have poison——” She slipped back -the cuff of her sleeve, and showed Peter two white capsules held in the -hem of the cloth by thread sewn in loosely. - -“So that is it!” said Peter, looking into her eyes and seeing the truth -in them. His face began slowly to change from an expression of startled -comprehension of her plight, to anger; he drew his lips back upon his -teeth, and the rising anger glittered in his eyes. “The Mongol dog!” he -whispered. “Can he dare—with a Russian woman—a woman like you!” - -He saw relief from strain come into her face, and she clasped her hands -together in a quick gesture of joy at his understanding and sympathy. - -“So that is why I came back here to you. You were a Russian, and I knew -you would understand—and an American officer.” - -He took her hands and kissed them, with head bowed, after the Russian -fashion, as an act of fealty and respect. - -“I don’t know what I can do,” he said after a minute. “But I do know -that if Zorogoff dares touch you, I shall stand in his way. True, I am a -Russian—as this Mongol shall learn.” - -“Thank you,” she said simply, withdrawing her hands. “You cannot fight -an army, and Zorogoff has many men to do his bidding. You would be -helpless against him. He is not a man to allow a single American to -thwart him.” - -“I do not fear him,” said Peter. “I doubt if he would dare kill an -American officer.” - -She smiled at his belief that Zorogoff could be checked by any fear of -the American army. - -“Who would know who killed you, or when?” she asked. “No, you must not -risk your life for me. Zorogoff’s hand would not be known if you were -destroyed—and I would not be any the better.” - -“Does he know you are here—in this hotel?” - -“Yes, he has traced me. The city is full of his spies, and there is a -Russian behind his power—a Russian of the old régime who is advising -Zorogoff.” - -“Who?” asked Peter. - -“Oh, you would not know him,” she said, with a shrug of her shoulders. -“I fear him more than Zorogoff, for I know that that this Russian is a -part of Zorogoff’s government.” - -“But I should know,” insisted Peter. “If I am to help you, I should know -all the facts in the case, so that I may inform my superiors. Who is -this Russian?” - -“He was a Governor here in the old days—before the revolution.” - -Peter leaned forward across the table, keenly alert, though he attempted -to conceal his interest. “A Governor of the old days,” he said slowly -and softly, so that the sentence was akin to a caress. “That is -interesting. I wish you might tell me his name.” - -She brushed her hand across her brow. “It is a dangerous secret,” she -warned. - -He laughed lightly. “Dangerous secrets are my business,” he said. -“Learning them—and sometimes keeping them.” - -“As I am in great danger because of having this secret, you also would -be in great danger from Zorogoff if you had it. Remember, I caution -you—Zorogoff will do all in his power to prevent you from escaping Chita -if he learns that you know who is behind him and his government.” - -“I accept the danger,” said Peter. “Come—we shall be in danger together! -What is the name of this former governor?” - -“General Kirsakoff.” Her eyes held his as she spoke the name. She saw -his eyelids lift swiftly, and heard him draw in his breath slowly. His -hands began to close into fists, and the strong fingers sank into the -palms while the knuckles grew white as the skin was drawn tautly across. -He leaned back in his chair, and the little muscles of his jaws stood -out under the skin of his cheeks as he set his teeth together. And there -crept into his face a look of exultation, of infinite satisfaction—she -saw him thrilled with the joy of the hunter who at last gets sight of -his prey. - -Peter turned away from Katerin and glanced at the window, but without -seeing it. His face softened into a smile, and he got up from his chair, -crossed the room, came back, and sat down again before her. - -“Tell me more about this Kirsakoff,” he urged. “What is his name?” - -“Michael Alexandrovitch,” she said. “He is a man of noble family—of old -boyar stock. He ruled here many years before the revolution.” Katerin -pretended not to notice the smile which was still playing at the corners -of Peter’s mouth—she looked at him casually as he sat down again, but -busied herself making squares and circles on the tablecloth with her -finger. - -“Is Kirsakoff in the city—now?” he asked. - -“I presume so. He spends most of his time here, but he keeps well -hidden.” - -“Do you know where he may be found? Where he lives?” - -“It could be easily learned. What would be the good of knowing?” - -“It does not matter,” he said. “Still, it might be of use to know. Do -you think you could easily find out whether he is in the city or not? -How would you go about it?” - -“My father was an exile here,” said Katerin. “He was transported ten -years ago, and I followed from Moscow and lived in the Street of the -Dames. My father was a political—and he knows too much now about -Kirsakoff for our safety.” - -“Then your father is in the city?” asked Peter. - -“Here in the hotel with me. We came here and hid against Zorogoff—and -Kirsakoff. That is why I came to you when I heard there was an American -staying here. We knew we could trust you.” - -She went on and told him how Zorogoff’s soldiers, and the Ataman -himself, had given her and her father the mental torture with firing -squads; of the threat of the Ataman for revenge upon her for her -insults, and the flight from the house to the hotel when they heard that -an American was at the hotel. But she did not mention Rimsky or Ilya. - -“And you have no way of escape from the city?” asked Peter. - -“It is impossible,” said Katerin. “Some of our friends got away. But -Zorogoff put the cordons round the city after that, and then Kirsakoff -joined with Zorogoff.” - -“What kind of man is this Kirsakoff? What does he look like?” asked -Peter, set upon getting all he could about his enemy. - -Katerin looked over Peter’s head, toward the window, and thought for a -second as if recalling the appearance of her father. “He is a tall man, -strong but not heavy,” she said slowly. “A face inclined to redness—and -black mustaches. He is a soldier, of course, and stands very straight.” - -“Of course,” said Peter. He recognized the description, for Katerin had -described her father as he had looked when he was in his prime. “Does he -go about the city? Could I recognize him by his uniform?” - -He was eager but cautious. - -“He might be found at the _sobrania_ late at night,” said Katerin. “But -he will be well guarded. You should be careful in approaching him, for -he has a secret bodyguard, as well as the officers who generally are -drinking wine with him. He does not wear a uniform, but rich furs, and -he wears his pistols out of sight. He does not always dress the same, -for he has been a cruel man, and is much hated by many people.” - -“Do you know where he lives?” asked Peter, who was taking care to -conceal his eagerness to get all possible details. He asked his -questions with an assumed indifference. - -“No, I cannot say. But I am sure my father knows. But what good would it -do you to know?” - -“Not any,” said Peter. “Yet I would like to find this Kirsakoff. Where -is your father?” - -“Here—in the hotel,” said Katerin. - -“Perhaps it would be as well if I were to ask the Ataman about -Kirsakoff,” said Peter. “Yet I would like to talk with your father, if -he would see me.” - -“By all means talk with my father,” said Katerin hastily. “It would be -fatal for you to admit to the Ataman that you had ever heard of -Kirsakoff’s ever being here, or concerned in the government of the -Ataman. That is a secret they will conceal at any cost—and that is why -we are in danger, my father and I.” - -“But Zorogoff would not know how I had learned about Kirsakoff. And I -might plead ignorance—I might even test the Ataman by asking him if he -knew where Kirsakoff might be found.” - -“I have put my life in your hands,” said Katerin earnestly. “If you -mention Kirsakoff to the Ataman, he will know that you have been talking -with us here in the hotel. And Zorogoff’s soldiers will come for us at -once.” - -She rose, rather agitated by Peter’s idea of talking with the Ataman. -The effect upon her was exactly what Peter sought—for he wanted to talk -with her father. If she feared that Peter would go to the Ataman instead -for information, she would make it possible for Peter to learn more of -Kirsakoff and his haunts. - -“I do not intend to increase your danger,” said Peter, also rising. -“Have no fear on that score. But I am bound to find Kirsakoff in some -way—unless your father can help me I shall have to make inquiries in my -own way.” - -“It can be arranged that you talk with my father,” she said, moving -toward the door. “Is it really necessary that you find Kirsakoff?” - -“Not necessary, perhaps,” he said. “But I strongly desire to find him.” - -“I—I would like to know the reason.” - -“I will tell you that when you tell me where he may be found,” said -Peter with a smile. - -She stood for a time looking into his face. He saw that she was pale, -and far more excited than her restrained manner revealed to the casual -glance. - -“I will ask my father if he will see you,” she said presently. “He is -very old and ill—he has been shot by sentries—a bullet through both his -cheeks, though he is nearly recovered now from that. He is suspicious of -all strangers, and you must be patient with him.” - -“I promise to be patient,” said Peter. “If you will arrange it for me——” - -“Ring for the samovar at five,” she said. - -Peter held out his hand quickly, as if there were a compact between them -which must be affirmed. She gave him her hand, and he bowed and lifted -it to his lips. - -“Vashka,” he whispered, “do you wish to leave this city?” - -“If I could take my father with me,” said Katerin, “yes, I would be glad -to escape the dangers here.” - -“If your father will tell me where Kirsakoff may be found—I shall take -you both away.” - -“Oh, then we shall find Kirsakoff!” she said with a sudden return of her -gay manner. “Please! I am your prisoner here! Allow me to return to my -father!” - -Peter unlocked the door, and she smiled over her shoulder at him as she -ran down the hall. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XVII - - SETTING THE SNARE - - -KATERIN returned to her father. She found him sitting by the table -playing a game of solitaire, and he looked up from the patterns of the -cards with blinking, questioning eyes. She did not speak at once, but -her face was eloquent of the surprise and shock she had suffered in her -talk with Peter. She was coldly calm, as if she knew now something of -what was before them, and was ready to meet the issue. A plan had -already formed in her mind, but it was not yet clearly defined and she -wanted time to think and prepare for whatever was necessary. - -“What have you learned?” whispered Michael, leaning toward her from his -chair. “I can see that you know much—and I doubt that it is good. Do you -know why this man has come?” - -“Yes, I know,” she said, and sat down beside him and drew herself a -glass of tea. Her hands shook for all her resolution not to betray to -her father the fact that once more they were blocked in their hopes of -escape. - -Michael waited till she had refreshed herself, and Wassili, who had been -making Michael’s bed and pottering about the room in pretended busyness, -came and stood close to Katerin with anxious face, keen to hear what the -mistress would have to report of her visit to the room of the American. - -“Then Rimsky spoke the truth?” pressed Michael. “It is true that the -American came seeking me?” He had already divined it from Katerin’s -manner. - -“Yes, Rimsky spoke the truth,” said Katerin slowly, and Wassili crossed -himself and uttered a smothered exclamation of satisfaction. - -“And what did the American say?” urged Michael, impatient to have the -whole story. “Come! You hold it back from me! Is his quest evil?” - -“He is most eager to find you,” said Katerin, who was reluctant to give -the full story too abruptly. She was trying to devise some way of giving -the facts to her father which would not be too abrupt and alarm him to -rashness. And she wished to have her own plan worked out mentally so -that she might have it to offer against the startling import of what she -had learned from Peter. - -“For what purpose?” insisted Michael. His head was beginning to shake -faster, as it always did when he was in an excited frame of mind. He -reached for a cigarette from a tin box, and his hands shook so that he -dropped the tiny tube of tobacco. - -“I am not sure yet,” said Katerin. “That is something I have still to -learn. All I know now is that he is not a friend—that he means evil to -you and we must be careful. We must do nothing to stir his suspicions of -who we are, till we have gone to the bottom of what brings him here and -what he hopes to do.” - -“We know enough!” said Michael. “He comes for evil—and I shall kill -him!” The old general’s agitation disappeared as if by magic. The scent -of danger steadied him, he thrust his chin out and squared his old -shoulders, sitting back in his chair as if it were all settled now and -all that remained for him to do was to go out into the next room and -kill Peter. - -“No, no,” said Katerin hastily. “Nothing must be done too soon! First, -we must learn more about him.” - -“He is an enemy, that is enough,” said her father. “Wassili, a match!” - -“Yes, he is an enemy,” admitted Katerin. “But we are not in a position -to attack an enemy now; besides, what good would it do us to kill him, -if we do not know anything about him? First, as I said, it is my -business to draw his secret from him.” - -Wassili held a flaming match forth to Michael. “Master,” said the -_moujik_, as he applied the flame to the cigarette between Michael’s -lips, “I am quick with the knife—I can strike a good stroke, and no one -will be the wiser, for I can have the body carted into the forest. Then -you and the mistress will be free from his danger.” - -“If we do well, we can use this man to protect us from the Ataman,” put -in Katerin. “Though he seems to be a menace, he may in fact be so -twisted to our use that he will be our salvation.” - -“A man who is an enemy! Protect us? Are you talking madness, my -daughter, or have my wits become addled by age? I shall not allow a man -who is my enemy to save me even if he would or could. No, no, I say -it—this American—this Russian who calls himself an American—must die. -And no time lost in the matter, let me say!” - -“But I say you are wrong, father,” insisted Katerin, putting her hands -on his knees. “If he does not know who we are, what difference does it -make to us or him if he is an enemy. The thing for us to do is to make -friends with him—and fool him into the belief——” - -“But he will know me!” protested Michael. “You expect him to talk with -me—even see me—and not know who I am? That would only be putting our -heads into the maw of the lion! I can tell you this, my daughter—I shall -strike first, while the advantage lies with me!” - -“Truth!” exclaimed Wassili excitedly. “The master speaks truth! And I am -the one to attend to the task!” - -“But he will not know you,” pleaded Katerin. “He thinks of you as you -were years ago, in the days when you were Governor, while now you are an -old man in the rags of a peasant, with——” - -“Ah, he will know, he will know! We must not trust to ice so thin! I -shall not turn my horse loose too soon when danger is over the hill. I -may be old, but I have not lost my cunning with my enemies, I hope.” - -“You forget that our lives depend upon our deceiving this Peter -Petrovitch, my father.” - -“I think our lives depend upon his not seeing me till I am ready to -strike,” argued Michael. “What would our lives be worth if he were to -come in here now and see me? A beggar’s kopeck—the turn of a hand, the -call of a quail in the brush! P-fooh! I know!” - -“But we have no time to spare. The Ataman’s men may be at the door at -any minute. Before that we must win this stranger to our side, and -before he can discover who we are, slip away with him to Vladivostok—to -Harbin—to——” - -“Vladivostok! You expect an enemy to take us to Vladivostok? To Harbin? -Why, I would sooner, than that——” - -“He wants to find you. What if I tell him you may be found in Harbin? Or -Vladivostok?” - -Michael thrust aside a cloud of smoke that had gathered before him, and -squinted his eyes at his daughter, as if he really doubted her sanity -now. - -“And how could you find me in Vladivostok, when I am here in this -rat-hole in Chita? Truly, my ears hear strange words. They are not worth -a last year’s egg.” - -“You do not understand. If this stranger looks to me to help him find -Michael Kirsakoff, and he does not know you for Michael Kirsakoff, what -is to prevent our telling him that we can take him to some other city—to -find you?” - -Michael cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips. Then a smile -broke over his face as he began to comprehend. - -“We have no time to spare,” pressed Katerin. “It must be done before he -can learn by any mischance who we are. Once we are free of the city, his -chances of discovering our ruse diminish.” - -“But how can he take us away, even if what you say is true? The Ataman -would prevent us—he would betray us. There would be some slip—and we -would be in the hands of our enemy, or delivered into the hands of the -Ataman. We double our danger and gain nothing,” objected Michael. - -“The Ataman would not dare stop an American officer. We must chance -that. This stranger would give his eyes to find you. Very good, then! We -shall fall in with his desires and turn them to our advantage. We must -take him away under the pretext that he is to find you, then in reality -he will be aiding our escape from the city.” - -“Oh, but he would get to know me in time. My voice, my looks, my way of -speaking. If he has ever seen me at all, he will know me. He may have my -description—do not be trapped by him. The wolf knows the color of the -hare he pursues.” - -“I told him how you looked——” - -“What!” cried Michael. “You told him how I looked and you expect him not -to know me?” - -“How you looked twenty years ago, my father. And he did not know the -difference.” - -“That was to blind your eyes to his purpose,” said Michael. - -“And I shall blind his,” said Katerin, with sudden resolution. “Wassili! -Fetch me the cover of the pillow from the bed! And a knife—with a sharp -edge!” - -Wassili, with a puzzled look upon his face, turned away to obey her. - -“And what is all this?” demanded Michael. “Am I to be wrapped like a -mummy and put into a bundle? Am I to be carried about with a rope to my -middle like a handle?” - -“I shall make sure that the stranger does not recognize you—leave it to -me, and we shall outwit this stranger and come to safety.” - -“Then you had better take good pains with it,” said Michael, “for if he -gives the glimmer of an eye that he so much as thinks I look like -myself, I shall kill him!” - -“If that must be done, then it must,” admitted Katerin, as she cut the -edges of the pillow and began ripping it into long strips. “But your -face must be hidden from him, for he might see something in you that -would remind him of you in the old days. We must take care against such -betrayal.” - -“And what are these rags for?” demanded Michael. - -“A bandage about your face to conceal you further.” - -“Oh, p-fooh!” said Michael disgustedly. “What nonsense is this, that I -should be wrapped up like a Turk? How the devil am I to talk or breathe -or eat my soup? I’ll have none of it—I, who was a general of majesty!” - -“You have had a bullet through both cheeks,” said Katerin. “Come, -please! Hold up your head—these cloths will only keep your teeth warm -against the cold. That is my dear father—and remember, it is to save us. -Better this chance than to sit here and wait till the Ataman sends -Shimilin for us again. Come!” She held up a strip of the cloth. - -“Are you going to tie up my face as if I were an old beggar with boils?” -demanded Michael. - -“Trust to me, my father. When the lion is stricken he must still roar, -that his enemies will be misled. You have said that to me many times. -Trust to my wits—and we shall see.” - -He puzzled over it for a minute, and then threw back his head in -submission. “I shall not stand in the way of your safety,” he said. “I -leave it in your hands. My heart is brave, but the years have put chains -upon my body,” and he sighed wearily. - -Without more ado, Katerin wrapped the grizzled old face with the strips -of cotton. They passed over the top of his head and down under his chin. -His eyes, nose, and mouth were clear of the cloths, and his ears stuck -out oddly behind the wrappings. The white hair on his chin gave him a -more aggressive look than usual for his beard was thrust forward by the -bandage. The scant hair on the top of his head stuck up, and wavered as -he moved, like the crest of a bird. - -Katerin leaned back and studied him with critical eye when she had -finished. - -“It will serve well enough,” she said finally. “If he knows you now, he -would know you in spite of anything we could do. And now listen to my -plan. You have been a political here for the past ten years—and you -hated General Kirsakoff, who was a cruel Governor and——” - -Michael gave a snort of wrath and wrested the bandage off over his head -and threw it upon the floor. - -“I will have nothing more to do with this madness! I was not cruel—I was -but just! And I shall not blacken my own character! Not an inch shall I -give to my enemies on that score—I, who was a general in the army of -majesty!” - -Katerin laughed heartily, and picked up the bandage. She knew better -than to take her father seriously when he was in such temper, and she -also knew that she should gain her end if she were patient with him. - -“I only say what the American thinks,” she explained. “If he already -thinks that of you, you do not damage yourself. And what a joke! A joke -that will save us! General Kirsakoff telling how cruel Governor -Kirsakoff was! Would you not fool this stranger now, to laugh at him -after we have lost him in Harbin where we are safe?” - -Wassili sneaked away into a corner to laugh discreetly, his shoulders -heaving with suppressed merriment over the wrath of Michael. - -“Be still, you, Wassili,” growled the old man, turning to look after the -_moujik_. “By the Saints!” he cried to Katerin. “You see how it is? Am I -to be made into a buffoon for my servants in my old age? Am I to be -turned into an actor in a play, a silly clown of a fellow to make the -country folk giggle into their drink? Am I to forget what figure of a -man I was——” - -“You forget my danger,” she chided gently. - -“I forget nothing!” he retorted. “It is I who am remembering that I once -was Governor here!” - -“Do you remember the Ataman Zorogoff?” she asked, with sober face. - -“Yes, and I’ll dance on his grave—but I’ll not have my head wrapped up -like an old woman doing a penance.” - -“Very well, then we shall do nothing more, but wait till the Ataman -comes. Then we can take the poison of honor.” - -Katerin sat down by the table and threw the loops of the bandage from -her. - -Michael looked at her, and an expression of infinite tenderness and love -came over his face. His lips quivered, and he struck several matches -violently without getting a flame. He threw the last one to the floor, -and held out his hands to her. - -“Forgive me, Katerin Stephanovna—I did forget. But now I remember, and I -see what you are striving to do. It is true, what you say, and we must -play with this American. And if we take good care, it may all come out -as you say—it will be a way out of our danger and our troubles. Come, -please! Put on the rags, and I shall be the best old exile ever was -seen, one who is fleeing from the wicked Governor—from Kirsakoff! -Please! Again the bandage, and I’ll be good.” - -“Ah, little father, there is another way to fight without using swords -and guns. There is a way to gain your ends without your enemy’s -suspecting that he is pushing your cart.” - -She gave her attention to putting the bandage back. - -“I grant the truth of what you say,” said Michael. “But what will -Slipitsky say to this? He is a shrewd fox, and there is many a twist in -a game of this sort that he knows—he has helped many a man to escape -from me, for all his friendship for me in the old days. Never did I -dream that we should have to resort to his cleverness—but the fox takes -his wisdom where he finds it, and that is why we say that he is wise.” - -“It does not matter what Slipitsky thinks of it. We cannot leave all the -tricks to our enemies. And you must have faith in me, if I am to work -this out so that good will come of it, and we get away from the soldiers -of the Ataman.” - -“I’ll trust you, my daughter. By the Saints! You should have been a man, -Katerin Stephanovna!” - -“And perhaps if I were a man, we should both be dead by now,” said -Katerin. “This is a war of wits, and we women have had to use our wits -for many years. And if those in the high places had heeded the women, -Russia might not have come to what she has.” - -“It is good that there are wits between the two of us, for mine are -gone, my daughter. I am a hindrance. I am but a millstone about your -neck, else you would have escaped from Chita long before this.” - -“You won’t be a millstone if you will obey what I advise in this affair -with the American officer. If we cannot go through with this thing, it -is better not to try our hands at it.” - -“Have no fear—I’ll say black is white if it does you any good,” said -Michael, now once more with his face trussed in the bandages. - -“Listen well to what I say,” cautioned Katerin. “And you, too, Wassili. -For if we fail, we have not one enemy, but two—this stranger as well as -the Ataman. And if we succeed, we have none, for one will save us from -the other. What better can we ask than that a man who is an enemy should -deliver us from danger?” - -“Give me two enemies, if that can be done,” said Michael. - -“Mind what must be done. Our name shall be Natsavaloff. You were -banished for plotting against the government of the Czar. First, we must -learn why the American seeks Kirsakoff—for he may not be alone in his -reasons, but have others who are equally dangerous. We must get to the -bottom of why he seeks you, though the reason does not matter for our -purpose. We shall have Slipitsky’s advice, too, before we bring the -American to this room to learn where Kirsakoff may be found. And we are -not to tell the American where Kirsakoff may be found unless he takes us -to the city where we shall say Kirsakoff is hidden—anywhere, it does not -matter, so long as we get away from Chita.” - -“And how is Wassili to help in all this?” asked Michael. “Where lies his -task?” - -“When we bring the American here, Wassili shall stand behind his chair. -We must be on our guard against the stranger every second, and if the -American should recognize—or make a move to draw a weapon——” - -Wassili finished the sentence for her in pantomime with a quick and -eloquent gesture—a short thrust, done quickly, and an explanatory grunt. - -“And you, my father, shall have your little pistol in your hand, and the -blanket thrown over your knees to hide it—so that you shall be able to -defend yourself. But do nothing rashly—unless he should know you, we -must not do him harm.” - -Wassili was sent for Slipitsky, and the Jew came. The four of them went -over the whole plan of escape in case Peter should not recognize -Michael. They spent the afternoon in taking up every possible angle of -the situation. And on one thing they agreed—if Peter really proved to be -a deadly enemy, and should recognize Michael—then the American officer -must die. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XVIII - - THE TRAIL GROWS HOT - - -PETER spent the afternoon walking the floor of his room, his whole being -in a glow from the fever of revenge which had flamed up brightly within -him while he listened to “Vashka”—the name by which he knew Katerin. - -And Peter’s inner fury was directed against his own mental image of -Kirsakoff—a picture revivified and given new clarity in Peter’s brain by -Katerin’s description of her father as he had been in the old days. -Peter killed that man over and over again in imagination. He knew that -it might take weeks before he could so shuffle the combination of -circumstances that Kirsakoff might be slain with the greatest margin of -safety for himself. - -Through the years, Peter’s hope for vengeance had become to him a holy -mission. There had been times during his life in the United States when -he realized that he might never return to Siberia in time to carry out -his dream of vengeance. But the old hatred had smoldered. Now it was -burning at white heat. - -What had been his own selfish desire was now transformed into a -patriotic fervor to help his own people. The old tribal spirit of the -Slav had come to life again within him when he encountered the mad -ecstasy of liberty among the people in Vladivostok. He longed to have -some hand in the great emancipation which had been brought about by -those of his race. He was determined to join the orgy of destruction. -And now he saw his own personal revenge coupled with the troubles of the -old exile and his daughter. Not only would Peter become the savior of -the beautiful Vashka and strike a blow to thwart the new tyranny of -Zorogoff, but his own father would be avenged. Katerin personified for -him the Russia which must be saved, just as Kirsakoff personified the -Russia which must be destroyed. For Kirsakoff, a survivor of the old -autocracy, was plotting with the Mongol, Zorogoff, to defeat the -purposes of the revolution and once more bind the people to the wheel of -slavery. The old system was evil, and no vestige of it must remain. That -was the aim of the people, and Peter believed in it. His mind had never -grasped the thought that in the background of events there might be a -new autocracy throwing sand in the eyes of the people to enslave them -with new fetters which were not yet visible. “Destroy! Destroy all who -do not work!” was the cry. And as work was defined for the mass of the -people, it meant common labor—and the laborer lacked the ability to -think about the consequences of killing all who might be able to divine -the purpose behind the cry for destruction. And Peter was trapped into -thinking only of the past and its evils, without looking into the future -of a race which allowed only its serfs to live. - -He thought only of the fact that he had been rescued from Siberia and -sent back with the power of avenging his own wrongs. And as he prayed -for success, he crossed himself with both hands, in the way of the -people of old. The deep well of mysticism and emotionalism which so -often had swept the Slav into action without the cooler previsions of -those races which had gained the beginning of their freedom in the Dark -Ages, now shook Peter’s soul. He was living again in the stark horrors -of his boyhood—living over again the bitter morning when his father had -been struck down in the street. These memories he hoped to blot out by -slaying with his own hand one dragon of the old autocracy—Michael -Alexandrovitch Kirsakoff. - -Michael would be well guarded, and wary. But his vigilance might be -relaxed by artifice. Peter had not yet formulated his plan, but there -would be many pretexts for getting closely in touch with Kirsakoff. -Peter might even represent that he had come to enter into secret -negotiations with Kirsakoff on behalf of the American government. That -was one of the many possible plans which flitted through Peter’s brain. -But the business would require care in preparation and good judgment in -its execution. All impulses toward prompt decision must be put aside—it -would be a patient waiting for the minute which promised success without -attaching the slightest suspicion to Lieutenant Peter Gordon of the -American army. - -That could be done only after a period of slowly acquiring the -confidence of Michael. Peter would have to build up a pretended sympathy -with the old régime and its adherents, and show a willingness to aid -Zorogoff and Kirsakoff in gaining the friendship of the American -forces—even plan to aid in betraying the people of Russia in their -aspirations for freedom. - -Peter saw himself dining with Kirsakoff as a guest of the general; he -built in his imagination a succession of secret conferences with -Kirsakoff, and then, perhaps during an evening over wine and cigarettes, -a whisper to Michael, “Do you know who I am in truth? Peter Petrovitch, -son of Gorekin the bootmaker——!” and then the bullet and the escape. - -Peter could see Michael turn his horrified eyes upon the smiling -American officer who was really the son of an exile. Gorekin the -bootmaker! Michael might not remember at first. How could a Governor be -expected to carry in his memory a poor unfortunate, and a boy of twenty -years before? But Peter would make Michael remember. There must be time -for that so that Michael should know by whose hand he died. That would -be necessary if Peter was to have his complete joy in his vengeance. - -When the sun had dropped over the crest of the hills, and the frost was -gradually creeping upward on the panes, etching a thick tropical foliage -upon the glass, Peter went to the window and looked out over the Valley -of Despair. The little hut of his boyhood was merging slowly into the -shadows of the taller buildings about it. Tiny sparks appeared in the -white smoke rising from the hut’s stone chimney—Rimsky was evidently -feeding the fire-pit for the night. - -Peter stood by the window musing on the bitter days and nights of the -exiles long dead and forgotten—on the staggering columns coming in afoot -over the Czar’s road to a living death, on the clanking of chains and -fetters, on the screams in the nights as some cabal of exiles “roofed” -one who had betrayed some breaking of the rules to the guards, on the -barking of rifles as fugitives were hunted out of the hills. - -Chita had become a city. It was built of the tears and anguish, of -bodies destroyed and minds wrecked, of hates and cruelties, all mixed -with the bricks and logs of its walls. And limitless legions of human -beings had been poured into the wilderness and their bodies used as -fertilizer to build up a new empire for the rulers of Russia. - -“Oh, you cry for justice!” he said to the spirits of those who had -suffered. “The time has come for justice—you have waited long, but -to-morrow will not be as yesterday!” - -He turned from the window and took his belt and pistol from the writing -table and strapped them about him. Then he turned on the shaded -droplight. It threw down upon the cloth of the writing table a yellow -cone of radiance. It was now five by his watch. He rang the bell -thrice—the signal for Vashka, as Katerin called herself. - -He sat down by the table and waited. The sound of people walking about -in the hall furtively, came to his ears, with the careful opening and -closing of doors and snatches of conversation. He heard the strains of -an old Russian air played on a violin by some one on the floor above, -and the regular pounding of feet as if the steps of a Cossack dance were -being tried intermittently. - -It was the hour of the evening when the people in the hotel began to -bestir themselves for the gay times of the night. They kept hidden -during the day, and went abroad under cover of darkness to the -restaurants of the city, to return to their rooms in the early morning. - -The men who lived in the hotel were mostly officers who were attached to -the Ataman’s army, judging from those Peter had seen about the halls. -The women were a flashy lot—women who had drifted up the railroad from -Vladivostok or Harbin, and women of the sort that has the best of -everything in times of famine and disorder. They were the parasites who -seem to thrive best in times of disaster, and who get the most out of -life when there are no laws of restraint. When they have acquired some -amount of treasure, they are robbed and abandoned. - -Katerin was at the door in response to the signal by bell with amazing -promptitude. She entered without knocking, and closed the door behind -her softly. She stood for a minute, a vague shadow in the gloom outside -the zone of the shaded lamp. - -Peter rose and moved toward her. “Thank you for coming,” he said in a -low voice in keeping with her secretive entrance. “Have you persuaded -your father to tell me what I wish to know? Will he help me in my -quest?” - -“If you still wish it,” she replied. “Please! Take the shade from the -lamp—the darkness is not pleasant.” - -Peter caught a note of melancholy in her voice. She seemed to be -discouraged, and his own hopeful attitude was somewhat chilled. - -“Has anything gone wrong?” he asked. - -“No, not unless it is wrong for us to involve you in the same dangers -which face us. My father appears reluctant to put you into a situation -the full danger of which may not be apparent to you, a stranger.” - -Peter laughed merrily to cover the sudden fear which he had felt that -she might recede from her promise to help him find Michael Kirsakoff. - -“I have no fear,” he said. “There may be danger, but I am glad to help -you. I shall attempt to find Kirsakoff in any event—and may well run -into more danger than if your father should tell me how to go about the -job. So when it comes to that, my danger is only increased if you do not -help.” - -“Perhaps you are right,” she said. - -He went and lifted the shade off the lamp, and stood revealed in his -uniform in the flood of light. The silver bars on his shoulders -glittered as he leaned over the lamp, but Katerin’s eyes rested upon the -brown boxlike holster at his hip. - -He swung round upon her, smiling. Now he saw that her gay mood of her -former visit had vanished—her eyes seemed sadder and the light revealed -the pinched pallor of her face. She was suffering from strain long -endured, he saw, and a twinge of pity tugged at his heart. - -He went and pulled down the decrepit window shades, and then slapped his -pistol. “Here we have the power of America!” he said. “Behind me is an -army. Come! It is not a time to be sad! America is here, and that means -justice to the oppressed!” - -She sat down in a chair, and smiled at him, in a brave attempt to be -merry with him. - -“America must be a wonderful land,” she said. “I have heard much about -it, and read much about it. But there are many who say it is no better -than our own Russia.” - -“What!” cried Peter. “You must not be misled. America is a land of -magic! Look at me, a poor Russian boy who was the son of an unfortunate -here in the Valley of Despair, and in a few years it transformed me into -an officer, and sent me back to help my own people—and to help you, -Vashka.” - -“And in time you will go back to America,” she said. “Like all Russians -who have been there and return to their own land, you will once more go -to America.” - -“Oh, yes. I shall go back when Russia has her freedom. But what did your -father say? Have you persuaded him to help me about Kirsakoff? You have -not told me that.” - -“My father is discouraged. You must not be annoyed if he is slow and -cautious with you, who are a stranger. He has said that he doubts if one -American officer can fight the army of Zorogoff.” - -“But he must remember also that I am a Russian. Does he think I will -hide behind my American coat, and allow Kirsakoff and Zorogoff to -destroy you? I may be only one, but behind me is the American army, and -Zorogoff must give heed to that.” - -“But if Zorogoff’s men should kill you? We have seen terrible things -here—men are shot down crossing the street if they are opposed to -Zorogoff. And who is to know who fired the shot if you should meet such -a fate? Then, if it were known to Zorogoff that we had helped you, it -would be the worse for us, with no one to protect us.” - -“True,” said Peter, “but it is one thing for Zorogoff to terrorize a -girl and a helpless old man, and quite another for him to frighten or -kill an American officer—or defy the American army. He is aware of that, -and he will be careful with me.” - -“But your soldiers are in Vladivostok.” - -“That is near enough to make Zorogoff think twice. In time he would have -to pay the shot. And once we have found Kirsakoff and I have attended to -my business, we shall leave the city.” - -“You are brave,” she said simply, with a look of admiration. - -He shrugged his shoulders. “It is you have been brave. It is easy for me -to talk, with an army at my back. Please—tell me one thing—are you -expecting an American officer to come here and meet you and your -father?” - -She looked at him in surprise, as if trying to understand what meaning -might be behind his question. She locked her fingers together, and took -her time before replying. - -“No, we are not expecting an American officer. Our friends may send help -to us. That is why I came to you—any newcomer in the city might bring -word from friends—might be seeking to get news to us from friends.” - -She laughed suddenly in comprehension of his meaning, and went on -hastily. “We who are beset clutch at any straw—and you were a straw. Yet -was I not wise? For you have said you will save us—you would even take -us away, or——” - -Katerin stopped abruptly, and looked into the light of the lamp. Her -eyes showed more animation now, and Peter found himself admiring the -patrician poise of her head. She turned away from his gaze, and shivered -slightly. - -“Or what?” he prompted. - -“Or you would even kill Kirsakoff for us—rid us of one of our enemies.” - -Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he smiled. - -“What makes you think I would kill Kirsakoff?” he asked. “Have I said -anything to make you believe that?” - -“No,” she admitted, returning his gaze for an instant. “You have not -said that. But if my father is to help you find Kirsakoff, you must -first convince us that you are an enemy of Kirsakoff. It will be a -secret for a secret, in the old way of bargaining among the exiles. We -have trusted you much, but how do we know what your purpose is in -finding Kirsakoff?” - -Peter frowned at the floor and considered what she had said. He had not -counted on having to take any one into his confidence. He did not doubt -that he would be able to find Kirsakoff on his own account, if he had -plenty of time. But his time in Chita was not at his own disposal. An -American officer might come through the city and report that he had seen -Peter; before very long, Peter would be compelled to go on to Irkutsk -and report himself from there, or go down the line of the railroad. And -once in touch with Vladivostok, he knew that orders might come from -headquarters which would compel him to appear in some other city without -delay. - -And what damage could be done by telling this girl and her father his -reasons for wanting Kirsakoff? They, themselves, feared and hated the -Governor, who was again in power. They could be trusted not to betray -him. - -“What you say is fair enough,” he said finally. “I think I can convince -your father that I am the friend of anybody who was an exile, and -that——” He was about to add, “I am an enemy of Michael Kirsakoff.” But -he refrained. There would be time enough for that when he talked with -her father, and he was determined that before he told his story, he -should meet and judge for himself the measure of confidence to be given -to the old man who had been an exile. - -“I should like to know your full reasons—for wanting to find Kirsakoff,” -suggested Katerin. She, too, was wary. - -“You shall hear,” he said, “when I talk with your father.” And he spoke -with finality, as if there were no use in going further with the -subject. - -She went to the wardrobe against the wall, and turning to Peter, said, -“Move this away from the door which leads to our rooms—I got the Jew to -bring us near to you. Now we can pass from our rooms to yours without -going into the hall. It will be safer, for we cannot tell who will see -us if we have to use the hall.” - -“That was wise,” he said, and going to the wardrobe, he put his shoulder -against it, and steadying it with his hand, shoved it aside far enough -to clear the door which it concealed. When he had finished, she picked -up the shade of the lamp and slipped it back over the globe. - -“We are not known to the servants,” she said. “You must be careful with -our names—which are—Natsavaloff.” - -“Perhaps it will be well to avoid using any names,” said Peter. “It -might increase your danger.” - -“It would, indeed,” she agreed. “Now, I shall go round and free the bolt -on our side—and take you to my father.” - -Katerin slipped into the hall, and Peter snapped out the light on the -table and waited in darkness. In a minute he heard the rattle of the -bolt on the far side of the door, and then it swung open slowly. - -Katerin stood before him, outlined against the dim light seeping in from -a farther room through curtains hanging in a doorway. - -“Come!” she directed in a whisper. “My father is eager to talk with you. -But remember—he is very old, and he is still in some pain from his -wounds. And if he is querulous, I trust that you will be patient with -him.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIX - - FACE TO FACE - - -PETER stepped across the threshold of the open door, and into the shaft -of light spilling through the partly curtained doorway of the room -beyond. Looking to the end of this vista of light, he saw the figure of -a man sitting in a chair by a table. The head and upper part of this -man’s body were only vaguely visible and merged against the dark -background of the far wall. But his boots were silhouetted in the -radiance of the beams of the lamp which shot downward under the -shade—boots that looked grotesquely large and misshapen, for their -shadows were cast upon the floor in elongated outline. - -Katerin stopped at the curtained doorway, and by a gesture, bade Peter -enter before her. He went on, and as he neared the lamp on the table, he -saw that the figure in the chair was a frail old man with his head tied -up in a bandage. And behind the chair, better hidden by the gloom, was a -man standing, whom Peter took for a servant hovering over his master -with watchful care. Only the face of the _moujik_ was plainly visible to -Peter, and his eyes shining with the reflected light of the lamp, like -two luminous pin-pricks, were boring across the room at Peter. The tense -alertness of the _moujik’s_ posture suggested an animal crouching for a -spring. - -Katerin passed Peter, and approached her father. She said, “Our friend -has come to us,” and to Peter, “This is my father.” - -Peter’s heels came together, and he bowed low. When he looked at the old -man again, the withered head, wrapped in the encircling bandage, was -nodding gently as if with a palsy. And the bent shoulders leaned forward -under a gray blanket, to peer at the visitor. The right hand, hidden -beneath the blanket over his legs, seemed to be trembling, while his -left hand lifted from his knee made a motion toward a chair—it was a -thin, bony hand, more like a claw than a hand. - -“I bid you welcome, sir,” piped Michael, hoarsely. “But I have little -hospitality to offer a guest under this roof.” - -“May God’s blessings fall upon you, sir,” replied Peter, his heart -quickened by sympathy with this pathetic old ruin of a man—a man who, -like his own father as Peter thought, had suffered the life of an exile -under the cruel rule of the Governor, Michael Kirsakoff. Here, Peter -supposed, was another victim, in feeble senility, still pursued and -threatened by Zorogoff and the same Governor Kirsakoff who had brought -about the death of Peter’s father, and thrown the boy Peter into a big -prison. And these thoughts fed the inward flame of hatred which burned -through Peter’s being against Michael Kirsakoff—the very man before him, -and on whom he had just called for the blessing of God! Here was his -enemy of old, and he looked upon him, yet knew him not. - -For a time the two men peered at each other, one knowing that an enemy -was before him, and one thinking that he was in the presence of a -friend. But Peter saw nothing in the old man which brought to mind -anything of Michael Kirsakoff. Katerin, as Vashka, the samovar girl, had -so arranged the shaded lamp, and the chairs, that her father’s face -should not stand out clearly in light against a dark background. Also -the bandage hid the jaws and cheeks of Michael in such a way that the -old man’s facial contour was blurred. Age had done much to hide Michael, -and Peter’s memory was clinging to his own picture of Kirsakoff of -twenty years before. And Peter had adjusted his mind to the finding of -Kirsakoff as a result of this interview, and somewhere beyond it, so it -would have been hard to convince him that Kirsakoff was now before him. - -“You come as an American officer, yet my daughter tells me that you are -one of us—a Russian who has come back to help Russia,” said Michael. - -“Yes, and it is twenty years since I saw my native land,” said Peter, as -he sat down. - -“Ah, it is a sad home-coming for one of the motherland’s children,” -sighed Michael. “They say now that the people will rule at last.” - -Katerin stepped to the table to draw hot water from the samovar, which -was so placed that she stood almost between Peter and her father, though -without preventing them from seeing each other. She did not trust to her -precautions against Peter’s recognizing her father, knowing that there -were elements in the situation which might bring on some mischance on -the side of tragedy. - -And Wassili acted according to his instructions. As Peter sat down, the -_moujik_ left Michael’s chair, and offered the guest a cigarette from a -tin box, lighted a match—and remained behind Peter’s chair. Thus it -appeared to Peter that he was being tendered the usual courtesies. - -“It is true that times have changed, sir,” said Peter. - -“Ay, they have, truly,” said Michael. “And some say for the better. -Perhaps. But I’ll not live to see it all finished. I shall get no good -from it. But we must remember those who have died dreaming dreams for -the future.” - -“True,” said Peter. “And this ground is full of such—we must remember -them, and it is our duty to see that they did not sacrifice themselves -for nothing.” - -“My daughter tells me that you know our story—that I was a political -here.” - -“In the time of Kirsakoff, the Governor,” said Peter. - -“Kirsakoff!” said Michael. “Ah, yes, I had good reason to know -Kirsakoff. There are many waiting their chance to settle with him, and -he has but a short time for this world. But one of the lessons we -learned here, my friend, was to bide our time—and I am waiting.” - -“And Kirsakoff is in with Zorogoff?” - -“That Mongol dog!” said Michael. “Have you heard that he has visited -upon my daughter and me the silent torture? And that even now we hide -from him? Yes. Well, he has buried people to their necks by the dozen, -and then sent horsemen galloping over the ground. But if God is good I -shall live to see his head carried about on the end of a pole!” - -“And Kirsakoff stands behind him, I hear,” said Peter. - -Michael exchanged glances with Katerin. “True, it is Kirsakoff who helps -him hold his power.” - -“But it is dangerous to talk of Kirsakoff,” said Katerin, as she handed -Peter a glass of tea. “That is whisper talk, and I warn you.” - -“No,” grumbled Michael. “Your life would be worth little if you let it -be known that you are in possession of that secret. You are playing a -dangerous game if you wish to get close to Kirsakoff.” - -“But if he only knows me as an American,” suggested Peter. - -“What! You, who speak the real Russian!” exclaimed Michael. “Do not be -fooled—he will know you for a Russian!” - -“I can arrange that,” said Peter, with a smile. “If I can find him, that -is a matter easy enough to be handled as the business needs.” - -Michael shook his head energetically. - -“No, no, my friend! Kirsakoff’s hand is hidden. Your life would be in -danger at once if you gave a hint that you even know that Kirsakoff is -in the city. Be sure of that.” - -“Then I can pretend I do not know him,” pressed Peter. He was somewhat -disappointed by the resistance offered by the old man. - -“You must remember, my father, that our friend has reasons of his own -for wanting to find the Governor. And danger may not be a matter of -concern.” - -Peter gave her a grateful glance for thus allying herself with him. - -“If I were to tell you my reason for wanting Kirsakoff, I am sure that -you would say that it is good, sir. I have waited many years to come -back—and now I must not fail. I shall find Kirsakoff.” - -“But I should not like to be the one who puts your life in danger,” said -Michael. “You may not be aware of all it means—this business of the -Governor is not a light subject. You will do well not to cross his -tracks, for he will strike at you through Zorogoff’s spies, and you will -never know who struck. One cannot fight an army—and Zorogoff will not -brook any interference. He will destroy you like a fly upon his bread.” - -“I court the danger,” said Peter, sipping his tea, and willing to wait -till the old man was in a humor to be more communicative. - -“The Governor has five thousand rifles at his back,” said Michael. “You -cannot know yet the full danger.” - -“I shall go gladly to meet it,” persisted Peter. “It cannot be any -greater than my desire to find Kirsakoff.” - -“You would risk death?” asked Michael. - -“Even death.” - -“What! Twenty years in America, and you would risk death to find -Kirsakoff?” - -“What you say is true, sir.” - -The old man studied Peter carefully for a minute. “You speak,” he said -finally, “as if you had spent twenty years in the Governor’s prison, -instead of twenty years in America.” - -“I spent time enough in his prison,” said Peter. - -Katerin uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise. - -“Here! You were in the old prison here?” she asked. - -“I was,” said Peter, with a grim tightening of his lips. - -“But you are too young to have been an exile!” gasped Michael. “If you -had been one of—us, I can well understand. There are many who have been -here for long years—they have known the chains, they have known a -lifetime in cells. And still, they have no stomach for meeting the -Governor face to face. That is because they know Kirsakoff—and that he -is not a man who can be hunted like a rabbit.” - -“I also knew him,” said Peter. “I doubt if I will fear him, even if I -come face to face with him—and he knows me for a Russian, and by my true -name.” - -“Oh! So you knew Kirsakoff?” asked Katerin. “Then it will not be so -difficult for you to find him.” - -“I knew him too well,” said Peter, now beginning to fear they would -settle themselves against helping him to find Kirsakoff, and seeing that -he would have to take them into his confidence if they were to be of any -help to him. “I knew him when I was a boy here—and I have an old score -to pay off. I have come to pay it, and I shall not be kept from finding -Kirsakoff, even though he were the new Czar.” - -“You must have been an unfortunate to have been in the prison,” said -Katerin. She was still gazing at him with curious eyes, as if she could -not believe that he was really telling the truth about himself—as if she -thought he was making his story fit his necessity for finding Kirsakoff -and was making it as serious as possible to induce them to help him. - -“My father was an unfortunate—a political—here in the Valley of -Despair.” - -“Indeed, was he?” asked Michael, with renewed interest. “You mean that -he was here in the time that Kirsakoff was Governor?” - -“In the same time—when I was a boy,” said Peter, and looked at Katerin. -Her face was full of shocked surprise. She seemed horror-stricken at the -idea, and he wondered why she should think it so strange and so -terrible. He rather expected that she would see that they would all be -drawn together in common trouble, and have a common hatred for -Kirsakoff. - -“How strange,” she said, turning to the lamp. “Then you are one of us—no -wonder you seek Kirsakoff.” - -“Ay, that is a new string to the fiddle,” agreed Michael. “I can -understand now that you should want to find the Governor. Perhaps you -are right in this matter after all—and I must think it over. You have -reason enough, yet it is a serious thing for me to put you in danger.” - -Peter felt better at this new attitude of the old man, and thought that -now they regarded him with a more friendly eye. He was, in truth, one of -them, and there is a strong bond of sympathy between exiles and the -children of exiles. - -“And we might have known—could we have known your father?” - -“You could not have known my father. He died here twenty years -ago—before I went to America,” said Peter. - -“Twenty years! That is a long time to wait for vengeance,” said Michael. -“Many things are forgotten in twenty years, and time cures many things.” - -“Ay, so it is a long time, in one way, and in another a short time. It -seems but yesterday that I was a boy here in Chita. You, sir, have -worked all your life to see Russia a free land. And like you, I have -learned to bide my time.” - -“Things must look strange to you here,” said Katerin. “The city has -grown in twenty years.” - -“Yes, outwardly things look different. But the hills, the old prison, -the streets—I see them as they were. During my years in America I never -forgot, though I confess I had little hope of ever coming back. But the -war gave me my chance. I was going to France, but when the government -decided to send troops here, I volunteered for service in Siberia. Was -it not God-given that I should be allowed to come back to my native -land—and to come to Chita?” - -“True,” said Katerin, “if the debt, as you call it, which you owe to the -Governor, is such that God would have it paid.” She moved her chair in -such way that she was nearer the table, and so that she was closer to -her father. Also, she managed so that she cut more light from her -father’s face. - -“And what is the debt?” asked Michael. “If it is not a secret—if I am to -tell you where you may find the Governor, perhaps you will see it in -such way that you can trust me with the secret.” - -“It was Kirsakoff’s orders which brought about my father’s death.” - -Katerin’s teeth shut down upon her lower lip, and her fingers closed -slowly upon the sides of her chair. She sat rigid, staring at Peter, and -her face became paler. Michael did not move, but his breath began to -come faster, and he wheezed, as if his chest had tightened and he was -about to cough. - -“Killed your father?” asked Katerin, in low tones. - -“No, Kirsakoff did not strike with his own hand,” went on Peter, still -gazing fixedly at the lamp. “But he ordered my father back to the -prison, and when my father ran after the Governor to beg for mercy, a -Cossack soldier cut my father down with a sword. And I was thrown into -the big prison on the hill—I, a poor helpless boy who had done nothing.” - -Wassili moved uneasily behind the chair of Peter, and Katerin gave the -_moujik_ a glance of disapproval. - -“Then you do know,” said Katerin to Peter, “how cruel the Governor was -to the poor unfortunates. And that is why you seek him.” - -“What was done to my father and me—what was it? Only the ordinary thing -of the old days, as you know. Yes, that is why I seek Kirsakoff, and why -I ask your help to find him.” - -“And how long were you in the prison?” asked Michael. “There must have -been a charge against you?” - -“I was in prison three months, as near as I can tell,” replied Peter. -“Three months of hell on earth and in darkness, forgotten to the world! -It might have been three years, or three hundred, measured in my -suffering—the terrible sounds by day and by night, the rats—and I might -have been there till now, or dead, so far as Kirsakoff cared.” His -bitterness was growing, and his face was getting livid with rage. - -“And for nothing?” asked Katerin. “Had you done nothing against the -Governor—or the laws of the Czar?” - -“Ay, even Kirsakoff would have mercy on a boy,” said Michael. - -“I did nothing, I swear,” went on Peter. “It was the orders of Kirsakoff -which sent me to prison. It was this way—an officer knocked me down in -front of the post-house. And when my father came to pick me up, the -Governor ordered both of us taken away to the prison. - -“You see, my father belonged to the free gang—he was a political, as -were you. My mother died here, in the Street of the Dames. I never knew -her. But my father was good and kind to me. He was all I had in the -world, he was all I loved, though in those days (and Peter smiled -wistfully) I was taught to love the Little Father, the Czar. - -“My father was struck down before my eyes, and when I was taken to the -prison, the officer in charge of the books was drunk—and he put my name -down in the book wrong—put my name down as my father’s—gave my father’s -name to me, so that the records appeared to show that it was my father -and not me, the boy, back in prison. I did not know what they were -doing, and for three months it was supposed that it was my father, the -political, who was in the cell by order of the Governor.” - -“Then no doubt the Governor freed you—gave you the pardon,” said -Michael. - -“No,” said Peter. “It was God’s hand that set me free. Some convicts -escaped one night, and were recaptured by the cordons in the _taiga_. -But before the soldiers took them, they had waylaid a sledge carrying an -American fur-buyer to Irkutsk. His name was Gordon. The convicts robbed -him. When Gordon got back here to Chita, he was taken to the prison and -the convicts were brought out to be identified by him as the robbers. It -happened that one of these men, named Grassi, had been put in the cell -with me. When he was taken out into the prison yard, I was taken with -him. Then it was discovered that I was the son of my father, and that -there was no charge against me. Mr. Gordon, the American, asked to take -me as his servant. I was released, the prison commandant corrected the -records, and Mr. Gordon took me with him to America.” - -Peter paused, and looked at Michael, to see what effect the story had -had on the old man. But Michael’s head was nodding gently, and he seemed -to be turning the matter over in his mind, his lips moving as if he were -shaping words which he did not speak aloud. - -Katerin stood up suddenly, and tested the fire in the samovar. She -seemed agitated, and Peter assumed that she suffered with indignation at -hearing his sufferings at the hands of the Governor. Then she turned to -him swiftly. - -“What will you do—when you find the old—Kirsakoff?” she demanded. - -“I shall kill him,” said Peter simply, and was aware of a quivering hand -upon the back of his chair. He turned and looked at Wassili. The -_moujik’s_ eyes were shining like a cat’s before a fire, and there was -the look of murder in his face. - -“Kill him!” cried Michael. “But he did not kill your father!” - -Peter was startled for an instant by the old man’s horror, and Katerin’s -face revealed the fact that she had never dreamed that the American -officer was bent on murder—she seemed actually to be in terror of him. -Peter suffered a moment of abashment, and gulped down what was left of -the tea in his glass. He understood that these people did not yet fully -appreciate how wantonly his father had been killed, nor how little -provocation there was for the killing. He was determined to convince -them of the justice of his designs. - -“My father and I,” he began anew, “lived in a little hut down the -Sofistkaya—it is there yet—I can see it from the windows of my room. An -old man lives in it now, a queer old patriarch, who sells cigarettes——” - -“That is Rimsky!” exclaimed Wassili to Katerin. She nodded, and looked -at him so that she checked him. - -“Yes, Rimsky,” said Peter. “That is his name. That is where I lived with -my father, and where he taught me the almanacs. We were happy, for we -had a samovar, and the ladies of the Street of the Dames came to us -often. They gave me cakes, and my father money. Of course, I know now -that he was an underground to the prison—he carried messages back and -forth between wives and their husbands in the prison.” - -“Yes, they had many ways of getting news in and out in the old days,” -said Michael, with a smile. “But go on with your story, my friend.” - -Peter struck a match to light a fresh cigarette, and the flame showed -his face to be flushed by his emotions. - -“The year of which I speak,” resumed Peter, “the almanacs from Moscow -were late. The mail-sledges came in from Irkutsk one morning. I ran down -to the post-house to learn if the almanacs had come. There were -Excellencies in the sledge. As I remember, the Governor’s -daughter—Katerin was her name, I think, and——” - -“Yes, yes,” cried Katerin, striking her hands together. “Katerin -Stephanovna! She was the Governor’s daughter—I have heard of her! It is -said now that she is dead!” and Katerin turned to her father, as if to -verify what she had said. - -“It has been said that she is dead this long time,” assented Michael. -“Some say that Zorogoff——” He checked himself. - -Peter continued with his tale, warmed to it again by the evident -interest of his listeners. - -“Yes, that was the Governor’s daughter. Her coming was his reason for -meeting the sledge that morning. Well, I was eager to be sure that the -almanacs had come—and a Cossack knocked me down because I called to the -Governor’s daughter for news of the almanacs. And when Michael -Alexandrovitch, the Governor, came to the sledge he found my father -picking me up. I was bleeding and stunned from the blow. And the -Governor was in a rage at us—that my father should be making trouble—and -ordered him to be stricken from the free gang and put back in the prison -once more—and me with him.” - -“But you said your father was killed,” said Katerin. - -“Yes, as I say,” replied Peter. “My father”—and Peter inclined his head -toward the icon in the corner over Michael’s head—“my father was so -broken in spirit at knowing he was no longer of the free gang and that I -was to go to prison, that he ran after Kirsakoff. It was then that a -Cossack ran my father through with a saber—and swore that my father had -struck at the Governor with a knife—a leather knife which he pulled from -my father’s pocket.” - -“But did the Governor know—could he know—of this terrible happening?” -asked Katerin. - -“Ay, did the Governor know?” echoed Michael. - -“Know!” cried Peter. “What would he have cared if he did know? He had -just ordered us both to prison for nothing! And did he care enough to -investigate the case during the three months I was inside a black -cell—to give me my freedom? No! He forgot all about it and me, even if -he did know what had happened? Does he care now what the fate of you and -your daughter may be? I tell you, sir, I must find Michael Kirsakoff! -And you must be the one who puts me on the right road!” - -“True, you must find him,” said Katerin. “Now we know that you have good -reason for wanting him.” - -“Thank you,” said Peter fervently. “I knew that when you saw my story as -I could tell it, you would realize that above all things, I must find -Kirsakoff.” - -“What was the name of your father?” asked Michael. - -“Gorekin—Peter Pavlovitch—a bootmaker.” - -“Gorekin!” gasped Michael, his head snapping back in his amazement. -“Gorekin!” - -“Have you heard of him?” asked Peter, with a quick look at the old -general. - -“I thought for a moment I knew the name,” said Michael. “But if you say -he was a bootmaker, it must have been another. No, not if he was a -bootmaker—and this man I knew less than ten years ago.” - -Michael looked at Wassili, and put a hand upon the table beside him, -keeping the other under the blanket. He began to drum with his fingers, -deep in reflection. No word was spoken for several minutes. Peter could -hear Wassili breathing behind the chair. - -“You have our sympathy,” said Katerin. “And you must find the Governor. -If you will give me time to talk it over with my father——” She gave -Peter a significant look, which he interpreted to mean that it would be -wiser not to press now for information about Kirsakoff, but to leave it -in her hands. - -“Thank you,” said Peter, and he rose, and bowed. - -“You shall find Kirsakoff,” said Michael, staring at his hand on the -table. “By morning I shall know where he may be found—perhaps. We must -not act hastily.” The palsied head was shaking gently, and the old man -was lost again in thought. - -“Yes, yes,” Katerin put in hastily. Peter saw tears in her eyes. She -followed after him as he turned to go back through the rooms, and they -left Michael and Wassili alone. - -Peter stopped at his own door, and looking back over Katerin’s shoulder, -saw against the light of the room he had just left, a shadow cross—and -then the figure of Wassili peering after them. - -“Good-night,” said Katerin. She seemed nervous and worried. She also had -caught a glimpse of the old _moujik_ outlined against the glow of her -father’s lamp. - -Peter seized her hands in sudden impulse and pressed them heartily. “I -cannot tell you of my gratitude, Vashka,” he whispered. “It was you who -helped me in this—and I have waited long! You are going to persuade your -father to tell me where I shall find Kirsakoff!” - -She gently drew away from him, and he released her hands. - -“I shall do what I can,” she whispered. “But take care—this house is -full of enemies. If we are to defeat the Ataman, be wary. Bolt both your -doors to-night!” - -Then she slipped away to her father. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XX - - THE BLOW - - -PETER, alone once more in his room, found that a strange calmness had -come to him once the secret of his purpose in returning to the Valley of -Despair was in the keeping of two other persons. There was for him in -that fact something of the relief of the confessional. For twenty years -he had nursed in his soul the grievance of his father’s death, and his -own imprisonment—nursed it most secretly, pent it up within his -consciousness, till it seemed that his body had become a kind of culture -tube of germinating hate. - -For the first time since he had left Chita as a boy, he found an -easement of his soul burden. These people to whom he had told his story, -understood his deepest emotions regarding his father. No American could -ever have understood fully, Peter was well aware. Prison to an American -implies disgrace, some sort of stain upon the character which is never -fully lived down. But to this old exile, as Peter supposed Kirsakoff to -be, Peter’s story was an honor to him. For the old man had suffered the -horrors of the exile system, mixing, as it did, the highest type of -Russian with the lowest—the thinker with the cutthroat. - -Peter knew he stood better in Katerin’s regard than before, now that she -knew his story. He had seen in her face a deep and profound pity for -him. What he mistook for pity was her alarmed concern when she -discovered that Peter sought to slay her father. Peter could not know -that she had suffered torture while he had sat looking into the -lamp—that she knew how a look, a word or some turn of the head might -betray her father. - -Peter had always thought that the first assurance of a successful end to -his quest for Kirsakoff would mean a delirious joy. Yet here he was -coldly calm, a calm which was a steadiness that he ascribed to his own -efforts to control all outward indications of his grim satisfaction. His -brain was singing, over and over, in an endless refrain—“I shall find -Kirsakoff.” - -He turned the light in such way that he could see himself in the big -mirror between the windows, and smiled at himself. His face was slightly -flushed from the emotions and memories roused by telling how his father -had been killed before the post-house, and how he himself had endured -and escaped from the prison on the hill. - -His eyes burned with a feverish light. In fact, he was drugged with -elation, strangely soothed, much as a man is lulled with wine till his -senses are subdued by the poison and his reasoning faculties are -benumbed. Yet his alertness was in no whit deadened. On the contrary, he -was well aware of what was before him, and he was alive to the -necessities of the situation. He was approaching his long-waited moment -of triumph, and he knew that he must hold himself against the slightest -rashness in thoughts or actions. He must, he thought as he surveyed -himself in the mirror, avoid the look of craftiness which was coming -into his face—he must feign a bland innocence, and dispel everything -which savored of eagerness, impatience, impulsive haste. He had days, -weeks, in which to carry out his purpose, and at last he was on the -right track. Besides, it would avail nothing unless he could accomplish -the destruction of Kirsakoff without leaving the hint of a clew to the -identity of the slayer. - -He left off studying himself in the mirror, and began pacing the floor, -head down and hands behind his back. There was a strange sense of -satisfaction in the knowledge that Vashka knew his secret. He felt that -it constituted a bond between them, a mutual sympathy such as is known -only among exiles, or the children of exiles. - -In fact, Peter had created in his own mind a vision of Vashka that went -beyond the time when he would have killed Kirsakoff. It was sort of an -unformed, inchoate dream which consisted of nothing more tenuous than -mental flits into the future in which he always saw Vashka. As she knew -the secret of his coming back to Chita, she would also hold his secret -about who had killed Kirsakoff. She would always understand, as she -understood now. Only a Russian, a Russian girl who knew as Vashka knew -the terrors of the Valley of Despair, fitted his idea of a confidant in -this affair. Katerin, as “Vashka,” had done her work well! - -Peter was now sure that Fate had a hand in everything which had brought -him back to the place of his boyhood. The whole thing had come about -with an inevitableness which revealed a divinely directed plan. If some -force had shaped events for him with such unerring accuracy, he saw no -reason why the final result should not be brought about with the same -ease with which he had come thus far on the way to his revenge. - -He had a feeling that the task he had set himself was now -accomplished—the finding of Kirsakoff. His mind was at rest, and he felt -the need of relaxation from the strain of wavering hopes and doubts. -Also, he suddenly felt hungry with that voracious appetite which comes -to people who pass the crisis of a severe illness and know without -reservation that they are on the way to complete recovery. - -The fiddler he had heard on the floor above before going to talk with -Katerin and her father, had now descended to the hotel dining room, and -was playing merrily. There were other instruments, too—an orchestra. The -music was a novelty for the hotel. It lifted Peter’s spirits, and -dispelled the gloom of the place. For the first time since he had -arrived in Chita Peter wished to move about among other people. - -He washed at the little sink, and combed his hair. Then he went down the -hall to the dining room. There were but a few people in the place—young -men in Cossack uniform, with flashily dressed women, sitting by twos at -the little tables along the wall under the frosty windows. The -gloominess of the room was apparent even under the lights and the music, -but it was the merriest scene Peter had seen in the city. - -There were four musicians on a raised platform at the far end of the -room close to the red-painted buffet-bar with the smashed mirrors. And -the quartet was clad in poor and ill-fitting gray suits—the men were -German prisoners of war. - -Peter clicked his heels in the doorway and bowed before he entered. The -officers at the table looked up with startled eyes, but inclined their -heads slightly in response to the courtesy. But it was plain that his -American uniform had attracted special attention, for the women -companions of the Cossacks stared at him. Peter wondered if there was -any resentment because he wore his belt and pistol, though he could not -understand how he had committed any breach of etiquette by being armed, -for the young Cossacks were all wearing their pistols and their sabers. - -The musicians played a German air, sadly, and with good evidence that -some of the strings were missing. There were two violins, a ’cello, and -a clarinet. - -A waiter came to Peter. The man was clad in the same bluish-gray as the -musicians. He also was a war prisoner, and clicked his heels and was -quite military in his manner. - -“Have you a ticket, sir?” he asked, speaking in English. - -“Is a ticket necessary?” asked Peter in surprise. “I am staying at the -hotel.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the waiter. “This is an officers’ mess—officers of the -Ataman’s army.” - -“Then I am sorry,” said Peter, reverting to Russian for the benefit of -the Cossacks. “I thought this was the hotel restaurant. I had no -intention of intruding,” and he pushed back his chair to rise from the -table. - -“You speak Russian, sir,” said the waiter, in Russian. - -“Yes,” said Peter. “And you speak English surprisingly well—also -Russian.” - -“Hans!” A young Cossack who sat two tables beyond Peter, and faced him, -called the waiter away and handed him something. The waiter was back to -Peter by the time he had risen to leave the room. - -“Here is a ticket for you, sir. The Cossack gentleman—the -lieutenant—wishes you to have your supper here,” said the waiter. - -Peter bowed to the young officer, who smiled across the shoulders of the -woman with him. He was a thin-faced chap, with heavy black hair down on -his forehead after the Cossack fashion. Gold straps covered his -shoulders, and a great saber lay outside the table legs, where it swung -down to the floor from his belt. - -Peter sat down again. It would be in the nature of an affront not to -accept the proffered hospitality. And the waiter brought thick cabbage -soup with a yellowish scum of fat floating on its surface, black bread, -a plate of chopped meat, with a mound of boiled grains of wheat, and a -glass of tea. - -During the meal the orchestra continued to play. The Cossacks and their -women talked in low tones. Finally, they began to drift away gradually -till none was left but the young officer who had sent Peter the supper -ticket. And in time his companion disappeared also. Then the young -officer approached Peter’s table, and bowed. - -“You are an American officer, but you speak Russian,” said the Cossack. -He smiled and clicked his spurred heels. - -“Yes,” said Peter, rising and saluting. They shook hands formally. - -“I am Lutoff, a lieutenant in the army of the Ataman Zorogoff,” went on -the Cossack with pride. “I heard that there was an American officer in -the hotel—and I was about to call upon you this very evening.” - -“That is very kind of you,” said Peter, seeing that there was some -purpose after all in the matter of the supper ticket beyond the -characteristic hospitality of all Cossacks. He saw that he would have to -play the game, whatever it might be. “My name is Gordon, and I also am a -lieutenant.” - -Lutoff bowed again. - -“Please sit down with me,” invited Peter, and they both sat down facing -each other across the small table. Peter did not like Lutoff any too -well—there was a craftiness in his eyes, an insincere suavity in his -manner, an affability about him that was forced. His friendliness lacked -a frankness which he did his best to simulate, but behind his smiles and -his politeness there was a promise of lurking menace. - -“You have not called upon the Ataman,” said Lutoff lightly, half in -question, yet half in the nature of a statement of fact—perhaps a -challenge. - -“No,” said Peter. “I was three weeks coming up on the train, and my -health was hurt—I have been resting.” - -“I trust you will feel better soon,” said Lutoff. He uttered the words -as if he meant more than that—Peter caught an implication that it would -be well for him not to neglect calling upon the Ataman. - -“Were you intending to pay an official call this evening?” asked Peter. -He thought it advisable to probe a bit after Lutoff’s obscure -inferences. - -“No, just for a friendly chat. You speak Russian well for an American. -You must have been in the country before.” Lutoff offered his cigarette -case, a ponderous silver box covered with semiprecious stones of various -kinds and studded with raised metal initials—mostly gold—of friends who -had added to its ornate embellishments. - -“My father was in business in Moscow. I was born and grew up there,” -lied Peter glibly, as he took a cigarette. He had no intention of taking -Lutoff into confidence about his early life. He considered that none of -the Cossack’s business, and the personal prying a trifle impertinent. - -“Are American soldiers coming to Chita?” pressed Lutoff. It was obvious -now that he sought information for the Ataman. - -“Oh, yes,” said Peter easily. “I understand a battalion will be coming -up the line. That is something I intend to take up with the Ataman—how -many barracks are available in this vicinity.” - -Lutoff gave this consideration for several minutes, but made no comment. -Then he looked over his shoulder toward the orchestra to make sure that -no waiters were within hearing. - -“As a friend, I wish to tell you something,” he said in a low tone. - -“Thank you,” said Peter, but to all intents he was indifferent and -smoked his cigarette with complacency. - -“While I belong to the Ataman’s staff, I am not speaking officially,” -said Lutoff. “It is merely as one friend to another. You understand my -attitude, of course.” - -“Of course. Have no hesitation in speaking.” - -“Then what I wish to say to you is that if I were you, I would not trust -civilians who live in this hotel.” Lutoff looked squarely at Peter, as -if to gauge the effect of the advice on him. - -“Civilians!” exclaimed Peter. “Why, I did not think of that. I supposed -that nearly everybody in the hotel was in the Ataman’s service.” - -“There are many who are not,” said Lutoff, a trifle annoyed by Peter’s -coolness. “Surely, you do not think that all civilians quartered here -are in the service of Zorogoff?” - -“I am not so sure,” returned Peter. “But why shouldn’t I trust them? -What is there wrong—or dangerous about the civilians?” - -“There are spies among them.” - -“You mean they are spies for the Ataman?” asked Peter, not taking his -eyes from Lutoff’s. Peter was somewhat amused by Lutoff, and was taking -considerable delight in beating him about the bush. The whole incident -was so Cossack-like, so childishly dramatic. - -Lutoff shrugged his shoulders. “The Ataman has his spies, of course.” - -“And perhaps I have talked with some of them,” suggested Peter. - -“Perhaps. But that is not what I mean. I only warn you to be careful.” - -“You are very kind,” said Peter. “But have you any particular person in -mind?” He wondered if Lutoff could be working along a definite line. - -“You would be wise to avoid those people you have been talking with,” -said Lutoff, and leaned back in his chair to blow smoke rings toward the -ceiling, thoughtfully. - -Peter laughed quietly. “Rather a vague warning,” he said. “I have talked -with several persons in the city—just as I am talking with you.” - -“You know the people I mean,” said Lutoff with some tartness, still -gazing at the ceiling. - -“I appreciate your consideration for me, sir. I assure you I would be -glad to follow your advice if you will limit it to the people you -evidently have in mind. But so far, what you have said might refer to -anybody.” - -Lutoff looked at the table, twisted a bit of black bread off a slice -which lay on a plate, and kneaded the bread into a ball of dough on the -cloth. - -“You have been talking with people in this hotel,” he said presently. - -“Not many,” said Peter. He was sure now that Lutoff was referring to -Vashka and her father, and began to be disquieted. Did Lutoff know -anything, or was he merely guessing? Was it possible that a spy of the -Ataman had heard the conversations with Vashka and her father? If so, -had the spy heard Peter tell his story and his reason for wanting to -find Kirsakoff? If the latter was true, it was likely that Kirsakoff -already knew of Peter and his purpose, for according to Vashka, -Kirsakoff was hand in glove with Zorogoff. Peter was really alarmed now. -He wondered if Wassili was to be trusted. He wondered if Vashka was -really a spy. He doubted that, for if Lutoff were in the service of -Zorogoff, Lutoff would scarcely be warning Peter against Vashka. But the -situation was dangerous, Peter knew well. - -“True, you have not been talking with many,” said Lutoff. “But those -with whom you have been talking—they are not safe for you.” - -“That is quite possible,” said Peter, smiling. “Almost any one here is -dangerous to a stranger. You see, when it comes to that, I am most -discreet with you, Mr. Lutoff.” - -Lutoff bowed his head slightly. “You compliment me. But I am not trying -to mystify you or to frighten you. When a man comes and warns you, you -cannot very well say he is a menace to you.” - -“No,” said Peter. “But your warning is vague. If it is to be of any -value to me—who are the people you warn me against?” - -“I speak of the old man—and the girl,” said Lutoff abruptly, and lifted -his eyes to Peter’s. - -“The old man and the girl!” repeated Peter, with an amazement which was -well feigned. “Here in the hotel? I am not sure that I know whom you -mean.” - -“And I am sure that you do,” shot back Lutoff. He had dropped his polite -indirectness and was ready to argue with Peter—almost ready, it -appeared, to dictate to Peter on whom he should talk with in the hotel -or the city. - -“Then you know what you know,” said Peter calmly. “But I cannot be sure -what you know, unless you tell me, thus I cannot be sure that you speak -as a friend. First, if I am to consider your advice, you must give me -some assurance that you have knowledge of whom I have been talking -with—otherwise, my friend, you are seeking information rather than -giving it.” He had no intention of being trapped into admitting that he -had been talking with Vashka and her father. The Ataman and Kirsakoff -might suspect what they liked, but Peter was not going to tell Lutoff -anything. - -“These people are hiding here in the hotel,” said Lutoff, resuming his -kneading of the brown dough on the tablecloth. - -“Hiding?” - -“Yes.” - -“From the Ataman?” asked Peter. - -Lutoff looked up with an angry grimace, and Peter knew that he had put -one shot home. He had revealed some knowledge of the Ataman’s tactics, -and he had satisfied himself that Vashka and her father were telling the -truth. He had put Lutoff into something of a hole, which the Cossack -might find it difficult to get clear of again. - -“You had better keep your hands off this matter,” warned Lutoff. - -“Oh, is that it?” asked Peter. “Then this is a warning about listening -to people who have something to say about the Ataman, is it?” - -“You may judge for yourself,” replied Lutoff. - -“I already have,” said Peter, suavely. “I judge that you are not warning -me so much against certain people, as that you are warning me to beware -of the Ataman Zorogoff.” - -“If I were you, I would not mix in political matters in this city, Mr. -Gordon.” - -“You must remember that you are talking to an American officer,” said -Peter. “Am I to understand that an officer of the Ataman Zorogoff tells -me what I should do or should not do in Chita?” - -“I think the Americans wish to avoid trouble with the Ataman,” said -Lutoff, with a bland smile. - -“That remains to be seen—and is somewhat dependent upon how the Ataman -Zorogoff conducts what he is pleased to call his government,” said -Peter. - -“Do the Americans intend to tell Zorogoff how he shall govern?” Lutoff -showed in his face that this was a most important question to the -Ataman—it was what Lutoff was seeking for Zorogoff, and Peter knew it. - -“They might even do that,” replied Peter. “But it might depend upon the -wishes of the bulk of the Russian people in this district.” - -Lutoff grinned. “The bulk of the Russian people are behind Zorogoff,” he -said. - -“According to Zorogoff,” retorted Peter. - -Lutoff rose. “I am not speaking officially,” he said. “Is that -understood?” - -“It is if you say so,” said Peter, also rising. “But I am speaking -officially. And I wish to thank you for sending me the supper ticket, -and for your advice. But I cannot limit myself regarding the people with -whom I talk in Chita, even to please the Ataman.” - -“Am I to tell the Ataman that?” asked Lutoff. - -“You may tell the Ataman what you please of what I have said, or I am -ready to tell him the same myself.” - -“Very good, sir,” said Lutoff, and clicked his spurs again most -formally. “But I can tell you now, sir, that you will come into conflict -with the Ataman Zorogoff if you interfere—if you take any further action -with these people to whom I have referred. And——” - -“I cannot consider your warning unless you make clear to me just whom -you are talking about,” interrupted Peter. - -“You still pretend not to know?” asked Lutoff in surprise. - -“I want names, not assumptions,” said Peter. - -“Very good, then,” said Lutoff. “Let us not have any doubt about it, and -then you cannot plead that you were not warned by the Ataman. I tell you -not to mix yourself in this affair of the Kirsakoffs—old General -Kirsakoff and his daughter Katerin Stephanovna!” - -And Lutoff bowed again and walked directly out of the dining room, -leaving Peter clutching at the table as he swayed before he sank back -into his chair. - -“Kirsakoff!” he whispered. “Kirsakoff—and his daughter Katerin -Stephanovna!” and then his voice rose in a hysterical wailing burst of -laughter above the playing of the orchestra. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XXI - - THE CAT’S PAW HAS CLAWS - - -THE electric lamp on Peter’s writing table was still glowing under its -shade, but it gradually waned as morning whitened the frost-bound -windows. - -Peter sat by the table near the door. He was fully dressed, just as he -had come from the dining room after Lutoff had warned him to have no -more dealings with the Kirsakoffs. Peter’s left arm lay limply on the -dingy cloth, his automatic pistol close at hand lying on its side. He -was wide-eyed awake and staring at the door into the hall, as if he were -waiting for some one to enter. His jaw was set grimly, and at the right -side of his mouth his upper lip was askew, as if he had spent the night -in thoughts which resulted in nothing but a cynical smile. His face was -pale under the night’s growth of beardy stubble. The soles of both his -boots rested flatly on the floor, and were pulled back slightly under -his knees as he had gradually slipped down into the chair. His shoulders -were bent forward in a crouching attitude, and his chin rested upon the -front of his tunic. - -When full daylight finally vanquished the darkness of his side of the -room, he lifted his head and pulled up the sleeve of his left arm to -look at his wrist-watch. He thought a moment, as if in doubt what to do -next, and wound the watch. He turned and looked at the windows behind -him, rubbed his jaw reflectively with the tips of his fingers, and got -up wearily to look for his shaving kit on the shelf under the mirror -between the windows. - -He studied himself in the mirror, smoothed his rumpled hair with his -hand, and went about the business of getting out his razors. But he -pushed the kit away irritably, and returned to the table. He picked up -his pistol, took a cautionary glance at the catch which was so arranged -that it revealed the weapon to be ready for firing, and slipped the -pistol into its holster on his hip. Yet he did not button down the flap -of the holster, but sprung the stiff leather flap back and tucked it in -behind the belt. This left the butt of the pistol ready to his hand for -instant use—he could draw and fire it without the trouble of unbuttoning -the flap. - -He went to the little wall sink near the wardrobe and dashed water in -his face. Drying himself with a handkerchief, he went once more to the -mirror and combed his hair with infinite pains. This done to his -satisfaction, he stood before the door leading into Katerin’s room, in -an attitude of listening. - -He looked at his watch again after a time, and as if he had made a -decision, walked to the door and rapped gently upon it. He waited, -listening. He heard nothing. Finally he went to the push-button near the -door to the hall and pressed it three times in the usual signal for a -samovar. Then he fell to pacing the floor, head down, and his hands -clasped behind his back. - -After a considerable delay, the peasant girl who had served him when he -first came to the hotel brought the samovar. She seemed to be still half -asleep, and having set the samovar upon the table, departed promptly -without so much as a look at Peter. - -He took a few more turns up and down the room till the hissing of the -samovar drew his attention. He put the tea to brewing and waited -listlessly till it should be ready. He drank several glasses of the -steaming tea without any apparent relish of it or stimulation from it. -He seemed in a stupor, as he sat staring at the floor, haggard and -hollow-eyed. His face was drawn, and reflected the bitterness in his -soul. He hunted his pockets for cigarettes, but found none. He looked -under the table. There he saw a litter of flattened mouthpieces and -matches, the remains of his night-long smoking. - -There came a gentle tapping at Katerin’s door. He sprang toward it and -threw off the bolt. The door came open under his hand, and Katerin stood -smiling at him. She did not look any too well, he thought—as if she had -not slept herself. His eyes met hers, and he forced a smile. He bowed, -and with a gesture invited her to enter. He did not look past her, but -he was conscious of some one moving in the room beyond—her father’s -room. - -“Good-morning,” she said. “I did not bring the samovar because I did not -want to risk being seen in the hall.” Her voice was low, and there was a -note of worry in it, as if she had already sensed something inimical in -his manner, or in the close stale air of the room which reeked with the -fumes of dead tobacco smoke. - -Peter turned toward the window to pull a chair from the writing table. - -“You—you are ill!” she exclaimed suddenly, giving him a look of concern. -“And you have not slept!” She took in the undisturbed blankets on his -bed. - -“Yes,” said Peter dully. “I have a cold—a headache. But it is -nothing—see—I have already had my morning tea and feel better.” - -“I am sorry. You look as if you had suffered much,” and she sat down, -still observing him with troubled doubt. She saw the exposed pistol in -the holster, but refrained from anything which would indicate that she -had noticed it. - -“What about Kirsakoff?” he asked, as if they should get to business. - -His words startled her, but she concealed from him any indication of her -inner alarm. - -“I came to tell you,” she answered. “We sent Wassili out through the -city last night, to people who have underground information. And he came -back early with his report.” She affected a quiet complacence, as if -seeking news of her father’s whereabouts was a trivial detail of -everyday life. - -“And what did he learn?” asked Peter, sitting down by the writing table -with his back to the window. He was calmer now, resolved to play his -part of utter ignorance of the truth about Kirsakoff. - -“The last word that has come to Chita is that—Kirsakoff is in Harbin.” -She looked straight at Peter to gauge the effect of her story upon him. - -“In Manchuria,” he said, without surprise. “In that case, we should go -to Harbin. Could you and your father get away to Harbin with me?” - -“It might be possible—with your help.” Her face took on a trace of color -as her heart began to respond to her rising hope that what she planned -with Peter could be carried through. At least, he had interposed no -objection to going to Harbin to find Kirsakoff, and actually had in mind -a willingness to take her and her father along. - -“But could we find him when we got there?” he asked. - -“We have friends there who know where he could be found. It should not -be difficult—there are not so many Russians in Harbin, after all.” - -“You are a brave woman,” he said quietly. “You must know that this whole -plan holds naked menace for your father—and yourself.” - -“There is greater menace here,” she replied, looking steadily into his -eyes. - -He wondered if she could mean that he was part of the menace. It was -possible that she knew Lutoff had been talking—and that what Lutoff had -said was already known to her. If the latter were true, she must realize -that it would be impossible to manipulate Peter so that he would save -them from Zorogoff. He dismissed the thought—she was bent now on leading -him on a fool’s errand to Harbin, and once safe from the Ataman, -disappear in the Manchurian city. - -It now struck Peter that it might be wise to get away from the Valley of -Despair with the Kirsakoffs. Harbin offered possibility not only to the -Kirsakoffs, but to himself. He could hardly expect to kill Kirsakoff in -Chita and cover his own tracks. - -“Have you a plan for escape from the city?” he asked. - -“We have talked it over with Slipitsky—the Jew. But my father is averse -to having any hand in putting you into danger.” - -Peter smiled. “Your father need not worry about that,” he said lightly. -“Did we not arrange last night?” - -“True, but——” She hesitated to go on, and turned her face from him. - -“Has your father changed his mind since last night?” asked Peter, alert -at once. - -“Oh, no,” she said, looking at the floor. “We—we thought you might -change yours. You have not been sleeping—and perhaps you gave thought -to——” - -“I have not changed my mind about Kirsakoff,” he said when it was plain -that she was not going to finish her sentence. “I am still determined -to—find him.” - -“We thought you might have changed your mind about helping us.” She -lifted her head, and smiled at him. - -He saw at once that her reluctance to avail herself of his help was only -feigned. She was too subtle to be over-eager in a matter which concerned -her own safety and the safety of her father. She intended that Peter -should be the insistent one, so that any suspicions he might have that -they sought their own safety rather than Kirsakoff, would be allayed. -She wished the trip to Harbin to be made on his wishes instead of out of -their own selfish, if natural, desire to escape the Ataman. - -Peter laughed without mirth. - -“We might not be able to find Kirsakoff in Harbin,” he suggested. - -“True,” she admitted at once. “He spends his time between Harbin and -Chita. By the time we got there, he might be on his way back here.” - -“Would you advise waiting?” he asked. - -“That is for you to decide.” - -“Then we shall go to Harbin,” he announced. “This is a serious thing to -me. As I told you last night, I have waited twenty years to find -Kirsakoff.” - -“It should not be difficult,” she said casually. - -“Not with your help,” he said, with a play at enthusiasm. “If I find -him, it will be because——” He stopped short. What he was about to say -was that if he found Kirsakoff, it would be due to her. But that was not -true—she was concealing Kirsakoff. Peter felt he owed her nothing there. - -“Perhaps you would prefer to wait till you feel better,” suggested -Katerin. She was still worried about his constrained manner, and not -quite sure that the change which she detected in him was due to his -feeling badly, as he claimed. She sensed an undercurrent of agitation, -and though the reason of it was far beyond her intuitions, she knew he -had undergone some change during the night—there was something hostile -in his eye, something in the slow turning of his head which revealed to -her the brooding rage which burned in his brain. - -“I feel well enough,” he said, putting his hand to his ruffled brow. -“The pain has gone, but I feel dull and stupid. I hope you will forgive -my—stolidity.” He forced a smile, and threw back his head and shook it -as if to dispel a heaviness. - -“When should we attempt to get away?” she asked. - -“We should not delay, I think. Is it not likely that the Ataman will be -down upon the hotel at any time?” - -She shivered slightly. “Every minute is precious.” - -“The sooner away, the sooner we shall come up to Kirsakoff,” he said, -and rose to take a turn about the room. Then he came and stood over her, -looking down into her face. - -“Take some more tea,” she said. “If we are to go away, you must feel as -well as possible.” - -“True, I must. Suppose you bring your father here—and the three of us -talk over the plan of going—to Harbin.” - -Katerin gave him a quick glance. Once more she had caught in Peter’s -manner a glimmer of the fact that he was holding himself in leash -against an impulse to action which he found it painfully difficult to -restrain. He frightened her a little, for there was that about his -mouth, about his eyes, and in his voice which told her that this man was -ready to slay. - -“My father is still asleep, I am afraid,” she said. “But I know all the -plans that have been made. We are to leave by droshky—and Slipitsky will -forge passports for us. The old Jew is very shrewd about such things. He -helped many a man escape from—the old prison.” - -Peter wondered if her reluctance to let him see her father could be due -to a suspicion that Peter already knew that her father was Kirsakoff. - -“Droshky to Harbin! It sounds impossible! By droshky more than a -thousand versts in this time of the year?” - -She laughed lightly. “Not all the way, of course,” she said. “Just far -enough to get away from the city—down the railway far enough to get a -train beyond where Zorogoff’s men are on guard.” - -“But how are we to get through the cordons of Cossacks?” - -“An American officer should be able to pass—if my father and myself have -forged passports. They would not stop you—an American.” - -He saw the cleverness of her plan. It was a bold move. And the -Kirsakoffs would not have to risk having their identity revealed to -Peter during any quizzing at the railway station in Chita. Zorogoff’s -passport officers would undoubtedly hold Katerin and her father if they -attempted to board a train at the station with Peter—and the worst of it -would be, the old general would most likely be addressed by his name in -the hearing of Peter. But the sentries of the cordon around the city -would be more easily fooled. In the first place, they might not -recognize Kirsakoff at all if he were well wrapped in furs, and had his -bandage about his face. Besides, they might be deceived by the false -passports. - -“Is it intended that we should go by night?” asked Peter. - -“No, by day. The soldiers will not be so careful by day. By night, they -might fire upon us, or hold us till morning in some guardroom while our -papers were sent back to the city for examination. That is the advice -Slipitsky gives. He says the best escapes are made by daylight, and the -proper plan carefully worked out.” - -Katerin waited till Peter thought it over. He considered the plan, -looking thoughtfully at the window. - -“You, as an American, can be liberal with the soldiers. Give them enough -rubles to make them feel they want to please you, but not enough to -rouse their suspicions. We will give you the money.” - -Peter found it hard to choke down the bitterness which rose anew within -him as he listened to her elaborating her plan for his deception. He was -tempted for an instant to laugh at her, and tell her now that he knew -all he needed to know. Yet there was a queer comfort for him in -listening to Katerin go on with her intricate scheme to save herself and -her father by means of the enemy of her father. And Peter realized also -that they probably did not contemplate going on to Harbin with him at -all—they would slip away from him on the train, at some station—anywhere -once they were clear of the district in which Zorogoff’s army held any -power. - -“Does Wassili go with us?” he asked, thinking that perhaps the servant -would be taken for the purpose of killing Peter once they had used him -to get them free through the cordons. - -“No, Wassili will remain here.” - -“What is the first thing to be done?” he asked, as if anxious to get -about the business. - -“Send Wassili for the droshky and the driver who is in the plan—a man -who can be trusted. That can be done as soon as Slipitsky has the -passports ready. He was drying the ink this morning, over a smoky lamp -to make the signatures fast and soften the wax of the seals so that the -counterfeit seal could be pressed in. Then we drive straight toward -Zorogoff’s headquarters, to make it appear first that we are going -there. But we go around the building, so that it will appear to the -first line of sentries on the other side that we have just left -headquarters. That will make the first cordon willing to let us pass -with scarcely any questioning. The next cordon will take it for granted -that we are all right because we have passed the first—and if there is -any trouble, the passports will let us through. The earlier we start, -the better.” - -She rose, flushed with hope, which was engendered by the very telling of -how they were to escape. - -“I am ready when you are,” said Peter. “Let us not lose any time.” - -Tears came into her eyes. “We put our lives in your hands,” she said. -“God will bless you if you aid us in our escape.” - -“The road to Harbin is before us yet,” he said with a smile. “You and -your father are not yet out of danger.” - -“True,” she said, moving toward the door of her room. “I shall have him -get ready at once, and see Slipitsky about the passports.” - -Peter opened the door for her, and bowed as she passed out. He closed -the door after her, and stood looking at the windows of his room, the -same queer twisted smile of the morning at the corner of his mouth. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XXII - - THE OFFICER FROM THE ATAMAN - - -PETER paced the floor of his room, his head bent in thought, after -Katerin left him. He considered the possibilities of the proposed trip -to Harbin in relation to himself and Michael. An escape from Chita, he -saw now, would be most desirable for his own purpose, providing he was -not being walked into a trap in Harbin. It was quite possible that -Katerin and Michael would try to elude him in Harbin. It was -inconceivable that they were not quite as anxious to escape from Peter -as they were from the Ataman, for they were in full possession of his -secret. And once clear of the cordon of Cossack guards surrounding -Chita, they might be able to give him the slip. - -He had a desire to play out the intricate game in which he found himself -enmeshed. He knew he would find it amusing to watch Katerin and Michael -play at being fugitives from the Ataman with him, and then play at -stalking Michael himself in Harbin—to see a man pretend to seek himself. -And at any time, Peter could turn to Michael, and say, “Thou art the man -I seek.” - -The sheer chicanery of it had an irresistible appeal to Peter. Like all -Slavs, he loved the dramatic for the sake of itself, and he enjoyed -proceeding by devious ways. Besides, the fact that Katerin and Michael -were deliberately deceiving him, justified his own deception. Peter had -actually been sorry, as he sat thinking through the night, that the -identity of Michael had been made known so abruptly. It had all come -with such amazing clarity and finality that he had found himself rather -helpless when he realized that the whole business could be settled by -the simple expedient of killing Michael without any more delay. He -shrank from so hasty a conclusion to an affair which he had been -dreaming about for twenty years. He thought that perhaps the Russian -people had been caught in just such a staggering position by the easy -success of their revolution. A whole nation thrown back upon its -haunches, so to speak, and asking itself what it was to do now! Their -minds had been so occupied for years in planning and plotting to -overthrow the Czar and his government that they had neglected entirely -to think of what might face them once they were successful. Their plans -had not gone beyond the destruction of the Czar, and when he was -destroyed, they needed more years to give thought to what was necessary -for the good of the country and the people. It did not seem quite fair -to them that the Czar had allowed himself to be overthrown so easily—he -had destroyed their game, their one interest in life. So they began to -sulk, and intrigue against each other. - -In the same way, Peter rather resented Lutoff’s directness in revealing -the fact that the “old exile” was Michael Kirsakoff. It made the matter -of killing Michael so absurdly easy! And the Slav insists upon making -all things difficult—life, war, government—before he can enjoy them. He -demands that Life shall be a puzzle, and examines its hidden purposes to -discover why the Creator has tricked him into being a living being. He -seeks a sinister motive behind his birth, and not being able to find one -or to construct one out of his fancy, he kills himself because life is -not worth living unless it can be proved to be a sort of divine -persecution. The Slav needs a lot of trouble to keep himself happy. -Convince him that the purpose of Life is to make him miserable and he is -content. - -But Peter had become almost wholly Russian again, so he could not fully -consider himself in the proper light. He had no intention of letting -Michael escape. But he had the bothersome idea that he had to begin all -over again to run Michael into a snare—a snare of Peter’s own devising, -and built so leisurely that the joy of vengeance would have a -satisfactory accretion of mental torture for Michael. - -The old general knew that Peter lusted for his life, and this knowledge -must in itself fill Kirsakoff with terror. Did not Kirsakoff live in -dread of a look, a word, an intonation of the voice, which would betray -him to Peter? And Peter knew that he had the power to precipitate the -dreaded catastrophe for Michael at any instant. All Peter waited for now -was the moment which would intensify the terror for Michael—that moment, -perhaps, when Michael would consider himself safest. It might come at -the instant when Michael would be ready to slip away from Peter in -Harbin, exulting in the thought that he was about to escape from the man -who sought to slay him. Safe at last! And then Peter could smile, and -instead of saying, “Good-by, my friend,” could say instead, “Now, -Michael Alexandrovitch, you die!” - -And so utterly Russian such a moment would be! And how fitting, thought -Peter. Was not Michael Kirsakoff living in a fool’s paradise and -thinking that he could use his enemy to save his life from the Ataman? -When he saw it from this angle, Peter was glad that he knew the old man -was Michael. Now he could build Michael’s hopes, only to shatter them at -the end. - -Once again Peter was master of himself and of the situation. He would -play the covert game with the Kirsakoffs—and Michael could not escape. -Harbin would be better than Chita after all, for it offered a better -chance for Peter to cover his tracks. - -He had come to this decision when he heard the rattle of boots on the -other side of the door which led into Michael’s room. Then the door -opened slowly, cautiously, and presently Michael, the blanket over his -shoulders and clutching the loose ends of the covering to his breast, -looked in. The old man was crouched forward and he was visibly -trembling. - -Peter thought at first that Michael had come sneaking in during the -absence of Katerin below, to attack him. But he saw at once that Michael -was alarmed—he stood hesitating in the door, looking back over his -shoulder, listening. He had a blanket over his shoulders, and his hair -stood up stiffly on the back of his head behind the bandages about his -face, like the crest of an angry cockatoo. - -Peter stood still. He half expected that Michael had come to the -attack—that beneath the blanket Michael had a weapon. And there was no -longer any doubt that the old man was Kirsakoff. Peter recognized him -for the Governor at once, though the years had changed so much and the -bandages which covered his cheeks hid his predominant features. The nose -was still strong and arrogant, the black eyes now deeply set with age, -the white mustaches which had once been black, though sparse, changed -his appearance but little. - -This was the moment for which Peter had waited so long—but he knew at -once that it was not the moment to strike. He wanted more time to deal -with Michael, and the old man was worried about something which seemed -to threaten from the hall. - -“What is wrong?” asked Peter. - -Michael threw up his hand in a gesture for silence, and did not turn his -head, but continued to look back over his shoulder into the two rooms -behind him. - -“Some one outside my door,” he whispered. - -Peter listened but heard nothing. - -“Wassili has gone for a droshky, and my daughter has gone down to -Slipitsky—I did not want to lock the door against her. But—the Cossacks -have come—I heard them talking outside.” - -“Come in here, sir,” said Peter. “And we will leave this door open, so -that we may watch if anybody enters and see who they are before they -discover that you have come to me.” - -The old man obeyed, and Peter stood in the doorway looking into the -Kirsakoffs’ rooms. The curtain between them was caught aside by a cord, -so that both rooms were visible to Peter, the farther one by the width -of the passage between them which was enough to reveal to Peter any one -who might enter and pass it. - -There were a few minutes of silence except for the quick breathing of -Michael crouched beside Peter and standing to one side of him so that he -was hidden from the other rooms. And during this time Peter began to -suspect that it was all a ruse of Michael. The old general was probably -trying to catch Peter off his guard, and attack him. It was quite -likely, so Peter thought, that Michael in some way had come to knowledge -of the fact that Lutoff had apprised Peter of the identity of the -Kirsakoffs. - -But Peter abandoned his suspicion when he heard a rattling of the door -in the far room. Some one was rattling the knob in place of knocking, a -practice customary when one wanted to enter without attracting the -attention of those in other rooms opening into the hall. The rattling -ceased. The next instant Peter saw in the gloom of the far room a high -white cap of wool, and a gray sheepskin coat, and a Cossack stood -looking in the direction of Peter, head bent forward against the sharper -light from Peter’s windows. - -The Cossack hesitated but a moment, then he advanced toward Peter, one -hand behind him as if he held a weapon in concealment. - -“What do you want?” asked Peter. - -The Cossack did not reply, but came on till he was close to Peter. - -“Who are you?” asked the Cossack. He moved slightly to the right and -looked past Peter, his eyes upon Michael. - -“I am an American officer,” said Peter coldly. “These are my rooms.” - -“An American officer! You speak Russian well, for an American.” - -“You are intruding,” said Peter. “Or have you come on a mission?” - -“I am Captain Shimilin of the Ataman’s staff,” said the Cossack, and put -his hand on the hilt of his saber as he clicked his heels and bowed, -formally polite. - -“And I am Lieutenant Gordon of the American army,” said Peter. “This is -my room. Please! Come in!” There was no other thing for Peter to do, -unless he wished to bring on hostilities with Shimilin. It was very -likely that the Cossack captain had soldiers within call. And now it -looked very much as if an escape to Harbin would be out of the question. - -Shimilin entered as Peter stepped aside. The Cossack looked at Michael, -who had retreated to the low writing table under the window, clutching -the blanket about him. - -“Have you business of the Ataman with me?” asked Peter. - -“No, not with you,” said Shimilin. “I did not call upon you, but I thank -you for your politeness.” - -Peter considered what he should do next. He had no wish to see Michael -wrested from his control in this fashion, and he had no doubt but that -Shimilin had come for Michael. It was quite likely that Katerin had been -seized when she went down to arrange matters with Slipitsky. Peter -frowned at the thought that Michael would escape him, even though the -old general met death at the hands of the Ataman’s soldiers. It came to -him that the limit of his vengeance now would be but to surrender -Michael and taunt him with the fact that the Cossacks—his own -Cossacks—could now deal with a Kirsakoff as they had dealt in the old -days with a Gorekin. But Peter hoped to delay with Shimilin. It might be -possible to get the Cossack away for a time, when Peter would have -things in his own hands again, if only for a brief space. He began to -see that his hand was being forced—if he was to kill Michael he would -have to do it in Chita—probably on the spot, and that in the next few -minutes. - -“Could you tell me why you have come to my room?” asked Peter. - -“Oh, yes,” said Shimilin easily, as he faced Michael. “I have come to -arrest this old man.” - -“Arrest him? For what?” asked Peter, feigning a mild surprise. Shimilin -seemed so casual, so light-hearted, so jaunty that he appeared to regard -the whole matter as in the nature of a joke. He smiled good-naturedly at -Michael. - -Shimilin lifted his shoulders inside the sheepskin coat, put out both -hands with the palms upward, and jerked his head. “It is a business of -the Ataman. You speak Russian well. Are you a Russian?” - -“Yes,” said Peter. - -“Of course,” said Shimilin. “Only a Russian could speak so. Have you -called upon the Ataman Zorogoff? What do you think of—our Ataman?” He -regarded Peter with questioning eyes. - -“I have not yet called,” replied Peter. “I know little about the -Ataman.” - -“You have heard about him here in Chita. Surely, you must have formed -some opinion.” - -“No,” said Peter dryly. “If I had, I doubt if I would discuss it.” - -“Now, now,” said Shimilin, not in the least offended by Peter’s -reluctance to discuss the Ataman, “I know all that. But what do the -Americans—the American army in Vladivostok—think of Zorogoff?” - -Shimilin’s curiosity on that score seemed without limit. - -“I doubt if they have given him much thought,” said Peter. “But about -this gentleman here—I am sorry that you want to arrest him. And in my -room.” - -“What does that matter?” asked the Cossack. - -“But little,” agreed Peter, who felt that he could have his way with -Shimilin if the Cossack believed that Peter was not seriously opposed to -having Michael taken. For Peter knew that a Cossack can be cajoled when -open antagonism only strengthens his resistance. - -“True,” said Shimilin, with a smile. “We need have no quarrel. And being -a soldier, you know what duty means—I must obey my orders at all cost. I -am glad that you have sensible ideas.” - -Captain Shimilin evidently took it for granted that Peter had decided -not to interfere, but would allow Michael to go with the Cossack. Still, -Shimilin took no action. It appeared that he wished to prolong his -conversation with Peter, and his eyes when he looked at Peter were -frankly curious. - -Michael leaned back against the table, his back to the window, watching -Peter closely. The old general’s head nodded gently with the palsy, -suggestive of being moved by the beating of his heart. He divined in -Peter some sudden change of manner, and suspected that Peter was not -going to protect him against the Cossack. But he said nothing. - -“I would advise you to call later,” suggested Peter suddenly, affecting -a serious mien with Shimilin. - -The Cossack was visibly surprised at this. - -“What! Come later? What difference can it make?” - -“It might make some difference to your Ataman,” said Peter, purposely -putting a dash of mystery into the sentence. “I do not demand, captain, -that you come later. I merely advise it—for your own benefit. I can’t -explain now—but if you will come back in an hour——” - -“Oh, no,” said Shimilin, though not quite sure of himself. “I am not to -be prevented from carrying out my orders.” - -“I also have my orders,” said Peter significantly. - -“Oh,” said Shimilin. “It would be unfortunate if your orders conflicted -with mine.” He drew his lips tightly across his teeth, and his eyes -looked squarely into Peter’s. - -“True!” retorted Peter. “It would be unfortunate. But I have been -talking with this old gentleman here—and we have not finished our -conversation.” - -“What have you been talking about?” - -“That is a private matter between ourselves.” - -“Ah! Something about the Ataman, I presume,” said Shimilin, giving -Michael a suspicious look. Then to Peter, “You would hardly believe a -man who is sought by the Ataman to have anything good to say about -him—if you could trust such a report by such a man.” - -“What this old gentleman has to say about the Ataman—good or bad—is -likely to be borne out by the actions of the Ataman. You can see, -Captain Shimilin, that if your Ataman did something which did not meet -my approval—such as an arrest without sufficient warrant—I might be able -to form my own opinion of the Ataman.” - -“Hmm!” sniffed Shimilin, and walked round slowly in a small circle, -looking at the floor while he considered Peter’s words. He stopped -abruptly and faced Peter, one eye partly closed. “Perhaps you have an -idea that the Ataman Zorogoff has no rights to consider?” - -“I have never questioned any rights that Zorogoff may claim,” said -Peter. He saw that he had Shimilin worried. - -“But the Americans have not officially recognized Zorogoff as a ruler,” -went on Shimilin. “You have been here several days, yet you have not -called upon the Ataman.” - -Peter saw in this an attempt to draw from him some hint as to the -American attitude toward Zorogoff, and had no intention of committing -himself on the subject. - -“I do not feel accountable to any person for my actions here, other than -my superiors,” said Peter. “If Zorogoff seeks information as to the -attitude of the Americans, let him send some one to Vladivostok.” - -“Would you defy an officer of the Ataman?” asked Shimilin. “Would you -tell me that I cannot arrest a Russian subject here in your rooms?” - -“This man is under my protection while he is in my room. I have not -defied you—but I suggest delay. I shall not attempt to control your -actions.” - -“You don’t want him arrested? Is that what you are saying?” - -“I don’t want him arrested now.” - -“My Ataman will not like that. It is interference,” snapped Shimilin. - -“I cannot help what the Ataman thinks.” - -Shimilin smiled and bowed. “Suppose I report your attitude to the Ataman -himself?” - -“I would consider that wisdom on your part,” said Peter. “There are some -aspects to this case which I cannot discuss now. That is why I suggested -delay.” - -Shimilin clicked his heels and walked straight to the hall door. He -opened it, and turned. “I will submit your proposal to the Ataman—if you -are willing to take the consequence.” - -“Thank you,” said Peter, bowing in dismissal. “You are very kind.” - -“And,” continued Shimilin, “I shall hold you responsible that Michael -Kirsakoff is here when I return.” - -Shimilin shut the door with a quick jerk, suggestive of the closing of -the jaws of a great trap. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XXIII - - A LIFE FOR A LIFE - - -WHEN he heard his own name uttered by Shimilin as the Cossack captain -departed, Michael locked his grip upon the ends of the blanket as if -against a blow. A startled moan broke from his lips, an expression of -horror that at last Peter would know him. - -Peter turned upon the old man swiftly, alert at once and his own hand -dropping to the butt of his pistol. - -“I—I am revealed to you!” whispered Michael, thrusting his head forward -toward Peter. - -“And before you were ready, eh?” said Peter. “But you thought you could -fool me, Michael Alexandrovitch, before——” - -Kirsakoff made a quick flick of his right hand, and there dropped down -from the sleeve of his shirt a small derringer. The weapon fell into his -hand, and he made a movement to adjust it for use. But Peter was too -quick for him, and before Michael could get proper hold of it, much less -aim it, Peter had leaped upon the old man and pinioned his arms against -his sides. - -“So the old wolf has a snap left in him yet,” taunted Peter, as he bore -the frail Michael back against the table and wrested the derringer from -his fingers. Michael made no struggle, but relaxed in Peter’s hands, and -when released, sank weakly to his knees. - -Peter pocketed the derringer, and then leaned down to Michael. - -“You would kill me, would you? You have not forgotten your tricks, -Michael! Perhaps you came prepared to kill me! So the escape to Harbin -was all pretty talk, to throw me off my guard that you might——” - -“Mercy!” gasped Michael. “Mercy for my daughter’s sake—I ask none for -myself!” - -“You have discovered mercy. Who called for mercy for Peter Petrovitch -twenty years ago when you ordered him and his father sent to prison—and -then his father was cut down by your Cossacks? Answer me that?” - -“If my daughter were safe from the Ataman, you could take your -vengeance,” said Michael simply. “I have lived beyond——” - -“Oh, hush!” cried Peter angrily, clapping his hand over Michael’s mouth. -He slipped his fingers under the folds of the bandage about Michael’s -face, and slipped it back over his head, pulling it upward from the -chin. - -“Let me see your face, Michael! It has been a long time since we looked -at one another—and each knew the other. On that day you were the bold, -brave Governor, surrounded by your soldiers. Life was cheap then—to you. -Come! Stand upon your feet like a man!” And Peter lifted him up against -the table. - -“I have no fear of death,” said Michael proudly. - -“No,” said Peter, laughing. “You are so ready to meet death that you tie -your face up in rags. But you look like yourself, Michael! Yes, I would -have known you but for the rags. Life is not so strong in you, now, it -is true, but you are the same, yes.” - -Peter stood before him, with folded arms, and scanned Michael’s face -with reflective memory. He spoke quietly, almost soothingly, and his -face was lighted by his joyful exultation. He thought of nothing but -that his triumph had come, and he cared for nothing but that he should -drink his fill of the wine of revenge. - -“I am helpless now—an old man,” said Michael. “But I can die—Gorekin.” - -“I suppose you can,” said Peter, “much as you would throw away a lemon -that had been sucked dry. But I am thinking now of my father, twenty -years ago. You were brave with his life, too—and mine! I was a helpless -boy and you left me in your filthy prison. I might be there now for all -you cared.” - -“Do your will with me,” said Michael wearily. - -Peter put a hand upon his shoulder, and bent his body back, so that he -might peer into the old man’s eyes in better light. - -“You have not lost your cunning, Michael. I can see it still in your -eyes, faded as they are. You thought that I, Peter Petrovitch, would -save your life—I, who have come half way round the world to take it, I, -who have waited twenty years to see the breath leave your body!” - -“To save my daughter, yes,” said Michael. - -“Ha! Do you not see the divinity behind all this? You run squealing to -an American officer to save you from your Cossacks—and the American is -Peter Petrovitch! And now that your own skin is threatened, you plead -for life because of your daughter! Did you give my father a chance to -plead for his son? Michael, _I am the boy_ who saw his father die in the -snow before the post-house—and you come now seeking my protection from -the Ataman——” - -“A half-blood Mongol,” put in Michael. “I would save my daughter from a -Mongol—for myself I ask nothing. And I would kill you if I had the -power——” - -“Stop! I shall do the talking!” Peter’s body trembled with his rage. All -the hatred which he had built up in twenty years, all the concentrated -venom in his soul against Kirsakoff was now diffusing through his body -and poisoning his brain. He lunged at Michael, and took the frail old -body in his arms, swinging him upward from the floor as a child might be -lifted in play by its father. - -“Come!” commanded Peter, looking down into the white face of Michael. “I -will show you your Valley of Despair! I will show you the spot before -the old post-house where I watched my father pour out his blood into the -snow! I will show you where Peter Petrovitch, who now holds you in his -arms, could but scream in terror against you and your Cossacks—and vow -to have your life!” - -He turned with Michael, and thrust the old man’s face against the pane -of the window, holding him high enough so that he could see over the -stratum of frost on the lower part of the glass. - -“Look, Michael Alexandrovitch! Up the Sofistkaya! The post-house where -the mail-sledges stopped when they came in from Irkutsk! That is the -spot! And I cannot even find the bones of my beloved father in the old -cemetery by the prison on the hill. And below—the little hut where -Gorekin the bootmaker lived! See it? The chimney and a part of the old -roof. It has taken twenty years for God to put you in my hands—twenty -years, before He has let you, a leaf which is ready to fall, come into -my power. Can you doubt that He let you live that I might show you where -you stood one cold morning, master of lives in the Valley of Despair and -death waiting the snap of your finger? Times have changed, Michael. The -light has come to Russia—a new day, and for such as you who gave us but -black despair, black night has come. And justice without mercy!” - -Peter swung round from the window and threw Michael upon his feet. The -old general swayed dizzily and saved himself from falling by grasping at -the table. Peter stood glowering, arms hanging out from his sides with -fingers widespread as if he were about to seize Michael again. - -“You shall have your vengeance!” cried Michael, and held up an arm to -restrain Peter for a time. - -“Oh, shall I?” asked Peter sneeringly, a crooked smile playing at the -side of his mouth. “Perhaps you covered your face that I might have my -vengeance! Did you plan to take me to Harbin to find Kirsakoff? Did you -put Wassili behind my chair with a knife to——?” - -“Give heed to my words!” pleaded Michael in a passionate outburst. “I -will bargain with you!” - -Peter laughed at him. - -“Bargain! Why should I buy what I already have?” - -“Look!” Michael held forth his hand to Peter. Between the fingers was a -small white pellet. - -“And what is that?” asked Peter. - -“I could still defeat you, Gorekin. This is a poison tablet—quick as a -bullet or a blade.” - -“For me, Michael? Is it for me?” sneered Peter. - -“No, for myself. I can die by my own hand quicker than you can fire your -pistol—and you must shoot quickly, or even the Ataman will defeat your -purpose with me. But I would bargain with you, Gorekin.” - -“To what end?” asked Peter, somewhat amused, and curious as to the old -man’s intent. “What have you to sell, Michael?” - -“I will sell you my life,” said Kirsakoff. - -“I can have your life for the taking.” - -“No. Look! I hold the tablet six inches from my mouth. I could be dead -before your bullet would reach me.” - -“I like to hear your voice, Michael—speaking of your own death. Well, -have your say out.” - -“You are a Russian, and you must have your blood amend, Gorekin. You -shall have it—I shall not destroy myself—but I ask you to save Katerin -from the Ataman. That is my bargain.” - -“My father and I could not bargain, twenty years ago out there in the -Sofistkaya.” - -“True. But I offer you now a life for a life—and a clean slate between -the two of us. My blood for your father’s blood—and go your way in -peace.” - -Michael leaned forward eagerly. Peter’s expression had changed so that -the old man had hope, but Peter was merely astounded by Michael’s -proposal. This was something he had not looked for in the old man—a calm -willingness to take death as part of a trade, an exchange of favors. - -“The old wolf has not lost his craft,” said Peter. - -“The lion returns to the lair where he was whelped,” said Michael. “What -I was, I was, and done is done. What I offer is nothing, true—but you -may fail in your vengeance. Rather I would make it sure for you—and go -to meet the dead with no debt to living man.” - -“And how is it to be done?” asked Peter. He still suspected that Michael -sought to escape him by a stratagem. - -“With this!” exclaimed Michael, and with his left hand he drew from the -breast of his shirt a small slender object, one part red and one part -white, and held it forth to Peter. “Take this, Gorekin—I put vengeance -into your hand—if you will save Katerin from the Mongol.” - -Peter drew near and looked at what Michael held. It was a cased dagger—a -leather case of red, surmounted by a hilt of yellowed old ivory and a -steel hand guard at the base of the hilt. It was the weapon of Chinese -assassins, an instrument made for but a single crime for it was cupped -under the hilt guard in such a way that it sealed the very wound it -made. Peter knew at once what it was and what it would do. - -“Give me the promise—and take the knife!” entreated Michael. “One -Russian to another—to save Katerin from the Mongol!” - -“And what should I do with it?” asked Peter, seeking to draw out the old -general. - -“What should you do? What else, but thrust it into my heart—and take my -daughter away from the city? Come! Your word! Give it and strike -quickly, or the Ataman will defeat you!” - -“You know well I could not escape, leaving you dead in my room,” jeered -Peter. “What would I gain? If I strike now—here—my vengeance will be a -short joy. It is so much simpler to turn you over to Shimilin.” - -“By the Holy Saints!” cried Michael in disgust. “Has the blood of a -Russian turned to water so that he will not kill on his own honor’s -account? Please! Take this blade!” - -Michael drew the hilt away from the leather case and exposed a polished -shaft of steel, white and glittering in the light from the windows—a -weapon of exquisite daintiness, with a round blade, slightly curved. - -“Look at it!” urged Michael. “It is cupped at the hilt, and if you do -not draw it once you have struck, it will let away no blood. What more -could you desire?” - -Peter regarded him with thoughtful eyes. - -Michael threw aside the leathern case, and pulled his shirt open at the -neck, exposing his withered chest. - -“Say the promise—and strike quickly while I pray,” he begged. “See! It -is a gentle weapon—so sharp and smooth that it will cause me little -discomfort. And then you may say I did it, which will leave you without -blame.” - -For an instant Peter thought Michael to be mad. But it was plain enough -that the simplicity of the old man in his appeal for death was but his -surrender to the inevitable. - -Peter knew the lucidity of mind which comes with the agony of spirit. He -knew how Michael’s mind was working. The old man was in the grip of that -clarity of mental vision which comes to the drowning man, or to the man -who walks to execution. Peter had experienced the same phenomenon as he -watched his father die twenty years before. The trivial things of every -day, things never noticed before, had stood out with amazing -distinctness and had registered in his brain a picture which had never -vanished. - -Peter remembered now the tiny stone he had seen in the snow near his -dying father; the Cossack’s boot which had been deeply scratched; the -odor of raw fur from the sledges—even now the pungent scent was in his -nostrils. The scene recurred to him now with overpowering intensity, and -once more his old rage against Michael mounted. He reached forward and -snatched the dagger from Michael’s fingers. - -“Good!” cried Michael. “You will promise—and strike!” - -Then the old general began to whisper a prayer, and stretched out his -arms, like a great bat preparing for flight. - -Peter held the dagger in his hand, palm upward, and slightly extended -before him, so that his elbow was a right angle with his upper arm, a -pose somewhat similar to a man who holds a rapier in low carte ready to -thrust forward the point. And he was close enough to Michael, so that if -the arm was extended, the dagger would reach the old man. - -While the two of them were thus confronting each other, a low scream -broke upon the room—a full-throated cry of sudden and complete horror. - -Peter turned to see Katerin in the door which led to the Kirsakoffs’ -rooms. Her hands were thrown up and pressed against her cheeks, her -staring eyes fastened upon the dagger in Peter’s hands, her mouth still -open with the horror of her cry, and her body transfixed into rigidity -by the astounding situation in which she found her father and Peter. The -catastrophe which she had planned so carefully to avert, had come now, -she knew. The delicate structure she had devised had crashed down during -her absence, and she saw that Peter and her father were at each other’s -throats, or so it appeared to her in the first glance she had of the -interior of the room. - -She had returned from making the final arrangements for their escape, in -happy confidence that Peter would never discover their identity—and here -was Peter about to slay her father. She saw an end to everything—the man -she looked to for safety was now to destroy them. - -She screamed again. It was a scream of utter hopelessness, a scream of -black despair. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XXIV - - A NEW TUNE ON AN OLD FIDDLE - - -PETER stood staring at Katerin, still holding the tiny dagger in his -hand. A puzzled look had come into his face, as if he could not -understand why she should scream. The mental shock which he had -sustained in his discovery that the old man was Michael Kirsakoff, -seemed to have closed some compartment of Peter’s consciousness which -included Katerin in her relationship to Michael. Now the full fact of -her personality intruded itself upon him in relation to what had -happened and Peter’s brain needed time to readjust itself to a state of -affairs in which Katerin must be considered. - -He lifted his empty hand to his face and drew his fingers across his -eyes in a motion that suggested brushing something away which interfered -with his vision. He threw back his head and shook it slightly, as if to -clear his brain of a vapor which befogged it. An infinite weariness -gripped him, and his eyes regarded Katerin as if she were some specter -which had formed out of thin air and now stood between him and his -vengeance, possessed of a supernatural power to thwart him in his -desires. - -The first of the three to move was Michael. He slumped down into a -chair, and, lifting a warning hand to Katerin, said weakly, “He has -found us out!” - -Her father’s voice seemed to release Katerin from the grip of her -terror, and she began to move forward toward Peter, with slow, even -steps, her eyes upon the dagger in Peter’s hand. There was no wariness -about her, yet she had a quiet deliberation, as if she knew that it -would be safer to make no sudden movement and so startle Peter into -resistance. - -Katerin approached Peter, and reaching for the dagger, put her hand upon -its blade and drew it out of his fingers with the same gentle motion -that a mother might use in taking a dangerous object from the hand of a -child. And Peter relinquished the weapon, not so much in surrender as in -a state of mind which was willing to forego for the present anything or -any action in exchange for time to consider a new phase of the -situation. - -Katerin recognized the dagger, more by the quick sidewise glance she -gave her father than by looking at the ivory hilt which stuck up between -her thumb. She suspected that her father had drawn the weapon against -Peter when he had discovered her father’s identity, and that Peter had -disarmed him. But she knew that just what had happened during her -absence from the room did not matter now—the danger lay before her. She -mistrusted Peter’s temporary mood, and sought for an angle by which she -might draw from him his attitude, or deflect him from any murderous -intent. She knew that her father’s life hung in the balance—and her -own—while Peter stood there silently staring at her, grim and forbidding -and gathering impetus for whatever form his next impulse would take. - -“I trusted you!” she said quietly, and after she had uttered the words -her mouth remained half open and her breath came gustily, like the -breath of a runner who is spent at the end of an effort. She had been -holding her breath since she had screamed in the doorway. She looked -into his eyes. - -Peter’s lids flickered. His eyes were half closed, and still shot with -red in the tiny blood-engorged veins at the sides. He looked at her -dreamily, questioningly, and she thought with something of insolent -defiance. - -Peter did not answer, but he moved his head slightly and looked past her -at Michael, lips compressed, and the lids flickering. - -“Peter Petrovitch—I love my father.” Her voice was low, entreating, -consoling, and carried an infinite desire that he understand her -suffering. - -“This is the end for us!” piped up Michael shrilly. “To the dead it does -not matter how death has come—we shall take the poison!” - -Michael lifted one hand before him, and with the other tore open a seam -in the cuff of his shirt. Between his thumb and finger appeared a small -white pellet. - -Katerin was upon him instantly and took away the pellet. - -“Not yet—by your own hand,” she said gently, and putting one arm about -his neck, bent and kissed him. She turned to Peter once more, her -courage stronger, a vague hope growing within her. But her eyes were -filled with tears. - -“Would you kill my father? Would you do the work of Zorogoff, the -Mongol? And see me surrendered to this half-blood Ataman? You! Peter -Petrovitch—a Russian—a Russian from America!” - -She was not so much asking him these things, as she was asking herself -if he could do them. She was not afraid—she was hurt. It all seemed -incomprehensible to her—that any Russian could ally himself with -Zorogoff, could commit a murder such as he had planned. She understood -now that she had not been brave in her dealings with him, but that she -had never allowed herself to believe he could be dangerous even though -her dexterous manipulation of him were exposed. - -“Katerin Stephanovna!” said Peter, gazing at her with a trace of -surprised awe in his tone and his look. “You—are Katerin Stephanovna!” - -She divined something of what was passing through his mind—he was -thinking of her as a little girl, in the old days in Chita. A look of -hope flashed across her face, though she took care that she did not -betray to him that she saw an advantage. - -“I am Katerin Stephanovna,” she said, with a lift of her chin. She stood -beside her father, one hand upon his shoulder to restrain him against -any action, and yet in a posture which suggested defense. - -“The same little girl—who was in the sledge—that morning of the almanacs -and——” went on Peter. - -Her mind leaped ahead of him as he paused—she knew now that he was -mentally reconstructing the scene of his father’s death, and that from -it would accrue a new burst of hate, a fresh impetus which might compel -him to action against the restraint which her presence had interposed -between him and her father. She left her father and moved toward Peter, -seeking to distract his thoughts by drawing his attention to her. - -“Are you a true Russian?” she demanded passionately, as she approached -him. “Are you a man of my race?” - -He seemed startled by the question, and once more his hand brushed his -brow. - -“Russian?” he repeated simply, almost helplessly, as if it were -something that it had never occurred to him before to question. He -looked down at his uniform, and then lifted a khaki sleeve to study the -brown band of tape at the cuff, the band of an officer’s sleeves. - -“Why, yes—I am Peter Petrovitch,” he said finally. - -He stepped to the window and looked out upon the Sofistkaya, and at the -flattened gable-end of the little hut below which had been his and his -father’s. Katerin drew close to him, and putting her hand softly upon -his arm, looked into his face. Her own was drawn with suffering, and -glistened with fresh tears. - -“Peter Petrovitch,” she whispered, “you look upon a new Russia—the one -you knew has gone. The old prison on the hill is empty! Empty! Thank God -for it! What more can you do?” - -He looked directly at her, and studied her face for a minute, his own -face still reamed with the lines of the hatred which held his nerves -taut. - -“You trusted me?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“You deceived me,” he retorted, once more himself and completely -readjusted to the meaning of her return. - -“Yes. To save my father. But I trusted you, too, else I could have -avoided you. I would give my life to save my father, but it is too late -now—I can neither save him nor myself. We live only so long as Zorogoff -delays in coming.” - -“You speak to thwart me,” he said bitterly. - -She turned her palms upward in a gesture of submission and the slightest -shrug of her shoulders, as if she had lost all interest in what the -final result of what she said might be, and as if what he might do was a -matter of little moment to her. - -“I speak to save your soul,” she said softly. “But we shall not quarrel -about it—either what you are to decide about us, or about your soul.” - -“No?” he demanded, surprised that he should be nettled by her -carelessness. “But you are pleading with me now.” - -She gave him a look of surprise and laughed harshly. - -“Pleading? For what? A few hours of life?” - -“You might both escape,” he suggested, “by the droshky which you have so -cleverly planned. That is, if I should let you go.” - -“We could not get through without you. And what does it matter whether -the Ataman Zorogoff kills my father in the morning, or you kill him now. -No, Peter Petrovitch, I plead only to save you from blood upon your -hands—and to save your own life—the life of an American officer.” - -At this, he thought of Wassili and smiled. - -“I mean Zorogoff,” she hastened to say. “He would not let you escape, if -you gave him reason to destroy you—if you killed my father.” - -“You can argue for Zorogoff, who will destroy you both?” he asked, -making no attempt to mask his incredulity. - -She lifted her shoulders again in that same almost imperceptible shrug, -and looked casually out of the window. - -“You can help America help our people,” she said. “As for Zorogoff, I -have death ready at my bidding for myself before he could take me to his -palace—I can defeat the dog of a Mongol. But what do you gain by your -vengeance upon my father? A few hours of his life! Is that the measure -of the value of your vengeance?” - -“You think that I am too late—that I am already defeated in my purpose,” -he said. - -“Yes. You are, Peter Petrovitch. Time has defeated you.” - -“No,” he insisted. “I have waited twenty years——” - -“And after twenty years, you come back to what? Michael Kirsakoff and -his daughter hiding from his Cossacks! The old governor, worse off than -peasants, with death lurking at the door! The general of the Czar’s -army, in flight and hiding like one of his own escapes in the old days! -What sweeter vengeance would you ask, Peter Petrovitch?” - -She spoke of her father and herself in the third person as if she were -already separated from life and saw herself in the detachment of death, -looking back upon her father’s and her own end. - -“True, times have changed,” said Peter grimly. - -“Yet you had no hand in it,” she said daringly, conscious that what she -said might lift his wrath again. “The tree of hate has borne its own -bitter fruit, and a gale of death sweeps the land——” - -“Ay, the wheel has turned!” cried Michael from his chair. “And the water -has returned to the sea! My sins are my own, and judgment is before me. -But I have offered my life to you, Peter Gorekin, for——” - -“Do not heed him!” said Katerin to Peter hastily, as she saw his eyes -flame with sudden anger. - -“I have come all the way from America to hear him,” said Peter. “Am I to -be cheated——” - -“America!” cried Katerin with fervor, clapping her hands together. “You, -a Russian! Have come from America! And what are you to do with what -America has given you?” - -“And what has it given me?” he demanded in surprise. - -“America has given you its trust—you, the poor son of an exile, by the -coat you wear, are an officer—a gentleman! Ah, Peter Petrovitch, I had -hoped that America had changed your heart as well as your coat—and taken -something from you.” - -“And what should it take?” - -He scanned her face, seeking her purpose in holding his attention away -from Michael. Her eyes held infinite sadness, and seemed to have lost -any sense of terror. Her face had softened in final resignation, and he -saw her for the first time in her own nature—the serene calmness which -belongs to the Russian aristocrat, who is essentially a fatalist. - -“I have heard much of America,” she said dreamily, her eyes on the -window but her vision not extending beyond the glass. “I hoped that you, -who are of my own race, should learn a new lesson in America—that the -spirit of America should take from you that love of destruction, that -love for vengeance which is so strong in our people. Countless millions -have been willing to die, and have died for Holy Russia. When is the -Slav to learn that he must live for Holy Russia?” - -“Ah, those who have ruled Russia have just begun to learn how precious -is life,” said Peter. “I learned the lesson out there in the Sofistkaya -twenty years ago—it is you who are learning now—from me—and your -Cossacks!” - -“Yes, I know Shimilin has been here,” she said wearily. “We have come to -the end. I cannot ask you to save us, even if you could or would. That -is done.” - -“You were willing—when you went down to arrange for the droshky. You -could smile when you thought I was deceived.” His manner with her was -easier now, and he seemed to be toying with the situation, testing her -bravery. - -“Yes, it was all a woman has against a man—a smile for a shield. And you -thought you were deceiving me—you would tell to Rimsky what you would -not tell to Vashka the samovar girl.” - -“Vashka the samovar girl!” he repeated. “Vashka, telling me of -Kirsakoff—a tall man in uniform, with black mustaches—a man in his full -strength, stalwart—the cruel Governor who was behind the government of -Zorogoff!” - -“You were secretly seeking my father. It was my duty to learn your -secret before you learned ours—a fair game.” - -“True!” he admitted. - -“I would save you now from the Ataman.” She gave him a quick and eager -look. He misread her intent, when he thought she was turning his mind -into new channels. - -“Save me!” He was incredulous, and once more on the alert against some -new plan to entrap him. - -“Yes, to save you, Peter Petrovitch! If Zorogoff knows that you had our -story, when we are dead, he will fear your knowledge against him—and -destroy you.” - -“You should think of my safety at this time! Why?” - -She bent her head and turned from him, but he took both her arms and -swung her so that she had to look into his face. But she evaded his -glance, though she did not resist his grasp. - -“I can tell you now because of the barrier between us,” she said. - -“Barrier?” He was frankly puzzled. - -“The blood of your father and your desire for vengeance stands between -us—that is why I can tell you, Peter Petrovitch, that—I loved you——” - -His hands loosened upon her arms, and a flood of tears was upon -her—silent tears, which shook her frame. And Peter seized her again and -threw his arms about her with crushing ferocity. - -“Katerin! Katerin!” he cried, and the next instant released her as -suddenly as he had swept her to him. - -“Oh, God!” he cried, throwing up his clenched fists in a gust of fury. -“Have I been brought to my enemy, only to be tormented? What am I to do, -my father, what——?” - -Michael had leaped from his chair with a cry, and faced Peter. - -“What? What?” demanded the old general. “There is love—love between you -two—my daughter——!” He was too shaken to frame more words, and his voice -wavered and broke and lost itself in the depths of his throat. He stood -with his frail legs bending under him, his mouth wide open and his chin -quivering, gulping for breath to give him energy to express the emotions -which shook his body and rendered him powerless to express himself. - -Katerin flung herself at him to sustain and calm him, still fearful that -Peter might attack under the slightest provocation—and she was in terror -lest her father would give vent to an outburst of anger. - -“I shall speak!” he said gently to Katerin, and at once he was strong -again, as if he had rallied the last bit of his energy for his new -venture of resistance. Katerin let him go on toward Peter, who stood -waiting to see what the old man might have to say. - -Michael sank to his knees before Peter, and held up his arms -imploringly, while words began flowing from his agitated lips in a -torrent. - -“Give heed to what I say,” he cried beseechingly. “You, too, are a -Russian! Look upon me, who once was your Governor! Have compassion upon -me who am now but a bit of dried mud cast upon the road by the wheel of -Time! Have mercy——” - -“So you have learned what it is to ask for mercy, Michael -Alexandrovitch! But you have yet to learn what it means to have mercy -denied,” taunted Peter. - -“It is not mercy that I ask for myself, Gorekin,” went on Michael. “But -you love my daughter—and I stand between you! Save her! Save her from -the Mongol. And leave me, who am but some of the wreckage of Holy -Russia, to suffer the wrath of this Zorogoff!” - -“We two shall die together, my father—your fate shall be mine,” said -Katerin, “or I shall die by my own hand.” - -“You saw me in the old days, Gorekin,” went on Michael in disregard of -Katerin. “Were those days worse than these? I obeyed my orders. I held -my power by the word of the Czar, and I bore his sword. Now I have lived -beyond my time. My day is done. I am not of these days. How does it -matter the manner of my end? I shall soon be with your father—I, -Kirsakoff the Governor, with Gorekin the bootmaker and the political—in -the hills above us. Then let God judge my sins, as will yours be judged! -Take my daughter—she is all I have to give for the debt that is due you, -yes, overdue! I am old, but my eyes still see, and I see that you two -love! Take my Katerin Stephanovna to America, Peter Petrovitch! Flee, -both of you——” - -Katerin gave a warning cry and sprang toward the door leading into her -room. She had caught the sound of running feet from the hall—feet in -panic flight. - -“Hush!” she warned. “Some one comes!” - -Slipitsky, his black cap missing from the top of his head, and his eyes -telling of his dread for something which pursued him, burst into the -room. He clapped his hands to his temples in frantic despair in a -gesture of hopelessness, too short of breath still from running to tell -what he feared. - -“The Ataman!” he gasped. “God’s doom is upon us!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XXV - - THE FINAL RECKONING - - -THE door leading to the hall was flung open. Shimilin, the Cossack -captain, stood on the threshold, and behind him was a group of his -wild-looking soldiers, their heads hooded with wrappings of furs, and -the points of their shining bayonets bristling about their shoulders. - -Shimilin did not advance, but remained in the doorway, coldly surveying -those inside the room. He gave each of them a casual glance—Michael, -Katerin, Peter, and even the shivering Slipitsky who stood cowering -against the wall and whispering to himself through trembling lips and -fingering his beard in nervous terror. - -“The Ataman Zorogoff!” announced Shimilin, and the soldiers behind him -opened a narrow lane, as Shimilin stepped aside and into the room. - -The Ataman pushed through the guards, and strode into the room, looking -straight at Peter, stern and challenging. The Mongol chieftain’s -greatcoat was off, and his somewhat fantastic costume betrayed his -childish love for personal display. Rising from the swarthy forehead was -the towering white cap of long hairy wool, studded in the center of its -flat front by a wide slab of crudely hammered gold half the size of a -man’s hand, and in it set a diamond. At his left side hung a tremendous -scimitar with a hilt-knot of gold fiber swinging from the guard. He wore -a snuff-brown tunic with big brass buttons, blue riding breeches with -double stripes of gold braid down the sides, and heavy black boots -fitted with wheel-like spurs of silver. His shoulders were covered with -broad straps of gold cloth. In his belt were a pair of pistols, the -butts sticking up from the tops of uncovered holsters. An order of the -Czar hung from the top of a tunic pocket, an odd link between the -shattered empire and this usurper, who was crafty enough to display upon -his person something which still had a meaning to many of his followers -and reflected a trace of the vanished glory of the throne. - -A pair of gold devices gleamed upon the standing collar of the tunic of -the Ataman, and his long black hair which fringed his ears, was all the -blacker for the whiteness of the woolly cap. - -Zorogoff marched toward Peter, his boots pounding the floor -belligerently, his small black eyes burning with a glittering menace. -But he stopped when he could have put out his hand and touched -Peter—stopped with an abrupt and final thump of the heel of his left -boot as he planted it close beside the right boot. - -“There is the American officer,” said Shimilin, still standing by the -door. “That is the man, sir, who sent the message.” - -Some of the soldiers edged into the room and grounded their rifles with -jarring thuds, and the others outside in the hall pressed forward, -thrusting their heads in. - -Peter bowed. “I am Lieutenant Gordon of the American army,” he said with -cold formality, and returned the Ataman’s angry stare. - -“I have come to hear you oppose my will,” growled Zorogoff, a wicked -twist to the corner of his lips, and venom in his eyes. - -“And what is your will, sir?” demanded Peter, putting enough deference -into his words and manner to prevent Zorogoff from having any complaint -on the ground of lack of civility or respect. - -“My officers report that you have been in my city several days. You come -here as an American and ignore me and my government.” - -“I can assure you that you will not be ignored by the American army, -sir,” said Peter. - -“Do you, representing the American army, dare tell my officers what they -may not do?” - -“I requested your officer not to arrest General Kirsakoff and his -daughter in my room. They came here to talk with me, and till I have -finished talking with them, your officers must not interfere, sir.” - -Zorogoff’s breathing became audible to Peter, and he saw the flat -nostrils of the Ataman twitch, and growing anger flashing in his eyes. -But he did not take his eyes from Peter’s, nor was there the slightest -change of expression in the Mongol’s immobile face after that lifting of -the nostrils. Behind the Ataman stood Shimilin, smiling sneeringly over -the shoulder of his chief, in an obvious attempt to break through -Peter’s armor of stolid patience. - -“My officers must not interfere!” echoed the Ataman. “Is it that I take -orders from the Americans?” - -“No, it is not an order, but——” - -“Good!” blustered the Ataman. “It is not an order!” - -“It is not an order,” went on Peter, in the same even tones. “But you -must take care that you do not interfere with American officers. I tell -you now, sir, that if these people are arrested in my room, I shall -demand to know the reason for their arrest, that they are properly -charged and tried, and given the right to a proper defense. Otherwise it -may appear to the Russian people that an American officer has betrayed -this old man and his daughter to you, and delivered them into your -hands. I cannot prevent you from arresting them, from executing them if -you wish, but I can reveal to the commander of the American army and to -the people of America, the methods of your rule, sir.” - -“I rule here, and in my own way. I ask no help in ruling from the -Americans,” grunted Zorogoff. - -“And the Americans are vitally interested in _how_ you rule, sir,” -retorted Peter. - -“I rule as I please, with account to no one!” raged Zorogoff. “Captain -Shimilin! Take the old man and the woman!” - -“Wait!” cried Peter, throwing up his hand to Shimilin. “You are invading -my room! I claim the only right to give orders here!” - -“I take Russian subjects where I find them, and I do with them as I see -fit!” thundered Zorogoff, his face seeming to swell with rage at Peter’s -words. - -Captain Shimilin turned as if to obey the Ataman’s order, but he -hesitated, the same sneering smile upon his lips. He appeared much -amused at Peter’s defiance, and only too willing to let him further -enrage the Ataman. - -“You speak of subjects of Russia, sir,” said Peter, addressing Zorogoff. -“Am I to have the honor of reporting that the Ataman Zorogoff occupies -the throne of all the Russias? And perhaps part of Mongolia?” - -Zorogoff made a grimace, and the flesh about his eyes crinkled tightly. -Peter saw that he had struck a vital spot in the pride of Zorogoff, and -had touched upon a matter which revealed some of Zorogoff’s power as a -pretender—his strength came from his affinity with Asiatic people -through his Asiatic blood. His leadership was racial, for he was -exploiting his Mongol heritage and behind him were princes of ancient -Tartary whispering against white ascendancy in their own land. - -“That is the Russian speaking,” said Zorogoff, “not the American! You -turned your back on your own people, and come now in a strange coat to -give orders with——” - -“I came to give you warning that America will not allow you to persecute -and kill a helpless old man and a defenseless woman! To keep your hands -off helpless——” Peter checked himself in sheer wonderment at his own -words—he who had come to kill the helpless old father of Katerin, -suddenly found himself defending the very man he had waited twenty years -to slay! “America will not allow you to persecute and kill,” he repeated -weakly, as if it were an idea which he had just discovered! And he had! -For the first time in his life he had been able to express the -Americanism which he had acquired in twenty years. It was something that -had overgrown his spirit and had smothered all unknowingly to him the -smoldering fires within him which impelled him finally to seek the blood -vengeance of the Slav! - -“Take the Kirsakoffs away!” ordered Zorogoff, turning to Shimilin in the -instant of what seemed to him Peter’s indecision. “No Russian, even in -an American uniform, can oppose my will here, or——” - -A small object came hurtling through the air past Peter, and struck the -Ataman in the face. It was a heavy pocket-knife, with the blades closed, -and its end, capped with curved grooves, left three short gashes -parallel in the cheek of Zorogoff, before it ricocheted against the wall -and clattered to the floor. - -Michael sprang forward closely after the missile which he had hurled at -the Ataman, and thrust forward his fists, past Peter. - -“God’s curse upon you!” screamed Michael, his voice rising to a shrill -shriek. The Ataman stepped back, and put his hands to his face, and then -looked at the tips of his fingers covered with blood. He regarded them -thoughtfully for the fraction of a second, a look of surprise in his -eyes. - -Shimilin spoke in restraint to his soldiers, for they had started -forward into the room, their bayonets coming up aslant. - -Michael pushed forward and thrust his fists into the Ataman’s face, the -body of the old general coming between Peter and Zorogoff, so that -Peter’s view of Zorogoff was temporarily cut off. And in that time -Zorogoff drew a pistol, and fired, the crash of its report booming out -above the startled cries of Katerin and Slipitsky and the high-pitched -shrilling of Michael at his enemy. Zorogoff’s bullet almost lifted -Michael from his feet, being fired from the hip and upward into -Michael’s breast. The old general swung half round and then staggered -backward and fell with startling impact across the low writing table. - -Peter turned to look after Michael, just as Katerin came plunging toward -the Ataman, who stood partly hidden in a cloud of gray smoke. Peter -caught the flash of the naked blade—the blade of the small dagger which -Michael had handed to Peter and which had been taken from Peter’s hand -by Katerin. - -Peter clutched after her, fearful of the consequences of another attack -upon Zorogoff. But she eluded his grasp, and lunged straight forward -into the smoke about Zorogoff, to bury the dagger to its hilt in the -Ataman’s neck at the base of the standing collar of his tunic. - -Zorogoff gave a gurgling cry and the heavy pistol fell from his hand. He -threw up his arms and then clawed at his throat as his knees gave -beneath him—and pitched forward at Peter’s feet to the ringing clatter -of the great scimitar against the floor. - -Peter caught Katerin in his arms as she reeled back, and held her, his -left hand flying to his own pistol to be ready against the expected -attack from Shimilin and the soldiers. But Shimilin stood with his arm -raised to hold the soldiers in check, his eyes upon the dying Ataman. - -Peter stood thus holding Katerin for a minute, as she cried -incoherently. Slipitsky had run to Michael and had lifted the old -general down into a chair and the moans of the stricken general came -above the wailing of the Jew. Peter gave no heed to them but held his -pistol with the barrel half downward and watched the soldiers pressed -about the door, fearing that Shimilin would not prevent them from using -their rifles. Peter knew well that there was no hope of coming out of a -fight alive, but he knew that a weapon had a restraining effect if not -aimed at any particular person. - -The Ataman lay face down upon the floor, his back hunching up -spasmodically, as if he were struggling to get to his feet. At times he -drew his knees up, and then his toes would slip back and he would fall -upon the scimitar with a musical clang, his life gurgling out through -his lips in a crimson stream. Presently he lay still, stretched out at -full length, his spurs sticking up from the heels of his boots, the gold -knot of the scimitar hilt at his left side, and the toe of the scabbard -showing at the right, and his great white cap near his head on the -floor. - -Shimilin spoke first. “Go and tell Bouran that the Ataman is dead,” he -ordered one of his men. “But let no one else know. You others stand -outside and let no one enter or have knowledge of what has happened -here.” - -Katerin recovered herself and slipped from Peter’s arm. She looked round -wildly, and then went to her father. He lay back against the chair, held -upright by Slipitsky, though the old general’s body swayed from side to -side as he was gripped by the tremors of his agony. His hands were -clutched to his breast, holding the old peasant’s coat against his -wound. - -Peter followed after Katerin, for he felt now that whatever Shimilin -intended against them in retaliation for the killing of the Ataman would -not come in the form of summary action. Katerin was on her knees before -her father, speaking to him tenderly in her anguish for him, and at -times sobbing out prayers. - -Michael opened his eyes and stared up at Peter, and let his hands fall -upon Katerin’s head. A spasm of pain crossed his graying face, and he -opened his mouth several times before he could speak. - -“Save her!” he gasped to Peter. “Now I—no longer stand between -you—forgive—forgive——” His breath failed him, and his breast heaved as -he was shook by a mighty convulsion. - -“Die in peace, Michael Kirsakoff,” said Peter. “I forgive.” - -Michael recovered himself for a brief space. - -“Good!” he whispered. “Every man has his wolf to kill, but it is -better—I was but a millstone hanging from her neck—but now you can save -her—you forgive——” - -“As I hope to be forgiven, I forgive,” said Peter, putting his face down -close to Michael. “Do you hear me, Michael Alexandrovitch?” - -A smile came into Michael’s pain-tortured face—a smile of helpless -assent, with which was mingled his joy at Peter’s words. But still he -was troubled, and his head shook with his effort to express his further -wishes. - -“Save her—from the Ataman!” he pleaded. - -“The Ataman is dead,” said Peter. “Look! There upon the floor!” - -Michael’s eyes roved as Peter stepped aside, and finally rested upon the -prone body of Zorogoff. - -“A-h-h!” cried Michael. “The Ataman submits to the general of his -Emperor! My Katerin, do not be sad for me—let the birds sing for both of -you—I go happy—God’s blessing upon you both—Gorekin—I, who go to meet -the dead, sal—ute——” - -Shimilin came and stood beside Peter. The Cossack captain drew off his -cap, crossed himself, and uttered a few words of prayer. Michael’s -dimming eyes saw him—and revealed a new terror. - -“Shimilin!” he gasped. - -“Have no fear of me, Michael Alexandrovitch,” said Shimilin. “You, nor -your daughter need have no fear of me.” - -Peter glanced at Shimilin in surprise, for the Cossack captain was -strangely gentle and sympathetic for a man who might be expected to take -vengeance for the slaying of his chief. - -“I saved you both from Zorogoff, the time at the house,” said Shimilin. -“It was I who prevented an execution because you would not give up your -money. If you had trusted me and given me the money, I would have -protected you, for I could have been Ataman then—as I am the Ataman -now.” - -“You have succeeded Zorogoff?” asked Peter, in startled amazement. - -“I am the new Ataman,” repeated Shimilin. “We Cossacks had a plot, but -all was not ready——” - -“God’s blessing—on—my little——” - -Michael’s head fell forward upon his chest, and he was dead. - -Katerin gave a wailing cry and put her hands tenderly upon the cheeks of -her father. Peter and Shimilin turned away to leave her with her dead, -while Slipitsky stole out into the other room to return with the icon -from the corner in which stood Michael’s bed. The Jew put the sacred -image into the wasted hands of him who had been Michael Alexandrovitch -Kirsakoff, governor and general of the Czars in the Valley of Despair. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XXVI - - FAREWELL - - -THE morning was cold and foggy. Through the gray and frozen haze came -the sounds of voices, the creaking of boots, the jangle of a distant -bell from the horses of a troika—a ghostly world filled with ghostly -shapes, hidden, yet full of unseen life. It was just such a morning as -that one in the past when Peter Petrovitch waited for the Czar’s mail, -and the column of unfortunates went clanking out into the wilderness to -cut wood under a guard of Cossack soldiers. - -And he who had been Peter Petrovitch sat this morning by the window of -his room in the Dauria Hotel and gazed out over the world of floating -mists—Lieutenant Peter Gordon of the United States Army. In the hall, -outside his door, were two tall Cossack soldiers with their rifles, on -guard. - -A week had passed since the killing of the Ataman Zorogoff and the death -of Kirsakoff. There had been a mutiny and an attempt by partisans of -Zorogoff to kill Shimilin, the new Ataman. But the Cossacks were behind -Shimilin, and the Mongols and other bandits who had stood with Zorogoff -found their power broken, their intrigues betrayed and their leaders -dead after firing squads. The survivors fled up and down the railroad. -The régime of Zorogoff was at an end, with its looting, its terrorism, -its mailed fist which demanded tribute in exchange for protection. - -The body of Zorogoff was not buried in Chita. The second day after his -death, there appeared in the city, from down Urga way, a lama from Outer -Mongolia with frosty whiskers, a pinnacle cap and a greatcoat of fine -fur with sleeves which reached to the ground. He came with a retinue -mounted on camels, and the leading man held aloft a small purple banner -which caused many men to submit their necks when they saw it pass. For -somewhere down in the mountains to the south in the khanates of the -Kalkas tribes, there was a Prince, and when he spoke, it was an order—an -order to be obeyed. - -And this lama of grave face and the tall cap summoned the Ataman -Shimilin and bartered for the body of Zorogoff, who was half Mongol by -blood, and that half of interest to the holy men of Forbidden Tibet. -Shimilin, being wise in such things, knew how much he could ask to the -ultimate jewel—and got it. And as the lama traded with Shimilin, there -were hints of many more men from Mongolia lurking outside the city, -hidden by the fog. A line of tiny fires gleamed at the edge of the -plain, the Cossack outposts heard the grunting of baggage camels, and -the murmur of countless voices drifted in through the fog. - -So Zorogoff’s body was slung up between the humps of a Bactrian camel, -and the animal went swaying off through the mist, with Zorogoff’s head -nodding at the ground of ancient Tartary in his last farewell. - -Of these things Peter knew little. He was still in danger, as was -Katerin, for there were many in Chita who sought a way to avenge -Zorogoff. There were few persons who knew Katerin had killed him, but -such knowledge spreads easily in Asia, where there are so many ears -listening, so many eyes watching, so many tongues whispering in strange -tongues. So Shimilin kept a guard over the hotel, and in it, to see that -Peter and Katerin were well protected. - -And Peter had seen little of Katerin during the week. He had attended -the military funeral at daybreak which Shimilin had granted the old -general. Katerin was there, hidden and hemmed in among the Cossacks who -had served under her father. Few knew who was being buried in the -cemetery on the hillside above the ruin of the old prison. So it was -that General Kirsakoff became a part of the Valley of Despair which he -had ruled. - -Katerin seemed to avoid Peter after the funeral. She kept to her own -rooms, with Wassili, except the night they went with Shimilin and his -soldiers to the old log house and retrieved the fortune in rubles which -was hidden in the stove. - -Peter waited till the days had softened her sorrow. He knew she wanted -to be alone with her thoughts, as he did with his own. He had no way of -knowing how her thoughts would turn in relation to him, but one fact -made him happy—Katerin was safe for the time being. He did not know that -she possessed a fortune, and he supposed that she would want to remain -in Chita. He did not want her to feel any debt toward him for having -helped her against the Ataman Zorogoff, and he did not want to presume -upon the fact that while she was under the stress of death she had -admitted her love for him. There was a barrier between them he well -knew—the barrier of the circumstance that Peter would never have been in -Chita if he had not sought to kill her father; and behind that, the -circumstance that Peter had held her father responsible for the killing -of his own father, and his own imprisonment. Peter knew there was -nothing which could wipe out those accursed facts, and that they would -hover over all thoughts Katerin might have for him. He saw himself -fettered by bonds of his own making—and in the gyves of his love for -her. - -And how much he loved Katerin was just beginning to break upon him with -the full fury of an emotion which had long been pent within his heart. -He had loved Russia and his own kind; not the machinery of government -which had been known as Russia, but the land, the very soil—hills, -plains, and valleys. This love of his homeland was now centered upon -Katerin, for she had become to him a personification of his own Russia, -stricken and deserted by the rest of the world. And he was possessed of -a passion to make amends for the vengeance which he nursed against her -father. He longed to cherish and protect Katerin, to show her the land -which had done so much for him, to take her by the hand and walk with -her in the streets of the city where he learned that every man may work -out his own destiny without the handicap of a system of government which -measures what each man may do and not do according to the rank of his -father—the land where the boy from a cabin may become a Lincoln! - -In his soul, Peter felt that he had betrayed America. Though he had not -killed Kirsakoff, Peter suffered torment that Katerin knew how madly he -had sought to kill. And he feared that she would blame America, and not -him, for keeping alive that love for vengeance. - -He passed the days pacing the floor of his room, or sitting by the -window. At times he was tempted to quit the city and never see Katerin -again. But he could not do it. He preferred to take his punishment by -having her tell him to go—at least, he could fill that place in his -consciousness which had harbored hatred for Michael Kirsakoff with the -sorrow that Kirsakoff’s daughter loved him yet would not face life with -him. He felt that it would all be easier to bear if he carried with him -a memory of his parting from her which would always lash him for the -dreadful plan which he had devised and all but carried out. - -As he sat there by the window this morning, there came a knock at the -door. He admitted a messenger from Ataman Shimilin—a tall young Cossack -with boyish face and filled with pride at the thought that once more his -own people controlled the city. He saluted and clicked his polished -steel spurs quite as if he were in the presence of royalty. - -“From the Ataman!” he announced, and bowed as he handed a letter to -Peter. It read: - - I send two officers of my staff to-day to Vladivostok to make - report to the American commander that I, Shimilin, am now - Ataman, and that my government shall be just. I have taken the - private car of Zorogoff, and knowing that you intend to return - to Vladivostok soon, perhaps you would like to travel by this - wagon. It is advisable to go aboard the car, which now stands in - the station yards, while the fog still holds, and be picked up - by the next train. If you have any friends to go with you, the - station commandant is at your orders. The Irkutsk train for - Vladivostok will be here within an hour, and it will pick up one - of my armored cars for safety. Perhaps you will be able to - report to your superiors that all Cossacks are not robbers and - that we desire only the salvation of our Russia. I salute you - and America. - - SHIMILIN, Ataman. - -Peter stepped to the writing table, picked up a pen, and wrote on a slip -of paper: - - I shall go at once. Thank you for the kindness. I hope to see - the Ataman before I depart from his city. - - PETER GORDON, Lieutenant. - -The messenger bowed, clicked, and left the room, and Peter gathered his -blankets and made them into a roll. Then he paused a minute, -thoughtfully—and finally knocked upon the door leading to Katerin’s -rooms. - -The old serving woman who had been at the log house opened the door just -enough to peep through. - -“Tell your mistress that the American officer wishes to say good-by, -please,” said Peter, and the door closed at once. - -Peter was stricken with chagrin and disappointment. He thought that -Katerin might not see him and had given her orders to that effect to her -servant. He had expected that the door would open for him—and it had -closed upon his request to see Katerin. He stood for a moment, wondering -if he should not go down to Slipitsky at once, pay his bill, and go on -to the car which stood in the station yard. - -Then the door opened, and Katerin herself stood before him—a Katerin -that he had never seen. She wore now, instead of the poor garments in -which he had seen her as a samovar girl, the beautiful purple velvet -gown which reached to her slippers. Her hair was high upon her head, -dressed in the style of a Russian lady so that it suggested a -crown—lifted from the front and turned back smoothly against the mass, -and then drawn down tightly across the ears. Tall, slender, and stately -she was now, such a woman as might be a princess of the blood. Hanging -from her neck was a gorgeous string of pearls, and from her fingers -gleamed jeweled rings. And Peter’s heart sank as his eyes rested upon -her, for once again he realized with a pang that, after all, he was but -Peter Petrovitch, son of a poor exile, and Katerin Stephanovna was of -the Russian nobility. He saw a new barrier between them, and one which -he had forgotten in his recent thoughts of her. - -The joy which had come into his face at first glance at her was -dissipated by his realization that this was the end for them, and he -bowed a most formal bow. - -She held out her hand to him, and he took it, like a man in a trance, -but conscious of the jewels on her fingers. - -“You are going away?” she said, with concern in her eyes—a concern which -he knew to be politeness. She was still pale, he thought, and wistfully -sad for her father. - -“Yes,” he said. “I am to go—Shimilin sends me word that a private car is -in the yards and——” He let his eyes wander to the figure of the serving -woman, who was lurking behind the curtains which led to the far room. He -wondered what he could say for she seemed so comfortable now with her -servants—the old woman and Wassili—and so self-sufficient. How could she -be otherwise than rich, he thought, with such clothes and such jewels? -He wished that she had kept her clothes as a samovar girl, and then he -might have found it possible to give utterance to some of the words -which pressed him to be said. He would have found it much easier to -blurt out what was in his heart if she had not been so grand and -disconcerting in that velvet gown. He sensed a hurt within himself that -she had done this—could it be that she had dressed herself deliberately -for their meeting so that he should find it easy to keep his place? - -“You have called to say good-by,” she said, and drew aside slightly. -“Then you must come in—and we shall have a glass of tea.” Then, as if -she divined what was in his mind about her changed appearance, she -added, “We Kirsakoffs never mourn our dead with garments—an old custom -of our warrior clan—instead, we wear our best, out of respect for those -who have gone—and these poor things are the best I have. So please do -not think it strange. Wassili! Fire the samovar and fetch fresh water -for a guest of the house!” - -“But are you safe?” burst out Peter. “You are in danger enough from -those who may know you killed the Ataman, without revealing your jewels -and your good clothes! There may be a rising against Shimilin at any -time—the Bolsheviki—the bandits from Mongolia! It is too bad that you -have put on these clothes—for your own safety!” - -“You are afraid I shall be killed because I killed Zorogoff?” she asked, -with the ghost of a smile on her lips. - -“Yes, I am afraid,” he went on earnestly. “You should have remained in -the dress of a samovar girl——” - -“Oh, but I have done playing at being a samovar girl,” she laughed. “If -I am to die, I shall die as a Kirsakoff, and not as a servant. So you -are leaving the city soon?” - -“I am leaving at once. Shimilin has sent me word that a private car is -in the yards—and I cannot disregard such a hint, for he may mean it as a -command. And—why don’t you go too?” - -“I? Go? Where?” she seemed amazed at the idea. - -“To Vladivostok. You would be safe there, and safe on the train. Take -this chance to escape from the city, while Shimilin has control.” - -She sat down and gestured him to a chair before her. - -“I, too, have heard from Shimilin—about the car. But I shall not go.” - -Peter’s face showed his disappointment. He had hoped that she might be -induced to leave Chita, and by getting away from the scene of her -father’s death and her old home, her memory of why Peter had gone to the -city would be dimmed. Now he saw that she was determined to let him go -his way—she wanted to see him no more, she wanted to forget him. And -yet, he remembered, she had told him she loved him! He wondered if it -were possible that she had admitted a love only because she wanted to -save her father. Was that what she had meant when she said she had done -with playing at being a samovar girl? That she had done with duplicity -because there was no further necessity for duping him? - -“It is a pity that you will not go,” he said wearily. He regretted that -he had asked to see her at all, for he suspected that she was inclined -to laugh at him now because as a samovar girl she had been able to -deceive him so thoroughly. - -“At least, I shall not go now,” she said. “Perhaps later—for there will -be nothing to keep me here now.” - -“Then come!” he pleaded, leaning forward, and holding out his hand. “I -know what there is between us—Katerin. I know now how wrong I was about -your father—I can claim no credit for having helped you the little I -did—I want no credit—but I was blind with hate for the old régime. Now I -wish to help you——” - -He stopped and shook his head, seeing that he was not giving her help to -get away from the city—Shimilin had already done that if he had offered -her the use of the private car. It struck him now that perhaps her -suggestion that she might leave later had something to do with his going -now—she did not want to travel with him. - -She sat tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair and looking at the -rings on her hand, reflectively, yet with something that told she had -already made up her mind as to what she should do and that they were -talking to no purpose. - -“I tell you,” he began again. “I shall not go with the car, if you will -consent to leave for Vladivostok. If you prefer that I should not——” - -“No, you must not stay here,” she said. - -“But I shall stay if you do not go!” he cried. - -She gave him a startled look. “Stay? Why, you cannot stay here always. I -thought you came to say good-by.” - -He stood up. “If you wish it, it shall be good-by,” he said. “But I am -not going away.” - -“You must not be absurd,” she said, and stood up also, a faint trace of -color in her cheeks. “Why should you remain here?” - -“Because I care for your safety, that’s why! I promised your father that -I would protect you and——” - -She tossed her head back, and regarded him through half-closed lids. - -“You may consider yourself released from that promise,” she said. “You -owe no debt—do not trouble yourself on that score, because——” - -“Katerin!” he cried, holding out his hands to her imploringly. “You know -what I mean—you know that your father desired your safety! Then let us -forget my promise, but——” - -“You do not make your promises to keep them, is that it? Then you are -not bound by anything, Peter——” She shrugged her shoulders and turned -her face from him. - -“Go on!” he commanded. “You were going to say ‘Peter Petrovitch.’ Why -have you turned against me? Katerin, I love you, and even if you will -let what has happened stand between us, I want to see that you escape——” - -“You but want to keep your promise to my father, and you think only of -what he may have desired about me!” she retorted with a show of anger, -her face aflame. “You have no debt to a Kirsakoff, living or dead, in -any way! Do I owe you anything? Perhaps I do, but I can pay you! What -price, I ask? What price, Peter Petrovitch Gorekin?” - -He stood dumfounded and gazed at her. She turned abruptly, and opened -the top of a trunk which he had not seen before. - -“What price?” she demanded. - -“Price! Price!” he gasped. “Why, you owe me nothing! Please do not -insult me—I wished to see you again—I wished to say good-by—please, -mistress——” the word escaped him,—the word of deference to the upper -class, the word of recognition that she was impossibly above him in the -Russian social caste. - -She let the top of the trunk fall, and putting her hands to her face, -burst into tears. Just then Wassili stuck his head through the green -curtains and looked in, startled and angry. Peter was about to reassure -the _moujik_ that no harm threatened his mistress, but before Peter -could speak, Wassili burst through the curtains and he held in his hand -a great knife. The Slavic battle rage took possession of Peter at sight -of the knife, and all the restraints imposed upon him by civilized life -left him in one mad instant. He knew but one thing—he loved Katerin, and -Wassili was going to stand in the way. The blade in the _moujik’s_ hand -swept away all the fine perplexities which had harassed Peter—these -points of honor which he saw as a barrier between him and Katerin. He -snapped out his pistol and pointed it at Wassili. - -“Get back through that curtain!” he commanded, and stepped forward -toward Wassili. The _moujik_ pressed back, but did not leave the room. - -“What’s this?” cried Katerin, turning upon Peter angrily. - -He made no reply, but shifting his pistol into his left hand, he kept -Wassili covered with the weapon. Then he paused for an instant. Before -Katerin or Wassili understood his intent, Peter seized her with his -right arm and lifted her against his shoulder. With his left elbow under -his head, he kept the muzzle of the pistol toward Wassili, and backed -out of the room through the open door into his own room. - -Peter put Katerin upon her feet, just as Wassili moved after him—and -Peter beckoned the _moujik_ on. - -“And what may this be about?” demanded Katerin, staring at Peter as -though she suspected that he was bereft of his senses. - -“A marriage by abduction—the old folk custom of our people,” declared -Peter grimly. “Wassili! You bear witness! I have taken Katerin -Stephanovna Kirsakoff from her house to mine—and there must be a -witness. She is now my wife—and she must do as I say. So put away the -knife—you cannot take from me the woman I have stolen!” - -Katerin burst out in laughter. - -“You Peter Petrovitch!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were an -American—and yet you are Russian—stealing a wife by the old custom! Do -you think I am to take this seriously?” - -“You will find it is serious—till you are safe in Vladivostok,” retorted -Peter. “Then—well, once you are safe, you may do as you wish. But I am -master till then.” - -She laughed again. - -“So you are American after all—in Vladivostok I may do as I wish! How -can you call yourself Russian? Go away, Wassili—it is but a joke!” - -Wassili, not quite sure it was such a joke, put away his knife, and went -back to the far room. Katerin shut the door, and then turned to Peter, -who stood looking at her, resenting a trifle her taking it as a joke at -all. - -“We shall go aboard the car at once,” he said. “Get ready your baggage, -please.” - -“Ah, he is Russian again!” laughed Katerin. - -“What does it matter if I am Russian or not?” said Peter. “When I try to -consider your feelings, you insult——” - -“No, no, Peter,” she begged, and went to him and put her hands gently on -his sleeves, looking up into his face. “You did not understand—you know -nothing of a woman’s heart—I told you once that I loved you——” - -“Yes!” cried Peter. “You told me that, and then you insist upon staying -here when I want to protect you—when you know there is a chance to go——” - -“Growl—growl like a Russian bear, Peter! But did you not come to say -good-by?” - -“To take you with me if I could.” He seized her hands. “O, Katerin, -think this over and see what I want you to see—when you get to -Vladivostok——” - -“And what when I get to Vladivostok? What am I to do when I get to -Vladivostok?” - -“Well, you will know what you want to do, then?” - -“Do about what?” - -“I want you to marry me—to go to America—to——” - -She stamped her foot. - -“You are a hopeless American!” she cried. “I like you better as a -Russian, Peter Petrovitch!” She dropped her head, and as he gave a cry -of joy, she looked up, her face radiant with joy and flushed with color. - -“Katerin! You will marry me?” - -“How can I help myself—I have been stolen by the old law, and now——” - -“Yes, what?” - -“I know that you want me—not for a promise—but for myself—Peter——” - -“O God!” he cried, “I know now I am forgiven!” and he crushed her to -him. - -Presently there came a knocking at the door of Katerin’s room, and the -old serving woman came when Katerin called to her to enter. - -“Tell Wassili to pack my baggage,” said Katerin. “We are all going to -Vladivostok—at once.” - -“But let Wassili first go for a priest,” said Peter. “And do not cry, my -love—we shall both say farewell forever to the Valley of Despair, and -our journey’s end shall be America—our America.” - -“America!” she whispered, looking through the window as if her eyes saw -behind the fog-banks a strange land. “What a wonderful country America -must be!” - -“You cannot know till you have seen,” said Peter. - -“I know now,” she replied, smiling through her tears, “I know now, Peter -Petrovitch.” - -“How can you know, my love?” - -“Because—I know a Russian who became an American—the son of a -bootmaker—a bootmaker who was an unfortunate—a poor boy——” - -“Hush, hush!” he said, and put his arms about her again, seeing where -her thoughts were straying—to the fresh brown mound on the bleak -hillside by the ruin of the old prison. “They are together, your father -and mine. Because of that, we shall not forget our Holy Russia. Would -not they both be happy—are they not both happy, knowing what they must -know now, and seeing what the dead must see? We living think we would do -one thing, but is it not that the dead guide us, knowing better than we -what is before us and what we shall do before we have finished? Truly, -as the wise say, from evil good—my love was here but I did not know -it—and now I have found her.” - -And as the fog shrouded them from the street, there was nothing to -prevent him from kissing her once more. - - - - - THE END - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - APPLETON’S RECENT FICTION - - -=THE VAGRANT DUKE= - -By GEORGE GIBBS - -The author of “The Splendid Outcast” has here written another smashing -adventure novel. A Russian Duke, fleeing the Bolsheviki, must work his -way in America. Mystery and romance are what he finds as superintendent -of a queer old multi-millionaire’s estate. - - -=THE INNOCENT ADVENTURESS= - -By MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY - -A family of the Italian nobility are hard up and as a solution send -their youngest daughter to search for a husband, wealthy, in America. -She is a brave and attractive little thing, and the author of “The -Fortieth Door” has known how to make her adventures truly exciting. - - -=THE RAPIDS= - -By ALAN SULLIVAN - -A novel of the vigorous north, which tells the story of a man who seeks -to transform a simple village into a mighty city. In the voice of the -rapids he hears the urging towards his ambition and the great love which -comes to him. - - -=THE COUNSEL OF THE UNGODLY= - -By CHARLES BRACKETT - -A diverting comedy of society life. Peter Van Hoeven, an old society man -who finds himself penniless, takes a position as butler to a very -new-rich lady. Unusual and dramatic situations ensue. - - -=THE SLEUTH OF ST. JAMES’S SQUARE= - -By MELVILLE DAVISSON POST - -This master of mystery detective stories has found a new method of -constructing them that is a big contribution to detective fiction. These -tales carry one to all parts of the world, to strange crimes and -mysteries. - - -=THE UNSEEN EAR= - -By NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN - -The author of “The Red Seal” and other great successes has never built -up a more baffling mystery than this. A man is murdered in a Washington -home; in the room sits a girl who is deaf and does not hear what passes. -Suspicion points in all directions before the final surprising climax. - - -=PENGARD AWAKE= - -By RALPH STRAUS - -The most thrilling depiction since “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” of the -struggle in a man’s soul between the powers of good and evil. Actual -psychological fact is the basis of this remarkable story of the love of -two men, one malignant, the other sweet and gentle, for the same woman. - - -=JOHN SENESCHAL’S MARGARET= - -By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE - -John Tempest, imprisoned in Turkey, loses all memory of his true -identity. Returning to England he is believed to be John Seneschal, and -is welcomed by the true John Seneschal’s parents and even by his -sweetheart Margaret. - - -=THE AGE OF INNOCENCE= - -By EDITH WHARTON - -This great popular success marks the pinnacle of Mrs. Wharton’s art thus -far. It tells an absorbing story of New York Society in its days of -innocence, about 1880. “One of the best novels of the twentieth -century”, says William Lyon Phelps in the _New York Times_. - - -=MISS LULU BETT= - -By ZONA GALE - -A splendid novel that portrays the sudden flowering of happiness in the -life of the family drudge, Miss Lulu Bett. Every word of the book counts -and the characters, from Grandma Bett to the child Monona, are -unsurpassed for living qualities. - - -=CHILDREN IN THE MIST= - -By GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN - -Stories that depict the virtues, the limitations, the sweetness and the -humor of the negro, from the emancipation down to the present day. There -is a true insight into the nature of this people, who after fifty-six -years of freedom, still see as in a glass, darkly. - - -=LUCINDA= - -By ANTHONY HOPE - -This is the romance of a missing bride, who disappears on her wedding -day, leaving the world baffled and her fiancée ready to pursue her to -the ends of the earth. All of Anthony Hope’s charming ability and -knowledge of how to construct a truly readable story are found in -“Lucinda”. - -=THE PORTYGEE= - -By JOSEPH C. LINCOLN - -Rich humor and insight into human nature are in this entertaining novel -by Joseph C. Lincoln. Everyone enjoys its story of a romantic young -fellow who goes to live down East with his grandfather, a typical old -salt. This is a best-seller, by the author of “Shavings”. - - -=THE ADVENTUROUS LADY= - -By J. C. SNAITH - -“Witty, amusing, as light and sparkling as sun-flecked foam”—_New York -Times_. The daughter of an English peer changes places with a governess, -when traveling to the same destination, where each is unknown. The -results are highly entertaining. - - -=NANCY GOES TO TOWN= - -By FRANCES R. STERRETT - -Nancy Mary Yates goes to train as a nurse in a hospital. She says she is -hunting for a “Prince Moneybags”. The reader eagerly follows her career, -made zestful by her youth and brave spirit. Nancy finds some unique -characters in her path. - - -=THE PARTS MEN PLAY= - -By A. BEVERLEY BAXTER - -A vital picture of a young American who finds himself among England’s -parasite, artistic social set during days of international strife. 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