第 10 页

The Cossack had certainly heard the door open, and it was equally certain that he intended to stick loyally to the trust reposed in him by Sonia Komaroff, for he offered no resistance when Ivor seized him from behind Gogol lent the assistance of his one arm, and Sasha was soon bound and gagged with strips cut from his heavy cloak. After laying him in a clump of shrubbery by the garden wall, and possessing themselves of his rifle and cartridges, the fugitives emerged through a broken gate on a side street. The thoroughfare was dark and deserted, and without observation they gained the forest on the outskirts of the town, whence it was an easy task to reach the road that led eastward across the head of the bay. Turning a last look on the twinkling lights of the town, where all was quiet, they strode rapidly forward, feeling fresher and more vigorous with every step.

The weather was such as is often met with in the southern part of Saghalien for days at a time. The sky was clear, and the temperature stood a little above zero. The snow was covered with a hard, unyielding crust of ice. There was every prospect that the weather would continue in this state, detracting much from the difficulties of the passage across the strait to the mainland. The fugitives felt their spirits rising as they left mile after mile behind them, stopping at brief intervals to moisten their throats with a few drops of vodka. Toward the end of the journey they grew weary and footsore, and their wounds gave them a good deal of pain. It was a glad moment when they saw, from a cleared spot on the brow of a wooded slope, the icy waters of the sea glistening in the distance under the starry sky. They had kept well to the path, for in plain view was the promontory of rocks described by Sonia, jutting out from the beach to a distance of several hundred feet. In the center it was elevated, and timbered with a belt of trees.

With eager eyes the fugitives gazed on the scene for a moment, and then they strode briskly down the slope. Hardly had they taken a dozen steps on the crunching snow crust when a long drawn howl sounded behind them. The sound was quickly repeated, and this time it seemed nearer.

Ivor stopped, and looked at his companion in alarm.

"Wolves!" he exclaimed, "What shall we do?"

"There are no wolves on Saghalien," cried Gogol. "Our escape is known, and the governor has put his bloodhounds on the trail. He has four of the brutes — big, savage fellows."

"Then we are lost," muttered Ivor, turning pale.

"No, we have a chance. Run your best, lad."

They ran at headlong speed down the slope spurred to greater effort by the loud baying of the eager hounds. Other sounds now mingled with the din — the rapid crunch of hoofs, and a shout uttered by a human voice. Mounted troops were coming in the rear of the hounds.

Brief but terrible was that mad flight down the hill and through the belt of pine timber, for the fugitives knew that to gain the boat meant safety and freedom, while capture would bring them to an ignominious end on the gallows. Pain and fatigue were forgotten, and as they emerged on the beach close to the angle formed by the jutting promontory they saw the outlines of the boat between two rocks in a quiet cove.

Another moment would have seen them launched safely out on the tide, but the vociferous baying of the bloodhounds was echoing from the timber and suddenly a great bronze colored brute burst out and rushed at the fugitives with a snarl of fury.

The other dogs were some distance behind, and Ivor was quick to grasp the opportunity that offered. "Get the boat ready, Gogol," he cried. "Quick! I'll be with you in a minute," and as his companion rushed by him he dropped on one knee, and trained the Cossack's rifle on the bloodhound. With a quick aim he pulled trigger, and as the report died away the brute was seen struggling in the agonies of death.

Ivor darted for the boat and sprang in just as four more bloodhounds broke from the timber and came yelping down the beach. But they were too late. Gogol had already given the boat a thrust with all the strength of his one serviceable arm, and gliding from between the rocks its prow cut through the waves that were rippling gently shoreward. Ivor sprang to the middle seat and put all his strength into the heavy, clumsy oars that were fitted into the rowlocks. There was a second pair, but as Gogol could not use them he dropped into the stern and shouted out quick directions to Ivor.

The combined influence of mind and muscle sent the little craft straight seaward, and as it swept beyond the tip of the promontory a dozen mounted Cossacks rode to the verge of the beach and mingled their excited cries with the baying of the baffled hounds. Then they spied the receding boat, and instantly their rifles were unloosed and leveled.

The gleam of the steel barrels caught Gogol's eye, and pulling Ivor backward from the seat he dropped down beside him. The sharp reports rang on the night air, and more than one bullet buried itself in the stern timbers of the boat. The firing continued intermittently, and when it finally ceased the fugitives were overjoyed to discover that tide or current, trending outward, had carried them a quarter of a mile from shore. The little group of Cossacks could be dimly seen, outlined in black against the snowy whiteness of the beach.

"That was a narrow escape, lad," muttered Gogol, "but I think we are safe now. Of course they will try to capture us, but it is a long distance around the arm of the bay, and the only vessels to be had are at Karsokov. If one is sent after us it won't be hard to keep out of its way."

"We may reach the mainland before that," suggested Ivor.

"Hardly, lad, for the distance is forty or fifty miles. But we will cover it in the least time possible. How do you feel?"

"A bit nervous, that's all. But I shall soon pull myself together."

"Better rest a little," replied Gogol. "Come, we'll have a look at this snug little craft and its contents, and see how we are fitted out. I've always had a fondness for boats since I was a boy, and paddled about on the Petersburg canals."

Ivor was quite willing to abandon the oars for a little while, and the proposed inspection was made. Amply satisfactory it proved, too. In the first place the boat itself could not have been better fitted for the cruise it was expected to make. True, it was heavy and difficult to row, but then its depth and stout timbers made it capable of resisting pretty rough water. It was an ordinary fisherman's craft, and the sail that belonged to it was lying furled up in the bottom. This counted for little, however, since scarcely a breath of air was stirring, and none was likely to stir.

Under the fore and stern seats were found the articles promised by Sonia Komaroff — and indeed much more than that. There were two complete outfits of coarse but serviceable clothes, a sack filled with bread, meat, and other supplies, a pair of heavy blankets, and a revolver and cartridges.

Tears welled into Ivor's eyes as he realized at what risk and toil the brave girl must have found means to carry out her plan. Some day, he fervently hoped, he might be able to show and prove his gratitude.

"We shall want for nothing," muttered Gogol, as he examined each article in turn. "Ah! that rigid old tyrant of a commandant little deserves such a daughter. May Heaven bless her, and keep her from harm! What a treasure she will make her husband, if ever she marries."

Ivor mentally agreed with his companion, but said nothing. He felt reluctant to lay bare the secret of his heart, even to such a tried friend as Gogol; yet at times he was strongly tempted to make a confidant of him.

When the boat had been thoroughly examined the new clothes were put on, and the old ones cast into the sea. A hasty meal of bread and meat put new life into the fugitives, and then they began the cruise in earnest.

It was now past midnight, as nearly as they could judge, and for hour after hour Ivor toiled at the clumsy oars, stopping for brief intervals of rest whenever the labor became too severe. The guidance of the craft depended upon Gogol, who mapped out his course by the aid of the stars.

This worked very well until shortly before dawn, when the sky became overcast with clouds and a raw, cutting breeze gave warning of a change in the weather. Things grew from bad to worse, and when morning broke the fugitives were forced to admit that they had lost their bearings. The somber, lead colored sky hid every trace of the sun, and a faint bluish haze impenetrable at a distance of four or five miles, hung over the sea.

"From the feel of this wind it must blow from the east," said Gogol. "At all events we can't do better than act on that belief. Suppose we put the sail up, lad? We can't lie becalmed here, for it will snow before evening."

Ivor assented readily. The sail was quickly rigged up, and the mast was fitted into its socket. The ropes and tackle were all complete, and it was a happy moment for the voyagers when they saw the wind belly the triangular canvas, and felt the boat quiver with life and motion. Ivor proved himself an adept in the art of managing the sail, and during the morning and part of the afternoon steady progress was made.

The contrast between pulling at the heavy oars and sitting quietly at ease was thoroughly appreciated, and both men felt stronger than at any time since leaving their sick room.

Their inaction left them at the mercy of the cold, however, and they were finally compelled to make use of the blankets. A constant watch was kept for any vessel that might have been sent after the fugitives, but if one was cruising about the vicinity the fog made its presence unknown. One constant source of apprehension existed. The sea was dotted with ice cakes which had drifted from far northern waters, and a collision with some of the largest of these would probably prove disastrous. However, by constant vigilance the fugitives hoped to avert the danger.

So the day wore on, and the shades of night began to blend with the mist. The wind blew more strongly, bearing in its teeth a thin shower of show. Still there was no sign of land, and the castaways felt the chill of despair driving hope from their hearts. They pretended to be as sanguine as ever, but their words were a hollow mockery. They huddled close together, seeking protection from the bitter cold and the fast thickening fall of snow.

The minutes mounted into hours, and still the little boat held its course. Showers of icy spray drenched the occupants, and added to their misery. The night was intensely dark. Nothing could be seen save here and there an occasional whitish patch — a drifting cake of ice.

"We are running too great a risk," said Gogol finally. "Let us take the sail down and do what we can with oars. I will try to help you with one hand. The exercise will keep our blood stirring; otherwise we may be frozen stiff before morning."

"I'm willing," assented Ivor. "It won't make much difference, though," he added moodily. "The chances are dead against our reaching land. As likely as not we are cruising right down the center of the strait."

"I won't deny it, lad," muttered Gogol, "but we'll hope for the best. Keep your spirits up."

He rose unsteadily to his feet, intending to lower the sail and had barely taken hold of the mast pole when there was a terrific shock, accompanied by the grinding sound of splintered ice and shattered timbers.

Gogol was thrown on his face, and when he rose he felt the icy water surging about his ankles, and saw that the boat had struck a great floe, and then swung lengthwise alongside of it.

"We are sinking," he cried to Ivor, who had been flung forcibly against his companion. "Jump! Jump for your life!"

They sprang to the side of the boat, and by a desperate leap cleared the gap and landed safely on the ice floe. They were none too soon, for the little craft settled deeper in the water as the flood rushed in. Then, with a hollow gurgle, it vanished, taking everything with it — weapons, food and blankets.

The fugitives stood in silent horror, scanning the icy prison that was now their only refuge. The floe was circular in shape, with jagged irregular edges. Its diameter was probably twenty feet. It lurched heavily among the waves, and occasionally a sharp crack could be heard as one of the outer fragments parted. It was inevitable that it would break up altogether before long. Then would come — the end. And even should it hold together, death by cold or starvation would be the certain fate of the castaways.

They realized the situation and discussed it with growing despair. Not a ray of. hope existed. After escaping far more critical perils, they must die at a time when safety had seemed almost within their grasp. Gogol seemed to face his doom with a dull resignation, but not so with Ivor. It was more than he could bear to think that the miscreants who had plotted his ruin would enjoy unpunished the fruits of their crime, and when the sweet face of Sonia Komaroff rose before his eyes out of the darkness, his anguish became acute. He sat down on a fragment of ice, and buried his face in his hands. Thus he remained for an hour, face to face with the horrors of death, while Gogol sat mutely by his side. The wind shrieked and whistled, the snow fell and drifted in little heaps, and on through the darkness crept the ice floe with its human burden, swirling and pitching amid the crested billows.

At last Ivor lifted his head and looked hopelessly at his companion. "Gogol," he said in husky tones, "your frame is stronger than mine, and you may survive to reach the shore or be picked up by some passing vessel. If God so wills it. I want you to promise me two things. First that you will write to Sonia Komaroff arid tell her how I died, and that her name was last on my lips. Tell her that I loved her — that I hoped some day to tell her so. And now one more thing — an act of just retribution this time; I have an uncle in St. Petersburg, and no more treacherous, black hearted fiend than Maximy Petrov ever walked the earth —"

A harsh, gasping cry broke from Gogol's lips, and he staggered to his feet trembling in every limb. "Maximy Petrov!" he cried hoarsely. "You know that villain? He is your uncle? Who are you, lad? Speak! for God's sake speak!"

He stood swaying from side to side, and devouring Ivor's face with a hungry look.

* * *

CHAPTER X

Ivor, in turn, was no less amazed by Gogol's agitation. He believed for a moment that suffering and peril had suddenly bereft his companion of his senses. Then it occurred to him that something far deeper lay beneath the mystery.