Platoff refused to explain himself any further, and presently, in spite of his troubles, Maurice was sleeping soundly.
The morning verification was presided over by Lieutenant Sudekin, who it seemed had been appointed temporary commandant of the prison. Before starting for the mines, it was whispered among the convicts that Captain Daroman had not been caught, and this rumour was presently verified, for the working gangs started out that morning in custody of less than half the usual guard of Cossacks, and the cordon of troops around the prison was correspondingly small. It was soon evident that the new commandant had no intention of dealing more leniently with the convicts than his predecessor. All that day the boys toiled hard under the watchful eyes of the overseers, and not the slightest conversation was allowed.
Two or three days passed thus, and still Maurice heard nothing from Colonel Melikoff, nor was the fugitive commandant recaptured.
"He's sure to be caught, sooner or later," said Platoff; "It's only a question of time."
On the fifth day, however, many of the absent troops returned, and it began to look as though Captain Daroman had made good his escape, for the time at least.
"They have forgotten me," said Maurice, one night, as he sat on his hard bed, thinking of the pretty dark-eyed girl who had passed like a vision across the wretched monotony of his life; "she believes me to be some low criminal, no doubt," he added bitterly to himself.
"No," said Platoff, glancing up from the cup of tea he was drinking; "be assured Colonel Melikoff has not forgotten you. He never overlooks a crime against the rules and discipline of the prison, as you will know before long."
A week passed by—a week of heart-sickening toil and misery—and then Platoff's prediction came true, though not just in the way he had anticipated.
* * *
CHAPTER XIV
It was bitterly cold, and the snow was falling thickly, but weather counts for nothing at the mines of Kara, and the convicts shivering in their thin garments worked with feverish energy, hoping to put some warmth into their aching limbs and bodies.
Phil and Platoff were driving their picks, into the hard stratum of clay and gravel, and Maurice in company with half a dozen others was wheeling the stiffened clods to a distance. Close by stood the watchful overseers, stamping their feet continually, and clapping their arms together, while in the background, out of the snowy mist, loomed the soldiers, pacing to and fro in their heavy coats, or grouped about the feeble fires, where the tea was warming for the noonday lunch.
With increasing regularity, the long string of wheelbarrows continued to load and unload, and when midday came, the weary toilers with the picks had uncovered a large surface of smooth and yellow sand.
The overseer came forward, and looked at it with evident satisfaction. "That is good work," he said, briefly; "to-day you may have thirty minutes' rest."
Some of the convicts cheered, and flung their caps into the air. Even this insignificant privilege was something to be thankful for. Picks and barrows were tossed aside, and sitting down on stones and clods of earth, the hungry men began to devour greedily the black bread and tea served out to them.
The Cossacks stacked their arms, with the exception of two or three sentinels, and gathered about the fires rubbing their hands and stamping their feet.
Ten or fifteen yards from the spot where the convicts were grouped the brow of a rocky hill sloped to the river. It was barren and strewn with boulders and half a dozen stunted birches. A few feet below the crest a spring of icy water poured out, and after falling in numerous cascades down the slope, emptied into the Kara River. At this spring the prisoners were often allowed to drink, for the waters of the Kara were slightly brackish, and, moreover, were usually muddy and tainted from the mining operations.
To-day but few of the men were thirsty. One or two climbed painfully up the slope, and filling their tin cups, came back to their places. Maurice was sitting on an upturned wheelbarrow, slowly eating his bread and looking wistfully at Phil and Platoff, who were some yards away near the bank of the rivers He turned his eyes towards the spring—the snow was falling thickly over the rocky crest of the hill—and suddenly against the gloomy whiteness of the sky he saw an arm thrust from the rocks. Thinking it only a delusion, he rubbed his eyes and looked again. No; he was not mistaken, it was a human arm, and it was beckoning him to approach. He watched it closely for a moment or two. Twice it vanished, and then appeared again, and still it continued to motion him forward. A sudden thrill of hope made his heart beat wildly, but with great self-command he checked all show of emotion and assumed a careless attitude.
Presently he ventured to look about him. No one else, apparently, had seen the signal. The convicts were engrossed in their bread and tea, the overseers were sitting by the fire with their backs towards the hill, and the soldiers off duty for the time were chatting loudly among themselves.
Maurice hastily gulped down the remainder of his tea, and, taking the tin cup in one hand and his hunk of bread in the other, he rose slowly to his feet and commenced to ascend the hill with careless, hesitating steps. He trembled constantly with excitement, fearing each second to be called back, but no such summons came, and at last he gained the spring and sat down on a flat stone beside the outpouring water.
Close over his head was the nook among the rocks where he had seen that wavering arm. Not daring to look behind him, he glanced down into the hollow. Some of his fellow-prisoners were looking at him in a careless manner, but neither the overseers nor the soldiers were paying any attention. He dipped his cup into the spring, and as he raised it to his lips, a soft voice whispered, with a strangely familiar accent. "You saw my signal. You have come. Be on your guard. Don't move; don't speak a word."
The cup almost dropped from Maurice's trembling hand, but with a great effort he recovered himself and drank as though nothing had happened.
"I am Lora Melikoff," continued the speaker, after a paused "I have not forgotten your brave deed. I am going to do what I can for you in return. You speak my language, do you not?"
Maurice inclined his head without speaking.
"Your noble act has put you in great peril," resumed Lora, "more so than you think. My father is grateful, it is true, but he is stern—ah! you do not know how stern and severe—and he declares that you must be punished as an example to the other men. I have implored him in vain, and last night I listened when he was talking to some officers. They will either shoot you or send you to the Province of Yakutsk. One is as bad as the other. I have not time to tell you of Yakutsk, but it is a terrible place. In a week an officer is expected from St. Petersburg on a tour of inspection, and then your fate will be decided. You must try to escape, though it is almost hopeless. Do you know anything of the country? Could you find the Pacific Ocean, do you think? There are vessels at Vladivostok from every part of the world."
Maurice tremblingly held his bread to his lips as though he were eating, and said, in a low whisper, "I have two friends. One of them is a Russian, a man who knows the country. He has spoken of Vladivostok, and knows the way down the valley of the Anner.
Then he added, with sudden alarm, "There are guards down the other slope. They can see you, surely."
"I do not fear them," said Lora, calmly; "there is but one, and him I have bribed to allow me to reach this spot. You say you have two friends. It will be more difficult for three to escape, I fear, and yet I may be wrong. Three can do more than one. But I have much to say, and little time in which to tell it. Listen closely now to every word, and be careful that your actions do not betray you. I have placed a small package under the stone on which you are sitting. It contains tools which may help you to escape from the prison at night. You must conceal it in some way about your clothes. I have written on a scrap of paper your best plan for getting free of the prison. Heed it carefully, and be sure to destroy the writing. It will be difficult and dangerous, and success is very doubtful, but if you once gain the outside of the prison stockade you can place yourself in security for a few days at least. After that you must do the best you can, and I shall pray constantly that you may reach Vladivostok, and get safely away from Siberia. Now here is what you must do when you are outside the prison. Go directly to the Kara River, and follow its channel up to this very spot, so that it will be impossible to track your footsteps. Two miles along this ridge is a cave among the rocks. It lies in among seven pine-trees, and is difficult to find. No one but myself knows it, and I discovered it by accident two years ago, when my father first came here from Moscow. In this cave I have already hidden clothes and money. To-day or to-morrow I shall find a way to convey food there, and to-morrow night you must attempt to escape. If you can reach the cave you are safe for a while. Remain there for a week or two, and then, when the pursuit has abated or is being conducted far from here, it will be time to start for the distant Pacific. If your friend is a clever man he may guide you there in safety. You will find clothes for three in the cave. Now you had better go. Don't attempt to get the package at present. Wait until you start back to the prison at night."
"But you!" cried Maurice, quite forgetting himself—"you have placed yourself in peril for my sake. How can I ever thank you? How can I ever hope to repay such a debt of gratitude?"
"Hush!" said Lora, "not so loud. You will betray yourself." Her voice had a touch of haughtiness—of offended pride, that showed Maurice instantly the gulf between him, a degraded convict, wearing the prison stripes, and this aristocratic young Russian, the daughter of famous Colonel Melikoff.
"Forgive me," he said, humbly; "I forgot—I was so grateful, that was all. I did not think."
"It is a debt," she interrupted, coldly. "A sacred obligation on me. An obligation that is doubly binding since my father refuses to acknowledge it. But do not think that I regard you as those men yonder—those thieves, assassins, robbers. I have heard something of your history. You are Englishmen, you and your friend. You are very young, and I prefer to believe that you have fallen into bad company and sinned through ignorance. Don't think that I sympathise with your views, for those who plot against our Czar are wicked men. If through any aid of mine you can reach your own country again, please try to think better of Russia."
"I shall never forget you," said Maurice, "but your opinion of me is wrong, I assure you. I am neither a revolutionist nor a Nihilist, and I have never plotted against Russia. I am an American, Miss Melikoff, and my story, could you but hear it, would give you some different ideas of your own land. My mother was—"
"Hush!" said Lora, suddenly, "the guards are coming. I must slip away at once. I shall never see you again, but I shall pray for your escape. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," exclaimed Maurice, fervently, and as he rose to his feet the harsh voice of the overseer summoned the men to work, and he went slowly and sadly down the slope.
Through the long hours of that afternoon he worked as though in a dream, and more than one sharp reprimand was hurled at him by the angry overseer. Little did he care for that. A wild hope of freedom was seething through his brains a vision of far-off America and friends he had never expected to see again, and yet there was bitterness mingled with his joy.
This Russian girl believed him guilty of the crimes with which he was charged. She believed that he had plotted against her native land—against the Czar whom she honoured and revered.
Carried away by his feelings, Maurice even began to find some excuse for the tyrannical and despotic means that had placed him in his terrible situation. If only he could have a chance to tell her his story, he thought, she would be convinced and believe him. And now, he would never see her again, never have a chance to explain, and she would always be ignorant of the truth.
The agitated expression of his face was noticed by his companions. They regarded him curiously, wondering evidently what bit of joy could be mingled with his wretched existence. But the watchful eye of the overseer, trained on the work that was being done, failed to note these signs.
When the coppery sun went down, the labour ceased. Now came the most difficult part of all, but Maurice was equal to the task. Before the convicts formed in line for the homeward march, he carelessly climbed the hill with his cup, and stooping under pretence of getting a drink, he dexterously drew the flat, heavy parcel from under the stone, and hid it in the folds of his shirt beneath the heavy overcoat. There it rested snugly, all through the long tramp back to the prison, and when the evening verification was over, and the convicts were eating their supper on the platforms, his heart was beating fast at the thought of what lay next to it—the precious means that might be destined to lead to safety and freedom.
* * *
CHAPTER XV
It must be remembered that some alterations had been recently made in the disposition of the prisoners. Phil and Platoff had been removed from the central apartment of the prison to a kamera, or separate cell, which they shared with four other convicts, coarse, villainous-looking fellows of a low and vicious grade. They were locked up securely in this cell every evening, and their supper was served to them here on the sleeping platforms. It was a dreary, ill-smelling apartment, with a decayed plank floor and one small window crusted with dirt that opened on the prison courtyard.
On this particular evening Maurice ate his supper in silence, replying only in monosyllables to the queries of Phil and Platoff concerning his strange behaviour that afternoon.
The other inmates of the kamera hurried through their meals and retired to their own corner of the platform. Maurice waited until the sound of heavy breathing assured him that they were asleep, and then drawing the package from his bosom he proceeded to open it before the astonished eyes of his two companions, briefly explaining as he did so how it came into his possession.
The outer covering was quickly removed, and the dim light of the tallow candle burning at their side revealed a strong bladed knife, a flat steel wedge with a sharp edge, a small sealed bottle, and a scrap of paper covered with close writing. This latter Platoff seized, and held close to the candle. As he read, his face flushed, and his hands trembled with suppressed excitement.
