He looked at them with an approving glance, instead of the rebuke they had expected.
"Be ready when I need you," he said, and plunging instantly into the water, he swam towards the driver of the sludge, who was clinging to the fore end, uttering feeble appeals for help. The ice had broken for some yards around, and the swift current was dragging horses and sledge towards the lower rim, which was firm and solid. A few strokes brought Platoff to the half-unconscious man's side, and tearing him loose, he took him by the collar, and swam back towards the shore. The distance was slight, but both men were burdened with heavy clothes. Platoff's tremendous strength prevailed, however, and he gained the bank in safety with his burden.
"Rub his hands and face," he shouted to the boys. "Keep him moving, and darting off again he reached the lower edge of the ice crust as the current swept the horses to the spot. Grasping the nearest one by the bridle, he turned his head towards shore, and, by dint of shouting and hard pulling, urged the whole team forward until they could touch bottom. The rest of the task was easy, and soon the sledge was standing on firm ground, none the worse apparently for the accident.
The boys meanwhile were trotting the rescued man up and down. He was shivering so intensely from his cold bath that all attempts to speak were vain. When he saw the sledge safely on shore he tottered up to it, and drew from one corner a big flask of vodka. He took a hearty gulp, and considerately passed it to Platoff, who was now shivering in his turn.
The fiery fluid put warmth into their bodies at once, and the stranger burst into a profuse declaration of thanks.
"Never mind," said Platoff, " it was nothing. I could not have done less. Build a fire—quick," he added to the boys, "a big, large one, some distance up the ravine."
It required but a few moments to execute this order, and the welcome blaze was soon sending out a grateful warmth. The stranger brought from his sledge a dozen fur robes, and, discarding their wet garments, he and Platoff wrapped themselves snugly in these. The horses were standing quietly by the roadside, looking very forlorn in their dripping condition.
"The brutes were scared a mile back at a cowardly wolf that crossed the road," said the stranger, "had you not come to the rescue I should now be at the bottom of the Anner. I fully appreciate your kindness, much more than you think possible," and he glanced keenly at the fugitives.
"I told you it was nothing," answered Platoff, coldly; "by chance we heard your cries, and came to the rescue. We are fur hunters-and we live a few miles up this stream."
The stranger made no reply, but kept his keen gaze on the party. He was a fine-looking man, heavily built and light-bearded, while his manner of speech proved him to be intelligent. Platoff endured this scrutiny with secret uneasiness, glancing from time to time towards the road, and anxiously feeling his wet clothes were drying over the fire.
"I beg your pardon," he said, deliberately, "but the horses must be driven hard if you would avoid any ill effects of their cold plunge. The ice is forming on them already. I should advise you to lose no time in starting for the next posting station."
"What will you do?" asked the stranger, quietly. Platoff's face flushed, and, in visible embarrassment, he attempted to frame a reply.
Maurice, who was watching him closely, saw his eyes flash, and anticipated trouble.
"Hold on," said the stranger, " keep cool, I have something to say. My name is Nicolas Poussin, and I am a merchant of Vladivostok. I have been to Irkutsk on business, and am on my way home. Two friends accompanied me as far as Toluar, a town fifty miles behind. In their haste they left their passports in my possession, and I have them now. Beyond Toluar I met many Cossacks, and I was informed that three 'politicals,' who escaped some time ago from Kara, had been seen in the vicinity, and the soldiers were on their track." He paused, and looked his hearers full in the face.
Platoff, with a livid countenance, leaned over and drew Maurice's revolver from his belt. He cocked it and laid it on his knee. "Now what next?" he said. "Go on with your story?"
"Well," resumed Nicolas Poussin, without the least show of fear, "one good turn deserves another. My sledge is roomy and my horses are strong. If you have any desire to journey towards the Pacific, I will take you with me for some distance. The extra passports that I have will serve for two of you. The third can be hidden in the bed of the sledge. I prefer that you should give me no information. I don't want to know who you are, you understand."
"God bless you!" exclaimed Platoff, embracing the worthy man's hand. "Forgive my suspicions. But you are assuming a risk—a terrible risk."
"Never mind about that," replied Poussin; "all I ask is caution. Of course, I dare not take you clear to Vladivostok—that is understood. But let us waste no more time. Our clothes are dry and we can start."
The boys could barely realise at first the full measure of their good fortune. A moment before the tidings that the Cossacks were on their track had filled their hearts with despair—-now a merciful hand was stretched out to save them. Platoff's heroism had brought its own reward.
It was impossible to doubt Nicolas Poussin's sincerity. His frank, open face—his honest grey eyes were truth itself.
Quickly the dry clothes were donned, the fire was smothered with wet snow, and they climbed into the big sledge. Under its front seat was an empty space just big enough for Phil, and he was snugly tucked in place with rugs.
"Wear these," said Nicolas Poussin, handing Platoff a pair of green goggles and Maurice a huge fur cap and tippet. "Sit there," and he motioned to the rear seat under the leather hood.
"Remember," he added, "your names are now Louis Miroff and Serge Lyapin. Don't forget."
He climbed up in front and seized the lines. The horses dashed away on a gallop, jingling their bells, and the sledge scraped merrily over the frozen crust towards the Pacific.
* * *
CHAPTER XXI
They travelled forty miles that day, reaching at sunset a wayside post-station, a one-storey log building. Close by were a couple of houses and a telegraph-office. The starosta, or station-master, provided a warm supper and a bed in one corner of the room. The sledge was hauled into the yard, and under half a dozen big furs Phil passed a fairly comfortable night. In the morning a Russian officer demanded the passports. They were returned without comment, and ten minutes later the sledge, drawn by a fresh troika, was speeding to the eastward.
Thus for a whole week they rode on across Siberia, each hour drawing nearer to safety. Nicolas Poussin spoke but little. He preserved a grave and silent demeanour and drove his horses with unsparing hand. Spring was not far off, and he was anxious to reach Vladivostok before the mild weather made sleighing impossible. Well snuggled up in furs, Platoff and Maurice sat far back under the leather hood, while Phil, cramped and uncomfortable remained in his narrow place of concealment. They passed many travellers on the road, Tartars, merchants, peasants and occasionally Cossack soldiers and Russian officers, but no unpleasant incidents occurred. Nicolas Poussin's passports carried them through all dangerous places.
Sometime they slept in the same room at night with soldiers, or dined with them at the same table. On such occasions Nicolas Poussin conversed for himself and his companions.
Phil had the hardest time of all, sleeping at night in the station yards, and eating such food as his companions could smuggle out him but he bore all without complaint.
Day by day traveling became more difficult, and it was well that Nicolas Poussin was able to procure fresh troikas each morning, for when night came the horses were often completely worn out from dragging the heavy sledge over bare places in the road and through the slushy snow.
On the seventh evening. just as the sun was going down redly over the pine-crowned lulls to the westward, they reached a small Siberian village, Vastak by name, and drove into the spacious yard of the station. Sleepy-looking peasants in gay costumes were standing about in the street, and a few soldiers were visible. The station-house was larger than many of its kind, and at Nicolas Poussin's request the starosta gave the travellers a small private room, and present brought in dishes of bread, meat, and cheese and a steaming samovar. In the middle of the repast a Russian officer entered, and with many apologies requested their passports.
He glanced them over briefly, and bowed his way out.
As the door closed, Nicolas Poussin drew a small map from his pocket and spread it out on the table.
"I will show you where we are," he said, abruptly; "you remember that we left the Anner some days ago, and turned up the bed of the Ussuri. Here you see is the Anner running to the north-east, while the Ussuri flows directly north. Consequently, we are traveling south. We have reached this point," designating a spot on the map, "and now Vladivostok is but two hundred miles away. I have brought you further than I hoped to do. You see it will he dangerous to continue the use of these passports, for the men whose names you hear are known to many of the officials between here and the Pacific. For your safety and mine we must part. I will provide you with sufficient food, and if you are cautious you will reach the coast in safety."
"Yes, you are right," said Platoff, with emotion; "to-morrow we will leave you. Better that we should take the risks of recapture than——"
"Stop!" said Poussin, "you forget. I wish to hear nothing. I don't know who you are, understand, or where you are going. You saved my life; that is all I choose to remember."
A commotion was suddenly heard outside, and he turned to the window. The interest depicted on his face drew his companions to the spot.
Out in the station-yard, a Cossack surrounded by an inquisitive crowd was nailing a big white placard to one of the gate-posts. The distance was too great to distinguish its contents. Maurice and Platoff exchanged significant glances, but before they could speak the starosta flung open the door and entered.
"A courier has arrived with proclamations," he said, breathlessly. "It seems that tlie escaped convicts who were seen near Toluar have eluded pursuit and cannot be found. Of course, they have not reached this neighbourhood yet, but the government wishes to be on the safe side, and so they are posting notices from station to station."
"Ah," said Poussin, coolly, "we heard something of that on our way. And so they have slipped off from the soldiers, have they? Well, they will be caught sooner or later. Have you one of the placards with you? It would he wise for us to read the descriptions in case we run across the fellows."
The starosta rushed out of the room and into the yard.
"Keep cool," said Poussin; "there is not the slightest cause for fear. I saw these placards a month ago.
The fellow was back in an instant, paper in hand. "Here, you read it," my eyes are bad, "said Poussin, and he handed it to Platoff.
Maurice, to conceal his emotion, turned to the samovar and drew a cup of tea; but Platoff coolly took the paper, and read aloud, in a calm, clear voice.
"TWO THOUSAND RUBLES REWARD."
"The above sum will be paid for the arrest of three convicts who escaped in February from the mines at Kara; one tall and light-haired, his companion of medium height, and dark. At the time of their escape two of them wore the prison garb, the other was attired in a Cossack uniform.
"They are journeying down the Anner valley, and all persons are hereby warned to extend no aid whatever under the severest penalties.
GENERAL MELIKOFF.
"Governor of the Mines of Kara."
"Rather a meagre description," said Platoff, laying the paper aside.
"Ah, but their clothes," exclaimed the starosta—"that is a sure identification. It is impossible that they could have procured others."
"Were the convicts still wearing the prison clothes when seen near Toluar?" asked Poussin suddenly.
"It was not the men who were seen," said the starosta, "only traces of them—a trail in the snow, and hot ashes of fire."
Platoff darted a reassuring glance at Maurice.
"Well, my good man," broke in Poussin, "depend upon it the rascals will be captured, and serve them right; and now be sure to have a fresh relay of horses ready at early dawn. I must reach Vladivostok before a warm spell sets in."
The starosta promised obedience, and left the room.
"A good sleep will be necessary," said Poussin; "we shall have a hard day's journey to-morrow." He spread his rugs on the floor and stretched himself flat. Platoff filled his pockets with bread and meat and hurried away to give Phil his supper. He was back in ten minutes.
"The boy is all right," he whispered to Maurice, "and the sledge is in a safe place. It won't be disturbed."
They carried on a whispered conversation for a few moments with Poussin snoring heavily at their side, and finally both fell asleep.
Maurice woke some hours later with a confused din ringing in his ears. He sat up listening intently, and presently the vague sounds resolved themselves into a clatter of hoofs—the tread of hurrying feet and a babel of voices. A yellow glare was shining into the room, and rushing to the window, he saw a dozen mounted Cossacks standing in the station yard.
Two or three peasants were holding blazing torches, and a fast-increasing crowd was pouring in at the gate. At that instant Maurice felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning he saw Platoff.
"Lost!" hissed the Russian, "we are betrayed. The soldiers are seeking us. Look at that scoundrel," and he pointed to the starosta, who was standing to one side conversing with the captain of the Cossacks.
"They shall not take me alive. I swear it," he added, fiercely, and springing across the room he tore his pistol from his coat.
Maurice, pale and trembling, turned from the window.
"Quick!" exclaimed Platoff, "follow me. We may escape through the rear." He moved towards the door as he spoke, but before he could reach it Nicolas Poussin came sleepily forward.
"Ha! how's this? What does all this noise mean?" he asked.
