The cavalcade had halted during this colloquy. All the men were ahead

conversing sullenly and excitedly with much gesticulation. The driver, a

stolid creature, seemingly indifferent to all that was going on, alone

remained at his post. The situation, apparently dangerous, was certainly

most annoying. But if Beverly could have read the mind of that silent

figure on the box, she would have felt slightly relieved, for he was

infinitely more anxious to proceed than even she; but from far different

reasons. He was a Russian convict, who had escaped on the way to

Siberia. Disguised as a coachman he was seeking life and safety in

Graustark, or any out-of-the-way place. It mattered little to him where

the escort concluded to go. He was going ahead. He dared not go back--he

must go on.

At the end of half an hour, the officer returned; all hope had gone from

his face. "It is useless!" he cried out. "The guides refuse to

proceed. See! They are going off with their countrymen! We are lost

without them. I do not know what to do. We cannot get to Ganlook; I do

not know the way, and the danger is great. Ah! Madam! Here they come!

The Cossacks are going back."

As he spoke, the surly mutineers were riding slowly towards the

coach. Every man had his pistol on the high pommel of the saddle. Their

faces wore an ugly look. As they passed the officer, one of them,

pointing ahead of him with his sword, shouted savagely, "Balak!"

It was conclusive and convincing. They were deserting her.

"Oh, oh, oh! The cowards!" sobbed Beverly in rage and despair. "I must

go on! Is it possible that even such men would leave--"

She was interrupted by the voice of the officer, who, raising his cap to

her, commanded at the same time the driver to turn his horses and follow

the escort to Balak.

"What is that?" demanded Beverly in alarm.

From far off came the sound of firearms. A dozen shots were fired, and

reverberated down through the gloomy pass ahead of the coach.

"They are fighting somewhere in the hills in front of us," answered the

now frightened officer. Turning quickly, he saw the deserting horsemen

halt, listen a minute, and then spur their horses. He cried out sharply

to the driver, "Come, there! Turn round! We have no time to lose!"

With a savage grin, the hitherto motionless driver hurled some insulting

remark at the officer, who was already following his men, now in full

flight down the road, and settling himself firmly on the seat, taking a

fresh grip of the reins, he yelled to his horses, at the same time

lashing them furiously with his whip, and started the coach ahead at a

fearful pace. His only thought was to get away as far as possible from

the Russian officer, then deliberately desert the coach and its

occupants and take to the hills.




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