Part 6

His difficulties were intensified by the desperately short notice at which he must now quit Vladivostok. Sowinski, furious at being outwitted in the matter of the bills, would be goaded to madness by his detention on board the _Waverley_, and as Captain Fraser would probably consider it prudent to put him ashore at no great distance, it might not be long before he telephoned to head-quarters and thus raised the hue and cry in Vladivostok itself. To the natives Jack might easily pass for a Russian; carefully made up, he might, with his smattering of Chinese, be taken by the Russians for a native. But there was no time for such preparations; and a Russian policeman on the hunt for an Englishman, with the Pole's description of him, must be an exceptionally incompetent member of his class if he failed to recognize the fugitive. Speed was thus the first essential.

Hurrying up from the shore he made up his mind what to do. Fortunately he was in the Chinese quarter of the town; it was the part of prudence to avoid the Russian settlement on the hill. He remembered a Chinese horse-dealer with whom Mr. Brown had done business when he lived in the town years before. The Chinese had altered less than the official city, and he thought he could find his way to the merchant's house. Taking his bearings, he walked rapidly through several streets, and found to his delight that his recollection had not failed him. The horse-dealer was at home; he did not recognize Jack, who was a boy of eleven when his transactions with Mr. Brown had taken place; but he well remembered the English merchant. And when he learnt that Jack wished to purchase a pony he rubbed his hands together and led him at once to the stables to view the stock. They were a weedy lot, like most of the native animals. Jack was careful to show no haste or eagerness; he looked them over critically, rejected one after another in spite of all the flowery things the Chinaman found to say in their favour, and finally refused to buy. As he expected, the merchant then managed to find a better beast--a beautiful little Transbaikal pony, sturdy, well-made, and evidently full of mettle. Jack could not have wished for a better animal; but, experienced in the ways of Chinese business men, he gave no sign of his approval. The merchant quoted a price; Jack hemmed, hesitated--he knew better than to close at once; and then offered half. Eager as he was to get away, he patiently chaffered for nearly an hour; then, when the Chinaman was beginning to think he had lost his customer, Jack suddenly closed with the last offer, and the pony became his at two-thirds of the price first asked. The purchase of a saddle did not take so long; and when he rode off, both dealer and customer were equally pleased.

In the street Jack stopped a young Chinese boy and sent him to a purveyor's shop for a small supply of portable food. The messenger returned with some dried fish and stale cakes of potato-rice, all he could procure. With this tied behind his saddle Jack set off. It was an anxious moment when he passed a brown-coated Cossack policeman, and a little farther on he gave a jump when a squadron of Cossacks swung round the corner of the street. But they rode on without giving him more than a casual glance. Not daring to hasten, he slowly made his way through the city and out into the country. It was still only eleven o'clock; he had nine or ten hours of daylight before him, and though the pony was somewhat soft for want of exercise, it was no doubt good for thirty miles at a pinch.

Vladivostok stands at the end of a narrow peninsula, with the Amur Bay running for several miles into the land on the west, and the Ussuri Bay on the east. To gain the Manchurian frontier Jack would have to ride northwards, cross the railway at the head of the Amur Bay or beyond, and then turn to the south-west. It was obviously unsafe for him to ride parallel with the railway line, for his escape, if discovered, would no doubt be telegraphed ahead, and the road would be watched, especially in the neighbourhood of the stations. His best course, therefore, would be to strike up eastwards towards the head of the Ussuri Bay, away from his ultimate destination, and trust to luck to find a hill-path leading back that would enable him to cross the line somewhere between the head of the Amur Bay and the garrison town of Nikolskoye. His way led through the plantation where he had made his toilet early that morning, then to the right towards the hills.

Though Vladivostok itself has sprung up with marvellous rapidity, the country is as yet sparsely peopled. At one time the town was closely surrounded by magnificent woods; but the axe of the lumberman has been busy, and the same work of deforesting that has robbed the town of picturesqueness is now being pursued inland. One of the few people Jack met along the unfrequented road he had chosen was a Russian colonist riding behind a cart laden with pine logs and driven by a coolie. Jack threw him a friendly "Good morning!" as he passed, and received a feeling "Very hot, barin" in return. It was indeed hot; the almost naked Korean labourers in the fields were streaming with sweat; and Jack was glad to halt at a little brook to refresh himself and his beast.

After riding for some three hours, and covering, as he guessed, about eighteen miles, almost entirely uphill, he saw the sea below him on the right, and the far coast-line running to all appearance due south. This must be Ussuri Bay. He had evidently come far enough east; it was time to change his course to the north-west. Swinging round, he had not ridden far before he came to a small farm, the house surrounded, like all Chinese isolated country buildings, with a mud wall. His pony required food, and though he felt some misgivings he thought this too good an opportunity to be neglected. He rode up. The owner, he found, was a Korean; Jack did not speak Korean; but by the help of Chinese and pidgin Russian he succeeded in making the man understand what he wanted. He then asked how far it was to Nikolskoye, and learning that it was thirty versts, roughly twenty miles, he decided to give his pony a good rest and start again about six o'clock, so that darkness would have fallen by the time he came to the neighbourhood of the railway. Having seen that the animal was rubbed down and provided with a good feed of hay, he joined the farmer in a game of _wei-ch'i_, a difficult variant of chess, and with this and a slow laborious conversation, in the course of which his host expounded his hazy ideas of the war, he managed to get through the hot afternoon.

Soon after six he set off again. The way was mainly downhill now, and easier riding. About nine o'clock he saw in the gloaming a little settlement ahead, and beyond it the hexagonal water-tower and timbered store-house of the typical Siberian railway-station, but on a small scale. The path he was following led direct to the hamlet, and the sight of several small knots of people at that hour of the evening showed that a train would shortly be passing; the peasants have not yet lost their curiosity about the iron horse. He thought it well to avoid observation by leaving the track--road it could not be called--and striking across a bean-field. Making a wide sweep he came to the railway some three versts north of the station. He rode very cautiously as he approached the line, tied his pony to a tree, and scouted ahead to make sure that the line rifle guard, whose hut might be expected a few versts beyond, was not in sight. Suddenly he heard the distant rumble of a train--the night train for Harbin. In a moment he saw that the passage of the train would give him an opportunity of crossing the line unobserved. He went back to his pony, led it as near as he dared to the embankment, and waited.

The engine came snorting along at a fair pace, the fire throwing a glow upon the darkling sky. The train clattered by. Immediately after the last carriage had passed, Jack mounted the embankment, dragging his pony, crossed the single line, and descended on the other side.

With a lighter heart he got into the saddle again, and rode his excellent little steed across the fields in the hope of ere long striking a road. Pursuit would be difficult in the darkness; the greatest danger was to be expected with daylight, and it was very necessary that he should put as many miles as possible between himself and the railway before dawn. His course must be mainly south-west; the nearest town of any size was Hun-chun, some sixty miles in that direction; but having a vague idea that the Russians had erected a fort there, he had already made up his mind to avoid that town itself. Four or five hundred miles and countless perils lay between him and Moukden; but with the hopefulness of youth he rode confidently on. Danger and difficulty were only incentives to caution; if he anticipated them, it was merely that, being prepared, he might be the more ready to grapple with and overcome them. Ever present in his mind was the belief that his father's fate hung upon the success of his enterprise.

Coming by and by to a rough track between the fields, he followed it until past midnight. Then, feeling that his pony could do no more, and being unable in the darkness to guide himself by the little compass he wore on his watch-chain, he left the track, rode into a plantation to the right, off-saddled, and, hitching the bridle to a tree, threw himself on the ground and fell asleep.

During the short hours of darkness his slumbers were disturbed by dreams. Sowinski, Orloff, Monsieur Brin, the Chinese horse-dealer--all figured in a strange phantasmagoria. Monsieur Brin had lost his pass, and was shedding tears because he could not tear the red brassard from his arm, when Jack awoke with a start. Looking at his watch he found it was five o'clock. He must be up and away. He ate the last of his food; the pony had already made a meal of the shoots of creeping plants; then, with the instinct born of his fugitive condition, Jack approached the edge of the plantation to spy out the country. Before him, not many yards away, was a narrow river; behind--he gave a great start, for little more than half a mile distant he saw a troop of Russian horsemen trotting smartly along the road towards him. They might be going, of course, to Possiet Bay, or Novo Kiewsk, or the Korean frontier. But he noticed at a second glance that the leading man was bending low in his saddle, as though following a trail. He distinguished their uniform now; they were Buriats, Mongols by race and Buddhists by religion, hard riders, excellent scouts, the most reckless and daring of the Russian cavalry. Without a moment's hesitation he went back to his pony, snatched from the ground the saddle that had formed his pillow, threw it over the animal's back, and, tightening the girths with hands that shook in spite of himself, he plunged with the pony into the thickest part of the plantation.

At seven o'clock that morning, in a neatly-thatched, white-washed brick cottage, surrounded by a luxuriant and well-kept garden, in the hill-country above the Chuan, a little group sat at breakfast. The room was plain but spotlessly clean. The wooden floors shone; the white plastered walls were covered with coloured lithographs representing the seven stations of the Cross; the little windows were hung with curtains of Chinese muslin. A narrow shelf of books occupied one corner, a stove another; and the table in the centre was spread with a snow-white cloth, dishes of fruit, and home-made bread.

At the table three persons were seated. One was a tall man of fine presence, with clear-cut features, soft brown eyes, long white hair and beard. He wore the loose white tunic and pantaloons of a Chinaman, but the cross that hung by a cord round his neck was not Chinese. Jean Mayenobe was a Frenchman, a priest, one of those devoted missionaries who cut themselves off from home and kindred to live a life of self-denial, peril, and humble Christian service in remote unfriendly corners of the globe.

His companions were a woman and a girl. The former was plain-featured and plainly dressed, with placid expression and humble mien. The latter seemed strangely out of place in her surroundings. She was young, apparently of some seventeen years. Her features were beautiful, with a dignity and a look of self-command rare in one of her age. Her complexion was ruddy brown; her bright hair, gathered in a knot behind, rebelled against the black riband that bound it, and fell behind her ears in crispy waves. Before her on the table was a samovar, and she had just handed a cup of tea to the missionary.

"Father," she said in French, "I am so tired of waiting. I am beginning to think that permission will never come. But why should it be refused? It is not as if I were seeking some benefit. In appearance I lose, not gain."

"True, my child, you have nothing personally to gain. I have said before, it is not every daughter who would come thousands of miles and suffer hardship in order to bear her father company in exile and imprisonment. And such exile! The little I know of Sakhalin is frightful. It gives me pain to think of your knowing even so much."

"I am not afraid. And if the treatment of prisoners in Sakhalin is so bad, that is all the more reason why I should be at my father's side, to help and comfort him a little. Why do they refuse to let me go?"

"Probably they have forgotten all about you. The war occupies them completely. And I repeat, if you have patience your father may come to you. I have no belief that the Russians will win in this terrible war. I heard but a little while ago from a brother priest near the scene of operations at Hai-cheng, who has studied the combatants, that he is convinced of the ultimate success of the Japanese. If they are victorious they will probably demand that Sakhalin shall be restored to them, and it will no longer be a place for Russian prisoners. Rest in the Lord, my child; wait patiently for Him, and He will give thee thy heart's desire."

Gabriele Walewska was silent. Father Mayenobe sank into a reverie. The elderly woman looked sympathetically at her mistress, laid her hand on hers, and murmured a few words in Polish, to which the girl responded with a grateful smile. The sound of a distant shot coming through the open window shook the missionary from his musing.

"Russian officers out snipe-shooting again, I suppose," he said. "It reminds me I must go, my child. That poor Korean convert of mine is at the point of death, I fear. I must go to him. I may be absent all day."

"We shall be quite happy, father. I shall pick the last of your strawberries to-day, and make some of your favourite tartlets for supper."

"You will spoil me," said the priest with a smile. "Dominus vobiscum."

When the missionary had gone, Gabriele left the Korean servants to clear the table, and, accompanied by her old nurse, went out into the garden with a light wicker basket. As she did so she scanned the surrounding country for signs of the shooting party. The mission station was at the summit of a low hill, and below it, towards the east, stretched a tract of sparse woodland, alternating with cultivated fields. A stream bathed the foot of the hill, and wound away to join the Hun-Chuan, its course traceable by the thickness of the wooded belt and the more vivid green of the fields.

While the girl was still picking the ripe red berries she heard another shot, this time closer at hand. She rose, and out of pure curiosity searching the landscape she saw, about two miles away, a band of horsemen galloping through a field of kowliang, already so well grown that the stalks rose almost to the horses' heads. There were some thirty or forty of the riders, at present little more than specks in the distance. It struck her as rather a large hunting party, and she wondered what they were chasing, big game being unknown in the neighbourhood, and the time of year unusual for such sport. As she stood looking, the horsemen left the field and disappeared into the wooded belt bordering the stream.

Expecting them to come again into sight a little higher up, Gabriele remained at the same spot. It occurred to her that one of them might be bringing the written permission she desired, and had taken advantage of his errand to organize a hunt. Suddenly she was startled to see a figure on horseback emerge from the copse but a few yards below her. It was a young man, a European; he was swaying in his saddle; and she noticed with feminine quickness that one arm was supported in a sling--a handkerchief looped round his neck. The next moment the rider caught sight of her; his eyes seemed to her to speak the language of despair. He swayed still more heavily, and was on the point of falling from his horse when Gabriele sprang down the slope and caught him. Calling to her nurse and a Korean man-servant near at hand, with their help she lifted him from the saddle and loosened his shirt-collar, then sent the Korean for water.

Jack was dazed at first, all but swooning.

"Thank you!" he said in Russian. "I was almost done, I think. But please help me to mount again. I must ride on."

"Impossible, gospodin!" she said. "You are hurt, I see; the injury must be seen to."

"It is good of you, but my arm must wait. Please help me to mount my pony."

His wounded arm, his urgent manner, recalled to Gabriele the shots she had heard, the band of horsemen she had seen galloping in the distance.

"You are in danger?" she said quickly. "Is it not so?"

"Yes. There are Buriats behind me; they are close on my heels. Indeed"--he smiled wanly--"it is your duty, as a Russian, I suppose, to give me up."

"I am not a Russian," she exclaimed. "And if I were, I should not lightly give up a fugitive to the Russian police. You can go no farther; what can I do? There is so little time."

For a few seconds she appeared to be considering. Her brow was knit; she looked at him anxiously. Fully trusting her, he made no further effort to continue his flight, for which, indeed, he was manifestly unfit. Half-reclining on his pony's neck, he waited, panting.

Then she spoke rapidly to the Korean.

"Take the pony, unsaddle him, and turn him loose in the kowliang yonder. Saddle the Father's pony, ride a few yards in the stream, then gallop past the edge of the copse, through the hemp field, up to Boulder Hill. If you are followed by horsemen, throw them off the scent. Don't let them see you closely. Return after dark, but make sure the Buriats are not here before you come in."

An unregenerate Korean would probably have hesitated, but this man had been for some time under Father Mayenobe's training, and in a few minutes he had brought out the pony and cantered away. Meanwhile Gabriele, asking Jack to lean upon her arm, had led him into the copse to a large beech, the lowest branch of which sprang from the trunk about twelve feet from the ground. Asking him to remain there, she ran off with the fleetness of a doe, and soon returned with a light ladder. Setting this against the tree, she assisted Jack to mount; when he reached the fork he saw that the interior of the trunk was hollow. Then she pulled up the ladder, lowered it into the hollow space, and helped Jack to descend. Drawing up the ladder again, she let it down outside, ran down, and carried it swiftly back to the house, leaving Jack inside the trunk, where he stood upright, supporting himself with his uninjured arm.

Scarcely five minutes had passed since his first appearance. The Buriats had not yet come in sight; they had clearly been checked by the fugitive's sudden divergence from his previous line of flight, and nonplussed by his precaution in riding for some distance through the stream. But in another five minutes half a dozen horsemen, with a handsome young Russian lieutenant at their head, drew rein in front of the house. Gabriele was unconcernedly shelling peas at the window of the little dining-room.

The officer was evidently surprised to see a young European lady. With heightened colour he bent over his saddle and addressed her in Russian.

"Have you seen a man on horseback in (he neighbourhood, Mademoiselle?"

Gabriele looked up, with a puzzled expression.

"Monsieur parle-t-il francais?" she said.

"Oui, Mademoiselle," returned the officer, then repeating his question in French.

"Yes," she replied. "A few minutes ago a man galloped from the stream, past the copse, and rode auay along the side of the hill."

"Merci bien, Mademoiselle," said the lieutenant, translating the information for his men.

They at once began to hunt for the tracks, and in a few moments spied the hoof-marks of a galloping horse. One of them discharged his rifle to bring up the rest of the troop, who had scattered over the face of the country, endeavouring to pick up the trail of the fugitive. Some were already galloping off in the direction indicated by Gabriele. Soon the rest of the Buriats came riding by in twos and threes, until the whole band was in full cry up the hillside.

Gabriele remained at the window shelling peas until she was sure that the last horseman had passed. Then she took a bottle of home-grown wine from the missionary's store, filled a cup and gave it to her old nurse to carry, and returned with the ladder to the tree.

"It is I," she said as she approached. "I am bringing you wine."

Mounting into the tree, she handed down the cup. Jack drained it at a draught.

"You are suffering?" said the girl.

"Not much. It is a flesh wound; I have lost some blood, and was faint. I am better now."

"You must remain in the tree. The danger is not yet past; but have patience. I dare not stay longer; they will come back soon. Hope on."

*CHAPTER VII*

*A Daughter of Poland*

Suppressio Veri--The Keys--At Fault--A Polish Patriot--A Daughter's Love--A Common Sorrow--A French Mission--A Council of War--From Canton--A Surprise Visit--Hide and Seek--Ladislas Streleszki

All was silent for nearly an hour. Slowly the minutes passed. Jack felt he had never been so wretchedly uncomfortable. His legs ached; his arm throbbed with pain; there was not room in his hiding-place to sit; the stuffiness of his prison and the attentions of innumerable insects so tortured him that he could hardly refrain from crying out to be released. Eagerly he listened for the return of the tall strong girl whose quick wit had thrown the Buriats off his track. When would she come again? At last, after a period of waiting that seemed ten times as long as it really was, he fancied he heard her footsteps. He listened; yes, it was certainly someone approaching; his long imprisonment was ended. But just as the footsteps, now distinctly audible, neared the tree, his ears caught the heavy thud of horses galloping, and a few moments afterwards an angry voice saying in French:

"The man you saw, Mademoiselle, is not the man we are searching for. My sergeant, who is following him up, sends me word that he got a clear view of him as he breasted the hill. The dress is different, the horse is different----"

He broke off as if expecting an explanation.

"How unfortunate, Monsieur!" exclaimed Gabriele in a tone of concern. "I fear you must have come a long distance out of your way."

"That is as it may be, Mademoiselle," replied the lieutenant, somewhat nettled. "Perhaps not so far either, for we tracked our man to within a few hundred yards of your house." He paused a moment, then added suspiciously: "What was he like, the man you saw galloping?"