Shad and Rostov, for reasons that will become apparent, take our original thirty-one men and make them seem to be sixty for a while, and finally, accidentally, more than eighty. All of which ain’t too easy, though it is highly interesting and sometimes even fairly amusing.
And while they’re busy trying to make our bunch seem larger than life, some of us cowboys and cossacks are busy trying to cut our overall numbers down by inflicting death or at the very least severe bodily injury upon each other. This usually takes place in the form of friendly, healthy, good-natured competition that the cossacks jokingly refer to as war games, but not too jokingly.
And finally, under dire and very pressing circumstances, we have to suddenly and swiftly take our best shot at crossing the Amur River in the middle of a stormy night to get the hell out of Khabarovsk with all possible speed.
Sammy the Kid is still nervous about going near any water in general, and about crossing the Amur River in particular. But I try to cheer him up by telling him that, all things equal, we probably won’t live long enough to even get to the goddamn river in the first place.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOOKING FAR down and away from the high crest of that green mountain, Khabarovsk was, even at such a long distance, a big and impressive town.
Rostov and I, ahead of the others, had pulled up and were watching from the trees, where we could see but not be seen.
He’d already signaled the others to hold back.
Aside from the hundreds of small huts and shacks trailing and dwindling off from its center, there were fifteen or twenty main buildings, some of them two and even three stories high, that made up the inner hub of Khabarovsk. It was exciting as hell, and was surely the biggest place we’d come upon since we’d left Seattle.
Two huge rivers flowed together there, meeting and growing twice as large on the far side of the town from us. On the nearer side of the town, away from the water and stretching high up toward us, were large fields and hilly forests.
Rostov finished studying it through his telescope. He said, “No threat of Tartars.” And then he handed the scope to me.
Looking through the glass, that fact about Tartars was one of the best things that struck me about the town. People were moving around free and easy down there on the streets and didn’t seem to be too fearful.
I handed Rostov back his telescope, and then he gave me one of those long, dark-eyed, hard looks of his that somehow always made a fella wonder whether to smile or duck or just leave town at a full gallop. Finally he said, “Would you consider Khabarovsk a safe town, Levi?”
In my experience, it was an almost unknown occurrence for Rostov to ever ask an easy question. So I hedged it as best I could. “Sir?”
“Do you think that it’s a safe town for us to go into?” The way he said it made me think that maybe he wasn’t asking a question so much as he was wondering if he’d ever managed to teach me anything.
After a moment I said, “I don’t know about that, sir.” And then I added, “But right now it’s the only town we got.”
He nodded briefly, and I think there was some kind of quiet approval, and maybe even a hint of faint amusement, in that nod.
But somehow I knew that something was wrong.
And then Shad came galloping up from behind us, madder than hell. He was pushing his big Red full out, yet even in that brief, speeding time I couldn’t help but notice that Shad managed to keep himself just as invisible as Rostov and I were, making sure that he and Red were always out of sight from anyone who might be watching from the town far below and off.
“What’s the hang-up here?” he demanded angrily, slamming Red to a damnere skidding halt.
For a man of his own somewhat fiery temperament, Rostov did a strange thing then. First off, he didn’t get in the least mad back. He didn’t even bother to answer.
And second, he got off his big black stallion and hunched down among the trees, still studying the far-off town. Finally, he pulled a blade of grass and started to chew on it idly, thoughtfully.
In a funny way just then, hunched quietly down on his heels like that, Rostov reminded me of nobody else in the world quite so much as Shad.
Igor now came tearing over the hill, following behind Shad. He kept pretty well out of sight too and pulled up on Blackeye as Shad dismounted and stalked toward Rostov, his chaps slapping angrily against his legs as he walked. He stopped near Rostov and said harshly, “My herd’s been held to a halt back there! Why?”
Rostov didn’t answer for a long moment. He slowly shifted the blade of grass in his mouth and then said in a low voice, “Because I’m afraid of that town.”
Those words got to Shad. And they sure as hell made Igor and me stop and think. Because if there was one thing in this world we were all damn sure of, it was that Rostov wasn’t afraid of anything that either this world or even a Holy Christian Hell had to offer.
For a long time, no one said anything.
Then, finally, Shad spoke, both his frown and his voice still hard as ever. “That’s one of your own goddamn Russian towns! What the hell you got t’ be afraid of?”
Rostov stood up quickly, so that the two of them were now suddenly facing each other, which was a thing that always tended to make me, and anyone else who happened to be present, somewhat ill at ease.
But Rostov was still thoughtful, more than angry. “I suspect my men and I won’t be overly welcome there.”
Shad stared at Rostov, his frown deepening, and then Slim and Old Keats rode up to us through the trees.
Slim said, “Just wanted t’ let ya’ know, boss, them cows’re temporarily circled an’ settled.” He glanced back and forth from Shad to Rostov. “Well, boss, we goin’ on down there t’ that town over yonder ’r not?”
Shad turned toward Slim, but before he could make an answer there were the sudden sounds of still other horsemen coming quickly through the trees. Lieutenant Bruk and the big sergeant, Nick, rode toward us, Yuri and Vody following hard behind them.
“Christ!” Shad muttered as the four oncoming cossacks sped up to join the rest of us. “This a cattle drive or a goddamn Sunday social?”
The newly arrived men dismounted, all four of them looking troubled and uneasy. Lieutenant Bruk stepped to Rostov and said, “We’ve placed double lookouts, Captain.”
“Double lookouts!” Shad’s eyes swept angrily over the cossacks. “What the hell for?”
Rostov said quietly, “Because we need them.”
Shad stared at Rostov, looking about half puzzled and about half ready to erupt like a volcano.
Old Keats, seeing Shad’s expression, put in quickly, “There seems t’ be some kind of a confusion here, Captain. We’ve been led to understand all along the way that Khabarovsk was a safe place.”
“That’s correct,” Rostov said very quietly. “And that’s what my men and I had thought, too.”
“What the hell d’ you mean,” Shad growled, “about had thought?”
I doubt I should have raised my voice in that edgy situation, but all of a sudden there it was coming out, and it sounded just as confused and uncertain as I felt. “You just said there ain’t no Tartars down there, Captain. What the hell else is there t’ worry about? They got the plague down there or somethin’?”
“It’d take at least that.” Slim grinned a little, but his words came out flat on the level. “After all this time way out in the lonely—clean all the way from Seattle—them fellas a’ ours back there takin’ care a’ them cows ain’t gonna be all too keen about passin’ up this here town.”