Nobody asked for or examined their tickets, but Simon noticed that several men with lanterns went carefully along the train, searching each compartment to see that it was empty, and the soldiers and officials, who remained seated in the coach nearest to the engine, had their papers inspected before the train moved on. •
The two fur traders from Lemberg made their way to the hotel, a rambling, wooden building, and ordered the best meal that the place could provide. They had decided, at all costs, to get hold of a sleigh that night and continue their journey. All too soon Soviet officials would be on their track; every moment of their precious start must be utilized. De Richleau asked the landlord if it were possible to obtain a sleigh.
“At this hour?” He seemed amazed and hurt. “Where did they wish to go? Was not his hotel good enough?”
The Duke, on this occasion, told a completely different story. He said that he had just come in on the train from Sverdlovsk, and that on his arrival he had been handed a telegram to say that his wife had had a serious accident. He must return at once.
“You can get the train back at three o’clock tomorrow —” the landlord suggested. “It leaves Tobolsk at an hour before midday, and arrives in Sverdlovsk at eight o’clock.”
“I must go tonight!” The Duke seemed distraught with anxiety. “Please help me, and get a sleigh — then tomorrow I can be beside my poor wife.”
“I cannot.” The man shook his head. “Tomorrow — yes, you shall have my cousin’s troika — a fine affair. He will drive you himself, but he lives six versts from here. I cannot send for him tonight”
“In that case I might as well wait for the train,” the Duke protested. “It would be quicker in the end!”
“You speak truly,” the landlord nodded. “It is sad about your wife, but there is nothing I can do.”
At that they had to leave it “Come,” said the Duke to Simon. “Let’s walk down the village street. It is possible that there may be another inn at which we may have better luck.”
They shouldered their knapsacks, and left the hotel under the landlord’s disapproving eye. He looked as though he guessed their purpose.
Outside the darkness of the long Siberian night had already fallen, lights glimmered from the narrow windows of the houses casting a beam here and there on the crisp, frozen snow. The air was cold, but invigorating like wine, the night fine, cloudless and startlit.
Not many people were about, and to their disappointment they failed to find an inn of any size. As they were walking back to the hotel, a fine sleigh passed them at a trot, and pulled up in front of a small brick building, which had an official air.
De Richleau hurried forward, and was in time to intercept the driver before he entered the building. The man, a tall fellow with high Mongolian cheekbones, was tying his reins to a wooden post.
“Will you hire me your troika?” the Duke asked at once.
The man looked up in surprise. “But no,” he said. “This troika is not for hire.”
The Duke launched into the same story again, of his sick wife and the urgent necessity of his immediate return to Sverdlovsk.
The tall man was not impressed. He shrugged his shoulders and entered the little brick building.
It was a fine troika, with three well-fed horses, the arch above the centre horse brightly painted and gay with little hanging bells; fur rugs were scattered over the interior.
De Richleau made up his mind instantly. “Jump in,” he cried, giving Simon a little push. “He may be back in a minute.”
Even as he spoke he was untying the reins, and scrambling into the driver’s seat; with one crack of the whip they were careering down the street, the sleigh bells jingling loudly.
The owner came running out of the building, shouting and gesticulating as he ran, but there was nothing to bar their progress, and they very soon had left the town behind.
The whole thing had been so sudden that Simon had hardly time to realize what had happened until they were out in the open country, then he leant forward and shouted in De Richleau’s ear:
“The way — will you be able to find it?”
The Duke’s only answer was to point with his whip to the stars. High above them, and a little to the left, Simon made out the “Great Bear”, with its pointers to the North Star. They were the only stars he knew, but it was enough. He realized that they must be going in the right direction.
The three horses carried them forward at a fast trot, but De Richleau was too old a soldier not to know the necessity of economizing their staying-power. Once he felt that they were safe from immediate pursuit he reduced the pace. At the end of the each hour he halted for ten minutes, carefully rugging up the horses against a chill.
Mile after mile was eaten up as the night wore on; the road twisted and turned a little here and there, but in the main it led them through vast stretches of glistening, snow-covered forest, ever to the eastward, towards the heart of Siberia.
At one o’clock in the morning they reached the Tavda river. There was no bridge and only a primitive wooden ferry.
They knocked up the ferryman, but he refused to turn out and take them over at that hour. De Richleau did not press the point or attempt to bribe the man; the horses badly needed rest if they were to be fit to travel next day. Simon and he had been up since six that morning, and both of them were worn out.
They found stabling for the horses in the ferryman’s barn, and rolled themselves up in their furs on the floor of his living-room — in spite of its hardness they were soon asleep.
Next morning they were up early and soon away, the horses — hardy beasts — seemed as fresh as ever. All through that long monotonous day they drove onwards, halting with military regularity, but never exceeding their allotted time of rest, except once, at midday, when they made a hurried meal at a wayside farmhouse.
Such farms were few and far between — during the whole of the long journey they scarcely saw a human being. Wide, desolate, wastes of snow alternated with long vistas of silent mysterious forest The whole land was so deeply in the grip of winter that it was almost impossible to imagine it otherwise, and to picture the fields bright with the thousand flowers of the short Siberian summer.
As the sun was sinking, a dull red globe, into the forests from which they had come, they passed first one farmstead and then another; they topped a hill, and there, in the gathering darkness spread below them, lay a town. They knew that they had reached their journey’s end, and that this must be the city of Tobolsk.
XI — Which Shows that a Little Yiddish Can Be Useful
They halted at the side of the road and held a short consultation. The first question was what to do with the stolen sledge — no doubt its owner had notified the police in all the neighbouring towns.
“I think it would be best to abandon it in that small wood to the left there,” said De Richleau, climbing stiffly from his seat. “We can turn the horses loose, they will find shelter somewhere.”
“Ner,” Simon protested. “If we can find a stable for them they may be useful later on.”
“As you will,” agreed the Duke, wearily. He was over sixty, and the long drive had been a great strain upon him. “But where do you suggest?”
“Farm,” said Simon. “Lots of farms round here.”
“Don’t you think they will be suspicious — surely they will wonder why we do not drive on and stable our horses in the town?”