At last they reached the farmhouse — it looked dreary and deserted under its mantle of snow — no other buildings or trees were near it so they had no reason to fear an ambush of red guards or police, unless they were concealed in the house or barns.
At the door the fat woman met them once more. She was wreathed in smiles — evidently the lavish payment for the stabling of the horses had won her heart. She was a true Kazak — ignorant and avaricious, close to the soil — a peasant yet a landowner; bourgeois in sympathy, yet hating the people of the towns except for what could be got out of them. The youth was summoned and De Richleau asked for the horses and troika as soon as they could be harnessed. The lad ran willingly to obey. His quick eyes travelled over Simon and the Duke, as he brought the horses from the stable.
“You are not of ‘The Party’?” he questioned, with a flash of his uneven teeth.
“No, we are not of the Party,” De Richleau answered, slowly.
“I knew that — else why should you pay?” the youth looked up quickly. “They never pay — those devils, they eat the lands.”
The Duke regarded him with interest. “Why should they pay? They are the lords now!”
The young peasant spat. As he lifted his face again there was a sudden fire in his eyes. “We killed three last winter, my friends and I — they are as a blight on the land. The land is mine,” he went on fiercely. “Why should I give them the Kelb, for which I work? What are their beastly cities to me? I am a Kulak — independent. My father was head man in the local council, till they killed him!”
“So they killed your father?” said the Duke softly. “What year was that?”
“The year of the great famine,” answered the lad “Little men, who could not have ploughed half a hectare, or they would have died — but they were many, and they hung him in the great barn — he who could plough a hundred furrows in the time that big Andrew could plough only eighty-nine.”
“And you have had blood for blood,” De Richleau nodded.
“Blood for blood — that is a good law,” said the youth with a twisted smile. “They worry us no more; except when they come in batches they are afraid. At first we had a half thought that you were of them when you came last night; the old one, who is the mother of my mother, was for fetching the neighbours to make an end of you, but I knew by the way you spoke that you were not of them, even if your companion is much as they!”
The Duke looked at Simon, and laughed suddenly. “It is well, my friend, that you did not come to this part of the world alone. These good people take you for a Communist, and would have thrown you head down in the manure pit!”
The boy was buckling the horses into the troika; he did not understand a word of what De Richleau said, but he grinned quickly. “You should have been here to see the one we cooked in the stove last winter — a silly man who wanted to teach his silliness to the children in the school. We put him feet first into the stove. How we laughed while we held him there, and the mother of my mother beat him; each time he howled she struck him in the mouth with her big stick, crying: ‘Shouting does not feed the children, oh, man who reads letters — give us back our corn’; and the more he howled the more she struck him, till all his teeth were gone.”
It was as well that Simon understood nothing of all this. The Duke — who did — climbed into the troika and took the reins; for him it was only a nightmare echo of those years when he had fought with the White Army; it interested him to know that outside the towns, where the Communist Party held undisputed sway, this internecine war was still going on. Not a good omen for the completion of the Five Year Plan!
He gave the youngster a hundred-rouble note, and told him to say no word of them should the Reds come from the town to make inquiries. The lad promised willingly enough, and ran beside their horses down the cart track until they reached the main road, shouting and cheering lustily.
They drove slowly, saving the horses, for they had ample time. As it was, they had to wait on the corner opposite the prison. It was an anxious quarter of an hour; twilight fell, and the shadow of the arch above the central horse of the troika grew longer and longer. At last, in the gathering dusk, a tall figure came towards them at a quick run. Both knew instinctively that it was Rex.
He halted beside the sleigh, panting and a little breathless.
“Say, it’s real good to see you boys again. All afternoon I’ve been thinking that I’d gone crazy and just dreamt it!”
De Richleau laughed. “I wish that we were all dreaming and safe in our beds at home — but anyhow, we are together again — jump in, Rex — quick, man!”
As he spoke a Red Guard came suddenly round the corner of the wall full upon them. With one looked he recognized Rex as a prisoner, and raised his rifle to fire!
XIII — Stranded in Siberia
For a moment the group remained immovable; De Richleau with the reins in one hand and his whip in the other; Simon leaning back in the sleigh; Rex standing in the snow beside the horses; and the soldier halted, his rifle raised, only a few feet away.
The Duke gave a sharp, rasping command in Russian. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that the man was taken off his guard. Before he had realized what he was doing he had jerked back his shoulders and raised his rifle preparatory to “grounding arms”; the next second he had checked his automatic impulse, but it was too late. The instant his eyes left the American’s face and his rifle tilted Rex sprang upon him, and they crashed to the ground together.
By the mercy of Heaven the rifle did not go off. Simon and the Duke leapt from the sleigh. Rex and the Red Guard were rolling in the snow; first one on top, then the other.
“Don’t shoot,” cried the Duke anxiously, as he saw Simon whip out his big automatic.
The struggle was brief; the soldier was a big fellow, but not big enough to put up a serious fight once Rex had him in his powerful grip. In less than a minute he was on his back with Van Ryn’s hands tight about his throat.
Simon did not hesitate — the lesson of Sverdlovsk had not been lost upon him. The man must be silenced somehow, or De Richleau’s long knife would be between his ribs. He stooped and hit the man a stunning blow on the head with the butt end of his pistol.
The Red Guard lay still, a grey heap on the whiteness of the snow.
“What’ll we do with this bird?” asked Rex.
“Can’t leave him here,” said Simon. “He’ll raise the alarm when he comes to.”
“Throw him in the bottom of the sleigh,” De Richleau suggested. “We will deal with him later.”
“Sure,” Rex agreed, with a laugh. “Come on, big boy,” he addressed the unconscious soldier, as he picked him up by an arm and a leg, “we’re going to take you for a ride. Reckon your boots ’ll just about do for me!” He heaved the man into the sleigh and climbed in beside Simon.
De Richleau was already on the box again. He put the horses into motion; the sleigh slithered round the corner, and they took the road for the north. The lights began to twinkle from the wooden houses, and the stars came out one by one.
As they left the town behind Simon and the Duke were conscious of one thought. They had succeeded in one half of their enterprise; now they were faced with the second and more difficult half, to get both Rex and themselves safely out of Soviet Russia.