VOLNA was thoroughly at home in the saddle, and it was easy to see that she had been accustomed to horses all her life. She had a perfect seat; and that firm hand and control which bring out the best there is in a horse and make him understand that the master is up.
It was delightful to watch her; and as we kept at it in that first rattling stretch, I believe that in the sheer exhilaration of the ride, we forgot everything, even the unwelcome appearance of the police agent from Bratinsk.
But neither the pace nor the oblivion could last for ever, and when we drew rein at the foot of a hill we came back to a recollection of the load of our worries.
“Wasn’t that glorious?” she cried, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes shining, as she stretched forward and patted her horse’s neck.
“You ride magnificently. How you would enjoy a run with the hounds in England!”
“I have read about it. I love horses. I can keep in the saddle all day. I have done it at home.” Then her face clouded. “How selfish! I had almost forgotten,” she added.
“We are doing all we can,” I replied. “Are you sure that the man you saw was that police agent?”
“Could I forget him?”
“You don’t think he saw us?”
“No. He was talking very earnestly to some one. But I recognized him instantly.”
“I’d give something to know what brought him to Pulta.”
“He was following us, surely.”
“We must hope not. If Michel did his work properly, my horse with your uncle’s coat will have been found a good many miles on the other side of Bratinsk; and his men should be hunting for us there. But I can’t say I like the look of the thing.”
“What shall we do?”
“We’d better try and think what he’ll do. I had intended to take the hint which the man at Pulta dropped, to ride to Solden, and take the train from there. But if the other man picks up our trail there, he’ll set the wires going and we shall find some one waiting for us at Solden.”
“How far is it to Cracow? Could we ride all the way? I could ride all day and all night too, if necessary, as long as the horses will last out.”
“We don’t know the road. I don’t even know where we are now. When you saw that man, I just rattled off at hazard. I know Cracow is pretty well west of Pulta, a little bit south too, and I guess we are on the right road. I am accustomed to take long rides and besides having a fairly good bump of location, always carry this;” and I showed her a small compass on my watch chain.
“I always ride by the sun, but then I know the country round Warsaw for ever so many miles.”
“We should be in a pretty pickle if we were lost,” said I.
“The pickle would be much hotter if it was a police preserve.”
“By Jove, it would. And the worst of it is that if that fellow hears of us at Pulta, he’ll know the names we’ve taken.”
“Poor Bob, I’m getting him into very troubled waters.”
“It’s not Bob or Peggy I’m thinking of, it’s Volna, and Volna’s mother. Cracow seems a mighty hard place to reach; but I’m going to get there somehow.”
I was silent for a while thinking over the problem. Volna’s suggestion was the best if we could do it—to ride all the way to Cracow. But it was no light undertaking. If I had known the way, I should not have hesitated; but the days were short and although the sun was shining brightly enough then, the weather looked as though it were going to change. It was warmer; and when a spell of frost breaks in that country, it generally indicates that rain or snow is coming. To be lost in a rain or snow storm would be a very ugly development indeed.
There was moreover the awkward question whether we were likely to be pursued. On the other hand to stop at Solden appeared to be even more risky.
Seeing me thus thoughtful, Volna broke in. “You are not going to keep anything from me, are you. Don’t do that, please? Do you think that man is likely to ride after us from Pulta?”
“That was just in my mind. I should say it will depend upon how soon he learns anything about us. He is more likely to trust to the wires.”
“It’s getting very exciting. He may telegraph ahead and have people sent out to stop us. I suppose I ought not to say so, but I am beginning to feel a sort of keen enjoyment.”
“I have made up my mind. We’ll stick to the horses and avoid the trains. But we’ll try and mislead any one who may follow us.”
We had already passed several people on the road. I stopped the next comer.
“Is this the road to Solden?” I asked the man, evidently a farmer.
“Yes, one of them.”
“Straight road?”
“As straight as roads are in these parts,” he replied, with a grin.
“I mean do I have to turn to the left or right?”
“You’ll be turning most of the time. You’re from Pulta, aren’t you?”
“It’s not where I’m from but where I’m going that concerns me.”
“All right. I know the lady’s horse;” and on he drove without any more.
“Everybody seems to know everybody else’s horse about here,” I said. “If it weren’t awkward it would be comical. We’ll ride on and try the next man.”
The next was another farmer. A surly Russian who understood Polish with difficulty and spoke it unintelligibly. So I thanked him and rode on no wiser.
Three or four miles later brought us to a village.
“Had we not better get some food here?” asked Volna. “I will go and buy it, and perhaps can find out at the same time what road we ought to take.” So we dismounted, and I waited with the horses.
Presently a priest came by, and bade me good-day with a smile.
“You have a picturesque place here, Father,” I said. “What is it called?”
“Kervatje,” he answered, and we began to talk. I learnt that his name was Father Ambrose, and after some while he asked, “You are a foreigner?”
“An Englishman. My sister is with me. We were going to Solden, but I fear have lost the way.”
“Oh, no. Solden lies across the hills there. A rough road but fairly direct. The only point of difficulty is just over the brow of the hill where the road forks. Take that to the right or you will go astray and might find yourselves in Cracow, after some forty miles or so, that is——” and he smiled pleasantly.
“I’ll remember what you said,” I replied, “and am much obliged to you.”
“It is a pleasure. I have been in England; and speak English a little. But I read much.” We then chatted about London and the incidents of his visit until Volna came up.
“My sister,” I said. As he greeted her I saw him start and look very closely at her.
“How do you do?” he said in English, to her complete discomfiture, holding out his hand. I read her signals of distress and sailed in to the rescue.
“My sister is unfortunately dumb,” I said.
“How sad,” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. Then he looked puzzled. “She bears a remarkable resemblance to a very beautiful woman whom I knew in the long ago. Twenty years and more. She is a Pole, and is now the Countess Drakona. How very strange.”
“Yes, these chance likenesses are very extraordinary,” I said, gravely. “Come, Peggy, we must get on,” I added to Volna, in English, and put her in the saddle again.
“How very sad,” he repeated, mournfully. “And yet how clever of her to be able to make herself understood in buying things.”
“The education of the dumb in England is almost perfect. Signs are their language, you know,” I replied, as I shook hands with him and mounted.
He looked after us very thoughtfully, and when presently I turned, he waved his hand to me and I saw him walk a few paces and then enter the shop where Volna had made her purchases.
“I think we’ll rattle on again for a bit. He’s going to find out that yours is a singular form of aphasia, and only affects your knowledge of English. Perhaps he’ll class it as a case for the scientists; but more likely as one of suspicious ignorance.”
“Who can he be?” asked Volna.
“He gave me his name as Father Ambrose.”
“I have heard my mother speak of him.”
“He spoke of her as a very beautiful woman.”
“And she is still beautiful.”
“And he said how closely you resembled her.”
Volna laughed. “Bob mustn’t be conventional. That’s a sort of ball-room dandy’s speech. And no brother talks like it.”
“Brothers don’t always say all they think.”
“But they keep their thoughts to themselves.”
“I know what I think about my sister,” said I.
She smiled again, and glanced at me. “Don’t you think I bought a huge parcel, Bob?”
“If we eat all that, it will last us farther than Cracow. But I know what it means generally, when a girl goes shopping.”
“Yes, she thinks of things that are necessary. There are loaves in there for the horses.”
“I never thought of them,” I admitted.
“One of us must think sensibly,” she retorted.
“True for you. But did you find out anything about the road to Solden?”
“No. A woman served me, and she knew nothing.”
“Well, I found out from the priest. At the top of the hill yonder the road forks and that to the left will take us to Cracow, forty miles.”
“I wonder what he is thinking now he knows I am no mute.”
“Men make all sorts of mistakes, and I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if he believes we are just—running away together.”
“Bob! How ridiculous!” she cried, with a merry laugh, her cheeks aflush. “Let us get on;” and she shook the reins, and dashed on ahead from me.
When we reached the forked roads at the top of the hill I glanced at my watch. It was nearly half-past three, and we had still forty miles to cover on an unknown road; it had taken us some three hours to do about twenty miles in daylight with the horses fresh—how long would they take to finish the journey mostly in the dark? I shook my head dubiously over the sum.
“We’ll ride on a couple of miles or so and then find a spot for our picnic; but we can’t spare more than half an hour at the outside.”
Black bread, sausage, and village cheese do not make an epicurean lunch; but Volna and I had rich hunger sauce, and were more than satisfied. We fed the horses while we were eating, to save time, and in half an hour we were ready for the road again. There was no longer any doubt that the weather was going to change. As we mounted there were very ominous banks of dark sullen clouds. Rain or snow would fall within a few hours: but I could only hope it would be rain.
“I fancy we’ve shaken off any pursuit even if any one started out to follow us,” I said.
“We are going to have some weather, too, that will help us. I hope Bob doesn’t mind riding in the wet.”
“You guessed the thought in my mind, eh?”
“No. I’m used to reading weather signs. The rain never hurts me. I’ve been out for hours in it. But we shan’t have much for an hour or two, you’ll find.”
“We’d better make the most of our time then.”
We rode as fast as we dared push the horses in view of the distance to be covered. I eased my animal up the hills, and now and again took a spell of half a mile or so on foot; but despite this, I was concerned to find that before we had covered another twenty miles he began to show signs of fatigue.
Then the storm burst upon us. It was rain, not snow; but rain in almost tropical force. It would not have been so bad, had we known the road; but we had already had to stop several times to make sure we were going right.
For two hours we plodded through a pelting storm until I was drenched and feared that Volna must be in the same condition.
“I wouldn’t care if I could see,” she said once. It was pitch dark, and we could only go at a walking pace.
“I shouldn’t care if you were not wet,” I answered, “though I confess I’d like to know where we are.”
“I am not very wet,” she said. “My fur cloak protects me. We shall get somewhere in the end.”
“In England we have a civilized habit of putting up sign posts,” I grumbled, as we came to another forked road and I was at a loss which to choose. “All the roads seem to be twins in this place.”
Which way to choose I could not even guess. I tried to judge which was the better road; but both appeared equally bad.
“Let the horses decide,” said Volna.
“Yours is the fresher of the two, and better able to use his instinct.”
“Yours is much keener to get to a stable,” she laughed.
I walked mine back a little distance and then gave him his head. He walked deliberately to the side of the road, and began to crop the grass.
Volna tried hers then; and he went as far as the fork where he waited for the other to join him. Then they both moved on to the left.
“So be it,” said I, and we let them go as they would.
“It’s not raining so fast,” declared Volna, presently. “Shall we draw up under a tree and give them the rest of the bread?”
“It’ll be nice soft food,” I laughed.
“I can wring my cloak, too, and ease the weight from my horse a little.”
We pulled up under a tree and gave the horses the bread, munching a crust ourselves, and making the best of things. Volna’s pluck was inextinguishable; and she laughed and joked over her plight as she wrung out the wet.
I struck a match and looked at my watch, and was startled to find it was nearly ten o’clock.
I told Volna and we started again. The rain was much less and the darkness had lifted somewhat; but I led my horse now instead of riding.
Presently I felt the road getting suspiciously soft and grassy, and some minutes afterwards I stumbled up against a gate which blocked the way and led into a wood.
There was nothing for it but to go back to the forked road. To make matters worse, the rain started again and came pouring down even more violently than before.
Nor was that the worst. We got off the road again, and once more were brought to a standstill by a gate.
“It looks as though we were lost,” I said.
“We’ve about reached the bottom of our troubles, I should think,” replied Volna, still cheery. “But if the chance offered, I should like to put off the rest of the ride till daylight. And look, there’s a light.” She pointed to it gleefully, away to our left.
We made our way to it with trouble, and found that it came from the lower window of a small house.
I rapped at the door; and the light was instantly extinguished.
I had to knock again twice, and then a window above was opened, and a woman put her head out.
“Who are you, and what do you want? Are you the police?”
“Police? No. We have lost our way, and want shelter.”
“There’s no one in the house but me. How many are you?”
“Two. Myself and my sister. We can pay you well.”
She drew her head in for a minute, and then looked out again and said. “Are you sure you’re only two? Let’s see you.” We stood back that she could do so. “I’ll come down,” she said.
When she opened the door the light she held revealed to me one of the most forbidding faces I have ever seen on a woman’s shoulders.
“You’ve got horses, have you? You must stall them in the shed.”
She handed me a lantern, and Volna came with me. When we had fumbled our way to the shed, and tied the horses up, giving them some hay we found in the place, we went back to the house.
She admitted us without more delay and as soon as we were inside, locked and bolted the door. “A lone woman needs to be careful,” she said in explanation, as she led us into a room at the side where a fire was burning.
Two glasses and a spirit bottle were on the table, and a smell of rank tobacco smoke hung about the place.
Volna went in first, and the woman, having placed the light upon the table, stood holding the door for us to pass.
“We are much obliged to you,” I said, and as I turned to her I caught sight of a man’s face peering through the half closed door of a dark room across the passage.
“I’ll do my best for you,” she answered. “Dry yourselves by the fire. I’ll be back in a moment.” With that she went out, and I heard her turn the key softly upon us.
It might mean nothing; but—well, I did not tell Volna.