CHAPTER V.
UNWELCOME VISITORS.
That contest of wills, followed by my avowal that I was an American, marked another very distinct advance toward a better understanding between us. My companion’s interest was stimulated and her curiosity piqued; and our relationship was at once placed upon a footing of personal equality. She made that plain—intentionally, I think—her momentary chagrin at defeat in the trial of strength between us overshadowed completely by her sense of relief and reassurance.
Chris was a great help to us just then. He seemed to have settled it in his thoughts there had been trouble which was now put right, and he stalked along by her side, thrusting his great nose into her hand, nestling his head against her, and giving many signs of his satisfaction. She caressed him gently, and presently, with a half glance at me, she said, as if to him:
“And are you American, too, Chris? And is your name really Chris?”
“He’s American born, not like his master, and his name is really Chris,” I replied.
“And have you a strong temper, too, Chris?”
“Like master like dog. He can show his teeth at need,” I said with a smile. “But he can be a staunch friend—to those who trust him.”
“Does he show them to women?” she asked, turning to flash her eyes upon me.
“Is that quite fair?”
“You can show yours,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“I’ve seen him hold a man up with a growl when I knew he didn’t mean to bite. Just as a lesson, you know.”
“I would trust my hand between HIS teeth,” she answered, as she thrust her fingers into his great mouth. The rascal mouthed them, and fawned upon her and looked up in her face.
“Ah, he’s kissing it—to congratulate you on having made peace,” I said drily; and she drew her hand away so heartily that for a moment I feared I had offended her. But I had not.
“Does HE understand what you call ‘bluff’?” was her next question, after a pause.
“He’s very much like me in many ways.”
“I can believe that. He is so silent about himself.”
“Like us both in that, perhaps, isn’t he?”
“Is that a reproach or a question?” she retorted, and added, seriously, “I cannot tell you about myself; but you shall know some day.”
“I am not asking. We’ll leave it unsaid on both sides, shall we—at any rate for the present—and just take each other on trust?”
“As you will. I have learnt my lesson and shall not question you.” The reply was given with a mixture of irony, rebellion, and assumed submissiveness in manner and tone.
“I am glad to find you so ready a pupil. Chris there could tell you that where there’s a toughish job to handle he finds it best to let me go my own way.” We had reached the cottage, and she was entering the door as I said this. She turned quickly, and threw up her head.
“You expect a dog’s obedience, then?”
“From Chris, yes,” and I smiled.
“From me, I mean. You know I mean that.”
“From you I ask nothing except to do what your judgment prompts, tempered perhaps by your trust in—in Chris.”
“In Chris’s master, you mean. Why don’t you say it?”
“Old Chris would do nothing I didn’t approve; so it’s about the same thing,” I answered, and led the horse away, tethered him, and having loosened the girths gave him a feed, and fetched him some water from the spring. When I returned with it she was standing by the house.
“Can I help you?”
“Not in this, thank you.”
“In what, then? I have nothing to do.”
“I’m afraid I can’t find you anything.”
“Don’t you do any work in the camp, then?”
“Not to-day. You see it’s a kind of holiday.”
“Why?”
“The work here is finished. I’m getting ready to leave. As soon as Georgev—that’s the guide, you know—gets back, I shall be off.”
“I suppose I am not to ask what the work was?” She asked this with a smile and a shrug, contriving to convey the impression that while she was impatiently curious the question had behind it no vestige of distrust.
“I did not intend to tell you, but if you wish it I will. This is a prospecting expedition. I’ve been looking to see if any mines could be opened here. Of course, it’s a sort of secret, you know.”
“Oh, you’re hoping to make money here?” and the glance she gave at my clothes told me her thought. “You are an engineer?”
“No, I am a prospector. I have done it before in the States.”
“I hope you will be successful. But I am sure you will. You are the kind of man that does succeed; so masterful, I mean.” We both smiled at the word. “Yes,” she added, as if in answer to my thought; “I am judging by what has just occurred, for one thing.”
“I am afraid I seem a bit of a brute.”
“I don’t think so. I—I was very angry when I said what I did. I—I didn’t mean it; and I’m—I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I know you don’t think it now; but you meant it then; and it was just what anyone else would have meant and said. It helped us to understand things better. That’s all. I was very much afraid you meant to ride off alone, and then ... well, I don’t know about then.”
“I wish I had known your thoughts,” she said, with a sort of half mischievous regret.
“You mean you would have outplayed me?”
She nodded and smiled, “Yes.”
“Well, please don’t try it again. It might be very dangerous play.”
“I won’t, I promise you,” she said readily, understanding from my serious tone that I was very much in earnest. “When you use that tone I have no rebellion left in me. I am like Chris, I suppose, in that.”
Chris himself interrupted us then by growling, and looking round I saw Karasch coming from the tent.
“Chris hates Karasch,” I told her. “The man struck him once savagely, and I had all my work to keep the dog from his throat. He never forgets. You can see now that every hair on his neck is bristling with anger; and Karasch won’t come near him.”
“He is a fierce looking man,” she said.
“But he will serve me now, faithfully, and Chris must make friends with him. Will you go into the hut a moment? Come, Chris,” and as she went away I led the dog to Karasch and made him understand that he was to regard the man as a friend. It was not easy, for Karasch himself was afraid; but I stood by while he patted the dog’s head, and I made Chris lick his hand. Then I sent him back to the hut.
“Now, Karasch, what is it?” I asked.
“The devil is it, Burgwan. I slept and Petrov has gone.”
It was ugly news, and made me grave.
“So you couldn’t even keep watch, for all your big words,” I said angrily.
“It has never chanced so before,” he replied sullenly; and his glance across toward the cottage told me the thought behind the words.
“If you were to cut your finger I suppose you’d set it down to the same cause just now. You have served me an ill turn. You can send Gartski to find him, the sooner the better.”
“You are mad, Burgwan.”
“Mad to have trusted to your keeping awake, perhaps. Not in this. If one has got away, where’s the use of keeping the other? When we had both safe, it was well; but two can do no more harm than one away; and we needn’t be bothered by keeping watch over a traitor. I’ll speak to him.”
“Come here, Gartski.” He rose sheepishly and crossed to me. “How long has Petrov been gone, and where has he gone?”
“I was asleep, and know nothing,” he lied glibly.
“Yesterday, when the trouble was here, you took my side; now you are against me, and want to go.”
“I am not against you,” he began, with much gesticulation.
“Don’t lie. I have means of knowing everything in your thoughts.”
He shrank back a pace and trembled, and crossed himself.
“You know what I mean, I see,” I said. It was no good to have a reputation for witchcraft and not make use of it. “If you lie to me now,” I went on, looking into his eyes with as fierce an expression as I could assume, “you will not outlive the present moon. Tell the truth, and no harm will come to you.” Glancing at my hand I saw I had broken the skin in tending the horse, and I smeared a little circle of blood on the tent post close by. “If that dries before you speak, it will be too late, Gartski,” I said, solemnly.
It seemed to be a very reliable card to play, this superstition of theirs. He looked at the little circle in horror, his face went ashen white and he trembled violently.
“We meant nothing against you, Burgwan; only against the witch,” he mumbled.
“It is drying fast, Gartski. Beware.”
“Petrov has gone to get help to deal with her.”
“To murder her, you mean?”
“It is no murder. To kill her for your sake, I swear.”
“Where has he gone?”
“To the priest at Lalwor—the hill village.”
“How far is that, and in which direction?”
“Four leagues up the hills to the south.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Less than an hour.”
“Come;” and I put my hand on his shoulders, and led him out of the tent. “I have no use for spies and traitors here. You can go after him. Get away, or I’ll set the dog on you;” and with that I shoved him from me—with a parting kick to which the rage I felt gave additional force. He limped a few paces and then turned and looked back at me. “Go,” I thundered, making a step toward him, and then he ran in a limping fashion comical enough to have drawn a smile had the position been less grave.
I had frightened enough of the truth out of him to show me that no ill results could follow for a few hours. It would take Petrov some three hours to reach the hill village; some time would be needed to get together a posse, and I felt that I might safely wait an hour or two longer in the hope that Georgev would arrive.
But it was clear now that we might have to start before he arrived, so I questioned Karasch as to his knowledge of the country which we should have to cross. Somewhat to my dismay he declared he knew nothing of it.
I returned to the hut then and found the “witch” studying the map.
“I was going to ask you for that,” I said.
“Can we start?”
“Not yet; I am still waiting for the guide and the horses he may have with him; but I want to make out our way.”
Instead of giving it to me she clasped her hands over it as it lay on her lap.
“I want to ask you a favour.” Things were changing indeed.
“Well?”
“Won’t you tell me what all this means? You have had more words with your men. I know it is about me. Won’t you tell me?”
“They are a set of fools; and they are all gone now, except the big fellow, Karasch, whose arm is hurt—broken, in fact.”
“Of course, it is on my account, and, of course, also it means danger of some kind. I am not afraid to know it with—with Chris and—and you to protect me.”
“I have quarrelled with the men—have just kicked one of them out of the camp, in fact. That’s all.”
She sighed and lifted her hands.
“Can’t you see that this uncertainty is worse to bear than any knowledge could be, however bad?” She was strangely gentle now.
“You needn’t exaggerate things because you don’t know them.”
“Here is the map. You try me very much. Tell me, please,” she urged as I took the map. I fingered it thoughtfully.
“You must not frighten yourself.”
“I am not frightened—except that I think there must be some terrifying news you keep back, fearing to frighten me. You put a great strain on my nerves.”
“I had not thought of that, and there is no need for it. I will tell you enough to show you that. I have had trouble with the men; and it is about you. They are only under me because I hired them to do certain work. Well, that prisoner whom I shot in the leg yesterday got at them with a tale that you were a prisoner of such importance that a considerable sum of money was to be paid for your safe delivery at Maglai; and they had a fancy to help in earning it. We quarrelled about it, and they’ve left the camp.”
“Who do they say I am?”
“They do not know, and could not tell me; of course; and I myself do not even know how to address you. You must have seen this—whether madame or mademoiselle even?”
“You put your question adroitly, Burgwan. Are you Burgwan, really? But you can’t be, of course. You are American.”
“It is the name I have here; and I did not know how pleasant a sound it had until I heard you speak it. I would rather you called me by that name than any other. And you?”
She had her hands in her lap and kept her eyes bent down as she slowly clasped and unclasped her white fingers. Then she lifted her face and looked at me with a slow, hesitating smile.
“You might call me—Barinschja.”
“That is Russian for an unmarried woman, isn’t it?”
“Did you think I was married?” The smile in her grey eyes was unmistakably brighter.
“I did not think you were Russian.”
“I am not. I am a Serb.”
“Then what we have to do is to get you to Belgrade as soon as possible, Barinschja,” and I turned to the map.
“No. I cannot be Barinschja to you. I will be mademoiselle.”
“I thank you.” I understand enough Russian to appreciate the difference. Barinschja is from inferior to superior; mademoiselle from equal to equal. “Then it shall be mademoiselle. Now for the map.”
“No, not yet. You have forgotten something. You have spoken of the man you wounded yesterday, but not of the one you fought and bound. It is he who has gone free, isn’t it, to fetch his comrades?”
“Yes, but I did not mean to tell you. How did you guess?”
“From what you said before you—before we fetched that side-saddle.” She smiled as she changed the phrase. “When you would not answer the question, which I tried to force you to answer.”
“Mademoiselle is very quick-witted.”
“And Burgwan can be very obstinate,” she retorted; and I smiled in my turn.
“The fellow was set free by my men, but I do not think he can get back in time to do any harm.”
“And why have your men deserted you?”
“They were not bound to remain with me.”
“Then the desertion had nothing to do with me?”
“Yes, I told you we quarrelled about you. But I wish to see our course; will you let me study the map?”
“Yes, if you will assure me that their desertion bodes no danger.”
“Is Burgwan or Mademoiselle in charge of things here?”
“Will Burgwan answer Mademoiselle’s question? Why did those men say there was a price on my head?”
“It was all nonsense, of course.”
“But I wish to know. I have a right to know.”
“They said you had done something or other, and that they were to be paid handsomely for getting you to Maglai.”
“Do you know what they said?”
“Yes—that you had committed some crime.”
“Some crime!” she cried, in quite indignant astonishment. Then she laughed scornfully. “Do you believe it?”
“No. If I did, it would make no difference.”
“A criminal! With a price on my head! What can it mean?” This was more to herself than to me, so I plunged into a study of the map, and in a few minutes had made out a part of the route we should have to go.
“I am no criminal, Burgwan,” she said, breaking in suddenly on my study of the map.
“I didn’t need to be told. This is the way we shall have to go at first”; and I drew her attention to the map.
While we were examining it, Chris grew restless, and at length got up and stood sniffing the air and the ground and listening.
“What is it, Chris, old dog?”
He came and nosed my hand and then went a few yards off and pointing towards the ravine, growled.
“Someone is about,” I said, as I folded up the map and put it in my pocket. “Will you go into the hut, Mademoiselle? It may be the guide Georgev—or it may not; and may mean trouble of some sort. Take Chris with you and shut the door. He’ll answer for anyone who tries to bother you. Chris, inside; on guard, good dog.”
He understood and obeyed at once, although his eyes said he would rather stay with me.
I strolled half way to the tent and called to Karasch, who came out.
“I think someone is coming up the ravine, Karasch. It may be Georgev, or some of the men in search of Mademoiselle yonder. You mean to stand by me?”
“On my oath, yes. But if they are in search of her, you’d better give her to them, Burgwan.”
“Stop that fool talk, and leave everything to me; and do exactly as I tell you from start to finish.”
Then I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs, and I lit a cigar and sat down to wait for the riders. There were three of them, and the first glance showed me Georgev was not among them. I sat smoking until they rode up, then I rose slowly.
“Are you the new men hired by the guide, Georgev?” I asked.
“No,” answered one who appeared to be the leader. “Is there a man named Karasch here?”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“An answer to my question. And I mean to have it. This is the place, sure enough,” he said, turning to his companions. “The tent and the hut;” and he nodded toward each. “You’re Karasch, by your description,” he said to Karasch. “Where’s the prisoner?”
“I’m in charge here. Put your questions to me,” I broke in, brusquely.
Resenting my tone, he looked at me more sharply than before, and then laughed.
“I know you. You must be the man who rescued our prisoner yesterday and shot Drago. You’ll answer for that, I promise you; but I don’t want any trouble. Your other men are on our side, you know.”
“The man I shot lies in the tent there with a broken leg. The prisoner you seek is in the cottage.”
“That’s better,” he cried, with a sneering laugh. “You know when you’re beaten, I see.”
I shrugged my shoulders as if indifferent.
“We’re only two here, and Karasch has a broken arm. So you’re not likely to have much trouble.”
“Where are the others?” he asked, suspiciously, as if half fearing an ambush. “There were five of you.”
“One, Andreas, lies out on the hills somewhere, hurt riding after your comrade in the night. Petrov and Gartski have gone to Lalwor, the hill village yonder, seeking help to take the prisoner.”
“You’ll have to come with us.”
“That’s as it may be. But—we’ve no horses. Your fool of a man killed ours last night, so that we shouldn’t get away until you returned. But he didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Nor did you, I expect. We came upon our comrade on the hills by chance this morning, too ill even to put a leg across a horse. It’s all that devil’s work. He wishes he’d had no hand in the black business, I can tell you. And so will you.”
“You can take her as soon as you like—the sooner the better. She’s caused enough trouble here,” I answered, and putting my cigar between my lips I sat down again and lolled back as if in lazy indifference.
But my indifference was not even skin deep. My object was to make them confident that there was no sort of resistance to be expected, and every nerve and sense in me was on the alert. I was making a kind of corner in risks just then, and should need all my wits to avoid being squeezed.
I was already fully resolved to use the three horses thus fortunately brought within my reach, and my first step was to get the present riders off their backs. The second would be to keep them off; and the third to put Mademoiselle, myself, and Karasch in their places.
Karasch had said that the “witch” could bring horses our way if she pleased; and when I looked his way and saw his eyes glance meaningly from me to the horses, I was half persuaded that he connected their presence with some supernatural agency.
The three men spoke together a moment and then the leader dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to one of the others, and came toward me.
“I daresay you mean to act all right and give up the prisoner,” he said, bluntly; “but while we stay here I’m going to make sure you can’t play any trick upon us by tying your hands behind you. Stand up.”
As he spoke he signed to the other two, who levelled their guns point blank at me.
It was a wholly unexpected turn and seemed to spell crisis. Not seeing for the moment what to do, I made no effort to rise, and he repeated his command.
“Get up,” he cried this time with an oath. “We’ve no time to waste over you.”