The Argosy, Vol. XIII No. 464 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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the surrounding darkness seem all the blacker, squatted the convicts, some with their backs against the wall of the cavern, and some leaning on the large stones that were scattered about pro- fusely. Twoorthree officiated as cooks or helpers and passed around tin cups of steaming tea, plates of biscuit, and slices of broiled meat that had the odor and taste of venison. The men ate greedily—for it was their first meal in many hours—and all the while they talked volubly and with such freedom that Donald gleaned much in- teresting information. He learned for one thing that the daughter of General Tichimiroff was a prisoner in the cav- ern, and that the party who carried her off had successfully eluded the pursuing Cossacks. It was not hard to guess where the girl was concealed, for pres- ently Baranok himself filled a tray with food and disappeared behind the big rock that Donald had noticed before. He reappeared almost immediately and took his place by the fire. Donald ate with as much gusto as the Test, but his satisfaction was marred when he discovered that the convict Gross, who sat opposite, was watching him closely. Although they had trav- eled together from Tomsk with the ex- ile party, Donald had never exchanged a word with this man, and in fact had rarely been near him. Now there wasa peculiar light of recognition in the con- vict’s eyes which rendered Donald un- easy and impressed him with the belief that something unpleasant was about to occur—though what it was likely to be Donald could not conceive. He asumed as careless and nonchalant a manner as possible under the close scrutiny, but all satisfaction in his meal was gone. Suddenly Gross rose to his feet in such an impulsive manner that all eyes were instantly drawn to him and the hum of conversation ceased. “I know you now,” he cried loudly, pointing one hand at Donald. ‘You have no business here—you are a traitor. It was you who brought about poor Lavroff's death.” Donald stood up, not knowing how to reply to this charge, and the convicts rose all around him, rage and consterna- tiion depicted on their faces. ‘« Kill him! kill him!” they cried. ‘‘ Let the traitor die!” But suddenly Valbort forced his way into the center of the throng with his one arm, and stood by Donald's side. ‘Hold on!" he said loudly. ‘‘Give this man a chance to explain. You have no right to accuse him, Gross. I was present on the night Lavroff per- ished, as you all know, and it was to save Lavroff that this man went back, instead of making his escape with meas he might easily have done. It was for that reason I chose him from the other prisoners at the post station.” The murmur of approval that greeted this speech was short lived, for Gross vehemently insisted that Donald was a traitor. ‘How do you know that this man went back to save Lavroff ?"* he replied angrily to Valbort. ‘I tell you he did nothing of the kind: he went back to save the off- cer with whom Lavroff was struggling, and it was through this interference that Lavroff was unable to get away and was shot. This man was struck by Lav- roff's knife and was in the hospital of the Tomsk prison fora day or two. I saw him there myself, when I was laid up with fever, and I heard the guards telling the story I have just been telling you. Oh! thereis no doubtof it. He is to blame for Lavroff's death, and unless we put him out of the way he will find 4n opportunity for more treachery.” Valbort came close up to Donald and <aught him by the shoulders so that their faces were close together. THE ARGOSY ‘“ Does this man lie or does he tell the truth ?” he demanded fiercely. ‘‘ Speak, or it will be the worse for you.” One swift glance at the surging mob of convicts showed Donald with whom their sympathies lay. They believed every word that Gross had said. Itwas a terrible situation, and yet even in this moment of trial and suspense Donald realized that he must tell the truth— that he could gain only a temporary respite by denying Gross's statement. He resolved to appeal to Baranok and tell him the whole story of his misfor- tunes, but even before this resolve was made his helpless attitude and pale face confirmed the convicts’ belief in his guilt. They crowded around him, forc- ing Valbort aside, and in an instant long knives were flashing in the firelight, and the cavern echoed with hoarse cries of ‘‘ Kill the traitor! Avenge Lavroff!” In vain Valbort and Baranok at- tempted to still the excitement. The men were like tigers, hungry for blood, and in their present mood a loaded can- non could scarcely have held them at bay. Donald believed that his last moment had come, but with the instinct of self defense that seldom deserts a man in the most hopeless of situations, he took ad- vantage of a gap in the crowd to gain a large rock and plant his back firmly against it. Then he faced the flashing knives and savage faces, longing for a weapon with which to defend himself. His enemies crowded close upon him, but none were bold enough to strike the first blow. So far they contented them- selves with threats and imprecations, and brandishing of knives. ‘‘Stop!” cried Valbort in so loud and commanding a voice that the mob in- voluntarily became silent. ‘‘Let us first know who this man is before we take his life. If he has no claim to be one of us then you can do your will.” ‘‘Yes! yes!” cried a dozen voices. ‘‘Let him tell hisname! What was his crime against the government ?”’ The ominous knives were partially lowered and amid utter silence every eye was turned expectantly on Donald. Baranok and Valbort were as eager as the rest to hear his reply. For a moment Donald turned dizzy. He seemed to feel the sharp knives piercing his flesh. What could he tell these savage men that would soften their mood and obtain for him a lease of life ? They would not listen to the truth— that was certain. What mattered it to them that he was an American and suf- fering in some one else's place? If he proclaimed himself as Donald Chum- leigh they would laugh at him—and swiftly put an end to hislife. Suddenly a wild idea flashed into his mind. He would tell them that he was Serge Mas- loff. Who Serge Masloff was he knew not, but he felt instinctively that the name must be known to some of these men. At all events the ruse was worth trying. It might gain for him a tempo- rary respite. Later on, if necessary, he could confess the truth to Baranok and throw himself on the mercy of this famous Terrorist. These thonghts passed through Don- ald's mind in much less time than it takes to put them on paper. There was no time to spare, for the men were growing impatient. The hesitation, short at it was, seemed to them suspi- cious. ‘‘Why don’t he speak?” growled some one. ‘‘He dare not,” spoke up another. ‘He has nothing to tell us.” Donald quietly raised one hand and the mutterings subsided. ‘‘You demand my name,”.he said firmly. ‘‘Well, I will tell you. It is Serge Masloff.” As the words fell from his lips the silence was so intense that a pin might have been heard to drop. In the up- turned faces Donald read amazement, joy, incredulity—and in some few un- mistakable anger. Among these latter was Valbort. He sprang forward and with one hand seized Donald roughly by the throat. ‘“You dog of a liar,” he cried, ‘‘ you are no more Serge Masloff than I am. Don't think to deceive us in that way. Tell me your real name, quick, or I won't answer for your life.” Before Donald could utter a sound or fling off the choking grasp of his assail- ant an amazing thing occurred. Witha hoarse cry Feodor Baranok dashed through the circle of men, and seizing Pierre Valbort in his powerful arms he hurled him to one side with such vio- lence that he rolled into the fire, scat- tering the burning brands in every direc- tion. Then Baranok stood in front of Donald so as to shield him with his body, and drawing a great long bladed knife from his side he faced the wonder- ing crowd with flashing eyes and passion distorted face. | ‘‘The first man who dares to come forward I'll spit like a dog,” he cried hotly. ‘‘You must walk over my dead body to touch this defenseless prisoner. You heard the name that he gave, and you know well—some of you at least— what it means to me if he is telling the truth—if he really is Serge Masloff.” Here his voice grew husky and broke down in a sob, while a tear trickled down his cheek. The convicts were thunderstruck at this emotion on the part of their dreaded leader. They put their weapons away and waited to see what would happen next. ‘(I'm in a nice fix now,” thought Don- ald with a shudder. ‘‘ This is out of the frying pan into the fire with a venge- ance. I wish I had stuck tothe truth.” As Baranok faced his men with un- changed mien, still mistrustful of an attack, Pierre Valbort limped sullenly forward and halted ata respectful dis- tance from the man whohad treated him so brutally. ‘‘] want a word with you, Feodor Baranok,” he said loudly. ‘‘ You are a reasonable man, and I know you will listen to me. I forgive you the assault. You did not know what you were doing, and besides you had some provocation. What I want to say is this: It is some years, is it not, since you have laid eyes upon Serge Masloff—in fact, the last time you saw him he was an infant? Very well; I have known him for five years more, and in that interval I have been with him many times. You must admit that also. Itis true that Serge Masloff was caught-and is somewhere now in Siberia, though we have not been able to trace him. But that man there is mot Serge Masloff, nor does he even resemble him. If you wish more convincing proof question him and see if he can answer correctly.” The convicts testified their approval of these words by nodding their heads. ‘Yes; put him to the test,” they muttered. ‘If he is the real Serge Masloff he can easily prove it. If he is deceiving us he must die.” Feodor Baranok turned around and faced Donald with a look in his eye that made the latter tremble, but before a word was spoken something happened that caused the momentous question of Serge Masloff's identity to be instantly forgotten. (Zo be continued.) NATURAL DISLIKE. ““] DON’T like Dr. Allopath.”’ “Why ?’, ‘‘He ordered my rich aunt a change o heir.”"— Puck. : 115 A TRAVELING FORTRESS. WHILE all Russia is popularly supposed to be crying to the heavens for freedom from the tvranny of its oppressors, the chief of these, judging from an article in the Philadelphia Telegraph, might well be ex- pected to rebel against the fate that makes him the prisoner for life of his seditious subjects. This is how his confinement is extended to his travels: When the Czar travels in Russia the pre- cautions taken for his safety could not be greater were he in the enemy’s country. A battalion of infantry is detailed forevery two miles of distance, and, allowing five hundred men as the strength of each bat- talion, every spot of ground on both sides of the track 1s covered by sentinels within easy distance of each other. The Czar is whirled off to the station, accompanied by the chosen twelve of a bodyguard, without omp or circumstance, swiftly and silently. he Czar always travels in a train of five carriages. His carriage is built in a peculiar way. The windows, while ample for light, are high, so that a person sitting own is invis- ible from the outside, and the sides of the car are fortified with plates of steel con- cealed in the ornamental woodwork, but amply strong to resist a bullet. There are two sentry boxes in the carriage, one ac each end and each looking out at an oppo- site side from the other. The guardsmen on duty in these apartments are shut in from any observation of the interior of the carriage, but at intervals of about two feet the whole length of the saloon are electric buttons communicating: with the guard chambers, as well as with the two carriages, one containing the suite and the other, inthe rear, occupied by the guardsmen not on duty. So faras the train itself is concerned, the Czar could be no more secure in St. Petersburg. The train speeds on to its destination without a halt, except on account of acci- dent. At a distance of not less than five. miles ahead is a pioneer train, in which the Imperial Director of Railways and the chief engineer of the particular railway on which the Czar is traveling always rides. As the pilot train whizzes by, the reserves alon the line rush to arms and guard the sideso the railway waiting until the Imperial train has passed, so that the spectacle is pre- sented of continuous lines of soldiery for hundreds of miles. Arrived at the end of his journey, the Czar is escorted to the quart- ers intended for the Imperial family. The streets are guarded by special con- stables in the attire of citizens. ‘Every pro- perty owner has been called upon to supply one or more of these men at his own ex- pense to do duty when the sovereign makes a public appearance. The constables ave- rage one in ten of the crowd that throngs the streets, and, being in ordinary dress, they mingle with the people, note what is said, and, perhaps, do something that will obtain them regular employment among the secret police. With one tenth the popu- lation engaged asspies upon the remainder with troops enough concentrated to standa formidable siege, and his faithful guards- men dogging every step, the Czar goes through the torms of a visit to the ancient capital of Russia, or whatever city he may choose to honor. FOR DOLLS ONLY. IT may seem strange that a man can gain a livelihood year after year from the manu- facture of a mere accessory to atoy. Yet the New York Suz tells of an artisan who does. A stout blond German has been busy all summer ina Bleecker Street basement mak- ing wicker armed chairs for dolls. He sells to the wholesalers, and the bulk of the pro- duct reaches the public during Christmas week. The maker receives $30a gross for these chairs, and is able to make about three dozenaday. He also makes dolls’ coaches of wicker and other small articles for make believe babies. When asked to make things for live grown folks he refers would customers to a big factory where he was once employed. In big things the manufac- turers can undersell him. MYSTERIOUS BELLS. A NOVEL scarecrow, described by the London Tit Bits, is worthy of the Yankee inventor of the wooden nutmeg: Some of the farmers of the Eifel, the dis trict that lies between the frontier of Bel- gium and the Rhine, adopt a novel plan for scaring the birds from the wheat. A num- ber of poles are set up in the cornfields, and a wire is conducted from one to another, just like the telegraph posts that you see alongside the railway. From thetop ofeach post there hangs a bell, which is connected with the wire. Now, in the valley a brook runs along, with a current strong enough to turn a small water wheel, to which the wire is fastened. As the wheel goes round it jerks the wire, and so the bells in the dif- erent fields are seta tinkling. The bells thus mysteriously rung frighten the birds. from the grain, and even excite the wonder of men and women until they discover the' secret. This simple contrivance is found to, serve its purpose yery well. t (COU! ElOOOlKKS,.C©