III
The summer passed away, and the second autumn came. Gregor had told all he knew; told it twice, three times; and Sasha, more eager than ever, began to grow impatient for something more. He had secured a little reading-book, such as is used for children, and studied it until he knew the exact place of every letter in it, but there was none to give the poor boy another volume, or to teach him anything further.
One afternoon, as he was returning alone from a neighboring village by a country road which branched off from the main highway, he saw three men sitting on the bank, under the edge of a thicket. They were strangers, and they seemed to him to be foreigners. Two were of middle age, with harsh, evil faces; the third was young, and had an anxious, frightened look. They were talking earnestly, but before he could distinguish the words, one of them saw him, made a sign to the others, and then he was very sure that they suddenly changed their language; for it was German he now heard.
He felt proud of his own knowledge, and his first thought was to say “Good-day!” in German. Then he remembered his grandfather’s command, “Never show your knowledge until there’s good reason for it!” and gave his greeting in Russian. The young man nodded in return; the others took no notice of him. But in passing he understood these sentences:
“He will bring a great deal of money.... There’s no danger—he will be alone.... Grain and hemp both sold to-day.... It will be already dark.”
“Sasha never afterwards could explain the impulse which led him to dart under the trees as soon as he was out of sight, to get in the rear of the thicket, crawl silently nearer on his hands and knees, and then lie down flat within hearing of the men’s voices.”
Drawing by F. S. Coburn
Just beyond the thicket the road made a sharp turn and entered the woods. Sasha never afterwards could explain the impulse which led him to dart under the trees as soon as he was out of sight, to get in the rear of the thicket, crawl silently nearer on his hands and knees, and then lie down flat within hearing of the men’s voices. For a moment, he was overcome with a horrible fear. They were silent, and his heart beat so loudly that he thought they could no more help noticing it than a blacksmith’s hammer.
Presently one of them spoke,—this time in Russian. “There’s a hill from which you can see both roads,” he said; “but he’ll hardly take the highway.”
“Are you sure his groom was not in the town?” asked another.
“It’s all as I say—rely upon that!” was the answer. “For all his title he’s no more than another man, and we are three!”
In talking further, they mentioned the name of the town; it was the place only a few miles distant, where the grain, hemp, and other products of the estate were sold to traders—and this was the day of the sale! The plot of the robbers flashed into Sasha’s mind; and if he had had any remaining doubts they were soon dissipated by his hearing the Baron’s name. The latter was to be waylaid—plundered—killed, if he resisted. Then the oldest of the three men said, as he got up from the bank where they were sitting:
“We must be on our way. Better be too early than too late.”
“But it’s a terrible thing,” the youngest remarked.
“You can’t turn back now!” the other cried.
Sasha waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps. Then he started up, and keeping away from the road they had taken, ran through the woods and thicket in the direction of the town. His only thought was to reach the hill the robbers had mentioned, from which both roads could be seen. He knew it well; there was a bridle-path, shorter than the main highway, and the Baron would probably take it, as he was on horseback. The hill divided the two roads; it was covered with young birch trees, which grew very thickly on the summit and almost choked up the path. But there was a long spur of thicket, he remembered, running out on the ridge, and whoever stood at the end of it could almost look into the town.
Sasha was so excited that he took a track almost as short as a bird flies. He tore through bushes and brambles without thinking of the scratches they gave him; he jumped across gullies and ran at full speed over open fields; he was faint, and bruised, and breathless, but he never paused until the farthest point of the thicket on the hill was reached. It was then about an hour before sunset, and only one or two foot-travellers were to be seen upon the highway. The town was half a mile off, but he could plainly see where the bridle-path issued from a little lane between the houses. Carefully concealing himself under a thick alder-bush, he kept his eyes fixed upon that point.
He was obliged to wait for what seemed a long, long while. The sun was just setting when, finally, a horseman made his appearance, and Sasha knew by the large white horse that it must be the Baron. The rider looked at his watch, and then began to canter along the level towards the hill. There was no time to lose; so, without pausing a moment to think, Sasha sprang out of his hiding-place, and darted down the grassy slope at full speed, crying “Lord Baron! Lord Baron!”
The rider, at first, did not seem to heed. He cantered on, and it required all Sasha’s remaining strength to reach the path in advance of him. Then he dropped upon his knees, lifted up his hands, and cried once more, “Stop, Lord Baron!”
The Baron reined up his horse just in time to avoid trampling on the boy. Sasha sprang to his feet, seized the bridle, and gasped, “The robbers!”
“Who are you?—and what does this mean?” the Baron asked in a stern voice.
But Sasha was too much in earnest to feel afraid of the great lord. “I am Sasha, the son of Ivan, the son of Gregor,” he said; and then related, as rapidly as he could, all that he had seen and heard.
The Baron looked at his pistols. “Ha!” he cried, “the caps are taken off! You may have done me good service, boy. Wait here; it’s not enough to escape the rascals; we must capture them!”
He turned his horse, and galloped back at full speed towards the town. Sasha watched him, thinking only that he was saved at last. It was growing dark, when the boy’s quick ear caught the sound of steps in the opposite direction. He turned and saw the three men approaching rapidly. With a deadly sense of terror he started and ran towards the town.
“Kill the little spy!” shouted, behind him, a voice which he well knew.
Sasha cried aloud for help as he ran; but no help came. He was already weak and exhausted from the exertion he had made, and he heard the robbers coming nearer and nearer. All at once it seemed to him that his cries were answered; but at the same moment a heavy blow came down upon his head and shoulder. He fell to the ground and knew no more.