And thus he employed his time for five days, all the while impatient at the delay, and on the sixth he was so far recovered that he could walk with the assistance of a cane, and he celebrated the event by telling his servant to hold a lighted cigar in his fingers at the distance of fifty paces, and from it he shot the ashes so deftly that the bullet scarcely raised a spark of fire.
This convinced him apparently that he was all right again, and in the afternoon he and his servant went out to ride.
This servant of his was a Russian, to whom he had been introduced by Vola, and he was a character for fidelity and secretiveness. His name was Ulrich, and Barnwell had saved him from going to prison by paying a fine that he would never have been able to pay, and he at once became attached to his new master by all the ties that bind a lesser intellect and fortune to the two degrees higher.
He never questioned, never told Barnwell's affairs, even if he knew them, and was ever quick to know his slightest wants.
He was a Nihilist, and knew in a general way that his master was one, from seeing him so much with Vola, and so he silently worked and waited, fully believing that he would in time do good work for the downtrodden of his native land.
On the afternoon of the sixth day Barnwell seeing to be almost wholly recovered, and Ulrich drove him out, going in the weird hills once more.
This time he was armed with two revolvers, and his rifle was ready to hand in the body of his wagon, the peculiarity in the build of which has been mentioned before, and which consisted principally in a strong iron box, incased by a fancy wooden one which was fashioned for a seat.
It was slightly odd in its build, but it was admired by everybody for the superiority of its make, and generally regarded simply as a tourist's carriage, made on purpose and in a superior manner.
Arriving at the end of the road that led up into the hills, they halted.