"You know, you rogue! Tell me, or it will be the worse for you."
"I don't know," replied McKay stoutly; "and if I did I should not tell you."
"Dirty spy! You would have sold us for a price, do the same now by the others. You owe them no allegiance; besides, you are in our power. Tell me, and I will let you go."
"Your bribe is wasted on me. I am a British officer—"
"Pshaw! Officer?" and the fellow raised his whip to strike McKay, but happily held his hand.
"Here! take him back," he said angrily, and McKay was again placed in the midst of the party.
He renewed his entreaties for a drink, and a Cossack, taking pity on him, offered him a canteen.
It was full of vodkhi, an ardent spirit beloved by the Russian peasant, half-a-dozen drops of which McKay managed to gulp down, but they nearly burned his throat.
"Water! water!" he asked again.
And the Cossack, evidently surprised at his want of taste, substituted the simpler fluid; but the charitable act drew down upon him the displeasure of his chief.