“We don’t know the road. I don’t even know where we are now. When you saw that man, I just rattled off at hazard. I know Cracow is pretty well west of Pulta, a little bit south too, and I guess we are on the right road. I am accustomed to take long rides and besides having a fairly good bump of location, always carry this;” and I showed her a small compass on my watch chain.
“I always ride by the sun, but then I know the country round Warsaw for ever so many miles.”
“We should be in a pretty pickle if we were lost,” said I.
“The pickle would be much hotter if it was a police preserve.”
“By Jove, it would. And the worst of it is that if that fellow hears of us at Pulta, he’ll know the names we’ve taken.”
“Poor Bob, I’m getting him into very troubled waters.”
“It’s not Bob or Peggy I’m thinking of, it’s Volna, and Volna’s mother. Cracow seems a mighty hard place to reach; but I’m going to get there somehow.”
I was silent for a while thinking over the problem. Volna’s suggestion was the best if we could do it—to ride all the way to Cracow. But it was no light undertaking. If I had known the way, I should not have hesitated; but the days were short and although the sun was shining brightly enough then, the weather looked as though it were going to change. It was warmer; and when a spell of frost breaks in that country, it generally indicates that rain or snow is coming. To be lost in a rain or snow storm would be a very ugly development indeed.
There was moreover the awkward question whether we were likely to be pursued. On the other hand to stop at Solden appeared to be even more risky.
Seeing me thus thoughtful, Volna broke in. “You are not going to keep anything from me, are you. Don’t do that, please? Do you think that man is likely to ride after us from Pulta?”