“I’m afraid something’s going wrong with him. It’s not like him to play the laggard in this way. Can he have been overtaken by Kolfort’s men and surprised?”
“Scarcely that. We’ve got a picket thrown out behind and he’d have warning. If there was any sign of danger, I told him to close up with us at once, so that we could make a stand together. One or two of the horses may have given out.”
“I don’t like it,” said Zoiloff; and when we reached the top of the hill we turned and looked back along the white road, searching eagerly for some sign of Spernow’s coming. We saw nothing, and the doubts which made Zoiloff’s face so grave began to affect me.
“I am inclined to go back,” he murmured.
“We can’t spare you, Zoiloff,” said I quickly. “If anything is wrong with him, you alone can do no good; and if anything is to go wrong with us, we are too few already for safety.”
“I could find out what it means.”
“Or be cut off yourself;” and with that we resumed our ride, my companion’s face unusually gloomy and thoughtful.
“How far are we from Sofia, Markov; and when do you turn off?” I asked, riding up to him.
“About five miles from the city, your Honour, a little more than two from the branch road I am making for.”
“We’ve only a few minutes more on the main road,” I said, falling back to Zoiloff; “and, once away from it, our chances will be fifty in a hundred better. It’s this road I’ve feared.”