CHAPTER II.
KARASCH.
I had had to deal with worse trouble than this before, however, and to tackle far more dangerous men than the fellow who, having sounded the first note of rebellion, stood eyeing me with lowering brows, while his fingers played round the haft of the knife he carried.
These Eastern Europeans can be dangerous enough in a crowd, or in the dark, or in any circumstances which offer a chance of treachery. But they don’t fight well alone or in the open. That’s where they differ from the desperadoes of the West and the mining camps; and I knew it.
The tent was a very large one, affording plenty of room for a scrimmage, and as I walked straight up to the man, keeping my eyes fixed on his, the rest drew back a little. That’s another peculiarity of the people of the hills. They will back up a companion so long as the man in command is out of the way, and then back down quite as promptly when the music has to be faced.
“See here, Karasch,” I said to the ringleader; “I don’t want any more trouble with you—or with anyone else; but I’m not taking any insolence from you. Mind that, now. What do you mean by saying the prisoner escaped?”
Before he answered he glanced round at his companions.
“He ran away,” he muttered.
“I tied him up so that he couldn’t run. Who set him free? Whoever did that will answer to me.”
“Karasch did it,” answered one of the others. Then I guessed the reason of the high words I had heard, and that the speaker, whose name was Gartski, had been against the thing in opposition to the rest.
“Why did you do it, Karasch?”