The chance was not long in coming. Having talked for a minute between themselves, one of the Cossacks stepped out of the hut, and hurried to his horse. Soon he was off, going in the same direction the first cavalryman had taken.
Without hesitation, Gilbert now stepped to the front of the hut. He covered the Cossack inside with his pistol.
“Gilbert!” ejaculated Ben, in glad surprise. “Well, this is lucky, to say the least.”
At these words, and at the shadow behind him, the Cossack swung around quickly. When he saw the young captain and the gleaming barrel of the pistol, his face fell and he muttered a loud exclamation which Gilbert did not understand.
“Throw up your hands!” said the young American, in Russian.
The hands went up slowly, one still holding the saber, which the Cossack was itching to use.
“Drop that saber!” was Gilbert’s next order. “Drop it at once!”
Again the cavalryman hesitated. But he did not like the look in the young American’s eye, and with a clatter the blade fell to the floor of the hut.
The young captain next compelled the Cossack to march into a corner, facing the angle. Then, as Ben backed up to him, Gilbert cut the cord which bound his hands together.
“Good for you Gilbert,” cried Ben, as he picked up the saber. “You certainly got here in the nick of time. Are your men outside?”