“Well, Mametka, my lad, iakchi.”
“Iakchi, ouk, iakchi!” said Mametka as well as he could, shaking his grotesque head. “Iakchi.”
“They’ll never catch them, eh? Iok.”
“Iok, iok!” and Mametka waggled his head and threw his arms about.
“You’re a liar, then, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hey!”
“That’s it, that’s it, iakchi!” answered poor Mametka.
“All right, good, iakchi it is!”
Skouratof gave him a thump on the head, which sent his cap down over his eyes, and went out in high glee, and Mametka was quite chapfallen.
For a week or so a very tight hand was kept on everybody in the jail, and the whole neighbourhood was repeatedly and carefully searched. How they managed it I cannot tell, but the prisoners always seemed to know all about the measures taken by the authorities for recovering the runaways. For some days, according to all we heard, things went very favourably for them; no traces whatever of them could be found. Our convicts made very light of all the authorities were about, and were quite at their ease about their friends, and kept saying that nothing would ever be found out about them.
All the peasants round about were roused, we were told, and watching all the likely places, woods, ravines, etc.