"Speak to your men once more, sir, and promise them big purses of gold when we reach Ganlook. I have no money or valuables with me; but there I can obtain plenty," said Beverly, shrewdly thinking it better that they should believe her to be without funds.
The cavalcade had halted during this colloquy. All the men were ahead conversing sullenly and excitedly with much gesticulation. The driver, a stolid creature, seemingly indifferent to all that was going on, alone remained at his post. The situation, apparently dangerous, was certainly most annoying. But if Beverly could have read the mind of that silent figure on the box, she would have felt slightly relieved, for he was infinitely more anxious to proceed than even she; but from far different reasons. He was a Russian convict, who had escaped on the way to Siberia. Disguised as a coachman he was seeking life and safety in Graustark, or any out-of-the-way place. It mattered little to him where the escort concluded to go. He was going ahead. He dared not go back—he must go on.
At the end of half an hour, the officer returned; all hope had gone from his face. "It is useless!" he cried out. "The guides refuse to proceed. See! They are going off with their countrymen! We are lost without them. I do not know what to do. We cannot get to Ganlook; I do not know the way, and the danger is great. Ah! Madam! Here they come! The Cossacks are going back."
As he spoke, the surly mutineers were riding slowly towards the coach. Every man had his pistol on the high pommel of the saddle. Their faces wore an ugly look. As they passed the officer, one of them, pointing ahead of him with his sword, shouted savagely, "Balak!"
It was conclusive and convincing. They were deserting her.
"Oh, oh, oh! The cowards!" sobbed Beverly in rage and despair. "I must go on! Is it possible that even such men would leave—"
She was interrupted by the voice of the officer, who, raising his cap to her, commanded at the same time the driver to turn his horses and follow the escort to Balak.
"What is that?" demanded Beverly in alarm.
From far off came the sound of firearms. A dozen shots were fired, and reverberated down through the gloomy pass ahead of the coach.
"They are fighting somewhere in the hills in front of us," answered the now frightened officer. Turning quickly, he saw the deserting horsemen halt, listen a minute, and then spur their horses. He cried out sharply to the driver, "Come, there! Turn round! We have no time to lose!"