“What have we here?” repeated Steinmetz.
And the two men clapped spurs to their tired horses.
The solitary waif had a rider, but he was not in the saddle. One foot was caught in the stirrup, and as the horse moved on from tuft to tuft it dragged its dead master along the ground.
CHAPTER II — BY THE VOLGA
“This is going to be unpleasant,” muttered Steinmetz, as he cumbrously left the saddle. “That man is dead—has been dead some days; he’s stiff. And the horse has been dragging him face downward. God in heaven! this will be unpleasant.”
Paul had leaped to the ground, and was already loosening the dead man’s foot from the stirrup. He did it with a certain sort of skill, despite the stiffness of the heavy riding-boot, as if he had walked a hospital in his time. Very quickly Steinmetz came to his assistance, tenderly lifting the dead man and laying him on his back.
“Ach!” he exclaimed; “we are unfortunate to meet a thing like this.”
There was no need of Paul Alexis’ medical skill to tell that this man was dead; a child would have known it. Before searching the pockets Steinmetz took out his own handkerchief and laid it over a face which had become unrecognizable. The horse was standing over them. It bent its head and sniffed wonderingly at that which had once been its master. There was a singular, scared look in its eyes.