“Of what concern, I say,” he repeated, “is it of yours that I paid my roubles for this shining thing?”
“Of this concern, chief,” impressively declared the scout addressed, “that with it on your finger you would be pointing your way to the grave; that with it on your finger in a few days the wolves might be snarling over your swollen corpse.”
The Cossack shook his head, and turned to his comrades, with a significant shrug of the shoulders, as much as to say that somebody’s mind was wandering.
“Tell him that the man of whom he bought the ring,” urged Billy, “had sworn revenge for a blow inflicted.”
Salisky put the information in form of understanding to the Cossack.
Nikita dropped his manner of incredulity like a shot.
“A blow. Now I remember; it was in the place where led the trail of these spies.”
“Drop that last, chief,” angrily challenged Salisky. “These boys, as I told you, have sought you day and night to save your life. Were they what you claim, is it likely that they would so desperately attempt to overturn that which would quietly remove one who hungered to lay them low? Have a thought, chief.”
Nikita was thinking, the savage in him was receding. He looked attentively at the death ring poised in his finger.
Then he cast the jewel downward to the ice-encrusted surface at his feet, and ground its shimmering facets under the pointed heel of his cavalry boot.