When we regained the road on the further side, two mounted men awaited us, who, after exchanging a few low-spoken words with the Pavloffs, fell in behind us; and later another, and yet another, joined us in the same way.
It must have been about one in the morning when we reached the village half-way between Zizcsky and Zostrov, where Mishka and I had got the last change of horses on our journey to the castle. Here again all was dark and quiet, and we rode round instead of through the place, Loris and I, with the Pavloffs, halting at a little distance, near a small farmhouse which I remembered as that of the starosta, while our four recruits kept on.
Mishka rode up and kicked at the outer gate. A light gleamed in the yard and the starosta, yawning and blinking, appeared, holding a lantern and leading a horse.
“The horses are ready? That is well, little father,” Mishka said approvingly.
“They have been ready since midnight, and the samovar also; you will drink a glass of tea, Excellencies.”
As he led out the other three horses in turn, a lad brought us steaming glasses of tea, and I was glad of mine, anyhow; for the night, though still and clear, was piercingly cold.
“The horses will come on, with four more recruits, after a couple of hours’ rest,” said Loris, as we started again.
We kept up an even pace of about ten miles an hour till we had traversed about half the remaining distance, picking up more silent men on little shaggy country horses till we rode a band of some fifteen strong.
I think I must have fallen half asleep in my saddle when I was startled by a quick exclamation from Loris.