“Then I will answer it with another. I will give you three minutes to vacate your present position. If not, we will shoot every one of you!”
Frank’s tone was firm and his manner resolute. The Russian officer saw this. For a moment he was at a loss what to say or do.
It was likely, however, that he would have given the order to attack and blood would have been shed had it not been for an incident.
Suddenly a loud cry came from the direction of the plateau. Two horsemen were seen riding at full speed.
They wore the blood-red uniform of the Czar’s service. Instantly a cry escaped the Russian officer’s lips.
“Couriers of the Czar!” he cried. “What can they want?”
Hostilities were suspended for the time. Everybody watched the approach of the couriers, and the exile leaned forward with open mouth and half eager gaze.
“God be with us!” he murmured. “It may be Olga’s reprieve!”
The next moment the couriers of the Czar reined in their smoking steeds. They saluted, and the foremost asked:
“Are you Ivan Petrowsky, of the Irkutsh Prison?”