“I have told you,” I said. “Will you loose me from this tree? I am stiff as you, and stiffer.”
He was not thinking of me, and cut my halter mechanically, watching Martemian all the while. He left my ankles bound, and thought that my hands were too, but in his anger he had been more careless than usual, and had cut a cord that left the noose loose on my wrists, but of this I gave no sign, though my heart leaped.
Martemian, meanwhile, had quenched his thirst, and now he was bathing his face; a process so unusual that it made patches of whiteness in the brunette tinge of his complexion.
Mikhail rose deliberately and untethered the horses, letting them stray for fresh provender, a custom of his at morning, then he walked slowly to the brook. I drew my hands cautiously out of the loosened cords and began to undo the bonds on my ankles.
Martemian ran his wet fingers through his long hair and beard. The morning air was sweet, and I saw him draw his breath deeply, and I watched the figure behind him—treading stealthily—draw a long sharp knife. One foot was free now, and I worked wildly at the other, yet—all the while—I watched the scene. The whiteness of the early morning lay far off on the plain, the stream sparkled, the black shadows hung behind us in the forest, the horses nibbled the short turf near me. One man stood still, the other crept, the long knife gleamed. Then Mikhail’s foot crushed a dried twig and Martemian wheeled and saw him. There was a scream of passion, a fierce answering roar, and the two clenched and fought, as demons might.
I sprang to my feet, and hunted the ground for a stick and found a stout one, then I caught the nearest horse and mounted.
They did not see me; they wrestled and writhed like two giants, the knife between them, death in their hearts. They rolled over on the ground and grappled, and Martemian was underneath.
I cut the other horses sharply with my stick and they reared, plunged forward, and ran before me like wild deer, and I—I rode for life, for liberty, for love!
The clatter of the horses’ feet roused the two ruffians; loosing each other, they rose from the dirt, shouting and running after me, but their horses ran before mine. I looked back and saw two tongues of flame, and a bullet clipped my ear while another grazed one of the horses on the flank, and faster and faster they fled, until the cries grew faint and far-distant, and died at last in silence. I looked back and saw only two little black dots on the crest of the slope, and, at last, nothing but the wide swell of the land.
And the wind blew from the south and the sun shone.