“Try it,” said Cunningham briefly. “If there’s fighting, I fight. If Maria dies, I die. That’s all.”
He brought his remaining weapon into view and held it grimly.
Gray stared from one to the other.
He shrugged his shoulders almost up to his ears and waved his hands helplessly. And then he said quickly, “Since I know, and the soldiers know, there’s no harm in telling Cunningham.”
Maria, her lips bloodless, whispered, “Tell him. It is best.”
But it was to Gray that Stephan turned. His back was toward Cunningham as he made a gesture for Gray’s benefit alone. Cunningham could not see, but it seemed as if Stephan had thrust up the wide sleeve of his embroidered jacket. And Gray licked his lips and said, “Oh, my God!”
“I tell you my own story,” said Stephan quietly. “The others are much the same. Twenty years ago I was the son of a village headman in Daghestan, which is in southern Russia. And there came upon me suddenly this—this thing which has made me one of the Strangers.”
Gray, shuddering, nodded. Cunningham raised his head.
“What thing?” he demanded.
“My own people would have stoned me when they knew,” said Stephan grimly. “My own father would have killed me. And I was a fool then. I desired still to live. I had heard whispers of this America, in which the son of the Governor of Daghestan had found a mine of gold so rich that he must work it secretly. It lay in a hidden valley, unknown to other men, and it was worked by—Strangers, who were safe in that one small valley so long as they served the lord Vladimir, while anywhere else in the world all men would kill them.”