“Just so,” replied Gotsuchakoff, with an intelligent nod, “only lend a hand to tie them together and then be off about your business.”
“Lancey,” said Ali Bobo, while the operation was being performed, “zat big Bulgar beast he say you’s his friend.”
“Big he is, a beast he’s not, and a friend he was,” replied Lancey, with a dazed look.
Further conversation was cut short by the sergeant ordering the trio to move on. He led them towards the Russian lines by a cord passed round Bobo’s neck, and carried a revolver in his right hand. Dobri Petroff immediately disappeared in the opposite direction.
At a later hour that night he entered the cottage of young Borronow. Giuana, Petko’s sister, reclined on a rude but comfortable couch. She was singularly pretty and innocent-looking, but very delicate and young. Her friends called her Formosa Giuana or Pretty Jane. Petko had been seated beside her, talking about the war, when his friend entered with a quick stealthy motion and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Dobri!” exclaimed the youth.
“Petko, there is danger at hand. Mischief is in the air. Time is precious. I may not say what it is, but you know me—I am not easily alarmed. You must promise me to quit this village with your sister within one hour.”
“But, Dobri, why?—what?—”
“Petko, no questions. More than that, no remarks,” interrupted the scout earnestly and firmly. “Another time I will explain. At present I ask you to trust, believe, and obey your friend. If you would save your life and that of Giuana leave this village within an hour. Go where you will, but leave it.”
“I will both trust and obey you, Dobri,” said Petko, returning the squeeze of his friend’s hand, which he had not yet let go.