They searched the convent thoroughly; they went out into the garden and beat the shrubbery, kicking through bushes and saplings, their cocked rifles poised for a snap shot.
Peasants, gathering there more thickly now, watched them stupidly; the throng increased in the convent grounds. Some Bolshevik soldiers pushed through the rapidly growing crowd and ran toward a birch wood east of the convent. Beyond the silvery fringe of birches, larger trees of a heavy, hard-wood forest loomed. Among these splendid trees a number of beeches were being felled on both sides of the road.
“Did you see a White Nun run this way?” demanded xxx the soldiers of the wood-cutters. The latter shook their heads:
“Nothing has passed,” they said seriously, “except some Ural Cossacks riding north like lost souls in a hurricane.”
An officer of the Red battalion, who had now hastened up with pistol swinging, flew into a frightful rage:
“Cossacks!” he bellowed. “You cowardly dogs, what do you mean by letting Kaledines’ horsemen gallop over you like that––you with your saws and axes––twenty lusty comrades to block the road and pull the Imperialists off their horses! Shame! For all I know you’ve let a Romanoff escape alive into the world! That’s probably what you’ve done, you greasy louts!”
The wood-cutters gaped stupidly; the Bolshevik officer cursed them again and gesticulated with his pistol. Other soldiers of the Red battalion ran up. One nudged the officer’s elbow without saluting:
“That other prisoner can’t be found–––”
“What! That Swedish girl!” yelled the officer.
Several soldiers began speaking excitedly: