Stabbing the other noise with sharp precision came the sound of shots.
CHAPTER XXV
eanwhile, at the estate of Peter Vseslavitch, the day dawned clear and fine—but upon what a scene of uproar!
All night the household had been corked up as if tight in a bottle—as far as following the marauders was concerned; for when, a few minutes after that last intimidating shot of Virot's, they had burst out of the house and run quickly to the stables, it was only to discover that all the horses were gone.
"By the ever-to-be-praised apostles!" swore Andrieff, his red beard wagging in impotent rage, "the devils have turned the horses loose on the steppe. Every box is empty!"
It was true—and almost frantic with distress Peter and the overseer had been forced to turn back into the house to wait till day-break.
Well! there was work there for them while they waited. Paul and the lad Alexis were soon brought back to consciousness with nothing more serious than badly swollen and throbbing heads. But poor Baxter still lay in a heap on the floor. He seemed not to have stirred. And Peter thought, as he knelt over him, that he would never move again.