The parting with Butin and Vraskoi was a sad one. Good wishes were exchanged and hands were clasped in a friendly embrace. Then Shamarin lowered himself into the hole, followed by Sandoff, and the planks were forced into place over their heads.
The first step had been safely accomplished, and the fugitives were now in a hollow place about three feet high and extending under the entire prison, for the building had been erected on piles above the ground. This space was full of dirt and filth that had been dropped in through holes in the floor, and was surrounded on all four sides by a wall of heavy logs roughly plastered together.
Shamarin knew the location of the prison well, and had formed his plans accordingly. Bending low he groped his way forward, with Sandoff by his side, until he came in contact with the wall of logs. With his knife he picked out some of the dried plaster from the chinks. Putting his eyes to the fissure thus formed he could see into the stockaded courtyard of the prison. Through the snow, which was still falling, the forms of half a dozen Cossacks loomed darkly as they stood about a blazing fire, warming their limbs. A stack of rifles was visible close by.
“All right! I have my bearings now,” whispered Shamarin. “Keep close to me and don’t make any more noise than you can help.”
He groped his way along the wall until he reached the angle. Turning this he pushed on for half a dozen yards or more. Then he stopped, and asked in a low whisper, “are you there, Sandoff?”
“Yes,” came the instant reply. “Where are we?”
“On a line with the side street,” answered Shamarin. “The next step is to remove a log. Here, take this wedge and help me to pick out the plaster.”
By feeling with his hands Shamarin chose a log suitable for the purpose, midway between the ground and the prison floor, and both attacked it vigorously but noiselessly. In less than half an hour the plaster that held it in place was removed, as far as was possible, and by their combined efforts, one using the knife and the other the wedge, one end of the log was pried inward until they could grasp it with their hands.
It was a critical moment. Before proceeding further Shamarin peeped out through the crevice. The narrow vista afforded only a brief view of snow covered ground, but as all was quiet he plucked up heart and dragged the log entirely out of its setting. It toppled into the inclosure with a slight crash.
Both men thrust their heads out together, and drew them back as quickly with a startled jerk. An armed Cossack was standing on guard along the prison wall not ten feet distant.