The imminence of the peril staggered the fugitive for an instant. They believed that the Cossack had heard the falling log, and expected him to put in an appearance at any moment. The latter part of this supposition was verified almost instantly, and before any plan of action could be decided upon.
The sentry had not heard any noise, for the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, but at the very moment when the fugitives thrust out their heads he decided to exercise his stiffening limbs. With long strides he advanced, bowing his head before the driving snow. In this attitude the dark gap in the prison wall caught his eye, and with more of curiosity than suspicion he bent down close to the mysterious hole and peered into it. He could not see the fugitives, but the conviction that something was wrong quickly forced itself into his mind, and he opened his mouth to summon the officer of the guard.
Too late! A pair of muscular arms darted lightning like through the opening, and the unlucky Cossack was seized by the throat and dragged bodily out of the snow and through the narrow opening. Still holding his victim by the throat, so that no outcry was possible, Shamarin—for it was he who had performed the daring deed—struck the Cossack’s head forcibly against the end of the log. His struggles ceased, and he lay quietly on the ground.
“Not dead, is he?” asked Sandoff fearfully.
“No, only stunned,” replied Shamarin. “Help me to bind him, quick! Every moment that we stay here increases our peril.” As he spoke he tore the Cossack’s leather belt from about his waist and proceeded to sever it in two, lengthwise, with the knife.
“Don’t stop for that,” said Sandoff. “The officer of the guard makes a round every few moments. If he comes by now we are lost.”
“True!” exclaimed Shamarin. “I had forgotten that—what shall we do? It is important that this sentry be put out of the way, as you will see later. Stop! I have an idea. Put on this fellow’s cap and coat, shoulder his rifle, and mount guard outside, keeping your back up against the hole.”
“A good plan,” replied Sandoff approvingly. “I will do it.”
Shamarin handed him the cap and cloak and he quickly donned them. They fitted his tall figure well. Then he crept hurriedly into the snowy street, picked up the rifle that the Cossack had dropped, and assumed a rigid martial attitude. Opposite him was a row of low buildings, dark and silent. To his left, around the angle of the prison, the narrow street opened on the square, and to the right it extended through the outskirts of the settlement to the Kara River. Not a living creature was in sight.
Five minutes passed and no word or signal came from Shamarin. Then a quick crunching sound fell on Sandoff’s ear, and he had barely time to divine its meaning when a Cossack officer rounded the angle of the prison and approached him on a brisk walk.