On the following morning Shamarin partitioned off one end of the cabin for Vera’s use, taking timber for that purpose from a pile that lay outside among the pine trees. It was all drift wood—of which material the cabin itself was made—and the poor fellow who built it must have dragged every piece up the ravine from the river. The tools used in its construction were found in the cabin—a small blunt axe and a rusty saw. Vera knew nothing of the identity of the builder, but the fact of his having these tools showed pretty conclusively that he had belonged to the Free Command.
The fugitives now settled down to a manner of life that was painfully dreary and monotonous. For three whole days it snowed. On the fourth night a small avalanche dropped from the hillside above, and, crashing through the pine trees, completely buried the cabin. This proved to be a rather fortunate thing, for from that time on the little dwelling was snug and warm. After half a day’s labor the men opened communication with the outer world by means of a tunnel leading from the cabin door. At night they slept, and during the day they whiled away the time by conversation and story telling. Not once, however, did either Sandoff or Shamarin touch on his past life. By tacit consent that subject was always avoided. Each felt that it was better to forget the great gulf that had once separated them—better to remember only that they were comrades now, with the same perils and the same hopes.
So the days passed into weeks, and the weeks went by until February was half gone. Food was getting scarce, and all three grew so heart-sick of their cheerless life that a change of almost any sort would have been welcome. One evening when they were all sitting about the fireplace, where a few sticks of wood were burning for the purpose of light, Sandoff said abruptly:
“I have come to the conclusion, my friends, that we had better leave this place at once and begin our journey to the Pacific. I will explain my reasons,” he continued, as his companions gave him their earnest attention. “In the first place, as you know, alternate slight thaws and heavy frosts have put a crust on the snow that will easily bear our weight, while horses would break through it at once. Two months of winter yet remain—a period which is usually one of steady cold—and I maintain that during these two months is the best time for us to travel. The way to Vladivostok leads down the valley of the Amur River. That is really the only path we can take. As you know, the great Siberian post road also follows the windings of the stream. Of course we will keep back among the foothills, and at this time of year, when the post road is little traveled and but few persons are abroad, the danger of discovery would be lessened. If the crust remains on the snow we should be able in two months to cover the thousand miles that separate us from the Pacific. Moreover, if my plan succeeds we shall reach Vladivostok in the early spring, when vessels from foreign countries are coming into the harbor, and when those that have wintered there are preparing to depart. If, on the other hand, we remain here until spring, our progress will be delayed by melting snows and swollen streams, and we shall reach Vladivostok at a very bad season. Still, there are many obstacles in the way of an immediate start—the cold, the difficulty of finding shelter at night, and the necessity of procuring food.”
Sandoff had hardly ceased when Shamarin leaned over and clasped his hand.
“You’ve taken the words right out of my mouth, comrade,” he said eagerly. “I have been thinking of that very thing for the past week or so, and I agree exactly with what you say. As for the obstacles you speak of, we are warmly enough clad to defy the cold. Caverns and bushes will give us shelter by night. We can find an abundance of small game, and now and then pick up food from the friendly peasants who live along the post road. The sooner we start the better—that is my firm opinion. As for Vera, no doubt she is of the same mind.”
“I am,” exclaimed the girl eagerly. “I am anxious to start at once. The journey holds no terrors for me. You know that, Felix?”
“Yes, I know it,” returned her brother proudly. “I know you have twice as much courage and endurance as most men.” At which remark Vera blushed and drew back into the shadow.
So the question was settled without further discussion, and at daybreak on the following morning the fugitives were up and preparing for the eventful journey. That preparation, as may be imagined, was very slight. Shamarin possessed quite an inventive faculty, and in less than an hour he constructed a long flat sledge, rudely but strongly put together.
“This will serve to carry our baggage,” he said, “or any one of us who may be worn out or unable to walk. Moreover, if we come to any long, smooth inclines we can all get on board and go sliding down.”