Sandoff left the room with a firm step and composed bearing, but nevertheless his brain was fairly bursting with the intensity of his thoughts. He had but one idea—the necessity of making an immediate and desperate dash for liberty.
The game was up. Just inside the door stood the four Cossacks who formed Colonel Nord’s escort. They were laughing and talking boisterously, and Sandoff noted with satisfaction that the starosta had taken away their horses—probably to be fed and watered. Here was one danger out of the way. The sledge stood where he had left it, facing the road, and the gates were wide open, the starosta having neglected to close them after Colonel Nord’s entry. Another favorable circumstance!
Sandoff calmly untied the strap that held the horses to the gate post. Then he turned and slowly mounted the seat beside Shamarin. Even in the dim light the marble pallor of his face was visible, and his companions were quick to scent danger.
“Something has happened,” said Vera. “What is it, Victor?”
“Hush!” said Sandoff in a voice that they hardly recognized. “Not so loud! All is lost and discovery is inevitable. Prepare the firearms for use. All depends now on getting clear of the village.”
He gathered up the lines and Shamarin touched the horses with the whip. They trotted out of the yard, the circlet of bells making merry music over their heads, and turned up the street on a gallop.
“Those accursed bells!” muttered Sandoff. “Why did I not take them off?”
Then he fiercely jerked the horses to a standstill as the military post loomed in view, with the barred gate stretching from side to side across the road.
The officer who had stopped them before came out with a lantern.