The desired opportunity speedily came—none too soon, however, for the Cossacks were beginning to spread out with a view of getting ahead of the sledge or of shooting down the horses.
To the right of the post road lay wooded hills, and on the left, toward the sea coast, was a stretch of undulating country very little timbered. Sandoff abruptly turned the horses in this direction, and applied the whip with merciless severity. The sledge attained a speed that was truly terrific. It skimmed over the frozen ground, swaying dizzily from side to side, and leaping high in air as it struck hillocks or scattered stones.
The Cossacks made a desperate effort to overtake the fugitives, but the four who had come on from Riga with Colonel Nord began to fall behind, their horses being exhausted. The colonel himself had evidently procured a fresh steed at the post station, for he pushed on with the other three Cossacks.
For half an hour this wild race continued. The ground increased in ruggedness. The undulating swells of land grew higher, and the hollows between them consequently deeper. As the horses galloped with steaming nostrils up one of these long slopes and dragged the sledge lightly over the crest, Sandoff uttered a cry of dismay. Down in the next valley wound a stream a hundred yards or more in width. It was ice bound, but the glassy covering looked smooth and treacherous, and was dotted with air holes.
“They have us now!” exclaimed Shamarin. “The game’s up!”
Sandoff gritted his teeth and took a firmer hold of the lines.
“There is a chance yet,” he cried hoarsely to his companions. “Drowning is better than recapture.” Then he lashed the horses more furiously than ever, and the sledge went down the frozen descent like a meteor, and whizzed out on the sheet of ice. Had the horses been moving less rapidly they must have broken through at once, but their very speed carried them on over the treacherous surface. The frail ice behind the sledge creaked and groaned and broke, and the angry and amazed Cossacks, who were close in pursuit, found their progress cut off by a watery gulf.
On went the sledge, Sandoff all the while urging the noble beasts by whip and voice, but when the shore was only half a dozen yards away the ice gave way with a terrific crash.
Sandoff plunged into the icy water waist deep, and, taking Vera in his arms, conveyed her in safety to the bank. Shamarin followed him with an armful of rifles and ammunition. Then Sandoff returned to the horses, knife in hand, and regardless of the bullets that pattered about him, he severed two of the animals from their fastenings, and after much kicking and plunging they gained a foothold on the firm ice. The third horse was struck in the head by a bullet, just as Shamarin—who had hurried back to aid his companion—was cutting it loose, and with a shrill neigh it rolled over into the water.
“Mount as once,” cried Sandoff, as he led the horses out on the shore. “Vera can ride with you or me—it matters not which.”