Nathan leaned forward with his face in his hands.
“Thirty million dead in Russia since the bust started—think of it, fellows—thirty million! That’s an awful mass of dead bodies.”
“Yes,” said the Scranton man tersely. And the railroad man observed, “I’m natcherly a peaceable yap. But for once, if they’d lynch that dam’ Kaiser, believe me, I’d pull on the rope!”
“Amen!” said the small man who had not spoken.
“I wonder what the chances are for getting transportation through to Vladivostok? Lord, I’ve got to get through! Those poor devils off there at ‘Cold-belly’ as we called it, are dying like flies, just for bandages and disinfectant.”
“Better go over to the Consulate in the morning and ask Thompson. He’ll know. There’s a he-man.” This from the engineer.
“They run a string of ‘empties’ through to Harbin for supplies about once a week,” added the chap from Scranton. “There’s a consular courier named Roach going out when the next one starts. Maybe you could kick in with him.”
IV
Hartshorn, the Scranton man, offered Nat the upper bunk in the caboose car that night. And Nathan crawled in between blankets for the first time in weeks.
It was very easy to think, lying awake there in the dark. But Nathan did not want to think. He wanted to forget—forget quickly.