Chapter XXXIII

Jeff glanced toward Molly for guidance—a frequent act of late—and her smile told him not to attempt resistance to the foe. He nodded in token of surrender, and the sergeant, uttering a guttural command in his own tongue, came in and quietly seized his weapons. He took the rifle from its rack, and he did not overlook the heavy revolver in the holster suspended on the cabin wall. He was evidently a thorough soldier—a picked man—for from Jeff’s belt he slipped the hunting knife which might have other uses than quartering game.

Meanwhile Jeff waited quietly for what might befall. No time since they had met was he more keenly conscious of the girl’s presence, or more thankful for it; in hours like these she proved her worth. Molly had filled the breach before now, and she was not through yet. He knew that treasured consolation of a real helpmeet, such as were once the bulwark of American greatness.

He addressed her casually, not without humor. “I wish we had your precious nugget now, Molly. The chap looked as if he might be bribed.”

“Never mind, Jeff. They must have come with dog teams, so we’ll get a free ride down to Sitka, anyway.”

Such seemed to be the program, without aggravating delay. This Muscovite proved an expeditious fellow; and since the morning was yet young he made immediate preparations for departure. He signalled for the two to procure their wraps and a few of their more essential supplies, and to prevent accidents, slipped a pair of loose wristlets on Jeff. Calling in one of his men to guard the prisoners, he stepped out and ordered up his dogs.

“Can this lad talk English, you think?” Jeff said to the girl.

“Try him and see.”

Jeff addressed the man, but his stony look indicated either that he failed to understand or that he obeyed implicitly the old-time military order concerning conversation with prisoners. To be safe, Jeff stepped to Molly’s side and spoke in an undertone. “Slip our little file in your pocket, if you can,” he instructed. “We may get a chance to slip during the night.”

“I will, but it won’t do us the least good,” was the whispered reply. “They could track us anywhere in the snow, and overtake us with their dog teams.”

She spoke with unusual cheerfulness. Jeff appreciated her good spirits; but at the same time he wondered if she fully realized what this arrest meant. The _Ethan Allen_ was not in the harbor, waiting to fly with him. But this time the _Neva II_ might be ready to sail again.

The dogs were driven up to the door, and the strength and size of the teams indicated they had been imported from far in the interior. In a very few minutes the entire party was under way, down the wide, glassy road of the frozen river.

Karl was plainly eager to greet his guests, as every arrangement had been made for a quick trip. They were not to walk, as is usually necessary in traveling long distances in the North, but were given seats on different sleds, each with a single guard. The teams started off at a running pace, leaving the pack sleds and the remainder of the squad far in the rear. Except for the fear that burned him, the winter journey would have been the keenest delight to Jeff, and surely no mode of travel in the known world could compare with this new experience. It was a most novel and invigorating trip; the sled skimming behind the long, running pack, ice-shod; the air cold and thin and preternaturally clear; the winter forest whipping by. If Molly had any fear she certainly did not show it. Of course she was merely trying to encourage Jeff, but the way her voice rang when she called back to encourage his somewhat slower team, and her laughter on the wind that swept over his head seemed so real that it actually embittered him.

They were to make the trip in three days’ run, unusual time indeed for such a distance. Two supply depots had been established at intervals between the cabin and the river’s mouth, winter camps made, robes provided for the prisoners’ beds, food cached for the dogs and fuel cut for roaring fires. These things had been done purely to expedite the journey, yet they added materially to the comfort of the captives. It was also true that the guards were fairly courteous and considerate, not by Karl’s orders, but probably in spite of them. Indeed, it was highly improbable that Karl had relented sufficiently to order fair and decent treatment toward the prisoners; but the men were average, kindly peasants, and a rigorous system had taught them particular respect for people of Jeff’s apparent caste. However, they obeyed strict orders so far as maintaining vigilant guard.

When they reached the second supply camp—after two days’ hard journey—Jeff again broached the idea of flight. “We might slip out after they leave us for the night, and with a long head start, we could possibly get clear away,” he whispered to Molly in the darkness of their tent. “You know we are close to the mouth of the Iskut. We could follow up the river on the ice and cross the mountains to the Indian encampment where we sent Staritsa and Templeton. I know approximately where it is, and the snow on the range is probably passable by now, even without snowshoes. It would be a long chance, I know—but any chance is better than none at all.”

“You couldn’t possibly make it without snowshoes, Jeff,” was the answer. “I know the snow is packed and crusted by now, but even if it would hold you up, you’d give out before you could ever get across.”

“You don’t think there’s any chance?”

“A good chance for immediate death—that’s all. It is a long, long way, Jeff; and men can’t travel these winter woods without supplies and equipment. They would catch us before we ever got started. If they didn’t catch us, we’d perish of hunger and cold before we could ever find that native village.”

“A man can stand more than you ever dream, if he has to. That village is somewhere on the headwaters of the Nass River; and we might be lucky enough to run into it. Molly, do you think Karl means any harm by you?”

“No. I’m not important enough to harm. I’m not afraid for myself.”

“You don’t seem very much afraid for me, either. Just the same, Molly, I put no trust whatever in Karl, and I don’t believe I would feel too secure. Except for this, I’d leave you and try to slip away to-night. It is plain you won’t come with me.”

“I couldn’t let you go, even if you wanted to,” was her answer. “I couldn’t let you throw away your life on such a reckless chance.”

“But you admit it is a chance—and I don’t see how I have any kind of a chance if we go to Sitka. Of course, I wouldn’t leave you—if you’d beg me to—but just the same, it is the only possible hope for me.”

But the girl was stubborn. “It’s the slimmest kind of a hope, at best. Jeff, you must stay and help me.”

This was so unlike Molly that Jeff was amazed. Evidently she had no real conception of the fate that awaited him. Hopeless, more or less embittered, he turned from her and sought the oblivion of slumber.

The party started on in the dawn, taking advantage of the river ice past the mouth of the Iskut and almost to the sea. When the warm breath of the Japan current began to make itself felt, the sleds were drawn up on the snowy river bank, and at a much slower pace, guided between the trees down to the beach. Here a boat was waiting to take them on to Sitka.

In the afternoon of the next day they stepped again on the dock of the old Russian town. No courteous princes stepped down to meet them to-day; and among the few loiterers on the dock Jeff did not recognize a familiar face. Molly appeared to be more fortunate; as he waited for the guard to march him away, he saw her approach a man in uniform—plainly a soldier; from the garrison, at present off duty—and speak to him in a quiet voice. He immediately turned and left the dock; and though Jeff was mystified, the time did not permit an explanation. The guard stepped to his side and at once escorted both himself and Molly up the hill to the Governor’s house, historic Baronof Castle that had seen the beginning of Jeff’s adventure and now would doubtless behold its end.

Evidently he was to hear his fate at once. It appeared that Prince Maksoutof was absent from the city, but he had not left his chair unoccupied. Count Yanovisk was present to take care of routine matters, and erect and handsome in the Governor’s place, the fountainhead of Alaskan law, was Baron Karl, last seen when Jeff had left him injured on the dueling field.

He had made a startling recovery. Karl was wholly his picturesque self. His paleness seemed more likely the effect of quickened emotions rather than the aftermath of his long confinement; and it actually became him. He bowed to Molly; and now, as Jeff looked him in the face, he had the bearing of supreme triumph. This was plainly a long-awaited hour.

“Well, Sharp, we meet again,” he began in his own, not ungraceful way.

“Yes, Baron Karl.” He knew the code, this Southern gentleman, and he managed a dim smile. “Under not such pleasant circumstances, however, as the last time we met.”

“That was quite a triumph for you,” Karl observed. At this point he glanced toward an officer who was just entering the room, but it was apparently an unexpected call and did not long divert his attention from Jeff. The latter recognized the officer as Colonel Semanof, in command of the garrison; and since he sat down quietly to wait his chief’s leisure, his business appeared to be of no great urgency.

“Quite a triumph,” the man in the Governor’s chair repeated. “I suppose you felt you had risen high, to have shot down Baron Karl. You were even more self-congratulatory when you escaped from prison. What must your triumph have been when you successfully blocked our treaty with Hudson’s Bay Company—and through them, with England—I can not imagine. The backwoods American certainly moved into great company.”

“So the treaty is blocked, then?”

“The Czar has just notified us of his intention to sell all of Russian-America to the United States; I think this news will undoubtedly keep you cheerful during any disagreeable situation in which you may find yourself in the future. You have had many signal triumphs, Sharp—and it will be a great pity that we can not watch your further progress.”

“I am to go away?” Jeff asked.

“Rather speedily, I fear. The captain of the ship is impatient to sail. Your affair is just one of many which we wished to clear up before America occupies the territory. No, I am afraid I have seen the last of your great exploits, my friend.”

“Before I go I will gladly give you an opportunity to see one more.”

This shot went home. The vein at Karl’s temple throbbed and leaped; and for a moment he actually forgot the dim echo of a smile that until now had lingered about his clean-shaven lips. This room was full of people whom he would have rather not heard this sally: Yanovisk, Semanof—providing the latter’s meager knowledge of English permitted him to understand—Molly, who smiled into his eyes, and various under secretaries. Karl was a proud man, secure in his strength; yet he could not answer this challenge as in former days. There are certain limitations to every man’s courage, and this was his. Their last meeting had taught him a bitter lesson.

“An affair of honor is impossible between you and me,” was his sober reply. “A duel must of a necessity be fought between people of something like equal rank and similar traditions; thus each can be fairly sure that the guns are loaded—and the caps contain powder. I have tasted enough of your kind of dueling, my friend.”

“You were simply hoisted by your own petard, Karl, and you know it.”

“We will not discuss that further. My friends realize the truth, and what you say will not likely change them. We are trifling time; we must get to the business in hand. You will have time in plenty later to dwell upon these matters. Sharp, you have won from us many things. We supposed you were in your own country, out of our reach; but fate has put you in our hands at last.”

“The _Ethan Allen_ escaped, then?”

“A fog came up, and we lost her among the islands. We supposed that you were aboard her, until a story leaked through from Upreanof Island of your capture and the murder of Staritsa and Templeton—a story I was able to piece out from the most meager details. Although the truth reached us too late to save Alaska, at least we can collect a certain measure of payment from you. It helped console us for our loss to learn you were still in easy reach.”

“We did not kill Staritsa and Templeton. They are at present in a winter village on the upper Nass River and will return later in the spring.”

“Yes?”

“That is true, as I stand here. I owed Staritsa something better; but Americans are not dogs, to tear a victim when he is down.”

“This is very good news for us, but I fear it will not change your fate. America has not occupied Alaska yet, Sharp, and will not for some weeks. Our law is still supreme. We still have power to take care of you; and the report that goes to Washington of your deeply deplored and mysterious absence will never be questioned. If it is questioned, there will be no one to answer; I will be in a far country where I may not readily be found. You will be given a number—over there—and of all living beings, I will be the only one to know what name corresponds with that number. Partly through your efforts we have lost Russian-America. Now you are to lose your very name. Perhaps thus we may teach a peasant not to interfere in the concerns of his betters. The guards may lead you out now, and to-night they will put you aboard the ship. Special guards will see that there will be no further jail-breaking. Little brother, we bid you farewell—to Alaska.”

The full meaning of this sentence silenced Jeff; yet Karl was not to go unanswered. In the little, moving pause following his words of hate, a clear voice reached him from an unexpected quarter. An amazingly clear voice, it was; not loud, but remarkably penetrating in the hushed room.

“He is not to go at once, Baron Karl,” this voice said.

Karl turned to find Molly’s clear eyes looking straight into his own. He did not know why this glance disconcerted him in a way never previously experienced; and why dark forebodings, mysterious as a distant cloud, bore heavily upon him. “What are you saying?” he demanded. “Do you dare question my order?”

“I question a great deal more than that,” was the girl’s reply. “Mr. Sharp is not going to Siberia; never think for a moment that he is. I believe, Baron Karl, that during your dictatorship out here Colonel Semanof has been directly under your command, and his troops have put your commands into effect. Colonel Semanof is here to-day to see to it that a higher law than yours is obeyed, one that no one here dare disobey. He will agree with me that you never made a greater mistake than to think this American citizen would go to Siberia in chains!”

Her voice had a ringing tone of conviction not easy to mistake; and her eyes flashed and warm waves of color came and went in the higher curves of her cheeks. Karl stared at her, then turned to the chief officer of the garrison.

“What are you doing here, Semanof?” he asked in Russian. “I did not tell you to come.”

“I was told to come in the name of our Royal Master,” was the reply. “I know nothing else.”

“You will know in an instant,” Molly told him emphatically. The conversation was now unintelligible to Jeff, but to his amazement, Molly seemed not only to follow it but to take part in it. “Colonel, I have something here that is of interest to you to read.”

She produced a small folder of black leather, and from this she drew a folded sheet of parchment. Semanof’s wondering eyes glanced down the lines.

There was only a paragraph or two written on the sheet, but their effect upon this quiet soldier was instantaneous and sensational. His heels snapped together with an audible click, and with a stiff gesture he held out the paper for Molly to take. As soon as her fingers closed upon it, his right hand went up in a rigid salute; and he held the position without a tremor until Molly spoke certain quiet words which Jeff did not comprehend.

Karl was not such a fool as to misunderstand; yet he smiled wanly in his place. For all his iniquity this Russian nobleman was a man of iron.

“It must be a most interesting document, Semanof,” he observed. “I can’t help feeling curious—”

“It is an order dated June 1st, 1866, commissioning the bearer, Mary Forest, as his Majesty’s special representative in this territory, with authority superior to that of the Governor and all other agents, and subject only to Imperial countermand,” Molly explained. “It supersedes all previous edicts and commissions heretofore granted in Russian-America.”

“You have certainly been a long time bringing it to the light,” Karl remarked pleasantly. No look or tone hinted at his realization of certain downfall. “May I ask who signed the document?”

“The Czar!”

At that name every man in the room was on his feet.