Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in Russia; or, Lost on the Frozen Steppes

by Horace Porter

  CHAPTER III.

  TRAILED BY RED RIDERS.

  The silversmith seemed satisfied that he had effectually unseated Billyfrom his highhorse position, and in cat and mouse attitude awaitedcomplete surrender.

  "You--you dare to voice that suspicion?" gasped the boy. "We never heardor even dreamed of such a plot, and with the coming of the shock hadn'tthe least idea what caused it."

  "Is it not true that the pair of you at the very moment of the explosionwere preparing to speed in aeroplanes to the rescue of at least two ofthe plotters?"

  Ricker smiled as he presented what appeared to him to be a poser.

  "Only half a truth," cried Henri, "with the worst half added by you. Wedid intend to offer Roque a saving turn in one of his own machines, forold acquaintance sake, but not in the connection that you put it. Foreven that much, I know, you have us against the wall, but let me tellyou, sir, if the worst comes to the worst we will confess our part toour friend Colonel Malinkoff and he can weigh the testimony that thethree of us can give."

  This dropped Ricker, not only to a seat on a workbench, but in point ofargument. Just back of him were the battered remains of a time-clock,with twisted wires still attached, for the custody of which he wasresponsible to the authorities, and about which, as an expert, he wasexpected to report the next morning. It was a part of the infernalmachine dug out of the ruins of the war depot!

  Both Billy and Henri were quick to observe that the silversmith wasabout all in, so to speak, and more than willing to play quits.

  The man who had missed his reckoning an hour in the setting of a springwas not now disposed to perpetuate the error!

  As the boys were about to push aside the curtain and get out into theopen, a small bell suspended from the ceiling of the workroom softlytinkled. Ricker was on his feet in an instant and holding a finger tohis lips.

  At the store entrance some rapid-fire Russian was being exchanged, andBilly took the liberty of peeping through a slit in the drapery behindwhich he was concealed. The look was a blood freezer.

  Nikita, the Cossack, and the hairy clerk were having it hammer and tongsabout something, when all of a sudden the red rider unhanded one of hisheavy leather gloves and with it struck the queer shop attendant full inthe face.

  Of all the malignant looks that Billy had ever seen on human countenancethe blackest was pictured in the glaring eyes of the fierce servitor,who, retreating before the assaulting Cossack, had backed against thecounter.

  Ricker, catching the drift of the quarrel in front, turned quickly, andnoiselessly pushed aside, in well-oiled grooves, a solid-back platecase, and to the opening revealed in the wall he beckoned the boys. "Heis evidently after you, for some reason," whispered the silversmith;"claims that he trailed you here. Is he friend or foe? Tell me quick."

  Without a word, Billy and Henri classed the hunter outside as a decidedenemy by hurriedly slipping through the aperture, the case smoothlyshutting the way behind them.

  It was not in the program of Ricker that his shop should be the scene ofan arrest, and, too, it was now in his interest that the boys shouldescape the probe of any investigation.

  Having disposed of this dangerous exhibit in his back room, thesilversmith hastened to the front to pacify, if possible, the unrulyintruder.

  Ricker, showing his best professional smile, stepped between thefrowning Cossack and the enraged clerk, speaking a sharp word of warningto the latter, and asking the former what it was that he desired.

  "Ah, two boys, air drivers, you say? I know them not. Reported to be inmy shop? There cannot be good eyesight around here. Everything is open.This way, please."

  The silversmith moved backward, closely followed by the Cossack andseveral others of his kind, and pulled the curtains aside, with asweeping gesture of invitation to search at will.

  Though the keenest of trackers in the great outdoors, the red riderswere at a loss when it came to detective work within four walls. Theyprodded with their lances bundles of wrapping paper in the several darkcorners of the workroom and poked their heads into all of the packingcases, but with cunningly designed entrances into secret apartments theyhad no experience.

  At last, scowling and grumbling, the baffled searchers marchedthemselves out of the shop. As the Cossack, Nikita, passed out the queerclerk shook a fist at the crimson-clad back, mumbling frightfulmaledictions to himself.

  The silversmith assumed a busy manner, shifting the stock display on theshelves, winding clocks, and generally bustling about as if making upfor lost time.

  All this time the boys were completely shut off from every sight andsound in the musty room behind the plate-case.

  "Wonder how long this lockup is going to last, Henri?"

  "Until the shutters are put up in front, I suppose, Billy."

  "That's entirely too long for me," impatiently asserted the boy fromBangor. "Let's see if there isn't some other outlet to this den."

  But with all the sounding and pounding they could do, the lads found noback way to the dismal room.

  And, too, they were baffled again and again by the mechanism of thesliding door by which they had entered.

  Nothing more to do than to await the pleasure of the silversmith, and sothey awaited, hour upon hour, seated on a rickety sofa, nursing theirchins in their hands.

  The one little, cobwebby window at the top of the dingy wall in front ofthem no longer showed light.

  Then there was a click, a faint squeak, and Ricker appeared in theopening, cleared by the movement of the sliding case.

  "Have they gone?" eagerly inquired Henri.

  "Apparently so, but Hamar is out now to make sure that they have not seta watch on the place."

  "There'll be somebody else hunting for us if we don't get away prettysoon, and that will be a squad from headquarters. The lieutenant,"concluded Billy, "is mighty particular about the off-duty hours that theaviators keep."

  Hamar, the hairy lieutenant, had been a long time gone, and Ricker haddifficulty in persuading the boys to lay quiet until positive assurancecame that the coast was clear. With the next striking of the big clockin the square--it was eight--Billy declared against further delay.

  "I really believe that Marovitch and Salisky have returned, withoutreason to the contrary have given the Cossack what they know of ourhistory and identified us with the last trip to Petrograd. So what's theuse of further dodging? It will all come out, and if they hitch us ontothe explosion plot--well, you can guess the rest."

  Ricker squirmed in his chair. "Say," he pleaded, "hide here for a day ortwo and we will find a way to get you both across the river."

  "No," declared Henri. "I'm going to put it up to Colonel Malinkoff thisvery night. He can, and I believe he will, save us from the fate ofspies."

  "But what about me? Am I to be betrayed?"

  The silversmith's right hand was buried to the wrist within thebreast-front of the loose coat he wore.

  There was a muffled knock at the front door, twice repeated.

  "Hamar," muttered the silversmith, lowering his hand. "Stay where youare," he hissed to the boys. With the turning of a ponderous key thewild-eyed servitor, hooded to the shoulders, pushed his way through thespace in the half-opened door.

  "Where in Satan's name have you been?" growled Ricker.

  The hairy man laughed--and it was a laugh to curdle the blood.