Last of the Breed (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures)

by Louis L'Amour

  “But how would he know? If they took us now, how would they get word to him? It is impossible. You worry needlessly.”

  “How much longer can we stay here? When spring comes, we can no longer have the house.”

  He had been thinking of that and shied from the thought. This place, however small and lonely it might be, was snug and warm. It was a refuge, a hiding place from all that crowded about outside. Little as it was, he hated to give up these days of peace. The place was cozy, the view beautiful, and there were no passersby to alert the authorities.

  He dreaded another trek across country and the problems of protecting his daughter. So far he had succeeded, but there were bands of young renegades, “hooligans” the law called them, and he was no fighting man. He would soon be seventy and had grown more fragile with the years, although since coming to live in the taiga his health had been better and he was stronger. The north country did not tolerate many germs, and the air was better. They were far from factories and the effects of smokestacks and power lines.

  “We must think about it, Talya. I agree we must have an alternative plan if Bocharev forgets or can do nothing. I agree that we must leave, for it is only a matter of time until they descend upon us again.

  “We are free now only because they are busy with other things. They have, as the saying is, bigger fish to fry. If they want us, they will have us.

  “I think we should make plans now; when this snow is gone, then we can move.”

  To where? He asked himself this question. The closest point on the Chinese border was beyond Voroshilov. He did not know the towns but must get out his maps and study them. Iman might be better, although farther. There might be fewer people about.

  He put on his heavy coat and went out again to gather fuel. It was a never-ending struggle against the cold. Had he been here earlier he would have stacked wood for the winter, but there had been no chance of that.

  He walked up into the huge trees in the grove behind the cabin. It was silent there, like walking in a huge cathedral or the temple at Luxor, of which he had seen pictures. It was a good place to think.

  Natalya was right, of course. They must not delay. How to get across the border he had no idea. All they could do was get close and study the alternatives. Knowing the thoroughness of the KGB, his only wonder was that they had not already been picked up and interrogated.

  Their very presence on this coast was enough to arouse suspicion.

  Thoughtfully, he began reviewing all he had learned from the young soldiers during their visits. They had talked a good bit about the borders and their duties, partly to impress Natalya and himself with the importance of what they were doing. This was expected of young men, and their experiences had been interesting as well as informative. Although there were places where troops facing each other verged on outright hostility, there were others where food was exchanged and clothing traded back and forth. At such a point, there might be tolerance unfound elsewhere.

  Gathering wood to load the crude sled he had built, he tried to think of every aspect of escape.

  To leave here, of course, meant to abandon any help from Bocharev, so all he could do was hope that if such help was to come that it arrive before they fled from here. And the time was terribly short.

  It meant crossing the Sikhote Alin Mountains, low but formidable. There were dense forests and man-eating tigers, long feared by the Chinese who lived along the Amur.

  There were brigands in those forests now as there had ever been, fierce men who robbed, raped, and terrorized travelers and nearby villages.

  Yet if they were to escape, it must be done, and it might be possible to secure transportation. Stephan Baronas was beginning to learn that there were many ways in which to survive and that there existed a clandestine world of which he had never been aware, a half world in which refugees, criminals, and others mingled, aided and robbed each other, and moved across borders without the knowledge of the authorities.

  Human nature is such that friendships will develop even among those whose official interests are opposed, and in these days of instant communication such an understanding could possibly avoid a clash that might end in war. Trust is often based on very little more than one’s measure of a man.

  He loaded his sled with firewood and drew it over the snow to the cabin. By the time he had reached it he knew they must prepare, select several possible avenues of escape and have them ready.

  In the village he might establish some contact with a truck driver who would carry them to their destination or at least near to it. Also, he would take a page from Joe Mack’s book and scout a trail over the mountains toward the border.

  The difficulty was that they must wait to the last minute for what Bocharev might do, while even now their arrest order might lie on a desk somewhere, awaiting implementation.

  Fortunately, they had nothing that must be taken, beyond what clothing and food they possessed at the time. Stephan Baronas was beginning to learn that possessions can rob one of freedom just as much as the bars of a cage.

  When Stephan Baronas reached the cabin with his sled, he was tired. He paused, waiting outside the door until he had caught his breath, not wanting Natalya to hear how hard it was for him to breathe.

  To flee they must cross mountains. How would he manage that? No matter, he would manage it, and the mountains were not so very high.

  When he had stopped panting, he opened the door and took an armful of the wood to its place beside the fire. Putting down the wood he brushed off his arms.

  “Talya?”

  There was no answer. Looking around, he saw the note on the corner of his reading table. There he left the three books he had succeeded in keeping.

  Gone to the village.

  He swore, exasperated. She knew he had intended to go, and he would not have wished her to climb back up that steep trail. It was a cold walk down to the edge of the bay and then around by the shore, and that was a rough, hard-drinking crowd that hung about there.

  Adding fuel to the fire, he took off his coat and settled down. It would be a long wait.

  * * *

  —

  NATALYA ARRANGED THE few things purchased into her backpack. She was aware that several of the men who usually loafed about were watching her and talking in undertones to each other. She was about to shoulder her pack when the door opened with a gust of wind from off the bay.

  The instant her eyes touched him she knew the man, but she knew better than to call any such man by name until he identified himself. It was not impossible that at the moment he had chosen to use another.

  He glanced at her and then went to the keeper of the store and purchased tobacco.

  Taking up her pack, she started for the door. One of the loafers sauntered over. “Help you with that?” He reached for the pack.

  “I will be all right, thank you.”

  “Now that isn’t friendly,” the man said. “Here, I’ll take it.” His hand closed on the pack and he jerked it roughly from her arms, so roughly that she staggered and almost fell. Somehow she kept a grip on the pack. “I do not want any help!” she said.

  He laughed at her, pushing her away. “Let’s see what you bought,” he taunted. “Maybe there’s something—”

  “Let go of her.” Yakov’s tone was low, but it carried a message.

  Slowly, still keeping a grip on the pack, the man turned. “Did you speak to me?” he said roughly.

  “I told you to let go of the pack and leave the lady alone.” Yakov smiled. “I shall not tell you again.”

  “Ho, ho!” The man sneered, jerking a thumb toward Yakov. “Who does he think he is?”

  Yakov was not four feet from him, leaning an elbow on the counter, his pipe in his teeth.

  “Move back, Natalya,” Yakov said. “When he falls I do not want him to fall on you.”
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  Two of the other men had risen, looking from one to the other, uncertain what course to choose. “Falls? Who is going to fall?”

  Yakov spoke past the pipe. “Let go of the pack,” he said, “and step back. The lady is a friend of mine.”

  “And who are you?”

  Yakov’s elbow still rested on the counter, his right hand lay flat upon its top. He was smiling.

  “I am taking this woman and her pack with me,” the man said. He glanced at his companions. “If he gives trouble, take him. I’ll share her with you.”

  Almost negligently, Yakov kicked him on the side of his knee. The crack was loud in the room. The man cried out, staggered, and fell. Yakov faced them. “He now has a broken leg,” Yakov said politely. “What do you want broken?”

  Astonished, they looked from him to the man on the floor, who gripped his leg and moaned.

  The others stared at him, drawing back. Yakov took up Natalya’s pack. “We are leaving now, but remember this. I do not want this lady disturbed in any way, do you understand? She is a friend of mine. If I have to come back I will find each of you; alone or together, it does not matter.”

  He turned to Natalya. “Come,” he said. “Enough of this.”

  They went out, and Yakov closed the door behind them. The man on the floor was alternately moaning and cursing. Now the others were crossing the room to him.

  Outside, Yakov said, “Do you live far from here?”

  She pointed. “Up there, in the forest. It is several miles.”

  “Have you room enough for me?” he asked. “I don’t want to make any trouble, and I can rig a place in the forest.”

  “Of course there is room.”

  They walked on, and after a bit she said, “Yakov? Thank you.”

  “It was nothing. I have seen many such. They are all mouth and talk very loud when filled with vodka.”

  He lowered his tone. “It is you and your father? What happened to the others?”

  “Scattered. I do not know where.”

  They were on the shore of the bay. She paused, looking back. Only the few lights were visible.

  “Yakov? Have you heard of him? Of Joe Mack?”

  He chuckled. “Who has not? He’s leading them a dance, I tell you. Has half of official Siberia strung out, looking for him. One part is afraid the others will find him first.

  “He’s off to the northeast now, and they are mustering men. I would go to help him if I knew how, but he’s doing enough by himself.”

  “Who are you, Yakov?”

  “It is better you do not know. Let us say that I love Mother Russia but I do not love her government. I do not like being tied to a certain piece of work. I am a wanderer, a free soul, you might say. As you know I have helped people escape from them. Perhaps I am one of the damned capitalists they talk about, but I’ve no capital.”

  “But you’re not alone?”

  “Oh, no! There are others of us, but we keep out of sight. That little thing just now. I do not like such things because they attract attention.”

  He looked up the steep path. “You climb this often? With a pack?”

  “My father has done it, but I do not wish it any longer. His heart is bad, Yakov, although he believes I do not know it. He stops outside the door to recover his breath before he comes in. If I had not come tonight, he would have come in the morning.”

  They walked on, and then at the top of the trail and within sight of the cabin she stopped again. “Yakov, we are going to try to leave the country.”

  Briefly, she explained, adding the story of Bocharev and his son.

  “Bocharev?” He was surprised. “He is a good man, Natalya, and a strong man. He can do it if he wishes. He can send you over the border. Not even Zamatev has his power, or Shepilov.” He nodded his head. “Yes, it is good that you should go. That is why I am here.”

  “Why? Why are you here? What do you mean?”

  “The order has been issued by Zamatev for your arrest, yours and your father’s. You cannot wait. You must go tonight.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  STEPHAN BARONAS GOT to his feet as they entered. His smile was warm as he greeted Yakov. “Come! Sit by the fire! It is good to see you!”

  “I am afraid there is little time for sitting, comrade. You are to be arrested. You must leave this place at once.”

  “Leave it?”

  “You have no choice. Zamatev has ordered your arrest. He is picking up all those who had any contact with the American. You and your daughter are first on the list.”

  Natalya was gathering their clothing into bundles, collecting what food they had. The packs would be large, but the food would disappear quickly, lightening their load.

  She glanced at her father. How would he ever make it? Or would he? Over the mountains in the dead of winter? At least he would not die in prison.

  He must not die! He had too much to offer, he was too good a man, and he was her father. He was all she had.

  All? She thought of Joe Mack. Was there really anything there? Or was it all a dream? An impossible dream?

  What had passed between them? What had been said? What promised? She shook her head, amazed at herself and at him. There had been nothing, really. Nothing one could put a finger on and say this was the moment.

  There had been no words of love, no passionate clinging together, only a quiet understanding, something rich and warm and beautiful. Somehow, from the moment they met, there had been no doubt. She had not really considered it; she had not thought about it or dreamed of it. Suddenly he was there and she knew.

  Now, packing swiftly, she puzzled over it. What had he said? What had he done? How had he aroused this feeling in her? She had always been a cool, sensible sort, but this was a man on the run, a man of an alien people, even of a different race.

  He was an Indian, what had been considered a savage people. That, he said, was true no longer of his people, but it was true of him.

  Could he be savage? She thought of that and admitted it was more than possible. How else could he exist out there in the wilderness? In the snow? And now, with the terrible winter more than half gone, he was still alive, still out there, still somehow avoiding capture.

  She turned on Yakov. “Could it be morning? A few hours’ sleep would prepare us for it.”

  He shrugged. “The further you are away, the better. I can come with you but a little way. I must not be found here, or found at all,” he added, somewhat grimly. “I can help you for a few miles, and then I must be away.”

  “Father? Get some sleep. We all must.” She turned to Yakov. “Before daybreak, then?”

  He shrugged. “It is a risk.”

  Yakov built up the fire; then he took an AK-47 from his pack and checked it. The sound of the action opening and closing was ominous in the small cabin.

  Her father’s weariness was obvious in the quickness with which he slept. She saw Yakov look at him and then shake his head.

  She lay down without undressing. There would be no time in the morning. Staring up at the ceiling, she tried to think of what they must do. There was a dim path up through the forest that did not begin until beyond several small clearings. She had walked up that trail no more than a mile, but it led into dense forest. In the summer she would have explored it further, but in this weather, in the winter—

  There had been snowshoes in the cabin, and they belonged there. No matter, they must take them. If they escaped, they could send payment for them.

  If they escaped—

  She lay long awake, staring up into the darkness, lighted only by the flickering flames of the dying fire.

  How could they possibly escape? An old man and a young woman, an old man who had never been considered physical.

  And even when they reached the border, how could they cross? The river they w
ould reach would not be the Amur but the Ussuri; yet it was a large river, and it would be patrolled.

  The opening of the door awakened her, for it let in a cold breath of wind. She sat up quickly. It was Yakov.

  “It is time, and we must hurry.”

  As she moved to stir up the fire, he stopped her. “The fire is out; the ashes are cold. Leave it that way, and they will not know when we left.”

  She was prepared. Her father dressed quickly, and they took up their bundles and went outside. It was snowing, a soft, gentle snow whispering down, covering all.

  She led the way up through the trees where they had gathered wood, across a sort of clearing, and then around the huge tree she remembered and into a trail that was only a mere parting between low-growing shrubs.

  Yakov turned to look back. The snow was already obscuring their tracks. “In minutes,” he told her, “they will be gone. Let us be moving.”

  It was cold and crisp. She moved along, purposely holding down the pace because of her father. The trail wound through the trees, and she found her memory of the first mile was good. “I could become an Indian,” she told herself. “I could even live in the forest.”

  The Iodzihe River lay to their right, and the forest through which they were going was cut by a small stream that flowed down to that river. Yakov moved past her. “Let me break trail now,” he said. “I did not know where it began.”

  The snow was deep under the trees. What they could see of the sky was overcast and a dull gray. The trees were stark and black against the whiteness of the snow. Not a breath of wind was stirring now, and the forest was very still. Once she saw a bird glide off among the trees, following their same path through the forest.

  Many massive oak and maple trees mingled with what her father told her were Korean pine and, of course, birch, with which she was familiar. Steadily, by a winding route, they climbed.

  Along the streams there were cottonwoods, some of the largest she had ever seen.

  The morning was cold, but not too cold, and after they had traveled for what she believed was two miles, they paused to rest. In all this time, except for the one bird, they had seen no living thing. Now, standing close, they talked in low tones.