by Harold Lamb
"Cossack blood never goes unavenged," said the war chief proudly. "What has happened?"
"Ataman Cherevaty has been waylaid along the trail from Ruvno by the Tartars. I was in his band, and the foe dashed out on us from a thicket. Many good Cossacks lie dead on the steppe, while the Tartars bear away spoils of swords and rich cloaks. Cherevaty and his lieutenant Stepan Vertivitch and a dozen others survive, but they are prisoners, carried to the river, while the siech gossips in council like the fat Poles."
A shout of anger went up at the man's words that echoed through the kurens. Ostalim tried to make himself heard in the uproar, but was silenced by the Koshevoi Ataman, who grasped his arm sternly.
"Before we take up the pursuit of the dogs who have captured the worthy Ataman Cherevaty," he cried, "what punishment shall be the reward of the false Cossack who tried to lead us astray? He has told us that the Tartars plan to seize the war treasure when they have attacked our brave Cossacks and carried them across the river. He has come from the river bank where the Tartars must have landed. He is known to none of the Cossacks of the siech. What is the will of the rada?"
"Death!" cried the same group of dandies who had started the first commotion. "He is no Cossack, but an enemy who seeks to betray us. To the river with him!"
Some voices from groups of the older men opposed this, and Ostalim was grateful to them as he heard the veterans say he should be brought with the army until the truth of his words could be proved. The Koshe-voi Ataman listened to both factions; then he raised his hand for silence. Instantly quiet prevailed in the square.
"One law of Cossackdom compels us to go after our brothers who have been made captive," he said, "and another gives death as the reward for false news in time of war. Whether this man is a spy or not, I shall leave his punishment to the army. He shall be placed in the stocks and a club laid by him. Any man believing him guilty may strike him with the club, according to the measure of his strength. Those who believe him innocent of wrong will not touch the club. Meanwhile, forward to the river."
At the sentence, Ostalim started forward to make an appeal, but two giant Cossacks grasped him and tore his sword from his belt. Vainly he tried to speak to the war chief. He was dragged away to one side, where the stocks stood.
Before he realized what was happening, his captors had thrust his legs into stout wooden blocks set in the ground, which were clamped tight and locked. His sword was flung down on the ground at his feet. It was growing dark, and the Cossacks brought two large torches which they stuck upright in the ground on either side of him. By their light he could see the ranks of Cossacks hastening by him to the river.
Worse than his own plight was his failure to make plain the treachery of the Tartars. He cursed his haste which had brought him alone. Rashov was known in the siech, and they might have listened to him. But the mischief was done, and his own life was forfeited in disgrace for his momentary lack of foresight. He had heard from Rashov how men in the stocks were clubbed to death without mercy.
This was his entry into the siech that he had planned for so long! He was thankful that his father was dead and could not learn of it; even his father's sword was in the dust and would be unnoticed, for which he was thankful now. There was no one else to care whether he lived or died, except perhaps Rashov and Mirovna Cherevaty, who had thought enough of him to quarrel with him.
So far he had been left in peace, the Cossacks being busied with their departure for the river, but now he found himself in the center of a group that he recognized as the Cossacks from the west with their gold braid. He read no mercy in their eyes by the flickering torchlight. It was curious that this group, among the thousands, should be so interested in his death, and the words of the escaped rower returned to his mind—that there were spies in the camp itself.
He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth as the first of the group stepped up to him with raised club. He made no plea for mercy, resolving to submit to punishment in silence.
But the blow did not fall, and he opened his eyes in surprise. There was a commotion in the circle, and a big figure pushed through the others to a place in front of him. "Pardon me, honorable sirs," he heard a familiar voice; "but I insist on seeing the fun in spite of your objection."
Rashov broke off to stare blankly at Ostalim. "May the devil roast me if it isn't my friend Paul," he cried, "strung up and trussed like a ripe pullet. What is the meaning of this?"
"The man is a traitor," growled one of the Cossacks, "and the Koshe-voi Ataman has decreed his death, as is fitting."
"Not so," broke in Ostalim. "The Koshevoi Ataman said only that those who believed me guilty of false tidings should beat me with the club."
"Ha! So that's the beer you beauties have been brewing here?" Rashov planted himself by the side of his friend and whipped out his sword. "The Koshevoi Ataman is a wise man," he said, laughing, "and if you choose to do so, lay on with the club. Only when you have done so I shall roll your head in the dust like an overripe plum. Who is the first to lay on?"
The man who had the club stepped back hastily, and the others showed no signs of being willing to take Rashov at his word. After whispering together and scowling at the pair of friends, they drew off, leaving Ostalim unharmed. No others came to molest them, although they waited until the last of the army had disappeared in the darkness by the river bank.
When the camp was deserted, Rashov lost no time in freeing his friend, declaring, as he pried the stocks apart with his saber, that the mandate of the Koshevoi Ataman had been fulfilled and that they were free to look after their own skins. They had the camp to themselves, for every one of the Cossacks had gone with the army that was already crossing the Dnieper under the protecting shadow of darkness.
"How comes it, Rashov," inquired Ostalim, rubbing his ankles to restore the circulation, "that you are here and not at the war chest with our friend the rower?"
The big Cossack rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as though the matter was new to him. "A man must eat," he said finally, "and two men must eat more. Wherefore I came but to procure necessary bread and brandy."
"That is a lie," interrupted Ostalim calmly.
Rashov's red face flamed purple; and he clutched his sword. "By my faith," he snarled, "and I had not shared bread and salt and brandy with you, and were we not brothers in arms, I'd split your skull for you, handsome as it may be, for those words."
"Talk not of splitting skulls between two brothers," replied Ostalim, "when I owe my life to you. I have not marched and slept with you without knowing that you would not leave a post of duty without greater excuse than hunger. There was another reason."
"Well, your brain is keen as your sword, Paul," admitted Rashov ruefully, "and I did but try to frighten you with my talk. As for the reason, the truth is that our rower, in spite of dire need of food, thought naught of it, but sent me to confirm your words to the siech when I told him that you were unknown to the Cossacks. A wise move, but I came too late."
"Not so; you came in good time, Rashov. What think you of the warriors who would have beaten me?"
"Their hands looked whiter than their conscience. I liked not the breed. What kuren do they claim?"
"I know not, except that they were pleased to wish my death. Come, my blood is back into its channels again." Ostalim buckled on his sword and summoned to him the two borzoi who had kept at his feet through all the turmoil of the camp. "It is the law of Cossackdom that we may not leave a comrade in danger to seek safety, and so we must return to the swamp—on foot—for our horses were carried off."
As the two friends left the camp behind them, Rashov caught Ostalim's arm and pointed back. In the circle of torchlight stood a full-armed Tartar, mounted on a beautiful Arab steed, his swarthy face peering suspiciously into the shadows. The enemy had come to the Zaporogian Siech.
Chapter V To Save the Treasure
In the reeds which concealed him from view the old rower raised his head and listened. For several hours he had waite
d in the darkness for the coming of the Cossacks from the siech, and now he was beginning to suspect that something had happened to delay them. There had not been a sound in the swamp after the departure of Rashov, save the crying of the gulls overhead and the slinking sounds of small animals moving about near him. Now he heard a new sound, as of a heavy body splashing in toward him from the river.
The war treasure was hidden, he knew, in a hillock under the trunks of two great, fallen willows, a few paces from where he sat, and he wondered if the Tartars were coming already for their booty. If so, he reflected, they would find only a naked man without weapons to combat them, and he resolved that they would not take him back to the galley. He would lose his life in defending the treasure that he had helped to mass together ten years before, and that would be more fitting than to perish of abuse at the hands of the Tartars.
The footsteps neared him quickly, and his keen ear made out one person approaching alone. He crouched down in the reeds and waited until the newcomer was abreast of him; then he crept forward like a stalking tiger, and, when he made out a shadow loom beside him, sprang on the other's shoulders.
With surprising ease he bore his enemy to the ground, and gripped the two arms that might reach for a sword in a steel-like clutch; the years of rowing had given him the arms and shoulders of a giant. Then he relaxed his grasp as quickly.
The figure under him gave forth a cry—a woman's cry of surprise and hurt, followed by a muffled sob.
"A woman!" he muttered. He drew back and felt her short skirt and slender boots to make sure his ears had told him the truth. "What do you here?"
"You are a Cossack," she echoed gladly as she sat up. "I feared I had fallen in with a Tartar. Indeed," her voice saddened, "none have better right here than I, for I have heard that my father and his men have been attacked and killed near this spot. I came to search for his body, if I could find it, and bear it to Ruvno from further injury."
"Ha, you are a good girl!" returned the Cossack, patting her shoulder, "and it grieves me that I hurt you. Who was your father?"
"Demid Cherevaty," she said sadly, "ataman of the Ruvno kuren. They set upon him foully from the thicket where he rode to the siech with Stepan Vertivitch and his men. Few escaped the slaughter. No one suspected that the Tartars dared come to this side of the river so near the siech."
An exclamation escaped the rower, and he bent closer in the darkness. He could see little of the girl, save her eyes gleaming from the mass of dark hair which lay disheveled over her slender shoulders.
"Did you say Stepan Vertivitch, of Ruvno?" he demanded sharply.
"No other. He was a close intimate of my father, who wished him to marry me, but I would not, owing to things that I had heard about the youth in Kiev. Still, now he has lost his life, for there is no hope for a Cossack who falls into Tartar hands, I should not speak ill of him, should I? His fate has been that of his father, the warrior Vertivitch, who was ataman of Ruvno, and who was taken by the Tartars and lost to Cossackdom."
"Aye," remarked the rower bitterly, "like his father, doomed to torment. Tell me more of the lad. Was he a promising fighter? Does he deal a hefty blow with his fist, and ride his horse fearlessly? Was he honored by the Cossacks of Ruvno?"
The girl seemed to hesitate. "It is not fitting that ill should be said of one who fought bravely and was overcome by numbers," she said thoughtfully. "Those who escaped the fight and came to Ruvno with the news said that Stepan defended himself against all the Tartar horde, and that he was the last to give in, still unwounded. And I know that he is my father's favorite, for he shared with me the secret of the hiding place of the war chest, which my father told him as a token of his trust. Also his love for me was great."
"Whence did the Tartars go with their prisoners?" the rower asked, after weighing her words in silence. "Did they return across the river?"
"So it is reported. They were seen to enter the swamps along the river bank, where they disappeared. Already the men from the siech have taken up the pursuit across the river. But I felt in my heart that the Tartars might have killed my father before they crossed, wherefore I came here tonight in a sailing skiff from the village, because I could not rest until I knew the truth."
The rower patted her head roughly in sympathy. The cry of a gull overhead broke into his meditation, and he climbed clumsily to his feet, drawing up the girl.
"Listen, little one," he whispered. "Your father's capture was a part of the Tartar plan, as cunning as a devil's snare. Those who waylaid him and his men have not returned across the river; they are concealed near us in the swamps, waiting until the last of the men from the siech are over the Dnieper. At dawn they will come here to seize the war treasure, and there will be none to defend it. For Ostalim and Rashov would have returned with at least a kuren if they had been able to do so. Something has hindered them."
"Ostalim, the smith?" cried the girl. "He is a stranger to the siech, and no warrior proved."
"Strange," remarked the rower, "for he bore himself like a man who knew his strength, and I would swear that he would not leave me in peril, contrary to the Cossack law. Yet he has not come back, and it is within an hour or two of dawn. Soon the Tartars will be here for the war treasure, and they will find only an old man and a girl, of all the ten thousand."
"The war treasure! This is the spot!" The girl drew a quick breath. "Why, it is all the wealth of the siech, gotten together for twenty years-"
"It lies there, beneath the trunks of the willows that you see as shadows among the rushes." The old man pointed out the place. "If we could manage to save a part of it-"
"We can," cried Mirovna quickly. "Don't you see how it can be done? My boat lies only a few paces away in the rushes, where there is a channel. We still have a little time before it is light. I am strong, and I can help you carry the chests to the boat. Once clear of the reeds we shall be safe from the Tartars."
"Well planned, little one!" cried the rower in high glee. "The thought is worthy of your father, who was once my brother-in-arms. Come, let us see what an old man and a girl can do, eh?"
The thought of saving the war treasure put new life into the rower's shattered limbs, and he lost no time in tearing aside the covering of earth and branches that concealed the treasure under the willow trunks. Down on her knees, the girl worked beside him, giving a soft cry as the tops of the chests were disclosed.
The gold they contained made the chests weighty beyond the strength of the two to carry, despite the iron muscles of the rower. But the old man hastily contrived a pronged branch by which they could drag the precious objects to the boat through the mud and water of the marsh. By placing the branch slanting against the side of the boat, they were able to push their burden over the rail without actually lifting it. As soon as they had disposed of one chest they hurried back for another, panting from their labors.
As they labored, they watched the red glow that meant the coming of dawn. The red glint changed to orange and pale yellow, while a gray light began to steal among the reeds that lay to the east. Before long they were able to make out each other's faces, streaked with sweat and mud, but the last of the chests was on the heavy skiff, which the rower pushed farther into the channel against the danger of grounding under the weightier cargo, and they clambered aboard.
As they did so the swamp to the south, in the direction of the camp, echoed with the tramp of running men, while several shots rang out. Hastily the rower seized one of the large oars and began to push into the mud bed with it to set the vessel in motion. The skiff, with its mast and sail and fifty feet of clumsy construction, was no light craft, and for several seconds it hesitated, as if unwilling to move forward at all.
Meanwhile the splashing in the reeds came nearer, and two large wolfhounds sprang out into the channel, swimming as they reached the deeper water and barking with excitement. At their heels plunged a big figure of a Cossack, without hat or pistols, his boots coated with mud, and the finery of his attire smirche
d with many a fall into the swamp.
Sighting the boat and Mirovna, he gave a shout of surprise. "Forward, Ostalim!" Rashov bellowed, waving his sword. "By the beer mug of my grandfather, if angels haven't sent us a boat and manned it themselves. Leave the Tartars and come and see it with your own eyes."
Saying which, the fat Cossack lost no time in scrambling over the rail of the skiff, no easy task for a man of his weight, after thoughtfully helping the dogs to do the same first.
"Ostalim!" cried Mirovna, listening to the noises of the pursuit in the swamp. "He came with you? Are there others?"
"I would there were, lady," said Rashov ruefully; "but the two of us came alone on foot from the siech, being chased into the bargain by a horde of rascally heathen from across the river, who were concealed in the swamp. By my faith, the ground is foul with them! It was only by luck and the dexterous use of our pistols that we are here at all. Ha! Here comes my brother-in-arms."
The boat was already under way when Ostalim emerged from the rushes into the channel and Rashov helped him to climb over the rail. His first act was to seize the hand of the rower, who was shoving into deep water with all his strength.
"Hold!" cried Ostalim, panting. "There is another Cossack escaped. I saw Stepan Vertivitch running through the reeds, a naked saber in his hand, with a pack of Tartars at his heels. He will be here directly."
A spasm crossed the face of the old man as he heard this, and his hands knotted on the oar. He peered through the rushes in the gray light, as if his heart were fixed on what might come from them. Angrily he shook off Ostalim's restraining hand, and gave a mighty thrust to the oar, sending the craft a dozen paces out into the channel.
"Are we women," he cried roughly, "to wait with the treasure of twenty years to save the life of one Cossack, and a stripling at that? Little thanks would we get from the Koshevoi Ataman for lightly risking our precious cargo. On to the river!"
