CHAPTER XII.
A JOURNEY'S END WHICH IS NOT THE END.
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SUCH was, then, the abominable plot now in course of execution against Count Narkine and the Cascabel family! And that, at the very moment when, after so much toil and so many dangers, the journey was drawing so near to a successful termination! Two or three days more, the chain of the Ural would be left behind, and 300 miles to the southwest would bring them to Perm.
It will be remembered that Cæsar Cascabel had made up his mind to sojourn for some time in that town, so that Mr. Sergius might have every facility to repair to Walska every night, and without exposing himself. After which, according to circumstances, the count would remain in his ancestral home, or would come with him to Nijni,—perhaps to France even!
Quite so! But in the event of Mr. Sergius not leaving Perm, they should have to part with Kayette, who would, of course, remain with him!
That is what John went on repeating to himself, what unmanned him, what broke his heart. And John's grief, so true, so deep, was shared by his father and his mother, his brother and his little sister. None of them could resign themselves to the thought of seeing Kayette no more!
That morning, John, more sad at heart than ever, came to the young girl and observed her pale, drawn features, her eyes red for want of sleep:
“Little Kayette,” said he, “what is wrong?”
“Nothing wrong with me, John!”
“Yes, there is! You are ill! You did not sleep. Why, you really look as if you had cried!”
“It is last night's storm! I could not close my eyes all the night.”
“That long journey has told greatly on you, has it not?”
“Not in the least, John. I am strong. Have I not been used to all sorts of hardships? I shall soon get over that.”
“Then, what is wrong with you, Kayette? Do tell me, I beseech you!”
“Indeed, I am all right, John.”
And John insisted no further.
Seeing the poor fellow so unhappy, Kayette had been well-nigh telling him everything. It pained her to have a secret from him! But knowing his strength of feeling, she said to herself he might not contain himself perhaps in the presence of Kirschef and Ortik. His indignation might get the better of him—the least act of imprudence might cost Count Narkine his life; and Kayette had kept silent.
After long consideration, she determined to communicate all she had heard to Mr. Cascabel. But she should have an opportunity of being alone with him, and during the crossing of the Ural this would be a difficult matter, for it was important that the two sailors should suspect nothing.
As to that, there was plenty of time yet, since the miscreants were to make no move till the troupe reached Perm.
So long as Mr. Cascabel and his people would continue to be the same as they now were toward the sailors, the suspicions of the latter would not be aroused; and it may be mentioned, in this connection, that, on hearing that Ortik and Kirschef intended remaining with the troupe as far as Perm, Mr. Sergius had readily expressed his satisfaction thereat.
At six in the morning on the 7th of July, the Fair Rambler resumed its journey. One hour later, they were at the first springs of the River Petchora, after which the pass is named. Beyond the mountain range, this river becomes one of the most important in northern Russia, and after a course of 1350 kilometers throws itself into the Arctic Sea.
At this elevation in the pass, the Petchora was yet but a torrent, rushing through a ravined and sinuous bed, at the foot of tall groves of firs and pine trees. Its left bank would prove a safe track right on to the mouth of the pass, and, with some caution in the steeper parts, the descent would be accomplished rapidly.
Throughout this day Kayette could not find an opportune moment for her private talk with Mr. Cascabel. Nor did she fail to observe that there were now no private whisperings between the two Russians, either; no more lurking away on their part at halting time,—what could have been their motive for such maneuvering now? Their accomplices had gone ahead, for a certainty, and not before reaching Perm did the sailors expect to meet them again.
The following day yielded a good day's work. The defile, now wider, afforded a better road for the wagon. They could hear the Petchora, deeply incased between its banks, rumbling over its rocky bed. As the pass assumed a less wild aspect, it also became more frequented. Traders were now met, with a bundle on their shoulders and an iron-tipped stick in their hand, tramping their way from Europe to Asia. Bands of miners, on their journey to or from the mines, exchanged a word or two with our party. On coming out of the gorges, a few farms or small villages would now greet the sight. Away to the south, the Denejkin and the Kontchakov overtopped this part of the Urals.
After a night's rest, the little caravan reached the extremity of the Petchora pass, about twelve o'clock. It had at last crossed the entire width of the chain and had set foot on European soil.
Another stage of 350 versts, and Perm would reckon “one more house and one more family within its walls,” as Mr. Cascabel used to put it.
“Well, my word!” he would add. “A nice old ramble we have had, my friends!.... Say, was I not right!.... There are more ways to get home than one! Instead of coming into Russia by one side, we came by the other! Well, what's the difference, so long as France is over there?”
And, had he been urged on, ever so little, the good man would have stated his belief that he already recognized the air of Normandy, wafted eastward across the whole of Europe, and that he could swear to it by the little sniff of sea breeze that was in it.
Just outside the defile was a zavody, consisting of some fifty houses and a few hundred inhabitants.
It was decided that they would halt here till the following day to renew certain provisions, and among others, the stock of flour, tea, and sugar.
At the same time Mr. Sergius and John were able to get powder and shot and replenish their exhausted ammunition stores.
They had no sooner returned than Mr. Sergius called out:
“And now, come along, friend John! Shoulder your gun, and we shall not return with an empty bag.”
“As you like, sir,” replied John, more through courtesy than for his own pleasure.
Poor fellow! The thought of the now imminent parting made him careless of everything.
“Will you come with us, Ortik?” asked Mr. Sergius.
“With pleasure, sir.”
“Try to bring me home some choice game,” recommended Mrs. Cascabel, “and I promise you a good supper.”
As it was only two in the afternoon, the sportsmen had ample time to search the woods in the neighborhood, even if the thickets had not swarmed with game as they did.
Mr. Sergius, John, and Ortik started off accordingly, while Kirschef and Clovy looked after the reindeer, and prepared a park for them under the trees in the corner of a meadow, where they could graze and ruminate at ease.
Meanwhile, Cornelia was returning to the Fair Rambler, where there was plenty of work to be done:
“Now then, Napoleona!”
“Here I am, mother!”
“And Kayette?”
“Going at once, madame!”
But this was the very opportunity Kayette had watched for, so anxiously, to be alone with the head of the family.
“Mr. Cascabel,” she said, going over to him.
“Well, my pet?”
“I should like to speak to you.”
“To speak to me?”
“Yes, privately.”
“Privately?”
Then, mentally, he asked himself:
“What can my little Kayette want to see me for?—Might it be about my poor John?”
And both walked a short distance away, to the left of the zavody.
“Well, my dear child,” asked Cascabel, after a while, “what is your wish? What is this private talk about?”
“Mr, Cascabel, these three days I have been longing to speak to you, without anybody hearing us or even seeing us.”
“Why, it must be a, very serious matter, my darling.”
“Mr. Cascabel, I know that Mr. Sergius is Count Narkine?”
“Eh?—Count Narkine?” stammered Cascabel. “You know?—And how did you come to know that?”
“Through those who were listening to you while you spoke with Mr. Sergius, the other evening at Mouji.”
“Can that be?”
“And, in my turn, I overheard them conversing about Count Narkine and about you, unknown to them.”
“Who are they?”
“Ortik and Kirschef.”
“What!—They know?”
“Yes, sir, and they know, besides, that Mr. Sergius is a political convict who is returning to Russia to see his father, Prince Narkine.”
Cæser Cascabel, stupefied at what he had heard, stood for a moment, dazed, his arms hanging helplessly, his mouth gaping. Then, collecting his ideas:
“I am sorry,” he said, “that Ortik and Kirschef should know the secret; but since, by an unfortunate accident, they have come to hear of it, I am sure they won't betray it!”
“It is not by accident, and they will betray it.”
“What, honest sailors as they are!”
“Mr. Cascabel, listen: Count Narkine runs the greatest danger.”
“Eh?”
“Ortik and Kirschef are two criminals who belonged to Karnof's band. They are the men who attacked Count Narkine on the Alaskan frontier. After embarking at Port Clarence to get across to Siberia, they were cast on the Liakhov Islands, where we found them. As they know that the Count's life is in danger if he is recognized on Russian territory, they will demand a large portion of his fortune from him, and if he refuses, they will denounce him to the police,—And then, Mr. Sergius is done for, and so are you, perhaps!”
While Gascabel, crushed by this revelation, listened in silence, Kayette explained to him how the two sailors had always excited her suspicions. It was but too true that she had heard Kirschef's voice before. Now, she fully remembered it! It was on that frightful night when the two ruffians had attacked Count Narkine. And now, a few nights ago, while they were on guard together, she had seen them going away from the encampment with a man who had come for them; she had followed them, and she had been the unsuspected witness, of a conversation between them and seven or eight of their old accomplices—All Ortik's plans were now unveiled. After bringing the “Fair Rambler” round by the Petchora pass, where he was sure to meet numbers of malefactors, he had at first thought of murdering Mr. Sergius and the whole of the little caravan; but, hearing that Mr. Sergius was Count Narkine, he had said to himself that it was better to extort an enormous sum of money from him under threat of being handed over to the Russian authorities.... They would wait till all had reached Perm. Neither of the two sailors would appear in this business, in order to keep their position with the troupe, in the event of a failure. It was their associates who would communicate with Mr. Sergius by a letter, asking him for an interview, etc., etc.
It was with the utmost difficulty Cascabel could control his rage while Kayette told her tale of horrors. Such monsters! To whom he had rendered so many services, whom he had delivered from prison, whom he had fed and brought back to their country!—Well, a nice present, a precious restitution he was making to the empire of the Czar! The fiends! The—
“And now, Mr. Cascabel,” asked Kayette, “what are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do, pet? Why, it's very simple; I am going to denounce Ortik and Kirschef to the very first post of Cossacks we meet, and they'll swing for it!”
“Think, sir,” replied the young girl, “you can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because the first thing the two men will do will be to betray Count Narkine, and, along with him, those who have been the means of his returning to Russia.”
“Devil may care for what concerns me!” exclaimed Cascabel. “If I was the only one in question—But Mr. Sergius is another thing! You are right, Kayette; I must think it over.”
So saying, he moved on a few paces, a prey to the wildest agitation, striking his head with his fist as though in the hope of knocking an idea out of it. Then, retracing his steps toward the young girl:
“You tell me distinctly,” he asked, “that it is Ortik's intention to wait till we reach Perm before setting his accomplices to work?”
“Yes, Mr. Cascabel; and he recommended them, above all, to make no move whatever until then. So, I should think we must have patience and continue the journey to the end.”
“That's hard!” interrupted Cascabel, “very hard!—Keep them with us, bring them along with us to Perm. shaking hands with them at night, showing them a friendly face—By the blood of my fathers, I don't know what keeps me from going at them this minute, and wringing their necks like so—just like—so—”
And in a paroxysm of rage, Cæser Cascabel worked the muscles of his sinewy hands as if he had been in reality making Ortik and Kirschef pay the penalty of their many crimes.
“You know you must control yourself, Mr. Cascabel,” said Kayette. “You are supposed to know nothing—”
“You are quite right, my child.”
“I'll only ask you if you would think well of warning Mr. Sergius?”
“No—the more I think of it—no! It seems to me wiser not to tell him. What could he do?—Nothing—I am there to watch over him—and I will! Besides I know him well! Rather than expose us to any danger, he might give a good tug to the left while we'd be pulling to the right. No—for a certainty, no! I'll say nothing to him.”
“And will you say nothing to John?”
“To John, little Kayette? Not a word! He is a passionate youth! He could not keep quiet in the face of those abominable creatures! He can't control himself like his father! I know he would burst out! No, not a word to John any more than to Mr. Sergius!”
“And Madame Cascabel, won't you tell her?”
“Ah, Madame Cascabel—that's another question. She is a superior woman, you know, able to give an advice—and a helping hand, too! I never had a secret from her, and beside she knows all about Count Narkine—yes, I will tell her! That woman, you could give her State secrets to keep—rather than betray them she'd let her tongue be cut out; what more could you expect from a woman?—Yes, I will tell her!”
“Now, ought we not go back to the Fair Rambler?” suggested the young girl; “for our absence must not be remarked.”
“You are right, little Kayette, always right.”
“Above all, control yourself, won't you, Mr. Cascabel, when you see those two men before you?”
“It will be hard, my child, but never fear, I'll have a smile for them—the wretches! To think that we soiled ourselves with their contact. And that's the reason, is it?—why they told me they would not go directly to Riga! They would honor us with their company right in to Perm! The scoundrels! The ruffians! The devils!”
And Mr. Cascabel exhausted on them all the most formidable epithets in his vocabulary.
“If that is the way you are going to contain yourself—”
“No, little Kayette, never fear! I am relieved now! You see it was choking me, strangling me! I'll be cool now. I am so, already! Let us go back to the Fair Rambler. What fiends!”
And both returned toward the zavody. Neither of them spoke now. They were absorbed in their thoughts. So marvelous a trip, but yesterday on the eve of completion, and now on the brink of so fatal an issue through this odious plot!
As they neared home, Mr. Cascabel stopped:
“Little Kayette?” he said.
“Well, sir?”
“On the whole, I have made up my mind not to say anything to Cornelia!”
“Why so?”
“Because, you see—generally speaking I have noticed that a woman keeps a secret all the better as she knows nothing about it. That's why this secret in particular shall remain with both of us!”
One moment later Kayette had returned to her household duties; and as he passed by him. Mr. Cascabel had made a friendly gesture to that “honest Kirschef,” while he muttered between his teeth:
“Hasn't he the face of a devil!”
And two hours after, when the sportsmen came home. Ortik was warmly congratulated by the boss on the magnificent deer he brought on his shoulders. On their part, Mr. Sergius and John had shot two hares and a few brace of partridges, so that Cornelia was able to offer her famished guests a sumptuous supper, of which Mr. Cascabel took a large share. Truly, our actor was “splendid”! Not a trace of his anxious thoughts could be detected on his countenance. No one could have supposed that the man was aware there were two murderers at his table, whose ultimate designs were nothing short of the slaughter of himself and family. He was literally in a charming mood, full of fun and communicative mirth, and when Clovy had fetched out one of the “good bottles,” he drank to their return to Europe, their return to Russia, their return to France!
The next day, July the 10th, the team struck directly for Perm. The defile being now cleared, the journey was likely to be accomplished without difficulty, nay, without any incident. The Fair Rambler was following the right bank of the Vichera, which skirts the foot of the Ural. Small towns, villages, and farms now dotted the road; hospitable country people, abundant game, and a warm greeting everywhere. The weather, though very hot, was cooled by a little northeast breeze. The reindeer journeyed bravely on, and shook their pretty heads as they went along. Mr. Sergius had gratified them with the help of two horses, which he had bought at the last zavody, and they could now cover up to thirty miles a day.
Truly, this was a glorious début for the little troupe on the soil of old Europe! And their manager would have been a happy man indeed, if he had not cause to continually repeat to himself that he had two scoundrels among them:
“And to say that their band has been tracking us like a pack of jackals scenting a caravan! Come, Cæsar Cascabel, you must think of some trick to play those gallows-birds!”
How unlucky that a grand scheme, so skilfully combined, should be disturbed by this fiendish complication. The papers of the Cascabels fulfilled all the necessary formalities; the Russian authorities let Mr. Sergius pass freely as a member of the troupe; and when they arrived at Perm, he could have gone to and fro on his daily visits to Walska, with all possible ease. After seeing his father and staying for some time with him, he could have traversed Russia under his disguise as an “artist” and made his way to France, where he would be in complete safety. And then, no more parting!—Kayette and he would both be of the family!—And later on, who knows if that poor John—really, really, the gallows was not enough for those demons. And Mr. Cascabel, in spite of himself, would burst out into sudden and apparently groundless fits of passion.
And when Cornelia would inquire:
“Cæsar, what can be the matter with you?”
“With me? Nothing!” he would answer.
“Then why do you rage so?”
“I rage, Cornelia, because if I did not rage I should go mad!”
And the good woman was at a loss to find the clue of the enigmatic reply.
Four days passed by in these conditions. Then, some sixty leagues southwest of the Urals, the Fair Rambler reached the little town of Solikamsk.
No doubt Ortik's associates could not be far ahead now; but, as a measure of prudence, neither Kirschef nor he made any effort to ascertain the point.
As a matter of fact, Rostof and his companions were there, and would start, that same night, for Perm, just a hundred and fifty miles away to the west. Nothing could now hinder their abominable project.
Next morning, at daybreak, under date of the 17th of July, the Koswa was crossed in a ferry. Three or four days more, and the famous series of performances “by the artists of the Cascabel family, on their way to the Nijni fair,” would be commenced at Perm. Such, at least, was the program of the tour.
As to Mr. Sergius, he would at once make the necessary plans for his nightly calls at Walska.
Let his feeling of impatience be imagined, if possible, as well as the anxiety he betrayed when conversing about all this with his friend Cascabel. Ever since he had made his escape, and during the thirteen months of this extraordinary trip from the Alaskan frontier to Europe, he had been without a word from Prince Narkine. Considering the age his father was, even then—was he quite sure he would find him at the chateau still?
“Nonsense, nonsense, Mr. Sergius!” Cæser Cascabel would say. “The prince is in as good health as you or I, and even better! You know I was born for a fortune-teller, and I read the future as easily as the past. Well, I tell you Prince Narkine is now waiting for you, hale and strong, and you shall see him in a few days!”
And Cascabel would have had no hesitation to swear to his prophecy were it not for that cursed Ortik.
“I am not bad-hearted, not I,” he would mutter to himself; “but, if I could gnaw his neck off with my teeth, I would—yes, I would, and think he got off cheap!”
Kayette, meanwhile, grew more and more alarmed as they approached nearer to Perm. What decision would Mr. Cascabel take? How would he defeat Ortik's plans without compromising Mr. Sergius's safety? It seemed to her almost impossible. And so she found it very hard to conceal her anxiety, and John, ignorant of the cause, suffered cruel tortures, seeing her so uneasy, so downcast at times.
In the forenoon of the 20th of July, the Kama was crossed, and, about five in the evening Mr. Sergius and his companions were already engaged in making their preparations, on the chief square of Perm, for a stay of several days.
One hour had not elapsed before Ortik had communicated with his accomplices, and Rostof was penning a note, which was to reach Mr. Sergius the same day, and in which a rendezvous was given him in one of the taverns of the town, for very urgent business. Should he fail to come, they would see about securing his person, should they even capture him at night on the road to Walska.
At nightfall, when this note was brought by Rostof, Mr. Sergius had already set out for his father's chateau. Mr. Cascabel, who was by himself just then, gave every token of great surprise on being handed this message. He took it, however, undertaking to deliver it safely, and meanwhile said nothing about it to anybody.
Mr. Sergius's absence annoyed Ortik. He would rather the attempt at blackmail had been made before the interview between the prince and the count. He concealed his vexed feelings, however, and remarked, as he sat to supper, in the most unconcerned fashion:
“Mr. Sergius is not with us this evening?”
“No,” answered Mr. Cascabel. “He is gone out. Those formalities with the authorities in this country are such a plague!”
“When will he be back?”
“Some time in the evening, I guess.”