Had he but known it, his unkind thought had already been partially accomplished, for in his hay-loft one of the Cossacks lay dead, a victim indeed to the fiery spirit, while the second, destined for many days to be sick in his house, and demand careful nursing and feeding at his expense, reclined, unconscious, in a heap of straw, bound hand and foot, but left ungagged, a circumstance of which he took advantage early in the morning by screaming for help at the top of his voice. Once more returning to the post-road, Phil and Tony rode along it quietly, only the jangle of their Cossack swords breaking the silence. Three hours later a line of watch-fires in the distance told them that they were approaching the Russian field-army, and warned them to find some safe hiding-place. "They are seven or eight miles away at least," said Tony, "and we are lucky to have spotted them so soon." "Yes, Tony, we are," Phil remarked thoughtfully. "We are still more lucky, for this side they will have only a few pickets and outposts, and we must be far outside their circle. Also they will not be expecting anything. I fancy our best course will be to ride to our left, keeping the lights at the same distance as now. Then we will choose some sort of a shelter, on high ground if possible, so that to-morrow we can see what direction to take. Once past those troops, Tony, and safely through the scouts who are certain to be watching our fellows, we shall be back in the British camp." "Safe in the British camp. Yes," echoed Tony, "and I hopes stowing away the first decent feed for many a long day now. Coffee and bread's all right, but my strength is just going for the want of meat." More than two hours later, and just before the dawn broke, they rode their ponies into a big vineyard situated on the slope of a hill which seemed to command the camp. Daylight discovered a splendid panorama spread out before them, for they had been unconsciously but steadily ascending all night, and now were at such an elevation that they could see, beyond the Chersonese heights, Sebastopol in the far-off distance, merged in a haze of sea and land, and only distinguishable by the whiteness of its masonry; while directly beneath them, as it seemed, lay the Russian camp, seething with horses and troops, which were very soon to try the fortunes of war with their adversaries.