They then arrived at an outpost and joined the main body of Cossacks, several of whom came and stared at Jack. Some conversation took place between his captors and the others, after which the picket-rope was tied to a stunted tree. Some distance away the patrol had a great fire made under the sheltering wall of a deserted cottage; round this fire the Cossacks off duty gathered, eating some black bread and onions, and drinking _vodka_. Nothing was given to Jack, who, wet through and deadly cold, lay shivering where he had been literally thrown. Presently a couple of horsemen approached the post, upon which the Cossacks got up and saluted. The new-comers were evidently officers, and the man who had taken Jack’s cross handed it to one of them, talking volubly all the while. A minute later Jack’s rope was untied from the tree, and he was dragged before the Cossack officer. Recognition was mutual, and Jack saw he had before him the man of the Tartar village and the man with whom Linham had been engaged on the day of Balaclava. The fellow scowled most ferociously at Jack; then holding up the cross, talked at a great rate, winding up by striking Jack in the face with his open palm. Exasperated beyond all measure at the brutal treatment he had received, Jack, whose hands were still tied, kicked out and caught the Cossack captain on the shin. The fellow gave an angry exclamation, and drawing a pistol, presented it at Jack’s chest and pulled the trigger. Only a click followed, and the Cossack, looking at his weapon and finding it was not loaded, hurled it at Jack’s head. The second officer, speaking in French, drawled, ‘Don’t make a scene, Kirchoff.’ Jack looked at this second man. He was a tall, handsome, but sinister-looking fellow, with fair hair and moustache. He was dressed in a Hussar uniform all crimson, elaborately laced with gold. A dark-green fur-lined cloak, fastened at the neck with a gold clasp, hung down to his spurred heels, while a black busby with a tall green plume adorned his head. His uniform was almost new, and he looked a great dandy. He was smoking a choice cigarette, and as he daintily knocked off the ash Jack noticed that several rings glittered on his long white fingers. Hearing him speak French, Jack burst out in an indignant tone. ‘I am a British soldier, captured bearing arms, and I demand the same treatment from you that we extend to Russian prisoners of war! I have been treated worse than a dog or a spy!’ The crimson Hussar shrugged his shoulders as though the matter were of no importance to him. ‘You are Captain Kirchoff’s prisoner, not mine,’ he said, stirring the fire with the end of his sword-scabbard. The Cossack captain, whose name appeared to be Kirchoff, jabbered for a few moments at Jack in Russian; then two troopers seized him and again bound him to his tree. Some black bread and onions and some raw spirit were, however, given to him, and, one of his hands being freed, he ate heartily.