Northwards, in the direction from which he had come the previous night, he could see with the naked eye for several miles across the snow; and through his glass, which he had luckily brought with him, he descried what was evidently a small town—no doubt Yongampo. Over the whole white stretch intervening there was no sign of life. Looking then seaward, he saw a leaden sky, white-crested waves lashed by the high wind and breaking in angry foam on the ice—nothing more. There was not a speck on the sea. The _Kasumi_ had left him to his fate. "And I dare say Yamaguchi is even more sorry than I am," he thought. Then he turned again to the land and swept the horizon with his glass. What is that? In the far distance, towards Yongampo, he discerns two dark specks. He gazes intently, his hands so numbed with cold that he can scarcely hold the glass steadily. The specks are growing larger. Both are approaching him, one coming southward in a straight line, the other making a trend somewhat to his right. For some minutes he gazes at them; the specks become masses, and gradually define themselves as bodies of horsemen. Doubtless they are Cossacks; it is time to be up and away. *CHAPTER IX* *Chased by Cossacks* A View-Halloo—Cossacks at Fault—Bluff—Suspicious Hospitality—On the Pekin Road—A Hill Tiger The situation was desperate. One band of Cossacks was evidently following the tracks of his horse, the other taking a short cut to head him off. The Mandarin road from Pekin to Seoul could not be far away; the Russians had probably assumed that he would ride in that direction, and acquainted as they no doubt were with the neighbourhood, they would have a great advantage over him. His only hope lay in his horse, which was fortunately a good one, and in the pink of condition. He must ride, and ride, and ride.