So the question was settled without further discussion, and at daybreak on the following morning the fugitives were up and preparing for the eventful journey. That preparation, as may be imagined, was very slight. Shamarin possessed quite an inventive faculty, and in less than an hour he constructed a long flat sledge, rudely but strongly put together. “This will serve to carry our baggage,” he said, “or any one of us who may be worn out or unable to walk. Moreover, if we come to any long, smooth inclines we can all get on board and go sliding down.” The blankets, extra clothes, and the small quantity of food that remained, were put up in a neat bundle and strapped to the sledge. Sandoff took the rifle and ammunition, and Shamarin the pistol. Then, with a last look at the dark cabin where so many weary days had been spent, they passed through the door, closing it behind them, and thence along the hard trodden tunnel to the outer air. The day was just two hours old when they started. The sun was shining brightly, and the hard, frozen crust that covered the snow sparkled like myriads of diamonds. They turned up the eastern side of the ravine, pulling the sledge lightly behind them, and stopped for a moment on the summit of the ridge to admire the view that lay before them—range after range of snow topped hills as far as the eye could reach. Then briskly and with light hearts they started away and traveled for hours up one hill and down another—keeping the Shilka River constantly in sight—until the sun was far toward the horizon. The country was desolate and deserted; so when they chose a stopping place in a deep, wooded hollow, they did not hesitate to build a cheerful fire. This was kept up all night, Sandoff and Shamarin mounting guard by turns. In the morning the march was resumed, and during that day the fugitives crossed the Shilka River, very near its mouth, by means of an ice gorge that had formed during the previous night. An hour later they were tramping along the shore of the Amur, the vast watery highway that flows to the Pacific coast. It was now a sheet of ice, and as the Siberian post road—marked by the long line of telegraph poles—skirted the shore, the fugitives made haste to draw back into the forest. From this time dated a period of progress and security which lasted for three weeks. Day after day they traveled on down the valley, keeping as far back from the river as possible, and during all this time they met not a single human being. The snow crust remained firm, and they made fair progress, covering about fifteen miles every day. At night they suffered much from cold—for sometimes villages were close at hand and they dare not make fires—but they found sufficient shelter to prevent them from freezing.