With a leap he was on the ground, and running toward the gate, where stood a single Cossack. As he passed the officer the latter whipped out his sword, and started in pursuit. Sandoff caught the gleam of steel, and, leaning from the seat, whip in hand, he dealt the fellow so terrific a blow on the arm that he dropped the weapon and howled with pain. Shamarin reached the gate and was confronted by the burly soldier before it, rifle in hand. There was no time for parleying. Shamarin dodged under the Cossack’s rifle and flung the fellow to one side of the road, where he lay stunned in the snow and ice. Then he dashed furiously at the gate—which was fortunately not locked—and by a single blow knocked it half way back on its hinges. It was now Sandoff’s turn. Swinging his whip overhead, he brought it down smartly on the horses. The spirited brutes plunged madly forward, and he urged them with hoarse shouts to still greater speed. As they dashed through the gateway, Shamarin regained his seat by a flying leap. The whole affair had consumed but a few seconds. Before the Cossacks could realize the audacity of the deed, the sledge and its occupants were whizzing away into the night at a rate of speed that had seldom been equaled on the great Siberian road. The officer picked up his sword with his uninjured arm, and swore and yelled alternately until he was hoarse. The vanquished Cossack rose to his feet, and idiotically jerked the gate shut with a bang. The others ran for their horses and mounted in hot haste—and in the midst of all the confusion up clattered Colonel Nord and his escort, bawling at the top of their voices. “Idiot! Blockhead!” the colonel roared at the terrified officer. “You will pay dearly for this! Why did you let those scoundrels through? Open that gate at once—send after me all the men you have—telegraph to the next station. Do you hear me?” Then, as the gate swung back, the irate colonel and his squad of armed Cossacks—now increased to nine—galloped madly through, and went pounding along the frosty road in hot chase of the fugitive sledge. CHAPTER IX. MAURICE DUPONT. As the twinkling lights of the little settlement receded in the distance, and the stretch of road intervening still remained free from pursuers, Sandoff and his companions felt their spirits rise, darkly as the future loomed ahead. Shamarin helped Vera to prepare and load all the guns. This done, he furled the rear hood, and stationed himself so that he could see back along the course over which they had come. The horses continued to gallop at a tremendous pace, but when two or three miles had been traversed the pursuers hove in sight, and Shamarin soon reported the alarming fact that they were gaining. “They will continue to gain, of course,” said Sandoff. “It can’t be otherwise. We must fight them off.”