A succession of thick forests and rockstrewn ravines made progress slow and painful. Day came, revealing a barren and desolate country stretching as far as the eye could reach. In front of the fugitives towered a range of lofty mountains. After three or four hours of difficult riding they reached the foothills, themselves and their horses thoroughly exhausted. Here the latter were abandoned, and the ascent was begun on foot. A long and wearisome climb brought the refugees to the top, and here their eyes were gladdened by the sight they had longed to see. The mountain and the wooded hills at its base sloped gently to the eastward for half a dozen miles, and beyond were the fair blue waters of the Japan Sea, fading away into the horizon. Near the shore lay two black objects—steamers without doubt. It was late in the afternoon when the fugitives drew near the sea. One slight ridge crowned with pine trees lay between them and the desired goal. They crept through the valley with slow and cautious steps, fearing either to meet Cossacks who had come up the coast from Vladivostok, apprised of the situation by telegraph, or to be overtaken by Colonel Nord and his party, who for all they knew might have been following them since the previous night. “The first thing is to get a good look at those vessels lying off the shore and discover their nationality,” said Sandoff. At that moment a rifle shot rang sharply on the air, and was followed by a second report and a ferocious yell that came from no human throat. “Some wild beast!” muttered Sandoff, and as he spoke a man’s voice cried, “Help! Help!” The tragedy—for such it seemed to be—was taking place but a few yards distant. Rifle in hand, Sandoff ran forward for a dozen yards or more and peered through the thick foliage into a circular open glade. In the center of this rose a rounded bowlder six or eight feet high, and perched on the top was a young man, striking blow after blow with a clubbed rifle at a great wounded tiger cat who was making frantic efforts to get at him. At sight of the stranger Sandoff uttered a cry of surprise. “Can it be he?” he said aloud. “Yes, it surely is. What can he be doing——” He did not finish the sentence, for at that instant the tiger cat sprang fairly to the top of the bowlder, and seized the unfortunate man by the ankle. It was no time for hesitation. Sandoff boldly advanced from the bushes, and, taking aim at the tiger cat’s head, fired. The brute rolled backward in his death struggle, while the rescued man half fell, half jumped, from the rock, and limped toward Sandoff with amazement and gratitude visible on his face. “I owe you my life,” he said huskily. “That was a good shot of yours. I fired twice at the brute, but failed to kill him, and my steward, who was with me, ran off. The coward won’t stop now until he gets to the yacht.”