"I think he could understand even better if we were talking Russ, but still, as he made a fair stagger in German, we will have to let it go at that. We can see him home, as he says it is near, and then strike out for headquarters." Prodding his shaggy steed with his heavy boot-heels, the stranger showed the path to his guests, the party speedily reaching a small but solidly built farmhouse on the bank of a small river. Schneider, with soldierly precaution, transferred the heavy service revolver he carried in his belt to a convenient pocket under the cape of his overcoat. Perhaps the husky fighter felt it was not much of an exhibit of courage to set a gun at hand when he found that no other human than this old farmer with a crook in his back seemed to inhabit the premises. "I was as dry as a fish," asserted Billy, eagerly accepting a drink of cold water from a stone mug proffered by their host. There were other thirsty ones in the party, for the mug was emptied several times in the passing. Just about that time Schneider lost all interest in water. Happening to glance out of a window facing to the north, his eye caught a sunflash on a lance-head, and now and again other sparkling tips. The revolver he now appreciated was in the right place. But of what avail, after all, was one pistol against a band of reckless and wily Cossacks, if such were under those nine-foot lances? Billy and Henri were unarmed. The peasant was up with a jump when Schneider proclaimed his discovery of impending peril. "Hide! Hide!" With the words of alarm he tugged at an iron ring in the center of the heavily-planked floor. It was considerable of a lift, this weighty trap-door, but the old man developed a surprising degree of activity and strength, and quickly presented the way to a cellar by means of a ladder, the length of which indicated considerable depth. "Not for me," strenuously objected Schneider; "they will never catch us like rats in a trap." "Quick! Quick!" pleaded the peasant. Billy, at the window, excitedly announced: "They're the real thing; I can tell by their caps and caftans. The Cossacks are here!" Schneider was as cool as a cucumber--that was the way the near prospect of a death struggle always affected him. He was hot-headed only when given the smaller provocations. "Bar that door!" The boys hastened to obey that crisp command. The old peasant attempted to leave the house before the entrance barrier was secured and fastened. "Halt!" An unwavering line of steel barrel, and the menace of the voice behind it, checked stockstill this attempt to escape. Fully a dozen of the rough riders of the north had dismounted in the farm enclosure, and advanced upon the house, some with lances and others carrying curved swords without guards.