“Mind what must be done. Our name shall be Natsavaloff. You were banished for plotting against the government of the Czar. First, we must learn why the American seeks Kirsakoff—for he may not be alone in his reasons, but have others who are equally dangerous. We must get to the bottom of why he seeks you, though the reason does not matter for our purpose. We shall have Slipitsky’s advice, too, before we bring the American to this room to learn where Kirsakoff may be found. And we are not to tell the American where Kirsakoff may be found unless he takes us to the city where we shall say Kirsakoff is hidden—anywhere, it does not matter, so long as we get away from Chita.” “And how is Wassili to help in all this?” asked Michael. “Where lies his task?” “When we bring the American here, Wassili shall stand behind his chair. We must be on our guard against the stranger every second, and if the American should recognize—or make a move to draw a weapon——” Wassili finished the sentence for her in pantomime with a quick and eloquent gesture—a short thrust, done quickly, and an explanatory grunt. “And you, my father, shall have your little pistol in your hand, and the blanket thrown over your knees to hide it—so that you shall be able to defend yourself. But do nothing rashly—unless he should know you, we must not do him harm.” Wassili was sent for Slipitsky, and the Jew came. The four of them went over the whole plan of escape in case Peter should not recognize Michael. They spent the afternoon in taking up every possible angle of the situation. And on one thing they agreed—if Peter really proved to be a deadly enemy, and should recognize Michael—then the American officer must die. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XVIII THE TRAIL GROWS HOT PETER spent the afternoon walking the floor of his room, his whole being in a glow from the fever of revenge which had flamed up brightly within him while he listened to “Vashka”—the name by which he knew Katerin. And Peter’s inner fury was directed against his own mental image of Kirsakoff—a picture revivified and given new clarity in Peter’s brain by Katerin’s description of her father as he had been in the old days. Peter killed that man over and over again in imagination. He knew that it might take weeks before he could so shuffle the combination of circumstances that Kirsakoff might be slain with the greatest margin of safety for himself. Through the years, Peter’s hope for vengeance had become to him a holy mission. There had been times during his life in the United States when he realized that he might never return to Siberia in time to carry out his dream of vengeance. But the old hatred had smoldered. Now it was burning at white heat.