“Oh, shall I?” asked Peter sneeringly, a crooked smile playing at the side of his mouth. “Perhaps you covered your face that I might have my vengeance! Did you plan to take me to Harbin to find Kirsakoff? Did you put Wassili behind my chair with a knife to——?” “Give heed to my words!” pleaded Michael in a passionate outburst. “I will bargain with you!” Peter laughed at him. “Bargain! Why should I buy what I already have?” “Look!” Michael held forth his hand to Peter. Between the fingers was a small white pellet. “And what is that?” asked Peter. “I could still defeat you, Gorekin. This is a poison tablet—quick as a bullet or a blade.” “For me, Michael? Is it for me?” sneered Peter. “No, for myself. I can die by my own hand quicker than you can fire your pistol—and you must shoot quickly, or even the Ataman will defeat your purpose with me. But I would bargain with you, Gorekin.” “To what end?” asked Peter, somewhat amused, and curious as to the old man’s intent. “What have you to sell, Michael?” “I will sell you my life,” said Kirsakoff. “I can have your life for the taking.” “No. Look! I hold the tablet six inches from my mouth. I could be dead before your bullet would reach me.” “I like to hear your voice, Michael—speaking of your own death. Well, have your say out.” “You are a Russian, and you must have your blood amend, Gorekin. You shall have it—I shall not destroy myself—but I ask you to save Katerin from the Ataman. That is my bargain.” “My father and I could not bargain, twenty years ago out there in the Sofistkaya.” “True. But I offer you now a life for a life—and a clean slate between the two of us. My blood for your father’s blood—and go your way in peace.” Michael leaned forward eagerly. Peter’s expression had changed so that the old man had hope, but Peter was merely astounded by Michael’s proposal. This was something he had not looked for in the old man—a calm willingness to take death as part of a trade, an exchange of favors. “The old wolf has not lost his craft,” said Peter. “The lion returns to the lair where he was whelped,” said Michael. “What I was, I was, and done is done. What I offer is nothing, true—but you may fail in your vengeance. Rather I would make it sure for you—and go to meet the dead with no debt to living man.” “And how is it to be done?” asked Peter. He still suspected that Michael sought to escape him by a stratagem. “With this!” exclaimed Michael, and with his left hand he drew from the breast of his shirt a small slender object, one part red and one part white, and held it forth to Peter. “Take this, Gorekin—I put vengeance into your hand—if you will save Katerin from the Mongol.”