“Tribute or death!” cried Katerin. “Is that protection? And if a Russian cannot pay, the Mongol gets a Cossack to kill us! Do you think that if I could wear a sword I would take service under Zorogoff at those terms—and help to destroy my own race?” “Your father ruled here with the help of Cossacks,” retorted Shimilin. “We paid for the bread of majesty with our lives and our service—and killing Russians is no new business for us—eh, Michael Kirsakoff? How of that, old one? Did we not get well schooled in killing Russians in your time?” “True!” cried Michael, turning to look at Shimilin. “But you were in the service of Russians. Think well of that. And those you killed broke the law, or had killed in their own turn, with their hand lifted against their fellow Russians or against the throne. The law is the law and justice is justice. Men are not all just, as we were not always just. But what law have we broken here in this house against your Ataman, that you should threaten us because we have no fortune?” Shimilin gave no reply. “Do you see no difference between the Czar and a Mongol princeling?” asked Katerin. Shimilin turned to his soldiers. “Wait outside for me,” he commanded with a gesture of dismissal. “I will call you when you are needed.” The two men with rifles went outside and closed the door behind them. Shimilin sat down again in an effort to compose himself. “I did not wish my men to hear the Ataman insulted,” he began. “I have come here by order of Zorogoff to take your money—all of it. It is only to be a loan and you will lose nothing in the end. This is my advice—give your money to me. I will promise you safety.” He was frankly conciliatory. It appeared that he wished to cover his chagrin over what Katerin and her father had said and to put himself in a better light with them by a tacit agreement with them that he had no stomach for the business. “And if we had money and we gave it,” said Katerin, “how do we know that we would not be destroyed to hide the debt, as has happened to others?” “Then it is that you do not trust Zorogoff,” said Shimilin. Katerin laughed lightly. “Those who have trusted him are dead. He has taken fortunes before—and then the firing squad. What need has he to destroy us? We should be safe because we are poor.” Shimilin glanced at the door. He leaned forward and whispered, “Then trust me. Turn over your money to me—and I promise safety. On my word as a Cossack! Come!” Michael turned quickly and looked at Shimilin in surprise, but Katerin gave her father a glance of caution. She suspected that Shimilin was trying to trap them. “You must trust us, Captain Shimilin. We have no fortune for Zorogoff or any other man.” Shimilin scowled in disappointment, and seemed to have more to say, but evidently thought better of it. “You will have a glass of tea with us,” said Michael. “My house is poor, but no man goes from it without——”