ON TO SIBERIA
"Has anything happened?" asked Tom. "Are we suspected? Have they come
to warn us?"
"No, everything is all right, so far," answered Ivan Petrofsky. "I
didn't have the success I hoped for, and we may have to wait here for a
few days to get news of my brother. But these men have been very kind
to me," he went on, "and they have ways of getting information that I
have not. So they are going to aid me."
"That's right!" exclaimed the one who had first spoken. "We will yet
win you to our cause, Brother Petrofsky. Death to the Czar and the
Grand Dukes!"
"Never!" exclaimed the exile firmly. "Peaceful measures will succeed.
But I am grateful for what you can do for me. They heard me describe
your wonderful airship," he explained to Tom, "and wanted to see for
themselves."
The Nihilists were made welcome after Mr. Petrofsky had introduced
them. They had strange and almost unpronounceable names for the ears
of our friends, and I will not trouble you with them, save to say that
the one who spoke English fairly well, and who was the leader, was
called Nicolas Androwsky. There was much jabbering in the Russian
tongue, when Mr. Petrofsky and Mr. Androwsky took the others about the
craft, explaining how it worked.
"I can't show you the air glider," said Tom, who naturally acted as
guide, "as it would take too long to put together, and besides there is
not enough wind here to make it operate."
"Then you need much wind?" asked Nicolas Androwsky.
"The harder the gale the better she flies," answered Tom proudly.
"Bless my sand bag, but that's right!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, who, up to
now had not taken much part in the conversation. He followed the party
about the airship, keeping in the rear, and he eyed the Nihilists as if
he thought that each one had one or more dynamite bombs concealed on
his person.
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Androwsky, turning suddenly to the odd man. "Are
you not one of us? Do you not believe that this terrible kingdom should
be destroyed--made as nothing, and a new one built from its ashes? Are
you not one of us?" and with a quick gesture he reached into his pocket.
"No! No!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, starting back. "Bless my election
ticket! No! Never could I throw a bomb. Please don't give me one." Mr.
Damon started to run away.
"A bomb!" exclaimed the Nihilist, and then he drew from his pocket some
pamphlets printed in Russian. "I have no bombs. Here are some of the
tracts we distribute to convert unbelievers to our cause," he went on.
"Read them and you will understand what we are striving for. They will
convert you, I am sure."
He went on, following the rest of the party, while Mr. Damon dropped
back with Ned.
"Bless my gas meter!" gasped the odd man, as he stared at the
queerly-printed documents in his hand. "I thought he was going to give
me a bomb to throw!"
"I don't blame you," said Ned in a low voice. "They look like desperate
men, but probably they have suffered many hardships, and they think
their way of righting a wrong is the only way. I suppose you'll read
those tracts," he added with a smile.
"Hum! I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Damon. "I might just as well try to
translate a Chinese laundry check. But I'll save 'em for souvenirs,"
and he carefully put them in his pocket, as if he feared they might
unexpectedly turn into a bomb and blow up the airship.
The tour of the craft was completed and the Nihilists returned to the
comfortable cabin where, much to their surprise, they were served with
a little lunch, Mr. Damon bustling proudly about from the table to the
galley, and serving tea as nearly like the Russians drink it as
possible.
"Well, you certainly have a wonderful craft here--wonderful," spoke Mr.
Androwsky. "If we had some of these in our group now, we could start
from here, hover over the palace of the Czar, or one of the Grand
Dukes, drop a bomb, utterly destroy it, and come back before any of the
hated police would be any the wiser."
"I'm afraid I can't lend it to you," said Tom, and he could scarcely
repress a shudder at the terrible ideas of the Nihilists.
"It would never do," agreed Ivan Petrofsky. "The campaign of education
is the only way."
There were gutteral objections on the part of the other Russians, and
they turned to more cheerful subjects of talk.
"What are your plans?" asked Tom of the exile. "You say you can get no
trace here of your brother?"
"No, he seems to have totally disappeared from sight. Usually we
enemies of the government can get some news of a prisoner, but poor
Peter is either dead, or in some obscure mine, which is hidden away in
the forests or mountains."
"Maybe he is in the lost platinum mine," suggested Ned.
"No, that has not been discovered," declared the exile, "or my friends
here would have heard of it. That is still to be found."
"And we'll do it, in the air glider," declared Tom. "By the way, Mr.
Petrofsky, would it not be a good plan to ask your friends the location
of the place where the winds constantly blow with such force. It occurs
to me that in some such way we might locate the mine."
"It would be of use if there was only one place of the gales," replied
the exile. "But Siberia has many such spots in the mountain
fastnesses--places which, by the peculiar formation of the land, have
constant eddys of air over them. No, the only way is for us to go as
nearly as possible to the place where my brother and I were imprisoned,
and search there."
"But what is that you said about us having to stay here, to get some
news of your brother?" asked Tom.
"I had hoped to get some information here," resumed Mr. Petrofsky, "but
my friends here are without news. However, they are going to make
inquiries, and we will have to stay here until they have an answer. It
will be safe, they think, as there are not many police in town, and the
local authorities are not very efficient. So the airship will remain
here, and, from time to time I will go to the village, disguised, and
see if any word has come."
"And we will bring you news as soon as we get it," promised Mr.
Androwsky. "You are not exactly one of us, but you are against the
government, and, therefor, a brother. But you will be one of us in
time."
"Never," replied the exile with a smile. "My only hope now is to get my
brother safely away, and then we will go and live in free America. But,
Tom, I hope I won't put you out by delaying here."
"Not a bit of it. More than half the object of our trip is to rescue
your brother. We must do that first. Now as to details," and they fell
to discussing plans. It was late that night when the Nihilists left the
airship, first having made a careful inspection to see that they were
not spied upon. They promised at once to set to work their secret
methods of getting information.
For several days the airship remained in the vicinity of the Russian
town. Our friends were undisturbed by visitors, as they were in a
forest where the villagers seldom came and the nearest wood-road was
nearly half a mile off.
Every day either Mr. Petrofsky went in to town to see the Nihilists or
some of them came out to the Falcon, usually at night.
"Well, have you any word yet?" asked Tom, after about a week had passed.
"Nothing yet," answered the exile, and his tone was a bit hopeless.
"But we have not given up. All the most likely places have been tried,
but he is not there. We have had traces of him, but they are not fresh
ones. He seems to have been moved from one mine to another. Probably
they feared I would make an attempt to rescue him. But I have not given
up. He is somewhere in Siberia."
"And we'll find him!" cried Tom with enthusiasm.
For three days more they lingered, and then, one night, when they were
just getting ready to retire, there was a knock on the cabin door. Mr.
Petrofsky had been to the village that day, and had received no news.
He had only returned about an hour before.
"Some one's knocking," announced Ned, as if there could be any doubt of
it.
"Bless my burglar alarm!" gasped Mr. Damon.
"I'll see who it is," volunteered Mr. Petrofsky, and Tom looked toward
the rack of loaded rifles, for that day a man, seemingly a wood cutter
had passed close to the airship, and had hurried off as if he had seen
a ghost.
The knock was repeated. It might be their friends, and it might be--
But Mr. Petrofsky solved the riddle by throwing back the portal, and
there stood the Nihilist, Nicolas Androwsky.
"Is there anything the matter?" asked the exile quickly.
"We have news," was the cautious answer, as the Nihilist slipped in,
and closed the door behind him.
"News of my brother?"
"Of your brother! He is in a sulphur mine in the Altai Mountains, near
the city of Abakansk."
"Where's that?" asked Tom for he had forgotten most of his Russian
geography.
"The Altai Mountains are a range about the middle of Siberia,"
explained Mr. Petrofsky. "They begin at the Kirghiz Steppes, and run
west. It is a wild and desolate place. I hope we can find poor Peter
alive."
"And this city of Abakansk?" went on the young inventor.
"It is many miles from here, but I can give you a good map," said the
Nihilist. "Some of our friends are there," he added with a half-growl.
"I wish we could rescue all of them."
"We'd like to," spoke Tom. "But I fear it is impossible. But now that
we have a clew, come on! Let's start at once! It may be dangerous to
stay here. On to Siberia!"