THE MYSTERIOUS RUSSIAN
Johnny's jaw dropped, and he barely checked a gasp, as through his
screen of furs he saw the man who now entered Wo Cheng's den of
disguises. He was none other than the man of the street fight, the short
one of the broad shoulders and sharp chin. Johnny was surprised in more
ways than one; surprised that the man was here at all; that it could
have been he who had given that authoritative signal at the door, and
most of all, surprised that Wo Cheng should have admitted him so
readily, and should be treating him with such deference.
"Evidently," Johnny thought to himself, "this fellow has been here
before."
Although unquestionably a Russian, the newcomer appeared quite equal to
the task of making his wants known in Chinese, for after a moment's
conversation the two men made their way toward the back of the room.
Johnny had his second shock when he saw the garments the Russian began
to examine. They were no other than those which had twice before in the
last hour been examined by customers, the clothing for the Far North.
This was too much. Again, he barely checked a gasp. Was the entire
population of the city about to move to the polar regions? He would ask
Wo Cheng. In the meantime, Johnny prayed that the Russian might make his
choice speedily, since the time of departure of his train was
approaching.
The Russian made his selections, apparently more from a sense of taste
than with an eye to warmth and service. This final choice was a suit of
squirrel skin and boots of deer skin.
"Cumshaw?"
Into Wo Cheng's beady, squinting eyes, as he addressed this word to the
Russian, there came a look of malignant cunning which Johnny had not
seen there before. It sent chills racing up and down his spine. It
almost seemed to him that the Chinaman's hand was feeling for his belt,
where his knife was hidden.
For a moment the Russian turned his back to Wo Cheng, and so faced
Johnny. Behind his screen, the "Yank" could observe his actions without
himself being seen.
From an inner pocket the Russian extracted a long, thick envelope.
Unwrapping the cord at the top of this, he shook from it three shining
particles.
"Diamonds!" Johnny's eyes were dazzled with the lustre of the jewels.
The Russian, selecting one, dropped the others back into the envelope.
"Bet he's got a hundred more," was Johnny's mental comment. Then he
noticed a peculiarity of the envelope. There was a red circle in the
lower, left hand corner, as if a seal had been stamped there. He would
remember that envelope should he ever see it again.
But at this instant his attention was drawn to the men again. The
Russian had turned and handed the gem to Wo Cheng. Wo Cheng stepped to
the light and examined it.
"No need cumshaw my," he murmured.
The Russian bowed gravely, and turned toward the door.
It was then that the face of the Chinaman underwent a rapid change. The
look of craftiness, treachery, and greed swept over it again. This time
the yellow man's hand unmistakably reached for the knife.
Then he appeared to remember Johnny, for his hand dropped, and he half
turned with an air of guilt.
The door closed with a little swish. The Russian was gone. With him went
the stifling air of treachery, murder and intrigue, yet it left Johnny
wondering. Why was every man's hand lifted against the sharp-chinned
Russian? Had Wo Cheng been actuated by hate, or by greed? Johnny could
not but wonder if some of Russia's former noblemen did not rest in
shallow graves beneath Wo Cheng's cellar floor. But there was little
time for speculation. In two hours the special train that Johnny wanted
to take would be on its way north.
Springing nimbly from his place of hiding, Johnny recovered his blouse,
and having secured from it certain papers, which were of the utmost
importance to him, he pinned them in a pocket of his shirt. He next
selected a pair of wolf skin trousers, a pair of corduroy trousers, one
pair of deer skin boots and two of seal skin.
"Cumshaw?" he grinned, facing Wo Cheng, as he completed his selection.
The yellow man shrugged his shoulders, as if to say it made little
difference to him in this case.
Johnny peeled a bill from his roll of United States currency and handed
it to him.
"Wo Cheng," he said slowly, "go north, Jap woman? Go north, that
Russian? Why?"
The Chinaman's face took on a mask-like appearance.
"No can do," he muttered. "Allatime keep mouth shut my."
"Tell me," commanded Johnny, advancing in a threatening manner, with his
hand near the Russian's knife.
"No can do," protested the Chinaman cringing away. "Allatime keep mouth
shut my. No ask my. No tell my. Allatime buy, sell my. No savvy my."
It was evident that nothing was to be learned here of the intentions of
the two strangers; so, grasping his bundle, Johnny lifted the latch and
found himself out in the silent, deserted alley.
The air was kind to his heated brow. As he took the first few steps his
costume troubled him. He was wearing the parka and the corduroy
trousers. He felt no longer the slight tug of puttees about his ankles.
His trousers flapped against his legs at every step. The hood heated the
back of his neck. The fur trousers and the skin boots were in the bundle
under his arm. His soldier's uniform he had left with the keeper of the
hidden clothes shop. He hardly thought that anyone, save a very personal
acquaintance, would recognize him in his new garb, and there was little
chance of such a meeting at this hour of the night. However, he gave
three American officers, apparently returning from a late party of some
sort, a wide berth, and dodging down a narrow street, made his way
toward the railway yards where he would find the drowsy comforts of the
caboose of the "Reindeer Special."
* * * * *
"American, ain't y'?" A sergeant of the United States army addressed
this question to Johnny.
The latter was curled up half asleep in a corner of the caboose of the
"Reindeer Special" which had been bumping over the rails for some time.
"Ya-a," he yawned.
"Going north to trade, I s'pose?"
Johnny was tempted not to answer. Still, he was not yet out of the
woods.
"Yep," he replied cheerfully. "Red fox, white fox, mink, squirrel,
ermine, muskrat. Mighty good price."
"Where's your pack?" The sergeant half grinned.
Johnny sat up and stared. No, it was not that he had had a pack and lost
it. It was that he had never had a pack. And traders carried packs. Why
to be sure; things to trade for furs.
"Pack?" he said confusedly. "Ah-er, yes. Why, yes, my pack, of course,
why I left it; no--hang it! Come to think of it, I'm getting that at the
end of this line, Khabarask, you know."
Johnny studied the old sergeant through narrowing eyelids. He had given
him a ten spot before the train rattled from the yards. Was that enough?
Would any sum be enough? Johnny shivered a little. The man was an old
regular, a veteran of many battles not given in histories. Was he one
of those who took this motto: "Anything's all right that you can get
away with?" Johnny wondered. It might be, just might be, that Johnny
would go back on this same train to Vladivostok; and that, Johnny had no
desire to do.
The sergeant's eyes closed for a wink of sleep. Johnny looked furtively
about the car. The three other occupants were asleep. He drew a fat roll
of American bills from his pocket. From the very center he extracted a
well worn one dollar bill. Having replaced the roll, he smoothed out the
"one spot" and examined it closely. Across the face of it was a purple
stamp. In the circle of this stamp were the words, "Wales, Alaska." A
smile spread over Johnny's shrewd, young face.
"Yes sir, there you are, li'l ol' one-case note," he whispered. "You
come all the way from God's country, from Alaska to Vladivostok, all by
yourself. I don't know how many times you changed hands before you got
here, but here you are, and it took you only four months to come. Stay
with me, little old bit of Uncle Sam's treasure, and I'll take you
home; straight back to God's country."
He folded the bill carefully and stowed it in an inner pocket, next to
his heart.
If the missionary postmistress at Cape Prince of Wales, on Behring
Strait, had realized what homesick feelings she was going to stir up in
Johnny's heart by impressing her post office stamp on that bill before
she paid it to some Eskimo, perhaps she would not have stamped it, and
then again, perhaps she would.
A sudden jolt as they rumbled on to a sidetrack awoke the sergeant, who
seemed disposed to resume the conversation where he had left off.
"S'pose it's mighty dangerous tradin' on this side?"
"Uh-huh," Johnny grunted.
"S'pose it's a long way back to God's country this way?"
"Uh-huh."
"Lot of the boys mighty sick of soldiering over here. Lot of 'em 'ud try
it back to God's country 'f 'twasn't so far."
"Would, huh?" Johnny yawned.
"Ye-ah, and then the officers are mighty hard on the ones they
ketch--ketch desertin', I mean--officers are; when they ketch 'em, an'
they mostly do."
"Do what?" Johnny tried to yawn again.
"Ketch 'em! They're fierce at that."
There was a knowing grin on the sergeant's face, but no wink followed.
Johnny waited anxiously for the wink.
"But it's tough, now ain't it?" observed the sergeant. "We can't go home
and can't fight. What we here for, anyway?"
"Ye-ah," Johnny smiled hopefully.
"Expected to go home long ago, but no transportation, not before spring;
not even for them that's got discharges and papers to go home. It's
tough! You'd think a lot of 'em 'ud try goin' north to Alaska, wouldn't
you? Three days in God's country's worth three years in Leavenworth;
you'd think they'd try it. And they would, if 't'wasn't so far. Gad!
Three thousand miles! I'd admire the pluck of the fellow that dared."
This time the wink which Johnny had been so anxiously awaiting came; a
full, free and frank wink it was. He winked back, then settled down in
his corner to sleep.
A train rattled by. The "Reindeer Special" bumped back on the main track
and went crashing on its way. It screeched through little villages, half
buried in snow. It glided along between plains of whiteness. It rattled
between narrow hills, but Johnny was unconscious of it all. He was fast
asleep, storing up strength for the morrow, and the many wild to-morrows
which were to follow.