THE MAN IN THE SHEEPSKIN COAT
Drexel sank down in the fine snow, his back against a patriarch pine
that rose without a branch far up towards the stars; and he sat there
amid that vast white silence, breathing heavily, and considering what
he should next do.
He had to get back to St. Petersburg, and soon, else lose the prized
chance of working on at Sonya’s side. But he dared not make straight
for the railroad. The countess’s advice on that point he knew was
sound; those bullets which had grazed him as he rolled in the snow
were grim and indisputable evidence that the pursuit of him was a most
serious matter. He thought of walking the fifty miles, of riding in
a relay of sleighs hired from peasants; but he quickly realised that
either method offered little if any chance of escaping the hundreds who
would be sent out to scour the country for him, and his mind returned
to the railroad. After all, he would go by train, and since he dared
not go as Henry Drexel, he would go in the one disguise the country
offered him. He would find a village, secretly buy peasant clothing,
and ride back to St. Petersburg under the very nose of spies and
police.
This settled, he found the North Star, calculated the course he wished
to follow through this unknown country, and set out. Now that the spur
of pursuit was gone, he made but slow progress. Walking is not easy
in a huge fur coat through unbroken snow a foot deep, and when your
path is a series of semi-circles round wide, earth-sweeping hemlocks,
and when every moment you have to set your course anew by a star. At
length, however, he came out into the open. He was tired, but he kept
on, heavily, doggedly. He was beginning to fear that he might walk
on all night and find no village, having steered an accurate course
between them all, when he saw in the distance a group of faint white
mounds.
Soon he was at the head of the village street, with its two lines of
night-capped cottages. The village lay in universal silence; not a
window winked with light. He determined to try the first cottage, and
toward this he instinctively went on tip-toe, lest some slight noise
should betray his presence to the village.
His precaution was in vain. Suddenly the yelp of a dog broke upon the
silence; then a relay of yelps ran from the village’s one end to the
other. One lean dog, then another and another and another, came leaping
out at him, looking fiercely ravenous in the ghostly moonlight. Drexel
seized a stake from the wicker-work fence of a barnyard, and kept the
white-fanged brutes at bay.
But these dogs he feared less than another danger. Momently he expected
the village to rush out, and thus ruin his plans of escape. But not a
cottager stirred. They had grown used to these canine serenades; the
barking no more disturbed their rustic sleep than a street-car’s rattle
does the city dweller’s.
Keeping the snarling pack without the circle of the swinging stake,
Drexel knocked at the door--and had to knock again and again before he
heard a stir. Finally there came a hesitant, “Who’s there?”
“A friend! Let me in!” he called in a low tone.
He heard voices consulting. One said that perhaps it was the police or
soldiers, and if the door was not opened they would burst it in or fire
the house. Whereupon the door swung open.
“Come in,” said the voice of the tactician.
Drexel followed through a dark room, which a sleepy rustling told him
was inhabitated by hens, into the peasants’ one living room--a room
with an earthen floor, walls of mud-plastered logs and a ceiling that
brushed the head. A well-built, shaggy old man, and a younger man and
woman, evidently his son and daughter-in-law, received Drexel. They
were dressed practically as by day, for the Russian peasant is too poor
to possess many bedclothes and he perforce sleeps in his day garments
for the sake of warmth.
“Will my lord sit down?” quaveringly asked the old man, pulling
forward a rough-hewn bench. All were agitated by the strangeness of a
richly-dressed city man calling at their house at dead of night; and
they wavered between the peasant’s natural courtesy and fear of some
disaster this visit might portend.
Drexel’s exhausted body collapsed upon the rude seat, and the three
formed a staring semi-circle. His eyes fixed upon the father as being
nearest his size.
“I want you,” said he, “to sell me a suit of your clothes.”
“Sell you this suit of clothes!” cried the old man.
“No, not that suit,” said Drexel wearily, eyeing with disfavour the
worn and greasy sheepskin coat. “I want your other suit.”
“But this is the only suit I have.”
Drexel shuddered. “Then I guess I’ll have to buy it. How much did it
cost?”
“Ten rubles, my lord--when it was new.”
Drexel drew out his purse and laid down a note. “There’s a hundred
rubles.”
The three stared in an even greater amazement.
The old man shook his head. “If I had so large a note,” he said at
length, “people would think I stole it.”
Drexel took out several smaller bills that totalled the same, and
restored the first note to his purse.
The three hesitated--looked at one another--then withdrew for a
conference into the chickens’ apartment. When they returned, the old
man said:
“Pardon, my lord--but if we do this, may we not get into trouble?”
“Isn’t it worth running a little risk to get twenty times a thing’s
value?” Drexel returned sharply.
They conferred again. “But if I sell this, what shall I wear?” asked
the old man.
“Oh, Lord!” groaned Drexel in exasperation. “Can’t you take ten rubles
of the hundred and buy a new suit?”
“No--I dare not buy new clothes. All the village knows we are very
poor, knows we have hardly a single ruble. If I get a new suit all the
village will ask questions and be suspicious. My lord knows how the
police look into everything; they would take it up and make trouble.”
He shook his head. “No, I dare not sell.”
The old man was right about the new suit, Drexel had to admit. His
situation seemed hopeless. But as they talked on a way opened, and
finally they settled upon a plan. Drexel was to have the clothes--the
old man was to remain in bed for a day on pretense of illness--the son
was to accompany Drexel to St. Petersburg to bring back the suit--and
on the day after the morrow the father could go about in his accustomed
garb. Tired as he was, Drexel had to laugh at all this complicated
caution to give him a few hours’ use of a suit hardly worth its weight
in rags.
The young woman delicately provided them privacy by lying down on the
broad low wooden shelf that is the peasant’s only bed and turning her
face to the wall. A moment later the old man was under a tattered
blanket on the same bed, and his clothes were on the earthen floor.
Drexel, not without some shrinking of the flesh, changed into the old
shirt of homespun linen, the tattered trousers, and the greasy coat
with the fleece turned inward. Instead of boots or shoes there were
slippers of woven grass, and these the son tied on with cords, having
first swathed Drexel’s feet and calves in rags. Drexel roughened his
moustache, touselled his hair and put on a fur cap which settled upon
his ears. He still did not look a typical village peasant, but he
counted on passing for a peasant workingman who fluctuated between
country and city.
He offered his discarded garments as a gift to the family for he dared
not take them with him. But the old man refused; such fine clothes
would surely get them into trouble. There was only one other course.
In one corner, filling a third of the room, stood a great, clay-built
oven. Drexel opened the door of this, and into the fire went the
dangerous raiment.
Two minutes later Drexel and the young man stepped out into the white,
starry night; and after following a beaten sleigh-track for an hour,
and when Drexel was feeling that his straw-shod feet had turned to ice,
they came at last to the station.
They entered the third-class waiting-room. A broad passage ran through
into the first- and second-class room, and through this, with a show
of stupid peasant curiosity, Drexel cautiously peeped. As he had half
expected, there stood Captain Nadson, his left arm in a sling. He threw
himself upon the floor, among the other waiting passengers a-sprawl in
sleep, and drew his cap over his face. The peasant dropped down beside
him.
Presently the captain entered, saw the new figures, crossed and kicked
Drexel’s side.
“Wake up--you!” he called.
Drexel moved slightly. “What you want?” he asked sleepily.
“Have you seen a man in a fine-looking coat walking through the
country?”
“Haven’t seen anybody,” said Drexel in a half snore.
The captain kicked the guide, and Drexel, peering from beneath his cap,
saw the poor fellow was trembling with terror--in a state of nerves to
make some catastrophic blunder.
To him the captain repeated his question.
“I--I--” began the peasant.
“We came here together,” put in Drexel. “Neither of us saw anyone.”
The captain thrust his toe into Drexel’s side by way of thanks, and
walked out.
Soon the train arrived. Drexel, with his guide, hurried out upon the
platform, when to his surprise and vast concern he saw come out of
the first-class waiting-room the imposing person of General Valenko,
and leaning upon him and half supported by his arm, a well-wrapped,
half-tottering figure. He needed not the company of the general to tell
him who she was.
He was torn with keenest apprehension over Sonya’s obvious illness.
What was the cause of this sudden seizure? Was it a distemper,
prostrating while it lasted, but harmless and swift to run its course?
Or did it promise to be dangerous and of a long duration?--and was she
hastening away in this its incipient stage that she might have the
superior care of home and St. Petersburg?
And since she was ill, should he see her again?
The train started up. Drexel slipped aboard, leaving the captain
standing on the platform looking for a fugitive dressed in clothes that
were now ashes in a peasant’s earthen stove.
A Russian train is a creature with a fine disdain for speed, and a
third-class coach makes each mile seem five--but at length, toward
morning, the train drew into St. Petersburg. All the suffocating
journey Drexel had thought of little else but Sonya’s weak figure
swaying across the platform upon her father’s arm; and when he got off
the train, it was to hasten to where stood the coach that he had seen
her enter. He saw her limp body carried out, placed in a wheeled chair
and pushed swiftly away. He followed, and saw her lifted into a closed
carriage, and saw the horses tear away at full gallop. Of a certainty,
it was a serious illness indeed.
Drexel sat in the third-class waiting-room till a sullen dawn began
to creep over the city. Having arranged that his companion was to
remain in the station, his cap wrongside out upon his left knee as
a sign whereby a messenger might know him, he started for the house
where lived Ivan and Nicolai in obedience to Sonya’s command. Weary as
he was, he dared not ride the long four miles; no peasant such as he
looked would spend forty kopeks for a sleigh.
The city was only beginning to rub sleep from its eyes when he slipped
unnoticed across the court to the house he so well remembered, and
rapped at the door. Presently it opened a few inches and he saw the
boarding-house keeper.
“Good-morning,” said Drexel. “I want to see Ivan and Nicolai.”
“They’ve got nothing for beggars. If you want bread, here’s five
kopeks. Now get away with you!” He tried to close the door in Drexel’s
face.
But Drexel’s shoulder went against the door. “Hold on, friend. I’m not
a beggar.”
“Either you or your clothes lie. Who are you then?”
“A man who wishes humbly to apologize for having done violence to your
stomach four days ago.” And he lifted his eclipsing cap.
The man stared. “Hey?--what’s that?” Then with a sudden flash in his
eyes he swung open the door, and, when Drexel had entered, he swiftly
slammed it behind him and shot the bolt. “You’ll not escape again!” he
said grimly.
“I don’t wish to,” Drexel lightly returned. But it went through him
with a chilling uneasiness that, with Sonya sick, and no other to set
him right with the household, he would be prisoner here for so long a
time as they desired to hold him.
“I’ll announce myself,” Drexel continued and went up the stairway. The
outer door was unlocked, and he crossed the empty room and knocked at
the second door. There was a sleepy cry of “Who’s there?” to which
Drexel responded by more knocking, whereupon the door opened and
revealed the square figure of Ivan.
“What do you want?” snapped the little fellow.
“I want to come in, comrade,” cried Drexel, doing so. “And I want
food--sleep--clothes!”
The undershot jaw of Ivan fell loose. “The American!” he ejaculated.
He turned to the bed. “Look at him, Nicolai--in those clothes! The
American!”
Nicolai was already sitting up in bed, and there was a revolver in his
hand and it was pointing at Drexel. “I see,” he said quietly.
“Well, if that isn’t a cordial way to say good-morning! Put down that
gun.”
“Not just yet,” returned Nicolai. “How do you happen to be in those
clothes? And how do you come to be here?”
“Cheer me up with the sight of food and I’ll talk. But first put away
that gun. Oh, I had forgotten the first formality guests are subjected
to in this establishment.” He held up his hands. “Here, Ivan--get busy.”
The little fellow quickly searched him and announced no weapons.
“Now breakfast,” said Drexel.
Still staring, Ivan brought the black bread and bologna from the
window-sill, and started the samovar going. While the tea was being
prepared, and the breakfast being devoured, Drexel told them as much
as he thought wise of what had happened in the three days since he had
fled this room.
“And now I want some clothes. I dare not go out in this dress and buy
civilized garments. One of you must do it for me.” He laid money on the
table and made a note of his sizes. “And now I’m going to sleep.”
With that he stretched himself upon the couch, the revolver of the wary
Nicolai upon him. Not again would they be caught off their guard and
tricked! For a time his mind was filled with painful fears for Sonya;
but his weariness was overpowering, and soon he slipped off into deep
slumber.
It seemed to him that scarce fifteen minutes had passed when hushed
voices from far, far above vaguely penetrated his sleep. He seemed to
float slowly up out of bottomless depths to consciousness. One voice
now sounded like a woman’s voice. That a woman should be here seemed
curious. He opened his eyes.
The next instant he was on his feet.
“Sonya!” he cried.