CHAPTER IV.
THE POISONED RING.
"Stow that yelp," commanded Ricker; "it sets one's teeth on edge. Whatare you playing the clown for, anyhow?"
Hamar threw back his hood, and with the black mane draping his templesand mingling with the mat on his face, eye and tooth glittering in theshaded glow of the swinging lamp overhead, he was the living picture ofa fabled fury.
In words that ran in a stream of gutturals, deep in his throat, he toldthe story of the adventure that had prolonged his streetscouting-mission, and here liberally translated.
"I sold him the ring--the very red man that struck me in the face--itwas a rare work; he knew me not, my head down and covered. His dirtyroubles--see?" (Hamar opened a clenched hand, in the palm of which wereseveral silver coins.) "He has it on his finger. I told him it wouldbring him good luck--bring him to the worms I meant. Ha, ha. Go you,"addressing the boys; "no fear now."
Ricker stood dumfounded at the completion of this outburst. Then hefaced the young aviators, who had been held spellbound by the weirdperformance--meaning the actions, for the words were mere gibberish tothem.
"Do you know what he has done?" exclaimed the silversmith--"why, he hasput the death ring on the Cossack!"
Going behind the counter, Ricker took from under the glass case a tinychamois bag and shook it over the polished surface. The bag was empty.
"This man, I tell you," the silversmith cried, aiming an index finger atHamar, who had relapsed into sullen indifference, "is a fanatic, not apatriot, and serves not for any government, but against all governments.That blow in the face went to his very soul, and here's the result. Whathe has taken and used to wreak personal vengeance is known as apossession of mine, a curio, and often displayed to the curious, for thering had this peculiarity--it is poisoned. The heat of the finger startsa poison to work that lies in the setting--whoever decorates his handwith it is dead in two weeks!"
"Yes, dead, dead," mumbled Hamar.
"And woe to me if the foxes from the division of justice are in at thedeath; is it not enough," groaned the silversmith, "that I am now beseton all sides?"
The passing thought to Billy and Henri--the wearing of the terriblejewel would rid them of their savage foe and avert a trial for theirlives.
But, shuddering, the boys resented even the thought of such a relief.
The one overpowering impulse with both of them at the moment was to getout and away from this ferment of intrigue and passion, out into thefree air, anywhere that offered a change.
With this end in view the lads had been slowly but surely edging, inchby inch, foot by foot, nearer the door, under cover of the excitingcontroversy between Ricker and his hairy henchman.
One twist of the key, a pull at the knob, and the trick was done.
But any mishap, a stumble, a catch in the lock, and Ricker and Hamarwould be on their backs.
It was Henri, lightning fast in every movement, who essayed the firstjump for the door. It was done in an instant when the silversmith, whowas nervously pacing the floor, had faced the curtain in the rear of thestore, and while Hamar had lifted his arms in the act of unfastening theloops that closed the collar of his heavy greatcoat.
The work of a second, and the bolt snapped back in the lock, the doorrattled on its hinges by the force of its opening, and two lithe figuresleaped out into the night!
If they were pursued they never knew it, for a deer would hardly havebeen in the running with them as they dashed across the square.
Once in the great avenue diverging northward, the lads again breathedfreely, but wasted no time in making their way to aviation headquarters.If they had expected to be immediately hauled before stern judges toshow cause why they should be permitted to live, they were agreeablydisappointed. Not even the lieutenant was there to inquire about theiroverstay of leave.
"I can't get that horrid ring business out of my mind," said Henri, halfrising from his cot, after the tired boys had supposedly settled formuch needed rest.
"Neither can I," promptly agreed Billy, who was just as wide awake aswhen he first jammed the pillow under his head.
"Do you suppose it might have been that those fellows invented thatstory just for our benefit?"
"Not a chance, Henri," replied the U. S. A. boy; "that man Ricker is anactor all right, but in this show he was real; I'll lay my life on that.And don't tell me that the long-haired guy wasn't in earnest. Steer meclear of him on a dark night."
"What do you think we ought to do about it?"
No sleep for Henri until this question was settled.
"There you are," said the sorely perplexed chum; "if we go to warn theCossack it may not blunt the claws he has sharpened for us; if we tellit straight it will put Ricker on the rack, for nobody would believethat the crank who wished the ring on the red man did it of his ownaccord, and with Ricker against the wall there's no telling how far hewould go to fix us good and plenty."
"If it was a fair fight like Schneider put up," argued Henri, "it wouldbe no strain of conscience, but to let slow poison work when we couldstop it, it seems to me, would class us as first-aid assassins."
"There is no other way then," decided Billy, "but to get the tip,somehow, to the Cossack in the morning."
If Nikita got the "tip" it did not happen in Warsaw, for the boys wereinformed in response to their break-of-day inquiry that thelance-bearing cavalryman had, the afternoon previous, been urgentlysummoned by aerial messenger to report at the headquarters of thegreatest of Russian military commanders, a hundred miles east of Warsaw.
On steeds of tireless breed, and racing with the wind, the red ridershad a long start of now these many hours.
"And that's the end of it," declared Henri, when told that the Cossackband was by this time far away, and by route known only to themselves.
Billy was as deep in thought just then as were his hands in his pockets.
"What's the matter with chasing them in the biplanes?" he suddenlyasked.
"Man alive," cried Henri, "it is the very ticket!"
Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in Russia; or, Lost on the Frozen Steppes Page 4