us, there was a gentle but now distinct drumming, and a tiny tinkling with it. There were horsemen on the causeway!
'Quick!' I shouted. 'They're after us! Hurry, man—move those horses!'
He tumbled up on to the box, and as I swung myself on to the runner-mounting he cracked his whip and we slid forward across the snow. I clung to the side of the sled, peering back fearfully through the thin snowfall, trying to make out if anything was showing beyond the bend in the causeway. We increased speed, and with the hiss of the runners it was impossible to listen for that frightening tell-tale sound.
'It may be just other travellers some distance back!' cries Scud from the box. 'No one could be pursuing us!'
'Travellers at this time of night?' says I. 'For God's sake, man, hurry those beasts!'
We were gathering speed now, cracking along at a good clip, and I was just about to swing myself under the cover—but I paused for another look back along the causeway, and what I saw nearly made me loose my hold. Very dimly through the falling flakes, I could just make out the causeway bend, and there, moving out on to the straight on this side of it, was a dark, indistinct, mass—too big and irregular to be anything like a sled. And then the moonlight caught a score of twinkling slivers in the gloom, and I yelled at East in panic:
'It's cavalry—horsemen! They're after us, man!'
At the same time they must have seen us, for a muffled cry reached my ears, and now I could see the mass was indeed made up of separate pieces—a whole troop of them, coming on at a steady hand-gallop, and even as I watched they lengthened their stride, closing the distance. East was flogging at the horses, and the sled swayed and shuddered as we tore along—were they gaining on us? I clung there, trying to measure the distance, but I couldn't be sure; perhaps terror was colouring my judgment, making me see what I wanted to see, but so far as I could judge it looked as though we were holding our own for the moment.
'Faster!' I bawled to East. 'Faster, man, or they'll have us!'
If only the bloody ass hadn't halted to listen—if only we hadn't wasted that precious hour dozing at Yenitchi! I couldn't begin to guess who these people were, or how they had got after us—but there they were, scudding along behind as fast as they could ride—four hundred yards, five hundred? Maybe five or more—I couldn't see whether they were hussars or dragoons or what, but I had a feeling they were heavies. Pray God they might be! I swung under the covers and threw myself on to the back seat, peering out through the window-flap. No, they weren't closing the distance—not yet. They were fanned out on the causeway as far as they could—good riding; that, for in column the rear files would have been ploughing into the churned snow of the men in front. Trust Russian cavalry to know about that.
But if they weren't gaining, they weren't dropping back, either. There was nothing in it—it's a queer thing, but where a horseman can easily overhaul a coach, or even a racing phaeton, a good sled on firm snow is another matter entirely. A horse with a load on his back makes heavy weather in snow, but unladen they can spank a sled along at nearly full gallop.
But how long could our beasts keep up their present pace? They were far from fresh—on the other hand, our pursuers didn't look too chipper, either. I watched them, my heart in my mouth, through the falling snow—was it getting thicker? By God, it was! If it really set in, and we could hold them as far as Arabat, we might be able to lose them—and even as the thought crossed my mind I felt the pace of the sled slacken just a little. I stared back at the distant horsemen, my throat dry, fixing on the centre man until my eyes ached and he seemed to be swimming mistily before me. He was just a vague blur—no, I could make out the shape of his head now—they were gaining, ever so little, but still gaining, creeping gradually up behind, yard by yard.
I couldn't stand it. I plunged to the side of the sled, stuck my head out, and bawled at East.
'They're closing, you fool! Faster! Can't you stir those bloody cattle!'
He shot a glance over his shoulder, cracked on the reins, and cried:
'It's no go … horses are almost played out! Can't … We're too heavy! Throw out some weight … the food … anything!'
I looked back; they were certainly gaining now, for the pale blobs of their faces were dimly visible even through the driving snow. They couldn't be much more than two hundred yards away, and one of 'em was shouting; I could just catch the voice, but not the words.
'Damn you!' I roared. 'Russian bastards!' And fell back into the sled, scrabbling for our supplies, to hurl them out and lighten the sled. It was ridiculous—a few loaves and a couple of bottles—but out they went anyway, and not a scrap of difference did it make. The cover? If I let it go, would that help—it would cut down the wind resistance at least. I struggled with the buckles, stiff with the cold as they were, bruising my fingers and swearing feebly. There were eight of them, two to each side, and I just had the wit to undo the rear ones first, and the front ones last, whereupon the whole thing flew off, billowing away before it flopped on the snow. Perhaps it helped a trifle, but nothing like enough—they were still closing, almost imperceptibly, but closing nonetheless.
I groaned and cursed, while the freezing wind whipped at me, casting about for anything else to jettison. The furs? We'd freeze without them, and Valla didn't have a stitch—Valla! For an instant even I was appalled—but only for an instant. There was eight stone of her if there was an ounce—her loss would lighten us splendidly! And that wasn't all—they'd be bound to check, at least, if she came bouncing over the back. Gallant Russian gentlemen, after all, don't abandon naked girls in the snow. It would gain us seconds, anyway, and the loss of weight would surely do the rest.
I stooped over her, fighting to balance myself in the rocking sled. She was still unconscious, wrapped in her furs, looking truly lovely with her silver hair shining in the moonlight, murmuring a little in her half-drunken sleep. I heaved her upright, keeping the fur round her as best I could, and dragged her to the back seat. She nestled against me, and even in that moment of panic I found myself kissing her goodbye—well, it seemed the least I could do. Her lips were chill, with the snow driving past us in the wind; there'll be more than your lips cold in a moment, thinks I. At least her eyes were shut, and our pursuers would see to her before she froze.
'Good-bye, little one,' says I. 'Sleep tight,' and I slipped my arm beneath her legs and bundled her over the back in one clean movement; there was a flash of white limbs as the furs fell away from her, and then she was sprawling on the snow behind us. The sled leaped forward as though a brake had been released, East yelled with alarm, and I could guess he was clinging to the reins for dear life; I gazed back at the receding dark blur where the fur lay beside Valla in the snow. She was invisible in the white confusion, but I saw the riders suddenly swerve out from the centre, a thin shout reached me, and then the leader and his immediate flankers were reining up, the riders on the wings were checking, too, but then they came on, rot them, while a little knot of the centre men halted and gathered, and I saw a couple of them swinging down from their saddles before they were lost in the snowy night.
And the dozen or so riders from the wings were losing ground, too! The lightened sled was fairly racing along. I yelled with delight, tossing my hands in the air, and scrambled forward, over the front of the sled, heaving myself up beside East on the box.
'On, Scud, on!' I shouted. 'We're leaving 'em! We'll beat them yet!'
'What was it?' he cried. 'What did you do? What did you throw out?'
'Useless baggage!' shouts I. 'Never mind, man! Drive for your life!'
He shouted at the beasts, snapping the reins, and then cries:
'What baggage? We had none!' He glanced over his shoulder, at where the horsemen were dim shapes now in the distance, and his eyes fell on the sled. 'Is Valla all -' and then he positively screamed. 'Valla! Valla! My God!' He reeled in his seat, and I had to grab the reins as they slipped from his fingers. 'You—you—no, you couldn't! Flashman, you …'
'Hold on, infernal fool!' I yelled. 'It's too late now!' He made a grab at the reins, and I had to sweep him back by main force, as I clutched the ribbons in one hand. 'Stop it, damn you, or you'll have us sunk as well!'
'Rein up!' he bawled, struggling with me. 'Rein up—must go back! My God, Valla! You filthy, inhuman brute—oh, God!'
'You idiot!' I shouted, lunging with all my weight to keep him off. 'It was her or all of us!' Divine inspiration seized me. 'Have you forgotten what we're doing, curse you? We've got to get to Raglan, with our news! If we don't—what about Ignatieff and his cursed plans? By heaven, East, I don't forget my duty, even if you do, and I tell you I'd heave a thousand Russian sluts into the snow for my country's sake!' And ten thousand for my own, but that's no matter. 'Don't you see—it was that or be captured? And we've got to get through—whatever the cost!'
