Constant dangers develop one’s watchfulness and keenness of perception.  We did not take off our clothes nor unsaddle our horses, tired as we were.  I put my Mauser inside my coat and began to look about and scrutinize the people.  The first thing I discovered was the butt end of a rifle under the pile of pillows always found on the peasants’ large beds.  Later I noticed the employees of our host constantly coming into the room for orders from him.  They did not look like simple peasants, although they had long beards and were dressed very dirtily.  They examined me with very attentive eyes and did not leave me and my friend alone with the host.  We could not, however, make out anything.  But then the Soyot Governor came in and, noticing our strained relations, began explaining in the Soyot language to the host all about us.

“I beg your pardon,” the colonist said, “but you know yourself that now for one honest man we have ten thousand murderers and robbers.”

With this we began chatting more freely.  It appeared that our host knew that a band of Bolsheviki would attack him in the search for the band of Cossack officers who were living in his house on and off.  He had heard also about the “total loss” of one detachment.  However, it did not entirely calm the old man to have our news, for he had heard of the large detachment of Reds that was coming from the border of the Usinsky District in pursuit of the Tartars who were escaping with their cattle south to Mongolia.

“From one minute to another we are awaiting them with fear,” said our host to me.  “My Soyot has come in and announced that the Reds are already crossing the Seybi and the Tartars are prepared for the fight.”

We immediately went out to look over our saddles and packs and then took the horses and hid them in the bushes not far off.  We made ready our rifles and pistols and took posts in the enclosure to wait for our common enemy.  An hour of trying impatience passed, when one of the workmen came running in from the wood and whispered: 

“They are crossing our swamp. . . .  The fight is on.”

In fact, like an answer to his words, came through the woods the sound of a single rifle-shot, followed closely by the increasing rat-tat-tat of the mingled guns.  Nearer to the house the sounds gradually came.  Soon we heard the beating of the horses’ hoofs and the brutish cries of the soldiers.  In a moment three of them burst into the house, from off the road where they were being raked now by the Tartars from both directions, cursing violently.  One of them shot at our host.  He stumbled along and fell on his knee, as his hand reached out toward the rifle under his pillows.