“Why did you not stop with me instead of with those brigands?” asked the old fellow.

I began to question him and received some very important news.  It seemed that Kanine was a Bolshevik, the agent of the Irkutsk Soviet, and stationed here for purposes of observation.  However, now he was rendered harmless, because the road between him and Irkutsk was interrupted.  Still from Biisk in the Altai country had just come a very important commissar.

“Gorokoff?” I asked.

“That’s what he calls himself,” replied the old fellow; “but I am also from Biisk and I know everyone there.  His real name is Pouzikoff and the short-haired girl with him is his mistress.  He is the commissar of the ‘Cheka’ and she is the agent of this establishment.  Last August the two of them shot with their revolvers seventy bound officers from Kolchak’s army.  Villainous, cowardly murderers!  Now they have come here for a reconnaissance.  They wanted to stay in my house but I knew them too well and refused them place.”

“And you do not fear him?” I asked, remembering the different words and glances of these people as they sat at the table in the station.

“No,” answered the old man.  “I know how to defend myself and my family and I have a protector too—­my son, such a shot, a rider and a fighter as does not exist in all Mongolia.  I am very sorry that you will not make the acquaintance of my boy.  He has gone off to the herds and will return only tomorrow evening.”

We took most cordial leave of each other and I promised to stop with him on my return.

“Well, what yarns did Bobroff tell you about us?” was the question with which Kanine and Gorokoff met me when I came back to the station.

“Nothing about you,” I answered, “because he did not even want to speak with me when he found out that I was staying in your house.  What is the trouble between you?” I asked of them, expressing complete astonishment on my face.

“It is an old score,” growled Gorokoff.

“A malicious old churl,” Kanine added in agreement, the while the frightened, suffering-laden eyes of his wife again gave expression to terrifying horror, as if she momentarily expected a deadly blow.  Gorokoff began to pack his luggage in preparation for the journey with us the following morning.  We prepared our simple beds in an adjoining room and went to sleep.  I whispered to my friend to keep his revolver handy for anything that might happen but he only smiled as he dragged his revolver and his ax from his coat to place them under his pillow.

“This people at the outset seemed to me very suspicious,” he whispered.  “They are cooking up something crooked.  Tomorrow I shall ride behind this Gorokoff and shall prepare for him a very faithful one of my bullets, a little dum-dum.”

The Mongols spent the night under their tent in the open court beside their camels, because they wanted to be near to feed them.  About seven o’clock we started.  My friend took up his post as rear guard to our caravan, keeping all the time behind Gorokoff, who with his sister, both armed from tip to toe, rode splendid mounts.