Under the Mikado's flag

Contrary to their expectations the prisoners, and especially the Americans, were treated well. The Russians did not have the best of rations, but what they did have they shared with all.

The march was kept up all of the afternoon, and it must be admitted that by nightfall both Ben and Gilbert were worn out. As usual, the Japanese did not appear to mind it in the least.

“I believe those fellows could march on for three days without stopping,” was Gilbert’s remark, as he threw himself on the ground to rest. “They are regular walking machines.”

A small Chinese village had been reached, and here the prisoners were separated into four parties. The two young Americans were placed by themselves in a hut, in front of which two burly Russian soldiers were stationed on guard.

“I wonder what they will do with us next?” observed Ben, after a period of silence.

“Oh, I suppose we shall be taken to some Russian prison, Ben,—unless we can find some way in which to escape.” Gilbert lowered his voice. “Do you think it can be done?”

“I don’t know. If we try it, we’ll run a first-rate risk of being shot down.”

“Do you want to see the inside of a Russian prison?”

“Not much! Some of them are little better than dungeons, so I’ve heard.”

“Then we want to watch our chances.”

An hour went by, and they were given their evening meal—some biscuits and some fruit which happened to be at hand.

“I’d like to see that Russian officer again,” said Gilbert. “I want to ask him if he knows Ivan Snokoff.”

“Probably not—but it will do no harm to question him,” returned Ben.

To Gilbert’s satisfaction the Russian officer came in a little later. He had a package of Russian cigarettes in his hand and asked them if they cared to smoke.

“Thank you, but I am not addicted to the weed,” said Gilbert, and Ben also declined the offer.

“I am glad you came in,” went on Gilbert. “I wished to ask you if you know a party by the name of Ivan Snokoff. He was at Port Arthur some time ago, running a business which he called the Russian-American Importing and Exporting Company.”

“Ivan Snokoff?” The officer reflected a minute. “I have heard the name Snokoff, but I do not recall such a person as you mention.”

“He is a swindler, and swindled a company in which I am interested out of four thousand dollars.”

“In that case he should be brought to justice.”

“Do you know a Captain Barusky? He was stationed at Port Arthur at the time this war broke out.”

Again the Russian officer mused for a moment.

“I think I do. To what command does he belong?”

“A regiment under Colonel Verga.”

“Yes, then I know him, although not very well. Why do you ask about him?”

“He was mixed up in some of Ivan Snokoff’s affairs. I think he advanced some money to Snokoff and then they divided their ill-gotten gains.”

“That is a serious charge to make against an officer.”

“But it is true.”

“Do you know that Captain Barusky’s regiment has been transferred to An-Ping.”

“No, I did not know it.”

“We are bound for An-Ping.”

“To the same place where Captain Barusky is located?”

“Exactly. You will probably have a chance to meet him face to face.”

This was astonishing news, and for the moment Gilbert did not know what to say.

“I’m afraid you are piling up trouble for yourself, Gilbert,” said Ben, in English. “We may be thrown into Captain Barusky’s power.”

“Yes, I understand,” answered Gilbert.

“If you wish to make a charge against Captain Barusky, you will be likely to have an opportunity to do so,” went on the Russian officer.

“I’ll think it over,” said Gilbert, and then the subject was changed to the campaign in China. The Russian officer was glad to talk about old times, and remained with the young Americans the best part of an hour.

“This is certainly news!” cried Gilbert, when he had departed.

“Gilbert, the more I think of it, the more I imagine you’ve put your foot in it.”

“I certainty have—if Captain Barusky has anything to do with the prisoners.”

“You can be sure that he will single you out for extra bad treatment—especially if he learns you have been talking about him.”

“Well, I only told the truth.”

By morning it was raining once more, but despite the storm the march toward An-Ping was resumed. The route lay between the hills and mountains and across several fair-sized streams. They passed many Chinese villages, the inhabitants gazing at both Russians and prisoners with ill-concealed interest.

Three days later the outskirts of An-Ping were gained, and Gilbert and Ben were marched off to a small stone building which was doing duty as a temporal prison. Several apartments were filled with Japanese, but they were put in a small room by themselves. The room had a wooden bench, and in one corner was a heap of foul-smelling straw to be used for a bed.

“This is discouraging, to say the least,” remarked Ben, as he gazed around him. “I wonder how long they will keep us in this hole?”

Shortly after they arrived the Russian officer who had proved so friendly came to bid them good-by. It was the last they saw or heard of him.

On the following morning they got a taste of regular prison fare. They were given a bowl of mush which neither could touch.

“This is too strong for me,” declared Ben, after smelling the contents of his bowl.

Gilbert smiled grimly. “Just wait until you are good and hungry and maybe you’ll be glad to tackle it.”

“I don’t see you eating very fast.”

“No, I’m waiting for you to lead the way.” And then both laughed. After all there is no truer saying than that “misery loves company.”

Four days dragged along slowly. Occasionally they received something to eat which was fairly good, and then they devoured it to the last scrap, but the majority of the food was wretched in the extreme. But they had a good supply of pure water and for this, in such hot weather, they were thankful.

At the end of the fourth day came a surprise. Without warning a Russian captain stalked into the prison room and confronted Gilbert. It was Captain Barusky.

“Ha! ha! So we have you at last, my fine bird!” said he, gazing in a sinister manner at Gilbert. “It was a good capture truly!”

“What do you mean, Captain Barusky?”

“You know well enough what I mean.” The Russian officer snapped his teeth together. “So you have been talking about me, eh?” he added, in a lower voice.

“I have said nothing that isn’t true.”

“So you are going to make more trouble for me, is that it?”

“I shall tell only the truth.”

“Bah! Who will believe you?”

“Perhaps I’ll be able to present proofs.”

“Do you carry papers with you? I shall have you searched.”

“I have no papers, so you need not trouble yourself.”

The Russian captain clenched his hands, and took a turn around the apartment.

“I will not stand this!” he muttered. “You wish to ruin my reputation. Do you know what I am going to do? I shall denounce you to the authorities as a well-paid spy.”

“I am no spy.”

“Who will take your word against mine? I caught you spying at Port Arthur, and later, when the authorities tried to catch you, you fled.”

“My friend is no spy,” put in Ben. “He and I are merely officers in the Japanese army.”

“You are both spies,” snarled Captain Barusky. “I shall bring overwhelming proofs of it.”

“You have no such proofs,” said Gilbert, his eyes flashing.

“You shall see.”

“Perhaps you intend to manufacture the proofs,” cried the young American.

For reply Captain Barusky shook his fist in Gilbert’s face.

“Hold your tongue! I will show you what I can do!” And with these words he rushed from the prison room, slamming and bolting the heavy door behind him.

For the moment after he was gone neither Gilbert nor Ben spoke. Each looked questioningly at the other.

“Do you think he’ll do as he says?” asked Gilbert, at length.

“I shouldn’t wonder. He is as mad as a hornet.”

“If they find us guilty as spies, they’ll shoot us on the spot.”

“That is true. But can they find us guilty?”

“They can if Captain Barusky cooks up the evidence. The Russian authorities will be only too glad to get rid of two prisoners. Dead men don’t need rations.”

“But they are bound to listen to our side of the story.”

“Perhaps; but I don’t believe in trusting them to do it.”

“Well, what do you advise?”

“I don’t know. Let us sit down and think it over. One thing is certain, we are in a tight hole.”

Both sat down on the bench and gave themselves up to thoughts which were far from pleasant. In his mind each could see himself standing up in front of a row of Russian soldiers, blindfolded, and shot down. It made them shiver to think of it.

“I vote we make a break for liberty,” declared Ben presently. “We might as well be shot down that way as any other.”

“All right, I’m with you,—if it can be done,” answered Gilbert.