“Rostov’s chess ain’t too bad,” Shad said. “When Verushki’s already been buffaloed up front, thirty an’ thirty sure add up fast t’ sixty.”
Slim started pouring again, glancing off toward the Imperial Cossacks. “Them two games do have one thing in common.”
“What?” I asked.
Slim shrugged. “T’ play either one like a real champion, looks like ya’ got t’ be slightly crazy.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS a good while later before the Imperial Cossacks finally got up to leave. We’d already decided not to take off until after they did. We were bound and determined to be more relaxed than they were if it killed us.
As they gave us hard looks and started to go out, Old Keats and Nick were pouring from our last two bottles, which were both getting fairly empty by now. There weren’t many people left in the place, and the girls were sort of straightening things and cleaning up in general.
The Tzar’s men went through the door and Shad said, “We’ll give them a couple of minutes, then bust out.”
Bruk said, “They’re probably waiting to follow us.”
Nick nodded strongly. “Yes. They follow.”
“Won’t matter.” Shad looked at Rostov. “It’s too dark t’ count anything tonight, and we’ll move ourselves an’ the herd out t’ the flats b’fore daylight.”
Again they were understanding each other’s thoughts without words. Rostov just looked at Shad, silently agreeing, and then turned and called out in Russian, obviously asking for the bill.
We started to get up and the tablecloth girl, Irenia, came over and said something that was nice, in a low, happy voice, smiling all the while at Rostov. And after all that niceness of hers, she was no more prepared for Rostov’s sudden anger than I was. If a man could ever speak quietly and yet carry a lion’s roar at the same time, Rostov did it then. Whatever it sounded like to her, she rushed away, frightened half to death.
Appalled, I said to Rostov, “What was all that?”
Rostov was still too angry to answer, but Bruk did. “She let those two big men pay for everything.”
Shad spoke to Rostov, his eyes harder than any voice could ever try to match.
“The broken glasses?”
“Yes,” Rostov said angrily. “Those too.”
And then the tough older lady came hurrying up to the table to talk to Rostov. As they spoke, Bruk translated, with Old Keats nodding in agreement whenever he got the gist of it.
“She says this is a matter of honor,” Bruk said, having a hard time listening and talking at the same time. “And the captain just told her the honor belonged here at this table. She says no, the honor belonged at both tables. And”—Bruk hesitated—“she says both of those men have spoken out against the Tzar already, and with no free cossacks around to help them speak out.”
The tough-looking lady suddenly put her hand over her eyes as if she were holding back quick tears of her own, and then she too rushed away.
Rostov was touched by her. “Our bill seems to have been paid in full,” he said quietly.
Shad had already taken a big handful of silver dollars out of his pocket. “How ’bout payin’ it twice?”
“No,” Rostov said. “Let’s just let it go.”
Shad studied Rostov and then said, “All right. Let’s get back and move the herd.” He put the coins back in his pocket, and we all started for the front door.
The tablecloth girl came out of the kitchen just then, and I couldn’t help but notice her and slow down in following the others. She was standing there, not too far away, looking unhappy as hell, and I said to her, “Thank you, Irenia.”
She only understood the word “Irenia” and my tone of voice. But that was enough. She knew the way I felt and she smiled, so there was a good feeling between us.
Then I turned and went on out through the door.
Outside, we all mounted up and followed Shad and Rostov out of the dimming lights of the town into the ink-black darkness beyond.
That big group of Imperial Cossacks followed us, which was kind of silly. About a half mile out of town we just pulled off and sat our horses quietly. They rode on by, bits and spurs jingling in the dark stillness and the leather of their saddles creaking, and pretty quick they had gone on their noisy way. If you don’t happen to want to make all that racket, you simply take off your spurs, reach up and hold the bit gentle, and don’t shift the weight of your butt around in the saddle. We did that until we reached the herd. And then, as the others gathered around in the pitch-black night, Shad said, “We’re drivin’ the herd over t’ them broke-up flats. As of now, make all the noise ya’ want. Matter a’ fact, it’d help some if each one of ya’ sounded like five or ten.”
So with that encouragement there was a lot of whoopin’ and hollerin’ and yah-hooin’ as we woke up the sleepy, resentful herd and started driving it up over the sloping mountain and down the far side.
We got the herd to the breaks two miles outside of Khabarovsk and had it bedded down long before sunrise.
There were two problems that came with sunup that morning. One was trying to explain to the Slash-Diamond outfit and to Rostov’s cossacks about how it would be an advantage for one and all to wear each other’s clothes once in a while. This plan met with quite a bit of disapproval.
The second, and killing, problem had to do with the two fellas who’d befriended us and paid our tariff in Khabarovsk the night before.
That morning those two big men were both hanged by the neck until dead. And finding out about that hit us like a sledgehammer.
One thing came on top of another pretty fast.
Just about to a man, our fellas hated the idea of wearing any kind of cossack clothes and therefore refused.
“It—it ain’t American!” Rufe said.
“Fuck it,” Mushy said simply.
“A nigger cossack?” Shiny demanded.
“Shit, boss!” Dixie grumbled. “Ain’t there some better way t’ protect them dumb bastards?”
“I ain’t gonna be no clown f’r nobody,” Crab said, and Chakko grunted “Uhh!” in a way that meant something more negative than all the “no’s” ever said.
Big Yawn stood up to his full height. “I like them fellas enough t’ fight for ’em! But pretend t’ be one, never!”
I got the feeling that Rostov was having somewhat the same sort of hard time with his men, who’d camped right next to us in the dark. But his cossacks were better disciplined than our bunch, so he seemed to have the situation more in hand.
And then Lieutenant Bruk, who’d been on lookout with Old Keats, came galloping over a twenty-foot slanting bluff and rode quickly down to us.
Bruk, who’d been watching Khabarovsk through Rostov’s telescope, handed it slowly back to him and said something in a choked, twisted voice.
The cossacks knew first, and then we finally learned.
The two big men, recognizable by their size and their clothes, had just been hanged from an oak tree on the outskirts of Khabarovsk. Being big and strong, they’d struggled quite a lot, and Old Keats and Bruk had watched them through those long, long moments of death.
We all knew it was because of last night, because of them taking up for us, and someone, some terrible little person there, who had told about it.
And looking at Shad, I could see that all he was thinking of was the toast he’d made.
“Vostrovia!” his powerful voice echoed in my mind.