CHAPTER VIII. THE ESCAPED EXILE.

But the Celt saw from the fellow’s action what he wanted, and that this was a rope to assist him to get ashore.

Now Barney had not one at hand, but he shouted:

“Howld an an’ I’ll get a rope. Shure, I’ll help ye!”

And away went the whole-souled Irishman back to the airship.

The raft was drifting very slowly so he had plenty of time.

But when he reached the Dart his first move was to sound the alarm. Very quickly all hands were on deck.

“What’s the matter?” asked Frank, who came up with his rifle in his hand.

“Shure, sor, there’s a poor divil out there on a raft as wants help!” cried Barney.

“On a raft?”

“Yis, sor.”

“Dear me!” exclaimed Professor Gaston. “Let us hasten to his relief!”

Frank Reade, Jr., was only half dressed, but he did not wait to complete his toilet. He went over the rail like a flash and with Barney rushed down to the river.

The Celt had brought a long rope with him. The raft had drifted nearer the shore.

Frank had a smattering of Russian among his varied accomplishments, and he shouted to the fellow:

“Who are you, and how came you here?”

“I am Nicolas Nafetodi, good sir,” was the reply. “Oh, give me food, but for the love of God do not take me back to that fearful prison!”

“Ah!” cried Frank. “Then you are a convict?”

“Sentenced to exile for a crime of which I am not guilty!” replied the poor fellow. “Have mercy upon me!”

“You are right we will!” cried Frank, who was well familiar with the peculiarities of Russian justice.

“Have courage, my friend!”

“Bejabers, hang on to the rope!”

Barney swung it aloft and sent it circling out into the river. It fell with accuracy across the raft.

The exile grasped it and in a few moments the raft was pulled to the shore. He staggered up the river bank.

Certainly he was an object of pity at that moment. Wretched, disheveled and pallid he looked a fit subject for a hospital.

The voyagers would have been heartless indeed to have refused him aid.

For aught they knew he might be a hardened criminal. But Frank Reade, Jr., took a good look at his face and decided vastly in his favor.

There were honest lines in it which he knew could not belie the owner’s nature.

So Nicolas Nafetodi was led to the airship and Pomp procured food for him.

He ate ravenously, and then being much refreshed told his story. It was indeed a pitiful one.

“My father,” he said, “was a well-to-do merchant in St. Petersburg. I was favored with plenty of money from an inheritance and formed the acquaintance of many wealthy youths of my own age.

“I will not make the story long, but suffice it to say that I had trouble with one who belong to the nobility.

“We loved Olga Nanarovitch, the daughter of Prince Nanarovitch. She favored my suit and from that hour Count Pietro Valdstedt was my sworn foe.

“In an unwary moment I was decoyed into the house of a Nihilist. Before I could take my departure the police descended upon the place and I was taken with the rest.

“I was thrown into prison. Valdstedt hired villains to swear to forged evidence against me. My trial was in secret, and I was not allowed the assistance of friends.

“I was banished for conspiracy against the Czar. It was the vilest wrong ever done any living man.

“But I had no redress. For eight long years I have been a slave at convict labor, with chains to bind me, and almost starvation as my reward.

“I have endured tortures until a month since I managed to escape.

“I made a raft and drifted down the Lena. I knew not—I cared not—where it took me so long as it was away from that hated prison.

“But even now I know that the hounds of the prison are after me. They have crossed the country to intercept me, and may be upon me at any moment. Before God I pray you, if you have not hearts of stone, do not give me up to them!

“I am innocent of the crimes charged against me as God in heaven knows! I beg of you to have mercy upon me!”

The fervid appeal reached the heart of every one of the voyagers.

Frank interpreted the story to them, and then taking the poor wretch’s hand, said:

“They shall never take you while we live. We believe your story and will aid you.”

The poor fellow burst into tears. He fairly embraced Frank in his joy.

“Surely there will be a reward for you up there,” he said, devoutly, pointing upward. “You will not be punished for helping the poor convict.”

Barney procured some decent clothes for the escaped exile.

Then Frank said:

“Now in what way can we best give you aid? What are your plans or desires?”

“I wish to get back to St. Petersburg,” replied Nicolas.

“But will you not fall again into the hands of the law?”

“Ah, but I will not be there an hour before I will have the necessary evidence to clear the stain from my name.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I know it.”

“Then, upon my word,” cried Frank, “I will take you back to St. Petersburg in my airship!”

The Russian exile looked surprised.

“How?” he asked.

Frank repeated the assertion. Nicolas looked mystified until Frank explained to him the workings of the famous airship.

The Russian listened with wonderment. Indeed he was almost incredulous.

“And you have come across Siberia in that?” he asked.

“More than that. Completely around the world,” replied Frank.

Nicolas drew a deep breath.

“You Americans are wonderful people,” he declared. “Anything is possible to you!”

“I suppose your love, Olga, is lost to you by this time,” declared Frank. “The other fellow has probably won her.”

Nicolas drew himself up.

“Ah, you do not know the depth of Russian love!” he declared. “Olga is still true to me. Only three months ago I heard from her, and that she was spending her fortune to get evidence to clear me.”

“Noble woman!” replied Frank. “I trust she will succeed.”

“But if I could only be there myself!” cried the exile, with inspiration, “I would surely succeed.”

“You shall go there!” declared Frank. “I give you my word for it.”

But at that moment the exile gave a sharp, gasping cry and retreated to the side of the airship.

“My God!” he gasped. “St. Nicholas defend me! There are the human hounds that seek my life!”

He pointed to the west, where the plateau merged into the plain. The voyagers beheld a thrilling sight.

A body of mounted men were approaching at full gallop. They rode fleet Kighis ponies and were dressed in the uniform of the Siberian police.

For a moment the voyagers stood watching the horsemen.

Then the words of the exile aroused Frank Reade, Jr., to action.

“For the love of God, do not deliver me up to my enemies!” the Russian cried. “I will be your slave if you will save me!”

“I don’t know whether they can make an international affair out of this or not!” cried Frank. “I don’t want to create war between this barbarous country and America, but by my soul I shall not allow them to take this man away! Barney, go into the pilot-house!”

The Celt instantly obeyed.

The others armed themselves with Winchesters. Thus they stood by the airship’s rail as the Siberian police came up.

“What ho!” cried the leader, a tall, bewhiskered fellow, reining in his horse at sight of Nicolas, “there is your man, guards! Seize the dog and iron him!”

The fellow spoke in the Russian language. Every word was plain to Frank Reade, Jr.

The unfortunate exile cowered by the airship’s rail. The guards would have seized him, but Frank said, quietly:

“Stand firm! Aim!”

Barney was in the door of the pilot house with his rifle at his shoulder. Frank, Pomp and Professor Gaston each held a rifle aimed at the foe.

At this the guards halted.

“Back!” thundered Frank in Russian, “or every dog of you dies!”

For a moment the Russian captain sat his horse like a statue. Then he cried, in amazement:

“What! You dare to defy the Czar?”

“I owe no allegiance to the Czar, nor do I stand in fear of his minions!” replied Frank, resolutely.

“Who are you?”

“We are Americans.”

“Then know you that you are upon the Czar’s territory. You shall surrender the prisoner or we shall fight!”

“We will fight, then!” declared Frank, sternly. “So long as we have blood in our veins we will defend this poor wretch. This may be the Czar’s territory, but when the prisoner is on the deck of the airship he is under the protection of the American flag, and that flag the United States will never permit Russia nor any other foreign country to outrage.”

The Russian officer could not reply to this sweeping declaration for some moments. He knew enough of international law to know that Frank Reade, Jr., was technically right.

“Nevertheless,” he said, gritting his teeth, savagely, “you are a good ways from America, and your fate would never be known. Unless you surrender the prisoner we will shoot every one of you.”

“Is that your craven threat?” asked Frank.

“You have heard it.”

“Then I will answer it with another. I will give you three minutes to vacate your present position. If not, we will shoot every one of you!”

Frank’s tone was firm and his manner resolute. The Russian officer saw this. For a moment he was at a loss what to say or do.

It was likely, however, that he would have given the order to attack and blood would have been shed had it not been for an incident.

Suddenly a loud cry came from the direction of the plateau. Two horsemen were seen riding at full speed.

They wore the blood-red uniform of the Czar’s service. Instantly a cry escaped the Russian officer’s lips.

“Couriers of the Czar!” he cried. “What can they want?”

Hostilities were suspended for the time. Everybody watched the approach of the couriers, and the exile leaned forward with open mouth and half eager gaze.

“God be with us!” he murmured. “It may be Olga’s reprieve!”

The next moment the couriers of the Czar reined in their smoking steeds. They saluted, and the foremost asked:

“Are you Ivan Petrowsky, of the Irkutsh Prison?”