Knight Without Armour

All night long the hubbub proceeded, and soon after dawn something—but it was not clear exactly what—was decided upon. A few squads of men marched out of the town to the east; the rest, apparently, were to follow later. But shortly afterwards came a sharp outbreak of rifle-fire among the hills behind the town, and in less than an hour the original squads returned in a condition bordering on panic. The hills, they reported, were already in the hands of White outposts; Saratursk must be abandoned instantly. Whereupon soldiers, civilians, and refugees immediately gathered up as many of their personal possessions as they could and took part in a furious stampede to the west. The road was narrow—no more than a mere track—and military wagons jammed and collided into an immovable obstruction during the first quarter-mile. The wagons were full of ammunition and other military equipment, and after a vain attempt to disentangle the chaos the soldiers unloaded the stores and carried them forward on their backs. The sun rose blindingly on weary men staggering ahead with glazed and desperate eyes, straining the utmost nerve to put distance between themselves and a relentless enemy. Some of them, tired of scuffles in the roadway, took to the open fields and blundered on, with no guide to direction save the blaze of the sun on their backs. All through the morning came intermittent bursts of rifle-fire, each one rather nearer, it seemed; and there was a fresh outbreak of panic when a small child, fleeing with her parents, was struck and slightly injured by a spent bullet. Towards noon the rout was already becoming more than many could endure; refugees and even soldiers were collapsing by dozens along the roadside, throwing themselves face downwards in the dust and writhing convulsively. Some of them seemed to be dying, and there were rumours that White spies in Saratursk had put poison in the drinking-water from which many of the fugitives had filled their bottles.

A.J., hastening onwards, felt suddenly very ill himself. Severe internal pains gripped him, and at last he guessed that he was on the verge of collapse. He staggered and fell, tried to rise again, but could not; all the earth and the wide sky swam in circles before his eyes. He had to say: “I can’t go on any further. I’m ill.” And to himself he added that Fate, after all, was giving her the chance she had been wishing for; she could escape now, quite easily, and he had no power to stop her.

He knew that she was raising his head and staring into his eyes. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Nothing at all for me. But for yourself—well, you have only to go back into Saratursk and meet your friends.”

“They’ll find me here if I stay.”

“Yes, but in that case they’d find me, too, and I don’t fancy being taken prisoner. Besides, there’s bound to be firing along this road. Take the papers out of my coat—they’ll prove who you are.”

“And yourself?”

“I shall manage, I daresay, with luck.”

“You want me to leave you here?”

“I think you ought to take the chance that offers itself. If you stay, there’ll only be greater danger to both of us. So go now—and hurry. Don’t forget the papers.”

“You are letting me go, then?”

“Circumstances compel me, that’s all.”

“It—it is—good of you. I hope you manage yourself all right.”

“Most probably I shall if I’m not found with you. Take the papers.”

“Good-bye.”

“Yes, but the papers—the papers—in the lining of my coat.”