comrades?" asked Phil after a pause, for he was
terribly afraid that Tony and the officer were killed.

"Comfort yourself, Englishman, they too are prisoners, and you will meet
them at the camp; but I doubt whether they will reach there so easily as
you, for Alexoff has charge of your soldier friend, while the brave
wounded officer walks by the side of our commander, who is not too kind
to us, and hates all Englishmen bitterly. Yes, I fear it will go hard
with him, for we have lost heavily, and Stackanoff will not easily
forget it."

"And is Stackanoff your commander?" asked Phil.

"Yes, that is his name. His excellency rules us with a rod of iron.
Ah! my English comrade, there is a little girl waiting for me about half
a verst from Moscow town, and I long to break from this life and return
to her. I have served my time, and should have been free long ago, but
Stackanoff keeps me. Ah, how I hate him! Some day, perhaps, I shall
repay him, and meanwhile I will fight for my country, for she has need
of us all."

"Yes, it will be a big struggle," agreed Phil, "and if your comrades
fight as pluckily as they did to-day, Russia will need many brave men to
fill the gaps."

The Cossack gave a hearty grunt of satisfaction, for, though longing to
reach Moscow, he was at heart a patriot, and liked to hear his
brothers-in-arms well spoken of.

"We are friends from this day," he said, grasping Phil's hand. "But
prepare to get down. We are nearing our bivouac, and it would not do to
let Stackanoff see you mounted behind me. Wait, though, I will tell you
when to jump off."

Putting his horse into a gentle trot the Cossack jogged towards a
collection of tents and horsemen. Suddenly there was a shout from
behind them, and just as Phil and his captor joined a squadron of
Cossacks, a small, fierce-looking man, with a bristling moustache and a
face deeply pitted by smallpox, cantered up, dragging beside him an
unhappy captive, who was scarcely able to retain his feet.

Phil's blood boiled, for he recognised in an instant that the prisoner
was the officer who had so bravely carried the colour.

Pulling his horse in with an angry jerk close alongside Phil's captor,
Stackanoff--for it was none other than he--glared at him, and in a harsh
voice, and with many an oath, snarled: "How is this, Vilnoff! What do
you mean? Are these cursed prisoners then to ride upon his majesty's
horses? Come off, you Englishman!" and, droppin