Boy Nihilist

just discharged from Siberia."

  "Siberia!" exclaimed the man, starting.

  "Yes; I agreed to deliver a letter, of which I knew nothing, to PrinceMastowix, from Paul Zobriskie, of New York."

  "Paul Zobriskie?"

  "Yes. He accosted me on the steamer as I was about to sail and asked meto deliver the letter, which I did, and fearing probably that because Iwas not a Nihilist that I might betray him, he had me arrested and sentto Siberia, where I suffered the tortures of the damned for more than ayear, until chance took me here again, as the valet of a surgeon onleave of absence, when I managed to escape long enough to reach theAmerican minister, who quickly secured my liberation, together with anofficial apology and indemnity."

  "You astonish me, sir."

  "But I am telling you too much, perhaps."

  "No, you are not, young man, for I am Peter Vola," said the man, leapingto his feet and extending his hand, "I am the same man who accosted andconducted you hither, for I have had a spy on your track ever since youimprudently inquired for me. But I feel that I can trust you."

  "You can. I am not a Nihilist in form, but I am one at heart, and willyet make these despots feel what I have undeservedly felt," said he,vehemently.

  "Good. We need you. But you spoke of a message you had for me."

  "Yes."

  "From Siberia?"

  "Yes."

  "And from---"

  "Whom do you think?" asked Barnwell, resolved to put a final test to theman's identity.

  "Perhaps from my poor sister, Zora."

  "The same."

  "Heaven be praised!"

  "She had a letter written to send you, but I thought it might be unsafeto have on my person, both for you and myself."

  "You were right."

  "So I took her verbal message."

  "Oh, tell me of my poor dear sister!" the man almost cried, andthereupon Barnwell related his acquaintance with her, together with thestory of his life in Siberia, as already known to the reader.

  Then he repeated the message Zora had entrusted him with, while tearsstreamed down the brother's face.

  "Poor girl, what a fate is hers! But if she lives she shall yet be free.Oh, sir, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your kindnessto her and to me, and if we are never able to repay you, Heaven surelywill do so," said Vola, greatly moved.

  "I am amply repaid by being able to do someone a kindness. But mymission has not yet begun. I have a trust to keep of which I have notyet spoken. You, of course, know of Batavsky?"

  "I have heard of him, but he worked and was exiled before my timealmost--at least, before I began to work."

  "Well, at his death I received from him a certain charge that maypossibly enable me to benefit his compatriots in Russia; but he told meto become an active Nihilist, that I might be the better able to worksuccessfully."

  "And so you shall, my dear brother, for I feel that I may call you so,"said Vola, at the same time embracing him. "Put yourself in my charge,and you shall be initiated into the Order of Liberty."

  "I will do so, and there is my hand," said Barnwell, earnestly.

  "Which I take in the name of humanity. But in our order one brother caninitiate another. We have no lodge-meetings, no names, being simplyknown by numbers, and those numbers known only to a trusted few. Nightshall not come upon us before you shall know how to send and receive acommunication--how to act, and how to avoid detection."

  "Good! Just so soon as that is done I shall go to Germany, and mostlikely work altogether outside of Russia for the present."

  "It shall be as you wish, for I see your heart is in the matter."

  "Aye, my very soul!"

  "Good!" and leading him into an inner room, he proceeded to initiate himinto the mysteries of that mysterious order, known the world over asNihilists.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  TUE YOUNG NIHILIST.

  A week from that time, and after William Barnwell had made himselfthoroughly familiar with the secrets and the workings of this great andmysterious order, the order that has shaken thrones and hurled tyrantsto their final account, he started for Germany.

  The reader knows something of the cruel sufferings of our hero. Being afree-born American, a natural hater of tyranny in all its forms, andenduring it as he did, it is no wonder that he sought revenge, and thathis heart should naturally go out in behalf of oppressed humanity, whenhe had tasted of that barbarian oppression himself.

  With his identity thoroughly established, his passports all correct, andhis heart full with the new doctrine that his initiation had developedin him, together with the mission which poor old Batavsky had intrustedhim with, he bade good-by to Russia.

  From St. Petersburg he went to Warsaw, and from there to Posen, Germany,where he felt for the first time since leaving his native land that hewas in the domain of freedom.

  Before leaving Russia he had sent home for his entire fortune, and atBerlin had it converted into German money, and it was so considerablethat he soon became known as the rich cosmopolitan.

  Gradually he made his way towards the little hamlet of Merz, near theborder, and when the warm season began he went there with his servant,horses and carriage (one built to order for a special object), and tookup his residence in a small town patronized almost entirely by the fewtravelers who find their way to this part of Germany.

  He was now near the alleged hiding-place of Batavsky's rubles, and whileseemingly only rambling over the wild country, he was studying thediagram that the old man had given him and trying to locate thehiding-place by the aid of it.

  The location most nearly agreeing with the diagram was about a mile fromthe little tavern, and every day he would visit it with his gun, orsometimes with a sketch-book, the better to enable him to throw offsuspicion should he chance to encounter anyone--a very improbable thing,however, since it was a desolate, uninhabited region, without roads andwith nothing to attract anyone save its cragged grandeur.

  Indeed, it was so barren of game that the landlord advised him to go inany other direction when in search of it.

  But day by day he visited it, and the oftener he did so the greater thefascination of the rugged hills became to him.

  The thought that a million rubles lay hidden away somewhere in thevicinity was a fascination in itself, but the more he went the more hefelt that the spirit of the old exile was hovering about the place.

  Often and often he wished that he but possessed the means--which so manyclaim nowadays--of communicating with the departed, for the feeling grewupon him so that he could not resist its influence.

  "Batavsky!" he said one day, involuntarily, and the echo of the wordfrom half a dozen peaks and crags so startled him that he did not try itagain.

  But for some reason or other, the last of the echoes was the loudest,and the name came back to him as clearly as he had spoken it, from ahill of verdureless rocks some two thousand yards distant:

  "Batavsky!"

  "Goodness, how distinct!" he mused. "But why more distinct from thatinaccessible hill than from the others? Was it the work of--ah, pshaw! Iam allowing the absurdity of spiritualism to get the better of myreason. And yet, after all, who knows? There be more things in Heavenand earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy. But it was only echo."

  He was seated on an opposite eminence, holding the worn old diagram inhis hand, and trying to get at a certain point which would be the key tothe location, but could not find it.

  Finally, almost involuntarily, he started down the declivity and beganslowly to make his way towards the forbidding pile of rocks which hadsent back the echo so startlingly.

  Why he sought the place he did not know. It was no more promising thanother immediate locations, and besides, he had visited it a day or twobefore, although from another direction.

  Slowly he approached and surveyed it, comparing it with his diagram. Atlength he saw a point that seemed to resemble the one he sought, andafter studying it a moment, started to see if he could find thesucceeding
one.

  Coming close to a dark opening, he was startled by fierce growls, andthe next instant half a dozen fierce wolves sprang from it, and set uponhim savagely.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  A VICTORY DEARLY BOUGHT.

  It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the attack was sosudden and unexpected that Barnwell was completely off his guard at themoment.

  One of the fiercest wolves, hungry, huge and gaunt, sprang at his throatand bore him to the earth.

  Seizing the brute by the throat with both hands, he with almostsuperhuman strength dashed him away long enough to rise to his knees andto pull his revolver, the other wolves having by this time joinedsavagely in the attack.

  Unable to get upon his feet, he poked the muzzle of his pistol straightinto the mouth of the now risen wolf, as he again came towards him, andfired.

  It