It might have been worse, for there were no broken bones, as I had feared at first; but he had a badly sprained ankle.
"Bind it--hard, with your handkerchief," he said, between his set teeth. "We must get out of this, into the wood. They will return directly."
His grit was splendid, for he never uttered a sound--though his foot must have hurt him badly--as I helped him up. Supporting him as well as I could, we stumbled into the wood, groping our way through the darkness, and thankful for every flash that gave us light, an instant at a time, and less dazzling--though more dangerous--here under the canopy of pine branches than yonder on the open road.
Even if Mishka had not been lamed, our progress must have been slow, for the undergrowth was thick; still, he managed to get along somehow, leaning on me, and dragging himself forward by grasping each slender pine trunk that he lurched up against.
He sank down at length, utterly exhausted, and, in the pause that followed, above the sound of our labored breathing and the ceaseless patter of the rain on the pines, I heard the jangle of the cavalry patrol returning along the road. Had "Ivan" eluded or outdistanced them? Were they taking him back with them, a prisoner; or, worst of all, had they shot him?
The sounds passed--how close we still were to the road!--and gradually died away.
"He has escaped, thanks be to God!" Mishka said, in a hoarse whisper.
"If they had overtaken him they would have found the droshky empty, and would have sought us along the road."
"Well, what now? How far are we from the meeting-place?"
"Three versts, more or less. We should have been there by this time! Come, let us get on. Have you the pocket lamp? We can use it now. It will help us a little, and we shall strike a track before long."
The lamp was a little flash-light torch which I had slipped into my pocket at the last moment, and showed to Mishka when I was changing my clothes. It served us well now, for the lightning flashes were less frequent; the worst of the storm was over.
I suppose we must have gone about half a verst--say the third of an English mile--when we found the track he had mentioned, a rough and narrow one, trodden out by the foresters, and my spirits rose at the sight of it. At least it must lead somewhere!