Part 29 (1/2)

”No, they are evidently waiting for something perhaps for some high official, without whose orders they dare do nothing. Russia is overrun with officialdom.”

And a little later Ivan Petrofsky's suspicion proved true. There arrived a man in uniform, who spoke fairly good English, and who politely asked Tom if he would not delay the start of the airs.h.i.+p, again, until the governor could arrive from his country place to see it.

”We know you are going to leave us,” said the Russian with a smile, ”for you have sent for kerosene. But please wait.”

”If your governor comes soon we'll wait,” replied Tom. ”But we are in a hurry. I wish that kerosene fellow would get a move on,” he murmured.

”Oh, he will doubtless be here soon,” said the officer. ”Might I be permitted to come aboard and wait for my chief?”

”Sorry, but it's not allowed,” replied our hero, straining his eyes down the road for a sight of the wagoner. At last he came, and Tom breathed easier.

But the crowd was bigger, and some of the men, though poorly dressed, seemed to be persons in authority. Tom had no doubt but what there was a plot afoot to detain him, and arrest the exiles, and that there were disguised soldiers in the throng. But they could not act without the governor's orders, and he was probably on his way with all haste.

”Lively now, get that kerosene in the tanks!” cried Tom to the man, motioning in lieu of using Russian. The youth was not going to meet the governor if he could help it.

Now it was a curious thing, but the more that wagoner and his helpers seemed to try to hurry, and pour the oil from the cans into the tank-opening of the airs.h.i.+p, the slower they worked. They got in each others' way, dropped some cans, spilled others, and in general made such poor work at it that Tom saw there was something in the wind.

”Ned!” he exclaimed, ”they're doing all they can to detain us. We've got to put that oil in ourselves. Just as we did the gasolene in France. It's the same sort of a delay game.”

”Right, Tom! I'm with you.”

”And I'll warn the crowd back, by telling them we are likely to blow up any minute!” added Ivan Petrofsky, which warning he shouted in Russian a moment later.

Backward leaped the throng, as though a bomb bad been thrown into their midst, even the supposed officers joining in the retreat. The oil wagon was now easy of access, and Tom and Ned, with Mr. Damon to aid them, hastened toward it. Then the work of filling the tanks went on in something like good old, United States fas.h.i.+on.

The last gallon of kerosene had been put aboard, and Tom and Ned with Mr. Damon, had climbed on deck, when the gaily uniformed officer, who had requested the delay, came riding up furiously.

”Hold! Hold! If you please!” he cried. ”The governor has come. He wants to see you.”

”Too late!” answered Tom. ”Give him our best regards and ask him to come to the United States if he wants to see us. Sorry we haven't cards handy. Ned, take the pilot house, and shoot her up sharp when you get the signal. I'm going to run the motor. I don't know just how she'll behave on the kerosene.”

”You must remain!” angrily cried the officer.

”The United States doesn't take 'must' from anybody, from the Czar down!” cried Tom as he disappeared into the motor room. The window was open, and the youth turned on the power the official cried again to him:

”Halt! Here comes the governor! I declared you arrested by his orders, and in the name of the Czar!”

”Nothing doing!” yelled Tom, and then, looking from the window, he saw approaching a troop of Cossacks, in the midst of whom rode a man in a brilliant uniform--evidently the governor.