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shelives . Could you live here? You would starve. You would die in the cold.
Women like that you leave alone, or speak to politely, very politely."
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The soldier continued to mutter, and Alekhin said, "If we had the time I'd let
you go back, just to see the fun. And if you continue to grumble, I'll send
you back."
Alekhin found a camp on the slope of Mount Konus, A bed of spruce boughs, the
remains of a small fire, a corner of a birchbark dish that had not quite
burned, although left in the fire. On the side of the part of the dish that
remained, he saw a tea leaf.
So he had tea? Where had he gotten that? Or had he brought it from that
so-called village?
The trail away led down into a grim and awful gorge, cluttered with fallen
trees, broken boulders, scree, and great slabs of rock, much of it overgrown
with thick green moss that was treacherous underfoot. Much of it was easy
walking but deceptive, as under some of the moss there was ice formed from
moisture that had seeped through to the rock slab beneath and frozen. A
misstep and a man's feet shot from under him. A bad fall at any time and death
if it happened on the brink of a cliff.
It was slow going, hand work as much as with the feet, and the soldiers were
frightened. They were Russians, peasant boys from the flat country, with the
exception of one who was from a city.
The American had gone this way and left no sign. Almost none. Alekhin found a
place where he had rested his hand in getting past a tight corner of cliff. He
found a partial print of an unty, a moccasin.
The trail was descending steeply down from the mountain. Every step must be
taken with care. A half mile further down, Alekhin found a place where the
American had slipped; moss had skidded under his foot, leaving a telltale bare
spot where the ice had frozen again.
How far ahead? Alekhin studied the spot and then shrugged. Maybe two days.
They were gaining on him.
He was positive now that the American was going north and east. He was
planning on trying to cross the Bering Strait.
He would have no chance there. The area was patrolled and covered by radar.
Simply no chance at all. Yet the American was no fool, and he was going that
way.
Desperate? No other way out? He was a flyer, and yet he had made no move
toward an airport where he might steal a plane. The word was that he could fly
anything.
Alekhin was irritated by the soldiers. They moved too slowly. Not being
woodsmen, they took special care, and it was well they did, for they were
clumsy in the forest.
Suvarov was in Nel'kan, which he supposed was less than two hundred miles away
to the north and east. He had never been to Nel'kan, but Suvarov was nothing
if not thorough. He would have the crossings of the Maya River watched
closely.
Now they descended into a burned-over forest. Lightning, no doubt, had started
a fire that had burned over several thousand acres. The charred trunks of
limbless trees pointed their black fingers at the sky. It was a haunted place,
an eerie, lonely place. The soldiers closed in, following Alekhin as if for
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protection. From time to time their eyes strayed left and right. Once in a
while each turned his head to look back to see if they were being followed.
The earth was frozen. Snow had fallen in a light film scattered thinly over
the charred earth and fallen trees.
There were no animals here nor any birds, only a stark emptiness. It was a
place of death. And here the tracks were plain enough. It was as if the Indian
had wanted them to see his tracks or had not cared. Did he not know he was
followed? The tracks wove a way among the charred logs and blackened trees.
Perhaps it was simply that he realized the futility of attempting to hide a
trail in such a place.
Oddly, the trail veered west, then east, then north again, and then back to
the east. Alekhin stopped, looking angrily around. What was the American
trying to do?
Suddenly, he realized and was amused. There were places where the wind or the
fire or both had felled great rows of trees, and they were deliberately being
led where such trees must be stepped over, climbed over, or crawled under. It
was slow, exasperating, and very tiring, and the soldiers were beginning to
straggle more and more.
They plodded on. Fearing some ruse, Alekhin stayed to the trail. One of the
soldiers, seeing an easier way, instead of climbing over the fallen tree went
around the broken-off trunk. Alekhin, glancing back, saw it happen.
The soldier was the last in line, and taking what seemed the easier way, he
had just stepped past the base of the broken-off tree when he tripped and
fell.
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