March 1923

Ten days later, just before first light a sad Yevgeny left a tearful wife and a sleeping daughter as he slipped away into the night. Smoke wanted to come with him but seemed to understand when Yevgeny dropped to his knees, hugged the big shaggy dog, and told him he had to stay and guard the family. He took a southeast heading to take him into the mountainous region north of Irkutsk. He had hunted in the area but did not know it well.

Yevgeny carefully covered his trail until he was several miles from the village. He had seen some caves with grown over entrances. He planned to set up a camp in one of them. He would do just enough hunting and fishing for his food. The less travel in and out of his cave, the fewer tracks he would have to worry about.

For the next three days, Yevgeny moved like a ghost through the rolling, rough country north and east of Irkutsk. He kept off the wider trails used by villagers along streams and rivers and chose the numerous game trails in the higher, rough terrain. He seldom saw anyone. His fires were nearly smokeless and small. The snow and ice were melting. With his sheet of oiled canvass and bearskin, he could keep warm and dry. He still carried the beautiful furs Katrina wanted him to destroy. He just couldn’t do it. He had taken great risks to get the furs and carry them back to the village. Who knows, he might be able to sell them somewhere.

On the fourth day he judged he was within two days of Irkutsk. There was no use moving any closer to populated areas. He had nearly two months to live alone and stay out of sight. He wouldn’t even be able to pass the time hunting and trapping.

Yevgeny had passed several suitable caves in the last few days. He hoped he could find another one now that he was close enough to Irkutsk to wait. It was nearing dusk when he noticed a thicket where two pine-covered slopes came together in a near fold, forming a narrow passage that he only saw when he was preparing to set up his camp for the night. Stopping his search for dry firewood, he crawled under the tangled scrub growth for a closer look. As he pushed his way through, he saw a small clearing ahead. Once in the clearing he stood up, using his rifle barrel to part the remaining branches. Yevgeny saw a very old, narrow trail leading through the passageway between two adjoining cliff faces.

Going back and returning with his pack, he carefully moved through the screen of scrub fir trees. Moving along the twisting path, Yevgeny found a cluster of caves. Slipping his pack and checking his rifle, he went into the second cave of the five he could see. Inside he made a small fire. As the flickering light drove the shadows back, he saw signs that the cave had once been occupied. A series of elegant, primitive painted figures covered one wall of the cave. The cave roof was several feet over his highest reach.

He cut enough pine boughs to make a bed, being careful to hide the fresh cut marks. For the first time since leaving the cabin and Katrina, he slept soundly.

The next morning after a breakfast of smoked meat and tea, he explored the other nearby caves. All the caves had been occupied at one time, but very long ago. He could find no evidence that anyone had used the caves since the primitive people who drew figures in all the caves left. One cave smelled like a bear had used it but he couldn’t tell how long ago. The droppings he found were dried hard. He figured this was as good a place to hole up as he would find.

The only drawback was the lack of water. Now that the snow was nearly all melted due to the warm winter, he had to leave the small hidden canyon to get water. His goatskin bag would only hold two gallons. Every two days he had to make the two-hour round trip to a meandering stream to fill his water bag. He hated to keep going back to the same area but without venturing an additional unknown distance, he had no choice.

In the fourth week of waiting in the cave, he saw footprints along the small stream where he came for water. The tracks were all made with the same type of boot. These footprints were left by some kind of government unit. Maybe there are still small units of the remnants of the White Army subsisting in the forest. Moving carefully back into cover, Yevgeny studied the tracks. It looked to him that the tracks were left by men who came to get water and made a search of the area. Maybe in one of his many visits to the stream he had left some kind of a trail. He could see the men had searched both banks of the stream. They had to have seen something. If they were good trackers and really interested, they would eventually find his trail. A tracking dog could find him with no trouble.

All of Barry Kelly’s novels are available in print in digital formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore. Visit www.factsandfictions.com for more by the author.