"It has a saddle," said Steinmetz at length. "What have we here?"

The beast was evidently famishing, for, as they came near, it never
ceased its occupation of dragging the wizened tufts of grass up, root
and all.

"What have we here?" repeated Steinmetz.

And the two men clapped spurs to their tired horses.

The solitary waif had a rider, but he was not in the saddle. One foot
was caught in the stirrup, and as the horse moved on from tuft to tuft
it dragged its dead master along the ground.




CHAPTER II


BY THE VOLGA

"This is going to be unpleasant," muttered Steinmetz, as he cumbrously
left the saddle. "That man is dead--has been dead some days; he's stiff.
And the horse has been dragging him face downward. God in heaven! this
will be unpleasant."

Paul had leaped to the ground, and was already loosening the dead man's
foot from the stirrup. He did it with a certain sort of skill, despite
the stiffness of the heavy riding-boot, as if he had walked a hospital