undisturbed by visitors, as they were in a forest where the villagers seldom came, and the nearest wood-road was nearly half a mile off.
Every day either Mr. Petrofsky went in to town to see the Nihilists or some of them came out to the Falcon, usually at night.
"Well, have you any word yet?" asked Tom, after about a week had passed.
"Nothing yet," answered the exile, and his tone was a bit hopeless. "But we have not given up. All the most likely places have been tried, but he is not there. We have had traces of him, but they are not fresh ones. He seems to have been moved from one mine to another. Probably they feared I would make an attempt to rescue him. But I have not given up. He is somewhere in Siberia."
"And we'll find him!" cried Tom with enthusiasm.
For three days more they lingered, and then, one night, when they were just getting ready to retire, there was a knock on the cabin door. Mr. Petrofsky had been to the village that day, and had received no news. He had only returned about an hour before.
"Some one's knocking," announced Ned, as if there could be any doubt of it.
"Bless my burglar alarm!" gasped Mr. Damon.
