These words were so many dagger-thrusts for Michael. He was known to be a courier of the Czar! A detachment of horsemen on his track could not fail to cut him off. And, worst of all, his mother was in the hands of the Tartars, and the cruel Ogareff had undertaken to make her speak when he wished!
Michael well knew that the brave Siberian would not speak, and that she would sacrifice her life for him.
Michael had fancied that he could not hate Ivan Ogareff more than he had hated him up to this moment, and yet a fresh tide of hate now rose in his heart. The wretch who had betrayed his country now threatened to torture his mother.
The conversation between the two officers continued, and Michael understood that an engagement was imminent in the neighborhood of Kolyvan, between the Muscovite troops coming from the north and the Tartars. A small Russian force of two thousand men, reported to have reached the lower course of the Obi, were advancing by forced marches towards Tomsk. If such was the case, this force, which would soon find itself engaged with the main body of Feofar-Khan’s army, would be inevitably overwhelmed, and the Irkutsk road would be in the entire possession of the invaders.
As to himself, Michael learnt, by some words from the pendja-baschi, that a price was set on his head, and that orders had been given to take him, dead or alive.
It was necessary, therefore, to get the start of the Uzbek horsemen on the Irkutsk road, and put the Obi between himself and them. But to do that, he must escape before the camp was broken up.
His determination taken, Michael prepared to execute it.
Indeed, the halt would not be prolonged, and the pendja-baschi did not intend to give his men more than an hour’s rest, although their horses could not have been changed for fresh ones since Omsk, and must be as much fatigued, and for the same reasons, as that of Michael Strogoff.
There was not a moment to lose. It was within an hour of morning. It was needful to profit by the darkness, which would be soon dispersed by the dawn, to leave the little wood and dash along the road; but although night favored it, the success of such a flight appeared to be almost impossible.
Not wishing to do anything at random, Michael took time for reflection, carefully weighing the chances for and against him, so as to have the best in his hand.
From the situation of the place the result was this—that he could not escape through the back of the wood, the stream which bordered it being not only deep, but very wide and muddy. Great furze-bushes, too, rendered it absolutely impassable. Beneath this thick water was a slimy bog, on which the foot could not rest. Besides, beyond the stream the bushes covering the ground would have offered great difficulties to a rapid flight. The alarm once given, Michael, pursued and hemmed in, must inevitably fall into the hands of the Tartar horsemen.
There was only one way open, the high road. To endeavor to reach it by creeping round the edge of the wood, without attracting attention, and then to gallop at headlong speed, required all the remaining strength and energy of his noble steed. Too probably it would fall dead on reaching the banks of the Obi, when, either by boat or by swimming, he must cross this important river. Such was what Michael had before him.
His energy and courage increased in sight of danger.
His life, his mission, his country, perhaps the safety of his mother, were at stake. He could not hesitate.
There was not a moment to be lost. Already there was a slight movement among the men of the detachment. A few horsemen were strolling up and down the road in front of the wood. The rest were still lying at the foot of the trees, but their horses were gradually penetrating towards the center of the wood.
Michael had at first thought of seizing one of these horses, but he recollected that, of course, they would be as fatigued as his own. It was better to trust to his own brave steed, which had already rendered him such important service. The good animal, hidden behind a thicket, had escaped the sight of the Uzbeks. They, besides, had not penetrated so far into the wood.
Michael crawled up to his horse through the grass, and found him lying down. He patted and spoke gently to him, and managed to raise him without noise.
Fortunately enough, the torches were entirely consumed, and now went out, the darkness being still profound, at least under shelter of the larches. After replacing the bit, Michael looked to his girths and stirrups, and began to lead his horse quietly away by the bridle. The intelligent animal, as if he understood what was required of him, followed his master without even making the least neigh.
A few Uzbek horses raised their heads, and began to wander towards the edge of the wood.
Michael held his revolver in his hand, ready to blow out the brains of the first Tartar who should approach him. But happily the alarm was not given, and he was able to gain the angle made by the wood where it joined the road.
To avoid being seen, Michael’s intention was not to mount until the last moment, and only after turning a corner some two hundred feet from the wood. Unfortunately, just at the moment that he was issuing from the wood, an Uzbek’s horse, scenting him, neighed and began to trot along the road.
His master ran to catch him, and seeing a shadowy form moving in the dim light, “Look out!” he shouted.
At the cry, all the men of the bivouac jumped up, and ran to seize their horses.
Michael leaped on his steed, and galloped away.
The two officers of the detachment urged on their
