However, the result of all this was the kibitka went faster, and, according to Michael’s calculations, now made almost ten to twelve versts an hour.
On the 28th of August, our travelers passed the town of Balaisk, eighty versts from Krasnoyarsk, and on the 29th that of Rybinsk, forty versts from Balaisk.
The next day, five and thirty versts beyond that, they arrived at Kamskiy, a larger place, watered by the river of the same name, a little affluent of the Yenisey, which rises in the Sayansk Mountains. It is not an important town, but its wooden houses are picturesquely grouped around a square, overlooked by the tall steeple of its cathedral, of which the gilded cross glitters in the sun.
House empty, church deserted! Not a relay to be found, not an inn inhabited! Not a horse in the stables! Not even a cat or a dog in the place! The orders of the Muscovite government had been executed with absolute strictness. All that could not be carried away had been destroyed.
On leaving Kamskiy, Michael told Nadia and Nicholas that they would find only one small town of any importance, Nijni-Oudinsk, between that and Irkutsk. Nicholas replied that he knew there was a telegraph station in that town; therefore if Nijni-Oudinsk was abandoned like Kamskiy, he would be obliged to seek some occupation in the capital of Eastern Siberia.
The kibitka could ford, without getting any damage, the little river which flows across the road beyond Kamskiy. Between the Yenisey and one of its great tributaries, the Angara, which waters Irkutsk, there was nothing to be feared from any stoppage caused by a river, unless it was the Dinka. But the journey would not be much delayed even by this.
From Kamskiy to the next town was a long stage, nearly a hundred and thirty versts. It is needless to say that the regulation halts were observed, “without which,” said Nicholas, “they might have drawn open themselves a just complaint on the part of the horse.” It had been agreed with the brave animal that he should rest every fifteen versts, and when a contract is made, even with an animal, justice demands that the terms of it should be kept so.
After crossing the little river Biriousa, the kibitka reached Biriousensk on the morning of the 4th of September.
There, very fortunately, for Nicholas saw that his provisions were becoming exhausted, he found in an oven a dozen pogatchas, a kind of cake prepared with sheep’s fat and a large supply of plain boiled rice. This increase was very opportune, for something would soon have been needed to replace the koumiss with which the kibitka had been stored at Krasnoyarsk.
After a halt, the journey was continued in the afternoon. The distance to Irkutsk was not now much over five hundred versts. There was not a sign of the Tartar vanguard.
Michael Strogoff had some grounds for hoping that his journey would not be again delayed, and that in eight days, or at most ten, he would be in the presence of the Grand Duke.
On leaving Biriousensk, a hare ran across the road, in front of the kibitka.
“Ah!” exclaimed Nicholas.
“What is the matter, friend?” asked Michael quickly, like a blind man whom the least sound arouses.
“Did you not see? …” said Nicholas, whose bright face had become suddenly clouded.
Then he added:
“Ah! no! you could not see, and it’s lucky for you, little father!”
“But I saw nothing,” said Nadia.
“So much the better! So much the better! But I … I saw! …”
“What was it then?” asked Michael.
“A hare crossing our road!” answered Nicholas.
In Russia, when a hare crosses the path, the popular belief is that it is the sign of approaching evil.
Nicholas, superstitious like the greater number of Russians, stopped the kibitka.
Michael understood his companion’s hesitation, although he in no way shared his credulity as to hares passing, and endeavored to reassure him.
“There is nothing to fear, friend,” said he.
“Nothing for you, nor for her, I know, little father,” answered Nicholas, “but for me!”
“It is my fate,” he continued.
And he put his horse in motion again.
However, in spite of these forebodings the day passed without any accident.
At twelve o’clock the next day, the 6th of September, the kibitka halted in the village of Alsalevok, which was as deserted as the surrounding country.
There, on a doorstep, Nadia found two of those strong-bladed knives used by Siberian hunters. She gave one to Michael, who concealed it among his clothes, and kept the other herself. They were now not more than seventy-five versts from Nijni-Oudinsk.
Nicholas had not recovered his usual spirits. The ill-omen had affected him more than could have been believed, and he who formerly was never half an hour without speaking, now fell into long reveries from which Nadia found it difficult to arouse him. His moody state may be accounted for when it is recollected that he was a man belonging to those northern races whose superstitious ancestors have been the founders of the Hyperborean mythology.
On leaving Yekaterinburg, the Irkutsk road runs almost parallel with the fifty-fifth degree of latitude, but from Biriousensk it proceeds southeast, so as to slope across the hundredth meridian. It takes the shortest way to reach the Siberian capital by crossing the Sayansk Mountains. These mountains are themselves but part of the great Altai chain, which are visible at a distance of two hundred versts.
The kibitka rolled swiftly along the road. Yes, swiftly! Nicholas no longer thought of being so careful of his horse, and was as anxious to arrive at his journey’s end as Michael himself. Notwithstanding his fatalism, and though resigned, he would not believe himself in safety until within the walls of Irkutsk. Many Russians would have thought as he did, and more than one would have turned his horse and gone back again, after a hare had crossed his path.
However, some observations made by him, the justice of which was
