I could kill you.”
The postmaster understood.
“I like him better for that,” he muttered and retired without another word.
At eight o’clock the next morning, the 24th of July, three strong horses were harnessed to the tarantass.
Michael Strogoff and Nadia took their places, and Ichim, with its disagreeable remembrances, was soon left far behind.
At the different relays at which they stopped during the day Strogoff ascertained that the berlin still preceded them on the road to Irkutsk, and that the traveler, as hurried as they were, never lost a minute in pursuing his way across the steppe.
At four o’clock in the evening they reached Abatskaia, fifty miles farther on, where the Ichim, one of the principal affluents of the Irtych, had to be crossed.
This passage was rather more difficult than that of the Tobol.
Indeed the current of the Ichim was very rapid just at that place.
During the Siberian winter, the rivers being all frozen to a thickness of several feet, they are easily practicable, and the traveler even crosses them without being aware of the fact, for their beds have disappeared under the snowy sheet spread uniformly over the steppe; but in summer the difficulties of crossing are sometimes great.
In fact, two hours were taken up in making the passage of the Ichim, which much exasperated Michael, especially as the boatmen gave them alarming news of the Tartar invasion.
Some of Feofar-Khan’s scouts had already appeared on both banks of the lower Ichim, in the southern parts of the government of Tobolsk.
Omsk was threatened.
They spoke of an engagement which had taken place between the Siberian and Tartar troops on the frontier of the great Kirghese horde—an engagement not to the advantage of the Russians, who were weak in numbers.
The troops had retreated thence, and in consequence there had been a general emigration of all the peasants of the province.
The boatmen spoke of horrible atrocities committed by the invaders—pillage, theft, incendiarism, murder.
Such was the system of Tartar warfare.
The people all fled before Feofar-Khan.
Michael Strogoff’s great fear was lest, in the depopulation of the towns, he should be unable to obtain the means of transport.
He was therefore extremely anxious to reach Omsk.
Perhaps there they would get the start of the Tartar scouts, who were coming down the valley of the Irtych, and would find the road open to Irkutsk.
Just at the place where the tarantass crossed the river ended what is called, in military language, the “Ichim chain”—a chain of towers, or little wooden forts, extending from the southern frontier of Siberia for a distance of nearly four hundred versts.
Formerly these forts were occupied by detachments of Cossacks, and they protected the country against the Kirghese, as well as against the Tartars.
But since the Muscovite Government had believed these hordes reduced to absolute submission, they had been abandoned, and now could not be used; just at the time when they were needed.
Many of these forts had been reduced to ashes; and the boatmen even pointed out the smoke to Michael, rising in the southern horizon, and showing the approach of the Tartar advance-guard.
As soon as the ferryboat landed the tarantass on the right bank of the Ichim, the journey across the steppe was resumed with all speed.
Michael Strogoff remained very silent.
He was, however, always attentive to Nadia, helping her to bear the fatigue of this long journey without break or rest; but the girl never complained.
She longed to give wings to the horses.
Something told her that her companion was even more anxious than herself to reach Irkutsk; and how many versts were still between!
It also occurred to her that if Omsk was entered by the Tartars, Michael’s mother, who lived there, would be in danger, and that this was sufficient to explain her son’s impatience to get to her.
Nadia at last spoke to him of old Marfa, and of how unprotected she would be in the midst of all these events.
“Have you received any news of your mother since the beginning of the invasion?” she asked.
“None, Nadia.
The last letter my mother wrote to me contained good news.
Marfa is a brave and energetic Siberian woman.
Notwithstanding her age, she has preserved all her moral strength.
She knows how to suffer.”
“I shall see her, brother,” said Nadia quickly.
“Since you give me the name of sister, I am Marfa’s daughter.”
And as Michael did not answer she added:
“Perhaps your mother has been able to leave Omsk?”
“It is possible, Nadia,” replied Michael; “and I hope she may have reached Tobolsk.
Marfa hates the Tartars.
She knows the steppe, and would have no fear in just taking her staff and going down the banks of the Irtych.
There is not a spot in all the province unknown to her.
Many times has she traveled all over the country with my father; and many times I myself, when a mere child, have accompanied them across the Siberian desert.
Yes, Nadia, I trust that my mother has left Omsk.”
“And when shall you see her?”
“I shall see her—on my return.”