From its situation, this part of the province, lying in the fork formed by the two Tartar columns which had bifurcated, one upon Omsk and the other upon Tomsk, had hitherto escaped the horrors of the invasion.
But the natural obstacles were now about to disappear, for, if he experienced no delay, Michael Strogoff should on the morrow be free of the Baraba and arrive at Kolyvan.
There he would be within eighty miles of Tomsk.
He would then be guided by circumstances, and very probably he would decide to go around Tomsk, which, if the news were true, was occupied by Feofar-Khan.
But if the small towns of Ikoulskoe and Karguinsk, which he passed on the next day, were comparatively quiet, owing to their position in the Baraba, was it not to be dreaded that, upon the right banks of the Obi, Michael Strogoff would have much more to fear from man?
It was probable.
However, should it become necessary, he would not hesitate to abandon the beaten path to Irkutsk.
To journey then across the steppe he would, no doubt, run the risk of finding himself without supplies.
There would be, in fact, no longer a well-marked road.
Still, there must be no hesitation.
Finally, towards half past three in the afternoon, Michael Strogoff left the last depressions of the Baraba, and the dry and hard soil of Siberia rang out once more beneath his horse’s hoofs.
He had left Moscow on the 15th of July.
Therefore on this day, the 5th of August, including more than seventy hours lost on the banks of the Irtych, twenty days had gone by since his departure.
One thousand miles still separated him from Irkutsk.
CHAPTER XVI A FINAL EFFORT
MICHAEL’S fear of meeting the Tartars in the plains beyond the Baraba was by no means ungrounded.
The fields, trodden down by horses’ hoofs, afforded but too clear evidence that their hordes had passed that way; the same, indeed, might be said of these barbarians as of the Turks:
“Where the Turk goes, no grass grows.”
Michael saw at once that in traversing this country the greatest caution was necessary.
Wreaths of smoke curling upwards on the horizon showed that huts and hamlets were still burning.
Had these been fired by the advance guard, or had the Emir’s army already advanced beyond the boundaries of the province?
Was Feofar-Khan himself in the government of Yeniseisk?
Michael could settle on no line of action until these questions were answered.
Was the country so deserted that he could not discover a single Siberian to enlighten him?
Michael rode on for two versts without meeting a human being.
He looked carefully for some house which had not been deserted.
Every one was tenantless.
One hut, however, which he could just see between the trees, was still smoking.
As he approached he perceived, at some yards from the ruins of the building, an old man surrounded by weeping children.
A woman still young, evidently his daughter and the mother of the poor children, kneeling on the ground, was gazing on the scene of desolation.
She had at her breast a baby but a few months old; shortly she would have not even that nourishment to give it.
Ruin and desolation were all around!
Michael approached the old man.
“Will you answer me a few questions?” he asked.
“Speak,” replied the old man.
“Have the Tartars passed this way?”
“Yes, for my house is in flames.”
“Was it an army or a detachment?”
“An army, for, as far as eye can reach, our fields are laid waste.”
“Commanded by the Emir?”
“By the Emir; for the Obi’s waters are red.”
“Has Feofar-Khan entered Tomsk?”
“He has.”
“Do you know if his men have entered Kolyvan?”
“No; for Kolyvan does not yet burn.”
“Thanks, friend.
Can I aid you and yours?”
“No.”
“Good-by.”
“Farewell.”