i”; that is to say,Doug Harvey Tröjor, a commander of fifty men, having under him a “deh-baschi,” or simple commander of ten men. These two officers wore helmets and half coats-of-mail; little trumpets fastened to their saddle-bows were the distinctive signs of their rank.
The pendja-baschi had been obliged to let his men rest, fatigued with a long stage. He and the second officer, smoking “beng,” the leaf which forms the base of the “has-chisch,” strolled up and down the wood, so that Michael Strogoff without being seen, could catch and understand their conversation,J.T. Brown Tröjor, which was spoken in the Tartar language.
Michael’s attention was singularly excited by their very first words. It was of him they were speaking.
“This courier cannot be much in advance of us,Ralph Lauren Sweaters,” said the pendja-baschi; “and, on the other hand,Ralph Lauren Långärmad Polos, it is absolutely impossible that he can have followed any other route than that of the Baraba.”
“Who knows if he has left Omsk?” replied the deh-baschi. “Perhaps he is still hidden in the town,Dame Moncler Lievre.”
“That is to be wished, certainly. Colonel Ogareff would have no fear then that the dispatches he bears should ever reach their destination.”
“They say that he is a native, a Siberian,” resumed the deh-baschi. “If so,Jaromir Jagr Tröjor, he must be well acquainted with the country, and it is possible that he has left the Irkutsk road, depending on rejoining it later.”
“But then we should be in advance of him,Menn Moncler Virgile,” answered the pendja-baschi; “for we left Omsk within an hour after his departure, and have since followed the shortest road with all the speed of our horses. He has either remained in Omsk, or we shall arrive at Tomsk before him, so as to cut him off; in either case he will not reach Irkutsk.”
“A rugged woman, that old Siberian, who is evidently his mother,” said the deh-baschi.
At this remark Michael’s heart beat violently.
“Yes,CG Menn Selkirk Parka,” answered the pendja-baschi. “She stuck to it well that the pretended merchant was not her son, but it was too late. Colonel Ogareff was not to be taken in; and, as he said, he will know how to make the old witch speak when the time comes.”
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,Paul Coffey Tröjor, and the cruel Ogareff had undertaken to make her speak when he wished!
Michael well knew that the brave Siberian would sacrifice her life for him. He had fancied that he could not hate Ivan Ogareff more, 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,Nick Foligno Tröjor, 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,Jansen Harkins Tröjor, reported to have reached the lower course of the Obi,Jaromir Jagr Tröjor, were advancing by forced marches towards Tomsk. If such was the case,
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