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."
And Michael， having presented five and twenty roubles to the unfortunate woman， who had not even strength to thank him， put spurs to his horse once more.
One thing he knew； he must not pass through Tomsk. To go to Kolyvan， which the Tartars had not yet reached， was possible. Yes， that is what he must do； there he must prepare himself for another long stage.
There was nothing for it but， having crossed the Obi， to take the Irkutsk road and avoid Tomsk.
This new route decided on， Michael must not delay an instant.
Nor did he， but， putting his horse into a steady gallop， he took the road towards the left bank of the Obi， which was still forty versts distant.
Would there be a ferry boat there， or should he， finding that the Tartars had destroyed all the boats， be obliged to swim across？
As to his horse， it was by this time pretty well worn out， and Michael intended to make it perform this stage only， and then to exchange it for a fresh one at Kolyvan. Kolyvan would be like a fresh starting point， for on leaving that town his journey would take a new form.
So long as he traversed a devastated country the difficulties must be very great； but if， having avoided Tomsk， he could r俿um？the road to Irkutsk across the province of Yeniseisk， which was not yet laid waste， he would finish his journey in a few days.
Night came on， bringing with it refreshing coolness after the heat of the day. At midnight the steppe was profoundly dark.
The sound of the horses's hoofs alone was heard on the road， except when， every now and then， its master spoke a few encouraging words.
In such darkness as this great care was necessary lest he should leave the road， bordered by pools and streams， tributaries of the Obi. Michael therefore advanced as quickly as was consistent with safety. He trusted no less to the excellence of his eyes， which penetrated the gloom， than to the well-proved sagacity of his horse.
Just as Michael dismounted to discover the exact direction of the road， he heard a confused murmuring sound from the west. It was like the noise of horses' hoofs at some distance on the parched ground.
Michael listened attentively， putting his ear to the ground.
"It is a detachment of cavalry coming by the road from Omsk，"he said to himself. "They are marching very quickly， for the noise is increasing. Are they Russians or Tartars？"Michael again listened. "Yes，" said he， "they are at a sharp trot.
My horse cannot outstrip them. If they are Russians I will join them；if Tartars I must avoid them. But how？ Where can I hide in this steppe？"He gave a look around， and， through the darkness， discovered a confused mass at a hundred paces before him on the left of the road.
"There is a copse！" he exclaimed. "To take refuge there is to run the risk of being caught， if they are in search of me；but I have no choice."
In a few moments Michael， dragging his horse by the bridle， reached a little larch wood， through which the road lay.
Beyond this it was destitute of trees， and wound among bogs and pools， separated by dwarfed bushes， whins， and heather.
The ground on either side was quite impracticable， and the detachment must necessarily pass through the wood.
They were pursuing the high road to Irkutsk. Plunging in about forty feet， he was stopped by a stream running under the brushwood.
But the shadow was so deep that Michael ran no risk of being seen， unless the wood should be carefully searched.
He therefore led his horse to the stream and fastened him to a tree， returning to the edge of the road to listen and ascertain with what sort of people he had to do.
Michael had scarcely taken up his position behind a group of larches when a confused light appeared， above which glared brighter lights waving about in the shadow.
"Torches！" said he to himself. And he drew quickly back， gliding like a savage into the thickest underwood.
As they approached the wood the horses' pace was slackened.
The horsemen were probably lighting up the road with the intention of examining every turn.