gh cap saved his life; still, he staggered, and let go the bridle. The
others were frightened, and jumped aside. Taking advantage of their
scare, I put spurs to my horse, and dashed off at full gallop.

The fast increasing darkness of the night might have saved me from any
more difficulties, when, looking back, I discovered that Saveliitch was
no longer with me. The poor old man with his lame horse had not been
able to shake off the robbers. What was I to do?

After waiting a few minutes and becoming certain he had been stopped, I
turned my horse's head to go to his help. As I approached the ravine I
heard from afar confused shouts, and the voice of my Saveliitch.
Quickening my pace, I soon came up with the peasants of the advance
guard who had stopped me a few minutes previously. They had surrounded
Saveliitch, and had obliged the poor old man to get off his horse, and
were making ready to bind him.

The sight of me filled them with joy. They rushed upon me with shouts,
and in a moment I was off my horse. One of them, who appeared to be the
leader, told me they were going to take me before the Tzar.

"And our father," added he, "will decide whether you are to be hung at
once or if we are to wait for God's sunshine!"

I offered no resistance. Saveliitch followed my example, and the
sentries led us away in triumph.

We crossed the ravine to enter the settlement. All the peasants' houses
were lit up. All around arose shouts and noise. I met a crowd of people
in the street, but no one paid any attention to us, or recognized in me
an officer of Orenburg. We were taken to a "_izba_," built in the angle
of two streets. Near the door were several barrels of wine and two
cannons.

"Here is the palace!" said one of the peasants; "we will go and announce
you."

He entered the "_izba_." I glanced at Saveliitch; the old man was making
the sign of the cross, and muttering prayers. We waited a long time. At
last the peasant reappeared, and said to me--

"Come, our father has given orders that the officer be brought in."

I entered the "_izba_," or the palace, as the peasant called it. It was
lighted by two tallow candles, and the walls were hung with gold paper.
All the rest of the furniture, the benches, the table, the little
washstand jug hung to a cord, the towel on a nail, the oven fork
standing up in a corner, the wooden shelf laden with earthen pots, all
was just as in any other "_izba_. Pugatchef sat beneath the hol