g fence; for in these
days the hated official may at any moment find his house besieged by a
mob of vodka-maddened _moujiks_ and implacable women. If he and his
guard of one or two armed _stragniki_ (rural police) are unable to hold
out till help comes,--well, there is red murder, another house in
flames, a vodka orgy in the frenzied village, and retribution next day
or the day after, when the Cossacks arrive, and there is more red
murder. Then every man, woman, and child left in the place is
slaughtered; and the agglomeration of miserable huts that form the
village is burned to the ground.

That, at least, is the explanation Mishka gave me when we rode through a
heap of still smouldering and indescribably evil-smelling ruins, where
there was no sign of life, beyond a few disreputable-looking pigs and
fowls grubbing about in what should have been the cultivated ground. The
peasant's holdings are inconceivably neglected, for the _moujik_ is the
laziest creature on God's earth. In the days of his serfdom he worked
under the whip, but as a freeman he has reduced his labor to a minimum,
especially since the revolutionary propagandists have told him that he
is the true lord of the soil, who should pay no taxes, and should live
at ease,--and in sloth.

The sight and stench of that holocaust sickened me, but Mishka rode
forward stolidly, unmoved either physically or mentally.

"They bring it on themselves," he said philosophically. "If they would
work more and drink less they could live and pay their taxes well enough
and there would be no trouble."

"But why on earth didn't they make themselves scarce after they'd
settled scores with the tax collector, instead of waiting to be
massacred?" I mused.

"God knows," said Mishka. "The _moujik_ is a beast that goes mad at the
sight and smell of blood, and one that takes no thought for the morrow.
Also, where would they run to? They would soon be hunted down. Now they
have had their taste of blood, and paid for it in full, that is all.
There were no Jews there," he jerked his head backwards, "otherwise they
might have had their taste without payment."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Wait, and perhaps you will see. Have you never heard of a _pogrom_?"

And that was all I could get out of him at the time.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE OLD JEW

We halted for the night at a small town, with some five or six thousand
inhabitants as I judged,