nt well
capable of seconding his designs in this savage war.

When Michael Strogoff arrived on the banks of the Irtych, Ivan Ogareff
was already master of Omsk, and was pressing the siege of the upper
quarter of the town all the more eagerly because he must hasten to
Tomsk, where the main body of the Tartar army was concentrated.

Tomsk, in fact, had been taken by Feofar-Khan some days previously, and
it was thence that the invaders, masters of Central Siberia, were to
march upon Irkutsk.

Irkutsk was the real object of Ivan Ogareff. The plan of the traitor was
to reach the Grand Duke under a false name, to gain his confidence, and
to deliver into Tartar hands the town and the Grand Duke himself. With
such a town, and such a hostage, all Asiatic Siberia must necessarily
fall into the hands of the invaders. Now it was known that the Czar
was acquainted with this conspiracy, and that it was for the purpose
of baffling it that a courier had been intrusted with the important
warning. Hence, therefore, the very stringent instructions which had
been given to the young courier to pass incognito through the invaded
district.

This mission he had so far faithfully performed, but now could he carry
it to a successful completion?

The blow which had struck Michael Strogoff was not mortal. By swimming
in a manner by which he had effectually concealed himself, he had
reached the right bank, where he fell exhausted among the bushes.

When he recovered his senses, he found himself in the cabin of a mujik,
who had picked him up and cared for him. For how long a time had he been
the guest of this brave Siberian? He could not guess. But when he
opened his eyes he saw the handsome bearded face bending over him, and
regarding him with pitying eyes. "Do not speak, little father," said the
mujik, "Do not speak! Thou art still too weak. I will tell thee where
thou art and everything that has passed."

And the mujik related to Michael Strogoff the different incidents of the
struggle which he had witnessed--the attack upon the ferry by the Tartar
boats, the pillage of the tarantass, and the massacre of the boatmen.

But Michael Strogoff listened no longer, and slipping his hand under
his garment he felt the imperial letter still secured in his breast. He
breathed a sigh of relief.

But that was not all. "A young girl accompanied me," said he.

"They have not killed her," replied the mujik, anticipating the anxiety
which he read in t