and Krasnoiarsk, but it is still working
between Kolyvan and the Russian frontier."

"For the government?"

"For the government, when it thinks proper. For the public, when they
pay. Ten copecks a word, whenever you like, sir!"

Michael was about to reply to this strange clerk that he had no message
to send, that he only implored a little bread and water, when the door
of the house was again thrown open.

Thinking that it was invaded by Tartars, Michael made ready to leap out
of the window, when two men only entered the room who had nothing of
the Tartar soldier about them. One of them held a dispatch, written in
pencil, in his hand, and, passing the other, he hurried up to the wicket
of the imperturbable clerk.

In these two men Michael recognized with astonishment, which everyone
will understand, two personages of whom he was not thinking at all, and
whom he had never expected to see again. They were the two reporters,
Harry Blount and Alcide Jolivet, no longer traveling companions, but
rivals, enemies, now that they were working on the field of battle.

They had left Ichim only a few hours after the departure of Michael
Strogoff, and they had arrived at Kolyvan before him, by following the
same road, in consequence of his losing three days on the banks of the
Irtych. And now, after being both present at the engagement between the
Russians and Tartars before the town, they had left just as the struggle
broke out in the streets, and ran to the telegraph office, so as to send
off their rival dispatches to Europe, and forestall each other in their
report of events.

Michael stood aside in the shadow, and without being seen himself he
could see and hear all that was going on. He would now hear interesting
news, and would find out whether or not he could enter Kolyvan.

Blount, having distanced his companion, took possession of the wicket,
whilst Alcide Jolivet, contrary to his usual habit, stamped with
impatience.

"Ten copecks a word," said the clerk.

Blount deposited a pile of roubles on the shelf, whilst his rival looked
on with a sort of stupefaction.

"Good," said the clerk. And with the greatest coolness in the world he
began to telegraph the following dispatch: "Daily Telegraph, London.

"From Kolyvan, Government of Omsk, Siberia, 6th August.

"Engagement between Russian and Tartar troops."

The reading was in a distinct voice, so that Michael heard all that the
English correspondent was sending t