He carried no arms, openly at least, but under his belt was
hidden a revolver and in his pocket, one of those large knives,
resembling both a cutlass and a yataghan, with which a Siberian
hunter can so neatly disembowel a bear, without injuring
its precious fur.
A crowd of travelers had collected at the Moscow station.
The stations on the Russian railroads are much used as places
for meeting, not only by those who are about to proceed
by the train, but by friends who come to see them off.
The station resembles, from the variety of characters assembled,
a small news exchange.
The train in which Michael took his place was to set him down at
Nijni-Novgorod. There terminated at that time, the iron road which,
uniting Moscow and St. Petersburg, has since been continued
to the Russian frontier. It was a journey of under three
hundred miles, and the train would accomplish it in ten hours.
Once arrived at Nijni-Novgorod, Strogoff would either take
the land route or the steamer on the Volga, so as to reach
the Ural Mountains as soon as possible.
Michael Strogoff ensconced himself in his corner, like a worthy
citizen whose affairs go well with him, and who endeavors to kill
time by sleep. Nevertheless, as he was not alone in his compartment,
he slept with one eye open, and listened with both his ears.
In fact, rumor of the rising of the Kirghiz hordes, and of the Tartar
invasion had transpired in some degree. The occupants of the carriage,
whom chance had made his traveling companions, discussed the subject,
though with that caution which has become habitual among Russians,
who know that spies are ever on the watch for any treasonable expressions
which may be uttered.
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