"
In a few moments Michael, dragging his horse by the bridle,
reached a little larch wood, through which the road lay.
Beyond this it was destitute of trees, and wound among bogs
and pools, separated by dwarfed bushes, whins, and heather.
The ground on either side was quite impracticable,
and the detachment must necessarily pass through the wood.
They were pursuing the high road to Irkutsk. Plunging in about
forty feet, he was stopped by a stream running under the brushwood.
But the shadow was so deep that Michael ran no risk of
being seen, unless the wood should be carefully searched.
He therefore led his horse to the stream and fastened him to a tree,
returning to the edge of the road to listen and ascertain
with what sort of people he had to do.
Michael had scarcely taken up his position behind a group of larches
when a confused light appeared, above which glared brighter lights
waving about in the shadow.
"Torches!" said he to himself. And he drew quickly back,
gliding like a savage into the thickest underwood.
As they approached the wood the horses' pace was slackened.
The horsemen were probably lighting up the road with the intention
of examining every turn.
Michael feared this, and instinctively drew near to the bank
of the stream, ready to plunge in if necessary.
Arrived at the top of the wood, the detachment halted.
The horsemen dismounted. There were about fifty.
A dozen of them carried torches, lighting up the road.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185