“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. By watching their preparations Michael found to his joy that the detachment were not thinking of visiting the copse, but only bivouacking near, to rest their horses and allow the men to take some refreshment. The horses were soon unsaddled, and began to graze on the thick grass which carpeted the ground. The men meantime stretched themselves by the side of the road, and partook of the provisions they produced from their knapsacks. Michael’s self-possession had never deserted him, and creeping amongst the high grass he endeavored not only to examine the new-comers, but to hear what they said. It was a detachment from Omsk, composed of Usbeck horsemen, a race of the Mongolian type. These men, well built, above the medium height, rough, and wild-featured, wore on their heads the “talpak,” or black sheep-skin cap, and on their feet yellow high-heeled boots with turned-up toes, like the shoes of the Middle Ages. Their tunics were close-fitting, and confined at the waist by a leathern belt braided with red. They were armed defensively with a shield, and offensively with a curved sword, and a flintlock musket slung at the saddle-bow. From their shoulders hung gay-colored cloaks. The horses, which were feeding at liberty at the edge of the wood, were, like their masters, of the Usbeck race. These animals are rather smaller than the Turcomanian horses, but are possessed of remarkable strength, and know no other pace than the gallop. This detachment was commanded by a “pendja-baschi”; that is to say, a commander of fifty men, having under him a “deh-baschi,” or simple commander of ten men. These two officers wore helmets and half coats-of-mail; little trumpets fastened to their saddle-bows were the distinctive signs of their rank. The pendja-baschi had been obliged to let his men rest, fatigued with a long stage. He and the second officer, smoking “beng,” the leaf which forms the base of the “haschisch,” strolled up and down the wood, so that Michael Strogoff without being seen, could catch and understand their conversation, which was spoken in the Tartar language. Michael’s attention was singularly excited by their very first words. It was of him they were speaking. “This courier cannot be much in advance of us,” said the pendja-baschi; “and, on the other hand, it is absolutely impossible that he can have followed any other route than that of the Baraba.”