To avoid being seen, Michael’s intention was not to mount until after turning a corner some two hundred feet from the wood. Unfortunately, just at the moment that he was issuing from the wood, an Usbeck’s horse, scenting him, neighed and began to trot along the road. His master ran to catch him, and seeing a shadowy form moving in the dim light, “Look out!” he shouted. At the cry, all the men of the bivouac jumped up, and ran to seize their horses. Michael leaped on his steed, and galloped away. The two officers of the detachment urged on their men to follow. Michael heard a report, and felt a ball pass through his tunic. Without turning his head, without replying, he spurred on, and, clearing the brushwood with a tremendous bound, he galloped at full speed toward the Obi. The Usbecks’ horses being unsaddled gave him a small start, but in less than two minutes he heard the tramp of several horses gradually gaining on him. Day was now beginning to break, and objects at some distance were becoming visible. Michael turned his head, and perceived a horseman rapidly approaching him. It was the deh-baschi. Being better mounted, this officer had distanced his detachment. Without drawing rein, Michael extended his revolver, and took a moment’s aim. The Usbeck officer, hit in the breast, rolled on the ground. But the other horsemen followed him closely, and without waiting to assist the deh-baschi, exciting each other by their shouts, digging their spurs into their horses’ sides, they gradually diminished the distance between themselves and Michael. For half an hour only was the latter able to keep out of range of the Tartars, but he well knew that his horse was becoming weaker, and dreaded every instant that he would stumble never to rise again. It was now light, although the sun had not yet risen above the horizon. Two versts distant could be seen a pale line bordered by a few trees. This was the Obi, which flows from the southwest to the northeast, the surface almost level with the ground, its bed being but the steppe itself. Several times shots were fired at Michael, but without hitting him, and several times too he discharged his revolver on those of the soldiers who pressed him too closely. Each time an Usbeck rolled on the ground, midst cries of rage from his companions. But this pursuit could only terminate to Michael’s disadvantage. His horse was almost exhausted. He managed to reach the bank of the river. The Usbeck detachment was now not more than fifty paces behind him. The Obi was deserted--not a boat of any description which could take him over the water! “Courage, my brave horse!” cried Michael. “Come! A last effort!” And he plunged into the river, which here was half a verst in width.