“I? Yes, a little. My wife’s cousin died there in the time of the pestilence. He was a fur-hunter, but he was a stingy. I am not sorry that he died. He ate much when he came to see us, and never had an extra kopeck for the children.” “Who is the governor of Chita now?” The conductor gave a snort of disgust. “How could there be a governor in this time of freedom? That is the old way. But we are free men now, as good as anybody. Am I not as good as an officer?” “Better,” said Peter. “But there was a governor in the old days. Every place had a governor for the Czar. You know that as well as I, my friend.” “True, I know it. But what does it matter now? This is not the old time.” “There was a prison in Chita—or was there?” “True, there was a prison. A big one on a hill. You shall see it in time as we come to the city. But it is empty now, and the devil may live in it for all I care.” “I have heard that there was a Colonel Governor in Chita with one eye. He lost the other in a fight with a tiger, but he killed the tiger.” “Poosh!” said the conductor. “That is somebody’s vodka-story. I have been on the railroad from the time it began, and I never heard of any Colonel Governor who killed a tiger, or who had one eye. The last governor at Chita was named Kolessow, and he had a bad leg, not a bad eye. He ran away when the revolution came. Before that was Kirsakoff, and I can tell you Kirsakoff had both his eyes. I never saw him—and a good thing, too, or——” “There never was a governor here named Kirsakoff,” said Peter. “No!” cried the conductor. “You have been in foreign lands, but you know more than I about this, do you? I say that there was a governor—Michael Alexandrovitch, and a general!” “Perhaps I am wrong after all. Forgive me. But I had forgotten, because Kirsakoff went to Odessa.” “Perhaps he did. I don’t know,” said the conductor. “Are you looking for him?” “Oh, no,” said Peter. “I am looking for my brother. All I know is that my brother was in a place where a Colonel Governor with one eye lived—the fellow who had a fight with a tiger. But it was not Kirsakoff, surely.” “No,” said the conductor. “It could not be he. So you have lost your brother? It is always the same story. Since we got freedom everybody is lost. I have not had my pay for six months, and I have seven children living and my wife is sick. My children cannot eat freedom, but it is the capitalists who are keeping us poor. In the old days I had a cow. And now the Americans have come. It is said that they want to steal our railroad and take our work away from us.” “That is a lie,” said Peter. “The Americans are your friends.”