Ekaterininski-Zavod: every minute the fugitive fancied he heard the
bells of the pursuing _kibitkas_; he had a horrible suspicion, too,
that his driver was delaying purposely to betray him, as had befallen
a fellow-countryman in similar circumstances. But at daybreak they
found the road, and by nightfall, having changed horses once or twice
and traveled like the wind, he was well on his way. At a fresh relay
he was forced to go into a tavern to make change to pay his driver: as
he stood among the tipsy crowd he was hustled and his pocket-book
snatched from his hand. He could not discover the thief nor recover
the purse: he durst not appeal to the police, and had to let it go. In
it, besides a quarter of his little hoard of money, there was a
memorandum of every town and village on his way to Archangel, and his
_plakatny_. In this desperate strait--for the last loss seemed to cut
off hope--he had one paramount motive for going on: return was
impossible. Once having left Ekaterininski-Zavod, his fate was sealed
if retaken: he must go forward. Forward he went, falling in with
troops of travelers bound to the fair. On the third evening of his
flight, notwithstanding the time lost, he was at the gates of Irbite,
over six hundred miles from his prison. "Halt and show your passport!"
cried the sentinel. He was fumbling for the local pass with a sinking
heart when the soldier whispered, "Twenty kopecks and go ahead." He
passed in. The loss of his money and the unavoidable expenses had
reduced his resources so much that he found it necessary to continue
the journey on foot. He slept at Irbite, but was up early, and passed
out of an opposite gate unchallenged.

Now began a long and weary tramp. The winter of 1846 was one of
unparalleled rigor in Siberia. The snow fell in enormous masses, which
buried the roads deep out of sight and crushed solidly-built houses
under its weight. Every difficulty of an ordinary journey on foot was