"My dear," said the old man, "I will go with you, were it on foot. If
you go, I must first lose my senses before I will stay crouching behind
stone walls."

There was never any use disputing with the old man. In half an hour
I was in the saddle, Saveliitch on an old, half-starved, limping
rosinante, which a citizen, not having fodder, had given for nothing
to the serf. We reached the city gates; the sentinels let us pass,
and we were finally out of Orenbourg. Night was falling. My road lay
before the town of Berd, the headquarters of Pougatcheff. This road
was blocked up and hidden by snow; but across the steppe were traces
of horses, renewed from day to day, apparently, and clearly visible.
I was going at a gallop, Saveliitch could scarcely keep up and shouted,
"Not so fast! My nag can not follow yours." Very soon we saw the
lights of Berd. We were approaching deep ravines, which served as
natural fortifications to the town. Saveliitch, without however being
left behind, never ceased his lamentations. I was in hopes of passing
safely the enemy's place, when I saw through the darkness five peasants
armed with big sticks--Pougatcheff's extreme outpost.

"_Qui vive_! Who goes there?"

Not knowing the watchword, I was for going on without answering. But
one of them seized my horse's bridle. I drew my sabre and struck the
peasant of the head. His cap saved his life; he staggered and fell;
the others, frightened, let me pass. The darkness, which was
deepening, might have saved me from further hindrance; when, looking
back, I saw that Saveliitch was not with me. What was I to do? The
poor old man, with his lame horse, could not escape from the rascals.