spectfully, he saluted the young girl.

Nadia bowed slightly.

Alcide turned towards his companion. "The sister worthy of the brother!"
said he. "Now, were I a bear, I should not meddle with two so brave and
so charming."

Harry Blount, perfectly upright, stood, hat in hand, at some distance.
His companion's easy manners only increased his usual stiffness.

At that moment the iemschik, who had succeeded in recapturing his two
horses, reappeared. He cast a regretful glance at the magnificent animal
lying on the ground, loth to leave it to the birds of prey, and then
proceeded once more to harness his team.

Michael acquainted him with the travelers' situation, and his intention
of loaning one of the horses.

"As you please," replied the iemschik. "Only, you know, two carriages
instead of one."

"All right, my friend," said Alcide, who understood the insinuation, "we
will pay double."

"Then gee up, my turtle-doves!" cried the iemschik.

Nadia again took her place in the tarantass. Michael and his companions
followed on foot. It was three o'clock. The storm still swept with
terrific violence across the defile. When the first streaks of
daybreak appeared the tarantass had reached the telga, which was still
conscientiously imbedded as far as the center of the wheel. Such being
the case, it can be easily understood how a sudden jerk would separate
the front from the hinder part. One of the horses was now harnessed by
means of cords to the remains of the telga, the reporters took their
place on the singular equipage, and the two carriages started off. They
had now only to descend the Ural slopes, in doing which there was not
the slightest difficulty.

Six hours afterwards the two vehicles, the tarantass preceding the
telga, arrived at Ekaterenburg, nothing worthy of note having happened
in the descent.

The first person the reporters perceived at the door of the post-house
was their iemschik, who appeared to be waiting for them. This worthy
Russian had a fine open countenance, and he smilingly approached the
travelers, and, holding out his hand, in a quiet tone he demanded the
usual "pour-boire."

This very cool request roused Blount's ire to its highest pitch, and had
not the iemschik prudently retreated, a straight-out blow of the fist,
in true British boxing style, would have paid his claim of "na vodkou."

Alcide Jolivet, at this burst of anger, laughed as he had never laughed
before.

"But the poor dev