CHAPTER II.
THE SECRET OF MY FELLOW TRAVELER At the dawn of day we started forth, leaving my first place of refuge.
Into the bags we packed our personal estate and fastened them on one of the saddles.
"We must go four or five hundred versts," very calmly announced my fellow traveler, who called himself "Ivan," a name that meant nothing to my mind or heart in this land where every second man bore the same.
"We shall travel then for a very long time," I remarked regretfully.
"Not more than one week, perhaps even less," he answered.
That night we spent in the woods under the wide spreading branches of the fir trees.

It was my first night in the forest under the open sky.
How many like this I was destined to spend in the year and a half of my wanderings! During the day there was very sharp cold.

Under the hoofs of the horses the frozen snow crunched and the balls that formed and broke from their hoofs rolled away over the crust with a sound like crackling glass.

The heathcock flew from the trees very idly, hares loped slowly down the beds of summer streams.

At night the wind began to sigh and whistle as it bent the tops of the trees over our heads; while below it was still and calm.