"That horse is not mine. It belongs to a courier just arrived from Kiew, who went at once to bed and is fast asleep."
"A courier who can allow himself to sleep on the way cannot have any very urgent business. Perhaps I can persuade him, for some good gold pieces, to sleep on until I have reached Mariopolis on his horse, whence it shall be sent back to him."
"You can try it, my lord!" It was not such an unheard-of thing in Russia for a courier to sell his horse from under him.
"If he will not lend me his horse I'll put a bullet through him," muttered Jakuskin to himself as he entered the guest-chamber.
A young officer of a lancer regiment lay on the bed wrapped in his cloak.
"Good-day, comrade," said Jakuskin.
"Don't talk of good days," returned he, his teeth chattering. "I am shivering all over. That confounded Caucasian fever has laid hold of me on the road. It's all up with me. And I had a despatch to deliver into the hands of the Czar himself wherever I might come up with him. General Roth sent me—delay is most serious. And I cannot sit my horse! I say, my dear fellow, do me a good turn and take charge of this despatch. Take my horse. The Czar has gone to Taganrog Hasten after him! Give him this despatch—into his own hands. Those were my orders! As for me, I shall only be able to report myself to him in the next world. Lose no time, I entreat you."
Nothing could have been more welcome to Jakuskin. A despatch which must be delivered into the Czar's own hands—the Czar!
"Heaven be with you, comrade! You may die with an easy mind. I will faithfully carry out your commission; and if you have a betrothed I will write her where you breathed your last, and will send your mother your watch and chain. You could not have found a better substitute."
The officer probably died and was buried in that picturesque steppe. Jakuskin, mounting his horse, placed the despatch intrusted to him in his breast-pocket.