I halted my Hussars and
Lancers under the shadow of the wood, and I studied the country.
Close to us there was a small farm-house. Beyond, at the
distance of several miles, was a village. Far away on the
sky-line rose a considerable town all bristling with church
towers. This must be Minsk. In no direction could I see any
signs of troops. It was evident that we had passed through the
Cossacks and that there was nothing between us and our goal. A
joyous shout burst from my men when I told them our position, and
we advanced rapidly toward the village.
I have said, however, that there was a small farm- house
immediately in front of us. As we rode up to it I observed that
a fine grey horse with a military saddle was tethered by the
door. Instantly I galloped forward, but before I could reach it
a man dashed out of the door, flung himself on to the horse, and
rode furiously away, the crisp, dry snow flying up in a cloud
behind him. The sunlight gleamed upon his gold epaulettes, and I
knew that he was a Russian officer.
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