During our daily treks Ivan related to me the stories of his wanderings through the mountains and woods of Transbaikalia in the search for gold.  These stories were very lively, full of attractive adventure, danger and struggle.  Ivan was a type of these prospectors who have discovered in Russia, and perhaps in other countries, the richest gold mines, while they themselves remain beggars.  He evaded telling me why he left Transbaikalia to come to the Yenisei.  I understood from his manner that he wished to keep his own counsel and so did not press him.  However, the blanket of secrecy covering this part of his mysterious life was one day quite fortuitously lifted a bit.  We were already at the objective point of our trip.  The whole day we had traveled with difficulty through a thick growth of willow, approaching the shore of the big right branch of the Yenisei, the Mana.  Everywhere we saw runways packed hard by the feet of the hares living in this bush.  These small white denizens of the wood ran to and fro in front of us.  Another time we saw the red tail of a fox hiding behind a rock, watching us and the unsuspecting hares at the same time.

Ivan had been silent for a long while.  Then he spoke up and told me that not far from there was a small branch of the Mana, at the mouth of which was a hut.

“What do you say?  Shall we push on there or spend the night by the naida?”

I suggested going to the hut, because I wanted to wash and because it would be agreeable to spend the night under a genuine roof again.  Ivan knitted his brows but acceded.

It was growing dark when we approached a hut surrounded by the dense wood and wild raspberry bushes.  It contained one small room with two microscopic windows and a gigantic Russian stove.  Against the building were the remains of a shed and a cellar.  We fired the stove and prepared our modest dinner.  Ivan drank from the bottle inherited from the soldiers and in a short time was very eloquent, with brilliant eyes and with hands that coursed frequently and rapidly through his long locks.  He began relating to me the story of one of his adventures, but suddenly stopped and, with fear in his eyes, squinted into a dark corner.

“Is it a rat?” he asked.

“I did not see anything,” I replied.

He again became silent and reflected with knitted brow.  Often we were silent through long hours and consequently I was not astonished.  Ivan leaned over near to me and began to whisper.

“I want to tell you an old story.  I had a friend in Transbaikalia.  He was a banished convict.  His name was Gavronsky.  Through many woods and over many mountains we traveled in search of gold and we had an agreement to divide all we got into even shares.  But Gavronsky suddenly went out to the ‘Taiga’ on the Yenisei and disappeared.  After five years we heard that he had found a very rich gold mine and had become a rich man; then later that he and his wife with him had been murdered. . . .”  Ivan was still for a moment and then continued: