These Tartars have none of the warlike spirit of their ancestors, and are among the most peaceful subjects of the Russian emperor.  They are industrious and enterprising, and manage to live comfortably.  Their reputation for shrewdness doubtless gave rise to the story of the difficulty of catching a Tartar.

At the stations we generally found Russian smotretals with Tartar attendants.  Blacksmiths, looking for jobs, carefully examined our sleighs.  One found my shafts badly chafed where they touched the runners, and offered to iron the weak points for sixty copecks.  I objected to the delay for preparing the irons. “Grotovey, Grotovey; piet minute” said the man, producing the ready prepared irons from one pocket and a hammer and nails from another.  By the time the horses were led out the job was completed.  I should have been better satisfied if one iron had not come off within two hours, and left the shaft as bare as ever.

The Tartars speak Russian very fairly, but use the Mongol language among themselves.  They dress like the Russians, or very nearly so, the most distinguishing feature being a sort of skull cap like that worn by the Chinese.  Their hair is cut like a prize fighter’s, excepting a little tuft on the crown.  Out of doors they wore the Russian cap over their Mohammedan one—­unconsciously symbolizing their subjection to Muscovite rule.

These Tartars drove horses of the same race as those in the Baraba steppe.  They carried us finely where the road permitted, and I had equal admiration for the powers of the horses and the skill of their drivers.

In the night, after passing Malmouish, the weather became warm.  I laid aside my dehar only a half hour before the thermometer fell, and set me shivering.  About daybreak it was warmer, and the increasing temperature ushered in a violent storm.  It snowed and it blowed, and it was cold, frosty weather all day and all night.  We closed the sleigh and attempted to exclude the snow, but our efforts were vain.  The little crevices admitted enough to cover us in a short time, and we very soon concluded to let the wind have its own way.  The road was filled, and in many places we had hard work to get through.  How the yemshicks found the way was a mystery.  Once at a station, when the smotretal announced “gotovey,” I was actually unable to find the sleigh, though it stood not twenty feet from the door.  The yemshicks said they were guided by the telegraph posts, which followed the line of road.

We were four hours making twenty-five versts to the last station before reaching Kazan.  We took a hearty supper of soup, eggs, and bread, under a suspicion that we might remain out all night.  Once the mammoth sleigh came up with us in the dark, and its shafts nearly ran us through.  Collisions of this kind happened occasionally on the road, but were rarely as forcible as this one.  We were twice on our beam ends and nearly overturned, and on several occasions