THE NIGHT ALARM
A few hours before dawn I was awakened by our dog barking angrily,
yet with a peculiar note showing fear and disdain. I could also hear
him leaping up and down in one spot near the very door of our house.
Instead of answering barks, the neighboring dogs gave forth long and
deep howls. There was such a noise and mooing of the cows in the corral
that it seemed to me they must be trying to stamp or hook each other to
death.
Father and mother were already up, and I heard father's deep command:
"Get me a lantern."
As soon as the match was lit I saw him as he stood in his night shirt
but with his fur hat on his head and a rifle in his hand. As soon as
the lantern had been lit, he seized it and rushed to the door, putting
on his overcoat as he ran. I arose hastily, put on my fur coat, grabbed
the hatchet lying by the stove, and followed just as he cheered on the
dog who ran before him to the corral, barking loudly.
As I came near I saw my father thrust his rifle hastily between two
fence posts. A second later came a short flash and the report of the
gun. But my father's curses showed that he had failed to hit the mark.
At the same time, I heard a roar so terrible in its fury and strength
and hate that I trembled so as to be hardly able to stand. Surely, I
thought, a beast who can produce such a roar can swallow not only one
but several cows at once. How brave my father seemed to me as, still
muttering, he reloaded his old gun with another cartridge. But here
something happened. The great beast holding a cow in his teeth as a
cat does a mouse, jumped over the seven-foot fence of the corral and
ran off into the darkness, pursued by our wolf hound. With what sounded
like the Cossack war cry, father followed, while I, too, made my way
some distance after, this distance gradually increasing on the snow
covered trail.
[Illustration: "THE GREAT BEAST . . . JUMPED OVER THE SEVEN-FOOT FENCE"]
We continued in this fashion for perhaps five minutes, when the dog
changed his ferocious barking to a pitiful whine and a new shot rang
out into the air, followed by a short roar. I stopped in the middle of
the road, unable to go a step further.
I don't know how long I stood there, but it was until I heard Manjur
returning. I could just make him out but oh, in what a pitiful
condition! He was limping so badly that at times he simply dragged his
body along the ground. Tears sprang to my eyes as I heard his cries and
hurried toward him intending to pat him on the head. But when I tried
to do so, my hand found itself covered with a warm sticky fluid
which I knew to be blood. I could feel that his skin was torn, one ear
gone, and his left front leg broken.
Helping the dog all I could, I returned crying to the house. As I
stepped into the room covered with Manjur's blood, my sister Katia gave
a scream, while my mother with terror written in her eyes, exclaimed:
"What's happened to you? Where is your father?"
"I don't know," I answered; "but see what the frightful tiger did to
poor Manjur."
Mother, somewhat relieved, but still trembling, now came up and helped
me apply greased bandages to the torn ear and broken skin of the
faithful dog.
While we were doing this, father returned. Slowly he took off his hat,
then his heavy coat, and in reply to my mother's mute questioning look,
said: "I believe that I must have hit him for he dropped the cow,--yet
he got away."
"Is she alive?" asked my mother with anxiety.
My father shook his head. "Her neck is entirely broken," he said,
adding, "I hardly think he'll return to-night. To-morrow we'll get him,
for he's probably hungry and will hang around." Then he ordered me and
my terrified sister to go to bed in order to get up early, and busied
himself with poor Manjur.
Long after the light was extinguished, I lay awake thinking of the
tiger, my father's courage, my mother's anxiety, the wounded dog,
and the dear cow. For some time, too, I could hear the low voices
of my father and mother discussing the preparations for the morrow.
One name, that of Tolochkin, was mentioned several times. I knew of
this Tolochkin as a wonderful hunter of tigers. I had never seen him,
however, for he lived more than forty miles away, and was peculiar in
his habits, keeping much to himself.