It was quite dark when Uncle Eróshka and the three Cossacks, in their
cloaks and shouldering their guns, left the cordon and went towards the
place on the Térek where they were to lie in ambush. Nazárka did not
want to go at all, but Lukáshka shouted at him and they soon started.
After they had gone a few steps in silence the Cossacks turned aside
from the ditch and went along a path almost hidden by reeds till they
reached the river. On its bank lay a thick black log cast up by the
water. The reeds around it had been recently beaten down.
“Shall we lie here?” asked Nazárka.
“Why not?” answered Lukáshka. “Sit down here and I’ll be back in a
minute. I’ll only show Daddy where to go.”
“This is the best place; here we can see and not be seen,” said
Ergushóv, “so it’s here we’ll lie. It’s a first-rate place!”
Nazárka and Ergushóv spread out their cloaks and settled down behind
the log, while Lukáshka went on with Uncle Eróshka.
“It’s not far from here. Daddy,” said Lukáshka, stepping softly in
front of the old man; “I’ll show you where they’ve been—I’m the only
one that knows, Daddy.”
“Show me! You’re a fine fellow, a regular Snatcher!” replied the old
man, also whispering.
Having gone a few steps Lukáshka stopped, stooped down over a puddle,
and whistled. “That’s where they come to drink, d’you see?” He spoke in
a scarcely audible voice, pointing to fresh hoof-prints.
“Christ bless you,” answered the old man. “The boar will be in the
hollow beyond the ditch,” he added. “I’ll watch, and you can go.”
Lukáshka pulled his cloak up higher and walked back alone, throwing
swift glances now to the left at the wall of reeds, now to the Térek
rushing by below the bank. “I daresay he’s watching or creeping along
somewhere,” thought he of a possible Chéchen hillsman. Suddenly a loud
rustling and a splash in the water made him start and seize his musket.
From under the bank a boar leapt up—his dark outline showing for a
moment against the glassy surface of the water and then disappearing
among the reeds. Lukáshka pulled out his gun and aimed, but before he
could fire the boar had disappeared in the thicket. Lukáshka spat with
vexation and went on. On approaching the ambuscade he halted again and
whistled softly. His whistle was answered and he stepped up to his
comrades.
Nazárka, all curled up, was already asleep. Ergushóv sat with his legs
crossed and moved slightly to make room for Lukáshka.
“How jolly it is to sit here! It’s really a good place,” said he. “Did
you take him there?”
“Showed him where,” answered Lukáshka, spreading out his cloak. “But
what a big boar I roused just now close to the water! I expect it was
the very one! You must have heard the crash?”
“I did hear a beast crashing through. I knew at once it was a beast. I
thought to myself: ‘Lukáshka has roused a beast,’” Ergushóv said,
wrapping himself up in his cloak. “Now I’ll go to sleep,” he added.
“Wake me when the cocks crow. We must have discipline. I’ll lie down
and have a nap, and then you will have a nap and I’ll watch—that’s the
way.”
“Luckily I don’t want to sleep,” answered Lukáshka.
The night was dark, warm, and still. Only on one side of the sky the
stars were shining, the other and greater part was overcast by one huge
cloud stretching from the mountaintops. The black cloud, blending in
the absence of any wind with the mountains, moved slowly onwards, its
curved edges sharply defined against the deep starry sky. Only in front
of him could the Cossack discern the Térek and the distance beyond.
Behind and on both sides he was surrounded by a wall of reeds.
Occasionally the reeds would sway and rustle against one another
apparently without cause. Seen from down below, against the clear part
of the sky, their waving tufts looked like the feathery branches of
trees. Close in front at his very feet was the bank, and at its base
the rushing torrent. A little farther on was the moving mass of glassy
brown water which eddied rhythmically along the bank and round the
shallows. Farther still, water, banks, and cloud all merged together in
impenetrable gloom. Along the surface of the water floated black
shadows, in which the experienced eyes of the Cossack detected trees
carried down by the current. Only very rarely sheet-lightning, mirrored
in the water as in a black glass, disclosed the sloping bank opposite.
The rhythmic sounds of night—the rustling of the reeds, the snoring of
the Cossacks, the hum of mosquitoes, and the rushing water, were every
now and then broken by a shot fired in the distance, or by the gurgling
of water when a piece of bank slipped down, the splash of a big fish,
or the crashing of an animal breaking through the thick undergrowth in
the wood. Once an owl flew past along the Térek, flapping one wing
against the other rhythmically at every second beat. Just above the
Cossack’s head it turned towards the wood and then, striking its wings
no longer after every other flap but at every flap, it flew to an old
plane tree where it rustled about for a long time before settling down
among the branches. At every one of these unexpected sounds the
watching Cossack listened intently, straining his hearing, and screwing
up his eyes while he deliberately felt for his musket.
The greater part of the night was past. The black cloud that had moved
westward revealed the clear starry sky from under its torn edge, and
the golden upturned crescent of the moon shone above the mountains with
a reddish light. The cold began to be penetrating. Nazárka awoke, spoke
a little, and fell asleep again. Lukáshka feeling bored got up, drew
the knife from his dagger-handle and began to fashion his stick into a
ramrod. His head was full of the Chéchens who lived over there in the
mountains, and of how their brave lads came across and were not afraid
of the Cossacks, and might even now be crossing the river at some other
spot. He thrust himself out of his hiding-place and looked along the
river but could see nothing. And as he continued looking out at
intervals upon the river and at the opposite bank, now dimly
distinguishable from the water in the faint moonlight, he no longer
thought about the Chéchens but only of when it would be time to wake
his comrades, and of going home to the village. In the village he
imagined Dunáyka, his “little soul”, as the Cossacks call a man’s
mistress, and thought of her with vexation. Silvery mists, a sign of
coming morning, glittered white above the water, and not far from him
young eagles were whistling and flapping their wings. At last the
crowing of a cock reached him from the distant village, followed by the
long-sustained note of another, which was again answered by yet other
voices.
“Time to wake them,” thought Lukáshka, who had finished his ramrod and
felt his eyes growing heavy. Turning to his comrades he managed to make
out which pair of legs belonged to whom, when it suddenly seemed to him
that he heard something splash on the other side of the Térek. He
turned again towards the horizon beyond the hills, where day was
breaking under the upturned crescent, glanced at the outline of the
opposite bank, at the Térek, and at the now distinctly visible
driftwood upon it. For one instant it seemed to him that he was moving
and that the Térek with the drifting wood remained stationary. Again he
peered out. One large black log with a branch particularly attracted
his attention. The tree was floating in a strange way right down the
middle of the stream, neither rocking nor whirling. It even appeared
not to be floating altogether with the current, but to be crossing it
in the direction of the shallows. Lukáshka stretching out his neck
watched it intently. The tree floated to the shallows, stopped, and
shifted in a peculiar manner. Lukáshka thought he saw an arm stretched
out from beneath the tree.
“Supposing I killed an _abrek_ all by myself!” he thought, and seized
his gun with a swift, unhurried movement, putting up his gun-rest,
placing the gun upon it, and holding it noiselessly in position.
Cocking the trigger, with bated breath he took aim, still peering out
intently.
“I won’t wake them,” he thought. But his heart began beating so fast
that he remained motionless, listening. Suddenly the trunk gave a
plunge and again began to float across the stream towards our bank.
“Suppose I miss?...” thought he, and now by the faint light of the moon
he caught a glimpse of a Tartar’s head in front of the floating wood.
He aimed straight at the head which appeared to be quite near—just at
the end of his rifle’s barrel. He glanced cross. “Right enough it is an
_abrek!_” he thought joyfully, and suddenly rising to his knees he
again took aim. Having found the sight, barely visible at the end of
the long gun, he said: “In the name of the Father and of the Son,” in
the Cossack way learnt in his childhood, and pulled the trigger. A
flash of lightning lit up for an instant the reeds and the water, and
the sharp, abrupt report of the shot was carried across the river,
changing into a prolonged roll somewhere in the far distance. The piece
of driftwood now floated not across, but with the current, rocking and
whirling.
“Stop, I say!” exclaimed Ergushóv, seizing his musket and raising
himself behind the log near which he was lying.
“Shut up, you devil!” whispered Lukáshka, grinding his teeth.
“_Abreks!_”
“Whom have you shot?” asked Nazárka. “Who was it, Lukáshka?”
Lukáshka did not answer. He was reloading his gun and watching the
floating wood. A little way off it stopped on a sand-bank, and from
behind it something large that rocked in the water came into view.
“What did you shoot? Why don’t you speak?” insisted the Cossacks.
“_Abreks_, I tell you!” said Lukáshka.
“Don’t humbug! Did the gun go off? ...”
“I’ve killed an _abrek_, that’s what I fired at,” muttered Lukáshka in
a voice choked by emotion, as he jumped to his feet. “A man was
swimming...” he said, pointing to the sandbank. “I killed him. Just
look there.”
“Have done with your humbugging!” said Ergushóv again, rubbing his
eyes.
“Have done with what? Look there,” said Lukáshka, seizing him by the
shoulders and pulling him with such force that Ergushóv groaned.
He looked in the direction in which Lukáshka pointed, and discerning a
body immediately changed his tone.
“O Lord! But I say, more will come! I tell you the truth,” said he
softly, and began examining his musket. “That was a scout swimming
across: either the others are here already or are not far off on the
other side—I tell you for sure!” Lukáshka was unfastening his belt and
taking off his Circassian coat.
“What are you up to, you idiot?” exclaimed Ergushóv. “Only show
yourself and you’ve lost all for nothing, I tell you true! If you’ve
killed him he won’t escape. Let me have a little powder for my
musket-pan—you have some? Nazárka, you go back to the cordon and look
alive; but don’t go along the bank or you’ll be killed—I tell you
true.”
“Catch me going alone! Go yourself!” said Nazárka angrily.
Having taken off his coat, Lukáshka went down to the bank.
“Don’t go in, I tell you!” said Ergushóv, putting some powder on the
pan. “Look, he’s not moving. I can see. It’s nearly morning; wait till
they come from the cordon. You go, Nazárka. You’re afraid! Don’t be
afraid, I tell you.”
“Luke, I say, Lukáshka! Tell us how you did it!” said Nazárka.
Lukáshka changed his mind about going into the water just then. “Go
quick to the cordon and I will watch. Tell the Cossacks to send out the
patrol. If the _abreks_ are on this side they must be caught,” said he.
“That’s what I say. They’ll get off,” said Ergushóv, rising. “True,
they must be caught!”
Ergushóv and Nazárka rose and, crossing themselves, started off for the
cordon—not along the riverbank but breaking their way through the
brambles to reach a path in the wood.
“Now mind, Lukáshka—they may cut you down here, so you’d best keep a
sharp look-out, I tell you!”
“Go along; I know,” muttered Lukáshka; and having examined his gun
again he sat down behind the log.
He remained alone and sat gazing at the shallows and listening for the
Cossacks; but it was some distance to the cordon and he was tormented
by impatience. He kept thinking that the other _abreks_ who were with
the one he had killed would escape. He was vexed with the _abreks_ who
were going to escape just as he had been with the boar that had escaped
the evening before. He glanced round and at the opposite bank,
expecting every moment to see a man, and having arranged his gun-rest
he was ready to fire. The idea that he might himself be killed never
entered his head.