'What's that for?' I inquired.
'There's mischief in the forest.... They're cutting a tree down on
Mares' Ravine,' he added, in reply to my look of inquiry.
'Could you hear it from here?'
'I can hear it outside.'
We went out together. The rain had ceased. Heavy masses of storm-cloud
were still huddled in the distance; from time to time there were long
flashes of lightning; but here and there overhead the dark blue sky was
already visible; stars twinkled through the swiftly flying clouds. The
outline of the trees, drenched with rain, and stirred by the wind,
began to stand out in the darkness. We listened. The forester took off
his cap and bent his head.... 'Th ... there!' he said suddenly, and he
stretched out his hand: 'see what a night he's pitched on.' I had heard
nothing but the rustle of the leaves. Biryuk led the mare out of the
shed. 'But, perhaps,' he added aloud, 'this way I shall miss him.'
'I'll go with you ... if you like?' 'Certainly,' he answered, and he
backed the horse in again; 'we'll catch him in a trice, and then I'll
take you. Let's be off.' We started, Biryuk in front, I following him.
Heaven only knows how he found out his way, but he only stopped once or
twice, and then merely to listen to the strokes of the axe. 'There,' he
muttered, 'do you hear? do you hear?' 'Why, where?' Biryuk shrugged his
shoulders. We went down into the ravine; the wind was still for an
instant; the rhythmical strokes reached my hearing distinctly. Biryuk
glanced at me and shook his head. We went farther through the wet
bracken and nettles. A slow muffled crash was heard....
'He's felled it,' muttered Biryuk. Meantime the sky had grown clearer
and clearer; there was a faint light in the forest. We clambered at
last out of the ravine.
'Wait here a little,' the forester whispered to me. He bent down, and
raising his gun above his head, vanished among the bushes. I began
listening with strained attention. Across the continual roar of the
wind faint sounds from close by reached me; there was a cautious blow
of an axe on the brushwood, the crash of wheels, the snort of a
horse....
'Where are you off to? Stop!' the iron voice of Biryuk thundered
suddenly. Another voice was heard in a pitiful shriek, like a trapped
hare.... _A struggle was beginning._
'No, no, you've made a mistake,' Biryuk declared panting; 'you're not
going to get off....' I rushed in the direction of the noise, and ran
up to the scene of the conflict, stumbling at every step. A felled tree
lay on the ground, and near it Biryuk was busily engaged holding the
thief down and binding his hands behind his back with a kerchief. I
came closer. Biryuk got up and set him on his feet. I saw a peasant
drenched with rain, in tatters, and with a long dishevelled beard. A
sorry little nag, half covered with a stiff mat, was standing by,
together with a rough cart. The forester did not utter a word; the
peasant too was silent; his head was shaking.
'Let him go,' I whispered in Biryuk's ears; 'I'll pay for the tree.'
Without a word Biryuk took the horse by the mane with his left hand; in
his right he held the thief by the belt. 'Now turn round, you rat!' he
said grimly.
'The bit of an axe there, take it,' muttered the peasant.
'No reason to lose it, certainly,' said the forester, and he picked up
the axe. We started. I walked behind.... The rain began sprinkling
again, and soon fell in torrents. With difficulty we made our way to
the hut. Biryuk pushed the captured horse into the middle of the yard,
led the peasant into the room, loosened the knot in the kerchief, and
made him sit down in a corner. The little girl, who had fallen asleep
near the oven, jumped up and began staring at us in silent terror. I
sat down on the locker.
'Ugh, what a downpour!' remarked the forester; 'you will have to wait
till it's over. Won't you lie down?'
'Thanks.'
'I would have shut him in the store loft, on your honour's account,' he
went on, indicating the peasant; 'but you see the bolt--'
'Leave him here; don't touch him,' I interrupted.
The peasant stole a glance at me from under his brows. I vowed inwardly
to set the poor wretch free, come what might. He sat without stirring
on the locker. By the light of the lantern I could make out his worn,
wrinkled face, his overhanging yellow eyebrows, his restless eyes, his
thin limbs.... The little girl lay down on the floor, just at his feet,
and again dropped asleep. Biryuk sat at the table, his head in his
hands. A cricket chirped in the corner ... the rain pattered on the
roof and streamed down the windows; we were all silent.
'Foma Kuzmitch,' said the peasant suddenly in a thick, broken voice;
'Foma Kuzmitch!'
'What is it?'
'Let me go.'
Biryuk made no answer.
'Let me go ... hunger drove me to it; let me go.'
'I know you,' retorted the forester severely; 'your set's all
alike--all thieves.'
'Let me go,' repeated the peasant. 'Our manager ... we 're ruined,
that's what it is--let me go!'
'Ruined, indeed!... Nobody need steal.'
'Let me go, Foma Kuzmitch.... Don't destroy me. Your manager, you know
yourself, will have no mercy on me; that's what it is.'
Biryuk turned away. The peasant was shivering as though he were in the
throes of fever. His head was shaking, and his breathing came in broken
gasps.
'Let me go,' he repeated with mournful desperation. 'Let me go; by God,
let me go! I'll pay; see, by God, I will! By God, it was through
hunger!... the little ones are crying, you know yourself. It's hard for
us, see.'
'You needn't go stealing, for all that.'
'My little horse,' the peasant went on, 'my poor little horse, at least
... our only beast ... let it go.'
'I tell you I can't. I'm not a free man; I'm made responsible. You
oughtn't to be spoilt, either.'
'Let me go! It's through want, Foma Kuzmitch, want--and nothing
else--let me go!'
'I know you!'
'Oh, let me go!'
'Ugh, what's the use of talking to you! sit quiet, or else you'll catch
it. Don't you see the gentleman, hey?'
The poor wretch hung his head.... Biryuk yawned and laid his head on
the table. The rain still persisted. I was waiting to see what would
happen.
Suddenly the peasant stood erect. His eyes were glittering, and his
face flushed dark red. 'Come, then, here; strike yourself, here,' he
began, his eyes puckering up and the corners of his mouth dropping;
'come, cursed destroyer of men's souls! drink Christian blood, drink.'
The forester turned round.
'I'm speaking to you, Asiatic, blood-sucker, you!'
'Are you drunk or what, to set to being abusive?' began the forester,
puzzled. 'Are you out of your senses, hey?'
'Drunk! not at your expense, cursed destroyer of souls--brute, brute,
brute!'
'Ah, you----I'll show you!'
'What's that to me? It's all one; I'm done for; what can I do without a
home? Kill me--it's the same in the end; whether it's through hunger or
like this--it's all one. Ruin us all--wife, children ... kill us all at
once. But, wait a bit, we'll get at you!'
Biryuk got up.
'Kill me, kill me,' the peasant went on in savage tones; 'kill me;
come, come, kill me....' (The little girl jumped up hastily from the
ground and stared at him.) 'Kill me, kill me!'
'Silence!' thundered the forester, and he took two steps forward.
'Stop, Foma, stop,' I shouted; 'let him go.... Peace be with him.'
'I won't be silent,' the luckless wretch went on. 'It's all the
same--ruin anyway--you destroyer of souls, you brute; you've not come
to ruin yet.... But wait a bit; you won't have long to boast of;
they'll wring your neck; wait a bit!'
Biryuk clutched him by the shoulder. I rushed to help the peasant....
'Don't touch him, master!' the forester shouted to me.
I should not have feared his threats, and already had my fist in the
air; but to my intense amazement, with one pull he tugged the kerchief
off the peasant's elbows, took him by the scruff of the neck, thrust
his cap over his eyes, opened the door, and shoved him out.
'Go to the devil with your horse!' he shouted after him; 'but mind,
next time....'
He came back into the hut and began rummaging in the corner.
'Well, Biryuk,' I said at last, 'you've astonished me; I see you're a
splendid fellow.'
'Oh, stop that, master,' he cut me short with an air of vexation;
'please don't speak of it. But I'd better see you on your way now,' he
added; 'I suppose you won't wait for this little rain....'
In the yard there was the rattle of the wheels of the peasant's cart.
'He's off, then!' he muttered; 'but next time!'
Half-an-hour later he parted from me at the edge of the wood.