Zhilin did not heed him.
"No," says he, "you wait for me here below. I'll just glance around."
And he spurred his horse up the mountain to the left.
The horse that Zhilin rode was a hunter; he had bought him out of a drove
of colts, paying a hundred rubles for him, and he had himself trained him.
He bore him up the steep slope as on wings. He had hardly reached the
summit when before him less than seven hundred feet distant mounted Tatars
were standing,--thirty men.
He saw them, and started to turn back, but the Tatars had caught sight of
him; they set out in pursuit of him, unstrapping their weapons as they
gallop. Zhilin dashes down the precipice with all the speed of his horse,
and cries to Kostuilin, "Fire your gun!" and to his horse he says, though
not aloud, "Little mother, carry me safely, don't stumble; if you trip, I
am lost. If we get back to the gun, we won't fall into their hands."
But Kostuilin, instead of waiting for him, as soon as he saw the Tatars,
galloped on with all his might toward the fortress. With his whip he
belabored his horse, first on one side, then on the other; all that could
be seen through the dust, was the horse switching her tail.
Zhilin saw that his case was desperate. The gun was gone; nothing was to be
done with a sabre alone. He turned his horse back toward the train; he
thought he might escape that way.
But in front of him, he sees that six are galloping down the steep. His
horse is good, but theirs are better; and besides, they have got the start
of him. He started to wheel about, and was going to dash ahead again, but
his horse had got momentum, and could not be held back; he flew straight
down toward them.
He sees a red-bearded Tatar approaching him on a gray mare. He is gaining
on him; he gnashes his teeth; he is getting his gun ready.
"Well," thinks Zhilin, "I know you devils; if you should take me prisoner,
you would put me in a hole, and flog me with a whip. I won't give myself up
alive."
Now, Zhilin was not of great size, but he was an uhlan. He drew his sabre,
spurred his horse straight at the red-bearded Tatar. He says to himself,
"Either I will crush him with my horse, or I will hack him down with my
sabre."
Zhilin, however, did not reach the place on horseback; suddenly behind him,
gun-shots were fired at the horse. The horse fell headlong, and pinned
Zhilin's leg to the ground.
He tried to arise; but already ill-smelling Tatars were sitting on him, and
pinioning his hands behind his back.
He burst from them, knocking the Tatars over; but three others had
dismounted from their horses, and began to beat him on the head with their
gun-stocks.
His sight failed him, and he staggered.
The Tatars seized him, took from their saddles extra saddle-girths, bent
his arms behind his back, fastened them with a Tatar knot, and lifted him
up.
They took his sabre from him, pulled off his boots, made a thorough search
of him, pulled out his money and his watch, tore his clothes all to pieces.
Zhilin glanced at his horse. The poor beast lay as he had fallen, on his
side, and was kicking, vainly trying to rise. In his head was a hole, and
from the hole the black blood was pouring; the dust for an arshin around
was wet with it.
A Tatar went to the horse to remove the saddle. He was still kicking, so
the man took out his dagger, and cut his throat. The throat gave a
whistling sound, a trembling ran over the body, and all was over.
The Tatars took off the saddle and the other trappings. The one with the
red beard mounted his horse, and the others lifted Zhilin behind him to
keep him from falling; they fastened him with the reins to the Tatar's
belt, and thus they carried him off to the mountains.
Zhilin sat behind, swaying and bumping his face against the stinking
Tatar's back.
All that he could see before him was the healthy Tatar back, and the sinewy
neck, and a smooth-shaven nape, showing blue beneath the cap.
Zhilin's head ached; the blood trickled into his eyes. And it was
impossible for him to get a more comfortable position on the horse, or wipe
away the blood. His arms were so tightly bound that his collar-bones ached.
They rode long from mountain to mountain; they forded a river; then they
entered a highway, and rode along a valley. Zhilin tried to follow the
route that they took him; but his eyes were glued together with blood, and
it was impossible for him to turn round.
It began to grow dark; they crossed still another river, and began to climb
a rocky mountain. There was an odor of smoke. The barking of dogs was
heard.