Zhilin scarcely slept that night. The nights were short. He saw through a
crack that it was growing light. Zhilin got up, widened the crack, and
managed to look out.
Through the crack he could see a road leading down from the mountain; at
the right, a Tatar _saklia_[98] with two trees near it. A black dog was
lying on the road; a she-goat with her kids was walking by, all of them
shaking their tails.
[Footnote 98: A mountain-hut in the Caucasus.]
He saw coming down the mountain a young Tatar girl in a variegated shirt,
ungirdled, in pantalettes and boots; her head was covered with a kaftan,
and on it she bore a great tin water-jug.
She walked along, swaying and bending her back, and holding by the hand a
little Tatar urchin, with shaven head, who wore a single shirt.
After the Tatar maiden had passed with her water-jug, the red-bearded Tatar
of the evening before came out, wearing a silk beshmet, a silver dagger in
his belt, and sandals on his bare feet. On his head was a high cap of
sheep-skin, dyed black, and with the point hanging down. He came out,
stretched himself, stroked his red beard. He paused, gave some order to the
servant, and went off somewhere.
Then two children on horseback came along on their way to the
watering-trough. The hind-quarters of the horses were wet.
Other shaven-headed youngsters, with nothing but shirts on, and nothing on
their legs, formed a little band, and came to the barn; they got a dry
stick, and stuck it through the crack.
Zhilin growled "_ukh_" at them. The children began to cry, and scatter in
every direction as fast as their legs would carry them; only their bare
knees glistened. But Zhilin began to be thirsty; his throat was parched. He
said to himself, "I wonder if they won't come to look after me?"
Suddenly the barn-doors are thrown open.
The red Tatar came in, and with him another, of slighter stature and of
dark complexion. His eyes were bright and black, his cheeks ruddy, his
little beard well trimmed, his face jolly and always enlivened with a grin.
The dark man's clothing was still richer: a silk beshmet of blue silk,
embroidered with gold lace. In his belt, a great silver dagger; handsome
morocco slippers embroidered with silver, and over the fine slippers he
wore a larger pair of stout ones. His cap was tall, of white lamb's wool.
The red Tatar came in, muttered something, gave vent to some abusive
language, and then stood leaning against the wall, fingering his dagger,
and scowling under his brows at Zhilin, like a wolf.
But the dark Tatar, nervous and active, and always on the go, as though he
were made of springs, came straight up to Zhilin, squatted down on his
heels, showed his teeth, tapped him on the shoulder, began to gabble
something in his own language, winked his eyes, and, clucking his tongue,
kept saying, "A fine Russ, a fine Russ!"[99]
[Footnote 99: _Urus_ in Tatar.]