Then the Tatars all began to talk at once. Abdul began to scream at the
red-bearded Tatar. He grew so excited as he talked, that the spittle flew
from his mouth.
But the red-bearded Tatar only frowned, and clucked with his tongue.
When all became silent again, the interpreter said, "Five hundred rubles is
not enough to buy you of your master. He himself has paid two hundred for
you. Kazi Muhamet was in debt to him. He took you for the debt. Three
thousand rubles; it is no use to send less. But if you don't write, they
will put you in a hole, and flog you with a whip."
"_Ekh!_" thinks Zhilin, "the more cowardly one is, the worse it is for
him." He leaped to his feet, and said,--
"Now you tell him, dog that he is, that if he thinks he is going to
frighten me, then I will not give him a single kopek nor will I write. I am
not afraid of you, and you will never make me afraid of you, you dog!" The
interpreter translated this, and again they all began to talk at once.
They gabbled a long time, then the dark one got up and came to Zhilin.
"_Urus_," says he, "_jigit, jigit Urus!_"
The word _jigit_ among them signifies a brave young man. And he grinned,
said something to the interpreter, and the interpreter said, "Give a
thousand rubles." Zhilin would not give in. "I will not pay more than five
hundred. But if you kill me, you will get nothing at all."
The Tatars consulted together, sent out the servant, and they themselves
looked first at the door, then at Zhilin.
The servant returned, followed by a rather stout man in bare feet and
almost stripped. His feet also were in stocks.
Zhilin made an exclamation: he recognized Kostuilin.
And they brought him in, and placed him next his comrade; the two began to
talk together, and the Tatars looked on and listened in silence.
Zhilin told how it had gone with him; Kostuilin told how his horse had
stood stock still, and his gun had missed fire, and that this same Abdul
had overtaken him and captured him.
Abdul listened, pointed to Kostuilin, and muttered something. The
interpreter translated his words to mean that they now both belonged to the
same master, and that the one who paid the ransom first would be freed
first. "Now," says he to Zhilin, "you lose your temper so easily, but your
comrade is calm; he has written a letter home; they will send five
thousand silver rubles. And so he will be well fed, and he won't be hurt."
And Zhilin said, "Let my comrade do as he pleases. Maybe he is rich. But I
am not rich; I will do as I have already told you. Kill me if you wish, but
it would not do you any good, and I will not pay you more than five hundred
rubles."
They were silent.
Suddenly Abdul leaped up, brought a little chest, took out a pen, a sheet
of paper, and ink, and pushed them into Zhilin's hands, then tapped him on
the shoulder, and said by signs, "Write." He had agreed to take the five
hundred rubles.
"Wait a moment," said Zhilin to the interpreter. "Tell him that he must
feed us well, clothe us, and give us good decent foot-wear, and let us stay
together. We want to have a good time. And lastly, that he take off these
clogs."
He looked at his Tatar master, and smiled. The master also smiled, and when
he learned what was wanted, said,--
"I will give you the very best clothes: a cherkeska[101] and boots, fit for
a wedding. And I will feed you like princes. And if you want to live
together, why, you can live in the barn. But it won't do to take away the
clogs: you would run away. Only at night will I have them taken off." Then
he jumped up, tapped him on the shoulder: "You good, me good."
[Footnote 101: A sort of long Circassian cloak.]
Zhilin wrote his letter, but he put on it the wrong address so that it
might never reach its destination. He said to himself, "I shall run away."
They took Zhilin and Kostuilin to the barn, strewed corn-stalks, gave them
water in a pitcher, and bread, two old cherkeski, and some worn-out
military boots. It was evident that they had been stolen from some dead
soldier. When night came they took off their clogs, and locked them up in
the barn.