Tolstoi for the young. Select tales from Tolstoi

Kostilin reflected.

“Very well; let us go,” he said.

V

Jilin went down the hole and made it a little bigger so that Kostilin could crawl through, then they sat down to wait till all grew quiet in the village.

When the Tartars had all retired to rest Jilin crawled under the wall and got outside. “Follow me,” he whispered to Kostilin.

Kostilin crept into the hole, but his foot hit against a stone and made a clatter. The master had a speckled watch-dog – a vicious creature it was, called Ulashin. The dog growled and rushed forward, followed by other dogs. Jilin gave a low whistle and threw it a cake. Ulashin recognized him, wagged his tail and ceased his growling.

The master heard the dog and called from the hut, “Hait, hait, Ulashin!”

But Jilin stroked the dog by the ears and it did not move. It rubbed itself against Jilin’s legs and wagged its tail.

They sat crouching round the corner. All grew quiet; only a sheep was heard to cough in a barn, and below, the water rippled over the stones. It was dark; the stars were high in the sky and the new moon looked red as it set behind the hill, horns upwards. A mist as white as milk lay over the valley.

Jilin got up and turning to Kostilin said, “Let us come, brother.”

They set off, but they had no sooner done so than the Mullah intoned from the roof “Allah Besmilla! Ilrachman!” That meant that the people would be going to the Mosque. They sat down again, crouching behind the wall. For a long time they sat there waiting till the people went past. All grew quiet again.

“Now then; with God’s help we must get away,” Jilin said.

They crossed themselves and started. They went through the yard and downhill to the river which they forded and came out into the valley. The mist hung low and dense; above, the stars were visible. By the stars Jilin could tell the direction they had to take. It was cool in the mist and walking was easy, only their boots were uncomfortable, being old and worn out. Jilin cast his off and went bare-foot. He leapt over the stones, gazing up at the stars. Kostilin began to lag behind.

“Slower, please,” he said, “these cursed boots hurt my feet.”

“Take them off and you’ll find it easier.”

Kostilin too went barefoot, but that was still worse. The stones cut his feet and he lagged behind more than ever.

Jilin said to him, “The cuts on your feet will heal up soon enough, but if the Tartars catch us it will be much more serious; they will kill us.”

Kostilin did not say anything, but walked along, groaning.

They walked along the valley for a long time, when suddenly they heard the barking of dogs. Jilin stopped and looked about him. He climbed up the hill on all fours.

“We mistook our way, and turned to the right. Another Tartar village lies here; I saw it from the hill the other day. We must turn back and go to the left up the hill. There must be a wood here.”

And Kostilin said, “Let us rest a while; my feet are all bleeding.”

“They’ll get better in good time, brother. Walk more lightly – like this.”

And Jilin turned back and went up the hill to the left into the wood. Kostilin kept on lagging behind and groaning. Jilin remonstrated with him and walked on ahead.

They reached the top of the hill, where they found a wood, as Jilin had surmised. They went into it. The brambles tore the last of their clothes. At last they found a path and followed it.

“Stop!” Jilin said. There was a trampling of hoofs on the path. They listened. It sounded like the trampling of horses’ hoofs, but the sound ceased. They moved on and again they heard the trampling. They stopped again, and the sound ceased. Jilin crept nearer and in a patch of light on the path he saw something standing. It seemed like a horse, yet not like a horse, and it had something queer on its back that was not a man. The creature snorted. “What a strange thing!” Jilin thought, and gave a low whistle. The animal bounded off the path into the thicket and there was a sound of cracking branches as though a storm had swept through the wood.

Kostilin fell to the ground in terror; Jilin laughed, saying, “It’s a stag. Can’t you hear how it’s breaking the branches with its antlers? We are afraid of him and he is afraid of us.”

They went on further. The Great Bear was already setting and the dawn was not far off. They did not know whether they were going in the right direction. It seemed to Jilin that the Tartars had brought him along this path when they captured him and that it was still another seven miles to the fortress, but he had nothing certain to go by, and at night one could easily mistake the way.

Kostilin dropped to the ground and said, “Do what you like, but I can’t go any further. My legs won’t carry me.”

Jilin attempted persuasion.

“It’s no good,” Kostilin said; “I can’t go on.”

Jilin grew angry and vented his disgust.

“Then I’m going alone – good-bye.”

Kostilin jumped up and followed.

They walked another three miles. The mist grew denser; they could not see ahead of them and the stars were no longer visible.

They suddenly heard a trampling of horses coming from the direction in which they were going. They could hear the horse’s hoofs hit against the stones. Jilin lay flat down and put his ear to the ground to listen.

“There is certainly a horseman coming towards us,” he said. They ran off the path into the thicket and sat down to wait. After a while Jilin crept out into the path to look. A mounted Tartar was coming along, driving a cow and humming softly to himself. When he had passed Jilin turned to Kostilin, “Thank God the danger is over. Come, let us go.”

Kostilin attempted to rise, but dropped down again.

“I can’t, I can’t! I’ve no more strength left.”

The man was heavy and stout and had perspired freely. The heavy mist had chilled him, tired and bleeding as he was, and made him quite stiff. Jilin tried to lift him, but Kostilin cried out, “Oh, it hurts!”

Jilin turned to stone.

“Why did you shout? The Tartar is still near; he will have heard you,” he remonstrated, while to himself he thought, “The man is evidently exhausted; what shall I do with him? I can’t desert him.” “Come,” he said, “climb on to my back, then, and I’ll carry you if you really can’t walk.”

He helped Kostilin up, put his arms under his thighs and carried him on to the path.

“For heaven’s sake don’t put your arms round my neck or you’ll throttle me. Hold on to my shoulders.”

It was hard work for Jilin; his feet, too, were bleeding and tired. He bent down now and then to get him in a more comfortable position, or jerked him up so that he sat higher up, and went on his weary way.

The Tartar had evidently heard Kostilin’s cry. Jilin heard some one following behind, calling out in the Tartar tongue. Jilin rushed into the thicket. The Tartar seized his gun and aimed; the shot missed; the Tartar yelled and galloped down the path.

“I’m afraid we’re lost,” Jilin said. “He’ll collect the Tartars to hunt us down. If we don’t cover a couple of miles before they’ve time to set out, nothing will save us.” To himself he thought, “Why the devil did I saddle myself with this block? I should have got there long ago had I been alone.”

Kostilin said, “Why should you be caught because of me?”

“I can’t go alone; it would be mean to desert a comrade.”

Again he raised Kostilin on to his shoulders and went on. They walked along for another half-mile. They were still in the wood and could not see the end of it. The mist had dispersed; the clouds seemed to gather; the stars were no longer visible. Jilin was worn out. They came to a spring walled in by stones. He stopped and put Kostilin down.

“Let us rest a minute or two and have a drink and a bite of this cake. We can’t be very far off now.”