American library books » Fiction » The Cossacks by graf Tolstoy Leo (best book series to read TXT) 📕

Read book online «The Cossacks by graf Tolstoy Leo (best book series to read TXT) 📕».   Author   -   graf Tolstoy Leo



1 ... 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 ... 33
Go to page:
boy and the girl; when she’s

married who’ll be left?’

 

‘Well then, he’s saving up for her dowry,’ said Olenin.

 

‘What dowry? The girl is sought after, she’s a fine girl. But he’s

such a devil that he must yet marry her to a rich fellow. He wants

to get a big price for her. There’s Luke, a Cossack, a neighbour

and a nephew of mine, a fine lad. It’s he who killed the Chechen—

he has been wooing her for a long time, but he hasn’t let him have

her. He’s given one excuse, and another, and a third. “The girl’s

too young,” he says. But I know what he is thinking. He wants to

keep them bowing to him. He’s been acting shamefully about that

girl. Still, they will get her for Lukashka, because he is the

best Cossack in the village, a brave, who has killed an abrek and

will be rewarded with a cross.’

 

‘But how about this? When I was walking up and down the yard last

night, I saw my landlord’s daughter and some Cossack kissing,’

said Olenin.

 

‘You’re pretending!’ cried the old man, stopping.

 

‘On my word,’ said Olenin.

 

‘Women are the devil,’ said Eroshka pondering. ‘But what Cossack

was it?’

 

‘I couldn’t see.’

 

‘Well, what sort of a cap had he, a white one?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘And a red coat? About your height?’

 

‘No, a bit taller.’

 

‘It’s he!’ and Eroshka burst out laughing. ‘It’s himself, it’s

Mark. He is Luke, but I call him Mark for a joke. His very self! I

love him. I was just such a one myself. What’s the good of minding

them? My sweetheart used to sleep with her mother and her sister-in-law, but I managed to get in. She used to sleep upstairs; that

witch her mother was a regular demon; it’s awful how she hated me.

Well, I used to come with a chum, Girchik his name was. We’d come

under her window and I’d climb on his shoulders, push up the

window and begin groping about. She used to sleep just there on a

bench. Once I woke her up and she nearly called out. She hadn’t

recognized me. “Who is there?” she said, and I could not answer.

Her mother was even beginning to stir, but I took off my cap and

shoved it over her mouth; and she at once knew it by a seam in it,

and ran out to me. I used not to want anything then. She’d bring

along clotted cream and grapes and everything,’ added Eroshka (who

always explained things practically), ‘and she wasn’t the only

one. It was a life!’

 

‘And what now?’

 

‘Now we’ll follow the dog, get a pheasant to settle on a tree, and

then you may fire.’

 

‘Would you have made up to Maryanka?’

 

‘Attend to the dogs. I’ll tell you tonight,’ said the old man,

pointing to his favourite dog, Lyam.

 

After a pause they continued talking, while they went about a

hundred paces. Then the old man stopped again and pointed to a

twig that lay across the path.

 

‘What do you think of that?’ he said. ‘You think it’s nothing?

It’s bad that this stick is lying so.’

 

‘Why is it bad?’

 

He smiled.

 

‘Ah, you don’t know anything. Just listen to me. When a stick lies

like that don’t you step across it, but go round it or throw it

off the path this way, and say “Father and Son and Holy Ghost,”

and then go on with God’s blessing. Nothing will happen to you.

That’s what the old men used to teach me.’

 

‘Come, what rubbish!’ said Olenin. ‘You’d better tell me more

about Maryanka. Does she carry on with Lukashka?’

 

‘Hush … be quiet now!’ the old man again interrupted in a

whisper: ‘just listen, we’ll go round through the forest.’

 

And the old man, stepping quietly in his soft shoes, led the way

by a narrow path leading into the dense, wild, overgrown forest.

Now and again with a frown he turned to look at Olenin, who

rustled and clattered with his heavy boots and, carrying his gun

carelessly, several times caught the twigs of trees that grew

across the path.

 

‘Don’t make a noise. Step softly, soldier!’ the old man whispered

angrily.

 

There was a feeling in the air that the sun had risen. The mist

was dissolving but it still enveloped the tops of the trees. The

forest looked terribly high. At every step the aspect changed:

what had appeared like a tree proved to be a bush, and a reed

looked like a tree.

Chapter XIX

The mist had partly lifted, showing the wet reed thatches, and was

now turning into dew that moistened the road and the grass beside

the fence. Smoke rose everywhere in clouds from the chimneys. The

people were going out of the village, some to their work, some to

the river, and some to the cordon. The hunters walked together

along the damp, grass-grown path. The dogs, wagging their tails

and looking at their masters, ran on both sides of them. Myriads

of gnats hovered in the air and pursued the hunters, covering

their backs, eyes, and hands. The air was fragrant with the grass

and with the dampness of the forest. Olenin continually looked

round at the ox-cart in which Maryanka sat urging on the oxen with

a long switch.

 

It was calm. The sounds from the village, audible at first, now no

longer reached the sportsmen. Only the brambles cracked as the

dogs ran under them, and now and then birds called to one another.

Olenin knew that danger lurked in the forest, that abreks always

hid in such places. But he knew too that in the forest, for a man

on foot, a gun is a great protection. Not that he was afraid, but

he felt that another in his place might be; and looking into the

damp misty forest and listening to the rare and faint sounds with

strained attention, he changed his hold on his gun and experienced

a pleasant feeling that was new to him. Daddy Eroshka went in

front, stopping and carefully scanning every puddle where an

animal had left a double track, and pointing it out to Olenin. He

hardly spoke at all and only occasionally made remarks in a

whisper. The track they were following had once been made by

wagons, but the grass had long overgrown it. The elm and plane-tree forest on both sides of them was so dense and overgrown with

creepers that it was impossible to see anything through it. Nearly

every tree was enveloped from top to bottom with wild grape vines,

and dark bramble bushes covered the ground thickly. Every little

glade was overgrown with blackberry bushes and grey feathery

reeds. In places, large hoof-prints and small funnel-shaped

pheasant-trails led from the path into the thicket. The vigour of

the growth of this forest, untrampled by cattle, struck Olenin at

every turn, for he had never seen anything like it. This forest,

the danger, the old man and his mysterious whispering, Maryanka

with her virile upright bearing, and the mountains—all this

seemed to him like a dream.

 

‘A pheasant has settled,’ whispered the old man, looking round and

pulling his cap over his face—‘Cover your mug! A pheasant!’ he

waved his arm angrily at Olenin and pushed forward almost on all

fours. ‘He don’t like a man’s mug.’

 

Olenin was still behind him when the old man stopped and began

examining a tree. A cock-pheasant on the tree clucked at the dog

that was barking at it, and Olenin saw the pheasant; but at that

moment a report, as of a cannon, came from Eroshka’s enormous gun,

the bird fluttered up and, losing some feathers, fell to the

ground. Coming up to the old man Olenin disturbed another, and

raising his gun he aimed and fired. The pheasant flew swiftly up

and then, catching at the branches as he fell, dropped like a

stone to the ground.

 

‘Good man!’ the old man (who could not hit a flying bird) shouted,

laughing.

 

Having picked up the pheasants they went on. Olenin, excited by

the exercise and the praise, kept addressing remarks to the old

man.

 

‘Stop! Come this way,’ the old man interrupted. ‘I noticed the

track of deer here yesterday.’

 

After they had turned into the thicket and gone some three hundred

paces they scrambled through into a glade overgrown with reeds and

partly under water. Olenin failed to keep up with the old huntsman

and presently Daddy Eroshka, some twenty paces in front, stooped

down, nodding and beckoning with his arm. On coming up with him

Olenin saw a man’s footprint to which the old man was pointing.

 

‘D’you see?’

 

‘Yes, well?’ said Olenin, trying to speak as calmly as he could.

‘A man’s footstep!’

 

Involuntarily a thought of Cooper’s Pathfinder and of abreks

flashed through Olenin’s mind, but noticing the mysterious manner

with which the old man moved on, he hesitated to question him and

remained in doubt whether this mysteriousness was caused by fear

of danger or by the sport.

 

‘No, it’s my own footprint,’ the old man said quietly, and pointed

to some grass under which the track of an animal was just

perceptible.

 

The old man went on; and Olenin kept up with him.

 

Descending to lower ground some twenty paces farther on they came

upon a spreading pear-tree, under which, on the black earth, lay

the fresh dung of some animal.

 

The spot, all covered over with wild vines, was like a cosy

arbour, dark and cool.

 

‘He’s been here this morning,’ said the old man with a sigh; ‘the

lair is still damp, quite fresh.’

 

Suddenly they heard a terrible crash in the forest some ten paces

from where they stood. They both started and seized their guns,

but they could see nothing and only heard the branches breaking.

The rhythmical rapid thud of galloping was heard for a moment and

then changed into a hollow rumble which resounded farther and

farther off, re-echoing in wider and wider circles through the

forest. Olenin felt as though something had snapped in his heart.

He peered carefully but vainly into the green thicket and then

turned to the old man. Daddy Eroshka with his gun pressed to his

breast stood motionless; his cap was thrust backwards, his eyes

gleamed with an unwonted glow, and his open mouth, with its worn

yellow teeth, seemed to have stiffened in that position.

 

‘A homed stag!’ he muttered, and throwing down his gun in despair

he began pulling at his grey beard, ‘Here it stood. We should have

come round by the path…. Fool! fool!’ and he gave his beard an

angry tug. Fool! Pig!’ he repeated, pulling painfully at his own

beard. Through the forest something seemed to fly away in the

mist, and ever farther and farther off was heard the sound of the

flight of the stag.

 

It was already dusk when, hungry, tired, but full of vigour,

Olenin returned with the old man. Dinner was ready. He ate and

drank with the old man till he felt warm and merry. Olenin then

went out into the porch. Again, to the west, the mountains rose

before his eyes. Again the old man told his endless stories of

hunting, of abreks, of sweethearts, and of all that free and

reckless life. Again the fair Maryanka went in and out and across

the yard, her beautiful powerful form outlined by her smock.

Chapter XX

The next day Olenin went alone to the spot where he and the old

man startled the

1 ... 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 ... 33
Go to page:

Free e-book: «The Cossacks by graf Tolstoy Leo (best book series to read TXT) 📕»   -   read online now on website american library books (americanlibrarybooks.com)

Comments (0)

There are no comments yet. You can be the first!
Add a comment