Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

with us!” They crossed themselves, and started once more. They passed through a yard and went down the hillside to the river, crossed the river, and went along the valley.

The mist was thick, but only near the ground; overhead the stars shone quite brightly. Zhílin directed their course by the stars. It was cool in the mist, and easy walking, only their boots were uncomfortable, being worn out and trodden down. Zhílin took his off, threw them away, and went barefoot, jumping from stone to stone, and guiding his course by the stars. Kostílin began to lag behind.

“Walk slower,” he said, “these confounded boots have quite blistered my feet.”

“Take them off!” said Zhílin. “It will be easier walking without them.”

Kostílin went barefoot, but got on still worse. The stones cut his feet, and he kept lagging behind. Zhílin said: “If your feet get cut, they’ll heal again; but if the Tartars catch us and kill us, it will be worse!”

Kostílin did not reply, but went on, groaning all the time.

Their way lay through the valley for a long time. Then, to the right, they heard dogs barking. Zhílin stopped, looked about, and began climbing the hill, feeling with his hands.

“Ah!” said he, “we have gone wrong, and have come too far to the right. Here is another aoul, one I saw from the hill. We must turn back and go up that hill to the left. There must be a wood there.”

But Kostílin said: “Wait a minute! Let me get breath. My feet are all cut and bleeding.”

“Never mind, friend! They’ll heal again. You should spring more lightly. Like this!”

And Zhílin ran back and turned to the left up the hill towards the wood.

Kostílin still lagged behind, and groaned. Zhílin only said “Hush!” and went on and on.

They went up the hill and found a wood as Zhílin had said. They entered the wood and forced their way through the brambles, which tore their clothes. At last they came to a path and followed it.

“Stop!” They heard the tramp of hoofs on the path, and waited, listening. It sounded like the tramping of a horse’s feet, but then ceased. They moved on, and again they heard the tramping. When they paused, it also stopped. Zhílin crept nearer to it, and saw something standing on the path where it was not quite so dark. It looked like a horse, and yet not quite like one, and on it was something queer, not like a man. He heard it snorting. “What can it be?” Zhílin gave a low whistle, and off it dashed from the path into the thicket, and the woods were filled with the noise of crackling, as if a hurricane were sweeping through, breaking the branches.

Kostílin was so frightened that he sank to the ground. But Zhílin laughed and said: “It’s a stag. Don’t you hear him breaking the branches with his antlers? We were afraid of him, and he is afraid of us.”

They went on. The Great Bear was already setting. It was near morning, and they did not know whether they were going the right way or not. Zhílin thought it was the way he had been brought by the Tartars, and that they were still some seven miles from the Russian fort; but he had nothing certain to go by, and at night one easily mistakes the way. After a time they came to a clearing. Kostílin sat down and said: “Do as you like, I can go no farther! My feet won’t carry me.”

Zhílin tried to persuade him.

“No, I shall never get there; I can’t!”

Zhílin grew angry, and spoke roughly to him.

“Well, then, I shall go on alone. Goodbye!”

Kostílin jumped up and followed. They went another three miles. The mist in the wood had settled down still more densely; they could not see a yard before them, and the stars had grown dim.

Suddenly they heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs in front of them. They heard its shoes strike the stones. Zhílin lay down flat, and listened with his ear to the ground.

“Yes, so it is! A horseman is coming towards us.”

They ran off the path, crouched among the bushes, and waited. Zhílin crept to the road, looked, and saw a Tartar on horseback driving a cow and humming to himself. The Tartar rode past. Zhílin returned to Kostílin.

“God has led him past us; get up and let’s go on!”

Kostílin tried to rise, but fell back again.

“I can’t; on my word I can’t! I have no strength left.”

He was heavy and stout, and had been perspiring freely. Chilled by the mist, and with his feet all bleeding, he had grown quite limp.

Zhílin tried to lift him, when suddenly Kostílin screamed out: “Oh, how it hurts!”

Zhílin’s heart sank.

“What are you shouting for? The Tartar is still near; he’ll have heard you!” And he thought to himself, “He is really quite done up. What am I to do with him? It won’t do to desert a comrade.”

“Well, then, get up, and climb up on my back. I’ll carry you if you really can’t walk.”

He helped Kostílin up, and put his arms under his thighs. Then he went out onto the path, carrying him.

“Only, for the love of heaven,” said Zhílin, “don’t throttle me with your hands! Hold on to my shoulders.”

Zhílin found his load heavy; his feet, too, were bleeding, and he was tired out. Now and then he stooped to balance Kostílin better, jerking him up so that he should sit higher, and then went on again.

The Tartar must, however, really have heard Kostílin scream. Zhílin suddenly heard someone galloping behind and shouting in the Tartar tongue. He darted in among the bushes. The Tartar seized his gun and fired, but did not hit them, shouted in his own language, and galloped off along the road.

“Well, now we are lost, friend!” said Zhílin. “That dog will gather the Tartars together to hunt us down. Unless we can get a couple of miles away