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

back to the wind, took off his boots, shook out the snow that had got into them, and taking some straw from the bottom of the sledge, carefully plugged with it a hole in his left boot.

Vasíli Andréevich remained silent, as though now leaving everything to Nikíta. Having put his boots on again, Nikíta drew his feet into the sledge, put on his mittens and took up the reins, and directed the horse along the side of the ravine. But they had not gone a hundred yards before the horse again stopped short. The ravine was in front of him again.

Nikíta again climbed out and again trudged about in the snow. He did this for a considerable time and at last appeared from the opposite side to that from which he had started.

“Vasíli Andréevich, are you alive?” he called out.

“Here!” replied Vasíli Andréevich. “Well, what now?”

“I can’t make anything out. It’s too dark. There’s nothing but ravines. We must drive against the wind again.”

They set off once more. Again Nikíta went stumbling through the snow, again he fell in, again climbed out and trudged about, and at last quite out of breath he sat down beside the sledge.

“Well, how now?” asked Vasíli Andréevich.

“Why, I am quite worn out and the horse won’t go.”

“Then what’s to be done?”

“Why, wait a minute.”

Nikíta went away again but soon returned.

“Follow me!” he said, going in front of the horse.

Vasíli Andréevich no longer gave orders but implicitly did what Nikíta told him.

“Here, follow me!” Nikíta shouted, stepping quickly to the right, and seizing the rein he led Mukhórty down towards a snowdrift.

At first the horse held back, then he jerked forward, hoping to leap the drift, but he had not the strength and sank into it up to his collar.

“Get out!” Nikíta called to Vasíli Andréevich who still sat in the sledge, and taking hold of one shaft he moved the sledge closer to the horse. “It’s hard, brother!” he said to Mukhórty, “but it can’t be helped. Make an effort! Now, now, just a little one!” he shouted.

The horse gave a tug, then another, but failed to clear himself and settled down again as if considering something.

“Now, brother, this won’t do!” Nikíta admonished him. “Now once more!”

Again Nikíta tugged at the shaft on his side, and Vasíli Andréevich did the same on the other.

Mukhórty lifted his head and then gave a sudden jerk.

“That’s it! That’s it!” cried Nikíta. “Don’t be afraid⁠—you won’t sink!”

One plunge, another, and a third, and at last Mukhórty was out of the snowdrift, and stood still, breathing heavily and shaking the snow off himself. Nikíta wished to lead him farther, but Vasíli Andréevich, in his two fur coats, was so out of breath that he could not walk farther and dropped into the sledge.

“Let me get my breath!” he said, unfastening the kerchief with which he had tied the collar of his fur coat at the village.

“It’s all right here. You lie there,” said Nikíta. “I will lead him along.” And with Vasíli Andréevich in the sledge he led the horse by the bridle about ten paces down and then up a slight rise, and stopped.

The place where Nikíta had stopped was not completely in the hollow where the snow sweeping down from the hillocks might have buried them altogether, but still it was partly sheltered from the wind by the side of the ravine. There were moments when the wind seemed to abate a little, but that did not last long and as if to make up for that respite the storm swept down with tenfold vigour and tore and whirled the more fiercely. Such a gust struck them at the moment when Vasíli Andréevich, having recovered his breath, got out of the sledge and went up to Nikíta to consult him as to what they should do. They both bent down involuntarily and waited till the violence of the squall should have passed. Mukhórty too laid back his ears and shook his head discontentedly. As soon as the violence of the blast had abated a little, Nikíta took off his mittens, stuck them into his belt, breathed onto his hands, and began to undo the straps of the shaft-bow.

“What’s that you are doing there?” asked Vasíli Andréevich.

“Unharnessing. What else is there to do? I have no strength left,” said Nikíta as though excusing himself.

“Can’t we drive somewhere?”

“No, we can’t. We shall only kill the horse. Why, the poor beast is not himself now,” said Nikíta, pointing to the horse, which was standing submissively waiting for what might come, with his steep wet sides heaving heavily. “We shall have to stay the night here,” he said, as if preparing to spend the night at an inn, and he proceeded to unfasten the collar-straps. The buckles came undone.

“But shan’t we be frozen?” remarked Vasíli Andréevich.

“Well, if we are we can’t help it,” said Nikíta.

VI

Although Vasíli Andréevich felt quite warm in his two fur coats, especially after struggling in the snowdrift, a cold shiver ran down his back on realizing that he must really spend the night where they were. To calm himself he sat down in the sledge and got out his cigarettes and matches.

Nikíta meanwhile unharnessed Mukhórty. He unstrapped the bellyband and the back-band, took away the reins, loosened the collar-strap, and removed the shaft-bow, talking to him all the time to encourage him.

“Now come out! come out!” he said, leading him clear of the shafts. “Now we’ll tie you up here and I’ll put down some straw and take off your bridle. When you’ve had a bite you’ll feel more cheerful.”

But Mukhórty was restless and evidently not comforted by Nikíta’s remarks. He stepped now on one foot and now on another, and pressed close against the sledge, turning his back to the wind and rubbing his head on Nikíta’s sleeve. Then, as if not to pain Nikíta by refusing his offer of the straw he put before him, he hurriedly snatched a wisp out