He sat awhile in the hut joyfully recalling the details of his expedition and vividly picturing to himself what would happen next day.
Then, noticing that Denisov was asleep, he rose and went out of doors.
It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but drops were still falling from the trees. Near the watchman's hut the black shapes of the Cossacks' shanties and of horses tethered together could be seen. Behind the hut the dark shapes of the two wagons with their horses beside them were discernible, and in the hollow the dying campfire gleamed red. Not all the Cossacks and hussars were asleep; here and there, amid the sounds of falling drops and the munching of the horses near by, could be heard low voices which seemed to be whispering.
Petya came out, peered into the darkness, and went up to the wagons. Someone was snoring under them, and around them stood saddled horses munching their oats. In the dark Petya recognized his own horse, which he called 'Karabakh' though it was of Ukranian breed, and went up to it.
'Well, Karabakh! We'll do some service tomorrow,' said he, sniffing its nostrils and kissing it.
'Why aren't you asleep, sir?' said a Cossack who was sitting under a wagon.
'No, ah... Likhachev--isn't that your name? Do you know I have only just come back! We've been into the French camp.'
And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed account not only of his ride but also of his object, and why he considered it better to risk his life than to act 'just anyhow.'
'Well, you should get some sleep now,' said the Cossack.
'No, I am used to this,' said Petya. 'I say, aren't the flints in your pistols worn out? I brought some with me. Don't you want any? You can have some.'
The Cossack bent forward from under the wagon to get a closer look at Petya.
'Because I am accustomed to doing everything accurately,' said Petya. 'Some fellows do things just anyhow, without preparation, and then they're sorry for it afterwards. I don't like that.'
'Just so,' said the Cossack.
'Oh yes, another thing! Please, my dear fellow, will you sharpen my saber for me? It's got bl...' (Petya feared to tell a lie, and the saber never had been sharpened.) 'Can you do it?'
'Of course I can.'
Likhachev got up, rummaged in his pack, and soon Petya heard the warlike sound of steel on whetstone. He climbed onto the wagon and sat on its edge. The Cossack was sharpening the saber under the wagon.
'I say! Are the lads asleep?' asked Petya.
'Some are, and some aren't--like us.'
'Well, and that boy?'
'Vesenny? Oh, he's thrown himself down there in the passage. Fast asleep after his fright. He was that glad!'
After that Petya remained silent for a long time, listening to the sounds. He heard footsteps in the darkness and a black figure appeared.
'What are you sharpening?' asked a man coming up to the wagon.
'Why, this gentleman's saber.'
'That's right,' said the man, whom Petya took to be an hussar. 'Was the cup left here?'
'There, by the wheel!'
The hussar took the cup.
'It must be daylight soon,' said he, yawning, and went away.
Petya ought to have known that he was in a forest with Denisov's guerrilla band, less than a mile from the road, sitting on a wagon captured from the French beside which horses were tethered, that under it Likhachev was sitting sharpening a saber for him, that the big dark blotch to the right was the watchman's hut, and the red blotch below to the left was the dying embers of a campfire, that the man who had come for the cup was an hussar who wanted a drink; but he neither knew nor waited to know anything of all this. He was in a fairy kingdom where nothing resembled reality. The big dark blotch might really be the watchman's hut or it might be a cavern leading to the very depths of the earth. Perhaps the red spot was a fire, or it might be the eye of an enormous monster. Perhaps he was really sitting on a wagon, but it might very well be that he was not sitting on a wagon but on a terribly high tower from which, if he fell, he would have to fall for a whole day or a whole month, or go on falling and never reach the bottom. Perhaps it was just the Cossack, Likhachev, who was sitting under the wagon, but it might be the kindest, bravest, most wonderful, most splendid man in the world, whom no one knew of. It might really have been that the hussar came for water and went back into the hollow, but perhaps he had simply vanished-- disappeared altogether and dissolved into nothingness.
Nothing Petya could have seen now would have surprised him. He was in a fairy kingdom where everything was possible.
He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like the earth. It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds were swiftly sailing as if unveiling the stars. Sometimes it looked as if the clouds were passing, and a clear black sky appeared. Sometimes it seemed as if the black spaces were clouds. Sometimes the sky seemed to be rising high, high overhead, and then it seemed to sink so low that one could touch it with one's hand.
Petya's eyes began to close and he swayed a little.
The trees were dripping. Quiet talking was heard. The horses neighed and jostled one another. Someone snored.
'Ozheg-zheg, Ozheg-zheg...' hissed the saber against the whetstone, and suddenly Petya heard an harmonious
