After Panóv, Nikítin had a smoke; and then spreading his cloak on the ground, sat down on it, leaning against the trunk of the plane tree. The soldiers were silent. Only far above their heads the crowns of the trees rustled in the wind. Suddenly, above this incessant low rustling, rose the howling, whining, weeping, and chuckling of jackals.
“Just listen to those accursed creatures—how they caterwaul!”
“They’re laughing at you because your mug’s all on one side,” remarked the high voice of the third soldier, an Ukrainian.
All was silent again; only the wind swayed the branches, now revealing and now hiding the stars.
“I say, Panóv,” suddenly asked the cheerful Avdéev, “do you ever feel dull?”
“Dull, why?” replied Panóv reluctantly.
“Well, I do feel dull … so dull sometimes that I don’t know what I might not be ready to do to myself.”
“There now!” was all Panóv replied.
“That time when I drank all the money, it was from dullness. It took hold of me … took hold of me till I thought to myself, ‘I’ll just get blind drunk!’ ”
“But sometimes drinking makes it still worse.”
“Yes, that’s happened to me too. But what is a man to do with himself?”
“But what makes you feel so dull?”
“What, me? … Why, it’s the longing for home.”
“Is yours a wealthy home then?”
“No, we weren’t wealthy, but things went properly—we lived well.” And Avdéev began to relate what he had already told Panóv many times.
“You see, I went as a soldier of my own free will, instead of my brother,” he said. “He has children. They were five in family and I had only just married. Mother began begging me to go. So I thought, ‘Well, maybe they will remember what I’ve done.’ So I went to our proprietor … he was a good master, and he said, ‘You’re a fine fellow, go!’ So I went instead of my brother.”
“Well, that was right,” said Panóv.
“And yet, will you believe me, Panóv, if I now feel so dull, it’s chiefly because of that? ‘Why did you go instead of your brother?’ I say to myself. ‘He’s living like a king now over there, while I have to suffer here;’ and the more I think of it the worse I feel. … It seems just a piece of ill-luck!”
Avdéev was silent.
“Perhaps we’d better have another smoke,” said he after a pause.
“Well then, fix it up!”
But the soldiers were not to have their smoke. Hardly had Avdéev risen to fix the pipe stem in its place when above the rustling of the trees they heard footsteps along the road. Panóv took his gun and pushed Nikítin with his foot.
Nikítin rose and picked up his cloak.
The third soldier, Bondarénko, rose also, and said:
“And I have dreamt such a dream, mates. …”
“Sh!” said Avdéev, and the soldiers held their breath, listening. The footsteps of men in soft-soled boots were heard approaching. Clearer and clearer through the darkness was heard a rustling of the fallen leaves and dry twigs. Then came the peculiar guttural tones of Chechen voices. The soldiers now not only heard, but saw two shadows passing through a clear space between the trees. One shadow taller than the other. When these shadows had come in line with the soldiers, Panóv, gun in hand, stepped out on to the road, followed by his comrades.
“Who goes there?” cried he.
“Me, friendly Chechen,” said the shorter one. This was Bata. “Gun, yok!10 … sword, yok!” said he, pointing to himself. “Prince, want!”
The taller one stood silent beside his comrade. He, too, was unarmed.
“He means he’s a scout, and wants the Colonel,” explained Panóv to his comrades.
“Prince Vorontsóv … much want! Big business!” said Bata.
“All right, all right! We’ll take you to him,” said Panóv. “I say, you’d better take them,” said he to Avdéev, “you and Bondarénko; and when you’ve given them up to the officer on duty come back again. Mind,” he added, “be careful to make them keep in front of you!”
“And what of this?” said Avdéev, moving his gun and bayonet as though stabbing someone. “I’d just give a dig, and let the steam out of him!”
“What’ll he be worth when you’ve stuck him?” remarked Bondarénko.
“Now, march!”
When the steps of the two soldiers conducting the scouts could no longer be heard, Panóv and Nikítin returned to their post.
“What the devil brings them here at night?” said Nikítin.
“Seems it’s necessary,” said Panóv. “But it’s getting chilly,” he added, and, unrolling his cloak, he put it on and sat down by the tree.
About two hours later Avdéev and Bondarénko returned.
“Well, have you handed them over?”
“Yes. They weren’t yet asleep at the Colonel’s—they were taken straight in to him. And do you know, mates, those shaven-headed lads are fine!” continued Avdéev. “Yes, really. What a talk I had with them!”
“Of course you’d talk,” remarked Nikítin disapprovingly.
“Really they’re just like Russians. One of them is married. ‘Molly,’ says I, ‘bar?’11 ‘Bar,’ he says. Bondarénko, didn’t I say ‘bar’? ‘Many bar?’ ‘A couple,’ says he. A couple! Such a good talk we had! Such nice fellows!”
“Nice, indeed!” said Nikítin. “If you met him alone he’d soon let the guts out of you.”
“It will be getting light before long.” said Panóv.
“Yes, the stars are beginning to go out,” said Avdéev, sitting down and making himself comfortable.
And the soldiers were silent again.
III
The windows of the barracks and the soldiers’ houses had long been dark in the fort; but there were still
