"You are a brick!" cried the old man, who could not shoot a bird on the wing, and smiled.
They picked up the pheasants and went on. Excited by the motion and by the praise, Olénin kept up a conversation with the old man.
"Wait! We will go in this direction," the old man interrupted him. "I saw a deer trail here yesterday."
Having turned into the thicket and gone some three hundred paces, they came to a clearing that was overgrown with reeds, and in places overflowed with water. Olénin kept falling behind the old huntsman, and suddenly Uncle Eróshka crouched, about twenty steps in front of him, excitedly nodding his head and waving his hand. When Olénin came up to him, he saw the track of a man's feet, to which the old man was pointing.
"You see?"
"I do. What of it?" said Olénin, trying to speak as calmly as possible. "It is a man's track."
Involuntarily the thought of Cooper's "Pathfinder" and of abréks flashed through his head, and when he saw the mysterious manner in which the old man walked ahead, he could not make up his mind to ask him any questions, and was in doubt whether it was the peril or the hunt which caused this mystery.
"No, that is my track," the old man answered, simply, and pointed to the grass, underneath which a faint animal track was visible.
The old man went ahead. Olénin did not fall back. Having walked about twenty paces, they went down-hill and came to a spreading pear-tree in a thicket; underneath it the earth was black, and fresh animal dung lay upon it.
The place was all covered with grape-vines, and resembled a covered cosy arbour, dark and cool.
"He has been here this morning," said the old man, sighing. "The lair is still fresh and steaming."
