healthy, only one remained with us, and it lay at our feet in its harness dying.
My savage stood by with the same apathy, resting on his stick, and looking at his feet.
"Why did you do that?" I cried.
"I've let them go, Bachka."
"I see you have; but will they come back?"
"No, Bachka, they won't; they'll become wild."
"Why did you let them loose?"
"They want to grub, Bachka, let them catch an animal—they'll grub."
"But what shall we grub?"
"Nothing, Bachka."
"Ah! you monster!"
He evidently did not understand, and did not answer, but stuck his stick into the snow, and went away. Nobody would have guessed why he went away from me. I shouted after him, called him back, but he only gazed at me with his dull eyes and growled, "Hold your tongue, Bachka," and went further. He also soon disappeared in the skirts of the forest, and I remained quite alone.
Is it necessary for me to dwell on the terrible position in which I found myself, or perhaps you will better understand all its horrors, when I tell you I could think of nothing but that I was hungry, that I wanted to eat not in the human
