visible over the whole steppe. I rode at a quick trot, Savelitch could hardly follow me, and was continually shouting—
"Slower! for God's sake slower! My cursed little nag cannot keep up with thy long-legged imp. Where is the hurry? Well enough if we were going to a feast! As it is, we are making for the edge of the axe. . . . Piotr Andrevitch. . . . My little father, Piotr Andrevitch! . . . . Good God! the master's child is going to perdition."
The fires of Berd were sparkling before us. We neared the deep ditches, the natural fortifications of the village. Savelitch kept up with me, continuing, however, his pitiful supplications without intermission. I was hoping to go round the village without an accident, when suddenly I perceived in front of me in the dark, five mujiks armed with clubs—they were Pougatcheff's advanced sentinels. We were hailed. Not knowing the pass-word, I meant to ride by in silence; but they instantly surrounded me, and one of them seized the bridle of my horse. I drew my sabre, and struck the mujik over the head; his cap saved him, but he staggered and let go the bridle. The others, becoming confused, made off. I took advantage of this, and, putting spurs to my horse, gallopped onwards.
The ever-increasing darkness might have ensured me from all danger, but, upon looking behind, I perceived that Savelitch was not with me. The poor old man on his lame horse, was unable to effect his escape out of the hands of the robbers. What was to be done? Having waited some few moments, and become persuaded that
