mournfully at the ground beneath him, he was grieving for his beloved master, Dobrenin the Youthful. Aleyosha Papovitch mounted the good steed, which at once commenced neighing and galloping as of old.
On, on rode Aleyosha Papovitch, until he arrived at the Mussulman's tent, in which lay the brave warrior Dobrenin the Youthful, with his eyes closed, his strong arms hanging lifeless by his sides, and covered with blood.
"Come out of thy tent, thou Tartar!" cried Aleyosha Papovitch, in a loud and angry voice. "Come out, and let us fight!"
Then the Mussulman answered and said,—
"Hail to thee, Aleyosha Papovitch, junior! Take my advice, my friend, and do not attempt to fight with me, for I am more powerful than thou supposest!"
But Aleyosha Papovitch laughed haughtily as he replied,—
"Do not boast! Wait till the fight is over before praising thyself!"
The Mussulman stepped out of his canvas tent, and mounted his splendid steed.
No winds blew, no clouds were seen, nothing but the flash of the warriors' swords was visible. They fought and fought until their sharp lances broke and their steel swords snapped asunder. They then dismounted from their chargers and continued the combat with their fists.
Aleyosha at last succeeded in overthrowing the Tartar, who fell down on the ground. Aleyosha im-
