Chapter XIX
The mist had partly lifted, showing the wet reed thatches, and was nowturning into dew that moistened the road and the grass beside thefence. Smoke rose everywhere in clouds from the chimneys. The peoplewere going out of the village, some to their work, some to the river,and some to the cordon. The hunters walked together along the damp,grass-grown path. The dogs, wagging their tails and looking at theirmasters, ran on both sides of them. Myriads of gnats hovered in the airand pursued the hunters, covering their backs, eyes, and hands. The airwas fragrant with the grass and with the dampness of the forest. Olenincontinually looked round at the ox-cart in which Maryanka sat urging onthe oxen with a long switch.
It was calm. The sounds from the village, audible at first, now nolonger reached the sportsmen. Only the brambles cracked as the dogs ranunder them, and now and then birds called to one another. Olenin knewthat danger lurked in the forest, that abreks always hid in suchplaces. But he knew too that in the forest, for a man on foot, a gun isa great protection. Not that he was afraid, but he felt that another inhis place might be; and looking into the damp misty forest andlistening to the rare and faint sounds with strained attention, hechanged his hold on his gun and experienced a pleasant feeling that wasnew to him. Daddy Eroshka went in front, stopping and carefullyscanning every puddle where an animal had left a double track, andpointing it out to Olenin. He hardly spoke at all and only occasionallymade remarks in a whisper. The track they were following had once beenmade by wagons, but the grass had long overgrown it. The elm andplane-tree forest on both sides of them was so dense and overgrown withcreepers that it was impossible to see anything through it. Nearlyevery tree was enveloped from top to bottom with wild grape vines, anddark bramble bushes covered the ground thickly. Every little glade wasovergrown with blackberry bushes and grey feathery reeds. In places,large hoof-prints and small funnel-shaped pheasant-trails led from thepath into the thicket. The vigour of the growth of this forest,untrampled by cattle, struck Olenin at every turn, for he had neverseen anything like it. This forest, the danger, the old man and hismysterious whispering, Maryanka with her virile upright bearing, andthe mountains--all this seemed to him like a dream.
'A pheasant has settled,' whispered the old man, looking round andpulling his cap over his face--'Cover your mug! A pheasant!' he wavedhis arm angrily at Olenin and pushed forward almost on all fours. 'Hedon't like a man's mug.'
Olenin was still behind him when the old man stopped and beganexamining a tree. A cock-pheasant on the tree clucked at the dog thatwas barking at it, and Olenin saw the pheasant; but at that moment areport, as of a cannon, came from Eroshka's enormous gun, the birdfluttered up and, losing some feathers, fell to the ground. Coming upto the old man Olenin disturbed another, and raising his gun he aimedand fired. The pheasant flew swiftly up and then, catching at thebranches as he fell, dropped like a stone to the ground.
'Good man!' the old man (who could not hit a flying bird) shouted,laughing.
Having picked up the pheasants they went on. Olenin, excited by theexercise and the praise, kept addressing remarks to the old man.
'Stop! Come this way,' the old man interrupted. 'I noticed the track ofdeer here yesterday.'
After they had turned into the thicket and gone some three hundredpaces they scrambled through into a glade overgrown with reeds andpartly under water. Olenin failed to keep up with the old huntsman andpresently Daddy Eroshka, some twenty paces in front, stooped down,nodding and beckoning with his arm. On coming up with him Olenin saw aman's footprint to which the old man was pointing.
'D'you see?'
'Yes, well?' said Olenin, trying to speak as calmly as he could. 'Aman's footstep!'
Involuntarily a thought of Cooper's Pathfinder and of abreks flashedthrough Olenin's mind, but noticing the mysterious manner with whichthe old man moved on, he hesitated to question him and remained indoubt whether this mysteriousness was caused by fear of danger or bythe sport.
'No, it's my own footprint,' the old man said quietly, and pointed tosome grass under which the track of an animal was just perceptible.
The old man went on; and Olenin kept up with him.
Descending to lower ground some twenty paces farther on they came upona spreading pear-tree, under which, on the black earth, lay the freshdung of some animal.
The spot, all covered over with wild vines, was like a cosy arbour,dark and cool.
'He's been here this morning,' said the old man with a sigh; 'the lairis still damp, quite fresh.'
Suddenly they heard a terrible crash in the forest some ten paces fromwhere they stood. They both started and seized their guns, but theycould see nothing and only heard the branches breaking. The rhythmicalrapid thud of galloping was heard for a moment and then changed into ahollow rumble which resounded farther and farther off, re-echoing inwider and wider circles through the forest. Olenin felt as thoughsomething had snapped in his heart. He peered carefully but vainly intothe green thicket and then turned to the old man. Daddy Eroshka withhis gun pressed to his breast stood motionless; his cap was thrustbackwards, his eyes gleamed with an unwonted glow, and his open mouth,with its worn yellow teeth, seemed to have stiffened in that position.
'A homed stag!' he muttered, and throwing down his gun in despair hebegan pulling at his grey beard, 'Here it stood. We should have comeround by the path.... Fool! fool!' and he gave his beard an angry tug.Fool! Pig!' he repeated, pulling painfully at his own beard. Throughthe forest something seemed to fly away in the mist, and ever fartherand farther off was heard the sound of the flight of the stag.
It was already dusk when, hungry, tired, but full of vigour, Oleninreturned with the old man. Dinner was ready. He ate and drank with theold man till he felt warm and merry. Olenin then went out into theporch. Again, to the west, the mountains rose before his eyes. Againthe old man told his endless stories of hunting, of abreks, ofsweethearts, and of all that free and reckless life. Again the fairMaryanka went in and out and across the yard, her beautiful powerfulform outlined by her smock.
The Cossacks: A Tale of 1852 Page 19