By the time they reached the hut it was quite dark. The melon-field was

immersed in gloom, and only the foremost rows of melons shimmered white

in the firelight, casting long shadows. The horse stood, snorting,

beside the hut, where a bright little fire of dried steppe-grass burnt

and crackled. They could hear men talking and women laughing, and one

voice, mellow and cheery in tone, seemed familiar to Yourii.

"Why, it's Sanine," said Riasantzeff, in astonishment. "How did he get

here?"

They approached the fire. Grey-bearded Kousma, seated beside it, looked

up, and nodded to welcome them.

"Any luck?" he asked, in his deep bass voice, through a drooping

moustache.

"Just a bit," replied Riasantzeff.

Sanine, sitting on a huge pumpkin, also raised his head and smiled at

them.

"How is it that you are here?" asked Riasantzeff.

"Oh! Kousma Prokorovitch and I are old friends," explained Sanine,

smiling the more.

Kousma laughed, showing the yellow stumps of his decayed teeth as he

slapped Sanine's knee good-naturedly with his rough hand.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Sit down here, Anatole Pavlovitch, and taste this

melon. And you, my young master, what is your name?"

"Yourii Nicolaijevitch," replied Yourii, pleasantly.

He felt somewhat embarrassed, but he at once took a liking to this

gentle old peasant with his friendly speech, half Russian, half

dialect.

"Yourii Nicolaijevitch! Aha! We must make each other's acquaintance,

eh? Sit you down, Yourii Nicolaijevitch."

Yourii and Riasantzeff sat down by the fire on two big pumpkins.

"Now, then show us what you have shot," said Kousma.

A heap of dead birds fell out of the game-bags, and the ground was

dabbled with their blood. In the flickering firelight they had a weird,

unpleasant look. The blood was almost black, and the claws seemed to

move. Kousma took up a duck, and felt beneath its wings.

"That's a fat one," he said approvingly. "You might spare me a brace,

Anatole Pavlovitch. What will you do with such a lot?"

"Have them all!" exclaimed Yourii, blushing.

"Why all? Come, come, you're too generous," laughed the old man. "I'll

just have a brace, to show that there's no ill-feeling."

Other peasants and their wives now approached the fire, but, dazzled by

the blaze, Yourii could not plainly distinguish them. First one and

then another face swiftly emerged from the gloom, and then vanished.

Sanine, frowning, regarded the dead birds, and, turning away, suddenly

rose. The sight of these beautiful creatures lying there in blood and

dust, with broken wings, was distasteful to him.




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