The Horse-Stealers and Other Stories | Page 2

are drunk and asleep, and some have been gone to Ryepino
since the morning. It's a holiday. . . ."
As he fastened his horse up in the shed, Yergunov heard a neigh, and
distinguished in the darkness another horse, and felt on it a Cossack
saddle. So there must be someone else in the house besides the woman
and her daughter. For greater security Yergunov unsaddled his horse,
and when he went into the house, took with him both his purchases and
his saddle.
The first room into which he went was large and very hot, and smelt of
freshly washed floors. A short, lean peasant of about forty, with a small,
fair beard, wearing a dark blue shirt, was sitting at the table under the

holy images. It was Kalashnikov, an arrant scoundrel and horse-stealer,
whose father and uncle kept a tavern in Bogalyovka, and disposed of
the stolen horses where they could. He too had been to the hospital
more than once, not for medical treatment, but to see the doctor about
horses--to ask whether he had not one for sale, and whether his honour
would not like to swop his bay mare for a dun-coloured gelding. Now
his head was pomaded and a silver ear-ring glittered in his ear, and
altogether he had a holiday air. Frowning and dropping his lower lip, he
was looking intently at a big dog's-eared picture-book. Another peasant
lay stretched on the floor near the stove; his head, his shoulders, and his
chest were covered with a sheepskin--he was probably asleep; beside
his new boots, with shining bits of metal on the heels, there were two
dark pools of melted snow.
Seeing the hospital assistant, Kalashnikov greeted him.
"Yes, it is weather," said Yergunov, rubbing his chilled knees with his
open hands. "The snow is up to one's neck; I am soaked to the skin, I
can tell you. And I believe my revolver is, too. . . ."
He took out his revolver, looked it all over, and put it back in his
knapsack. But the revolver made no impression at all; the peasant went
on looking at the book.
"Yes, it is weather. . . . I lost my way, and if it had not been for the
dogs here, I do believe it would have been my death. There would have
been a nice to-do. And where are the women?"
"The old woman has gone to Ryepino, and the girl is getting supper
ready . . ." answered Kalashnikov.
Silence followed. Yergunov, shivering and gasping, breathed on his
hands, huddled up, and made a show of being very cold and exhausted.
The still angry dogs could be heard howling outside. It was dreary.
"You come from Bogalyovka, don't you?" he asked the peasant sternly.
"Yes, from Bogalyovka."
And to while away the time Yergunov began to think about
Bogalyovka. It was a big village and it lay in a deep ravine, so that
when one drove along the highroad on a moonlight night, and looked
down into the dark ravine and then up at the sky, it seemed as though
the moon were hanging over a bottomless abyss and it were the end of
the world. The path going down was steep, winding, and so narrow that
when one drove down to Bogalyovka on account of some epidemic or

to vaccinate the people, one had to shout at the top of one's voice, or
whistle all the way, for if one met a cart coming up one could not pass.
The peasants of Bogalyovka had the reputation of being good gardeners
and horse-stealers. They had well-stocked gardens. In spring the whole
village was buried in white cherry-blossom, and in the summer they
sold cherries at three kopecks a pail. One could pay three kopecks and
pick as one liked. Their women were handsome and looked well fed,
they were fond of finery, and never did anything even on working-days,
but spent all their time sitting on the ledge in front of their houses and
searching in each other's heads.
But at last there was the sound of footsteps. Lyubka, a girl of twenty,
with bare feet and a red dress, came into the room. . . . She looked
sideways at Yergunov and walked twice from one end of the room to
the other. She did not move simply, but with tiny steps, thrusting
forward her bosom; evidently she enjoyed padding about with her bare
feet on the freshly washed floor, and had taken off her shoes on
purpose.
Kalashnikov laughed at something and beckoned her with his finger.
She went up to the table, and he showed her a picture of the Prophet
Elijah, who, driving three horses abreast, was dashing up to the sky.
Lyubka put her elbow