es breaking. The rhythmical
rapid thud of galloping was heard for a moment and then changed into a
hollow rumble which resounded farther and farther off, re-echoing in
wider and wider circles through the forest. Olenin felt as though
something had snapped in his heart. He peered carefully but vainly into
the green thicket and then turned to the old man. Daddy Eroshka with
his gun pressed to his breast stood motionless; his cap was thrust
backwards, 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 he
began pulling at his grey beard, 'Here it stood. We should have come
round by the path.... Fool! fool!' and he gave his beard an angry tug.
Fool! Pig!' he repeated, pulling painfully at his own beard. Through
the forest something seemed to fly away in the mist, and ever farther
and farther off was heard the sound of the flight of the stag.

It was already dusk when, hungry, tired, but full of vigour, Olenin
returned with the old man. Dinner was ready. He ate and drank with the
old man till he felt warm and merry. Olenin then went out into the
porch. Again, to the west, the mountains rose before his eyes. Again
the old man told his endless stories of hunting, of abreks, of
sweethearts, and of all that free and reckless life. Again the fair
Maryanka went in and out and across the yard, her beautiful powerful
form outlined by her smock.

Chapter XX

The next day Olenin went alone to the spot where he and the old man
startled the stag. Instead of passing round through the gate he climbed
over the prickly hedge, as everybody else did, and before he had had
time to pull out the thorns that had caught in his coat, his dog, which
had run on in front, started two pheasants. He had hardly stepped among
the briers when the pheasants began to rise at every step (the old man
had not shown him that place the day before as he meant to keep it for
shooting from behind the screen). Olenin fired twelve times and killed
five pheasants, but clambering after them through the briers he got so
fatigued that he was drenched with perspiration. He called off his dog,
uncocked his gun, put in a bullet above the small shot, and brushing
away the mosquitoes with the wide sleeve of his Circassian coat he went
slowly to the spot where they had been the day before. It was however
impossible to keep