ereby saving my horse, which jumped out. The Cossacks
saw the whole scene, only not one of them got down to search for me,
thinking probably that I had mortally injured myself; and I heard them
rushing to catch my horse. My heart bled within me. I crept along the
hollow through the thick grass--then I looked around: it was the end of
the forest. A few Cossacks were riding out from it on to the clearing,
and there was my Karagyoz [10] galloping straight towards them. With a
shout they all dashed forward. For a long, long time they pursued him,
and one of them, in particular, was once or twice almost successful in
throwing a lasso over his neck.

"I trembled, dropped my eyes, and began to pray. After a few moments
I looked up again, and there was my Karagyoz flying along, his tail
waving--free as the wind; and the giaours, on their jaded horses, were
trailing along far behind, one after another, across the steppe.
Wallah! It is true--really true! Till late at night I lay in the hollow.
Suddenly--what do you think, Azamat? I heard in the darkness a horse
trotting along the bank of the hollow, snorting, neighing, and beating
the ground with his hoofs. I recognised my Karagyoz's voice; 'twas he,
my comrade!"... Since that time we have never been parted!'

"And I could hear him patting his galloper's sleek neck with his hand,
as he called him various fond names.

"'If I had a stud of a thousand mares,' said Azamat, 'I would give it
all for your Karagyoz!'

"'Yok! [11] I would not take it!' said Kazbich indifferently.

"'Listen, Kazbich,' said Azamat, trying to ingratiate himself with him.
'You are a kindhearted man, you are a brave horseman, but my father is
afraid of the Russians and will not allow me to go on the mountains.
Give me your horse, and I will do anything you wish. I will steal my
father's best rifle for you, or his sabre--just as you like--and his
sabre is a genuine Gurda; [12] you have only to lay the edge against
your hand, and it will cut you; a coat of mail like yours is nothing
against it.'

"Kazbich remained silent.

"'The first time I saw your horse,' continued Azamat, 'when he was
wheeling and leaping under you, his nostrils distended, and the flints
flying in showers from under his hoofs, something I could not understand
took place within my soul; and since that time I have been weary of
everything. I have looked with disdain on my father's best gallopers; I
have been ashamed to be seen on them,