the
hills. It exchanged glances with the steppe, as though to say, "Here
I am," and frowned. Suddenly something burst in the stagnant air;
there was a violent squall of wind which whirled round and round,
roaring and whistling over the steppe. At once a murmur rose from
the grass and last year's dry herbage, the dust curled in spiral
eddies over the road, raced over the steppe, and carrying with it
straws, dragon flies and feathers, rose up in a whirling black
column towards the sky and darkened the sun. Prickly uprooted plants
ran stumbling and leaping in all directions over the steppe, and
one of them got caught in the whirlwind, turned round and round
like a bird, flew towards the sky, and turning into a little black
speck, vanished from sight. After it flew another, and then a third,
and Yegorushka saw two of them meet in the blue height and clutch
at one another as though they were wrestling.

A bustard flew up by the very road. Fluttering his wings and his
tail, he looked, bathed in the sunshine, like an angler's glittering
tin fish or a waterfly flashing so swiftly over the water that its
wings cannot be told from its antenna, which seem to be growing
before, behind and on all sides. . . . Quivering in the air like
an insect with a shimmer of bright colours, the bustard flew high
up in a straight line, then, probably frightened by a cloud of dust,
swerved to one side, and for a long time the gleam of his wings
could be seen. . . .

Then a corncrake flew up from the grass, alarmed by the hurricane
and not knowing what was the matter. It flew with the wind and not
against it, like all the other birds, so that all its feathers were
ruffled up and it was puffed out to the size of a hen and looked
very angry and impressive. Only the rooks who had grown old on the
steppe and were accustomed to its vagaries hovered calmly over the
grass, or taking no notice of anything, went on unconcernedly pecking
with their stout beaks at the hard earth.

There was a dull roll of thunder beyond the hills; there came a
whiff of fresh air. Deniska gave a cheerful whistle and lashed his
horses. Father Christopher and Kuzmitchov held their hats and looked
intently towards the hills. . . . How pleasant a shower of rain
would have been!

One effort, one struggle more, and it seemed the steppe would have
got the upper hand. But the unseen oppressive force gradually riveted
its fetters on the wind and the air, laid the dust, and the s