teps.

"Is he coming by the highroad?" asked Dymov.

"No, over the open country. . . . He is coming this way."

A minute passed in silence.

"And maybe it's the merchant who was buried here walking over the
steppe," said Dymov.

All looked askance at the cross, exchanged glances and suddenly
broke into a laugh. They felt ashamed of their terror.

"Why should he walk?" asked Panteley. "It's only those walk at night
whom the earth will not take to herself. And the merchants were all
right. . . . The merchants have received the crown of martyrs."

But all at once they heard the sound of steps; someone was coming
in haste.

"He's carrying something," said Vassya.

They could hear the grass rustling and the dry twigs crackling under
the feet of the approaching wayfarer. But from the glare of the
camp fire nothing could be seen. At last the steps sounded close
by, and someone coughed. The flickering light seemed to part; a
veil dropped from the waggoners' eyes, and they saw a man facing
them.

Whether it was due to the flickering light or because everyone
wanted to make out the man's face first of all, it happened, strangely
enough, that at the first glance at him they all saw, first of all,
not his face nor his clothes, but his smile. It was an extraordinarily
good-natured, broad, soft smile, like that of a baby on waking, one
of those infectious smiles to which it is difficult not to respond
by smiling too. The stranger, when they did get a good look at him,
turned out to be a man of thirty, ugly and in no way remarkable.
He was a tall Little Russian, with a long nose, long arms and long
legs; everything about him seemed long except his neck, which was
so short that it made him seem stooping. He was wearing a clean
white shirt with an embroidered collar, white trousers, and new
high boots, and in comparison with the waggoners he looked quite a
dandy. In his arms he was carrying something big, white, and at the
first glance strange-looking, and the stock of a gun also peeped
out from behind his shoulder.

Coming from the darkness into the circle of light, he stopped short
as though petrified, and for half a minute looked at the waggoners
as though he would have said: "Just look what a smile I have!"

Then he took a step towards the fire, smiled still more radiantly
and said:

"Bread and salt, friends!"

"You are very welcome!" Panteley answered for them all.

The stranger put down by the fire what he was