Presently the tall man strides towards the fair-headed peasant, deals
him a single blow which knocks him from the back of the young fellow,
and, turning to the crowd, says with an informing air:

"THAT'S how we do it in Tambov!"

"Brutes! Villains!" screams the woman from Riazan, as she bends over
the young fellow. Her cheeks are livid, and as she wipes the flushed
face of the beaten youth with the hem of her gown, her dark eyes are
flashing with dry wrath, and her lips quivering so painfully as to
disclose a set of fine, level teeth.

Konev, pecking up to her, says with an air of advice:

"You had better take him away, and give him some water."

Upon this the fair-headed muzhik, rising to his knees, stretches a fist
towards the man from Tambov, and exclaims:

"Why should he have gone and bragged of his strength, pray?"

"Was that a good reason for thrashing him?"

"And who are you?"

"Who am I?"

"Yes, who are YOU?"

"Never mind. See that I don't give you another swipe!"

Upon this the onlookers plunge into a heated debate as to who was
actually the beginner of the disturbance, while the lithe young fellow
continues to wring his hands, and cry imploringly:

"DON'T make so much noise about it! Remember that we are in a strange
land, and that the folk hereabouts are strict."

So queerly do his ears project from his head that he would seem to be
able, if he pleased, to fold them right over his eyes.

Suddenly from the roseate heavens comes the vibrant note of a bell;
whereupon, the hubbub ceases and at the same moment a young Cossack
with a face studded with freckles, and, in his hands, a cudgel, makes
his appearance among the crowd.

"What does all this mean?" he inquires not uncivilly.

"They have been beating a man," the woman from Riazan replies. As she
does so she looks comely in spite of her wrath.

The Cossack glances at her--then smiles.

"And where is the party going to sleep?" he inquires of the crowd.

"Here," someone ventures.

"Then you must not--someone might break into the church. Go, rather, to
the Ataman [Cossack headman or mayor], and you will be billeted among
the huts."

"It is a matter of no consequence," Konev remarks as he paces beside
me. "Yet--"

"They seem to be taking us for robbers," is my interruption.

"As is everywhere the way," he comments. "It is but one thing more laid
to our charge. Caution decides always that a stranger is a thief."

In front of us wa