matter, I like it. Let them joke about their old daddy,' he said
with those firm musical intonations with which old and venerable people
speak. 'Are you an army commander?' he added.

'No, I am a cadet. But where did you kill those pheasants?' asked
Olenin.

'I dispatched these three hens in the forest,' answered the old man,
turning his broad back towards the window to show the hen pheasants
which were hanging with their heads tucked into his belt and staining
his coat with blood. 'Haven't you seen any?' he asked. 'Take a brace if
you like! Here you are,' and he handed two of the pheasants in at the
window. 'Are you a sportsman yourself?' he asked.

'I am. During the campaign I killed four myself.'

'Four? What a lot!' said the old man sarcastically. 'And are you a
drinker? Do you drink CHIKHIR?'

'Why not? I like a drink.'

'Ah, I see you are a trump! We shall be KUNAKS, you and I,' said Daddy
Eroshka.

'Step in,' said Olenin. 'We'll have a drop of CHIKHIR.'

'I might as well,' said the old man, 'but take the pheasants.' The old
man's face showed that he liked the cadet. He had seen at once that he
could get free drinks from him, and that therefore it would be all
right to give him a brace of pheasants.

Soon Daddy Eroshka's figure appeared in the doorway of the hut, and it
was only then that Olenin became fully conscious of the enormous size
and sturdy build of this man, whose red-brown face with its perfectly
white broad beard was all furrowed by deep lines produced by age and
toil. For an old man, the muscles of his legs, arms, and shoulders were
quite exceptionally large and prominent. There were deep scars on his
head under the short-cropped hair. His thick sinewy neck was covered
with deep intersecting folds like a bull's. His horny hands were
bruised and scratched. He stepped lightly and easily over the
threshold, unslung his gun and placed it in a corner, and casting a
rapid glance round the room noted the value of the goods and chattels
deposited in the hut, and with out-turned toes stepped softly, in his
sandals of raw hide, into the middle of the room. He brought with him a
penetrating but not unpleasant smell of CHIKHIR wine, vodka, gunpowder,
and congealed blood.

Daddy Eroshka bowed down before the icons, smoothed his beard, and
approaching Olenin held out his thick brown hand. 'Koshkildy,' said he;
That is Tartar for "Good-day"--"Peace be unto you," it means in their
tongue.'

'Koshkildy