ined Dunayka, his 'little soul', as the Cossacks call a man's
mistress, and thought of her with vexation. Silvery mists, a sign of
coming morning, glittered white above the water, and not far from him
young eagles were whistling and flapping their wings. At last the
crowing of a cock reached him from the distant village, followed by the
long-sustained note of another, which was again answered by yet other
voices.

'Time to wake them,' thought Lukashka, who had finished his ramrod and
felt his eyes growing heavy. Turning to his comrades he managed to make
out which pair of legs belonged to whom, when it suddenly seemed to him
that he heard something splash on the other side of the Terek. He
turned again towards the horizon beyond the hills, where day was
breaking under the upturned crescent, glanced at the outline of the
opposite bank, at the Terek, and at the now distinctly visible
driftwood upon it. For one instant it seemed to him that he was moving
and that the Terek with the drifting wood remained stationary. Again he
peered out. One large black log with a branch particularly attracted
his attention. The tree was floating in a strange way right down the
middle of the stream, neither rocking nor whirling. It even appeared
not to be floating altogether with the current, but to be crossing it
in the direction of the shallows. Lukashka stretching out his neck
watched it intently. The tree floated to the shallows, stopped, and
shifted in a peculiar manner. Lukashka thought he saw an arm stretched
out from beneath the tree. 'Supposing I killed an abrek all by myself!'
he thought, and seized his gun with a swift, unhurried movement,
putting up his gun-rest, placing the gun upon it, and holding it
noiselessly in position. Cocking the trigger, with bated breath he took
aim, still peering out intently. 'I won't wake them,' he thought. But
his heart began beating so fast that he remained motionless, listening.
Suddenly the trunk gave a plunge and again began to float across the
stream towards our bank. 'Only not to miss ...' thought he, and now by
the faint light of the moon he caught a glimpse of a Tartar's head in
front of the floating wood. He aimed straight at the head which
appeared to be quite near--just at the end of his rifle's barrel. He
glanced cross. 'Right enough it is an abrek! he thought joyfully, and
suddenly rising to his knees he again took aim. Having found the sight,
barely visible at the end of the long gun