nor
God! To steal what is the Lord's! Hanging's too good for them! In
old days the governors used to have such rogues flogged."
"However you punish, whether it is with flogging or anything else,
it will be no good, you will not knock the wickedness out of a
wicked man."
"Save and preserve us, Queen of Heaven!" The forester sighed abruptly.
"Save us from all enemies and evildoers. Last week at Volovy
Zaimishtchy, a mower struck another on the chest with his scythe
. . . he killed him outright! And what was it all about, God bless
me! One mower came out of the tavern . . . drunk. The other met
him, drunk too."
The young man, who had been listening attentively, suddenly started,
and his face grew tense as he listened.
"Stay," he said, interrupting the forester. "I fancy someone is
shouting."
The hunter and the forester fell to listening with their eyes fixed
on the window. Through the noise of the forest they could hear
sounds such as the strained ear can always distinguish in every
storm, so that it was difficult to make out whether people were
calling for help or whether the wind was wailing in the chimney.
But the wind tore at the roof, tapped at the paper on the window,
and brought a distinct shout of "Help!"
"Talk of your murderers," said the hunter, turning pale and getting
up. "Someone is being robbed!"
"Lord have mercy on us," whispered the forester, and he, too, turned
pale and got up.
The hunter looked aimlessly out of window and walked up and down
the hut.
"What a night, what a night!" he muttered. "You can't see your hand
before your face! The very time for a robbery. Do you hear? There
is a shout again."
The forester looked at the ikon and from the ikon turned his eyes
upon the hunter, and sank on to the bench, collapsing like a man
terrified by sudden bad news.
"Good Christian," he said in a tearful voice, "you might go into
the passage and bolt the door. And we must put out the light."
"What for?"
"By ill-luck they may find their way here. . . . Oh, our sins!"
"We ought to be going, and you talk of bolting the door! You are a
clever one! Are you coming?"
The hunter threw his gun over his shoulder and picked up his cap.
"Get ready, take your gun. Hey, Flerka, here," he called to his
dog. "Flerka!"
A dog with long frayed ears, a mongrel between a setter and a
house-dog, came out from under the bench. He stretched himself by
his master's feet and wagged his tail.
"
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