‘I can’t make anything out. It’s too dark. There’s nothing but ravines. We must drive against the wind again.’
They set off once more. Again Nikíta went stumbling through the snow, again he fell in, again climbed out and trudged about, and at last quite out of breath he sat down beside the sledge.
‘Well, how now?’ asked Vasíli Andréevich.
‘Why, I am quite worn out and the horse won’t go.’
‘Then what’s to be done?’
‘Why, wait a minute.’
Nikíta went away again but soon returned.
‘Follow me!’ he said, going in front of the horse.
Vasíli Andréevich no longer gave orders but implicitly did what Nikíta told him.
‘Here, follow me!’ Nikíta shouted, stepping quickly to the right, and seizing the rein he led Mukhórty down towards a snow-drift.
At first the horse held back, then he jerked forward, hoping to leap the drift, but he had not the strength and sank into it up to his collar.
‘Get out!’ Nikíta called to Vasíli Andréevich who still sat in the sledge, and taking hold of one shaft he moved the sledge closer to the horse. ‘It’s hard, brother!’ he said to Mukhórty, ‘but it can’t be helped. Make an effort! Now, now, just a little one!’ he shouted.
The horse gave a tug, then another, but failed to clear himself and settled down again as if considering something.
‘Now, brother, this won’t do!’ Nikíta admonished him. ‘Now once more!’
Again Nikíta tugged at the shaft on his side, and Vasíli Andréevich did the same on the other.
Mukhórty lifted his head and then gave a sudden jerk.
‘That’s it! That’s it!’ cried Nikíta. ‘Don’t be afraid – you won’t sink!’
One plunge, another, and a third, and at last Mukhórty was out of the snow-drift, and stood still, breathing heavily and shaking the snow off himself. Nikíta wished to lead him farther, but Vasíli Andréevich, in his two fur coats, was so out of breath that he could not walk farther and dropped into the sledge.
‘Let me get my breath!’ he said, unfastening the kerchief with which he had tied the collar of his fur coat at the village.
‘It’s all right here. You lie there,’ said Nikíta. ‘I will lead him along.’ And with Vasíli Andréevich in the sledge he led the horse by the bridle about ten paces down and then up a slight rise, and stopped.
The place where Nikíta had stopped was not completely in the hollow where the snow sweeping down from the hillocks might have buried them altogether, but still it was partly sheltered from the wind by the side of the ravine. There were moments when the wind seemed to abate a little, but that did not last long and as if to make up for that respite the storm swept down with tenfold vigour and tore and whirled the more fiercely. Such a gust struck them at the moment when Vasíli Andréevich, having recovered his breath, got out of the sledge and went up to Nikíta to consult him as to what they should do. They both bent down involuntarily and waited till the violence of the squall should have passed. Mukhórty too laid back his ears and shook his head discontentedly. As soon as the violence of the blast had abated a little, Nikíta took off his mittens, stuck them into his belt, breathed on to his hands, and began to undo the straps of the shaft-bow.
‘What’s that you are doing there?’ asked Vasíli Andréevich.
‘Unharnessing. What else is there to do? I have no strength left,’ said Nikíta as though excusing himself.
‘Can’t we drive somewhere?’
‘No, we can’t. We shall only kill the horse. Why, the poor beast is not himself now,’ said Nikíta, pointing to the horse, which was standing submissively waiting for what might come, with his steep wet sides heaving heavily. ‘We shall have to stay the night here,’ he said, as if preparing to spend the night at an inn, and he proceeded to unfasten the collar-straps. The buckles came undone.
‘But shan’t we be frozen?’ remarked Vasíli Andréevich.
‘Well, if we are we can’t help it,’ said Nikíta.
VI
ALTHOUGH Vasíli Andréevich felt quite warm in his two fur coats, especially after struggling in the snow-drift, a cold shiver ran down his back on realizing that he must really spend the night where they were. To calm himself he sat down in the sledge and got out his cigarettes and matches.
Nikíta meanwhile unharnessed Mukhórty. He unstrapped the belly-band and the back-band, took away the reins, loosened the collar-strap, and removed the shaft-bow, talking to him all the time to encourage him.
‘Now come out! Come out!’ he said, leading him clear of the shafts. ‘Now we’ll tie you up here and I’ll put down some straw and take off your bridle. When you’ve had a bite you’ll feel more cheerful.’
But Mukhórty was restless and evidently not comforted by Nikíta’s remarks. He stepped now on one foot and now on another, and pressed close against the sledge, turning his back to the wind and rubbing his head on Nikíta’s sleeve. Then, as if not to pain Nikíta by refusing his offer of the straw he put before him, he hurriedly snatched a wisp out of the sledge, but immediately decided that it was now no time to think of straw and threw it down, and the wind instantly scattered it, carried it away, and covered it with snow.
‘Now we will set up a signal,’ said Nikíta, and turning the front of the sledge to the wind he tied the shafts together with a strap and set them up on end in front of the sledge. ‘There now, when the snow covers us up, good folk will see the shafts and dig us out,’ he said, slapping his mittens together and putting them on. ‘That’s what the old folk taught us!’
Vasíli Andréevich meanwhile had unfastened his coat, and holding its skirts up for shelter, struck one sulphur match after another on the steel box. But his hands trembled, and one match after another either did not kindle or was blown out by the wind just as he was lifting it to the cigarette. At last a match did burn up, and its flame lit up for a moment the fur of his coat, his hand with the gold ring on the bent forefinger, and the snow-sprinkled oat-straw that stuck out from under the drugget. The cigarette lighted, he eagerly took a whiff or two, inhaled the smoke, let it out through his moustache, and would have inhaled again, but the wind tore off the burning tobacco and whirled it away as it had done the straw.
But even these few puffs had cheered him.
‘If we must spend the night here, we must!’ he said with decision. ‘Wait a bit, I’ll arrange a flag as well,’ he added, picking up the kerchief which he had thrown down in the sledge after taking it from round his collar, and drawing off his gloves and standing up on the front of the sledge and stretching himself to reach the strap, he tied the handkerchief to it with a tight knot.
The kerchief immediately began to flutter wildly, now clinging round the shaft, now suddenly streaming out, stretching and flapping.
‘Just see what a fine flag!’ said Vasíli Andréevich, admiring his handiwork and letting himself down into the sledge. ‘We should be warmer together, but there’s not room enough for two,’ he added.
‘I’ll find a place,’ said Nikita. ‘But I must cover up the horse first – he sweated so, poor thing. Let go!’ he added, drawing the drugget from under Vasíli Andréevich.
Having got the drugget he folded it in two, and after taking off the breechband and pad, covered Mukhórty with it.
‘Anyhow it will be warmer, silly!’ he said, putting back the breechband and the pad on the horse over the drugget. Then having finished that business he returned to the sledge, and addressing Vasíli Andréevich, said: ‘You won’t need the sackcloth, will you? And let me have some straw.’
And having taken these things from under Vasíli Andréevich, Nikíta went behind the sledge, dug out a hole for himself in the snow, put straw into it, wrapped his coat well round him, covered himself with the sackcloth, and pulling his cap well down seated himself on the straw he had spread, and leant against the wooden back of the sledge to shelter himself from the wind and the snow.