‘Is that you, Peter Nikoláevich?’ said she, addressing him.
‘It’s me,’ said Kámenev. ‘Ah, Butler, how d’you do?… Not asleep yet? Having a walk with Márya Dmítrievna! You’d better look out or the major will give it you.… Where is he?’
‘Why, there.… Listen!’ replied Márya Dmítrievna pointing in the direction whence came the sounds of a tulumbas28 and songs. ‘They’re on the spree.’
‘Why? Are your people having a spree on their own?’
‘No; some officers have come from Hasav-Yurt, and they are being entertained.’
‘Ah, that’s good! I shall be in time.… I just want the major for a moment.’
‘On business?’ asked Butler.
‘Yes, just a little business matter.’
‘Good or bad?’
‘It all depends.… Good for us but bad for some people,’ and Kámenev laughed.
By this time they had reached the major’s house.
‘Chikhirév,’ shouted Kámenev to one of his Cossacks, ‘come here!’
A Don Cossack rode up from among the others. He was dressed in the ordinary Don Cossack uniform with high boots and a mantle, and carried saddle-bags behind.
‘Well, take the thing out,’ said Kámenev, dismounting.
The Cossack also dismounted, and took a sack out of his saddle-bag. Kámenev took the sack from him and inserted his hand.
‘Well, shall I show you a novelty? You won’t be frightened, Márya Dmítrievna?’
‘Why should I be frightened?’ she replied.
‘Here it is!’ said Kámenev taking out a man’s head and holding it up in the light of the moon. ‘Do you recognize it?’
It was a shaven head with salient brows, black short-cut beard and moustaches, one eye open and the other half-closed. The shaven skull was cleft, but not right through, and there was congealed blood in the nose. The neck was wrapped in a blood-stained towel. Notwithstanding the many wounds on the head, the blue lips still bore a kindly childlike expression.
Márya Dmítrievna looked at it, and without a word turned away and went quickly into the house.
Butler could not tear his eyes from the terrible head. It was the head of that very Hadji Murád with whom he had so recently spent his evenings in such friendly intercourse.
‘What does this mean? Who has killed him?’ he asked.
‘He wanted to give us the slip, but was caught,’ said Kámenev, and he gave the head back to the Cossack and went into the house with Butler.
‘He died like a hero,’ he added.
‘But however did it all happen?’
‘Just wait a bit. When the major comes I’ll tell you all about it. That’s what I am sent for. I take it round to all the forts and aouls and show it.’
The major was sent for, and came back accompanied by two other officers as drunk as himself, and began embracing Kámenev.
‘And I have brought you Hadji Murád’s head,’ said Kámenev.
‘No?… Killed?’
‘Yes; wanted to escape.’
‘I always said he would bamboozle them!… And where is it? The head, I mean.… Let’s see it.’
The Cossack was called, and brought in the bag with the head. It was taken out and the major looked long at it with drunken eyes.
‘All the same, he was a fine fellow,’ said he. ‘Let me kiss him!’
‘Yes, it’s true. It was a valiant head,’ said one of the officers.
When they had all looked at it, it was returned to the Cossack who put it in his bag, trying to let it bump against the floor as gently as possible.
‘I say, Kámenev, what speech do you make when you show the head?’ asked an officer.
‘No!… Let me kiss him. He gave me a sword!’ shouted the major.
Butler went out into the porch.
Márya Dmítrievna was sitting on the second step. She looked round at Butler and at once turned angrily away again.
‘What’s the matter, Márya Dmítrievna?’ asked he.
‘You’re all cut-throats!… I hate it! You’re cut-throats, really,’ and she got up.
‘It might happen to anyone,’ remarked Butler, not knowing what to say. ‘That’s war.’
‘War? War, indeed!… Cut-throats and nothing else. A dead body should be given back to the earth, and they’re grinning at it there!… Cut-throats, really,’ she repeated, as she descended the steps and entered the house by the back door.
Butler returned to the room and asked Kámenev to tell them in detail how the thing had happened.
And Kámenev told them.
This is what had happened.
XXV
HADJI MURÁD was allowed to go out riding in the neighbourhood of the town, but never without a convoy of Cossacks. There was only half a troop of them altogether in Nukhá, ten of whom were employed by the officers, so that if ten were sent out with Hadji Murád (according to the orders received) the same men would have had to go every other day. Therefore after ten had been sent out the first day, it was decided to send only five in future and Hadji Murád was asked not to take all his henchmen with him. But on April the 25th he rode out with all five. When he mounted, the commander, noticing that all five henchmen were going with him, told him that he was forbidden to take them all, but Hadji Murád pretended not to hear, touched his horse, and the commander did not insist.
With the Cossacks rode a non-commissioned officer, Nazárov, who had received the Cross of St George for bravery. He was a young, healthy, brown-haired lad, as fresh as a rose. He was the eldest of a poor family belonging to the sect of Old Believers, had grown up without a father, and had maintained his old mother, three sisters, and two brothers.
‘Mind, Nazárov, keep close to him!’ shouted the commander.
‘All right, your honour!’ answered Nazárov, and rising in his stirrups and adjusting the rifle that hung at his back he started his fine large roan gelding at a trot. Four Cossacks followed him: Ferapóntov, tall and thin, a regular thief and plunderer (it was he who had sold gunpowder to Gamzálo); Ignátov, a sturdy peasant who boasted of his strength, though he was no longer young and had nearly completed his service; Míshkin, a weakly lad at whom everybody laughed; and the young fair-haired Petrakóv, his mother’s only son, always amiable and jolly.
The morning had been misty, but it cleared up later on and the opening foliage, the young virgin grass, the sprouting corn, and the ripples of the rapid river just visible to the left of the road, all glittered in the sunshine.
Hadji Murád rode slowly along followed by the Cossacks and by his henchmen. They rode out along the road beyond the fort at a walk. They met women carrying baskets on their heads, soldiers driving carts, and creaking wagons drawn by buffaloes. When he had gone about a mile and a half Hadji Murád touched up his white Kabardá horse, which started at an amble that obliged the henchmen and Cossacks to ride at a quick trot to keep up with him.
‘Ah, he’s got a fine horse under him,’ said Ferapóntov. ‘If only he were still an enemy I’d soon bring him down.’
‘Yes, mate. Three hundred rubles were offered for that horse in Tiflis.’
‘But I can get ahead of him on mine,’ said Nazárov.
‘You get ahead? A likely thing!’
Hadji Murád kept increasing his pace.
‘Hey, kunák, you mustn’t do that. Steady!’ cried Nazárov, starting to overtake Hadji Murád.
Hadji Murád looked round, said nothing, and continued to ride at the same pace.
‘Mind, they’re up to something, the devils!’ said Ignátov. ‘See how they are tearing along.’
So they rode for the best part of a mile in the direction of the mountains.
‘I tell you it won’t do!’ shouted Nazárov.
Hadji Murád did not answer or look round, but only increased his pace to a gallop.
‘Humbug! You won’t get away!’ shouted Nazárov, stung to the quick. He gave his big roan gelding a cut with his whip and, rising in his stirrups and bending forward, flew full speed in pursuit of Hadji Murád.