Then the Tartars came down, – they, too, were strangers. They took them, bound them, put them on their horses, and carried them off.
They travelled about three versts, when they were met by Abdul, the prisoners' master, and two more Tartars. They talked with each other, and the prisoners were put on the other horses and taken back to the village.
Abdul no longer laughed, and did not speak one word with them.
They were brought to the village at daybreak, and were placed in the street. The children ran up and beat them with stones and sticks, and screamed.
The Tartars gathered in a circle, and the old man from down-hill came, too. They talked together. Zhilín saw that they were sitting in judgment on them, discussing what to do with them. Some said that they ought to be sent farther into the mountains, but the old man said that they should be killed. Abdul disputed with them and said:
"I have paid money for them, and I will get a ransom for them."
But the old man said:
"They will not pay us anything; they will only give us trouble. It is a sin to feed Russians. Kill them, and that will be the end of it."
They all went their way. The master walked over to Zhilín and said:
"If the ransom does not come in two weeks, I will beat you to death. And if you try to run again I will kill you like a dog. Write a letter, and write it well!"
Paper was brought to them, and they wrote the letters. The stocks were put on them, and they were taken back of the mosque. There was a ditch there, about twelve feet in depth, – and into this ditch they were let down.
VI
They now led a very hard life. The stocks were not taken off, and they were not let out into the wide world. Unbaked dough was thrown down to them, as to dogs, and water was let down to them in a pitcher. There was a stench in the ditch, and it was close and damp. Kostylín grew very ill, and swelled, and had a breaking out on his whole body; and he kept groaning all the time, or he slept. Zhilín was discouraged: he saw that the situation was desperate. He did not know how to get out of it.
He began to dig, but there was no place to throw the dirt in; the master saw it, and threatened to kill him.
One day he was squatting in the ditch, and thinking of the free world, and he felt pretty bad. Suddenly a cake fell down on his knees, and a second, and some cherries. He looked up, – it was Dina. She looked at him, laughed, and ran away. Zhilín thought: "Maybe Dina will help me."
He cleaned up a place in the ditch, scraped up some clay, and began to make dolls. He made men, horses, and dogs. He thought: "When Dina comes I will throw them to her."
But on the next day Dina did not come. Zhilín heard the tramping of horses; somebody rode by, and the Tartars gathered at the mosque; they quarrelled and shouted, and talked about the Russians. And he heard the old man's voice. He could not make out exactly what it was, but he guessed that the Russians had come close to the village, and that the Tartars were afraid that they might come to the village, and they did not know what to do with the prisoners.
They talked awhile and went away. Suddenly he heard something rustle above him. He looked up; Dina was squatting down, and her knees towered above her head; she leaned over, and her necklace hung down and dangled over the ditch. Her little eyes glistened like stars. She took two cheese-cakes out of her sleeve and threw them down to him. Zhilín said to her:
"Why have you not been here for so long? I have made you some toys. Here they are!"
He began to throw one after the other to her, but she shook her head, and did not look at them.
"I do not want them," she said. She sat awhile in silence, and said; "Iván, they want to kill you!" She pointed with her hand to her neck.
"Who wants to kill me?"
"My father, – the old men tell him to. I am sorry for you."
So Zhilín said:
"If you pity me, bring me a long stick!"
She shook her head, to say that she could not. He folded his hands, and began to beg her:
"Dina, if you please! Dear Dina, bring it to me!"
"I cannot," she said. "The people are at home, and they would see me."
And she went away.
Zhilín was sitting there in the evening, and thinking what would happen. He kept looking up. The stars could be seen, and the moon was not yet up. The mullah called, and all grew quiet. Zhilín was beginning to fall asleep; he thought the girl would be afraid.
Suddenly some clay fell on his head. He looked up and saw a long pole coming down at the end of the ditch. It tumbled, and descended, and came down into the ditch. Zhilín was happy; he took hold of it and let it down, – it was a stout pole. He had seen it before on his master's roof.
He looked up: the stars were shining high in the heavens, and over the very ditch Dina's eyes glistened in the darkness. She bent her face over the edge of the ditch, and whispered: "Iván, Iván!" and waved her hands in front of her face, as much as to say: "Speak softly!"
"What is it?" asked Zhilín.
"They are all gone. There are two only at the house."
So Zhilín said:
"Kostylín, come, let us try for the last time; I will give you a lift."
Kostylín would not even listen.
"No," he said, "I shall never get away from here. Where should I go, since I have no strength to turn around?"
"If so, good-bye! Do not think ill of me!"
He kissed Kostylín.
He took hold of the pole, told Dina to hold on to it, and climbed up. Two or three times he slipped down: the stocks were in his way. Kostylín held him up, and he managed to get on. Dina pulled him by the shirt with all her might, and laughed.
Zhilín took the pole, and said:
"Take it to where you found it, for if they see it, they will beat you."
She dragged the pole away, and Zhilín went down-hill. He crawled down an incline, took a sharp stone, and tried to break the lock of the stocks. But the lock was a strong one, and he could not break it. He heard some one running down the hill, leaping lightly. He thought it was Dina. Dina ran up, took a stone, and said:
"Let me do it!"
She knelt down and tried to break it; but her arms were as thin as rods, – there was no strength in them. She threw away the stone, and began to weep. Zhilín again worked on the lock, and Dina squatted near him, and held on to his shoulder. Zhilín looked around; on the left, beyond the mountain, he saw a red glow, – the moon was rising.
"Well," he thought, "before the moon is up I must cross the ravine and get to the forest."
He got up, threw away the stone, and, though in the stocks, started to go.
"Good-bye, Dina dear! I will remember you all my life."
Dina took hold of him; she groped all over him, trying to find a place to put the cakes. He took them from her.
"Thank you," he said, "you are a clever girl. Who will make dolls for you without me?" And he patted her on the head.
Dina began to cry. She covered her eyes with her hands, and ran up-hill like a kid. In the darkness he could hear the ornaments in the braid striking against her shoulders.
Zhilín made the sign of the cross, took the lock of his fetters in his hand, that it might not clank, and started down the road, dragging his feet along, and looking at the glow, where the moon was rising. He recognized the road. By the straight road it would be about eight versts. If he only could get to the woods before the moon was entirely out! He crossed a brook, – and it was getting light beyond the mountain. He walked through the ravine; he walked and looked, but the moon was not yet to be seen. It was getting brighter, and on one side of the ravine everything could be seen more