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chasing a pig. I informed him that I had not met

the Cossack and pointed to the unhappy
victim of his rabid bravery.

"The scoundrel!" said the second Cossack.
"No sooner does he drink his fill of chikhir[1]

than off he goes and cuts up anything that comes in
his way. Let us be after him, Eremeich, we

must tie him up or else" . . .
[1] A Caucasian wine.

They took themselves off, and I continued my
way with greater caution, and at length arrived at

my lodgings without mishap.
I was living with a certain old Cossack under-

officer whom I loved, not only on account of his
kindly disposition, but also, and more especially,

on account of his pretty daughter, Nastya.
Wrapped up in a sheepskin coat she was

waiting for me, as usual, by the wicket gate.
The moon illumined her charming little lips, now

turned blue by the cold of the night. Recognizing
me she smiled; but I was in no mood to linger

with her.
"Good night, Nastya!" I said, and passed on.

She was about to make some answer, but only
sighed.

I fastened the door of my room after me,
lighted a candle, and threw myself on the bed;

but, on that occasion, slumber caused its presence
to be awaited longer than usual. By the time I

fell asleep the east was beginning to grow pale,
but I was evidently predestined not to have my

sleep out. At four o'clock in the morning two
fists knocked at my window. I sprang up.

"What is the matter?"
"Get up -- dress yourself!"

I dressed hurriedly and went out.
"Do you know what has happened?" said three

officers who had come for me, speaking all in one
voice.

They were deadly pale.
"No, what is it?"

"Vulich has been murdered!"
I was petrified.

"Yes, murdered!" they continued. "Let us
lose no time and go!"

"But where to?"
"You will learn as we go."

We set off. They told me all that had hap-
pened, supplementing their story with a variety

of observations on the subject of the strange
predestination which had saved Vulich from

imminent death half an hour before he actually
met his end.

Vulich had been walking alone along a dark
street, and the drunken Cossack who had cut up

the pig had sprung out upon him, and perhaps
would have passed him by without noticing

him, had not Vulich stopped suddenly and
said:

"Whom are you looking for, my man?"
"You!" answered the Cossack, striking him

with his sabre; and he cleft him from the
shoulder almost to the heart. . .

The two Cossacks who had met me and
followed the murderer had arrived on the scene

and raised the wounded man from the ground.
But he was already as his last gasp and said these

three words only -- "he was right!"
I alone understood the dark significance of

those words: they referred to me. I had
involuntarily foretold his fate to poor Vulich.

My instinct had not deceived me; I had indeed
read on his changed countenance the signs of

approaching death.
The murderer had locked himself up in an

empty hut at the end of the village; and thither
we went. A number of women, all of them

weeping, were running in the same direction; at
times a belated Cossack, hastily buckling on his

dagger, sprang out into the street and overtook
us at a run. The tumult was dreadful.

At length we arrived on the scene and found a
crowd standing around the hut, the door and

shutters of which were locked on the inside.
Groups of officers and Cossacks were engaged in

heated discussions; the women were shrieking,
wailing and talking all in one breath. One of the

old women struck my attention by her meaning
looks and the franticdespair expressed upon her

face. She was sitting on a thick plank, leaning
her elbows on her knees and supporting her head

with her hands. It was the mother of the
murderer. At times her lips moved. . . Was

it a prayer they were whispering, or a curse?
Meanwhile it was necessary to decide upon

some course of action and to seize the criminal.
Nobody, however, made bold to be the first to

rush forward.
I went up to the window and looked in through

a chink in the shutter. The criminal, pale of
face, was lying on the floor, holding a pistol in his

right hand. The blood-stained sabre was beside
him. His expressive eyes were rolling in terror;

at times he shuddered and clutched at his head,
as if indistinctly recalling the events of yesterday.

I could not read any sign of great determination
in that uneasy glance of his, and I told the major

that it would be better at once to give orders to
the Cossacks to burst open the door and rush in,

than to wait until the murderer had quite
recovered his senses.

At that moment the old captain of the Cossacks
went up to the door and called the murderer by

name. The latter answered back.
"You have committed a sin, brother Ephi-

mych!" said the captain, "so all you can do now
is to submit."

"I will not submit!" answered the Cossack.
"Have you no fear of God! You see, you

are not one of those cursed Chechenes, but an
honest Christian! Come, if you have done it in

an unguarded moment there is no help for it!
You cannot escape your fate!"

"I will not submit!" exclaimed the Cossack
menacingly, and we could hear the snap of the

cocked trigger.
"Hey, my good woman!" said the Cossack

captain to the old woman. "Say a word to your
son -- perhaps he will lend an ear to you. . .

You see, to go on like this is only to make God
angry. And look, the gentlemen here have

already been waiting two hours."
The old woman gazed fixedly at him and shook

her head.
"Vasili Petrovich," said the captain, going up

to the major; "he will not surrender. I know
him! If it comes to smashing in the door he will

strike down several of our men. Would it not be
better if you ordered him to be shot? There is

a wide chink in the shutter."
At that moment a strange idea flashed through

my head -- like Vulich I proposed to put fate to
the test.

"Wait," I said to the major, "I will take
him alive."

Bidding the captain enter into a conversation
with the murderer and setting three Cossacks at

the door ready to force it open and rush to my
aid at a given signal, I walked round the hut and

approached the fatal window. My heart was
beating violently.

"Aha, you cursed wretch!" cried the captain.
"Are you laughing at us, eh? Or do you think

that we won't be able to get the better of you?"
He began to knock at the door with all his

might. Putting my eye to the chink, I followed
the movements of the Cossack, who was not

expecting an attack from that direction. I
pulled the shutter away suddenly and threw

myself in at the window, head foremost. A shot
rang out right over my ear, and the bullet tore off

one of my epaulettes. But the smoke which filled
the room prevented my adversary from finding

the sabre which was lying beside him. I seized
him by the arms; the Cossacks burst in; and

three minutes had not elapsed before they had
the criminal bound and led off under escort.

The people dispersed, the officers congratulated
me -- and indeed there was cause for congratula-

tion.
After all that, it would hardly seem possible

to avoid becoming a fatalist? But who knows
for certain whether he is convinced of anything

or not? And how often is a deception of the
senses or an error of the reason accepted as a

conviction! . . . I prefer to doubt everything.
Such a disposition is no bar to decision of

character; on the contrary, so far as I am
concerned, I always advance more boldly when I

do not know what is awaiting me. You see,
nothing can happen worse than death -- and from

death there is no escape.
On my return to the fortress I related to

Maksim Maksimych all that I had seen and
experienced; and I sought to learn his opinion

on the subject of predestination.
At first he did not understand the word. I

explained it to him as well as I could, and then he
said, with a significant shake of the head:

"Yes, sir, of course! It was a very ingenious
trick! However, these Asiatic pistols often

miss fire if they are badly oiled or if you don't
press hard enough on the trigger. I confess I

don't like the Circassian carbines either. Some-
how or other they don't suit the like of us: the

butt end is so small, and any minute you may
get your nose burnt! On the other hand, their

sabres, now -- well, all I need say is, my best
respects to them!"

Afterwards he said, on reflecting a little:
"Yes, it is a pity about the poor fellow! The



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