he would be whipped half-dead. Then the chief turned to Aksénov. He knew that Aksénov was a just man, and said:
"Old man, you are a truthful man, tell me before God who has done that."
Makár Seménovich stood as though nothing had happened and looked at the chief, and did not glance at Aksénov. Aksénov's arms and lips trembled, and he could not utter a word for long time. He thought: "If I protect him, why should I forgive him, since he has ruined me? Let him suffer for my torments! And if I tell on him, they will indeed whip him to death. And suppose that I have a wrong suspicion against him. Will that make it easier for me?"
The chief said once more:
"Well, old man, speak, tell the truth! Who has been digging it?"
Aksénov looked at Makár Seménovich, and said:
"I cannot tell, your Honour. God orders me not to tell. And I will not tell. Do with me as you please, – you have the power."
No matter how much the chief tried, Aksénov would not say anything more. And so they did not find out who had done the digging.
On the following night, as Aksénov lay down on the bed-boards and was just falling asleep, he heard somebody come up to him and sit down at his feet. He looked in the darkness and recognized Makár. Aksénov said:
"What more do you want of me? What are you doing here?"
Makár Seménovich was silent. Aksénov raised himself, and said:
"What do you want? Go away, or I will call the soldier."
Makár bent down close to Aksénov, and said to him in a whisper:
"Iván Dmítrievich, forgive me!"
Aksénov said:
"For what shall I forgive you?"
"It was I who killed the merchant and put the knife into your bag. I wanted to kill you, too, but they made a noise in the yard, so I put the knife into your bag and climbed through the window."
Aksénov was silent and did not know what to say. Makár Seménovich slipped down from the bed, made a low obeisance, and said:
"Iván Dmítrievich, forgive me, forgive me for God's sake! I will declare that it was I who killed the merchant, – you will be forgiven. You will return home."
Aksénov said:
"It is easy for you to speak so, but see how I have suffered! Where shall I go now? My wife has died, my children have forgotten me. I have no place to go to – "
Makár Seménovich did not get up from the floor. He struck his head against the earth, and said:
"Iván Dmítrievich, forgive me! When they whipped me with the knout I felt better than now that I am looking at you. You pitied me, and did not tell on me. Forgive me, for Christ's sake! Forgive me, the accursed evil-doer!" And he burst out into tears.
When Aksénov heard Makár Seménovich crying, he began to weep himself, and said:
"God will forgive you. Maybe I am a hundred times worse than you!"
And suddenly a load fell off from his soul. And he no longer pined for his home, and did not wish to leave the prison, but only thought of his last hour.
Makár Seménovich did not listen to Aksénov, but declared his guilt. When the decision came for Aksénov to leave, – he was dead.
HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY
We were hunting bears. My companion had a chance to shoot at a bear: he wounded him, but only in a soft spot. A little blood was left on the snow, but the bear got away.
We met in the forest and began to discuss what to do: whether to go and find that bear, or to wait two or three days until the bear should lie down again.
We asked the peasant bear drivers whether we could now surround the bear. An old bear driver said:
"No, we must give the bear a chance to calm himself. In about five days it will be possible to surround him, but if we go after him now he will only be frightened and will not lie down."
But a young bear driver disputed with the old man, and said that he could surround him now.
"Over this snow," he said, "the bear cannot get away far, – he is fat. He will lie down to-day again. And if he does not, I will overtake him on snow-shoes."
My companion, too, did not want to surround the bear now, and advised waiting.
But I said:
"What is the use of discussing the matter? Do as you please, but I will go with Demyán along the track. If we overtake him, so much is gained; if not, – I have nothing else to do to-day anyway, and it is not yet late."
And so we did.
My companions went to the sleigh, and back to the village, but Demyán and I took bread with us, and remained in the woods.
When all had left us, Demyán and I examined our guns, tucked our fur coats over our belts, and followed the track.
It was fine weather, chilly and calm. But walking on snow-shoes was a hard matter: the snow was deep and powdery.
The snow had not settled in the forest, and, besides, fresh snow had fallen on the day before, so that the snow-shoes sunk half a foot in the snow, and in places even deeper.
The bear track could be seen a distance away. We could see the way the bear had walked, for in spots he had fallen in the snow to his belly and had swept the snow aside. At first we walked in plain sight of the track, through a forest of large trees; then, when the track went into a small pine wood, Demyán stopped.
"We must now give up the track," he said. "He will, no doubt, lie down here. He has been sitting on his haunches, – you can see it by the snow. Let us go away from the track, and make a circle around him. But we must walk softly and make no noise, not even cough, or we shall scare him."
We went away from the track, to the left. We walked about five hundred steps and there we again saw the track before us. We again followed the track, and this took us to the road. We stopped on the road and began to look around, to see in what direction the bear had gone. Here and there on the road we could see the bear's paws with all the toes printed on the snow, while in others we could see the tracks of a peasant's bast shoes. He had, evidently, gone to the village.
We walked along the road. Demyán said to me:
"We need not watch the road; somewhere he will turn off the road, to the right or to the left, – we shall see in the snow. Somewhere he will turn off, – he will not go to the village."
We walked thus about a mile along the road; suddenly we saw the track turn off from the road. We looked at it, and see the wonder! It was a bear's track, but leading not from the road to the woods, but from the woods to the road: the toes were turned to the road. I said:
"That is another bear."
Demyán looked at it, and thought awhile.
"No," he said, "that is the same bear, only he has begun to cheat. He left the road backwards."
We
