up, casting out upon the steppe an enormous ruddy circle of light. The suffocated man began to revive slowly.
After a time he cast his bloodshot eyes around on the strangers, examining their faces; then he tried to stand up. The soldier who had previously talked with the lieutenant raised him by the armpits; another put in his hand a halbert, upon which the stranger leaned with all his force. His face was still purple, his veins swollen. At last, with a suppressed voice, he coughed out his first word, "Water!"
They gave him gorailka, which he drank repeatedly, and which appeared to do him good, for after he had removed the flask from his lips at last, he inquired in a clear voice, "In whose hands am I?"
The officer rose and approached him. "In the hands of those who saved you."
"It was not you, then, who caught me with a lariat?"
"No; the sabre is our weapon, not the lariat. You wrong our good soldiers with the suspicion. You were seized by ruffians, pretended Tartars. You can look at them if you are curious, for they are lying out there slaughtered like sheep."
Saying this, he pointed with his hand to a number of dark bodies lying below the height.
To this the stranger answered, "If you will permit me to rest."
They brought him a felt-covered saddle, on which he seated himself in silence.
He was in the prime of life, of medium height, with broad shoulders, almost gigantic build of body, and striking features. He had an enormous head, a complexion dried and sunburnt, black eyes, somewhat aslant, like those of a Tartar; over his thin lips hung a mustache ending at the tips in two broad bunches. His powerful face indicated courage and pride. There was in it something at once attractive and repulsive,--the dignity of a hetman with Tartar cunning, kindness, and ferocity.
After he had sat awhile on the saddle he rose, and beyond all expectation, went to look at the bodies instead of returning thanks.
"How churlish!" muttered the lieutenant.
The stranger examined each face carefully, nodding his head like a man who has seen through everything; then he turned slowly to the lieutenant, slapping himself on the side, and seeking involuntarily his belt, behind which he wished evidently to pass his hand.
This importance in a man just rescued from the halter did not please the young lieutenant, and he said in irony,--
"One might say that you are looking for acquaintances among those robbers, or that you are saying a litany for their souls."
"You are both right and wrong. You are right, for I was looking for acquaintances; and you are wrong, for they are not robbers, but servants of a petty nobleman, my neighbor."
"Then it is clear that you do not drink out of the same spring with that neighbor."
A strange smile passed over the thin lips of the stranger.
"And in that you are wrong," muttered he through his teeth. In a moment he added audibly: "But pardon for not having first given thanks for the aid and effective succor which freed me from such sudden death. Your courage has redeemed my carelessness, for I separated from my men; but my gratitude is equal to your good-will."
Having said this, he reached his hand to the lieutenant.
But the haughty young man did not stir from his place, and was in no hurry to give his hand; instead of that he said,--
"I should like to know first if I have to do with a nobleman; for though I have no doubt you are one, still it does not befit me to accept the thanks of a nameless person."
"I see you have the mettle of a knight, and speak justly, I should have begun my speech and thanks with my name. I am Zenovi Abdank; my escutcheon that of Abdank with a cross; a nobleman from the province of Kieff; a landholder, and a colonel of the Cossack regiment of Prince Dominik Zaslavski."
"And I am Yan Skshetuski, lieutenant of the armored regiment of Prince Yeremi Vishnyevetski."
"You serve under a famous warrior. Accept my thanks and hand."
The lieutenant hesitated no longer. It is true that armored officers looked down on men of the other regiments; but Pan Yan was in the steppe, in the Wilderness, where such things were less remembered. Besides, he had to do with a colonel. Of this he had ocular proof, for when his soldiers brought Pan Abdank the belt and sabre which were taken from his person in order to revive him, they brought at the same time a short staff with a bone shaft and ivory head, such as Cossack colonels were in the habit of using. Besides, the dress of Zenovi Abdank was rich, and his educated speech indicated a quick mind and social training.
Pan Yan therefore invited him to supper. The odor of roasted meats began to go out from the fire just then, tickling the nostrils and the palate. The attendant brought the meats, and served them on a plate. The two men fell to eating; and when a good-sized goat-skin of Moldavian wine was brought, a lively conversation sprang up without delay.
"A safe return home to us," said Pan Yan.
"Then you are returning home? Whence, may I ask?" inquired Abdank.
"From a long journey,--from the Crimea."
"What were you doing there? Did you go with ransom?"
"No, Colonel, I went to the Khan himself."
Abdank turned an inquisitive ear. "Did you, indeed? Were you well received? And what was your errand to the Khan?"
"I carried a letter from Prince Yeremi."
"You were an envoy, then! What did the prince write to the Khan about?"
The lieutenant looked quickly at his companion.
"Well, Colonel," said he, "you have looked into the eyes of ruffians who captured you with a lariat; that is your affair. But what the prince wrote to the Khan is neither your affair nor mine, but theirs."
"I wondered, a little while ago," answered Abdank, cunningly, "that his highness the prince should send such a young man to the Khan; but after your answer I am not astonished, for I see that you are young in years, but mature in experience and wit."
The lieutenant swallowed the smooth, flattering words, merely twisted his young mustache, and inquired,--
"Now do you tell me what you are doing on the Omelnik, and how you come to be here alone."
"I am not alone, I left my men on the road; and I am going to Kudák, to Pan Grodzitski, who is transferred to the command there, and to whom the Grand Hetman has sent me with letters."
"And why don't you go by water?"
"I am following an order from which I may not depart."
"Strange that the hetman issued such an order, when in the steppe you have fallen into straits which you would have avoided surely had you been going by water."
"Oh, the steppes are quiet at present; my acquaintance with them does not begin with to-day. What has met me is the malice and hatred of man."
"And who attacked you in this fashion?"
"It is a long story. An evil neighbor,
