Kitabı oku: «Our Little Cossack Cousin in Siberia», sayfa 4

CHAPTER IX
THE HUNT

When we reached the meeting-place, more than a dozen men on horseback were already there. Close to them stood a big shallow sleigh, the runners of which were a pair of birch poles. In it were ropes, a hatchet, food and forage. The driver of this was Daria, an old woman, whom I have already mentioned once or twice. I knew her story. The death of her husband and two children of typhoid fever had caused her to be despondent for several years. Then some one left a foundling at her door. She adopted the child, trying in every way to make a worthy man of him. To do this, she accepted all kinds of odd jobs, even such as were generally given to men. She built fences, prepared the dead for burial, acted as midwife and nurse, delivered messages that nobody else cared to undertake, sometimes at night or during severe storms. She seemed to be afraid of nothing in the world and of nobody.

When she first began to work in this way, she was pitied and helped; a little later, she was laughed at, and unpleasant names were applied to her; but finally, all came to have a deep respect for her and to rely on her help when trouble came.

Long years of humiliation and struggle for a living, and the overcoming of all obstacles, had made her somewhat imperative in manner. She always expressed a decided opinion. Many people thought she really knew everything, and one or two superstitious persons even insinuated that she was a witch. When money or its equivalent in milk, eggs or flour was offered for her services, she accepted it from those who could pay. From others she refused everything, giving instead something from her own small store.

I thought her very odd, but liked her. Nevertheless, to-day, – well, to-day, it seemed to me that it was not fitting that I, a Cossack, should have to remain in the rear with a woman.

Comforting myself with the knowledge that Daria was a very unusual woman, I bade her good morning.

"Good morning, you rascal," she answered. "What are you doing here? I know that your mother is worrying about you."

I did not think that this needed a reply. Jumping down from the mule but holding on to the reins, I joined a group of Cossacks who formed a circle in front of their horses.

"I guess we're all here," remarked Mikhailov, an active, talkative fellow who had lately returned from actual service with the rank of non-commissioned officer and with the unpopular habit of constantly assuming leadership. He was probably the youngest present.

"Yes," replied my father. "And now we must follow some system. Perhaps we'd better cast lots to see who is to be our ataman, the leader of our band."

Old Skorin shook his head. "What's the use of that?" he said. "You know the country, and you'll suit us."

This did not please Mikhailov, who tried to put in an argument against there being any leader, but he was overruled, one of the men even turning to him with: "You, in particular, need to be careful. Don't be too anxious to shoot when you first catch sight of the tiger. Wait until you can aim directly at his head or heart. If you don't, he'll teach you something that you'll never forget in this life."

"Keep your counsel for your own use," retorted Mikhailov. "I don't need it."

Father here raised a warning hand and began to assign to each one present his place and duty.

"You, Simeon," he said, turning to one, "take the hounds along the low places of the valley, so as to get the tiger to move out of the bushes into the open spaces in the hills. You, Ivan and Feodor, take your places on the western side of the brush and keep close watch. Don't let the beast escape into the forest. And you, Mikhailov, and you, Foma, remain as quiet as dead men on the left side of the brush, about one hundred feet apart. Mind, you're to hide in the tall grass and not show yourselves. The tiger will probably try to run to Hog Valley. Don't miss him. Be vigilant and brave."

Then he turned to me. "As for you, Vanka, stay with Granny under the oak on yonder hill. Tie the horses well and see that they don't get frightened at either the tiger or the shots. See that you don't stare open-mouthed at the sky and don't go where you're not wanted. If you leave your place – you'll be sorry that the tiger didn't get you. Do you understand?"

Something in my father's voice cheered me. I felt that he knew what he was about and that I must obey.

Then Mikhailov asked father, "Where are you going?"

"To the north of the valley, where I'll take the rest and station them." Turning to Simeon he added, "Don't let the hunt commence until you hear a shot from my rifle." And, followed by several men, he left us.

Before those remaining separated, I heard Mikhailov remark to his neighbor, "Oh, he's foxy. He's selected the best place for himself. We'll not even catch a glimpse of the tiger."

Here Daria turned quickly to him with, "You've returned from service as big a fool as when you left. Do your duty and you'll find that Alexis Pavlovitch has done you justice." Striking her horses with a whip, Daria started for the oak. I followed.

When I had tied the horses, I tried to wait patiently for day-break. But oh, how long the hours seemed! My fingers grew stiff with the frost. I tried to limber them up by blowing on them after I had taken off my mittens. Here Daria jumped to the ground, picked up a big handful of snow and rubbed her fingers with it. After wiping them she put them into the big sleeves of her fur coat, saying, "Now even my old fingers are warm. Follow my example."

I bent down, my fingers so stiff that I could hardly grab up any snow. As I rubbed them, their flexibility gradually returned, and I dried them on the border of my fur coat. Then, still imitating my companion, I put them into my sleeves. They felt as warm as if they had just come out of boiling water.

By the time the first glimmer of dawn appeared, I could already distinguish Mikhailov, who was lying half hidden in the dry grass, and a moment after, the dogs leaping around Simeon, who tried to keep them quiet while waiting for my father's signal.

Just before sunrise, the faint sound of a shot from down the valley came to us. Daria awakened from her doze. At the same time the hounds commenced to bark and move toward the dry snow-covered brush covering the bottom of the valley. At first Simeon held them tightly by a rope and they barked regularly and carelessly. Soon, however, there was a change. Anger and hate mingled with their bark.

"They have scented the tiger," whispered Daria.

I forgot everything, horses, mule, myself, as I stared fearfully into the snow-covered underbrush for a glimpse of the beast. At first I could see nothing, for the white covering grew blinding under the first rays of the sun. That and the yellow leaves of the low Mongolian oaks hid Simeon, the hounds, and the tiger, making it seem a wall of mystery to me.

I shivered for fear of the men as I recalled how easily this tiger had carried off our cow. It was not until later that I learned that even the most ferocious of wild creatures will avoid meeting man unless forced to do so.

The sun rose just behind where I was stationed, and gradually I could see two stationary black spots against the white of the hills opposite. They were Ivan and Feodor.

On our side, Mikhailov and Foma showed more excitement. They even kept bobbing into sight, despite my father's strict orders to remain hidden. I also made out two Cossacks, mere specks, down in the valley. But nowhere could I find my father.

Suddenly I noticed a movement in the brush some distance away. I thought it must be Simeon and his hounds, until an open space was reached and I distinctly saw an animal apparently the size of a mouse. Unable to control myself I cried: "The tiger!"

Daria's hand instantly covered my mouth. But Mikhailov had heard and signaled "Where?"

I tried to show him as best I could without turning my eyes from the tiny spot on the snow. It may have been that the tiger heard my loud exclamation; it may have been that something else attracted his attention; in any case he remained motionless for a few seconds. Then with one leap he disappeared again into the brush.

Shortly after, Simeon and the two hounds appeared in the same spot. Then my excitement cannot be described as I saw the tiger run exactly toward where Mikhailov was concealed. From my elevated position all this was visible; Mikhailov, however, could not see how close the tiger was to him.

In a very short time the beast had reached the eastern side. He appeared so unexpectedly before Mikhailov that the latter, instead of shooting, uttered a curse, and the tiger turned back. Here Mikhailov committed the grave error against which he had been warned. He shot in the direction that the tiger had gone and evidently hit without killing him.

A terrible roar followed as the creature turned and jumped right on the man who had wounded him.

CHAPTER X
THE HUNT – CONTINUED

My heart gave a wild leap and I grabbed hold of the side of the sled for support. Then a great many things happened, but I recall them to the smallest detail.

As the tiger's roar rang out, all the horses tied to the trees and in my care broke their halters and rushed wildly away. Daria's two horses attached to the sled, followed, leaping over all obstacles. Daria's greatest efforts were powerless to even reduce their speed. I soon forgot all about them, however, so intent did I become on the picture before me.

I saw Foma, who was nearest, make a few jumps toward him and then kneel and point his rifle at the beast who clung to Mikhailov. A shot followed. Immediately after, the tiger turned, looking just like a big cat. He gave three or four convulsive shakes and fell back without a sound on the snow, his hind legs sinking deep into it, and his front legs stretched to the sky.

I ran toward Mikhailov, but, before I reached him, I felt a strong arm on my neck and a voice interrupted by deep breathing: "Stop, you crazy boy! Wait! He might be able to break your neck yet. A tiger doesn't die as quickly as that." I stopped, and with the man who had spoken gazed where the tiger lay. It remained motionless. After a few seconds my companion judged it safe to approach. Foma had shot him in the ear, killing him instantly.

Mikhailov was lying with his right side and part of his head deeply imbedded in the snow. His fur coat had been torn from his shoulder, revealing a deep wound from which the shoulder blade projected. At first sight his head seemed attached to the body only by a shred of skin, so unnaturally was it twisted to one side and covered by a thick mass of blood.

Though shivering as if with a fever, I could not turn my eyes from the terrible sight. I regained possession of myself only when I heard my father's voice as he came up on horseback.

As he jumped down to examine Mikhailov he turned saying, "Go, help my brother catch Daria's horses."

The man addressed leaped at once on father's horse and hit it with a nagaika (a Cossack whip). The spirited animal put back its ears, and like an arrow shot out toward where Daria's horses could be just seen running around in circles in the snow.

One by one the other hunters arrived and stood around Mikhailov. No one seemed to know what to do, and no one dared, apparently, say what he thought, although two of the men took off their hats as is generally done in the presence of Death.

Finally some one did turn to my father with, "Is he quite dead?"

As if in answer, Mikhailov just then made a faint movement with a finger of his left hand. It seemed to me that he was trying to signify something by this, especially as it was followed by a slight moan or two. Then again there was silence.

Here some of the men began to talk, wondering how he could have made so great a blunder. My father stopped them. "It's time to do something," he said, and beckoning to two others to help him, tried to raise the wounded man into a more comfortable position. Mikhailov groaned faintly.

"Better let him die without hurting him," interjected my uncle, turning his head away.

"But look!" quickly exclaimed an intelligent-looking young man. "His face isn't injured at all. Only his neck is torn. He might live long enough to take the sacrament at least, and even, perhaps, make his last will."

Four of the men again raised Mikhailov, my father supporting his head, and placed him on a saddle blanket that had been stretched out on the snow.

Meanwhile Daria's horses had been caught and she had driven up. As soon as sufficiently near, she slipped down from her sleigh and tottered toward the wounded man. Blood was still dripping from the neck.

"Fools!" she exclaimed, looking indignantly at the men. "It's lucky the blood has partially clogged or he would have bled to death before your eyes."

Then turning to one of the Cossacks she added: "Your blouse looks clean. Give it to me."

Without a word the man took it off and handed it to her.

Paying no attention to the bits of advice that now began to be given, such as "Put some tobacco on the torn place," "Powder is the best thing," she tore the shirt into pieces and began to bandage the wound.

I watched her quick, sure movements with a constantly growing admiration, my former liking for her changing to a sort of reverent love.

When she had finished and stretched herself with difficulty, I found that the men had not been idle. Dried twigs had been spread in the sleigh and these covered with several horse-blankets, the whole forming a comfortable bed. The quickness with which it had been made showed that the Cossacks were used to needing it.

Several Cossacks now lifted the wounded man on to the sleigh with as great care and skill as that possessed by the best trained nurses. They then helped Daria to an especially prepared place by his side. My uncle took the driver's seat, and I, without waiting for invitation or permission, jumped up next to him. Slowly we drove off.

I looked back once or twice to see what those left behind were doing. Some of them hung the tiger to a strong tree, the skin having already been loosened from his legs. Then they carefully cut the thin under skin with their hunting knives and gradually pulled it off from the tail down.

As soon as we arrived at the village, a man was sent on the swiftest horse to be found, to the nearest stannica (an administrative Cossack station) where a doctor was to be found.¹²

It was not until late at night that the doctor arrived. When he had examined the wound, he said: "I can't understand how he has lasted so long with so little help."

"Will he live?" some one asked.

The doctor shook his head. "There's but little chance of that," he said.

But I may as well say here that Mikhailov did live, his wonderful constitution pulling him through. His neck, however, was crippled, his head always inclining toward the left side, and his left arm practically disabled. The accident taught him wisdom, and later he took to hunting again, becoming the most renowned hunter of wolves and bears in our district.

The tiger skin was sold to a passing merchant for sixty rubles, while the tiger's heart was bought by a Chinaman, who intended, it was said, to reduce it to powder and sell it to those who thought that they could thus have some of the tiger's bravery transmitted to them. The skull was given to Daria in acknowledgment of her services, and kept by her, with many other very curious things, in the front room of her little log house.