Ostap gave him a quick look of alarm; he had spoken in a listless tone the Cossack heard from him for the first time since they met.
"You're ill?"
"Nothing. A pain in my side and the devil's own thirst."
"It's the broken ribs. Go to one of the hospital tents and get a bandage put around you. It helps a lot."
"They've something else to do than see to a trifle like that. I'll go and get a drink." And he rose from a trunk, abandoned by some hasty traveler, which stood near the station steps.
"Good. Do you go get your drink at the station pump and await me. There must be food in this town and I mean to have it."
Ian produced a banknote, but the other waved it aside.
"No. Let this be my meal. Besides, I don't count to spend money." And he hurried down the forlorn road.
Ian went to the pump, slaked his thirst with its cool water, soused his head and began to feel better. The long summer twilight still lingered and, as he sat down on the bank, he saw a vaguely familiar figure come towards him. It was a Cossack, grizzled, thin as a rake, hard as nails. As the newcomer began to work the pump he recognized the bluff colonel who had refused to have him as a volunteer at the beginning of the war.
He waited till the man had drunk and washed, baring himself to the waist, showing strong muscles that stood out from his fair skin and a large scar on his right arm. Then he said: