"In the woods," said the soldier, and walked on; he was holding his hand again.
Watching the woods, we drove slowly on, past the few huts, which are Bealobrzegi, until we heard a noise like a bunch of Japanese firecrackers confusedly exploding in the woods.
"The Russians!" I exclaimed.
"And our soldiers," added Tzschirner. "Our men are going through the forest hunting them down."
And I began to understand the fresh tracks in the snow that crisscrossed in among the slender trunks of the pines, until they darkened with the forest gloom. And I began to think of this battle of Augustowo Wald as another Battle of the Wilderness, although here the ground was free of underbrush; and I realized that on both sides of us a grim game was being played, that we could hear but could not see; a long pursuit in which Germans and Russians stalked each other from tree to tree, to find the quarry and kill.
A battery clanked by at a canter, and the gunners, swinging their legs, seemed stolid and tired. I began to see traces of death in the snow—discarded clothing, broken rifles, clips of cartridges, a profusion of shaggy Russian hats—all the frightful débris of war. We met a Huzzar and he too seemed tired and lethargic.
"Aus wo fahren sie?" called Tzschirner.
"Von Promiska," shouted the Huzzar.
"Ist der Weg frei?"
"Jawohl! Nach Jamine."