Knowing what I knew, I said nothing, but took a bundle of clothes and some food, and galloped forth in order to take up Mazeppa’s track from the spot in which Falbofsky lay in ambush for us.
The ground was soft, and it was easy enough to follow the hoof marks. Falbofsky’s men had first well startled the horse by shouting and beating him with sticks, so that he had fled at full gallop, kicking up the grass and earth as he went. A child could have led me upon the scent.
But though I rode ten leagues and more before darkness came to render further tracking impossible I had not yet overtaken Mazeppa, and I was obliged to seek shelter for the night in a village which lay a mile from the cross-country path chosen by the horse, which had avoided passing close to the habitations of man, as though aware that he bore a burden which must not be gazed upon.
Very early in the morning I set out once more upon my pursuit, and, taking up the track where I left it, was soon in full chase.
And I had scarcely travelled more than two or three leagues when I came upon what at first sight appeared to be Mazeppa lying dead beneath the horse, which was as dead as its rider. He was still tightly bound to the beast, which lay with protruding tongue and glazed eyes starting from their sockets, having—as it seemed—tripped and fallen headlong over the trunk of a tree uprooted by the wind, while galloping through the forest in the darkness.
Now, though I was never sure at this time whether I more loved or hated Mazeppa, the sight of his poor naked body come to so pitiful an end filled me with sorrow, and I dismounted very mournfully in order to disengage him from the carcass of the horse which lay upon him. First I cut the bonds that bound him to the dead beast; after that I dragged the burden from him, for it lay upon one leg and one side of him, covering his chest, but leaving his head free.
‘Poor dead Mazeppa!’ I murmured; ‘thou hast been ever ready to better me, my friend, but I have loved thee, nevertheless, more than other men that I have known!’
As I freed him from the weight that had oppressed him, Mazeppa seemed to groan; his eyelids quivered as though he would come to. I took water and sprinkled his face. Presently he sighed and opened his eyes. He stared dully at me for a minute; then he seemed to remember and sat up to look around. It was plain that he had not broken his neck, like the poor beast that carried him.
He rose to his feet and examined the dead horse, spurning it with his foot.
‘Take these clothes, Mazeppa,’ I said; ‘it is a mercy and a marvel that you are not as dead as the beast.’