"Sit down and hold the reins, you fool," shouted Maximof. "There is a pack of wolves at our heels."
There was something in the Barin's aspect at this moment that gave the drunken man pause. It was not the thought of the wolves, for he never glanced at them. He ceased to swear and rave and sat down obediently to drive. Five minutes later the fellow was asleep again, the reins dangling. By this time the wolves had grown more daring; several had left the cover of the forest and followed the sledge in the open moonlight, going at a hand-gallop, grey and lank and weird enough to see. There were still two miles to go. A gaunt beast suddenly sprang out at the off horse, causing both animals to shy violently across the road.
Sasha uttered a cry of terror; the Countess caught her husband's arm; Kiril half awoke and joggled the reins.
"The wolves will attack us before we reach home. We are lost, husband," said the Countess.
"Take the reins from Kiril, Sasha," said Maximof, standing up. The boy obeyed, taking the reins from the sleeper's nerveless hands. Then Maximof suddenly caught Kiril by the waist and pulled him backwards. The Count was a large and powerful man, the other was a wisp in his arms. Kiril awoke and struggled. He caught the box-board with his heels, but Maximof kicked them free. Kiril struck at him and cursed, but feeling himself being forced over the side of the sledge he clutched with his hands and held on.
"Husband, what are you doing?—the wolves—the wolves!" shrieked the Countess. But her husband replied laughing that there were many trees, the fool could climb one if he was not too drunk. "Take the butt of the whip and strike his hands," he added, but his wife only shrieked and clung feebly to his arm.
Maximof forced one of the hands away and contrived by a united effort of arms, legs and body to expel the wretched Kiril from the sledge. But the other hand clung desperately for a moment as the man was dragged along. Maximof kicked it free.
There was a shriek, and in the moonlight each wolf seemed to make for one point in the road. Then came a scrimmage and a tumult of snarling and fighting, and now the sledge was out of sight and hearing. It went on its way without further pursuit, save for one or two stragglers who soon found that their comrades had chosen the wiser course, and went back in hopes of being in time for a share of such good things as the gods had provided.
That night an old hag from the village came to the mansion to inquire for her son Kiril. From the servants she learned no certain thing, but each had suggestions to make as to Kiril's non-arrival. The story of Sasha's nurse was grimly suggestive. When going to bed Sasha had shown off his new Lancer uniform, and, being in a boastful mood, had volunteered the information that he had held the reins while father and Kiril were fighting.
"Why did they fight?" asked the nurse, but Sasha had suddenly remembered that his mother had bidden him remain silent as to this episode, and he replied that he did not know. "Kiril was drunk," he said, "I know that."