Zhilin crept ahead, and investigated a light spot on the path.
Something is standing there. It may be a horse, or it may not, but on it there is something strange, not at all like a man.
It snorted—plainly! "What a strange thing!"
Zhilin gave a slight whistle. There was a dash of feet from the path into the forest, a crackling in the underbrush, and something rushed along like a hurricane, with a crashing of dry boughs.
Kostuilin almost fell to the ground in fright. But Zhilin laughed, and said,—
"That was a stag. Do you hear how it crashes through the woods with its horns? We frightened him, and he frightened us."
They went on their way. Already the Great Bear was beginning to set; the dawn was not distant. And they were in doubt whether they should come out right or not. Zhilin was inclined to think that they were on the right track, and that it would be about ten versts farther before they reached the Russian fortress, but there is no certain guide; you could not tell in the night.
They came to a little clearing. Kostuilin sat down and said,—
"Do as you please, but I will not go any farther; my legs won't carry me."
Zhilin tried to persuade him.