They ran off the road, sat down in the bushes, and waited. Zhilín crept up to the road, and saw a Tartar on horseback, driving a cow before him, and mumbling something to himself. The Tartar passed by them. Zhilín went back to Kostylín.
"Well, with God's help, he is gone. Get up, and let us go!"
Kostylín tried to get up, but fell down.
"I cannot, upon my word, I cannot. I have no strength."
The heavy, puffed-up man was in a perspiration, and as the cold mist in the forest went through him and his feet were all torn, he went all to pieces. Zhilín tried to get him up, but Kostylín cried:
"Oh, it hurts!"
Zhilín was frightened.
"Don't shout so! You know that the Tartar is not far off,—he will hear you." But he thought: "He is, indeed, weak, so what shall I do with him? It will not do to abandon my companion."
"Well," he said, "get up, get on my back, and I will carry you, if you cannot walk."
He took Kostylín on his back, put his hands on Kostylín's legs, walked out on the road, and walked on.