“I say, Lukáshka,” said the corporal, who was holding the dagger and gun taken from the dead man. “Keep the dagger for yourself and the coat too; but I’ll give you three rubles for the gun. You see it has a hole in it,” said he, blowing into the muzzle. “I want it just for a souvenir.”
Lukáshka did not answer. Evidently this sort of begging vexed him but he knew it could not be avoided.
“See, what a devil!” said he, frowning and throwing down the Chéchen’s coat. “If at least it were a good coat, but it’s a mere rag.”
“It’ll do to fetch firewood in,” said one of the Cossacks.
“Mósev, I’ll go home,” said Lukáshka, evidently forgetting his vexation and wishing to get some advantage out of having to give a present to his superior.
“All right, you may go!”
“Take the body beyond the cordon, lads,” said the corporal, still examining the gun, “and put a shelter over him from the sun. Perhaps they’ll send from the mountains to ransom it.”
“It isn’t hot yet,” said someone.
“And supposing a jackal tears him? Would that be well?” remarked another Cossack.
“We’ll set a watch; if they should come to ransom him it won’t do for him to have been torn.”