“Well, Lukáshka, whatever you do you must stand a pail of vodka for the lads,” said the corporal gaily.
“Of course! That’s the custom,” chimed in the Cossacks. “See what luck God has sent you! Without ever having seen anything of the kind before, you’ve killed a brave!”
“Buy the dagger and coat and don’t be stingy, and I’ll let you have the trousers too,” said Lukáshka. “They’re too tight for me; he was a thin devil.”
One Cossack bought the coat for a ruble and another gave the price of two pails of vodka for the dagger.
“Drink, lads! I’ll stand you a pail!” said Luke. “I’ll bring it myself from the village.”
“And cut up the trousers into kerchiefs for the girls!” said Nazárka.
The Cossacks burst out laughing.
“Have done laughing!” said the corporal. “And take the body away. Why have you put the nasty thing by the hut?”
“What are you standing there for? Haul him along, lads!” shouted Lukáshka in a commanding voice to the Cossacks, who reluctantly took hold of the body, obeying him as though he were their chief. After dragging the body along for a few steps the Cossacks let fall the legs, which dropped with a lifeless jerk, and stepping apart they then stood silent for a few moments. Nazárka came up and straightened the head, which was turned to one side so that the round wound above the temple and the whole of the dead man’s face were visible. “See what a mark he has made right in the brain,” he said. “He won’t get lost. His owners will always know him!” No one answered, and again the Angel of Silence flew over the Cossacks.
The sun had risen high and its diverging beams were lighting up the dewy grass. Near by, the Térek murmured in the awakened wood and, greeting the morning, the pheasants called to one another. The Cossacks stood still and silent around the dead man, gazing at him. The brown body, with nothing on but the wet blue trousers held by a girdle over the sunken stomach, was well shaped and handsome. The muscular arms lay stretched straight out by his sides; the blue, freshly shaven, round head with the clotted wound on one side of it was thrown back. The smooth tanned forehead contrasted sharply with the shaven part of the head. The open glassy eyes with lowered pupils stared upwards, seeming to gaze past everything. Under the red trimmed moustache the fine lips, drawn at the corners, seemed stiffened into a smile of good-natured subtle raillery. The fingers of the small hands covered with red hairs were bent inward, and the nails were dyed red.