Lukasha returned to the cordon and at the same time Daddy Eróshka whistled to his dogs and, climbing over his wattle fence, went to Olénin’s lodging, passing by the back of the houses (he disliked meeting women before going out hunting or shooting). He found Olénin still asleep, and even Vanyúsha, though awake, was still in bed and looking round the room considering whether it was not time to get up, when Daddy Eróshka, gun on shoulder and in full hunter’s trappings, opened the door.
“A cudgel!” he shouted in his deep voice. “An alarm! The Chéchens are upon us! Iván! Get the samovar ready for your master, and get up yourself—quick,” cried the old man. “That’s our way, my good man! Why even the girls are already up! Look out of the window. See, she’s going for water and you’re still sleeping!”
Olénin awoke and jumped up, feeling fresh and lighthearted at the sight of the old man and at the sound of his voice.
“Quick, Vanyúsha, quick!” he cried.
“Is that the way you go hunting?” said the old man. “Others are having their breakfast and you are asleep! Lyam! Here!” he called to his dog. “Is your gun ready?” he shouted, as loud as if a whole crowd were in the hut.
“Well, it’s true I’m guilty, but it can’t be helped! The powder, Vanyúsha, and the wads!” said Olénin.
“A fine!” shouted the old man.
“Du tay voulay vou?” asked Vanyúsha, grinning.
“You’re not one of us—your gabble is not like our speech, you devil!” the old man shouted at Vanyúsha, showing the stumps of his teeth.
“A first offence must be forgiven,” said Olénin playfully, drawing on his high boots.