He took the twenty-five poods weight of iron, heated it red hot, and turned it on the anvil while the blacksmiths pounded with their hammers. They made a staff twenty-five poods in weight. Nikita took that staff, went out into the open field, threw it up one hundred and fifty feet, and held out his hand: the staff struck the hero’s hand and broke in two.
“No, this will not do,” said Nikita. He paid for the work, sat on his horse, and rode away. He overtook his comrades. They travelled a day, a second, and a third. Again there was a forge in the open field.
“Go on,” said Nikita; “I will smoke a pipe in this forge.”
He entered the forge, where fifty blacksmiths were tormenting an old man. A gray-haired old man was lying on the anvil; ten men were holding him with pincers by the beard, and forty men were pounding him on the sides with hammers.
“Have pity on me, brothers!” cried the old man, with all his strength. “Leave the life in me to do penance!”
“God aid you!” said Nikita.
“God aid thee, good man!” said the blacksmiths.
“Why are ye tormenting the old man?”
“Because he owes each one of us a rouble, and he will not pay it. Why shouldn’t we beat him?”
“What an unfortunate man,” thought Nikita; “for fifty roubles he suffers such torment!” And he said to the blacksmiths: “Listen, brothers: I’ll pay you for him; let the old man go.”