Hopeful looked sometimes at him, sometimes at the horse, which seemed to have petrified into its dejected pose, and sometimes at the sky, already almost nocturnal, but without stars.
"The muzhiks grab all the horses," he suddenly remarked in a strange voice—"and there are none left except here and there perhaps—so there are no more horses!"
And Hopeful waved his arms about. His face was dull, and his eyes blinked as frequently as if he was looking at something bright blazing up before them.
"What's that to do with you?" asked Jig-Leg severely.
"I was calling to mind a story...." said Hopeful guiltily.
"What story?"
"Yes!... Just as it might be here ... the same thing happened to my knowledge once ... they took away a horse ... from a neighbour of mine ... Michael his name was ... such a big muzhik he was ... and pock-marked...."
"Well?"
"Well, they took her away.... She was browsing on the winter pastures—and all at once she was gone. When Michael understood that he was nagless, down he plumped on the ground, and how he howled! Ah, my little friend, how he did bellow then, to be sure ... it was just as if he had broken his leg...."
"Well?"