"I caught a glimpse of him, all red and breathless.... He was now a quarter of a verst behind me.
"I told Taras-Bulba to slow down and he did so.
"'You did give me a fright,' said the poor man as he came up. 'I thought your horse had bolted.'
"'Look out!' I cried.
"There was a stream at our feet. He got over it by the skin of his teeth. The fox, with three hounds at his heels, was running ahead in a flat meadow that sloped away from us.
"Then came more woods. I held my head down and thus escaped the scratches of the branches which were pushed aside for a moment by Taras-Bulba's head, only to close up immediately behind him. But my poor companion's face was already covered with blood. A twig carried away his eyeglass. I felt he was done. His big horse was blowing like a steam-engine.
"'Keep going,' I cried, 'the fox is tiring!' and I gave Taras-Bulba a touch of the spur.
"The little animal doesn't like liberties. He gave a tremendous bound. His rival followed painfully behind amidst a terrible noise of broken branches.
"'You're beginning to tire,' I said to myself. 'You'll come down next time.'
"'Next time' appeared in the form of a ditch fifteen feet wide and as many deep, with a half-concealed and extremely tricky edge. For a second even I asked myself whether Taras-Bulba, with the pace he had just been keeping, would manage to get over. But lo and behold! He picked himself up, the gallant little beast, and flew over like a swallow.