“Ah, I hit the mark that time!” said Efimushka triumphantly.
“Blockhead! What mark did you hit?” asked the prisoner, with a wry smile.
“About the wood. I understand, I do. You were thinking that when we reached the wood you would knock me down—yes, knock me down—and then make a break for the fields or for the woods. Now, isn’t that so?”
“You’re a fool,” said the apprehended man, shrugging his shoulders. “Where could I go?”
“Well, where you wish—that’s your affair.”
“But where?”
Efimushka’s companion was either angry or else he really wished to know from his escort precisely in what direction he could run.
“I told you, where you wished,” replied Efimushka calmly.
“There’s nowhere where I could run, nowhere,” said his companion quietly.
“W-well!” the escort pronounced incredulously, and waved his hand. “There’s always some place where one could run to. The world is large. There will be always enough room in it for one man.”