“Get up! We’ve got to be on the move.”
“I am not going,” said the prisoner.
Efimushka was nonplussed, and, opening his eyes wide, remained for the moment silent—not comprehending why the prisoner had become all of a sudden such a joker.
“Well, don’t make a fuss, and come along,” said he more softly.
“I am not going,” the prisoner repeated resolutely.
“What do you mean by saying you’re not going?” shouted Efimushka, in astonishment and anger.
“Just that. I want to spend the night with you here. Come, build a fire.”
“Let you spend the night here, will I? As to the fire, I’ll build it on your back, I will,” growled Efimushka. But in the depths of his soul he was amazed. Here is a man who says, “I am not going,” and yet shows no opposition, nor any desire to quarrel, but simply lies on the ground, and that’s all. What is one to do?
“Don’t shout so, Efim,” suggested the prisoner calmly.
Efimushka again became silent, and, changing his weight from foot to foot, he looked down on the prisoner with wide-awake eyes. But the other returned his gaze and smiled. Efimushka was thinking very hard as to what his next move should be.