“Well, be it so; this hell will be ended.”
He turned away his head and began with all his might to play the required dance.
Ivan began the steps and grotesque attitudes of the Cossack dance, which the old man especially liked, leaping and gambolling, and uttering cries to distract his attention. When Kaskambo felt that the dancer was near the axe, his heart throbbed with anxiety: this means of their deliverance was in a little cupboard without a door, contrived within the wall, but at a height to which Ivan could hardly reach. To have it within his reach, he took advantage of a favourable moment, seized it suddenly and at once placed it on the ground in the shadow cast by Ibrahim’s body. When the latter looked at him, he was far from the place, and continuing his dance. This dangerous scene had lasted for some time, and Kaskambo, weary of playing, began to think that his denshchik’s courage was failing, or that he did not think it a favourable opportunity. He glanced at him at the instant when, having seized the axe, the intrepid dancer was steadily advancing to strike the brigand with it. The emotion felt by the major was so strong, that he stopped playing, and let his guitar fall on his knees. At the same moment, the old man had stooped, and made a step forward to push some brushwood into the fire: some dry leaves burst into flame, and cast a bright glow into the room. Ibrahim turned round to sit down.
If, at this juncture, Ivan had pursued his enterprise, a hand-to-hand fight would have been inevitable: the alarm would have been given, which above all it was needful to avoid; but his presence of mind saved him. When he noticed the major’s confusion, and saw Ibrahim rise, he placed the axe behind the very log which served as a seat to the latter, and recommenced his dance. “Play, confound it!” he said to his master; “what are you thinking of?” The major, realizing how unwise he had been, began to play again softly. The old gaoler had no suspicion, and sat down again; but he ordered them to finish the music and lie down. Ivan, quietly going and taking the guitar-case, came and placed it on the hearth; but, instead of taking the instrument which his master held out to him, he suddenly snatched the axe from behind Ibrahim, and dealt him such a frightful blow on the head, that the unhappy man did not even utter a sigh, but fell stark dead, his face in the fire; his long grey beard began to blaze; Ivan pulled him out by the feet and covered him with a mat.
They were listening, to find out if the woman had been awakened, when, surprised no doubt at the silence which reigned after so much noise, she opened the door of her room: “What are you doing in here?” she said, advancing towards the prisoners; “how is it that there is a smell of burnt feathers?” The fire had just been scattered and gave hardly any light. Ivan raised the axe to strike her; she had time to turn her head, and received the blow on her breast, uttering a frightful sigh; another blow, swifter than lightning, caught her as she fell, and stretched her dead at Kaskambo’s feet. Terrified by this second murder, which he had not expected, the major, seeing Ivan advance towards the child’s room, placed himself in the way to stop him. “Where are you going, wretched man?” he said; “would you be so barbarous as to sacrifice the child too, who has shown me such friendship? If you set me free at this price, neither your attachment nor your services shall save you when we reach the line.”
“At the line,” answered Ivan, “you can do as you like; but here we must make an end.”
Kaskambo, collecting all his strength, collared him as he attempted to force his passage. “Wretch,” he said, “if you dare to attempt his life, if you touch a single hair of his head, I swear here before God that I will give myself up into the hands of the Tchetchens, and your barbarity will be in vain.”
“Into the hands of the Tchetchens!” repeated the denshchik, raising his bloody axe above his master’s head; “they shall never recapture you alive; I will slay them, you and myself, before that happens. This child might ruin us by giving the alarm; in your present state, women would be enough to put you back in prison.”
“Stop! stop!” cried Kaskambo, from whose hands Ivan was trying to free himself. “Stop! monster, you shall murder me before committing this crime!”
But, impeded by his chains and weak as he was, he could not restrain the ferocious young man, who thrust him back, so that he fell violently to the ground, ready to faint from bewilderment and horror. While, all stained with the blood of the first victims, he was attempting to rise, “Ivan,” he cried, “I implore you, do not kill him! In the name of God, do not spill the blood of that innocent creature!”