The blacksmith turned sulkily towards the Captain a face tanned by his forge and by the sun, looked from the corners of his eyes at his questioner, stroked the thick mustache which overshadowed a beard long unrazored, and which might for its bristles have done honour to any boar; flattened his arákshin (bonnet) on his head, and coolly continued putting away his tools in their bag.
"Do you understand me, son of a wolf race?" said the Captain.
"I understand you well," answered the blacksmith,—"you want your horse shod."
"And I should advise you to shoe him," replied the Captain, observing on the part of the Tartar a desire to jest.
"To-day is a holiday: I will not work."
"I will pay you what you like for your work; but I tell you that, whether you like it or not, you must do what I want."
"The will of Allah is above ours; and he does not permit us to work on Djoumá. We sin enough for gain on common days, so on a holiday I do not wish to buy coals with silver."[25]
"But were you not at work just now, obstinate blockhead? Is not one horse the same as another? Besides, mine is a real Mussulman—look at the mark[26]—the blood of Karabákh."
"All horses are alike; but not so those who ride them: Ammalát Bek is my aga (lord.)"
"That is, if you had taken it into your head to refuse him, he would have had your ears cropped; but you will not work for me, in the hope that I would not dare to do the same. Very well, my friend! I certainly will not crop your ears, but be assured that I will warm that orthodox back of yours with two hundred pretty stinging nogaikas (lashes with a whip) if you won't leave off your nonsense—do you hear?"