By this time Néphtali was at the side of the Moollah, and was examining the travellers with an eagle glance.
"The noonday is hot, and the road rugged," said Suleiman; "invite the travellers to refresh themselves and their horses: perhaps they have news: besides, the Koran commands us to show hospitality."
"With us in the mountains, and before the Koran, never did a stranger leave a village hungry or sad; never did he depart without tchourek,[36] without blessing, without a guide; but these people are suspicious: why do they avoid honest men, and pass our village by by-roads, and with danger to their life?"
"It seems that they are your countrymen," said Suleiman, shading his eyes with his hand: "their dress is Tchetchná. Perhaps they are returning from a plundering exhibition, to which your father went with a hundred of his neighbours; or perhaps they are brothers, going to revenge blood for blood."
"No, Suleiman, that is not like us. Could a mountaineer's heart refrain from coming to see his countrymen—to boast of his exploits against the Russians, and to show his booty? These are neither avengers of blood nor Abreks—their faces are not covered by the báshlik; besides, dress is deceptive. Who can tell that those are not Russian deserters! The other day a Kázak, who had murdered his master, fled from Goumbet-Aoúl with his horse and arms.... The devil is strong!"
"He is strong in them in whom the faith is weak, Néphtali;—yet, if I mistake not, the hinder horseman has hair flowing from under his cap."
"May I be pounded to dust, but it is so! It is either a Russian, or, what is worse, a Tartar Shageed.[37] Stop a moment, my friend; I will comb your zilflárs for you! In half-an-hour I will return, Suleiman, either with them,—or one of us three shall feed the mountain berkoots (eagles.)"
Néphtali rushed down the stairs, threw the gun on his shoulders, leapt into his saddle and dashed down the hill, caring neither for furrow nor stone. Only the dust arose, and the pebbles streamed down after the bold horseman."
"Alla akbér!" gravely exclaimed Suleiman, and lit his pipe.
Néphtali soon came up with the strangers. Their horses were covered with foam, and the sweat-drops rained from them on the narrow path by which they were climbing the mountain. The first was clothed in a shirt of mail, the other in the Circassian dress: except that he wore a Persian sabre instead of a sháshka,[38] suspended by a laced girdle. His left arm was covered with blood, bound up with a handkerchief, and supported by the sword-knot. The faces of both were concealed. For some time he rode behind them along the slippery path, which overhung a precipice; but at the first open space he galloped by them, and turned his horse round. "Salám aleikom!" said he, opposing their passage along the rugged and half-built road among the rocks, as he made ready his arms. The foremost horseman suddenly wrapped his boúrka[39] round his face, so as to leave visible only his knit brows: "Aleikom Salám!" answered he, cocking his gun, and fixing himself in the saddle.