and a very big, wide cart, harnessed with three lean horses, cut sharply at a rush up to us, galloped in front, and at once fell into a walking pace, blocking up the road.

‘A regular brigand’s trick!’ murmured Filofey. I must own I felt a cold chill at my heart…. I fell to staring before me with strained attention in the half-darkness of the misty moonlight. In the cart in front of us were—half-lying, half-sitting—six men in shirts, and in unbuttoned rough overcoats; two of them had no caps on; huge feet in boots were swinging and hanging over the cart-rail, arms were rising and falling helter-skelter… bodies were jolting backwards and forwards…. It was quite clear—a drunken party. Some were bawling at random; one was whistling very correctly and shrilly, another was swearing; on the driver’s seat sat a sort of giant in a cape, driving. They went at a walking pace, as’ though paying no attention to us.

What was to be done? We followed them also at a walking pace… we could do nothing else.

For a quarter of a mile we moved along in this manner. The suspense was torturing…. To protect, to defend ourselves, was out of the question! There were six of them; and I hadn’t even a stick! Should we turn back? But they would catch us up directly. I remembered the line of Zhukovsky (in the passage where he speaks of the murder of field-marshal Kamensky):

‘The scoundrel highwayman’s vile axe!…’

Or else—strangling with filthy cord… flung into a ditch…there to choke and struggle like a hare in a trap….

Ugh, it was horrid!

And they, as before, went on at a walking pace, taking no notice of us.

‘Filofey!’ I whispered,’just try, keep more to the right; see if you can get by.’

Filofey tried—kept to the right… but they promptly kept to the right too… It was impossible to get by.

Filofey made another effort; he kept to the left…. But there, again, they did not let him pass the cart. They even laughed aloud. That meant that they wouldn’t let us pass.

‘Then they are a bad lot,’ Filofey whispered to me over his shoulder.

‘But what are they waiting for?’ I inquired, also in a whisper.

‘To reach the bridge—over there in front—in the hollow—above the stream…. They’ll do for us there! That’s always their way… by bridges. It’s a clear case for us, master.’ He added with a sigh: ‘They’ll hardly let us go alive; for the great thing for them is to keep it all dark. I’m sorry for one thing, master; my horses are lost, and my brothers won’t get them!’

I should have been surprised at the time that Filofey could still trouble about his horses at such a moment; but, I must confess, I had no thoughts for him…. ‘Will they really kill me?’ I kept repeating mentally. ‘Why should they? I’ll give them everything I have….’

And the bridge was getting nearer and nearer; it could be more and more clearly seen.

Suddenly a sharp whoop was heard; the cart before us, as it were, flew ahead, dashed along, and reaching the bridge, at once stopped stock-still a little on one side of the road. My heart fairly sank like lead.

‘Ah, brother Filofey,’ I said, ‘we are going to our death. Forgive me for bringing you to ruin.’

‘As though it were your fault, master! There’s no escaping one’s fate! Come, Shaggy, my trusty little horse,’ Filofey addressed the shaft-horse; ‘step on, brother! Do your last bit of service! It’s all the same…’

And he urged his horses into a trot We began to get near the bridge—near that motionless, menacing cart…. In it everything was silent, as though on purpose. Not a single halloo! It was the stillness of the pike or the hawk, of every beast of prey, as its victim approaches. And now we were level with the cart…. Suddenly the giant in the cape sprang out of the cart, and came straight towards us!

He said nothing to Filofey, but the latter, of his own accord, tugged at the reins…. The coach stopped. The giant laid both arms on the carriage door, and bending forward his shaggy head with a grin, he uttered the following speech in a soft, even voice, with the accent of a factory hand:

‘Honoured sir, we are coming from an honest feast—from a wedding; we’ve been marrying one of our fine fellows—that is, we’ve put him to bed; we’re all young lads, reckless chaps—there’s been a good deal of drinking, and nothing to sober us; so wouldn’t your honour be so good as to favour us, the least little, just for a dram of brandy for our mate? We’d drink to your health, and remember your worship; but if you won’t be gracious to us—well, we beg you not to be angry!’

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ I thought…. ‘A joke?… a jeer?’

The giant continued to stand with bent head. At that very instant the moon emerged from the fog and lighted up his face. There was a grin on the face, in the eyes, and on the lips. But there was nothing threatening to be seen in it… only it seemed, as it were, all on the alert… and the teeth were so white and large….

‘I shall be pleased… take this…’ I said hurriedly, and pulling my purse out of my pocket, I took out two silver roubles—at that time silver was still circulating in Russia—‘here, if that’s enough?’

‘Much obliged!’ bawled the giant, in military fashion; and his fat fingers in a flash snatched from me—not the whole purse—but only the two roubles: ‘much obliged!’ He shook his hair back, and ran up to the cart.

‘Lads!’ he shouted, ‘the gentleman makes us a present of two silver roubles!’ They all began, as it were, gabbling at once…. The giant rolled up on to the driver’s seat….

‘Good luck to you, master!’

And that was the last we saw of them. The horses dashed on, the cart rumbled up the hill; once more it stood out on the dark line separating the earth from the sky, went down, and vanished.

And now the rattle of the wheels, the shouts and tambourines, could not be heard….

There was a death-like silence.

* * * * *

Filofey and I could not recover ourselves all at once.

‘Ah, you’re a merry fellow!’ he commented at last, and taking off his hat he began crossing himself. ‘Fond of a joke, on my word,’ he added, and he turned to me, beaming all over. ‘But he must be a capital fellow—on my word! Now, now, now, little ones, look alive! You’re safe! We are all safe! It was he who wouldn’t let us get by; it was he who drove the horses. What a chap for a joke! Now, now! get on, in God’s name!’

I did not speak, but I felt happy too. ‘We are safe!’ I repeated to myself, and lay down on the hay. ‘We’ve got off cheap!’

I even felt rather ashamed that I had remembered that line of Zhukovsky’s.

Suddenly an idea occurred to me.

‘Filofey!’

‘What is it?’

‘Are you married?’

‘Yes.’

‘And have you children?’

‘Yes.’

‘How was it you didn’t think of them? You were sorry for your horses: weren’t you sorry for your wife and children?’

‘Why be sorry for them? They weren’t going to fall into the hands of thieves, you know. But I kept them in my mind all the while, and I do now… surely.’ Filofey paused…. ‘May be… it was for their sake Almighty God had mercy on us.’

‘But if they weren’t highwaymen?’

‘How can we tell? Can one creep into the soul of another? Another’s soul, we know, is a dark place. But, with the thought of God in the heart, things are always better…. No, no!… I’d my family all the time…. Gee… gee-up! little ones, in God’s name!’

It was already almost daylight; we began to drive into Tula. I was lying, dreamy and half-asleep.

‘Master,’ Filofey said to me suddenly, ‘look: there they’re stopping at the tavern… their cart.’

I raised my head… there they were, and their cart and horses. In the doorway of the drinking-house there suddenly appeared our friend, the giant in the cape. ‘Sir!’ he shouted, waving his cap, ‘we’re drinking your health!—Hey, coachman,’ he added, wagging his head at Filofey; ‘you were a bit scared, I shouldn’t wonder, hey?’

‘A merry fellow!’ observed Filofey when we had driven nearly fifty yards from the tavern.

We got into Tula at last: I bought shot, and while I was about it, tea and spirits, and even got a horse from the horse-dealer.

At mid-day we set off home again. As we drove by the place where we first heard the rattle of the cart behind us, Filofey, who, having had something to drink at Tula, turned out to be very talkative—he even began telling me fairy-tales—as he passed the place, suddenly burst out laughing.

‘Do you remember, master, how I kept saying to you, «A rattle… a rattle of wheels,» I said!’

He waved his hand several times. This expression struck him as most amusing. The same evening we got back to his village.

I related the adventure that had befallen us to Yermolaï. Being sober, he expressed no sympathy; he only gave a grunt—whether of approval or reproach, I imagine he did not know himself. But two days later he informed me, with great satisfaction, that the very night Filofey and I had been driving to Tula, and on the very road, a merchant had been robbed and murdered. I did not at first put much faith in this, but later on I was obliged to believe it: it was confirmed by the police