The Cossacks by Leo Tolstoy

Author:Leo Tolstoy [Tolstoy, Leo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-75717-3
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-06-29T16:00:00+00:00

19

The fog lifted enough to reveal the wet tops of the reeds. Here and there the fog turned to dew that dampened the road and the weeds by the fences. Smoke poured from all the chimneys. The Cossacks were heading out of the village, some to work, some to the river, some to the checkpoints. Olenin and Uncle Eroshka walked beside one another over the damp, overgrown weeds of the path. The dogs, their tails wagging and looking up at their masters, ran alongside. Clouds of mosquitoes buzzed through the air after the hunters, covering their backs, eyes, and hands. There was a smell of grass and forest dampness.

It was quiet. Sounds from the village that had been audible before no longer reached the hunters. Only the dogs rustled through the bushes, and from time to time a bird called. Olenin knew that the forest was dangerous, that Chechen warriors were hiding in the underbrush. But he also knew that a rifle was powerful protection for a man on foot in the forest. It was not that Olenin really felt afraid, but he thought someone else in his position might feel afraid. He looked intently into the misty undergrowth, listening to the faint, sparse sounds, and touching his rifle he experienced a pleasant feeling that was new to him. Uncle Eroshka, walking ahead, stopped at every puddle where there were animal tracks, pointing them out to Olenin after carefully examining them.

The path along which they were walking had been made by carts but had long since been covered by grass. The forest of elms and plane trees on both sides was so thick and overgrown that nothing could be seen. Wild vines entwined almost every tree from bottom to top, and the ground was covered by thick, dark brambles. Every small clearing was dense with blackberry bushes and reeds with swaying gray tops. Large animal tracks and grooved pheasant prints led from the path into the thicket. The vitality of the forest, never penetrated by cattle, amazed Olenin at every step: He had never seen anything like it. The forest, the danger, the old man with his mysterious whispering, Maryanka with her lithe, strong frame, and the mountains, all seemed to him like a dream.

“A pheasant has settled,” the old man whispered, looking around and pulling his hat over his face. “Cover your face—a pheasant!” He waved angrily at Olenin and crept forward, practically on all fours. “A pheasant hates a man’s face!”

Olenin was still behind him when the old man stopped and began examining a tree. The pheasant squawked from the tree at the dog, which was barking at it, and Olenin saw the bird. But at that instant a shot, as from a cannon, rang out from Eroshka’s sturdy rifle, and the bird, fluttering up, shed feathers and fell to the ground. Olenin, as he walked over to the old man, flushed out another pheasant. He drew his rifle from its sling, aimed, and fired. The bird whirled into the air and then fell like a stone, catching in the branches and tumbling into the bushes.

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