Fire in the Steppe (52 page)

"But what will happen," inquired Basia, "if I meet a number of men, or more than a dozen? The musket,—that is one; two pistols,—two; a sabre,—let us suppose two more; but if the number is greater than this, I shall die a dreadful death."

And as in the previous night with its alarms she had wished day to come as quickly as possible, so now she looked with yearning for darkness to hide her more easily from evil eyes.

Twice more, during persistent riding, did it seem to her that she was passing near people. Once she saw on the edge of a high plain a number of cabins. Maybe robbers by vocation were not living in them, but she preferred to pass at a gallop, knowing that even villagers are not much better than robbers; another time she heard the sound of axes cutting wood.

The wished-for night covered the earth at last. Basia was so wearied that when she came to a naked steppe, free from forest, she said to herself,—

"Here I shall not be crushed against a tree; I will sleep right away, even if I freeze."

When she was closing her eyes it seemed to her that far off in the distance, in the white snow, she saw a number of black points which were moving in various directions. For a while longer she overcame her sleep. "Those are surely wolves," muttered she, quietly.

Before she had gone many yards, those points disappeared; then she fell asleep so soundly that she woke only when Azya's horse, on which she was sitting, neighed under her.

She looked around; she was on the edge of a forest, and woke in time, for if she had not waked she might have been crushed against a tree.

Suddenly she saw that the other horse was not near her.

"What has happened?" cried she, in great alarm.

But a very simple thing had happened. Basia had tied, it is true, the reins of her horse's bridle to the pommel of the saddle on which she was sitting; but her stiffened hands served her badly, and she was not able to knot the straps firmly; afterward the reins fell off, and the wearied horse stopped to seek food under the snow or lie down.

Fortunately Basia had her pistol at her girdle, and not in the holsters; the powder-horn and the bag with the rest of the seeds were also with her. Finally the misfortune was not too appalling; for Azya's horse, though he yielded to hers in speed, surpassed him undoubtedly in endurance of cold and labor. Still, Basia was grieved for her favorite horse, and at the first moment determined to search for him.

She was astonished, however, when she looked around the steppe and saw nothing of the beast, though the night was unusually clear.

"He has stopped behind," thought she,—"surely not gone ahead; but he must have lain down in some hollow, and that is why I cannot see him."

Azya's horse neighed a second time, shaking himself somewhat and putting back his ears; but from the steppe he was answered by silence.

"I will go and find him," said Basia.

And she turned, when a sudden alarm seized her, and a voice precisely as if human called,—

"Basia, do not go back!"

That moment the silence was broken by other and ill-omened voices near, and coming, as it were, from under the earth, howling, coughing, whining, groaning, and finally a ghastly squeal, short, interrupted. This was all the more terrible since there was nothing to be seen on the steppe. Cold sweat covered Basia from head to foot; and from her blue lips was wrested the cry,—

"What is that? What has happened?"

She divined at once, it is true, that wolves had killed her horse; but she could not understand why she did not see him, since, judging by the sounds, he was not more than five hundred yards behind.

There was no time to fly to the rescue, for the horse must be torn to pieces already; besides, she needed to think of her own life. Basia fired the pistol to frighten the wolves, and moved forward. While going she pondered over what had happened, and after a while it shot through her head that perhaps it was not wolves that had taken her horse, since those voices seemed to come from under the ground. At this thought a cold shiver went along her back; but dwelling on the matter more carefully, she remembered that in her sleep it had seemed to her that she was going down and then going up again.

"It must be so," said she; "I must have crossed in my sleep some ravine, not very steep. There my horse remained; and there the wolves found him."

The rest of the night passed without accident. Having eaten hay the morning before, the horse went with great endurance, so that Basia herself was amazed at his strength. That was a Tartar horse,—a "wolf hunter" of great stock, and of endurance almost without limit. During the short halts which Basia made, he ate everything without distinction,—moss, leaves; he gnawed even the bark of trees, and went on and on. Basia urged him to a gallop on the plains. Then he began to groan somewhat, and to breathe loudly when reined in; he panted, trembled, and dropped his head low from weariness, but did not fall. Her horse, even had he not perished under the teeth of the wolves, could not have endured such a journey. Next morning Basia, after her prayers, began to calculate the time.

"I broke away from Azya on Tuesday in the afternoon," said she to herself, "I galloped till night; then one night passed on the road; after that a whole day; then again a whole night, and now the third day has begun. A pursuit, even had there been one, must have returned already, and Hreptyoff ought to be near, for I have not spared the horses."

After a while she added, "It is time; it is time! God pity me!"

At moments a desire seized her to approach the Dniester, for at the bank it would be easier to learn where she was; but when she remembered that fifty of Azya's men had remained with Pan Gorzenski in Mohiloff, she was afraid. It occurred to her that because she had made such a circuit she might not have passed Mohiloff yet. On the road, in so far as sleep had not closed her eyes, she tried, it is true, to note carefully whether she did not come on a very wide ravine, like that in which Mohiloff was situated; but she did not see such a place. However, the ravine in the interior might be narrow and altogether different from what it was at Mohiloff; might have come to an end or contracted at some furlongs beyond the town; in a word, Basia had not the least idea of where Mohiloff was.

Only she implored God without ceasing that it might be near, for she felt that she could not endure toil, hunger, sleeplessness, and cold much longer. During three days she had lived on seeds alone, and though she had spared them most carefully, still she had eaten the last kernel that morning, and there was nothing in the bag.

Now she could only nourish and warm herself with the hope that Hreptyoff was near. In addition to hope, fever was warming her. Basia felt perfectly that she had a fever; for though the air was growing colder, and it was even freezing, her hands and feet were as hot then as they had been cold at the beginning of the journey; thirst too tormented her greatly.

"If only I do not lose my presence of mind," said she to herself; "if I reach Hreptyoff, even with my last breath, see Michael, and then let the will of God be done."

Again she had to pass numerous streams or rivers, but these were either shallow or frozen; on some water was flowing, and there was ice underneath, firm and strong. But she dreaded these crossings most of all because the horse, though courageous, feared them evidently. Going into the water or onto the ice he snorted, put forward his ears, sometimes resisted, but when urged went warily, putting foot before foot slowly, and sniffing with distended nostrils. It was well on in the afternoon when Basia, riding through a thick pine-wood, halted before some river larger than others, and above all much wider. According to her supposition this might be the Ladava or the Kalusik. At sight of this her heart beat with gladness. In every case Hreptyoff must be near; had she passed it even, she might consider herself saved, for the country there was more inhabited and the people less to be feared. The river, as far as her eye could reach, had steep banks; only in one place was there a depression, and the water, dammed by ice, had gone over the bank as if poured into a flat and wide vessel. The banks were frozen thoroughly; in the middle a broad streak of water was flowing, but Basia hoped to find the usual ice under it.

The horse went in, resisting somewhat, as at every crossing, with head inclined, and smelling the snow before him. When she came to running water Basia knelt on the saddle, according to her custom, and held the saddle-bow with both hands. The water plashed under his hoofs. The ice was really firm; his hoof struck it as stone. But evidently the shoes had grown blunt on the long road, which was rocky in places, for the horse began to slip; his feet went apart, as if flying from under him. All at once he fell forward, and his nostrils sank in the water; then he rose, fell on his rump, rose again, but being terrified, began to struggle and strike desperately with his feet. Basia grasped the bridle, and with that a dull crack was heard; both hind legs of the horse sank through the ice as far as the haunches.

"Jesus, Jesus!" cried Basia.

The beast, with fore legs still on firm ice, made desperate efforts; but evidently the pieces on which he was resting began to move from under his feet, for he fell deeper, and began to groan hoarsely.

Basia had still time sufficient and presence of mind to seize the mane of the horse and reach the unbroken ice in front of him. She fell and was wet in the water; but rising and feeling firm ground under foot, she knew that she was saved. She wished to save the horse, and bending forward caught the bridle; and going toward the bank she pulled it with all her might.

But the horse sank deeper, could not free even his fore legs to grapple the ice, which was still unmoved. The reins were pulled harder every instant; but he sank more and more. He began to groan with a voice almost human, baring his teeth the while; his eyes looked at Basia with indescribable sadness, as if wishing to say to her: "There is no rescue for me; drop the reins ere I drag thee in!"

There was, in truth, no rescue for him, and Basia had to drop the reins.

When the horse disappeared beneath the ice she went to the bank, sat down under a bush without leaves, and sobbed like a child.

Her energy was thoroughly broken for the moment. And besides that, the bitterness and pain which, after meeting with people, had filled her heart, overflowed it now with still greater force. Everything was against her,—uncertain roads, darkness, the elements, men, beasts; the hand of God alone had seemed to watch over her. In that kind, fatherly care she had put all her childlike trust; but now even that hand had failed her. This was a feeling to which Basia had not given such clear expression; but if she had not, she felt it all the more strongly in her heart.

What remained to her? Complaint and tears! And still she had shown all the valor, all the courage, all the endurance which such a poor, weak creature could show. Now, see, her horse is drowned,—the last hope of rescue, the last plank of salvation, the only thing living that was with her! Without that horse she felt powerless against the unknown expanse which separated her from Hreptyoff, against the pine-woods, ravines, and steppes; not only defenceless against the pursuit of men and beasts, but she felt far more lonely and deserted than before. She wept till tears failed her. Then came exhaustion, weariness, and a feeling of helplessness so great that it was almost equal to rest. Sighing deeply once and a second time, she said to herself,—

"Against the will of God I am powerless. I will die where I am."

And she closed her eyes, aforetime so bright and joyous, but now hollow and sunken.

In its own way, though her body was becoming more helpless every moment, thought was still throbbing in her head like a frightened bird, and her heart was throbbing also. If no one in the world loved her, she would have less regret to die; but all loved her so much.

And she pictured to herself what would happen when Azya's treason and his flight would become known: how they would search for her; how they would find her at last,—blue, frozen, sleeping the eternal sleep under a bush at the river. And all at once she called out,—

"Oh, but poor Michael will be in despair! Ei, ei!"

Then she implored him, saying that it was not her fault.

"Michael," said she, putting her arms around his neck, mentally, "I did all in my power; but, my dear, it was difficult. The Lord God did not will it."

And that moment such a heartfelt love for Michael possessed her, such a wish even to die near that dear head, that, summoning every force she had, she rose from the bank and walked on.

At first it was immensely difficult. Her feet had become unaccustomed to walking during the long ride; she felt as if she were going on stilts. Happily she was not cold; she was even warm enough, for the fever had not left her for a moment.

Sinking in the forest, she went forward persistently, remembering to keep the sun on her left hand. It had gone, in fact, to the Moldavian side; for it was the second half of the day,—perhaps four o'clock. Basia cared less now for approaching the Dniester, for it seemed to her always that she was beyond Mohiloff.

"If only I were sure of that; if I knew it!" repeated she, raising her blue, and at the same time inflamed, face to the sky. "If some beast or some tree would speak and say, 'It is a mile to Hreptyoff, two miles,'—I might go there perhaps."

But the trees were silent; nay more, they seemed to her unfriendly, and obstructed the road with their roots. Basia stumbled frequently against the knots and curls of those roots covered with snow. After a time she was burdened unendurably; she threw the warm mantle from her shoulders and remained in her single coat. Relieving herself in this way, she walked and walked still more hurriedly,—now stumbling, now falling at times in deeper snow. Her fur-lined morocco boots without soles, excellent for riding in a sleigh or on horseback, did not protect her feet well against clumps or stones; besides, soaked through repeatedly at crossings, and kept damp by the warmth of her feet now inflamed from fever, these boots were torn easily in the forest.