“Habar yok” (“Nothing new”), replied the old man, looking with his lifeless red eyes not at Hadji Murad’s face but at his breast.
“I live at the apiary and have only today come to see my son. . . .
He knows.”
Hadji Murad, understanding that the old man did not wish to say what he knew and what Hadji Murad wanted to know, slightly nodded his head and asked no more questions.
“There is no good news,” said the old man.
“The only news is that the hares keep discussing how to drive away the eagles, and the eagles tear first one and then another of them.
The other day the Russian dogs burnt the hay in the Mitchit aoul. . . . May their faces be torn!” he added hoarsely and angrily.
Hadji Murad’s murid entered the room, his strong legs striding softly over the earthen floor. Retaining only his dagger and pistol, he took off his burka, rifle, and sword as Hadji Murad had done, and hung them up on the same nails as his leader’s weapons.
“Who is he?” asked the old man, pointing to the newcomer.
“My murid.
Eldar is his name,” said Hadji Murad.
“That is well,” said the old man, and motioned Eldar to a place on a piece of felt beside Hadji Murad.
Eldar sat down, crossing his legs and fixing his fine ram-like eyes on the old man who, having now started talking, was telling how their brave fellows had caught two Russian soldiers the week before and had killed one and sent the other to Shamil in Veden.
Hadji Murad heard him absently, looking at the door and listening to the sounds outside.
Under the penthouse steps were heard, the door creaked, and Sado, the master of the house, came in.
He was a man of about forty, with a small beard, long nose, and eyes as black, though not as glittering, as those of his fifteen-year-old son who had run to call him home and who now entered with his father and sat down by the door.
The master of the house took off his wooden slippers at the door, and pushing his old and much-worn cap to the back of his head (which had remained unshaved so long that it was beginning to be overgrown with black hair), at once squatted down in front of Hadji Murad.
He too lifted his palms upwards, as the old man had done, repeated a prayer, and then stroked his face downwards. Only after that did he begin to speak.
He told how an order had come from Shamil to seize Hadji Murad alive or dead, that Shamil’s envoys had left only the day before, that the people were afraid to disobey Shamil’s orders, and that therefore it was necessary to be careful.
“In my house,” said Sado, “no one shall injure my kunak while I live, but how will it be in the open fields? . . .
We must think it over.”
Hadji Murad listened with attention and nodded approvingly.
When Sado had finished he said:
“Very well.
Now we must send a man with a letter to the Russians.
My murid will go but he will need a guide.”
“I will send brother Bata,” said Sado.
“Go and call Bata,” he added, turning to his son.
The boy instantly bounded to his nimble feet as if he were on springs, and swinging his arms, rapidly left the saklya.
Some ten minutes later he returned with a sinewy, short-legged Chechen, burnt almost black by the sun, wearing a worn and tattered yellow Circassian coat with frayed sleeves, and crumpled black leggings.
Hadji Murad greeted the newcomer, and again without wasting a single word, immediately asked:
“Canst thou conduct my murid to the Russians?”
“I can,” gaily replied Bata.
“I can certainly do it.
There is not another Chechen who would pass as I can.
Another might agree to go and might promise anything, but would do nothing; but I can do it!”
“All right,” said Hadji Murad.
“Thou shalt receive three for thy trouble,” and he held up three fingers.
Bata nodded to show that he understood, and added that it was not money he prized, but that he was ready to serve Hadji Murad for the honor alone.
Every one in the mountains knew Hadji Murad, and how he slew the Russian swine.
“Very well. . . .
A rope should be long but a speech short,” said Hadji Murad.
“Well then I’ll hold my tongue,” said Bata.
“Where the river Argun bends by the cliff,” said Hadji Murad, “there are two stacks in a glade in the forest — thou knowest?”
“I know.”
“There my four horsemen are waiting for me,” said Hadji Murad.
“Aye,” answered Bata, nodding.
“Ask for Khan Mahoma.
He knows what to do and what to say.
Canst thou lead him to the Russian Commander, Prince Vorontsov?”