You make me sick.
Butchers, that’s what you are.’
‘It can happen to anyone,’ said Butler, not knowing what to say.
‘That’s war.’
‘War!’ cried Marya Dmitrievna.
‘What’s war?
You are butchers, and that’s all there is to it.
A dead body should be decently buried and they make mock of it.
Butchers, that’s what you are!’ she repeated and went down the steps and into the house by the back door.
Butler went back to the parlor and asked Kamenev to tell hint in detail what had happened.
And Kamenev told him.
It happened like this.
Chapter XXV
Hadji Murad was allowed to go riding in the neighborhood of the town provided that he went with a Cossack escort.
There was only one troop of Cossacks altogether in Nukha; of these a dozen were detailed for staff duties and if, according to orders, escorts of ten men were sent out it meant that the remaining Cossacks had to do duty every other day.
Because of this, after the first day when ten Cossacks were duly sent out, they decided to send only five men, at the same time requesting Hadji Murad not to take his whole party of nukers. However on 25 April all five of them accompanied Hadji Murad when he set off for his ride.
As Hadji Murad was mounting, the commandant noticed that all five nukers were preparing to go and told Hadji Murad that he could not take then1 all, but Hadji Murad, appearing not to hear, spurred his horse, and the commandant did not insist.
One of the Cossacks was a corporal, Nazarov, who had the St George’s Cross, a young, healthy, fresh-faced fellow with light-brown hair cut in a fringe.
He was the oldest child of a poor family of Old Believers; he had grown up with no father and kept his old mother, three sisters and two brothers.
‘See he doesn’t go too far, Nazarov,’ shouted the commandant.
‘Very good, sir,’ replied Nazarov. Then, rising on his stirrups and steadying the rifle across his back, he set off at a trot on his big, trusty, long-muzzled chestnut stallion.
The other four Cossacks followed him: Ferapontov, who was lean and lanky, the troop’s leading pilferer and fixer — he it was who had sold powder to Gamzalo; Ignatov, who was middle-aged and nearing the end of his service, a healthy peasant type who boasted how strong he was; Mishkin, just a weedy boy, too young for active service, of whom everyone made fun; and Petrakov, young and fair-haired, his mother’s only son, who was always amiable and cheerful.
It was misty first thing but by breakfast — time it was bright and fine with the sun shining on the freshly burst leaves, the young virginal grass, the shooting corn and the swift, rippling river on the left of the road.
Hadji Murad rode at a walk.
The Cossacks and his nukers followed, keeping pace with him.
Thus they rode out along the road behind the fort.
On their way they met women carrying baskets on their heads, soldiers on wagons and creaking carts drawn by oxen.
When they had gone a couple of miles Hadji Murad spurred his white Kabarda horse to a fast amble, and his nukers went into a quick trot.
The Cossacks did the same.
‘Ay, that’s a good horse he’s got,’ said Ferapontov.
‘I’d have him off it, if he was still a hostile like he used to be.’
‘Yes, mate, 300 rubles they offered for that horse in Tiflis.’
‘But I’d beat him on mine,’ said Nazarov.
‘That’s what you think!’ said Ferapontov.
Hadji Murad continued to increase the pace.
‘Hi there, kunak, you mustn’t do that!
Not so fast!’ shouted Nazarov, going after Hadji Murad.
Hadji Murad looked back. He said nothing and went on without slackening pace.
‘Watch out, those devils are up to something,’ said Ignatov.
‘Look how they_re going!’
They rode like this towards the mountains for half a mile or so.
‘Not so fast, I’m telling you,’ Nazarov shouted again.
Hadji Murad did not answer or look back. He simply went faster and put his horse into a gallop.
‘Don’t think you’ll get away,’ shouted Nazarov, stung by this.
He gave his big chestnut stallion the whip and, standing on the stirrups and leaning forward, rode flat out after Hadji Murad.
The sky was so clear, the air so fresh, Nazarov felt so full of the joy of life as he flew along the road after Hadji Murad, merging into one with his powerful, trusty horse that the possibility of anything wrong or sad or terrible happening never even occurred to him.
He was delighted that with every stride he was gaining on Hadji Murad and getting close to him.
Hearing the hoofbeats of the Cossack’s big horse getting nearer Hadji Murad realized that he would very soon catch up with him and, seizing his pistol with his right hand, used his left to steady his excited Kabarda which could hear the beat of hoofs behind.
‘Not so fast, I say,’ shouted Nazarov, now almost level with Hadji Murad and reaching out to seize the bridle of his horse.
But before he could catch hold of it a shot rang out.