A Hero of Our Time :: :: University of Virginia Library

"Kazbich never put in an appearance again; but somehow — I don't know why — I could not get the idea out of my head that he had had a reason for coming, and that some mischievous scheme was in his mind.

"Well, one day Pechorin tried to persuade me to go boar-hunting with him. For a long time I refused. What novelty was a wild boar to me?

"However, off he dragged me, all the same. We took four or five soldiers and set out early in the morning. Up till ten o'clock we scurried about the reeds and the forest — there wasn't a wild beast to be found!

"'I say, oughtn't we to be going back?' I said. 'What's the use of sticking at it? It is evident enough that we have happened on an unlucky day!'

"But, in spite of heat and fatigue, Pechorin didn't like to return empty-handed. . . That

is just the kind of man he was; whatever he set his heart on he had to have — evidently, in his childhood, he had been spoiled by an indulgent mother. At last, at midday, we discovered one of those cursed wild boars — Bang! Bang! — No good! — Off it went into the reeds. That was an unlucky day, to be sure! . . . So, after a short rest, we set off homeward. . .

"We rode in silence, side by side, giving the horses their head. We had almost reached the fortress, and only the brushwood concealed it from view. Suddenly a shot rang out. . . We glanced at each other, both struck with the selfsame suspicion. . . We galloped headlong in the direction of the shot, looked, and saw the soldiers clustered together on the rampart and pointing towards a field, along which a rider was flying at full speed, holding something white across his saddle. Grigori Aleksandrovich yelled like any Chechene, whipped his gun from its cover, and gave chase — I after him.

"Luckily, thanks to our unsuccessful hunt, our horses were not jaded; they strained under the saddle, and with every moment we drew nearer and nearer. . . At length I recognised Kazbich, only I could not make out what it was that he was holding in front of him.

"Then I drew level with Pechorin and shouted to him:

"'It is Kazbich!'

"He looked at me, nodded, and struck his horse with his whip.

"At last we were within gunshot of Kazbich. Whether it was that his horse was jaded or not so good as ours, I don't know, but, in spite of all his efforts, it did not get along very fast. I fancy at that moment he remembered his Karagyoz!

"I looked at Pechorin. He was taking aim as he galloped. . .

"'Don't shoot,' I cried. 'Save the shot! We will catch up with him as it is.'

"Oh, these young men! Always taking fire at the wrong moment! The shot rang out and the bullet broke one of the horse's hind legs. It gave a few fiery leaps forward, stumbled, and fell to its knees. Kazbich sprang off, and then we perceived that it was a woman he was holding in his arms — a woman wrapped in a veil. It was Bèla — poor Bèla! He shouted something to us in his own language and raised his dagger over her. . . Delay was useless; I fired in my turn, at haphazard. Probably the bullet struck him in the shoulder, because he dropped his

hand suddenly. When the smoke cleared off, we could see the wounded horse lying on the ground and Bèla beside it; but Kazbich, his gun flung away, was clambering like a cat up the cliff, through the brushwood. I should have liked to have brought him down from there — but I hadn't a charge ready. We jumped off our horses and rushed to Bèla. Poor girl! She was lying motionless, and the blood was pouring in streams from her wound. The villain! If he had struck her to the heart — well and good, everything would at least have been finished there and then; but to stab her in the back like that — the scoundrel! She was unconscious. We tore the veil into strips and bound up the wound as tightly as we could. In vain Pechorin kissed her cold lips — it was impossible to bring her to.

"Pechorin mounted; I lifted Bèla from the ground and somehow managed to place her before him on his saddle; he put his arm round her and we rode back.

"'Look here, Maksim Maksimych,' said Grigori Aleksandrovich, after a few moments of silence. 'We will never bring her in alive like this.'

"'True!' I said, and we put our horses to a full gallop.